One Way To Mars

One Way to Mars

  Copyright Gary Weston 2012

  One Way to Mars

  Chapter 1

  'Asshole, asshole.'

  Andrew Foreman felt the tugging on his arms, and shook his head.

  'Asshole, asshole.'

  There was a smell of something smouldering, of electrical wiring melting and fusing together. There were other smells, too. None of them nice. Foreman dared to open his eyes. Monkley was staring right back at him.

  'Asshole,' said Monkely. It was one of his favourite words.

  'Right. But apart from that, are you pleased to see me?'

  Foreman tried moving his limbs; cautiously at first. Nothing seemed broken. Bruised, certainly, battered, definitely. Understandably. That was to be expected. Still being alive, now that was a surprise. Monkley passed him his helmet. Foreman ignored the pain in his shoulder and secured the helmet. Struggling to his feet, Foreman felt light-headed, and had to lean against the wall to remain upright. Once his vision had cleared, he passed his hand over the sensor to open the door. Nothing happened. He tried again. Still nothing. He hammered on the door.

  'Hey! You guys. How about letting me out of here?' Nothing. 'Phillips? Mauler? Sanders? Hello. Anybody?'

  The lack of response worried him. The smell of the fried electronics terrified him. The ship, what was left of it, was about to blow. He hammered hard on the door, simultaneously waving his palm in front of the sensor. Then he tried a coordinated assault on the door, kicking and hammering at the same time. Nothing. He stepped back. He stared at the door as if by mental control, he could will the thing open. Apparently not.

  'Step back,' he told Monkley.

  Monkely jumped up onto his cage, wondering what Foreman was going to try next.

  'Asshole.'

  'Yeah? Like you got any bright ideas?'

  He charged the door. The fact it was a sliding door, and therefore not conducive to being rammed open, didn't deter him. He bounced off the door and landed on his backside on the floor.

  'Asshole.'

  There was a groaning sound and the door unjammed itself, opening a few inches.

  'Yeah? An asshole, am I?' He got up. 'Well, you just remember it was this asshole who got us out of here.' He pulled on the partially opened door, but it wasn't giving in without a fight. 'Don't just sit there, you nut-job. Give me a hand here.'

  Monkley obliged by setting his three foot body below Foreman's and between them they applied all the force they could. Ignoring the possible hernia he could give himself, Foreman gave the job his all, as did Monkley. Something gave, and thankfully, it didn't involve tearing of muscles. It was only a few more inches, but it was enough. Monkley got through the gap easily, Foreman's face turned purple at the effort to squeeze his body through the gap. Suddenly, he was free.

  'Shit!'

  Three bodies lay on the floor. Commander Ashley Phillips, Captain Donna Sanders, Science Officer Elizabeth Mauler, were twisted up into impossible contortions. Impossible for living people, anyway. There was a substantial amount of blood on their un-helmeted heads from where they had collided with the unforgiving and unyielding alloy shell of the ship. Foreman gave them a quick and unqualified check, but even to an untrained layman they were clearly dead.

  'Shit!.'

  They had been caught out by the suddenness of the dramatic and catastrophic failure of the ship's propulsion systems. After seven months of confinement on the cramped ship, they were all excited to be finally at the end of their journey, and eager to get off the ship. Phillips had just given the order to put on helmets and belt up for landing, when there was a slight bang and they fell like a stone. Foreman had just secured Monkley in the harness in his cage, when down they went. He had tried to return to the others in the main cockpit and his seat, when they began spinning out of control. The 'G' forces were Foreman's final undoing, and he was out for the count until Monkley woke him. How the GenMoP, Genetically Modified Primate, had freed himself, wasn't something Foreman had time to concern himself with. Not when several fires started simultaneously.

  Monkley started to panic, being after all, just a glorified chimpanzee. Turning his air supply on, Foreman opened the airlock and attacked the main exit hatch. That side of the ship had sustained minimal damage, so the hatch opened with a hiss as the pressure equalised. Monkley beat him outside, and Foreman jumped down, not bothering with the steps, landing heavily on the soft sand just a few feet below. Monkley jumped up on his shoulders, and wrapped his arms about his neck, and Foreman began running. He made fifteen paces before the ship exploded behind them, sending them crashing to the ground.

