“Before we begin our descent, Commander, I have a message to play for the crew.”
Commander Kate Holman managed a near-perfect poker face despite the unwelcome voice in her helmet. Only her clenched jaw betrayed her anger. It wasn’t just the outrageously poor timing of Julian’s 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. Julian’s 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 she’d take her time delivering it—she was the mission commander, not a lackey waiting on his every word. She dragged her gloved finger along her station’s 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.
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 she’d have no choice but to deny his request. So why invite a public rebuff? He was up to something; she couldn’t see what. “Julian,” she said, hiding her annoyance behind her taut tone, “we’re 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. Let’s hold off on your message until after we touch down.”
Kate quickly dismissed three more items on the checklist. Commander Glenn Wiles, her second-in-command, would oversee their descent, though she’d closely monitor their progress. Women had made great strides during NASA’s 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.
“That will be too late, I’m afraid.”
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 “yes, ma’am.” Julian seemed to operate from a different mindset, one where her decisions were never the final word.
“I have orders to play a message for the crew before we enter the atmosphere,” said Julian.
Orders that she didn’t know about? Bullshit. “Orders from whom?”
“Assistant Director Pearson.”
Kate’s 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. “Well, let’s have it,” she grumbled.
The capsule’s 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. “Crew 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.” The assistant director slid a cigar—a Macanudo by the band—from 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. “Now the other day in the Capitol, a senator approached me, almost chased me down through the halls, in fact. I’d sparred with him many times in the Appropriations Committee. Never considered him particularly bright. In any case, he’d 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.”
The assistant director paused for another puff of his cigar, the end glowing red behind the nub of ash. “The good senator had a point. And the answer to his question begins with our first visit to Mars, the Viking landers in ’75. Twenty years went by before we would return, with two orbiters, a lander, and a rover in the ’90s. 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 won’t even bother to mention the Russians—those poor devils couldn’t touch a craft down on that planet to save their life.” He puffed again. “My 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. There’s 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 I’m sure a year’s worth of abrading rocks and drinking your own wastewater will prove scientifically enlightening, it’s this other interest, this classified interest, that’s the real reason for your trip to the red planet.”
Stunned silence filled the cabin as the assistant director relit his cigar.
“Everything we’ve trained for, all our preparation, that was a front for some classified mission?” All attention shifted to Mission Specialist Casey Morgan, the expedition’s astrobiologist. Several of the other astronauts nodded in agitated agreement.
“Some of you might find this news upsetting,” continued the assistant director. “Let me assure you, as a practical matter, nothing has changed. You’ll still carry out all the studies and experiments you’ve prepared for. They’re 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.”
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.
“Commander Holman.” Kate jumped at the unexpected mention of her name. “I 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 mission’s primary objective, I am placing Grimes in charge as the acting mission commander, effective upon your landing.”
The news elicited a self-satisfied smirk from Julian. For Kate, the assistant director’s declaration knocked the wind out of her, a sucker punch straight in the gut. The years of toil, the wrecked marriage, the sacrifices she’d 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 daughter’s achievement forever footnoted. The commander’s 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.
“Your mission is a momentous endeavor,” said the assistant director, “one which will likely change the course of human history, and if we’re lucky, the bottom line.” Kate looked up at the video, catching Pearson’s final puff and his crooked smile. “Best of luck, Ares crew.” The screen went dark. No one stirred, the flashing lights of their terminals the only movement within the capsule.
“Do the geniuses back home think we’re all idiots? That is a crock of bull … shit!”
The words came from Allison Voss, shocking even for the normally testy Mars station engineer. “Hold on, Allison,” said Kate.
“The mission of the century turns out to be a front for a classified operation?” asked Mars station chief Miriam Sato.
“Wait, wait,” 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.
“While the rest of you go about your assignments,” said Dr. Clayton Fisk in a mocking voice, his index finger in front of his mouth and curled around an imaginary cigar, “Grimes 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.”
Julian’s face reddened. “Disrespect towards a superior officer is a court-martial offense,” he said.
Fisk laughed. “My official designation is ‘Spaceflight Participant.’ Are you saying you intend to make me an officer?”
A loud whistle squelched the commotion and gathered everyone’s attention.
“Thank you, Glenn,” said Kate. She reviewed the upset faces staring back at her around the cabin. “I’m as shocked as the rest of you about the message we just received. But right now, we’re 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 and—”
“Commander Holman’s right,” said Julian. “There’s no time for grumbling. We all have a job to do.”
“I’ll thank you not to talk over me.” 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. “And if you don’t mind, Julian, I’ll give the directives on this ship. Your reign begins the moment we touch down. Until then, I’m still the mission commander.”
Julian threw Kate a spiteful glance but said nothing more. He turned back to his station.
Kate chided herself for her outburst. She’d normally never have hurled such sharp words, but they’d 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 didn’t reach the ground in one piece.
“All stations report with pre-landing status,” said Glenn.
Kate dispatched the remaining items on her checklists and swiped back to the main screen. Her display filled with an image of Mars’s 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 spaceship’s trajectory. A halo of annotations reported the craft’s speed, altitude, and other vitals.
