13
Surprise
After three days of extra stay at Nirgal Station, the expedition resumed its southward travels, but use of the portahab was restricted. Excessive dust buildup around the seals of the hatch leading to the cab had caused a seal to crack, which meant the hatch had to be specially sealed with a plastic coating and it could not be opened and closed until they reached the Outpost and overhauled it. Anyone driving the ranger that pulled the portahab could not enter it. They cleaned around the seals of all the doors to prevent the problem from recurring. And no one slept in the portahab at night for several weeks to make sure it held air.
At least the weather held. In three more weeks they found the Prospector that had finally broken down, after two years of exploration; they strapped it to the roof of the conestoga so that it could be repaired at the Outpost and reused. Ten days later—the end of March—they reached the northernmost edge of the floor of Argyre Planitia. They spent three days examining ancient seabed deposits, beach deposits, and subsequent eskers and other glacial features. Then, even though there was still no dust storm, they headed back to Aurorae.
In a week’s time another expedition set out westward along the Mariner Valleys, much to Will’s delight. After a month, he rotated home for a month, then he returned in late May for the last five weeks of further westward exploration. They had some very dusty days and some small dust storms, but no serious weather problems; global-scale storms were not annual events. While they didn’t reach the end of the canyon, they managed to explore most of the way. They returned to the Outpost loaded down with samples of all sorts, including intrusive deposits they had found exposed in the escarpments. Since careful study would tell what temperature and pressure conditions prevailed when the magmas cooled, the samples were high priority to return to Earth.
It was a dusty day when the expedition returned to the Outpost, for Marineris was subject to more dust and localized dust storms than most areas on Mars. The result was a very colorful sunset, more so than what was typical on Mars. They had a big meal together, as was customary. At its end, Sebastian raised his wine glass.
“My friends, I thought we should break out the last bottle of wine for this occasion. I’d like to propose a toast: to Columbus 2. May the team be reunited some day, and may its accomplishments be well remembered by future generations.”
“Here, here,” repeated several. Then they all downed their glasses; in Will’s case, it was filled with carbonated water.
“We have four weeks to launch and five weeks to trans-earth injection,” said Sebastian. “Tomorrow we start our full-scale tests of the shuttles, to make sure they’re working properly, and we begin to set aside the sample inventory to fly back to Earth. I’m afraid there won’t be any more long explorations until after Columbus 2 leaves.”
“That’s alright; we’ve done enough exploring for a while!” replied Roger. In the last fourteen and a half months, he had been out almost the entire time.
“I’m ready to stay home for a while,” said Will, and he turned to Ethel. She smiled, but not as enthusiastically as he expected. They hadn’t had much of a chance to talk yet, but he had noticed that she seemed tired.
A few minutes later the gathering began to break up. Will and Ethel walked home through the greenhouses, enjoying the greenery. “This place is a lifesaver,” said Ethel. “I’m really beginning to miss greenery.”
“Do you wish we were on Columbus 2?”
She thought a moment. “No, I’m glad we’re staying. But I’m not sure I can stay for a fourth cycle. Three may be enough.”
“Then we’ll head back to Earth on Columbus 3,” replied Will, with a shrug. “I’m content either way.”
“Really?” She looked at him, surprised.
“Yes. I want to be with you.”
“I’ve really missed you. In the last six months you’ve been in and out irregularly, and Sebastian always had reasons not to assign me to the expedition. I hope to go out with you more in the future.”
“I’d like that.” He leaned over and put his arm on her shoulders. “I’ve missed you a lot.”
“I’ve really missed you, too.”
They continued to Habitat 1 and walked up the stairs to their little two-room suite on the top floor. Will leaned over and kissed her passionately, and she kissed him back. Then she pulled away.
“Will. . . I don’t want to have sex tonight, if that’s alright with you. I’m pretty tired.”
“You seem tired. I was wondering whether you were feeling alright.”
“I’ve been feeling pretty blah, the last three days. I was hoping it’d go away, but it hasn’t yet. This morning I almost felt nauseous!”
