4

Landfall

Two entire sols passed while the emergency analysis team picked up the pieces scattered across Meridiani Terra and put them inside the cargo bay of the Olympus. Finally on the morning of the third sol the shuttle blasted off for a half-hour flight back to the Outpost. A sol later they already had a preliminary report.

“There’s no question that loss of half of the starboard side wing caused the crash,” said Julia DiPonte. “But so far all we have is a preliminary explanation for the wing separation. The Commission’s supercomputer suggests the possibility that wind shear on the wings is especially serious on the rear bottom wing when there’s a severe down draft. Once the bottom wing popped off, the stresses pulled off the ends of the other three. The sunwing encountered such downdrafts when it flew through a very large dust devil feeding off differential air temperature on the border of weather front. It appears that sunwings of this design require additional structural reinforcement.”

“This is the hard way to find out,” commented Érico, his left arm in a cast. “Guillaume’s sinking into a coma in spite of everything the doctors can do.”

“And he has a pregnant wife due in three months,” added Will, shaking his head. “No one said the equipment’s perfect.”

“Why didn’t the landing rockets break our fall?” asked Érico.

“If the cabin had been oriented properly they could have,” replied Julia. “But with half the starboard wing gone, the lift on the leeward wing tended to tilt the plane too much.”

“Sometimes this is the only way to find out, no matter how much you spend,” added Ruhullah. “How’s Skip?”

“He’ll be out of the hospital in a few sols,” replied Will. “Helmut’s due to go back in for a knee operation. I think we should be sure to send him a big bouquet of flowers.”

“He did really well,” said Érico. “Cool under pressure, always helpful. He spent half the night outside because the bathroom and airlock were so claustrophobically small for the rest of us.”

“He done good,” agreed Will. “Julia, how long will the analysis of the parts take?”

“Oh, maybe two or three months.”

“And when would you recommend return to flight?”

“That’s premature, and the Commission makes the decision anyway. But I don’t know we’ll be able to return the Sunwing Cs and Ds to flight at all. The wing defects may be too serious.”

“But surely we can fly the Sunwing As?” asked Érico. “They’ve been flown here for over a decade and they’ve never crashed.”

“I agree,” said Julia. “I think we can argue for a return to passenger flight of the Sunwing As in a week or two.”

Will looked at the others. “They’re slow and small, but they’ll keep us going. We may want to propose retrofitting two Sunwing As with the new silane engines to make them faster. Anything else?”

“Will, what will this do to our standing with the public?” asked Ruhullah.

“Our standing goes up and down; this will make it go down. But Aster-1 has already interested the public and provides a chance to redeem ourselves. We need to let this story run its course in the media—which is another week or so if the Commission conducts a proper investigation—and then get on with the landing.”

“And it has to be successful,” added Rostam. “But don’t worry, it will be. The data coming back from orbit is really good, by the way. The delay is allowing us to refine the landing site and choose successive landing sites. A new study just came back from JPL last week that proposes a different second destination, an asteroid that is more interesting and one that takes 400 meters per second less delta-v than 2020GF33. That gives us plenty of delta-v for several small hops around 2019AX.”

“Get us down on 2019AX first,” replied Will. “Let’s set the landing for ten sols from now.” He looked at his watch. “I have an appointment at the hospital. Anything else?”

No one spoke. “Good. Thanks, everyone.”

The meeting broke up. Will headed out the door at a brisk pace to get to the hospital quickly. But Lisa Kok was waiting outside. “Will, can we talk?”

“Ah, sure, can we talk while I walk to the hospital?”

“Yes, that’ll work. Any idea when I’ll get back four workers? It’s making our work impossible. We can maintain food production and maintain the bioarchives, but we can’t tackle any of the research agenda.”

“I’m sure. We’ve got forty workers diverted to the crash investigation one way or another. That means Alexandra can’t get the kevlar and nomex manufacturing started, which means we can’t make our own bubbles. The Hellas expedition is delayed, and rather late, since winter’s coming in the southern hemisphere pretty soon. Gold production may dip because support personnel have been diverted. Everyone’s complaining to me, Lisa.”

