17
Conjunction
Sunwing 2 approached the landing area at the outpost, flying into the wind. Will and Ethel watched as Sergei, controling it from Hab 1, carefully brought the flying wing in a cloud of dust and expelled carbon dioxide. Then they hurried over to it while Sergei cut the propellers completely.
Will opened the cargo bay; inside was a sample return canister with ten kilograms of samples from Charitum Montes, the rugged mountain ring surrounding half of the Argyre Basin some four thousand kilometers to the south of them. Pleased, Will grabbed the canister with one hand while he freed it from its restraints with the other. Once he had it, he put it down on a nearby rock, then turned to help Ethel. She was struggling with a methane bottle.
“Darn thing,” she said. He picked up the refill on the ground, to get it out of her way. He knew better than to try to take over; she was better with mechanical problems than he.
“There!” she pulled the bottle free and handed it to him. He took it and handed her the replacement, which she snapped smoothly into place. “Let’s get out of Sergei’s way, so he can get her back into the air. It’s supposed to be windy tonight; we don’t want her to stay here.”
“Okay,” said Will. He picked up the spent bottle; Ethel walked to the rock and grabbed the samples. They walked back to the ranger while Sergei fired the carbon dioxide rockets and blasted the Sunwing diagonally back into the air.
“So, how old are these?” asked Ethel.
“They should be lower Noachian; say, 4.3 or 4.4. Just about as old as Martian crust gets.”
“Great! More stuff to fly home.”
“I’m beginning to wonder when we’re going to start making selections. As of today, we had two tonnes of samples, and David and I have more cataloging to do.”
“Well, we’re still inside the theoretical limit of the shuttles.”
“Yes, but NASA has never said what practical limit they want to set. The theoretical limit is about six tonnes per shuttle, but I doubt they’ll want us to haul more than two tonnes each.”
“But that’s still two tonnes more than we have to haul back to Earth!” said Ethel. “And we’re just at the halfway point of our stay; eight and a half months over, eight and a half months to go.”
“It’s hard to believe the mission’s half over.”
“We left Earth fifteen months ago!”
“I know, and will return in about fifteen as well. But remember that the first four months was mostly devoted to setup, and even the second four months involved lots of set-up as well. Now we have all the rovers deployed, we’re recovering samples from them, and we’re about to embark on our first lengthy excursion. Samples should accumulate twice as fast, between now and July.”
“Then you’ll have about six tonnes, and that’s still within the limits.”
“That’s true. Oh, it does no good to argue with you!” And he laughed.
“You know what they say; women are always right.”
“No, they say wives are always right, and you’ve opted out of that status for the foreseeable future,” Will teased.
“Okay. As a woman, but not as a wife, I stand corrected,” she said, with a smile.
He smiled back and put his hand on her pressure suited shoulder. In the last few months they had started to touch outside; but never inside.
They reached the ranger and turned to watch the Sunwing shrink into the distance.
“Where’s it going now?” asked Ethel.
“It has a long journey this time; to Alba Patera and the rover that’s been exploring there since 2018. It’ll spend a week making low-altitude observations, then pick up the sample return canister and fly it back here. Then I think it heads for the rover in Tithonius Chasma. We’ll see; by then, conjunction will be over.”
“A couple more days.” Ethel glanced at the setting sun and the invisible Earth, hidden behind it. Then she looked higher and pointed. “Hey, there’s Venus! I’m amazed we can see it during the day!”
“It’s at maximum brightness and is still pretty close to maximum eastern elongation, so it’s just about as visible as it gets. Thank goodness for Venus and the Amazon 3 spacecraft.”
“It’s better than nothing,” Ethel agreed. For the last two weeks, they had been relaying their data to Earth via the Amazon 3 spacecraft orbiting Venus. It had provided an adequate lifeline, but meant no exploration with live video feed. Instead, they had been staying around the Outpost doing additional analysis, which they could broadcast to Earth via email, and had been catching up on inventories. Even the rovers had been used little.
They climbed into the ranger and drove back to the Outpost. The sun was setting as they backed slowly up against the airlock to which the ranger could dock. Ethel got out to locked the tunnel into place, so they could return to the ranger without suits later, but both entered the outpost via the nearby airlock. Will headed through greenhouse 1 to take the samples to the Geo-bio Lab. Just in the last month the greenery had advanced significantly and now covered almost half the floor, thanks to Ethel. Shinji had been so busy with the study of the Martian fossils—Spheruloides Gangii was the tentative species name—that he had neglected the greenhouses most of the summer. Finally he had given the responsibility for number one to her, and she had decided to plant carrots, beans, and wheat whether the “soil” was ready or not. It had provided adequate and the plants were growing slowly but surely. In a few months, after harvest, the plant matter would be chopped up, partially composted, then returned to the soil, providing adequate organic material for a worm population and a more vigorous second crop. Some samples would be subject to exhaustive chemical analysis to make sure they had safe levels of lead, cadmium, selenium, and other dangerous elements.
