John Spark is a tour guide in the caves of Mars. He's a jack-of-all-trades, a climber, a freelance writer, highly resourceful. He has to be, because on Mars there's no 'roadside assist'. Whether it's a vehicle, a suit, or a body, you fix it, or you face death.
Luck lands him a plush job with an exploration team. The cashed-up researchers seek clues to the origins of life, 97 light years from Mars. Or so they say. What exactly is a middling university doing with a cutting edge ship like the Coromandel? As the 'Help', John doesn't 'need-to-know'. However, it seems he's not the only one who's curious about what's below deck.
On arrival at Aemilia, the crew stumble on a bizarre message from a cryptic source, but who was it intended for and what does it mean?
Conditions on planet Aemilia are as treacherous as they are beautiful, and not as predicted. At the height of success, the mission is abandoned amidst increasing danger, of a kind and extent that no one could imagine.
John and the crew must use all their wit and resources to get home in time to avert a truly terrifying disaster, galactic in scale.
John Spark is a tour guide in the caves of Mars. He's a jack-of-all-trades, a climber, a freelance writer, highly resourceful. He has to be, because on Mars there's no 'roadside assist'. Whether it's a vehicle, a suit, or a body, you fix it, or you face death.
Luck lands him a plush job with an exploration team. The cashed-up researchers seek clues to the origins of life, 97 light years from Mars. Or so they say. What exactly is a middling university doing with a cutting edge ship like the Coromandel? As the 'Help', John doesn't 'need-to-know'. However, it seems he's not the only one who's curious about what's below deck.
On arrival at Aemilia, the crew stumble on a bizarre message from a cryptic source, but who was it intended for and what does it mean?
Conditions on planet Aemilia are as treacherous as they are beautiful, and not as predicted. At the height of success, the mission is abandoned amidst increasing danger, of a kind and extent that no one could imagine.
John and the crew must use all their wit and resources to get home in time to avert a truly terrifying disaster, galactic in scale.
John Spark watched closely as the kid got off the bus, landing in a puff of red dust. There was something wrong, just a little bit off about him. How John knew, since the guy was dressed in an EVA suit, he couldnât say. Perhaps it was the way he stood with his helmeted head bent forward like it weighed too much. He seemed to be staring at his boots as though his feet were new prostheses.
John cleared his throat, checked the manifest and selected the kidâs private comm channel. âHow are you doing, Boyd?â
There was the sound of fumbling channel selection and a breathy reply. âAmazing! Just...wow!â
âYeah, it never gets old,â John said. âCould I get you to move away from the airlock a bit? Thereâs a woman with mobility issues coming out behind you. Maybe just check your gauges again while weâre waiting.â
âOh! Yeah, sure.â Boyd stumped his way to where the other tourists were standing and joined his buddy, another young guy, Tom. No, Tim. They were both clearly unaccustomed to low gravity, so probably from Earth, rather than Luna. Despite his nebulous take on Boyd, John considered himself good at vac suit body language. Boyd and Tim werenât a couple. More acquaintances than friends? He wasnât sure why he cared.
Maybe he did know. He just really hoped, on the last day of what had been a great season, that he didnât have a âhappy gasperâ on his hands. Back on Earth heâd met newbie scuba divers, poorly equipped, who were still giving the âOkayâ signal as they swallowed the sea. âHappy drowners.â Back at Johnâs tour office, Boyd had his sweater on inside out. Never a good sign.
The rest of the tour group were unwinding after the long drive, gazing at the majesty of Olympus Mons, its cliffs reaching to the horizon and up into the hazy sky. After the last passenger had disembarked and seated herself in a hover chair, John switched to the open comms channel. âHow is everyone?â
There was a happy chorus in reply. Even the sulky teen girl had perked up.
âOkay!â he said. âWeâre going to do another quick comm check and then itâs about a twenty minute walk to the caves. Stay with your buddy at all times, watch your feet and if you do have a comms problem, use your slate and see me. You all have your name written on there, right? Flashlights working?â
The group checked their gear and sounded off as he called their names. He shouldered his pack and led them into the shadow of the mountain.
After a long scramble down into the ditch that surrounded the volcano, they climbed a stretch of regolith-strewn incline, and arrived at the opening of the vast underground system the early colony had originally made home. Beyond the site of the former habitat, lay the caves John regarded it as the most amazing place heâd ever seen, even beating the ice canyons of Europa.
He led them through the Colony Village Museum, pacing himself, trying to show interest in the artifacts, the early rovers and habitats, clunky suits and the hydroponic display with its fake plants. All the while, his attention stayed on Boyd and his buddy.
On the outskirts of the Village, John led them through a labyrinth of short tunnels. Now for the part he liked.