“I know, but we’ve had some serious problems with the central Alaskan tundra biome; the ecosystem just won’t balance. The result is too many of some species and extinction of others. We’re going crazy maintaining all the little isolation containers needed to continue the species that can’t survive in the larger environment. We need people to keep all these little ecologies going; otherwise we have to re-import species and our reputation with bioarchive suffers. Even a month with reduced staff is a serious problem.”

“Look, you can simplify food production for two or three months, we can run off of reserves of some things, and you’ll have the staff to maintain your ecologies. Be creative, Lisa. You can set up several dozen cameras in the greenhouses and the Commission can hire graduate students in lower income countries to watch the containers over the web and fill out surveys about the changes. I don’t know why we aren’t using more low-paid terrestrial staff. We aren’t using robotics skillfully, either.”

“Well, robots can never do as much as is claimed.”

“I know. But I can’t give back your staff right now; if we can’t figure out the cause of the accident we have no passenger air travel at all, and that’s a big problem for an operation scattered all over the planet. This accident is going to effect our momentum for over a year, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“A year!”

“The ripple effects will be felt that long. You’ll have your staff back before that; probably one person in three weeks, then another two three weeks later. But it’ll take a while, Lisa.”

He stared at her and she stared back. Then she shrugged. “Ooookay,” she replied, clearly frustrated. “I guess we can be thankful this wasn’t a biome accident.”

“Yes, then we’d have a lot of dead and injured, a broken ecosystem, and food shortages.” He stopped walking. “Keep me informed how it’s going. I know the Alaskan tundra ecosystem has to be a priority, even over some manufacturing capacity.”

“Thanks. I’ll send you short reports twice a week.” Lisa turned off and headed back to her office. Will continued to the hospital, thinking about the massive personnel problems the crash was causing. Even after they recovered psychologically from the crash, their work schedule would never recover. They would soon have to ask whether the flight to Gradivus would be feasible.

He entered the hospital. Skip Carson’s room was the first one, but at the time it was full of visitors, so he went to Guillaume van de Velde’s room. Suzanne was sitting there, watching her husband. “He’s back on a ventilator?” asked Will, surprised.

She nodded. “The head injury is the real problem, but the lack of oxygen has exacerbated it, and the combination is unusual. They’re consulting with doctors all over Earth about it.”

Will sat next to her. “What’s the latest from the doctors?”

Suzanne shook her head and a tear appeared in one eye. “It isn’t looking good, Will. The coma should be clearing by now, but there’s more brain swelling and less functioning.”

“I’m sorry.” He put his right hand on her shoulder. “He’s in my prayers every morning, and the Sunsol interfaith service will be dedicated to his healing. Madhu’s planning it; Anna has said she’d speak. You’re in the prayers of a lot of people.”

She smiled slightly. “Thank you. I know there are a lot of positive thoughts coming our way. Meanwhile, the baby’s kicking me almost constantly.” She put a hand on her belly.

“It’s a boy, right?”

“Yes. We had planned to name him Jacques, which is Guillaume’s father’s name and my grandfather’s name. But now I’m not so sure.” She sighed. “Everyone tells me that I’ll get plenty of help if I have to raise him myself, and not to worry if Guillaume needs constant care; the Commission will take care of him. But Will, as comforting as those promises are, I still just want him well, so we can raise our son together.” Her voice broke and she looked away.

“I know; who would want anything else? Thank God we are a pretty tight community here; but it can’t be as good as having your husband.”

“I want Guillaume and the community.” Suzanne blinked away a tear.

“I understand.” Will sat there silently, hoping his presence was a help, because there was really nothing he could say.

A few minutes later, Anna came in. “How is he?” she asked Suzanne.

“About the same. He’s responding less than he did yestersol; I guess you know that.”

“I heard.”

Will looked at her. “I gather you’re discharged?”

“Yes, I was here overnight for observations, but other than some nasty, purplish bruises and some soreness, I’m okay. It’s a miracle we survived. We can thank Guillaume for it, too; he saved our lives.”

“But clearly the cockpit area needs more airbags,” replied Suzanne.