Sweat beaded on Commander Holman’s 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 couldn’t be that. She’d conquered the past. And in any case, an atmospheric landing was nothing like a touchdown on the airless Moon.
Then why’d 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.
You didn’t 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. She’d pulled herself back from the edge, but she wasn’t 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 didn’t manage her mental state all the way to the ground, she risked a full relapse into debilitation.
“Ares at nominal orientation for atmospheric entry.”
Kate girded herself for their hazardous entrance into Mars’s exosphere. In less than two minutes, atmospheric friction would bleed off the bulk of the 12,500 miles per hour they’d marshaled to hurl their capsule between the planets. On visits to the Ares vehicle assembly building, she’d fixated on the craft’s slim heat shield, their only protection against the 3,500 degrees Fahrenheit that easily surpassed the melting point of their stainless-steel hull.
“Speed decreasing … 10,000 … 8,000 … 6,000. Exterior temperature readings nominal.”
Kate licked her lips. Even catastrophic descents appeared normal at first. The flames that lapped the craft’s 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. Kate’s vital signs crept back up. She shook her head to rid herself of the morbid thoughts and focused again on her breath.
“Ten seconds to chute deployment.”
Commander Holman breathed easier. They’d 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 “X” at her chest, the action ingrained from the simulator sessions on Earth.
“Three … two … one.”
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.
“Preparing to jettison heat shield.”
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 landfall—the 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 couldn’t shake her concern that their landing would be the first test of the system on the red planet.
“Speed dropping. Ninety seconds to touchdown … eighty … seventy.”
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 of—
“We’ve got a problem,” said Glenn. His deep, usually firm bassoon voice contained the slightest tremolo of fear.
“What is it?” asked Kate.
“We’re coming in hot.”
Indeed, Kate’s terminal still showed a steady decrease in their downward velocity, but the computer projected they’d 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. “Can we get more deceleration out of the brake?”
“Negative,” said Glenn. “We’ve got maximum airflow through the intakes. We’re just not getting enough pressure out the topside.”
Two stations away, spacecraft engineer Laura Engles, a red bandana wrapping her skullcap, unleashed flurries of taps on her terminal screen. “The air’s quite cold … much colder than it should be,” she said with a hint of southern twang. Her accent, usually well hidden, always surfaced in agitated times.
“There’s a storm front building,” said Miriam. “NASA’s been tracking it for the past few days.”
Engles grunted. She was a caring, sensitive person except when she slipped into “engineer” mode, as she called it. At that point, she was all numbers and logic.
Schematics and reams of text scrolled on Engles’s screen. Her finger settled on a graph and its accompanying table of numbers. “The designs assume a higher minimum atmospheric temperature. The lower temp throws off all those calculations. The system’s scooping air, but with the cold, it can’t produce high enough pressure beneath the chute.”
Kate had pushed for sending a scaled down version of the Ares to Mars, outfitted with the experimental brake. She’d 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 they’d accounted for every contingency. Apparently, they’d 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.
“Forty-five seconds to impact,” 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 spacecraft’s subsystems, desperate for any recourse that could help them survive the landing.
Shouts and turmoil erupted to her rear. Kate swiveled in her chair—she found Fisk, the mission’s interplanetary geologist, standing free of his restraints. Terror gripped his face. “Are we there yet?” he roared, like a child on a road trip.
“Sit down and remain strapped in!” Kate yelled.
The professor landed back in his chair with wild eyes, the ferocity of her order driving him to near hysterics.
She shouldn’t have snapped at Fisk—as 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.
“Thirty seconds.”
Returning her attention to her station, Kate’s eyes landed on the photograph taped to the bottom edge of her terminal. Her children’s faces stared back: Amelia, calm and collected; and Ben Jr., with his toothy grin ….
Kate resumed swiping. She stopped and backtracked to the thruster control screen. The attitude thrusters changed the spacecraft’s orientation using bursts of compressed gas, but even if they all pointed to the ground, they wouldn’t 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.
“Twenty seconds.”
Kate checked the fuel levels. The tanks contained more than she hoped, but would it be enough? She’d also have to guess when to fire them. The thrusters burned at full force—there was no adjusting their output like a retro rocket. Starting them too soon would only delay the capsule’s fatal impact, too late and the thrusters wouldn’t have enough time to slow the craft. Either way, the Ares would slam into the ground.
“Ten seconds. Brace for impact. Seven … six …”
Mouthing a prayer, Kate tapped the ignition button. The third stage separation thrusters roared beneath the craft at full burn, slowing the capsule’s descent enough to calm their computer co-pilot. In a blink, the AI cancelled the crash klaxon and secured them from red alert. Kate’s 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 capsule’s 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 spacecraft’s momentum.
The impact mashed Kate into her seat. She waited for the capsule’s 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 they’d first announced the Mars mission, Kate had imagined standing on the planet’s 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.
The contact with the ground never came.
Kate’s terminal, a patchwork of flashing red indicators, screamed about failures in multiple trusses and the complete collapse of a landing strut, but reported the capsule’s 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.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Glenn, beaming with sweat beaded on his brow, “welcome to Mars.”
