Seconders, p.7
Seconders, page 7
“Another resource we can’t afford to lose.”
“I expect Mission Control will tell us to send another.”
“Mission Control are on Earth.” Bulman let the statement hang and Voight nodded then walked away. Bulman felt he could rely on his head technician and Lieutenant to support him, no matter whatever Mars threw at them.
Sol 203, Valles Marineris – J. Wojcik
“Hey, Jan!” called Sunil. Jan sighed, tired from working long shifts. “We lost your drone in Valles Marineris.”
“What do you mean, lost?” asked Jan.
“No signal for the past two sols,” explained Sunil. “Johanna called me yesterday to check if I knew of any storms there. I checked the satellite images, and it looks like there might be some clouds gathering, more than the daily mists. Anyway, she still can’t get anything from the drone. It wasn’t glitchy was it?”
“No. I’d checked it before it went.”
“Damn. Suppose we’ll have to send another reccie-drone out after it.”
“I suppose that’ll be another waste of resources according to Bulman.” Sunil looked sour. Many of the first team were nervous of bringing bad news to Bulman. Ever since he tore strips off Jan in training for not getting into his EVA suit fast enough, he had learned to ask how high when Bulman told him to jump. Many, like Jan, were not military and they found it harder to take orders without questioning them. The second team captain, Suárez, had seen Jan cursing Bulman under his breath while fumbling the catches on his visor. He quietly took Jan aside and explained that a hull breach could kill in about four seconds so, if Bulman ordered him to put his visor on, he’d better do it in three. That made sense to Jan, but he preferred Suárez’s explanation to being balled at.
“Everything is a waste of resources as far as Bulman’s concerned,” muttered Sunil.
“He isn’t going to like the latest rumour from the Seconders then, is he?” chipped in Veronica Trousseau, as she walked past them in the hab. Jan noted her use of that word, ‘Seconders’. He didn’t like it. There were all kinds of negative connotations: second to arrive, second rate, secondary importance… not one of us. He’d heard his colleagues using the word in front of Bulman who made no attempt to correct them and that worried Jan.
“What rumour?” asked Sunil.
“That our architect is pregnant already!”
“Wow! That’ll piss him off for sure!” grimaced Sunil.
“It’ll piss off everyone here. We better start bracing ourselves for the extra workload,” said Trousseau. “sounds like the Seconders have all been at it like rabbits on their way over.”
Jan shook his head and went to find the peace and quiet of his bunk. He wondered if everyone had forgotten that they were here to colonise Mars together. It was as if the first team had already laid claim to the planet and were judging whether the second team were fit to join them, let alone start families. He believed they should be celebrating births, not cursing their inconvenience.
Many came as a couple and about as many came without a partner. Jan might be happy with his own company, but he was open to the idea of a partner and children if he found the right person, someone who gave him space to be himself. He liked his own personal space, but he reflected that Bulman seemed to have a barbed wire perimeter around his. He remembered one of the first team making a pass at Bulman in the early training days, perhaps just a joke. She was publicly humiliated by the Captain. Jan tried not to be judgemental, he was all too aware that others would be judging him. He understood that Bulman had a critical job to do in the early stages of the mission and he would want to distance himself from personal relationships. Maybe he was trying to warn off any others by making it so public, but Jan couldn’t understand why Bulman had been so brutal about it. The poor woman was never seen again. Veronica Trousseau appeared in their team the next day, out of reserves. Jan made sure to tell her why.
21st July, Aldrin – E. Suárez
Captain Eduardo Suárez listened carefully to the vid from Mission Control, stroking his beard thoughtfully. They weren’t exactly reprimanding him, but they were telling him in no uncertain terms that they were unhappy with the news about Verena & Cathal’s unborn child. He took full advantage of the time delay between Earth and the Aldrin to consider his options.
He could change his position and ask Verena to consider terminating the pregnancy, but he felt very strongly that it was not his position to make such a request. He suspected that Verena and Cathal had plenty of their own concerns for others when making their decision to keep the child and tell their team-mates. The ultimate mission aim was to colonise Mars. In view of the deeply worrying private briefing that he and Bulman received, prior to leaving Earth, Suárez was even more keen to see families started.
He could make it known that any further pregnancies prior to dome erection would be frowned upon, but all team members had effectively been told that in the briefings, so it seemed pointless, even churlish to repeat that view. Besides, it might imply favouritism that Verena and Cathal were not being openly rebuked. He guessed they would be feeling uncomfortable enough, despite the support they had received from most of their team-mates. Only a few, notably Eckenweber and Fillioud, had seemed cool about the news when Suárez talked to them, but they had been sensible enough to keep any reservations to themselves. He was more concerned about how the first team would respond and he suspected that unhelpful rumours might be running ahead of their arrival. No, he would not be making any advisory suggestions to his team.
He could seek to defend Verena and Cathal to Mission Control, but he wondered what the point would be. Commander Bernard was not going to tell them to come back to Earth, was he?
Suárez took a sip of hot recycled water, he had long abandoned the synthetic coffee as a lost cause, then settled to compose his reply to Cern.