âThis particular lava tube was first discovered around thirty Arian years ago â March 12, 2066 Earth time, by a person with the unlikely name of Jane Doe. Crawler bots have done extensive mapping, but we still havenât found where some of the branch tunnels end. More than one hundred of these tunnels have so far been mapped. Human explorers have hardly begun looking - itâs more than two dayâs worth of air walking that way,â he said, pointing into the dark.
âHave any of you been caving, back home?â
Mini, the woman using the hover chair, raised her hand. âYes, when I was younger. Rock climbing, cave diving, too. Loved it.â
âHow does this compare to places youâve explored?â
She shook her head. âTotally different. This looks like it was dug by machine â the walls are so regular. And this floor is pretty amazing.â She spoke with confidence in a North American accent.
Grunts of agreement came over the comms. The ground was patterned with fans and swirls of black basalt under the thin, red dust.
âWe donât know exactly when this tunnel was formed, only that it was relatively recent, geologically. We do know the eruption must have been extremely fast, hot and high in pressure. Apparently there are physical similarities here with the volcanoes of Hawaii. Except that Olympus Mons dwarfs every mountain on Earth. In the whole solar system, in fact.â
âHow come we donât know when it happened?â Boyd asked.
âShort answer is we still find it hard to date some things very accurately on Mars, because we lack points of reference. Sometimes we find a rock layer, or an Earthly meteorite that gives us a time context. Sometimes we can use rate of radioactive decay. Thereâs a lack of geologists working outside of the mines, since ours is still a relatively small colony. Iâll give you a fact sheet after the tour.
âOK, if you take this passage to the left, please.â
They walked through a low tunnel for several minutes, the tour members touching the roof and remarking on the absence of stalagmites, and how they couldnât hear their own footfalls let alone anyone elseâs in the thin air. No echoes.
Abruptly, the roof disappeared into blackness. âYou are now standing in âMoriaâ,â John said.
âFitting name,â older guy Cameron, father of the sulky teen, said.
âI think so, too. Have you read The Lord of the Rings?â
âI have. Saw the old movies, too. Classics.â
John nodded and shone his spotlight up into the vault. The beam illuminated the
basalt walls, bright with flecks of pyrite and studded with green seams of olivine and peridot, but the ceiling remained lost in the darkness. He heard the usual intake of breath, and smiled. He loved showing people this place. Next week heâd probably be sitting alone, looking at the inside of an office. Or, busting his ass on the docks.
âLook over here,â he said, running the light up a wall. In a cave on Mars, the massive polished stele was so incongruous many peopleâs first reaction was to laugh. And then go quiet.
âLocal artist Lara Cho carved this image: âthe Doors of Durinâ, back in 2078, before the area was declared a national park. Itâs approximately six meters high, three wide. In the Lord of the Rings...â He heard something and stopped. âIs everyone okay, back there?â
âShit, itâs the Balrog!â Sulky-teen Piper said, her tone as dry as Mars.
There were polite titters â the parents in the group keeping the kid happy for the suffering dad. It might save them from having to endure another tantrum on the way back.
John shut them down. âSorry, can we have quiet, please? Check in with your buddies.â
âOh shit!â he heard. Sweat broke across his lip. âWhatâs wrong...Boyd?â
âI donât know. Tim canât breathe.â
John moved quickly, gently pushing bodies out of the way. He swung his pack off his shoulder and knelt beside Tim, who sat, gesturing wildly. The pen for his slate was gone. His body arched with the effort to draw air.
âBoyd,â he said pointing at the gauge on Timâs left arm. âHow much oxygen has he got?â
â62%, same as me.â
John tilted up Timâs helmet and looked at the young face, an ugly meĚlange of red acne spots on bluish skin. His eyes were wild. âTim, can you hear me?â
Tim nodded.
âCan you talk?â
Tim shook his head and thumped his chest plate.
âAsthma?â Boyd shouted into his comm.
Tim shrugged, then nodded.
âHang on, Tim, I have some reliever in my bag.â He reached in and removed a
canister from the front pocket.
Tim looked at him, like he was an idiot and tapped the glass of his helmet with
his fist.
âYeah, obviously,â Boyd said to Tim. âBut you have a port in your suit for
emergency air refills.â
John looked at Boyd with rather more assurance than heâd felt before. He
vaguely remembered the guy was a doctor of something, though not medicine. âHeâs right. This also fits that port. Bend your head forward.â
They waited a few minutes after the first infusion into Timâs air, then administered a second dose. Timâs color improved, but he was far from alright. John didnât like the prospect of walking him out. Though the gravity on Mars was less than half of Earthâs, EVA suits werenât designed for piggybacking.
Mini apparently read his mind. âI can dink him on my chair,â she said to John. âI wonât speed or do wheelies.â
Tim smiled as he wheezed and gave a hearty thumbs up. John saw it for what it was. Bravado. He had a happy gasper, it just wasnât Boyd.
