Commander Kate Holman is on the verge of her lifeâs dream as the leader of the first manned mission to Mars. Minutes before setting foot on the red planet, her world comes crashing down when sheâs abruptly relieved of command. Replaced by the missionâs security officer, she learns that a secret military objective is the true reason for their journey.
What military purpose could Mars possibly hold? The question takes Kate to the fabled âFace on Marsâ and a mysterious discovery excavated from deep within. Is it an exotic, new element? Evidence of life? An alien artifact? Scurried away by the security officer, she can only speculate.
An astronaut dies. Systems malfunction. Some claim itâs the result of a rumored Martian âcurseâ that wonât lift until the unearthed item is returned. Kate seeks a more rational explanation for the problems befalling the mission, but suffers under debilitating headaches and the fear of their possible connection to her past.
When Kate uncovers the nature of the item, a secret some would kill to protect, can she overcome the powerful forces allied against her and make it back to Earth?
Commander Kate Holman is on the verge of her lifeâs dream as the leader of the first manned mission to Mars. Minutes before setting foot on the red planet, her world comes crashing down when sheâs abruptly relieved of command. Replaced by the missionâs security officer, she learns that a secret military objective is the true reason for their journey.
What military purpose could Mars possibly hold? The question takes Kate to the fabled âFace on Marsâ and a mysterious discovery excavated from deep within. Is it an exotic, new element? Evidence of life? An alien artifact? Scurried away by the security officer, she can only speculate.
An astronaut dies. Systems malfunction. Some claim itâs the result of a rumored Martian âcurseâ that wonât lift until the unearthed item is returned. Kate seeks a more rational explanation for the problems befalling the mission, but suffers under debilitating headaches and the fear of their possible connection to her past.
When Kate uncovers the nature of the item, a secret some would kill to protect, can she overcome the powerful forces allied against her and make it back to Earth?
âBefore we begin our descent, Commander, I have a message to play for the crew.â
Commander Kate Holman managed a near-perfect poker face despite the unwelcome voice in her helmet. Only her clenched jaw betrayed her anger. It wasnât just the outrageously poor timing of Julianâs ask that drew her ire, moments before the seven most critical minutes of their journey. His pattern of almost daily callous acts and slights had numbed her to his antics. What really riled her was his use of the main comm line instead of a private channel. Julianâs lack of discretion meant they would discuss the matter in front of the entire crew.
What could the message possibly be? Had Julian not irritated the shit out of her for the past five months, she might have asked. Regardless of its content, there was only one answer Kate could give him, but sheâd take her time delivering itâshe was the mission commander, not a lackey waiting on his every word. She dragged her gloved finger along her stationâs screen, swiping the next page of the pre-landing checklist into view, and set it scrolling with a casual flick. Guiding their craft from atmospheric insertion to touchdown was the real business of the moment. A Mars landing was a tricky affair where even the most minor misstep could mean skittering across the thin atmosphere to carom off into space, burning up in a meteoric streak of pyrotechnics, or forming the newest impact crater on the dusty red plains. They needed to devote all their attention to landfall.Â
The commander dispatched two checklist items with leisurely taps. Julian stared at her from four stations away, the shine of the overhead lights repeating along his helmet and the portion of his smooth, shaved head that peeked from his communications skullcap. Surely, he understood now was not the time for distractions, that sheâd have no choice but to deny his request. So why invite a public rebuff? He was up to something; she couldnât see what. âJulian,â she said, hiding her annoyance behind her taut tone, âweâre a few minutes from entering the atmosphere, the point where all the you-know-what really will hit the fan. We need to focus on one thing, which is getting to the ground safely. Letâs hold off on your message until after we touch down.â
Kate quickly dismissed three more items on the checklist. Commander Glenn Wiles, her second-in-command, would oversee their descent, though sheâd closely monitor their progress. Women had made great strides during NASAâs eighty-four-year history, but she still felt the weight of being judged as a woman commander. The mission needed to be perfect, every execution flawless.