“The impact is always the worst there,” replied Will. He rose. “Let me know if I can do anything.”

“Thanks, Will,” replied Suzanne.

Will stepped out and walked down the hallway to Helmut’s room. “So, you’re back in?”

“Yes, they’re doing an operation on my knee later this afternoon,” replied Helmut. “No reason to wait. The foot will tie me up for six weeks and the knee’s on the same side, so I’ll have two reasons to be on crutches.”

Will nodded. “You did a good job, Helmut. Érico was impressed.”

“Maybe he impresses easily; I don’t know.” He smiled. “The person who is replacing me temporarily apparently is working very hard and the company’s pleased. I think the guy likes the money, too, so maybe he’ll buy out my contract.”

“That’d be great. If John is willing, let me know, because we can get you on the Commission’s payroll pretty easily. You’ll start at the bottom of the salary scale, of course.”

“Oh, I know that, but I’ve already earned plenty in the last nine months from Sibireco anyway, so I’m not worried about money. And I am a bit bored by mining. Could I become an exploration geologist?”

“We’d have to look at your experience and training, but you could get certified for that, sure.”

“Good. I had a lot of experience on the moon in the Sibireco training, and as you know I was able to spend some time on Deimos. At Dawes I helped plan several excavations that yielded a pretty good gold output. So I suspect certification could be done pretty quickly.”

“Sounds like six weeks in the field will do it. Get your leg healed first and then you can see what’s available.”

“Okay, thanks Commander.”

“Call me Will; everyone does.”

“Okay, Will. Thanks.”

Will saluted him and headed to Skip Carson’s room. He passed Anna in the hallway, talking to Greg quite affectionately. He couldn’t help but notice their close friendship had survived her assignment to Dawes, but now she seemed to be responding to his friendliness more strongly. Will smiled at both of them as he walked by.

Skip was now alone. He was sitting in a chair next to his bed. “You’re looking better,” Will said.

“Yes, I’m ready for discharge, actually,” replied Skip. “Three ribs are broken and are taped up; I just have to be careful not to laugh for a month or so. They’ve offered that I can stay here as long as I want, but I think I’d prefer to be in my own place.”

“That makes sense. They’ll arrange for your meals to be brought to you if you can’t walk very easily.”

“I know; I’ve used that robotic service before. I may use it again because I feel a plot developing.”

“Really? For a movie?”

Skip nodded. “‘Survival Mars.’ The story of an imaginary first mission to Dusty Red where the single shuttle goes off course and crashes. One survivor, and a titanic struggle to stay alive.”

“I think it would be!”

“Well, I know the emotional feel of the experience now.” Skip shook his head. “I need to write to keep the nightmares away. The nightmares and the $500 bottles of Stolichnaya! There’s a real story of heroism to tell, and I can create a composite character from the many personalities I’ve met here. I might actually want to set up a greenhouse a kilometer or so from here and see what it would be like to keep it going on one’s own. I can pay to lease it, of course.”

“I’m not sure what our policy would be; there are all sorts of safety issues that a lone astronaut would not face, but we would. We’ll need a proposal.”

Skip looked disappointed. “Of course, that makes sense. Okay, I’ll draft you a proposal. That should be easy enough. If I can write a screenplay, we might be able to shoot most of the scenes here before I leave. It’d be Mars’s first commercial film.”

“Intriguing. That’s something the Commission would want to encourage, I’m sure.”

“I thought so. It’d be good publicity for Mars. I’ll give you a proposal.”

“You heal first, okay? Make that your priority. The screenplay can wait.”

Skip shook his head. “No, it won’t wait. It can’t. That’s the way it is.”

Will shrugged. “Whatever. You’re a friend of this place, so you’re important. We want you well.”

Skip smiled. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

--------------------------------

The image of 2019XA was impressively large and getting larger by the minute. Aster-1’s orbital speed around the rock was a leisurely ten kilometers per hour; the landing gear could actually survive a landing at that velocity if the legs were pointed in the right direction.

Rostam fired the engines as scheduled; a one second burst at a quarter gravity. That’s all it took to stop the spacecraft dead in its tracks and set it on a course that took it down to the surface.