âSo everyone else, take five to look around, but please stay within visual range in the roped off areas and donât take any souvenirs. You wonât get any gems through Customs, I promise.â He switched to Timâs private channel. âDo you get many attacks like this?â There hadnât been any mention of health problems on his med declaration. Not that that necessarily meant anything.
Tim shook his head. âNever,â he mouthed. John believed him. That was also when he realized Timâs spots werenât acne, they were hives.
âRight. Have you eaten anything, drunk anything you might be allergic to? Take any new meds or drugs?â
Tim frowned. There was a pause, and then he nodded lowering his eyes. He uncapped the pen John put in his hand and wrote: âSpice,â then immediately erased it with his sleeve.
John cursed under his breath. Oh joy. The kid was a gasper and a Dune freak. For some, the wonders of an alien planet werenât enough without giant hallucinatory sand worms. The Mars Worm, Loch Ness monster of Proctor Crater, which was actually nowhere near here. That Dune was science fiction, not even set on Mars, was irrelevant. There were worm t-shirts and people wearing blue contact lenses all over town now. Vendors made a killing on the merch, especially the dealers that rebranded synth hallucinogens as âspiceâ.
The balling out Tim deserved would have to wait for someone else to do it. Not his circus.
John pulled open the pack and took out a sat phone and handed it to Boyd. âCall emergency and give them the coordinates on your GPS.â He reached back into the bag and took out an auto-injector. He looked at Tim squarely. âI think youâre having an anaphylactic reaction and this is the treatment. Luckily, these suits have another medport on your thigh. Are you okay with me injecting you?â
Tim eyed the injector like it was a ten-inch nail, which it did resemble, but nodded.
âGood. Unfortunately, as youâve noticed, itâs a large gauge needle and yes, it will hurt. Quite a lot,â he said with plenty of schadenfreude. âThese gloves are clumsy, so hold still. Donât want to bugger up the one-way valve and wind up with an air leak, okay? Here we go.â
Tim took it without complaint. His shame was palpable enough to make John soften and remember some of the crazy trips heâd made between his own ears, a couple of decades ago. Nothing as dumb as this, though. He checked his gauge and Timâs. Ideally, they should wait and monitor Timâs vitals, but time was air. Panic and adrenaline had cost Tim. His O2 was down to fifty-three percent.
âThe paramedics are all ramped at the hospital,â Boyd said. âThey said to bring him in and contact them on the way.â
John wasnât surprised. Ramping happened a lot, particularly in tourist season. Boyd helped load Tim onto the pillion seat behind Mini. They tied his legs to the pegs with a shoulder strap taken off Johnâs pack. Mini reached around, patted Timâs arm and moved his hand to her waist.
John switched comms back to the group channel. âIâm sorry everyone, we need to head back early. Weâll be issuing everyone with a complimentary meal voucher you can use in the food pavilion, and a box of Redâs Chocolate Regolith. Thanks for your understanding.â
They clapped him for a long time, and although it was virtually silent, it was heart felt.Â
When we join John Spark - the practical 'help' - we are introduced to an 'ensemble' of characters bound on an expedition to an exo-planet called Aemilia. As the team gell, we get the sense that we are on board with a bunch of pretty nice folk, albeit with some secrets: at this point we're in Becky Chambers territory. Things heat up when we land on Aemilia - a journey through a fully fleshed-out and exotic eco-system that's a joy to read. As things get hard, though, we plunge into a technical problem-solving race for survival worthy of Weir's The Martian. When our heroes finally get back to our system, the unexpected awaits in a James S. A. Corey-esk climax.
This is not a novel driven by any character's inner tensions or struggles, but by events and simple wonder. Even so, the characters are well drawn, if sometimes lacking in emotional depth (inevitable in an 'ensemble novel' of this kind). You'll find your own favourite, and each has a quirk or two that makes them human and engaging. I bonded with Phelps the pilot, with his love of old music.
The plot twists and turns like some crazed creature from Aemilia, but events are foreshadowed skillfully, and the book is full of 'slap on the forehead, ah, I see!' moments. The challenges the expedition face are realistic, and you're left suspecting that Burgess must have faced a few such in real life.
If I have a criticism, it's that the structure of the book slows the pace towards the middle, where we might expect an escalating crisis, but what is actually happening is a lull before the storm as the expedition (and the reader) understand something of the strange biology of Amelia. This is necessary background to establish layers and depth to what happens towards the end, but is a narrative risk. Burgess navigates it well, though, even if it leaves the conclusion feeling slightly compressed.
In the end, these are just niggles. Although I have drawn comparisons with other writers (and anyone who is a fan of Chambers, Weir, or Corey will enjoy this), Burgess has her own voice. She delivers her story with compassion, skill, and depth, whilst generating a strong sense of intrigue that develops into an ending that will leave you wanting more. The acid test? I can't wait for the promised sequel.