  'Asshole.'

  'That's gratitude for saving your hairy backside.' Wiping the sand off his visor, he turned to look back at the ship. 'Right. Cremation it is, then.'

  The ensuing explosions reduced the small craft to a tangled shell within minutes. He sat with Monkley for a while, and with a sigh, got to his feet. One thing they didn't have the luxury of was time. They had about twenty three hours of suited oxygen each before they would be as dead as the others. Only three humans had died on Mars, and Foreman didn't want the dubious honour of being the fourth. They had one shot at surviving, and one only. Find the base.

  It looked hopeless. They might as well have been in the Sahara desert as far as he could see. Ahead of them was a large dune. From the summit they could get a clear view for miles.

  'Come on, Monkley.'

  Holding Monkley's hand, they climbed the dune. When they reached the top, they scanned the horizon.

  'Nice beach. I guess the tide must be out.'

  'Thirsty.'

  'You and me both. Sorry, pal. We know there are pockets of what we call water here and there, but we'd need to dig one hell of a hole to get at it. The little ice caps are mostly frozen carbon dioxide with more than a dash of acid. Not recommended. We gotta find the base or...We gotta find the base.'

  Wishing he had paid more attention, Foreman scanned the horizon. He knew the planet was smaller than Earth, and the lower gravity meant he weighed less than half of what he would on Earth. At least that made it easier to make some distance.

  'Ah. Now. See that? Biggest damn mountain in the solar system. I mean huge. Now. The base is less than fifty miles away from there. I guess we might as well head that way.'

  'Okay.'

  Chapter 2

  Conserving energy, neither said much. Monkley had a vocabulary of around five hundred words, but Commander Phillips had seen fit to expand on that on the journey, adding several expletives to the young GenMop's repertoire. As Monkley's keeper and trainer, Foreman had politely asked Phillips on numerous occasions to desist the practice, but to no avail. Soon, all humans were collectively known as assholes.

  The Martian day, roughly the same as Earth days in duration, was turning into night. Although the suits would spare them from most of the effects of the freezing temperatures, Foreman had no desire to test them any more than necessary. After all, he thought. He'd trusted the ship, and look what happened to that.

  'Are we there, yet?'

  It was something Monkley asked every twenty or so minutes. Foreman noticed the little guy was getting progressively weaker each time he asked. Eventually, Monkley sat down in the red iron oxide, exhausted.

  'Come on, pal. Stay here, we die.'

  Monkley didn't seem overly concerned. It was if he had faced the question of his own mortality, and dying seemed a preferable option to him than the continuing trudge through the soft red sandy dirt. They had walked for nine straight hours, and although the landmark of Olympus Mons mountain seemed so many miles away, Foreman had no intention of just sitting down to wait for death. He did sit, however. He wrapped his arm about Monkley. Those big trusting brown eyes stared up at him.
They had been together four years, ever since the Genmop had been created. It was the only reason Foreman had been allowed on the trip in the first place. The Genmops were part of a program to create a more expendable alternative to humans. Capable of understanding many commands, more intelligent than the smartest of dogs, they could be easily trained to perform basic tasks. The artificial voice box was a vast improvement on the chimp's original, giving him greater range of sounds and expression. It had been Foreman who had worked with him to master speech.

  The purpose of the trip was, amongst others, to do the essential maintenance on the base, make modifications to the automatic plant and train Monkley to look after the place during human absence. Depending on how well Monkley adapted and performed, he would be left behind to run the place until the humans returned a couple of years later to establish a colony. That had been the part Foreman was least comfortable about. He loved the little guy, but had promised to act in a mature and responsible way when the time came to leave. He had assured the brass he could and would do it. Now, it wasn't even an option.