“That’s unusual. Did you talk to Armando?”
“No. Maybe I should talk to Shinji tomorrow. Now that he’s back, I can go to him.” She shook her head. “I hope this isn’t related to Mars.”
“You’ve adjusted to Martian gravity in some unusual ways. But this doesn’t sound like osteoporosis or cardiac trouble.”
“I’m not worried about a calcium problem, but I do worry about my heart. I hope we don’t have to fly home because of it. I’m tempted to wait a month and complain to Shinji then.”
Will shook his head. “No, don’t do that. It might be minor, or it might be a mild dust allergy.”
“This isn’t like Armando’s dust allergy. He’s been taking so many pills lately, he’s afraid the supply will run out before he flies home. And they really haven’t helped his stuffed up nose, either.” She kissed him. “You’re a sweet dear.”
---------------------------------
The next morning they went down to breakfast a bit later than usual. Most staff were taking the day off, since they had just returned from a long absence. Sebastian immediately spotted Ethel, though. “Can you meet with me in maybe an hour? There’s a new problem with the pump we replaced on the Hadriaca. I think the problem wasn’t the pump, after all, but the electrical circuits that supply the pump. I want to plan a ten second firing of the engines for two days from now.”
Ethel nodded. “Okay, but can we do it in two hours? I have a quick appointment with Shinji first.”
Sebastian debated. “Okay. I’ll put together more details of the plan, meanwhile, so we have more to discuss.”
She walked to the table with the fruit, soy yogurt—Madhu had gotten very good at making it—toast, and home-made cereal. She filled her plate and joined Will, who had already gotten his food plus his morning coffee with soy milk and her tea.
“Are you going to help me with the wedding plans?” Carmen asked her as she sat.
“When? Right after lunch? I’d love to.”
“You have the day off, right?”
“I’m trying. Sebastian needs some help with the Hadriaca, though.”
“I’d like to spend the afternoon with you and Madhu. The wedding’s next week, and here we are finalizing the details! It seems crazy.”
“Well, you were away; but we got a lot done by video, and weddings are easier to plan here than on Earth. It has to be simpler.”
“Yes. Thank goodness you were already married here; we already have some of the things we need.”
“It’ll help.” Ethel didn’t mention all the spare wedding gifts that she and Will had received that they were now distributing to others to give to the couple.
They turned to other topics. After a leisurely breakfast, Ethel headed over to sick bay, where Shinji was waiting. She described her symptoms and her worries about cardiovascular troubles, then Shinji examined her. Then gave her a urine test. It was positive. “No question, Ethel. You might want to call Will. You’re pregnant.”
“What?” she replied, shocked. “That’s impossible! We’ve been incredibly careful. I can’t have a child here!”
“Your options are limited; that’s why I said you should call Will. The three of us can talk, or the two of us and then you and Will.”
“I’ll call Will.” She turned to Shinji’s attaché lying on the table nearby and punched in Will’s number.
“Hello Shinji; oh, hello.”
“Can you come down to sick bay right away? I’ll explain when you get here.”
Will saw the worry and surprised in her face. “I’ll be there immediately.” He pushed “off” and was on his way.
“Are you sure I’m pregnant?”
“Oh, yes. The urine test is conclusive in itself, but the signs are all there. How long have you been pregnant, do you think?”
She thought. “Probably five or six weeks. But Shinji, because of the birth control pills, I haven’t had predictable or regular periods, so it’s hard to tell.”
“You’re taking your pills?”
“Every day! Well, I wasn’t taking them when Will was away, or not for two of the three months. But I started taking them again a month before he returned.”
“Hum. We should check the pills, to make sure the dosage is right. You say you weren’t having predictable or regular periods; then you were having something.”
“Yes, in the last few months I have had a few very mild periods. I thought it was sort of strange.”
“I wish you had mentioned it to Armando, or even to me by video.”
“In retrospect, I guess I should have.”
There was a knock at the door, then Will opened it. He was panting; he had run over. “What is it?”
