Mission Mars (13 page)

Inside the cramped environment of the Lander, Carla and Chen were busy with preflight checks. Both worked noiselessly and methodically checking off the list of tasks, which they had endlessly simulated on Earth during training, and which now were second nature. Simultaneously, they completed their tasks.

“All systems checked.”

“We are a go,” Carla finished for Chen.

He grinned at her. “When you are ready, Commander.”

“All yours, Lieutenant.”

“Mars Lander to Constellation. We are ready. All systems are go.”

Oleg replied, “Roger, Lander. Landing sequence initiated. Ten seconds to uncoupling. Ten, nine, eight … three, two, one. Lander detached.” A slight bump and Mars Lander was free.

“Roger that,” said Carla. “Detached and free floating.” The automated systems fired, and the first retro rockets propelled Lander away from
Constellation
. As the distance between Lander and
Constellation
increased, Carla felt a strange sense of loss as she watched what had been her home for six months move further and further away. She hoped the next time she
saw that view, it would be while returning in triumph safe and sound from the surface.

“Hey, Lander, you look good from here,” called Oleg.

Chen replied, “Better than good! At least to me. I've lived with Lander from its construction in Shenzhen. Practically its parent. It will do us just fine. Just fine.”

His voice seemed calm to anyone listening, at least to those who didn't know him. His crewmates, though, could tell he was nervous. But Carla was too focused to reply. Besides, she knew Chen was on top of everything and his nerves would settle as their training kicked in. All of them had been trained by the best. And now, they were the best.

Carla, too, was nervous, but she continued to focus on her own tasks. As commander, the weight of ‘Mission Mars' success—and failure—rested heavily on her. Whether she gave the mission the ‘Go', the ‘No go', or issued the dreaded ‘Abort' call, all their lives—those on Earth included—depended on her.

The Lander rotated upside down for landing. Chen initiated the first full burn, taking them down into the Martian atmosphere. Chen tapped Carla on the arm and then pointed out the window. Monstrous mountains loomed overhead. The landscape, painted orange, brown, and red, was devoid of any life or movement. An alien world, foreboding, forbidding, beautiful.

A sudden realisation of what was about to happen seemed to dawn on Chen and Carla at the same moment. Chen looked over at Carla, “Go?”

She smiled and nodded, “We go.”

Mars Lander started the descent. Inside it was tense. Both
Carla and Chen knew this was the defining moment of the first manned exploration mission of Mars. This was where it was most likely going to succeed or fail.

“We'll be entering the atmosphere soon,” said Chen.

“No problems. All systems OK,” replied Carla.

“Radio blackout … now.”

For the first time in six months, they were on their own. Turbulence buffeted the spacecraft as it entered Mars' thin atmosphere. Outside, the heat shield burned white hot. Through the window they could see flickers of red and white flames. If their shield failed now, they'd be dead long before they hit the Martian surface.

“Let's hope to hell all this technology works, eh?” said Chen, cheerfully aware no one could hear him now, except his commander.

She eyed Chen sternly. “Knock it off, Lieutenant, and start making the calls. I didn't come this close to screw up.”

“Sure thing, boss lady,” he teased. Carla shook her head, and gripping the control stick, turned her attention back to her task at hand. Although it was Chen's job to pilot Mars Lander into position, it was the commander's task to land the ship on the surface. Just the way it had been on the original moon landings, so many decades before.

“Radio contact restored. Down five degrees, fuel still good,” said Chen the complete professional again. Outside the window, the Red planet loomed large. As they descended down closer to the landing, the retros continually tilted Mars Lander into position. Without warning, the ship jolted and pitched and angled sharply to the left. Within the confines of Lander, everything groaned and creaked
Concern clear in Carla's voice, she said, “What was that?” Immediately, she fought to regain control.

Chen's face grew taut. He narrowed his vision and concentrated on the protocol, checking gauges, one by one. He did not answer his commander.

“Lieutenant?”

Without looking at Carla, he said, “I'm working on it, Commander.”

“Mars Lander, I think you've been hit by something. Whatever it was, it was small. Hold position while I check a few things.” Oleg stated.

With an average of thirteen minutes between transmissions from Mission Control, the Mars Lander and its crew of two, was on its on. Except for Oleg.

“Roger, holding position,” said Carla having regained control.

“We're burning fuel, only four minutes left before we have to abort,” added Chen, all his cheer gone. Not long enough to get information from Earth, they would be totally reliant on the computers on the Command Module and Oleg.

Oleg came back on air, “Most likely a micro meteorite strike. It did some superficial damage, but I recommend we still go.”

“Roger that. Stay on it, Oleg. Update us if anything changes,” said Carla, starting the descent again.

“Fuel check: one minute, thirty seconds,” Chen called out. Silence cut through the tension. “Sixty seconds … thirty
seconds.” Then he added, “It's getting tight, Commander.”

Mars loomed large in the window. Carla focused all her senses on the landing. She was mere feet from touchdown. Mere seconds from having to abort the mission.

Oleg held his breath, doing his best to keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his commander's focus

“And … touch down.” Chen, steadily flipping switches, said, “Engines off. Systems secure, Commander.”