âThat will be too late, Iâm afraid.â
This time Commander Holman swiveled fully from her station and faced Julian, all remnants of her former poker face melted away. For any of the other astronauts under her command, her answer would have been the end of the discussion, eliciting silence, a sheepish nod, or at most a meek âyes, maâam.â Julian seemed to operate from a different mindset, one where her decisions were never the final word.
âI have orders to play a message for the crew before we enter the atmosphere,â said Julian.
Orders that she didnât know about? Bullshit. âOrders from whom?â
âAssistant Director Pearson.â
Kateâs cheeks flushed, all eyes landing on her. As the number two person at NASA and the champion of their trip to Mars, Assistant Director Pearson was certainly within his rights to communicate directly with any of her astronauts. But why would the AD, himself an Air Force veteran, disregard the chain of command? She fumed, in part at the delivery of secret instructions to a subordinate, but mostly at being forced to give Julian his way. âWell, letâs have it,â she grumbled.
The capsuleâs main viewscreen came alive with the black glow of an empty data feed, then snapped to the NASA logo suspended against a bright white background. The image switched to Assistant Director Pearson seated behind his desk, looking thin and squirrelly as ever. His dark, narrow-set eyes hovered under his bald crown, and when he smiled, the left side of his mouth rose higher than the right. âCrew of the Ares, I want to congratulate you on your impending achievement, the first humans to land on the surface of Mars. For the next year, you will perform research and explore the Martian surface, an amazing accomplishment we should all be proud of.â The assistant director slid a cigarâa Macanudo by the bandâfrom a desktop humidor as he spoke. He clipped the end and held his torch aloft, puffing the cigar to life. He seemed about to speak but paused, turning the cigar sideways and studying it, apparently impressed by its flavor. âNow the other day in the Capitol, a senator approached me, almost chased me down through the halls, in fact. Iâd sparred with him many times in the Appropriations Committee. Never considered him particularly bright. In any case, heâd somehow gotten a look at the off-budget figures for your mission and asked me point blank how the hell in these fiscally challenged times I could justify spending over nine hundred billion dollars on ten roundtrip tickets to Mars.â
The assistant director paused for another puff of his cigar, the end glowing red behind the nub of ash. âThe good senator had a point. And the answer to his question begins with our first visit to Mars, the Viking landers in â75. Twenty years went by before we would return, with two orbiters, a lander, and a rover in the â90s. We sent another orbiter in 2001, two more rovers in 2003, an orbiter in 2005, a lander in 2007, and twenty-one more missions in the thirty-five years after that. And those figures only cover American interest in the red planet. There were also the ESA and Chinese missions. And I wonât even bother to mention the Russiansâthose poor devils couldnât touch a craft down on that planet to save their life.â He puffed again. âMy point is that an astute observer would guess there must have been some development on Mars to have triggered such intense interest. That brings us to your mission, ladies and gentlemen. Thereâs only so much you can do with rovers and landers and satellite imagery. The next phase of our interest in Mars involves boots on the ground, your boots, in search of a payout for a wager that began five decades ago. And while Iâm sure a yearâs worth of abrading rocks and drinking your own wastewater will prove scientifically enlightening, itâs this other interest, this classified interest, thatâs the real reason for your trip to the red planet.â
Stunned silence filled the cabin as the assistant director relit his cigar.
âEverything weâve trained for, all our preparation, that was a front for some classified mission?â All attention shifted to Mission Specialist Casey Morgan, the expeditionâs astrobiologist. Several of the other astronauts nodded in agitated agreement.
âSome of you might find this news upsetting,â continued the assistant director. âLet me assure you, as a practical matter, nothing has changed. Youâll still carry out all the studies and experiments youâve prepared for. Theyâre all still very important, because they serve as a smokescreen for the true goal of the mission. Security Chief Julian Grimes and Mission Specialist Joseph Cheney have been briefed on those particulars. While the rest of you go about your assignments, Grimes and Cheney will handle all details and execution related to the classified task. You are to give them your full cooperation.â
Kate stole a glance at Julian. He watched the video message with a dispassionate expression, hands folded in his lap. How long had he and Cheney been preparing for this secret aspect of their mission? From the start, if the AD was serious about it being the true reason for their trip to the red planet.