Will deposited the samples in the processing area, then headed back to Habitat 1. The sun was setting; that meant it was suppertime. Laura was cooking and the prepackaged meals were just about ready. Everyone sat and she pulled them out of the microwave oven as soon as the timer beeped. “Real” cooking was limited to weekends.
“A bit of news,” said Laura. “I received an email from Kimball a little while ago; she was attending a NASA Planning Committee meeting on my behalf. The decision is pretty much final to send a Mars Life Research Facility with Columbus 2.”
“Good!” exclaimed Shinji. “It’s now clear that what we have is totally inadequate. But a facility will be useless without staffing. I hope this means they plan to send eight?”
“They haven’t said so, but I think it has to mean that,” replied Laura. “Mars biology is all the rage, now. Money is practically pouring forth. The public will bore of it eventually, but we have another six months of excitement, and that includes the time when Congress finalizes fiscal 2022. Besides, our successes have saved a lot of money. Tentatively, there will be only one automated lander for Columbus 2.”
“Really? What if a shuttle goes astray?” asked Will.
“The shuttle we leave here will have six tonnes of hydrogen cargo, and fuel to carry it anywhere on Mars.”
“That’s tricky,” noted Sergei. “There will be constant boil off to deal with.”
“Yes, but the Outpost now makes plenty of power to reliquify it. We have to load a cryogenic refrigerator onto the shuttle before we leave. The Columbus 2 shuttles will fly here without hydrogen, so we’ll have to be able to deliver hydrogen to one if it misses Aurorae Outpost. Both shuttles will come with fifteen tonnes of cargo, including drills and water extraction equipment, a ranger, a portahab, a solar power unit, and consumables. One will bring another habitat; the other, the Mars Life Research Facility.”
“What if we leave behind a shuttle because it isn’t functioning nominally?” asked Sergei. “That’s why we have a spare, after all.”
“There’s a backup plan; we’ll fuel all six automated cargo landers and load them with all the hydrogen we can store on them, then add ice as well. That will allow us to deliver five tonnes of water and almost a tonne of hydrogen anywhere on Mars. If Ethel can make enough ethylene, we can use it instead of methane in the fuel tanks and deliver even more.”
“Maybe,” said Ethel. “I’d have to make about four tonnes of ethylene in less than a year. That would take almost all of my time.”
“It may not be worth it,” agreed Laura. “Anyway, with processing, that’s thirty tonnes of methane and oxygen fuel; enough to transport the empty shuttle and crew to here.”
“Surely we need more than thirty tonnes of cargo here, though,” said Will.
“Yes. Tentatively, there will be one automated cargo vehicle, but it’ll deliver fifteen tonnes of cargo to Mars orbit. A shuttle will fly up to get it. Replacing three automated cargo landers with one ACV—reusable, it can be sent back to Earth—saves almost two hundred million. Columbus 3 will cost even less because the shuttles will have plenty of cargo capacity by then, and they’re talking about at least two Columbus 2 crew staying for two cycles.”
“Really? Permanent habitation?” said Will.
“Good. This place will be too big to leave untended for nine months,” said Ethel.
Laura nodded. “Our successes have accelerated a lot of thinking. If the money continues, Columbus 3 may be able to expand to ten crew.”
“That would guarantee a serious exploration effort,” said Sergei.
“Of course, if we want the sort of research effort that Antarctica sees, we’ll need hundreds,” noted Will.
Laura laughed. “Dream on, Moonman! Late this century, maybe. Transportation costs will have to tumble quite a lot first!”
“The new tourist shuttle seems to offer exactly that possibility,” replied Will.
“Since when has NASA ever managed to make something cheaper?” replied Sergei.
“Well, we have a pretty flexible Mars transportation system,” replied Will. “So they seem to be getting better.”
“I suppose,” conceded Sergei.
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Two days later they reestablished direct contact with Earth. They all cheered; it meant much better quality interaction with terrestrial co-workers. They would have better entertainment at night as well, because they’d be able to receive videotapes of their favorite programs. That evening four of them sat in the Great Room to watch an episode of Sutter’s Mill, a western series they particularly liked. They had missed three programs while the sun blocked transmission.
