“I’m just saying it would be wise to stay near the return capsule,” Luis emphasized.
“I can determine how much risk I am willing to take,” Mara said loudly.
“I don’t think you can,” he said. “You were already acting erratically before we even arrived.”
“Ok, let’s stop it… all of you,” Stenner yelled over them. “It’s not going to be Luis’s call, or yours Mara.” He spoke to the entire ground crew but looked at Mara. “You’ll get permission to leave the Hab when you do, and you’ll stay nearby. Understood?” His commanding voice had remained steady and calm despite the tension.
“Julian is going to report the facts to Mission Control as he sees them in tandem with Luis’s imagery. Mission Control will make the final decisions at when and how far we venture from the Hab, or when we leave the surface. It won’t be Julian, Luis, you, or anybody else. Got it?” His eyes scanned the room for dissent.
“And what about emergencies? What if we don’t have time to hear back from Mission Control?” Mara asked. “It will take an hour to hear from them if there is trouble.”
“I understand that. If it’s that bad we’ll already know our answer, and I can make the call from here,” Stenner said. “We all understand what’s at stake and the risks we are taking, but we’re going to be safe. That is priority one. That means being ready for a rapid departure. Now, we need to get the fuel from the Zephyr in case of an emergency. They have the electrolysis system we need to turn water into rocket fuel. I’ll speak to them as soon as we’re done. Then I expect you all to get started on packing your things. Meeting adjourned.” He scanned the room again, expecting more arguing, but it appeared his command had been final.
Stenner could be seen on the monitor preparing the meeting notes for transmission while the rest of the crew began to leave the conference room. Mara began angrily shuffling her papers from the table into her notebook. She said nothing. She began the discouraging walk to her room.
She walked briskly. She was certain Dr. Aman would try to follow her, always wanting to discuss her poor attitude. She entered her room and sat her things upon her desk, and she saw that the doctor was already predictably standing in her doorway.
“Mara,” he called.
She made her best attempt to ignore him, still shuffling her reports and papers.
The doctor walked a few steps into her room, making it impossible for her not to hear him. “Mara, you cannot keep coming into your bunk room every time something does not go your way. We talked about this. We need you need to be a constructive part of this crew.”
She refused to respond, and when he wouldn’t leave, she fell heavily onto her bunk. Her head rested against the wall behind her with a thud.
“Try and understand where we are coming from,” Dr. Aman said. “Some of us have families at home. I am counting the days until we return. I want to see my children again. And I am not the only one. Julian has grandchildren. Stenner has a family… Our discussion was about being safe and being able to rely on you to be a part of that.” He paused as he finished his sentence, waiting for a response, but none came.
Mara felt her jaw clench in frustration. “I’m not going to do anything to endanger the crew,” she told him. “You can trust me on that.” She leaned her head back upon the wall again, staring above the doctor as he stood near, and she saw him looking down at her. She felt as if she were being scolded like a disobedient child.
“Tell me, what you were thinking after that last quake,” he asked her.
Mara quickly trained her eyes on him. She remembered her disappointment at losing communication with the sub. She recalled walking to the Hab and laying here on her bunk, wanting to be alone.
“You cannot just check out on us,” Dr. Aman said. “I was yelling at you from outside your room. “Can you tell me what you were thinking?” he asked her.
Mara remained defiantly silent for a minute, forcing the doctor to wait for her. “I was thinking how none of this is fair,” she replied.
She looked up at him. She knew a lecture was on the way. She could feel herself bracing against Dr. Aman’s reprimand. She could feel the defiance and indifference inside of her, and she could see the frustration on the doctor’s face as well.
“Mara, this has been a pattern for you. I am afraid we need you to be more reliable than this. Do you understand me? Especially with the danger we are exposed to. We need to know we can count on you.” He breathed deeply and lowered his head. “We need you need to be better than this.”
Mara could tell that this was not enjoyable for him. She leaned away from the doctor. Her head was against the rear wall of the room and her eyes hovered above his, staring into space. She had become a detriment to her crew just as she had feared. She had warned Mission Control that she wasn’t in the right frame of mind for the mission. She hadn’t wanted to put anyone in danger — she hadn’t wanted to be here at all.
The doctor waited a minute before he began to speak again. “It seems with your discovery, with all the work that awaits you… Please try and find the positive side of what you are accomplishing. I believe it will help you to feel better.”
Mara rested her head upon the wall behind her a second time, hitting it with a slight thud again. “You’ll never get it,” she said to him, shaking her head. She lowered her eyes to the floor in front of her, avoiding his.
She felt the doctor’s consoling eyes, but he couldn’t help her. They only made her uncomfortable. She didn’t know what else to say. Her eyes met with his, hoping it would be enough to get him to move on. She wanted nothing more for him to leave her alone like she had been most of the mission.
Dr. Aman made a heavy sigh. He was dissatisfied with their exchange. He placed his hand softly on her ankle, and without a word he walked out of the room, leaving her to herself, just as she had wanted.
