Rescue Mode - eARC (26 page)

Ted Connover nodded slowly. And smiled. Benson thought that Ted looked . . . happy.

November 1, 2035

11:14 Universal Time

Mars Arrival Plus 6 Days

The Galley

For the first time since Vicki and Thad’s deaths, Ted Connover felt vibrantly alive. Human exploration of Mars was important, it was being threatened, and he was in a position where he could do something about it. He was more than thirty-five million miles from the dorks running Washington and he had come up with a plan that would force them to continue exploring Mars. They would never see it coming until it was too late. Or so he hoped.

He was strapped into his chair in the galley, sitting alone, nursing a not-too-bland nutri-shake drink, running the numbers through his head again while he still had the solitude he needed for thinking. The rest of the crew would be filtering in for lunch pretty soon, he knew.

Sure enough, Bee Benson glided through the hatch and hovered in front of the refrigerator.

Over his shoulder, Benson asked, “Mind if I join you?”

Connover looked over at him. “Groucho Marx would answer, ‘Why? Am I falling apart?’”

Benson frowned in puzzlement as he pulled out a prepackaged meal and slid it into the microwave oven.

“Groucho Marx?”

“Old time funnyman. The Marx Brothers. You must have seen some of their movies.”

Shaking his head slowly, Benson said, “I don’t think so.”

Connover shrugged. He noticed that Bee looked serious, concerned. For all his stiff-upper-lip pose, Connover thought, our noble commander is just as worried about things as the rest of us.

Bringing his meal tray to the table and strapping himself into the chair next to Connover, Benson said, “Ted, you know we’ve got to go down to the surface and get the supplies from the habitat. We especially need the water.”

Connover nodded.

“I’ve gone over the numbers again and again,” Benson went on. “Even with the water from the habitat, we’ll run out long before we get home. The ECLSS was designed to recycle ninety percent of what we use, but with it running at reduced capacity there’s simply no way for our water to last long enough.”

“And you’re telling me this because . . . ?”

Benson clasped his hands together on the tabletop, as if in prayer. “I know you think you should’ve been picked to run this mission. I’ve seen that look on your face so many times since we launched that it’s almost become my mental image of you.”

“Bee, I’m not—”

“Let me finish. You know, you probably should have been put in command. You’re capable and you know how to work with people. But what happened to your family . . . well, it was probably a good thing that you weren’t in command. And you know it.”

“That’s not what I expected you to say, Bee.”

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t expect to say it. But the fact is that I need your help. I’m not used to being dealt hands that I can’t use to my advantage, one way or the other. And the hand this crew has been dealt is a losing hand. I don’t see any way around it.”

Connover pursed his lips, then said, “The objective evidence says you’re right.”

“I know I’m right. But I wish to God I were wrong. I spoke with Taki. She filled me in on what to expect as we go home with only about half the water we need. It’s bad.”

“How bad?”

“Very. With only half of our normal water ration, in a few weeks we’ll start to lose our ability to think clearly; concentration will become all but impossible. Next will be confusion and some of us will likely have seizures. Then kidney failure—complete shutdown of the kidneys. From there, death is only a few days away.”

“That’s pretty damned bad,” Connover agreed. “Are you sure we’ll be that low on water?”

“The numbers don’t lie, Ted. Even if you land on Mars by yourself and load the ascent stage with all the water stored in the habitat, that will postpone the kidney failure and death part by about a month or so, but it’ll still happen. This will be a ghost ship by the time it reaches Earth.”

Connover took a deep breath. “So you want me to take the lander down by myself, load up the water, and then come back here and die?”

“I don’t much like the dying part, but yes, that’s the situation.”

Leaning a little closer to Benson, Connover asked, “What if I told you I had a better idea?”

“I’d say I wouldn’t be surprised. That’s why I’m here. I’m all out of ideas and the bright boys back in Houston are just as stumped as I am.”

Connover broke into a boyish grin. “Bee, I’ll be glad to take the lander down to the surface and load up the water. But I want to take some people with me.”

“People? As in more than one?”

“As in more than one.”