The next day they planned their first lengthy expedition: two rangers with portahabs and three crew members would clear a route westward along the escarpment, hopefully as far as the mouth of Gangis Chasma three hundred kilometers away. It was a logical expedition to propose because some day a route would be needed all the way along the Mariner canyons. The Sunwings had already taken extremely detailed photographs along most of the route, enabling mission control to plan the dirt track meter by meter. A month-long trip would enable slow, careful exploration and clearing of a wide, smooth road; crucial if an emergency return to the Outpost became necessary.
By the end of the day, the six of them and the planning team in Houston had a pretty good proposal to submit to Mission Control. With any luck, approval would take two days and they’d leave two days later.
Then at 3 a.m. Ethel received an emergency videomail from Earth. Within minutes she called Will. The phone rang three times before he answered sleepily.
“Hello.”
“Will, this is Ethel. I’m sorry to wake you, but I just got a message from my father. My mother just had a heart attack and passed away.”
Will was instantly awake. He sat up straight. “Ethel, I don’t know what to say. I’m terribly sorry. Shall I come over?”
“Ah. . . yes, that might help.”
“I’ll be right there.” Will deactivated the audio line and pulled on his clothes as fast as he could. Then he hurried over to Ethel’s and knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
He opened the door. She was sitting on her bed, dressed. “I’m in shock, I think.”
“Well, of course you are!” he replied. He came over and sat next to her. She turned toward him; he reached out and put his arm around her back. She leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Her health wasn’t very good, as I think I told you. She had diabetes. But she was only 69; she could have lived another ten years at least.” Tears began to fill her eyes.
“I know.” Will pulled her tighter to him. “My dad was 67 when he passed, and I felt the same way. But we don’t choose the time for these things. When the time comes, it comes. It’s a terrible shock.”
“I don’t know what dad will do.” She began to cry.
Will said nothing; he just held her. He looked out the window where he could see Phobos rising in the west, a fat crescent. It’s strangeness made the experience harder.
“And here I am, literally on the other side of the solar system.”
“The time delay is as bad as it can be. But I suggest you talk with your dad and sister as much as you can anyway. It’ll help.”
“You’re right.”
“I’m not sure what I can say to help. A cousin of mine told me after her dad died that it left a hole in her heart, and that the hole gets smaller and smaller every year, but it’ll never close completely. I think that’s true for me, too. I miss my dad, and I think of him often.” Will felt tears welling up in his eyes, too; it was a subject that could bring tears to his eyes still, after three years.
“Yes,” said Ethel, and she put a hand on Will’s hand. “She was so proud of me.”
“My dad was proud of me, too. And I feel his presence with me, sometimes.”
Ethel looked at him. “Really?”
“Well, not literally. But I believe he’s present. The next world is not another place; it’s another plane. It can be here at the same time we’re here.”
“I don’t know what I think about afterlife and heaven. I really don’t know what to think.”
Will sighed. “I’m not sure I can help, either. When I was a teenager I didn’t believe it, either. Then one day, about when I was 23, I suddenly realized that I took it for granted that there was a next world. There was no moment of convincement, no moment when I acquired faith. At some point I got beyond a sort of adolescent scientism; I realized that not only was there no scientific evidence in favor of the afterlife, but that there was no scientific evidence against it, either. That basically meant that I either took Bahá'u'lláh’s word for it, or not. And since there was no reason not to take Bahá'u'lláh’s word for it, I decided I did. So I accepted the afterlife, and that was that.”
“Does it help?”
“Yes, I think it does.”
“You sound like my Presbyterian grandmother, I think.”
Will chuckled. “Maybe I do. Just think, she’s there in the next world to greet your mother.”
“I wonder what that greeting will be like! They didn’t always get along.”
“It’s been many years since she’s seen your mother, and I’m sure she is delighted to be reunited with her.” Will’s voice choked a bit. “Because remember, our grief is their joy.”
“Well, it still feels like grief to me. I suppose I had better call my dad.”
Will stood up. “I’ll wait outside.”
“No; please stay, Will.”
He nodded and sat. Ethel went to her desk and touched the screen of her attaché, bringing it instantly alive. She touched the icon for her father’s message and the reply icon, then recorded a message back to him; touching, sweet, supportive, but not quite tearful. Then she sent a message to her sister.
As she was preparing the second message, one arrived from her sister; it sounded desperate, concerned, and disjointed. Just before she hit reply, she turned to Will. “Come stand behind me, where Gina can see you.”
Will came over and faced the screen. Ethel hit reply. “Gina, don’t worry about me. Will’s here, and he’s been through this with his dad. You go take care of dad, okay? I’m, not quite a live presence, but I’m not going away. Call me and talk to me if it’ll help. I’m always available. Bye.”