âCommander Holman.â Kate jumped at the unexpected mention of her name. âI apologize in advance for delivering this next part in a pre-recorded video stream rather than face-to-face. To drive home the importance of your missionâs primary objective, I am placing Grimes in charge as the acting mission commander, effective upon your landing.â
The news elicited a self-satisfied smirk from Julian. For Kate, the assistant directorâs declaration knocked the wind out of her, a sucker punch straight in the gut. The years of toil, the wrecked marriage, the sacrifices sheâd endured to secure the command of a lifetime all whisked aside like so much rubbish. Her heart ached, the memories of her late mother beaming in awe of her daughterâs achievement forever footnoted. The commanderâs shoulders slumped forward, and her chin quivered beneath her bowed head. A tear fell, then a second, splattering inside her helmet.
Someone was watching.
Kate discovered Glenn looking on from across the capsule. Flustered, she reached for her damp cheeks, but her hand smashed into her helmet. She buried herself in her station.
âYour mission is a momentous endeavor,â said the assistant director, âone which will likely change the course of human history, and if weâre lucky, the bottom line.â Kate looked up at the video, catching Pearsonâs final puff and his crooked smile. âBest of luck, Ares crew.â The screen went dark. No one stirred, the flashing lights of their terminals the only movement within the capsule.
âDo the geniuses back home think weâre all idiots? That is a crock of bull ⊠shit!â
The words came from Allison Voss, shocking even for the normally testy Mars station engineer. âHold on, Allison,â said Kate.
âThe mission of the century turns out to be a front for a classified operation?â asked Mars station chief Miriam Sato.Â
âWait, wait,â said Kate. The rising emotions risked overshadowing the important job that still remained. She needed everyone to keep it together until their spacecraft reached the ground.Â
âWhile the rest of you go about your assignments,â said Dr. Clayton Fisk in a mocking voice, his index finger in front of his mouth and curled around an imaginary cigar, âGrimes and Cheney will manage the classified task, which is the true reason for your mission. Please give my two toadies your full support as they search for the lost pleasure dome of Xanadu.â
Julianâs face reddened. âDisrespect towards a superior officer is a court-martial offense,â he said.
Fisk laughed. âMy official designation is âSpaceflight Participant.â Are you saying you intend to make me an officer?â
A loud whistle squelched the commotion and gathered everyoneâs attention.
âThank you, Glenn,â said Kate. She reviewed the upset faces staring back at her around the cabin. âIâm as shocked as the rest of you about the message we just received. But right now, weâre about a heartbeat away from a crash landing. We need to make sure this spacecraft touches down safely. So please, put everything you saw out of your minds andââ
âCommander Holmanâs right,â said Julian. âThereâs no time for grumbling. We all have a job to do.â
âIâll thank you not to talk over me.â Kate had lost count of how many times Julian had interrupted her during their flight to Mars. An unconscious habit or deliberately malicious, either way, it was damn irritating. âAnd if you donât mind, Julian, Iâll give the directives on this ship. Your reign begins the moment we touch down. Until then, Iâm still the mission commander.â
Julian threw Kate a spiteful glance but said nothing more. He turned back to his station.Â
Kate chided herself for her outburst. Sheâd normally never have hurled such sharp words, but theyâd taken a lot from her that day. She wanted to scream at Julian, scream at the assistant director. And maybe she would, but not then. None of it would make one damn difference if they didnât reach the ground in one piece.
âAll stations report with pre-landing status,â said Glenn.
Kate dispatched the remaining items on her checklists and swiped back to the main screen. Her display filled with an image of Marsâs western hemisphere, a mottled orange disc floating against a starry backdrop. A gray dot, the Ares capsule, slid along a dashed white arc that traced the spaceshipâs trajectory. A halo of annotations reported the craftâs speed, altitude, and other vitals.