Shinji looked at him, but said nothing. He turned to Ethel, who said “I’m pregnant.”
“What?” he was incredulous.
“I’m pregnant; that’s why I was feeling tired and a bit nauseous in the morning. It was morning sickness.”
“But I thought you were taking the pills.”
“I was.”
“We’ll have to check them,” said Shinji.
Will looked at Ethel; she looked at him and she began to cry. He reached down to help her up and hugged her. A tear appeared in one of his eyes as well.
“It’s okay; we’ll get through this,” he said. “Why are you crying?”
“Because it’s such a shock!”
He let her cry. Shinji sat, unmoving, looking at the floor, trying to be unobtrusive. Will and Ethel were in his sick bay, and they would need his advice. He waited, but he didn’t have long to wait. Ethel stopped crying in a minute or so. She looked around. “Will needs to sit, too.”
“Let’s move to our living room,” suggested Will, and he nodded to Shinji to come along. It was a good idea; they could all be comfortable and private.
The three of them walked from Habitat 2 to Habitat 1 through a greenhouse, and fortunately they didn’t encounter anyone. They went up the stairs and entered Will and Ethel’s living room; it had a couch for two that Ethel had made herself of metal and plastic covered with pillows of parachute material filled with soft foam plastic peanuts and covered with a blanket they had received as a wedding present. The two of them sat there. Shinji pulled up a chair.
“You said we had options. What are they?” Ethel was sounding more composed.
“Well, one option that you don’t have is to fly back to Earth on Columbus 2. The radiation environment of interplanetary space is too harsh for a growing fetus, even if we wrapped your bedroom with a tonne or two of water and provisions. Also, right now the baby would be born in space, probably at International Space Station II, because we’d reach Earth when you were eight months pregnant, and you couldn’t handle the three gees of atmospheric entry and landing in that state.
“The viable options are two: keep the baby, or abort it. An abortion is a simple procedure; I’ve never done one, and I doubt Armando has either, but they are not complicated or particularly risky. Both of us can learn the procedure through video and consulting experts and could carry it out in a week or two. Most likely, you’d be able to resume duties in a few days, a week at most. You could even opt to fly back to Earth on Columbus 2 if you wanted.
“As for keeping the baby, there’s always a danger of spontaneous miscarriage, especially in the first trimester. You’re 37, so statistically the risks are greater than if you’d had the baby ten or fifteen years ago. We don’t have medications to handle the possible complications of pregnancy; that was never anticipated.”
“Something Houston didn’t anticipate,” said Ethel, shaking her head.
“It’s impossible to say what the health risks to the baby are. Rabbits, chickens, turkeys and tilapia have been bearing young or laying eggs here quite successfully, and Madhu has published studies that show a higher loss rate of the young than would be predicted, but we don’t know why because the research is incomplete. There has been research on the moon as well which has indicated a greater rate of birth complications and health problems in animals than Mars, suggesting that this environment is closer to Earth. No child has ever been conceived in space before, let alone born there, so this could be a first. I’ve seen a study on the health of five children born to male astronauts who have traveled in space and two children born to female astronauts. One child had juvenile leukemia, but statistically it’s impossible to prove a cause and effect. The other kids are healthy so far.”
“What about radiation?” asked Ethel.
“The radiation levels in these habitats, at 2.5 rem or 2,500 millirem per year, are eight times the level on the Earth at sea level and are above the recommended dosage for children. But it’s not clear from any research that such a level of radiation is dangerous. And we could cut the dosage roughly in half if we added a meter of ice to the habitats. That was impossible to do in the past, but now that we are actively pumping as much water out of the ground as possible in order to create oxygen and ethylene storage reservoirs, we have enough water to cover this habitat with ice. In a few years we could cover all of them with ice.”
“The design would allow a meter of ice now,” said Ethel. “The ice shell could be made in such a way that it would support most of its own weight.”
Will looked at her. “But this is an awfully small place to raise a child.”