CHAPTER 5
Sol 8; Mission time - 23:18
Mara couldn’t sleep. She lay on her bed listening to the rhythms of the Hab’s life support systems, and the steady ebb and flow of air running through the filters. An occasional flicker would travel through the artificial lights as the nuclear generator at the Zephyr cycled through the distribution system, powering various life-giving systems as needed between the two installations.
There was nothing else for her to do, not until her team regained contact with the sub. Even that required the miners to fix the crane for her. The mission was at a complete standstill without those two things.
She was the only one awake. She wandered the insides of the Hab until she was sick of every detail. She checked the stock level of their equipment, filled fluids, changed filters, and generally occupied her time in any way she could find.
When she came across the airlock, she felt drawn to it, and she couldn’t turn her back on it. The thought of checking on the sub, or looking one more time into the cameras and the ocean below were irresistible. She was overrun by the hope that a connection could be restored to it. She decided it would be harmless to sneak over and check for the signal.
Although she was not supposed to leave without permission, she began to put her bio-suit on anyway. She quietly placed it over her clothes and managed to seal the helmet and visor on her own, and she exited the facility by herself, careful not to be too loud. She wandered out of the airlock and across the barren ice fields to the Zephyr, expecting most of the miners to be turned in for the night.
She walked the dimly lit surface unannounced, past each of the lights along the walking strip outside, and found herself under the giant framework of the mining rig. She hit the call button on the exterior. She hoped anyone but Hanson would answer her call. It wasn’t her night. Hanson came to the entrance and buzzed her through.
“Hey,” he said, tilting his head slightly.
Mara barely acknowledged him as she began walking to her console. “I want to check the sub. I
s the crane still damaged?” she asked.
She noticed a large gathering of miners in the drill chamber just beyond the crane. She stopped in her tracks. They were standing near a series of very tall bay windows overlooking the icy plains. They yelled and cheered and laughed as if it was a party. They were wearing nothing but their mining fatigues. No bio-suits, helmets, or protection.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why isn’t anyone wearing their bio-suits? Is this how you operate when we aren’t around?”
Hanson wasn’t prepared to answer her question. He nodded at the drill shaft. “Cavity is capped. We’ve sealed it around the control wires and the heat exchanger. We’re not exposing ourselves to anything from below,” he said.
“This is against the NASA protocols that you have agreed to,” she told him. “You could all be in danger if you don’t have your suits on, and you could be endangering any discoveries we find. The suits need to be worn at all times. We thought we made this clear.”
“Take it easy,” he said. “We take our precautions, okay? These men have seen much worse than this place.”
“You’ll think that until you’re infected with something from below that you have zero immunity to,” she said.
“Why aren’t you working on the crane?” she asked. “Is it fixed or not?”
Her behavior had attracted the attention of Johan, who she noticed was standing above the large group of men by the large bay windows.
Hanson backed away, unwilling to answer her. Then more laughter caught her attention. She turned to confront the group of men.
But she saw it was Johan causing the commotion. He was standing high up on a bench in front of the large windows, moving his arms like he was conducting an auction, and calling to the crew as they placed bets amongst themselves. There was another round of laughter as Mara watched.
Johan was managing gambling activities between his men. He was taking bets, looking over the transactions, and keeping track of the payouts. And the miners were greedily placing bets between themselves, ignoring Hanson and their visitor.
Johan looked at Mara, and their eyes meet. She could tell he had not appreciated her presence outside normal hours.
“We’re collecting ice,” Hanson said. “It’s for water and fuel. We have to break up the larger ’bergs out there for collection. You want in on some of the action?” he asked.
“What action? What are you doing?”
“It’s a little pastime of ours,” he said with a smirk. “We try to make things entertaining out here when we can. This could be fun for you. You should try it.”
“I came here to check on the sub,” Mara told him. “I wasn’t expecting a party.”
“It’s not a party, it’s part of our job. At least the water collection part. We need the water for fuel. We’re filling our tanks,” Hanson said. “There’s a lot of ice that needs to be collected.”
He pointed outside the large windows. Three tall tanks stood outside the large bay windows behind where Johan was standing. They were filled with water, pure oxygen, and pure hydrogen. They were storing them for when they would be needed at launch.
The tanks were attached securely to an electrolysis system that was breaking down the water they collected for fuel; hydrogen and oxygen they needed for the rocket boosters. The system was working full time, just as Johan had instructed.
“We use the ice right from the surface,” Hanson said. “We use it for rocket fuel and drinking water for our living needs,” Hanson told her. Then he motioned to Mara’s examination table. “The lab is all yours, but you’re missing out on the fun,” he said.
More laughter and yelling erupted from the crowd like it was on cue. Mara walked slowly to her desk and turned on the lamp above her samples. Most of them were dead, but a couple were still living; still swimming in their sterilized plastic containers. Mara had expected that they might not survive long above the ice.