  Above them, in the dust laden night sky, were two tiny moons, Phobos, twice the size and much closer than Deimos, twinkling star-like above them. Deimos was nowhere to be seen. They rested a few minutes more, and then Foreman forced his thirty eight year old body onto his feet.

  'Come on, Monkely.' Monkely didn't move. 'I'm not leaving you, pal. Come on. On my back.'

  Monkley rolled over onto his feet and jumped up on Foreman's back. The total sixty pounds felt more like a ton, even with the reduced gravity. With the mountain as a guide, they pressed onwards, until Foreman could go no more. He dropped to his knees, will power gone not long after the last of his strength expired. Twenty two hours had passed since the crash. Foreman let the darkness of the Martian night envelope him, draining the last of the air supply as his dried up rasping breathing battled with his will to survive, waiting for the inevitable.

  Chapter 3

  How long Foreman had been out, was hard to judge. Once again, he was surprised to find himself still alive. Breathing was difficult, and when he looked at the gauge, the reading was well in the red zone.

  'Monkley?'

  When he got no reply, he rolled over onto his belly. In front of him, literally within reach, was something solid. Rock? He tapped it. It made a hollow sound. Not rock. The base. There had been no sign of it just before he had passed out, so how...? Little Monkley was lying face down in the dirt, like a large rag doll in a space suit. Foreman used the smooth wall of the base to haul himself upright. The effort was almost enough to have him dropping right back down again. Fighting to take in the last of the dregs of air, he managed to turn around. There were drag marks in the sand, where Monkley had pulled him along. The little guy had given his all to save him. Dropping to his knees, Foreman shook Monkley.

  'Hey, pal. Monkley? Can you hear me?'

  Monkley lay lifeless, his arms limp to the touch. The air gauge read zero. Foreman looked at the cream coloured exterior of the base. He knew there were two entrances, one regular man-size door, and huge doors for vehicular access. On this side were neither. Grabbing Monkley by the arms, he pulled him up and held him in his arms. There was no sign of life in the GenMop. Staggering around the side of the building, Foreman twice collapsed to his knees and as a last resort, dragged Monkley along as Monkley had dragged him. And there it was. The man-sized entrance. He needed no key, just to press the green button.

  Still on his knees, he reached up. Lack of oxygen had almost finished him. He had blurred double vision, and he couldn't remember his own name, let alone why he was there. Something told him through the nightmare that the green button meant something.

  'You can do this, For...For...Foreman.' He smacked the button. Nothing happened. He smacked it again. 'Open, you useless piece of …'

  There was a hiss. The door opened. With his body screaming at him to stop, he got hold of Monkley's arm and dragged him into the airlock. Now he had to think hard. He had to do something. What the hell was it? He stared out at the Martian night sky. Oh, yeah. They were on Mars. He pushed the button to close the outside door of the airlock. Why were they in this strange dark little room? He couldn't think. A voice inside his helmet was screaming at him, a voice so impossibly far away, yelling at him. He couldn't make out what it was saying to him.

  'Stop shouting at me,' he pleaded. He fell backwards, and his head struck the inner airlock button. A light came on. Pretty, he thought. Another light. One by one, dozens of lights lit up the cavernous base dome. It went beyond effort, but with a twist, his helmet was off. Oxygen rich air, un-breathed by anything in years, washed over him, like the elixir of life. He took a couple of sweet lungs full and he knew no air on any planet ever tasted so good. With his brain clearing, he took off Monkley's helmet.

  'Come on, pal. Don't give up on me now.'

  He opened one of Monkley's eyes. It looked dull and lifeless. He pulled off the suit and put his ear to Monkley's chest. Was that a heartbeat? 'Monkley. Come on.'

  They had all been given basic first aid and CPR training. Foreman went to work on Monkley, pressing down hard on his chest. 'Come on, pal. I need you.'

  There was a gasp and Monkley's eyes opened. He panted for air, trying to get the oxygen into his lungs. The rapid breathing slowed down, and his head rolled from side to side. Then his breathing became stable. He looked at Foreman.

  'Are we there, yet?'

  Foreman laughed so loud it echoed throughout the base. 'Yeah, pal. Thanks to you.'