“Children are raised on houseboats that have less space,” said Ethel. “And the danger of falling into the water is probably greater than any danger here.”
“I wouldn’t recommend raising children on houseboats, however, even if there are thousands of impoverished people doing it,” said Shinji. “A habitat is plenty big enough for a baby, and you’d be carrying a baby or a toddler to the greenhouses or the other habitats anyway. I could see a four year old tearing through the Outpost and being fairly contented; it’s already pretty big.”
“And has lots of mysterious nooks and crannies,” added Will. “I suppose a pressure suit that could be controlled by a parent could be made for a child once they’re six or eight or ten.”
“Probably,” agreed Shinji. “But EVAs would have to be limited. The unshielded Martian surface has a radiation dosage of about eight rems per year.”
“Where would we get diapers and baby clothes? And baby food?” asked Will.
“Columbus 3 arrives in ten months, roughly when the baby is two months old,” said Shinji. “So you’d have two months to handle. Breast feeding is best for babies anyway, unless Ethel has a major problem. Madhu can make simulated cows milk from soy already, and we could make a crude baby formula if we had to supplement mother’s milk. We’ve got plenty of pure vitamins in pill form, for example. The folks on Earth could give us a wide range of solutions.”
“We can make old-fashioned cloth diapers easily enough; we have plastics and plenty of old clothing lying around,” said Ethel. “We could make some baby clothes, too.”
“It’s doable,” said Shinji. “I guess the questions you have to consider are, do you want to do this? Do you want the hassle and controversy? Do you want your work here interfered with that much? Or put another way, should you give this new life a priority in your lives? Do you want this child to become a medical experiment?”
“I suppose it would be an experiment,” thought Ethel.
“Especially if there are birth defects, and there could be. Furthermore, we’d have no way of knowing whether the birth defects were inevitable, or caused by the radiation exposures both of you have already had.”
“At what age could a child fly back to Earth?” asked Will.
Shinji shrugged. “An unanswerable question. I wouldn’t recommend anyone under age eighteen flying in the ITVs as they are currently designed; the radiation exposure is too high during a solar flare. But in ten or fifteen years we might have three-month flights between Earth and Mars using nuclear engines, and that cuts the radiation exposure in half; with better shielding against flares, the radiation hazard would be managed adequately. Under those circumstances, a six year old could probably be accommodated.”
Will looked at Ethel. “So we’re talking about at least a decade, most likely.”
“And we may be here eighteen more
years.” Ethel looked down and shook her head.
“How would we handle the child’s education?” asked Will.
“Kids get an education in the Australian outback via home schooling and the internet,” said Ethel.
“What about friends?”
“That would be a problem.”
“For a while, anyway,” said Shinji. “If you excuse the pun, children beget children. You could be the first couple with a child here, but we know you won’t be the last. We have three married couples here.”
“And once Paul’s divorce comes through, he and Monika may get married as well,” noted Ethel. “But none of them have shown the least interest in having children.”
“Neither did we.”
“Once someone has a child, it may appear more practical,” said Shinji.
“How are we going to handle delivery and medical care here?” asked Will. “Both of the physicians are leaving.”
“Madhu has nursing training,” said Ethel.
“We’ll have to study that question carefully,” said Shinji, speaking slowly and deliberately. “If it is necessary, though. . . I’ll stay another two years.”
Ethel was startled. “You’d do that?”
He nodded. “I would. Armando has a family; he has to go back. But I just have my parents. I could stay another two years if necessary.”
Tears welled up in Ethel’s eyes. “That’s one of the most amazing sacrifices I’ve ever heard anyone make, Shinji.”
He shrugged. “Well, life has interesting twists and turns, doesn’t it?”
She leaned over and kissed him.
“This pregnancy will cause NASA absolutely to freak out,” exclaimed Will.
“Either way. If you have an abortion, the conservative right will be furious; and they’re running the U.S. right now. If you keep the child, they’ll probably ignore you and won’t be a friend. If you keep the child, NASA will be baffled and angry.”