Sweat beaded on Commander Holmanâs palms, growing to a torrent that emerged faster than her gloves could wick away. Her pulse accelerated and she lapsed into a series of shallow, rapid breaths. Her suit peppered her with chimes, warning that she teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.
She was panicking. But why?
You know why.
It couldnât be that. Sheâd conquered the past. And in any case, an atmospheric landing was nothing like a touchdown on the airless Moon.
Then whyâd you ask Glenn to handle the descent?
Glenn was her rock, her steadfast lieutenant. During the two years of training for the Mars mission, her reliance on him had steadily grown. In spite of several annoying habits, he had a good heart. She trusted him as much as she trusted herself, maybe more.Â
You didnât answer the question.
Ignoring the nagging voice in her head, Kate focused instead on her breath. She returned to the relaxation techniques from the long-ago therapy sessions. Her pulse and respiration dropped to more normal levels. Sheâd pulled herself back from the edge, but she wasnât out of jeopardy. If the mere thought of the touchdown had so easily chipped away at her hard-fought recovery, what would happen during the actual landing? Each descent stage carried its own unique perils. Each would become a dangerous stressor. If she didnât manage her mental state all the way to the ground, she risked a full relapse into debilitation.
âAres at nominal orientation for atmospheric entry.â
Kate girded herself for their hazardous entrance into Marsâs exosphere. In less than two minutes, atmospheric friction would bleed off the bulk of the 12,500 miles per hour theyâd marshaled to hurl their capsule between the planets. On visits to the Ares vehicle assembly building, sheâd fixated on the craftâs slim heat shield, their only protection against the 3,500 degrees Fahrenheit that easily surpassed the melting point of their stainless-steel hull.
âSpeed decreasing ⊠10,000 ⊠8,000 ⊠6,000. Exterior temperature readings nominal.â
Kate licked her lips. Even catastrophic descents appeared normal at first. The flames that lapped the craftâs underside probed the heat shield for weak spots in its bonded ceramic, the slightest imperfection in its metal alloy, hunting for any pathway to the delicate spacecraft. Kateâs vital signs crept back up. She shook her head to rid herself of the morbid thoughts and focused again on her breath.
âTen seconds to chute deployment.â
Commander Holman breathed easier. Theyâd survived the brunt of atmospheric entry, though they still raced to the ground at 900 miles per hour. She gripped her restraints where they crossed in an âXâ at her chest, the action ingrained from the simulator sessions on Earth.
âThree ⊠two ⊠one.â
Multiple g-forces pinned Kate in her seat as the craft rocked and shimmied. She gritted her teeth through the violent movement. An exterior camera relayed video of the chute soaring above the capsule, a great white jellyfish scooping the rarefied Martian air beneath its bell, its tentacles tugging at their hull. They decelerated, but their speed bottomed out at 235 miles per hour. Mars had enough atmosphere to burn up a craft on entry but not enough to slow it for a landing.
âPreparing to jettison heat shield.â
Kate fixated on her terminal screen, desperate for the landing target acquisition icon to appear. Once the ship discarded the heat shield and exposed the downward facing cameras, the computer would have milliseconds to locate landmarks and make course adjustments. Any hiccup could result in them touching down far from the HAAB. As it stood, even a perfect landing meant a two-kilometer hike to the Mars base.
Pop!
Ten explosive bolts propelled the shield away from the capsule. Turbulence besieged the small craft with the exposure of its less aerodynamic underside. The commander squeezed her restraints tighter.
Seconds ticked away, but no target acquisition lock came. Had something damaged the cameras? Or worse? Kate extended a nervous hand to query the computer when green symbols cascaded across her terminal. The Ares had located its touchdown target and fired its thrusters in short bursts to position itself within the correct descent window. Another green icon emerged, signaling landing gear deployment. The system of struts, trusses, and shocks deployed from its stowed configuration was necessary but not sufficient for landfallâthe Ares still fell far too fast to touch down.