“You’re the strong one in the family, I take it.”
“Well, I play that role sometimes. I don’t feel very strong now.”
“You should tell them you’ll attend the funeral by video. NASA will do that, so I suppose ESA will as well.”
“That’s probably a good idea. But I suppose that means giving some sort of eulogy for mom.”
“It’s hard, but I did it for dad. I felt better about the situation. He died while I was out in the field. I barely got back for the funeral; I never thought it could take three days to cross the Earth, but there are still some places where it’s hard to travel.”
“I’d better arrange that.”
“Do you want me to take care of that? I’d like to do something.”
She smiled. “You’re sweet. Thank you.”
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It was close to dawn when Will finally stepped out of Ethel’s room. Laura was heading for the bathroom and saw him.
“Ethel’s mother just passed away a few hours ago.”
“How is she?”
“She’s dealing with it, and in touch with her dad and sister. She asked me to come help. I’m composing an e-mail to Mission Control; she wants to be able to watch the funeral.”
“When’s that?”
“November 25, 11 a.m. Edinburgh time. I still haven’t tried to figure out the time here.”
“Probably about 11 p.m. for us.” Laura looked at the door. “Should I go in?”
“Knock and ask.”
Will headed to his room while Laura went to Ethel’s and entered to offer her words of condolence.
A half hour later, the sun popped above the horizon and it was day. The others began to get up. Ethel was supposed to prepare breakfast; Will took care of it. When she came out of her room, they all rose and embraced her one by one.
“I’m so sorry,” exclaimed Shinji.
“My deepest condolences,” said Sergei.
“It’s never easy,” added David. “What can we do for you?”
“Oh, nothing, please! You’re all so very kind; thank you.”
“What would you say to the idea of all of us attending the funeral with you, by video?” asked Laura.
“That would be very nice,” said Ethel. “I think it’d make a real statement to my dad and sister, too.”
“Then we’ll do it,” said Shinji. “It’s nothing, really. We need to do something more.”
“I was thinking we should organize a service for her here as well, for the six of us,” exclaimed Will.
“How would we do that?” asked Laura.
“I don’t think it would be hard. A few readings from scripture or other appropriate texts. Maybe there’s something Ethel would like all of us to sing together. Laura could offer a few words.”
“I suppose I could.” Will looked at Laura, surprised; he figured she would not want to attempt a eulogy of some sort.
“That would be a good thing,” said Ethel. “I’d appreciate something like that. Will, could you organize it?”
“Sure, I’d be glad to.”
“Work is optional for everyone today,” said Laura. “And it’s banned for Ethel, of course. We’re here for you today.”
“Thank you. You’re making me cry!” said Ethel, as tears came to her eyes.
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The funeral was indeed late in the evening three days later. The six of them wore their dress uniforms and sat together so one camera could take them in, with Ethel in the middle. Ethel taped a beautiful five-minute eulogy that was played at the funeral. Before the service, everyone filed up to the television screen to transmit their respects to Ethel; when the service ended her responses had come in and everyone returned to hear her messages.
The next evening at 9 p.m.—which was morning in Scotland—they held their brief memorial service, attended by video by Ethel’s immediate family. Sergei delivered a reading from the Old Testament, Laura from the New Testament, David from the Qur’án, and Will from the Bahá'í scriptures; Shinji read a Japanese text on a related theme, translated into English; Ethel spoke briefly about her mother again; Laura spoke briefly about eternal life and did a fairly good job; then, on Ethel’s request, they all sang Amazing Grace, a hymn her mother had long loved. It was over in 25 minutes; the first religious service conducted on Mars.
The next morning, Will knocked on Ethel’s door before breakfast. “I want to talk to you about something after breakfast. Outside.”
“Oh? What?”
“It won’t take very long.”
“Okay.”
They both ate breakfast quickly; they had work to do, though both had tasks outside that day, as Will had to move the driller to start on a fifth two-hundred meter deep shaft and Ethel was adding more sandbags and rocks to the semi-enclosed “hanger” they were building for the Sunwings. After they stepped out of the airlock, Will pointed up. “Let’s go to the top of Boat Rock.”
“Oh? Alright.”
They hiked up quickly; the path was now well worn and they reached the top in fifteen minutes. There, Will led them to the eastern prow where they could see the Outpost and the chaotic southeastern edge of the Mariner system. “I was thinking. Maybe the six of us could move the rocks around up here and build a little circle of stone benches up here, and name it for your mother.”
“What; here?”
He nodded. “The Mary McGregor Memorial Outlook.”
Ethel smiled. “What a marvelous and kind idea, Will Elliott!” And she came over to embrace him, in spite of their pressure suits.