“Estimated landing time, three hours forty-three minutes,” he reported.

“A long time to fall a thousand meters,” added Will. He looked over the controls for a moment, then headed to his office on the garden level. He had time for email and videomail before coming back for a landing. The first message—a voicemail—wasn’t good. “Will, this is Shinji. I thought I should let you know that Guillaume’s began to fail pretty fast. I wish there was something we could do, but there isn’t. I’m afraid there will be bad news very soon. Bye.”

Will stared out the window at the rooftop gardens and the northern escarpment of Aurorae beyond and contemplated the loss of a second astronaut on Mars. Was two out of 140 good, or bad? In exploration some losses were inevitable, but any losses at all were always tragic.

The news cast a pall over the afternoon of work. Sebastian Langlais videomailed from Shackleton Station at the lunar south pole, happy again that his son was alive and recovering so well from knee surgery and happy Helmut was getting released from the contract with Sibireco. Then he added the latest news about the interferometry telescope system being erected at five locations across the lunar surface; together they would allow the creation of a virtual mirror almost 3,000 kilometers in diameter and a hundred-fold improvement in resolution, which meant that Earth-like planets could even be studied around other stars. It was an immensely exciting development.

There was also an email from David Alaoui—who was now in charge of Project Hermes, which aimed to set up a staffed station at Mercury’s north pole by 2039—with a study detailing the value of placing water from Phobos into Mercury orbit to serve as fuel for the return trip to Earth. Will skimmed it and forwarded it to Érico and Yevgeny for consideration. Then he turned to the more mundane business of running three Martian outposts and serving as Vice Commissioner of the Mars Commission, a task that sent vast amounts of reading across his desk.

He returned to the control room for the last fifteen minutes of Aster-1’s descent. The asteroid was now immensely large and the landing spot easy to see down to the smallest detail. They had chosen to land on top of what appeared to be a contact between two types of material making up the asteroid; an irregular line ran across the surface, with the material on the right noticeably darker and more chondritic than the grayer, less hydrated, stonier left side of the image. It turned out that 2019XA was geologically even more interesting than had been suspected.

The landing was quite routine and normal; indeed, it was dull in its slow-motion speed, for the asteroid’s gravity was so weak the spacecraft came down very slowly. “Docking” might be a better way to describe the maneuver because there was the danger the vehicle might bounce back into space; they had a plan for that, though.

When it was ten meters above the surface and falling at two meters per second, Rostam fired the engines to slow the descent to half a meter per second. The last ten meters therefore occurred very slowly. As the six landing legs touched down, Aster-1’s computer fired the reaction control system’s jets upward for seven seconds, pushing the spacecraft downward with about thirty kilograms of force. Powerful springs were released to drive spikes downward into the rock, one by one, in two of the landing pads, anchoring the vehicle to the ground beneath it. Then the reaction control system shut off.

“We have made a soft landing on 2019XA,” reported Rostam with a smile. “Engine shutdown sequence has begun. We are activating the camera sequence.”

Cheers erupted in the small control room. “Good, reliable old equipment from the first robotic cargo flights to Mars,” said Will. “Now recycled for automated exploration. Congratulations, everyone, you’ve worked hard for this.”

A few moments later the two cameras on board the robotic vehicle began to pan across the surface, revealing a rolling gray surface covered by rocks, boulders, and a layer of dust and sand. “No surprise here; it looks like Deimos,” noted RogerAnderson.

“As we expected,” agreed Will. “The good science isn’t done in the first hour anyway. We’ve got months of investigation of this place ahead of us.”

He felt his attaché, hanging from his belt, vibrate; a message was coming in. He chose to ignore it, but then changed his mind and lifted the attaché so he could see the screen. It was Shinji. He immediately hit “open.”

“Hi Will. Bad news; Guillaume just died.”

“I was afraid that was why you were calling, Shinji. I’ll let everyone here know, and we’ll release a statement to the press. We have one ready. Does Suzanne know?”

“She was there.”

“I’ll be down in a little while, then.”

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