“Thank you for the reminder my friends. We are entering Mars orbit and will report as soon as geo-synch has been achieved.”
Sol 203, Pavonis Chasma – Captain H. Bulman
Sunil stood in the dusty doorway of Bulman’s office and braced himself for a reply to his news.
“A dust-storm?” asked Bulman, wearily. “Hell, storms aren’t due until the Martian spring.”
“It seems that this one may be the result of recent solar flare activity.”
“Mars is trying to kill us all again,” Bulman observed tonelessly.
“Mars is a hostile environment, sir.”
Bulman studied Sunil, trying to determine whether the meteorologist was being sarcastic, humorous, or just plain simple. “Stick to weather predictions, Patel, not statements of the painfully obvious.”
“Sir.”
“Is it coming our way and if so, when?”
“It’s so big it will cover the whole of this side of the planet. It’s due about the same time as the Aldrin.”
“Shit, of course it is.”
Sol 204, Pavonis Chasma – J. Wojcik
Jan woke to a gentle wind buffeting of the hab window. It took him a while to remember that this was not a familiar sound on Mars. Wind? Yes, he knew that winds occurred here, but it was the first time he had experienced anything more than a light breeze. He got up and peered through the porthole at the edge of his dorm. It was still dark, yet he could hear something stressing the inflatable walls. Jan was fascinated. Despite his tiredness, he pulled on his orange fatigues and went to find his EVA suit, keen to see Martian weather first-hand.
“Hey, Wojcik!” called Hans Escher at the lockers, next to the airlock. “Bulman has ordered us to stay inside. Sunil reckons there’s a storm coming.”
“A storm?”
“A dust-storm. He’s been up all-night studying satellite photos and he’s convinced there’s a big one on its way from the east.”
“But… the second team… they’re due today!”
“Bulman says they’ll have to wait. Actually, he said ‘the bastards ’ll have to go orbit a while’, you know what he’s like.”
“Shit!”
“That’s what I said.”
“And what does Sunil mean by a big one?”
“Big enough to cover the whole of the local volcano system. Hard enough to scour the suits off our backs.”
“Shit!”
“Exactly.”
August 2nd, Mars orbit – V. Meier
“A storm?” exclaimed Stefanie. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Captain Bulman has ordered all colonists to stay in their habs until it blows over. He has…” Suárez paused as he searched for a diplomatic verb, “recommended that we orbit until they are ready to receive us.”
“But we have everything ready to go!” argued Stefanie, “The biome plants have all been packed and racked, they’ll die if they stay like that for more than forty-eight hours!”
“We’ll suffocate if we stay crowded into the bridge segment too long,” asserted Bernardo.
“The Aldrin has plenty of reserve air,” answered Suárez calmly.
“But it could be days before we can unload,” said Bernardo, a nervous edge to his voice.
“Yes, you’re absolutely right, it could,” agreed Suárez. “Human lives are more important than any timetable, as Frau Meier would agree,” he smiled, turning to Verena.
“Hey, don’t look at me! I didn’t start the storm!”
“Of course not,” said Suárez. “But sometimes nature will refuse to acknowledge our plans and we are obliged to work around her, are we not?”
“Looks like you’re all going to have to listen to me… Erbrechen? Thank you, Stef. Listen to me barfing into my sick bag for the next day or two,” Verena forced a grin and received a few strained smiles in return. The quarters were rammed with people and supplies. The second team had been expecting to endure this for a few hours while the Aldrin slowed to a geosynchronous orbit over Pavonis Mons and connected to the elevator anchorage. There was an uneasy quiet as they considered the prospect of being packed into the chamber like an over-crowded commuter bus. Eventually the silence was ended by a polite cough and the agricultural team leader, Antonio Figueredo leaned forward.
“If the plants die then ultimately, we may all die.” There was no drama in his voice. No hint of exaggeration. He was simply voicing a fact that they had all been trying to keep from their thoughts.
“How long can they last like this?” asked Suárez.
“As Ms van Rhoon said, about forty-eight hours. Some of the hardier species may last a further twenty-four, but only some and even then, it is a risk.”
“Can we take them back into the transit biome in the Aldrin?”
“Yes, but each time we move them more will die.”
“What is an acceptable percentage loss?”
Doctor Figueredo paused to think. “About thirty percent. Beyond that we would be struggling to regrow and expand our crops to replace rations for a hundred people.”
“Ninety-five,” corrected Georges Fillioud, referring to the deaths of the first glider crew.
“Ninety-six,” said Markus, looking at Verena with a sour face.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” interrupted Suárez. “We are dealing with approximations to gain a better understanding of our options. Doctor Figueredo, how many plants do you think we might lose if we move them all back into the biome and repack again, after the storm?”
Again, Antonio hesitated as he considered the question. “Each time we move them we reckon on losing five to ten percent. We have already moved them once. It would require two additional moves. At best that would be a total of about nine or ten percent out of the original batch…”
“At worst it would be about twenty-seven, much more than which we cannot afford,” finished Suárez. “It seems that we have one more go at this, only.”