“As Érico once said to me, we Americans have never dealt with sex very well.”
“This may create more enemies than friends,” agreed Ethel. “Which is bizarre, since children should bring people together.”
Shinji shrugged. “Even an accidental pregnancy on Mars is a political act.”
“Convincing people it was an accident will itself be difficult.”
“I can assure people you were taking birth control pills. Oh, that reminds me. Let’s take a look at the bottle.”
Ethel nodded. She rose and opened the door to the bathroom. She came back, looking at the label closely. Then she exploded. “Oh, God! These pills are four years old!”
“What!” Shinji jumped up and looked at the label. Then he nodded. “Our fearless Commander has mixed the inventory. Four year old toothpaste may be fine, but four year old birth control pills are not!”
“Oh, I’ll have to give him a piece of my mind!” Ethel shook her head angrily.
“You first; I’ll follow with extensive professional guilt tripping. I had insisted that the birth control pills stay in the sick bay and not be put in the regular supply storage area. But I think Sebastian preferred an ‘over the counter’ approach to what should be prescription medications; he didn’t want to take the chance someone wouldn’t come to me or Armando and ask for pills because they were unmarried. So he overruled me.”
“The anal retentive idiot!” exclaimed Ethel.
“I think I’ll go; I feel like I’m overstepping my professional sphere, here. If you have any questions, call me. This will take some time.”
“Thanks, Shinji.” Ethel gave him a hug. “You’re a great friend.”
“I try.”
Will hugged Shinji as well even though their friend was uncomfortable with it. Then he walked out of their living room. Will and Ethel sat on the couch.
“So, what do you think?” Will finally asked.
She looked at him “What do you think?”
He took a deep breath. “First, it’s your body, so the decision has to be one you are at peace with. Second, I have to support your decision, even if I disagree with it, because that’s the way it is in a marriage. And third. . . I think God has made us parents.”
She looked into his eyes. She looked frightened by the way he put it. Finally she said. “My Presbyterian grandmother would agree; you choose life in this circumstance, I think. I’m not an unwed sixteen year old who’s pregnant. I’m married to a wonderful husband. I’m not a rape victim or a victim of incest. I don’t have a disease that will kill me if I continue the pregnancy. And I’m not dooming a child to feebleness or early death. There may be an increased chance of that, but it’s not clear how risky this pregnancy is. We didn’t plan to be parents, but maybe that’s what we are.”
“Could you have an abortion?”
She considered, then shook her head. “No, that would be horrible. It just doesn’t have the justification, I think.”
“Can you handle the stress of being a Martian mother?”
“I don’t know. Can you handle the stress of being a Martian father?”
“I can try. We will be very different contributors to Mars exploration. Rather than two workers, we’ll be more like one.”
“On the other hand, Mars will have twice as many people.”
“They can do without our day-to-day contribution. After four years here, we will have earned some parenting leave, and we can still do a lot of work.” He paused to think. “So, are we keeping the baby?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
“When do we tell my mother and your father? Do we want to wait? And we have to tell Sebastian and NASA. And at some point we have to tell everyone else.”
“What time is it?” Ethel glanced at her watch “Ten a.m. here. It’s about 11 a.m. in Scotland now, 6 a.m. in Connecticut, and 5 a.m. in Houston. We can record a message for my dad and your mom now, then talk to Sebastian. That still leaves a few hours to plan what to say to Houston before they’re awake enough to deal with it.”
Will nodded. He walked into their bedroom, grabbed Ethel’s attaché, and carried it into the living room. They programmed in both numbers—easy to do, they had them memorized—and recorded the videomail. Both houses were equipped with videophones and both subscribed to videomail service. The messages would probably be noticed quickly, too, but the round trip communications time between the two planets was about twenty-five minutes, so no answer was possible for some time.
They recorded a quick message, reviewing their options and their tentative decision to keep the baby, then sent the message. Meanwhile, a message had arrived. Will pressed play; it was audio only.
