The Man Who Sold Mars (19 page)

A technician shouted, “I’ve lost him—”

The group reacted with distress to news
of my death.

The technician continued. “My consoles
dead.”

Another technician shouted, “I have him
on secondary.  Patching in.”  Relieved it was the console that was dead and not
me, the mood lightened a little, very little.  I was still unconscious.

Video feed of me returned.  The group saw
I was lifeless, with no voluntary motion, my body bouncing with the buffeting
of the ship.

George tried to bring optimism to the
group, “His nose is bleeding.  That’s good.”

Selena questioned that.  “Good?”

To comfort her, George gently rubbed her
upper arm.  “If he were dead, his blood would not flow.”

Sad Tot corrected him, “It would.  The
g’s he’s under would squeeze it out of him.”

George gave Tot a look filled with subtext
and a gesture that stated, “I’m trying to keep Selena from panicking.

Tot returned with one that said, “Oops. 
Sorry.”

A technician announced, “He’s . . .
unconscious.  His vitals are low.”

Hemmingson still holding his crucifix and
medal said, “See.  Good news.”

Selena stood repeating to herself like a
mantra, “He’s still alive.  He’s still alive.  He’s still alive.”

And, unconscious, I hurtled to my
destination as a spent rocket was ejected and another ignited.  While in
silence, the group looked on at video footage of me comatose, unmoving.

A technician announced, “Escape velocity
reached.”

Spent rocket after spent rocket was
ejected as others kicked in and I remained still and unresponsive.

With no real joy at the accomplishment,
for this Ahab was riding in his “coffin life-buoy”, The Flight Controller
spoke.  “Ladies and Gentleman the Mars assemblage has slipped the surly bounds
of Earth.  She’s deep space bound.”

The assemblage jettisoned the last spent
rocket, the cocoon separated and the Mars Transit Vehicle, Patricia &
Catherine Luce, continued on with its unconscious human pilot.

A screen displayed the actual and
projected flight paths of the MTV in green, intersected by its projected Mars
transit path in blue.  A brightly colored box indicated where the two paths
intersected, its departure terminus.

The Controller commanded.  “Light off
thrusters and correct course to initial transit terminus.”

A technician keyed her computer screen
repeatedly and received no response.  She keyed several additional buttons and
again received nothing.  Frustrated and frightened, she keyed her communication
pad and whispered.  “Alex, I’m not getting a response.”

The Controller not seeing her words made
real said, “Come on people.  We do not have all day.”

The technician said, “One moment ma’am.

Alex keyed his terminal and whispered
back, “I have no response either.”

The technician toggled her comm. Panel,
“Madame Controller, thrusters are not responding nor are any engine systems.”

“The problem?”

“We don’t know if they’re damaged or just
not receiving our signal.  I’m running diagnostics.”

The Controller keyed her com panel.  “Flight
Control, Flight Maintenance.”

A voice responded to her.  “Roger.  We’ve
been following the situation and have techs working every angle.  Some are in
route to you to troubleshoot the consoles.

“You are a god among women.  But hurry,
we have a small window that’s getting smaller.  Out.”

Tot standing with Selena, George, Kevin,
Hemmingson and his princesses and Gardner, watched their staff respond to the
crisis.

Kevin asked, “What’s wrong?”

Selena asked, “What’s right?”

Tot explained the second most pressing
problem, “If we don’t correct the vehicles flight path soon, it will continue
following the one it’s on and never reach Mars.”

Fighting back tears, Selena added.  “Or
Earth.”

Very sad, Tot hugged her.  “Yes.”

Inspired, George asked Tot.  “Can we
contact Russia and arrange a rescue?”

Tot shook her head no.  “Their rockets
have insufficient fuel capabilities to reach him that far out and return.”

“Then have them board, render him medical
assistance, make repairs and return the ship to Earth orbit.”

“By the time one can launch, he’ll be so
far away they’ll never reach him.”

In silence, everyone watched the
unresponsive ship near its departure terminus . . . and then pass it.

Selena cried out loud and Tot in silence
and George took them in his arms.  And my ship continued further and further
off course.

The crew of mission control and my
friends looked on disheartened.

Earth faded behind my ship to a tiny blue
speck until she was lost in the sea of stars behind her.

The retreating bed of stars in my wake
dissolved into myriads of patterns as the ship headed further and further away
and gradually aged over time, its paint fading, wearing, and darkening and its
surface pitting from collisions with micro-meteorites, as it began a slow
trundle in all directions.

Inside, its surfaces covered with dense
ice of varying thickness condensed from the moisture in the long vanquished
air, the soft spectral voice of myself as a young boy from the time oh so many
years ago when I decided I would go to Mars singing
The Rainbow Connection
floated waif like.

“Why are there so
many songs about rainbows

And what’s on the
other side?”

An apparition, young me still singing, my
Lunar Module in hand, wandered throughout the ship, dissolving into rooms,
walking along walls, floors, ceilings, flying, floating or just suddenly
appearing in a room and disappearing, until arriving at the bridge.

So this was death.  It was so different
from what I imagined.  In truth, I can’t say I imagined it to be anything.  I
was a young boy at one of the happiest times in my life wandering through the
most tragic, aware and unaware.

And as I lived my life I was alone.  The
aware part of me was sad and wished for a chance to undo the past, but . . .

It was a sad and liberating time.  I was
missing with an indescribable pain, the people I loved alive and dead.  Though
at this point in time everyone I knew was long dead.  And like the character in
Edgar Allan Poe’s
M.S. In A Bottle
I was hurtling towards something,
something no doubt amazing, but I was both the character and the manuscript in
a different kind of bottle, a rocket.