“We are on Mars!” Through their headsets, they heard an audible, ‘Yeah' from their orbiting colleague. Carla looked over at Chen, a slow smile spreading across her face.

Thirteen minutes later, a raft of Mission Mars engineers and flight controllers erupted into cheers and whoops back on Earth.

Two hours after the final systems checks, and another half hour of checking each others' suits, Commander Carla Rodriquez was ready to announce their Extra Vehicular Activity—commonly known as ‘the Mars Walk' to the waiting public back on Earth. After six months without gravity, both were surprised at how quickly they tired doing even the simplest activities. It would take time to get their muscles and bones used to the extra weight.

“On target for EVA,” she said clearly for Mission Control's benefit.

“Is this going to be one small step for woman, one giant leap for mankind?” teased Chen.

This time, Carla, now far more relaxed, chuckled. Mars—they were here, she thought— all the years of training, of personal sacrifice, not to mention living six months in tight confines with two air force jarheads for company was finally
paying off. This U.S. Navy commissioned Martian Geologist was about to have Christmas and her birthday celebration all at once. Carla, too, understood the gravity of her mission. That she was about to step into history. The first human—a woman—to ever step foot on the Red planet. A huge honour. She'd been rehearsing her speech for a very long time and she was determined to say it clearly. She was determined to not repeat a Neil Armstrong. She wasn't going to miss a word.

Carla took a deep breath. “Cameras?” she asked.

“Deployed and broadcasting to the big blue planet,” Chen said.

She grinned at Chen and he grinned back. No one could ever take this from them. This was their moment on behalf of the thousands of people across the world who had made it possible.

“Open the hatch.”

Chen pushed the button. Nothing happened. He pushed it again.

“It's not working.”

“Try the manual override.”

Chen struggled to move the lever. Nothing. “Dear God … it won't budge.” Chen grabbed hold of the hatch opening with both hands and leaned into it, sweat running down his face.

Finally, impatient, Carla said, “Let me try.” She tugged hard, her eyes wide and her cheeks puffed out with the effort. Again, nothing. “Together,” she ordered. Tugging in tandem, straining—and forgetting about their audience—cursed, “Damn it, open!”

After several minutes, Chen and Carla were forced to admit defeat. Frustrated, they took turns pushing the electronic
button again, total inertia. The door was jammed shut. Chen broke the awkward silence that followed first.

“Any suggestions, Oleg?”

After a short pause, Oleg replied, “Sorry, Lieutenant, I'll have to check with Mission Control. Sit tight.”

“Sit tight?” Carla rasped.

Facing the huge overhead monitor, the Mission Control flight director stood behind his team of experts studying the image of Mars Lander surrounded by the dry, rocky orange, red, and brown Martian surface.

“Okay, people, any ideas?”

Acid gurgles beneath my bra: heartburn or panic? I drag fingers through my pixie hair, struggling to decide what to do.

On Earth, I visited the doctor any time I needed to, though rarely. It was one of my selling points when vying for a spot with the Mars Bound Program a decade ago. A decade ago. Then, I was decisive and clear-headed, nothing like the current swamp of indecision swirling in my skull. A decade ago, dizziness would have prompted a visit to a medical clinic, and if that hadn't, my aversion to coffee would have.

This morning, after drinking coffee, my day in the bio-dome began with an uneasy stomach and my head spinning. In an effort to distract myself, I planted mizuna seeds, imagining the leafy greens that would grow.

The list of justifications for not feeling like I should, again cycle through my head—you are homesick; you're adjusting to space-bound living. Any day now, you will be getting your
period. Today, these justifications don't reassure me.

I drag my feet through the small tunnels that connect the larger pods of our ship. Outside the entrance to the medical centre is a round red button that resembles most generic emergency buttons. I push it, knowing that my symptoms will be entered into the computer. From there, a complex database of tree diagrams will assess the symptoms and suggest various fates: some benign, others undesirable, and others, more serious. Enough time has passed with this feeling of sickness that I know my symptoms are more than just a stomach bug. It is something that will require more than the usual recommendation of medication, hydration, and rest.

Standing, waiting for the report, I see that it is Astrid, head of the medical pod, who answers my call.

“Nat. Hey, I'm surprised to see you here.” She winks, her English almost perfect. I blush. I stand taller. If others have not noticed my slower pace or increased water consumption and sleep, then perhaps I am not as sick as I think. The woozy feeling dissipates, and I suddenly feel silly, insecure, like I had dreamt the symptoms. I don't know where to start, so I stand, feet and lips motionless.

“What's going on?” Astrid pushes my elbow playfully, then adds in a whisper, “You remember that when you page the medical staff, everything is recorded.”

I nod, knowing she is reminding me not to violate the code of conduct, or more likely not to mention the ways we have already violated the code with our personal arrangement. Dimples appear in each of her cheeks. Her smile cracks my ribs. Like an Xray, she can see my insides without even trying.

“How is the bio-dome?” she asks, putting on her manager
tone. “Is the sustainability department adding up?” Astrid pokes fun at one of my favourite sayings.