  Chapter 4

  In the sickbay, Foreman gave small sips of water to Monkley. The GenMop sipped steadily, gradually recovering from his ordeal.

  'I've found the food and we've got plenty. Hungry?'

  'Hungry.'

  'Me, too. Come on.'

  Monkley and Foremen walked hand in hand out of the sickbay.

  'I gotta hand it to those geeks. They got some things right.'

  Taking care of Monkley for the first hour had meant little more than a quick whistle-stop tour of the base. He'd just finished High School when President Wilberforce Williams had announced that under his administration, the adventure with space travel was going up a couple of notches. The Senate had narrowly agreed and although the budget had been trimmed back, manned expeditions to Mars, with a view to establish a base, using international cooperation with any other nation willing to pitch in, got under way. By the time Foreman was in his final year of veterinarian college and Williams had been voted in for his second term, the base was established. That the first manned landing on Mars was timed just prior to the election was merely a coincidence, the White House insisted, fooled nobody. Williams still romped home.

  Foreman's father had served in the air force, and his love of all things flying was infectious. Finding himself involved in the GenMop experiment, Foreman was number two in the team coordinating GenMop training for the International Space Federation. By the time the base was at an almost self sustaining stage, it had been agreed the next mission to Mars would be the first real introduction of a GenMop to the base. Professor Alison Cartwright, Foreman's boss, was close to retirement, and of failing health. Unmarried, Foreman was considered the natural candidate for the job of looking after Monkley. They had bonded well and Foreman had trained the animal to an exceptionally high degree of ability. Of all the GenMop's, Monkley seemed the brightest and most verbally gifted.

  Foreman had at first declined the offer, and it took a visit from his congressman to persuade him his state would perhaps not look too kindly on him turning down the opportunity to be their first astronaut. Also, that Sam Goldsack was a long time friend of his dad's wasn't to be taken lightly.

  'Shit, Andy. All ya gotta do is baby sit a damned monkey. You ain't driving the damned bus, for God's sake.'

  'Monkley isn't a monkey, sir. He's a genetically engineered primate from chimpanzee genes.'

  'Son. I don't give a shit if he's King Kong's direct descendent. He's going to
Mars, and so the hell are you. Get used to it.'

  The base, deliberately left unnamed so as not to cause any nation to be snubbed or affronted, was one hundred and fifty feet long, one hundred feet wide and fifty feet high. The structure had been fashioned out of Luxotral, a material conceived and developed for the base because of its incredible strength to weight ratio. Once production was under way, Luxotral was quickly taken up by industry and because it used a fusion of recyclable plastics and common silicon making it relatively inexpensive, it soon found thousands of uses. Complete houses were made from it, and because everybody wanted to live in something used on Mars, a building booming made the entire economy of Earth take off. Everyone was making so much money, people forgot to fight each other. It was a good time to be a human being.

  The base sections were constructed on Earth's moon and towed to Mars in three huge containers in a convoy to supply the project. Whole new industries blossomed. It took three more years to construct the base, one year to locate and drill deep enough to find water, which, although too tainted in minerals and far to acidic to drink neat, was at least treatable to be usable.

  The base was intended to be one of many more units capable of running semi-automatically, constantly filtering and neutralising the water. As much as possible, the scientists mimicked nature and by powering everything by solar energy, letting carefully selected plants create oxygen and food, paradise was formed. And although there were no shortage of volunteers to people the base, it had been decided that GenMops would be created to maintain the bases long term, with a view to gradually explore the galaxy with the creatures, minimising human risk.

  The debates around that went into the far reaches of philosophical discussion, split largely into two camps, one erring on the side of caution, and of the opinion that the GenMops were an acceptable bridge between robots and humans. The more vociferous faction were adamant that humans were adventurous creatures and taking risk was an essential part of the human condition. Many a bar-room brawl was started over an innocent, casual comment regarding the pros and cons of man versus GenMop, usually ending in a draw where the combatants eventually forgot what the hell they were fighting about and got on with the serious business of drinking.