A deafening whoosh flooded the cabin. Kate closed her eyes as the Ares entered the final and riskiest landing stage. Air rushed through exposed intakes to the atmospheric braking system, an experimental series of manifolds that compressed the meager Martian air prior to releasing it as a roiling pocket of high pressure above the capsule. The ram brake in essence thickened the air under the parachute enough to float the spacecraft to the ground. That was the theory at least. Even with all the simulations and prototype trials on Earth, Kate couldnât shake her concern that their landing would be the first test of the system on the red planet.
âSpeed dropping. Ninety seconds to touchdown ⊠eighty ⊠seventy.â
Kate followed their steady deceleration on her terminal. She forced herself to relax, her fears unfounded. The ram brake worked, and in less than a minute they would touch down, becoming the first humans to set foot on an alien planet. The culmination of two decades of planning. The dream ofâ
âWeâve got a problem,â said Glenn. His deep, usually firm bassoon voice contained the slightest tremolo of fear.
âWhat is it?â asked Kate.
âWeâre coming in hot.â
Indeed, Kateâs terminal still showed a steady decrease in their downward velocity, but the computer projected theyâd hit the ground at roughly four times the nominal landing speed. At that rate their craft, the Ares capsule and everything in it, would crumple on impact. âCan we get more deceleration out of the brake?â
âNegative,â said Glenn. âWeâve got maximum airflow through the intakes. Weâre just not getting enough pressure out the topside.â
Two stations away, spacecraft engineer Laura Engles, a red bandana wrapping her skullcap, unleashed flurries of taps on her terminal screen. âThe airâs quite cold ⊠much colder than it should be,â she said with a hint of southern twang. Her accent, usually well hidden, always surfaced in agitated times.
âThereâs a storm front building,â said Miriam. âNASAâs been tracking it for the past few days.â
Engles grunted. She was a caring, sensitive person except when she slipped into âengineerâ mode, as she called it. At that point, she was all numbers and logic.
Schematics and reams of text scrolled on Englesâs screen. Her finger settled on a graph and its accompanying table of numbers. âThe designs assume a higher minimum atmospheric temperature. The lower temp throws off all those calculations. The systemâs scooping air, but with the cold, it canât produce high enough pressure beneath the chute.â
Kate had pushed for sending a scaled down version of the Ares to Mars, outfitted with the experimental brake. Sheâd worried anything less than an actual atmospheric test on the red planet would leave their whole touchdown to chance. The mission planners cited budget constraints that made such a test impractical. They instead showcased all the data they collected from their slew of earthbound trials and simulations, insisting theyâd accounted for every contingency. Apparently, theyâd missed one.
Klaxons blared and revolving emergency lights bathed the cabin in red chaos, the machinations of an AI co-pilot that had thrown up its hands. It could do little more than signal to its human wards their pending demise.
âForty-five seconds to impact,â said Glenn.
Kate scooted closer to her terminal and called up the main control screen. Her hand trembled as she swiped through the displays for each of the spacecraftâs subsystems, desperate for any recourse that could help them survive the landing.
Shouts and turmoil erupted to her rear. Kate swiveled in her chairâshe found Fisk, the missionâs interplanetary geologist, standing free of his restraints. Terror gripped his face. âAre we there yet?â he roared, like a child on a road trip.
âSit down and remain strapped in!â Kate yelled.
The professor landed back in his chair with wild eyes, the ferocity of her order driving him to near hysterics.
She shouldnât have snapped at Fiskâas a civilian, he lacked the extensive survival training that was a hallmark of the Astronaut Corps. She just needed them all in their seats. Whether she figured out a way to ease their impact or not, an unrestrained body would become a dangerous projectile inside the cabin.
âThirty seconds.â
Returning her attention to her station, Kateâs eyes landed on the photograph taped to the bottom edge of her terminal. Her childrenâs faces stared back: Amelia, calm and collected; and Ben Jr., with his toothy grin âŠ.