“Ethel, we had a ten a.m. appointment to discuss the Hadriaca’s electrical problem, remember? I need your input on this one; I’ve got a proposal drafted and ready to send to Houston by this afternoon. Bye.”
“You never keep Sebastian waiting,” said Ethel. She rose. “Shall we pay him a visit?”
Will nodded. They headed out the door, down the stairs, and along the length of Greenhouses 1 and 3 to get to Habitat 3, where Sebastian was in the Bridge. Fortunately, no one was in the Great Room; the Bridge had no door and therefore no privacy.
Sebastian saw Will and was surprised, but undeterred. He assumed they were there together to complain about the loss of part of her day off. “Where have you been? We agreed on a meeting at ten. You’re the mechanical expert.”
“And you’re the inventory expert.” Ethel held up a bottle. “Do you know what this is?”
Sebastian squinted. “A bottle of pills.”
“Correction. A half empty bottle of pills. A half empty bottle of birth control pills. A four-year old half empty bottle of birth control pills. A four-year old half empty bottle of birth control pills that was mixed up with the new supply.”
Sebastian looked at the bottle, then looked at her with alarm.
“I’m pregnant, Commander.”
“Well, don’t blame me! I kept the old and new supplies carefully and rigorously separated. But from time to time, people pick up things, then put them down in the wrong place.”
“Birth control pills are not toothpaste and never should have been with the toothpaste,” replied Will.
“You have to watch what your taking. And doing.” Sebastian looked at Will. “So what are you going to do?”
“Shinji just completed an examination and medical tests. He also ran through our options.” Ethel looked around. “I want to sit; I’m weary.”
“Here.” Sebastian rose and handed her his chair, then went into the Great Room to grab chairs for Will and himself. The gesture seemed to mollify Ethel. “Look, I’m sorry this happened. What did Shinji recommend?”
“We have two choices; abort the baby, or keep it. If I were an unwed teenager, or a rape or incest victim, or someone doomed to die from the pregnancy, or if the child were doomed to die, an abortion would make sense. But none of those scenarios pertain. There’s a good chance we’ll have a healthy and normal baby. No one knows what those odds are, of course; but no one knows what the odds against us are, either.”
“Mars is a rough place to have a baby, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do think. But is that a reason to have an abortion? The odds of having a healthy child are probably better here than they were in Scotland in 1700.”
Sebastian considered. “It might be a reason for some people. Morality is very subjective.”
“Perhaps. But Will and I are morally old fashioned, I guess you could say.”
“That’s your option, too. No one can force you to have an abortion. That would not be ethically justified. Have you really thought this through? Don’t you need to take your time?”
“Some people would agonize about this for days, but I’m not like that.”
“Neither am I,” added Will.
“No, you aren’t,” agreed Sebastian. “Well, this has all sorts of implications. I suppose it means you’re stuck here on Mars for a while, too. I doubt a baby can be flown through weightlessness and solar storms to Earth.”
“Probably not for a decade. Of course, the way things have been moving lately, that could mean only six years,” said Will.
“Maybe; or eighteen. This means humans are on Mars to stay. It means the Outpost, and Mars, has residents, not just itinerants. It means Columbus 3’s cargo manifest has to be rethought.”
“So does Columbus 2’s. Shinji said if we kept the baby, he might stay, to ensure adequate medical treatment.”
“Wow.” Sebastian pondered. “Okay. We can fly Columbus 2 with two crew, but don’t seduce Armando into staying, because my family’s expecting me!”
“Don’t worry,” replied Will.
“It means you’re off the hook with this memo, Ethel,” said Sebastian, almost mumbling because it seemed unnecessary to mention. “Who knows?”
“We’ve taped a message to my mom and Ethel’s dad, but they haven’t replied yet.”
“This secret won’t keep very long. Too many microphones around the Outpost are live. I suggest we get some sort of statement ready to email to mission control some time this sol. We should let everyone know this sol, either at lunch or dinner.”
“Dinner,” said Ethel. “This is too complicated to discuss rationally in less than two hours!”