And there I was young me on the bridge of
The Mars Transit Vessel, The Patricia & Catherine Luce, singing
The Rainbow
Connection
.

“What’s so
amazing that keeps us stargazing?

And what do we
think we might see—“

Amazed, I came to an abrupt stop, as all
of a sudden I stood before the iced over form of myself as an adult, sitting in
the command chair.  Not knowing who the stranger was, I approached me, the
adult me, with caution, a ghost boy, appearing behind me, above me, over me in
a vast multitude of impossible angles.

Hovering above me, young me saw through
the hazy ice the name on the space suit “Stephen Young”.

In awe, young me said, “That’s my name.”

I gazed at the faceplate of the helmet
trying to see who was inside, but I was unable to do so due to the extreme
icing covering old me and everything in the bridge and ship.

Young me thought deep and hard for a moment;
then my lips spread with an angelic smile.  My eyes lighting up like a cherub
while I inhaled deep and my cheeks ballooned as I blew towards the face plate
of the frozen me.

Time slowed and my warm breath billowed
out in frost, changing to soft curls of silver, gradually mixing with gold,
then adding reddened fiery embers, until transmuted, my young breath was a
raging inferno, gaining mass and momentum consuming all including old me.

And in a psychic place far, far away, old
me hearing young me sing in my young, barely audibly, spectral voice
The
Rainbow Connection
:

“Have you been
half asleep

And have you
heard voices?

I’ve heard them
calling my name.”,

with terror and amazing speed born of
horror, dressed in a space suit wearing a patch woven with Earth at it’s center
and the flags of all nation’s surrounding it, in zero gravity pulled myself
through a dark, dark corridor in the Mars Transit Vehicle, as a demon fueled
fire, from behind, raced towards and engulfed me, just as the sirens in their two
ghostly, intertwining voice called.  “Stephennnnnnn.  Come to meeeeeeee.”

My eyes flew open with a loud, violent
gasp and my heart beat with the strength and regularity of an Olympic sprinter
in stride.

The heart monitor under my image spiked,
a piercing alarm sounded, and the Flight Controller said, “He’s going into
cardiac arrest.”

Mission Control staff looked to see what
was happening and Selena buried her head in George’s chest.

I fought with the will of a world to
control my heartbeat.  Self administering CPR, forcing myself to cough with
extreme violence over and over until . . .

I won and my heartbeat stabilized.

Blood no longer running from my nose, I
let my eyes focus and saw that I was off course and getting worse and the
thrusters were offline.

George planted comforting kiss on top of
Selena and Tot’s heads.  “He’s back.”

Selena and Tot whirled to see me key
switches and the thrusters come online.

A technician announced, “Thrusters are
online.”

Mission control staff applauded.

Selena trapped in a whirl of conflicting
emotions said, “I don’t know if I can take three years of this.”

Tot grinned with mischief, “He’s a man. 
There will always be something.  Interplanetary expeditions.  Work, sports,
another woman.”  In play, she bumped her hips against Selena and Selena
playfully bumped her back.

I continued to maneuver thrusters until I
received an indicator on my console.  “Initial Transit Terminus Reached and
locked.”

I took a moment to look through the
bridges window at the beauty of the cosmos before me and in awe said, “My God—“

I removed my helmet, so that I could see
the universe with my own eyes and absently wiped away the blood on my face.

I keyed my comm. button and still in awe,
spoke to the folks back home.  “My God, so many stars . . . I had a grand
speech laid out for this occasion, but at this moment it fails me.  Can you see
the beauty of all this?”

Screens lit up in mission control with
images of the Heaven’s from the transit vehicle’s cameras.

“I wish all of you could be here now. 
Selena, Tot, George, Kevin, Gardner.  Hemmingson—“

Hemmingson toggled a switch.  “I am with
you.  In a way.  I left a folder online for you, “Friends”; a pretty extensive
DVD collection in your quarters for backup; and lots of lube.  You'll be by
yourself for nearly three years.  You'll need it.”

Everyone laughed.

“Ahhhh.  Thanks? . . . Selena.  Wear
white when I return.”

Smiling, Selena placed her hand on her
soft, slightly protruding belly, grinning and tearing.  “Yes, Stephen, I Will.”

Tot smiled and gave her a hug.  She
placed her hand on Selena’s belly, grinned broader and looked her in the eyes. 
Unbelievably happy, Selena shook her head yes and Tot gave her an even bigger
hug and whispered in her ear, “Is it mine?”

Selena blushed uncontrollably, Tot laughed
and staff watching the two unaware of Tot’s joke broke out into spontaneous
applause congratulating the mother to be.

Unaware I was a dad to be, I prepared to
continue my mission.  “I imagine right now, the US and its coalition of
usurpers are scrambling to expedite the launch of our stolen Mars vehicle, so
there’s only one thing left for me to do.”

I keyed a number of switches and one by
one indicator lights indicated the ships drive engines were ready for
ignition.  “In the immortal words of Slim Pickens, in the film
Dr.
Strangelove
“Yeeeeeeeeeeeee—“

The ground crew joined me, “HAwwwwwwwwww!”

I keyed a switch.  The engines burst into
life and the ship began its travel to Mars, perfectly inline with its projected
flight trajectory.

Mission control burst into more applause.

Tot keyed a comm button.  “God’s speed,
Mr. Young.  Or should I say, Dad.”

To myself, I said, “Dad?”

Mouthing “Dad”, I puzzled over Tot’s
words, then broke out into an amazing grin as they beamed me video of Selena
with her hand on her belly.