Kate resumed swiping. She stopped and backtracked to the thruster control screen. The attitude thrusters changed the spacecraftâs orientation using bursts of compressed gas, but even if they all pointed to the ground, they wouldnât generate enough force to put a dent in their downward velocity. She scrolled instead to the controls for the third stage separation thrusters, powerful mini-rockets designed to push the capsule away from the booster during liftoff, at the end of the third stage burn. Ordinarily, those thrusters would have completely exhausted their fuel supply, but Kate had shut the system down early, holding some propellant back.
âTwenty seconds.â
Kate checked the fuel levels. The tanks contained more than she hoped, but would it be enough? Sheâd also have to guess when to fire them. The thrusters burned at full forceâthere was no adjusting their output like a retro rocket. Starting them too soon would only delay the capsuleâs fatal impact, too late and the thrusters wouldnât have enough time to slow the craft. Either way, the Ares would slam into the ground.
âTen seconds. Brace for impact. Seven ⊠six âŠâ
Mouthing a prayer, Kate tapped the ignition button. The third stage separation thrusters roared beneath the craft at full burn, slowing the capsuleâs descent enough to calm their computer co-pilot. In a blink, the AI cancelled the crash klaxon and secured them from red alert. Kateâs station showed the Ares hovering a meter above the ground.
The thrusters cut out.
The Ares lingered in the thin air for an instant until gravity restarted the capsuleâs downward fall.
Klaxons wailed for three quarters of a second, ceasing when the Ares slammed into the ground. The ship shuddered and the cabin filled with the sounds of wrenching metal. Shocks squealed beyond their tolerances as they strained to dissipate the spacecraftâs momentum.
The impact mashed Kate into her seat. She waited for the capsuleâs underside to hit the ground and impart the full force of the crash to the fragile hull. The Ares would burst at its seams. When theyâd first announced the Mars mission, Kate had imagined standing on the planetâs surface and taking in the Martian sky. In her final moments, the ruptures would at least allow her a fleeting glimpse of the ruddy canopy.Â
The contact with the ground never came.
Kateâs terminal, a patchwork of flashing red indicators, screamed about failures in multiple trusses and the complete collapse of a landing strut, but reported the capsuleâs velocity at zero. The landing gear held. She sat dazed for several seconds as reality sank in. They had survived the touchdown.
Screams of delight and relief echoed within the cabin.
âLadies and gentlemen,â said Glenn, beaming with sweat beaded on his brow, âwelcome to Mars.â
Commander Kate Holman leads the first human expedition to the Red Planet, only to have her command snatched from her grasp as they are about to land. Mandated by NASA, the switch puts black-hearted security officer Julian Grimes as the new Commander from their arrival, in charge of a 'classified' mission.
Things are tenuous and tense, as Kate tries to maintain safety and correct protocol despite Julian's cavalier and bloody-minded focus on the mysterious mission. Then things unravel quickly, with one astronaut meeting a tragic end followed by multiple habitat systems' failure.
Kate Holman and her crew don't get a break with the relentless onslaught of challenges, subterfuge, and a conspiracy that goes right to the top of various agencies. The story takes us from Mars, through space, to the Moon, and back to Earth, all with fabulous world-building.
What I loved about this book: realistic scientific detail that bring the reader right up to the action, almost as if wearing a spacesuit, fighting right alongside Kate and her crew. I really felt like I had a genuine Mars experience!
The writing is crisp, well-edited, with no extraneous details or laboured description.
The pacing is terrific, the action non-stop, and it's one hurdle after another, right to the very last few pages.
What detracted? Plausibility. Though the descriptions were fabulous, I struggled with a few elements: a cigar-smoking boss (a bit cliché and felt weird to have a NASA director so obstructive and uncaring towards Kate's predicament), a bona fide sociopath on a two year plus mission to Mars (even if he was a covert operative), and the reductive theme of 'greed' as the reason for all the deaths and conspiracy. I felt all the relationships could have been more nuanced, and the bad guys could have had a bit more depth to add layers to the intrigue.
Still, I kept the pages turning, riveted by the story, and couldn't put it down until it was done. Ares was hugely enjoyable!
This is a great read for lovers of hard science-fiction and fast-paced action.