His brows knitting slightly, Benson said, “I can see you wanting to bring somebody with you to help with the loading work. I was thinking of Hi, if we could separate him from Catherine for a couple of days.”

Connover started to shake his head, but Benson continued, “But do the math, Ted. I’d rather not have an extra person on the ascent stage taking up valuable weight that could be used for water.”

“You don’t understand, Bee. I’d like to take as many people to the surface with me as I can. I’m staying there, and I hope some of the crew will stay with me.”

“Stay? On the surface?” Benson looked alarmed at the thought. “You want to die on Mars?”

“I don’t want to die at all, either on this ship or on Mars.”

Benson’s expression morphed from disbelief to suspicion. “You want to be a martyr.”

Very seriously, Connover replied, “Just after Vicki and Thad died, yeah, I wanted to die too. But not now. Now I’ve got a mission to do and I don’t intend to die doing it. And nobody who comes down to the surface with me is going to die, either.”

“So what you’re saying . . .”

“What I’m saying is that some of us go to Mars and live in the habitat while the rest of you go back home with enough water to see you through.”

Benson blinked several times, trying to digest the idea.

“But if you send the habitat’s water up to us, what will you do for water?”

Connover actually chuckled. “Are you kidding? We’ve know since the old Viking landers that Mars has water, and lots of it. It’s frozen below the surface. Permafrost. We’ll just go out and get it. The ECLSS system in the habitat can recycle water with the same efficiency that the undamaged system here in the
Arrow
could. We’ll have plenty of water.”

“Huh. Maybe. But what about food?”

“None of our food here in the ship was damaged by the accident. We’ll take down whatever food we would have consumed on the trip home and add that to the stockpile that’s already in the habitat. We can also start up the experimental hydroponics garden and grow some vegetables to supplement our supplies. And we can reduce our caloric intake to extend the food supply.”

“What about air?”

“Come on, Bee. You know that’s not a problem. We recycle the air up here with close to one hundred percent efficiency. Same thing down in the habitat. We can even electrolyze some of the Martian water to get all the oxygen we need.”

Benson rubbed his jaw. “But, Ted, even with all that, you’ll run out of food sooner or later. You’ll die down there! There aren’t going to be any more missions to Mars.”

Connover’s grin widened. “Aren’t there? You think the public will stand for those fart-brains in Washington letting us die on Mars when they could send the follow-on mission to rescue us? Bee, they’ll
have to
let the follow-on mission go ahead! Either that, or be accused of murder.”

Benson sagged back in his chair. “Ted, you’re either suicidal or brilliant. Maybe both.”

“I’m not either one. I’m just a guy in a tough situation looking for a way out of it. I think this plan will save our lives and just might be the right thing for the human race in the bargain.”

“You know mission control won’t stand for it.”

“Fuck mission control,” Connover snapped. “If
you
decide to do it, what can they do to stop us?”

“There’s a dozen different ways you could get killed on Mars.”

“Any of them as bad as dementia and kidney failure?”

Benson had no answer for that.

November 1, 2035

11:47 Universal Time

Mars Arrival Plus 6 Days

The Galley

Benson watched as the rest of the crew came into the galley and began loading their trays with lunch. He noticed that they were all very careful about filling their bottles with water. Several of them added nutri-shake powder to their drinks. Benson found himself wishing for a smoothie.

As soon Nomura entered, he glided over to her.

“Taki,” he said, keeping his voice low, “is Mikhail well enough to come to the galley?”

Nomura nodded somberly. “Well enough physically, but he’s in a real Russian funk. He prefers to be alone.”

“Would you ask him to join us here? It’s important.”

She looked puzzled, but turned in mid-air and pulled herself through the hatch.

Everyone else was seated by the time Nomura came back with Prokhorov.
Mikhail doesn’t look so bad,
Benson thought.
Maybe he’s lost a little weight.
But the expression on his face was bleak.
I guess I’d look the same way if I were in his place,
Benson said to himself.

Prokhorov saw that Benson was eying him. He drew himself into a parody of a soldier’s stiff posture and raised his right hand to his brow.

“I am present, my commander, as you ordered.”

Benson couldn’t help smiling. “How are you feeling, Mikhail?”

“Terrible, thank you.”