Sol 207, Valles Marineris – J. Wojcik
Three Martian days, or sols as all colonists referred to them now. Three sols listening to the four hundred kilometres per hour wind scouring their hab with grit while looking at a blur of red through the porthole. Three sols of excruciating boredom and frustration while the ice went unmined. Three sols since the storm ripped the cable stays out of the ground and carried off one of the temporary bio-habs, together with half the crops. The longer this went on the more screwed they all were, thought Jan, sourly. And all this time the second team had been orbiting in the Aldrin, unable to get out.
“Why didn’t we have any warning of this from Mission Control?” asked Bulman in a neutral tone.
“They didn’t have any more warning than we did,” answered Sunil, despondently. “We weren’t expecting full-on storms like this until the Martian Spring, about two hundred sols away.”
“You said it was solar storms?”
“It’s the most likely theory. The nearer we get to the sun the more frequent and intense the storms on Mars.”
“We don’t get close to the sun for months yet.”
“No, but solar flares might have an effect.”
“Has there been one?”
“Yes, a really strong series of flares. Not conclusive, but it seems a strong candidate.”
“Have they stopped?”
“Yes, so if it’s linked then we should see the storm easing off in the next sol or two.”
Bulman nodded, as if satisfied that there was some logical explanation that he could accept. “Shanks? Peters?”
“Sir?” answered John and Charlie.
“As soon as I give the word, I want you to rig up a replacement bio-hab. Wojcik.”
“Sir?”
“You’ll be piloting glider two when the storm lifts. Douglas and Daley will pilot gliders four and five. We’re going to need the elevator working fast. I want those crops out of the Aldrin and into the new shelter.”
“And the second team?”
“… Them too.”
5
The Seconders Coming
Sol 208, Over Pavonis Mons – J. Wojcik
“Where are you, Beth?”
“Just approaching you from the west, Jan.”
“Well done,” said Callum from Glider five. “Just in time to help us idiots play with a seventeen-thousand-kilometre piece of string.”
As soon as the storm eased, the pilots had suited up and taken a rover north of the Pavonis Fossae, where the surviving gliders had been repaired and made ready. Ben Voight took the rover to the end of the landing strip, paying out cable as he drove. Jan noted with a wry smile that the droids had extended the strip by another two hundred metres. Better late than never. He clipped the end of the cable to the catch under glider two and clambered into the cockpit. As soon as he was ready, Ben started up the winch that pulled his glider across the makeshift runway, gathering speed. Jan felt the lift under the wings, augmented by the ionising wires, and pulled back on the joystick. Once he had climbed to about a thousand metres, he released the catch and the cable fell away. Then he turned sharp to the south, searching for the plumes of warming ‘air’ rising off the sunlit slopes of Pavonis Mons.
With the help of the beta droids, Voight repeated the launch sequence for Callum Douglas and Beth Daley, the most experienced glider pilots on the team. Jan knew there was only one reason he was up here with them, and he had been buried on sol one, along with his passengers. Bulman must have decided Jan was the next best pilot as he had been the first to survive a landing. Jan saw the logic but failed to take any comfort from it.
“Look sharp. Should see the tail any minute now,” called Bulman, over the intercom.
Beth, Callum and Jan sought a thermal and settled into a circling pattern over the caldera of Pavonis Mons. Their eyes searched the butterscotch sky. Somewhere above them the second team were in the Aldrin, paying out the longest cable that the solar system had ever seen. The cable itself was so fine that the pilots were unlikely to see it until they flew into it, so the bottom of the loop would have a metal weight covered with striped warning tape, and a streamer at the end. Easy to spot? Not so far.
The ground turned beneath Jan, and the sun circled above. Where was that damned cable? To the east he could see the giant scar of Valles Marineris emerging from the settling dust clouds. It seemed like a fracture in the planet surface through which the sky was draining. For a moment the end of the valley blurred and shifted, as if evading his eyes. When he looked back the features were still and sharp again. Jan knew he was tired, they all were, but he also knew he had seen something.
“Captain Bulman?”
“What is it Wojcik?”
“Are there any more winds on their way?”
“What do you see?”
“I thought I saw more dust blowing up along the Valles Marineris again.”
“I’ll get Patel to check it out. Keep your eyes on the sky.”
“Sir.”
Jan suspected he was being over cautious, but he didn’t like the idea of being caught in a glider in a storm. At least he had a good chance of seeing it coming if it did.
“Hey! Look!” shouted Callum. “South-south-west.”
At first, Jan could see nothing except the sun. Then a flickering line writhed against the edge of the bright disc.
“I see it!” yelled Beth, excited.
“Cable sighted, sir,” Jan reported to Bulman. “Moving to intercept.”
Beth was their best shot and best pilot. She led the way, lining up the nose of her glider with the black and blue striped marker (yellow was less visible against the reds and oranges of Mars). She kept a steady path, getting closer and closer. Just when Jan thought she might collide with it he saw a black line shoot out from under the glider’s nose and hit the striped metal. A harpoon now projected from it, almost plumb centre, and Beth banked the glider away at the last moment.
“Got it!” Beth cried. She trailed a line that paid out from a spool beneath her glider, now flying downwards towards the anchor on Pavonis Mons.