Then another round of laughter interrupted her. Loud cheers erupted from the men as they scooped up their winnings from one of the tables. Johan was watching over them, collecting house money on the exchanges. She noticed small chunks of precious metals and other objects on the tables transferring from one man to another.
Johan distributed the payments. She saw him take percentages and place them in a trunk near his feet. “He had a good hustle going,” she thought to herself as she tried to focus, but her concentration was broken by even more yelling and laughter.
“Hanson! Get over here! Show Murph how it’s done!” she heard somebody shouting. “I got a chunk of gold right here says Hanson can hit it.”
“I’m not taking bets today,” Hanson said, and he walked away from Mara.
Murphy placed a nice fist-sized chunk of pure gold down on the betting table next to Johan.
“I got a chunk a gold right here for you if you hit it,” he said to Hanson.
The men grumbled.
“C’mon you pussies. That’s gotta be at least three kilometers,” he said. “He misses and it’s yours. Put something up if you ain’t chicken.”
The distance to the target was probably only a kilometer and nothing more. That fact was quickly pointed out by the crowd of young men gathered around him.
“We’re not used to shooting in this gravity!” Someone shouted. “Hook don’t fly right here.”
“You arc your shot to the target, asshole,” Murphy said as he demonstrated with his hand.
Mara watched the men talking to each other into larger and larger bets. Challenges were being issued, and insults traded to uproarious laughter. It was quite the opposite scene from her crew’s behavior. She continued to watch, almost as if observing these men like they were her specimens.
Johan’s loud voice yelled out into the room. “If nobody is gonna put up anything then let’s call off the betting. We all got work to do. Bets are off… party’s over.”
“I can hit it,” someone shouted. A hand raised out from the small crowd with a chunk of material in it, ore collected from an asteroid. It was Larue, one of the younger men. He stepped forward and placed a boot-sized chunk of platinum on the table before Johan. It rested with a loud thud, and everyone’s attention was immediately on the prize he had offered.
There was an audible pause in activity as the crew assessed the valuable piece of metal. Several men moved for a closer look, checking it for size, impurities, and mass. The bets began to fly.
“It’s right off Vesta,” Larue added over the bustle.
The men dug deep into their pockets and began to place items on the opposite end of the table from where Johan stood. Small chunks of gold, silver, platinum, palladium, Iridium, and other rare and precious metals were placed on the bettor’s tray. They were chunks of ore that would be worth small fortunes on Earth but were mere fodder for entertainment in the unregulated depths of space.
The betting settled down, and Mara watched Larue climb onto the monstrous framework of the rig and then into the cab of the rail-gun. The gun itself was as large as a bus. The framework that held it in place was attached to the hull of the large vessel, and there was a harpoon with a cable attachment nestled at the end, ready to ride the rails in a split-second burst of energy that would hurl it into the sky.
The gun was powered by the nuclear reactor that provided electricity for the entire facility. A battery would be charged with an enormous amount of energy, and it would be used to power a series of magnets along the long rails. The magnets would generate a magnetic field that could accelerate the harpoon incredibly fast along the rails.
Larue took his seat in the contraption confidently. He carefully maneuvered the cab, positioning the large frame of the gun towards a target on the distant horizon. He calculated the trajectory with an intense look upon his face that Mara could see from across the room.
Larue’s tongue stuck out from between his lips as he gau
ged the shot. He gripped the trigger button carefully with both hands on the mechanism and the wheels and gears began turning on the acclimator. He locked the machine in position as the battery started charging. The sound of an electric charge filled the room. He sat listening to the high-pitched whining of ventilation fans and electrical meters flaring to climax. A green light flashed before him indicating all systems ready, and he pulled the trigger.
A loud burst of energy was released through the room. It was a massive discharge of electricity. A shock vibrated through the
space — the sound of metal grinding upon metal. Massive amounts of energy had escalated into a ball of energy and then discharged in a flash. The force of the gun sent a shudder through the room and a large grappling hook was shot through the vacuum of space. It arced towards its target with a cable trailing behind it.
There was instant delight among the men as they witnessed the violence of the railgun and the missile it had deployed. The group of unrefined men climbed over each other to watch the spectacle. The grappling hook made its way toward the target, spinning as it flew. It looked like a magnificent bird against the black backdrop of space, sent to destroy an enemy pile of ice.
Its target was a large spire in the far distance; a tower of blue-white ice that had had the misfortune of having been tossed nearly vertical on the landscape, making it an obvious target.
Some of the men watching were calling the shot before it arrived. “That’s a hit!” one of them said.
“It’s low,” someone immediately countered.
The hook arced into the distance, further and further over several seconds, and it landed with an explosion that shattered the landscape into shiny shards of ice. The ice particles burst outward in all directions, and splinters of the white crystal ice rose upward from the frozen plains and shimmered like diamonds against a black sky. They tumbled in space and reflected their light to the outpost like pieces of a mirror. In the low gravity they flew in slow motion; flying farther and taking longer to fall than seemed natural or possible.
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