Nomura took him by the elbow and steered him weightlessly to the fridge and microwave.

Most of the others were already eating by the time Taki and Prokhorov had strapped themselves into their chairs.

Gripping the back of his chair to keep himself from drifting away, Benson said, “Ted and I have been talking about a plan he’s cooked up that might save our necks.”

That got their attention. Even Prokhorov’s head snapped up to look intently at Benson.

“Ted, it’s your show.” Benson pulled out his chair and forced himself down onto it.

Without getting up from his own chair, Ted said simply, “Several of us go down to the surface and live in the habitat while the rest of you go back home, with enough water to take care of you for the whole trip.”

For a few heartbeats no one said anything. They all looked wordlessly at Connover, digesting the idea.

At last McPherson spoke up. “And what happens to the people who volunteer to stay on Mars? Do we build a memorial to ourselves?”

“We live on Mars,” Connover replied, “until the follow-on mission comes to pick us up and bring us home.”

“But the follow-on’s been cancelled,” Virginia Gonzalez said.

“They’ll un-cancel it.”

Amanda Lynn broke into a bright smile. “You mean you’ll shame them into sending the follow-on.”

“That’s extortion,” said McPherson.

“It’s either that, or they’ll be responsible for our deaths,” Connover said, grinning crookedly.

Their questions came thick and fast after that. Water. Food. Air. Much the same as the questions Benson had asked earlier, and Connover gave them the same answers.

“We can do this,” he insisted. “And we might even get a little exploration work done while we’re down on the surface.”

Prokhorov quieted them all by spreading his arms in a gesture for silence. “Ted, if your plan works, it could mean that I return to Earth alive and able to undergo medical treatment.”

Connover nodded. “I guess it does, Mikhail.”

Benson floated up from his chair again and resumed command of the discussion. “I have a question for all of you to consider. Should we ask mission control’s opinion of this plan or should we just go ahead with it on our own?”

“On our own,” Connover immediately replied.

“We can’t do that,” Gonzalez objected. “Houston’s got to know.”

“Not ahead of time,” Connover insisted. “If we tell them about it now, they’ll want to clear it with NASA Headquarters, the White House, Jesus Christ and all twelve of the apostles.”

Amanda giggled.

“No,” Connover said, “we present them with a fait accompli.” Turning to Clermont, he asked, “That’s the way it’s pronounced, isn’t it, Catherine?”

She smiled. “Close enough, Ted.”

Benson said, “We’ve all got to agree about this. Do you want to go ahead with this or not?”

Prokhorov shrugged his shoulders. “Ted’s plan gives us a glimmer of hope, at least. Otherwise we all die somewhere between here and home.”

Taki said, “Mikhail, I can’t guarantee that you’ll make it all the way home. I don’t have the facilities, the training . . .”

The Russian smiled benignly. “Not to worry, little doctor. If I die, I want to die fighting.”

“Is anybody opposed to Ted’s plan?” Benson asked.

“I want to go down to the surface with you, Ted,” McPherson said.

“Me too,” said Catherine.

“One more?” Connover asked.

Amanda raised her hand. “I’ll have a chance to confirm what the Chinese found. Maybe even find actual Martian microbes,” she said.

“Anybody opposed?” Benson asked again.

No one stirred.

“Right,” said Benson. “Ted, you work out the details. We don’t say a word about this to Houston until the four of you are on the surface.”

“Then all hell breaks loose,” Gonzalez muttered.

“Let ’em boil in their own juices,” Connover said. “It’s about time somebody made those assholes do the right thing.”

Benson said nothing, but in his mind he pictured himself standing blindfolded before a wall, facing a firing squad.

What the hell,
he said to himself. Even that would be better than dying of thirst halfway between Mars and Earth.

November 4, 2035

14:12 Universal Time

Mars Arrival Plus 9 Days

The Gym

Connover was working on the treadmill, puffing and sweating for the three hours Taki had demanded from each person who intended to go down to the surface.

Build up your muscle tone, he told himself. Strengthen your bones. No good going down to the surface if you can’t stand up to Mars’ gravity. It’s only one-third gee. Three hours a day isn’t that much.