T
atiana watched her husband on the high-definition monitor as he counted the seconds to impact with the Martian atmosphere. His face was expressionless, his voice disciplined and military. It was what the Russian people expected from their cosmonauts, but for Vladimir it was too perfect. His voice should have cracked or there should have been a smile or a grimace or a nervous twitch or something. To anybody but Tatiana he would have seemed perfectly normal; to her he was
too
normal. His cold professionalism reminded her of Komarov; the similarity was unnerving.
They would be apart for the next three months. He was to remain aboard the
Druzhba
, while she was on the planet’s surface with Komarov and Satomura. She knew their upcoming separation bothered him. She knew that he still suspected her of being unfaithful even though he had not said anything for some time, and knew that he did not trust her alone with Komarov. The next three months would be difficult. Perhaps it would be better that way. Perhaps he would become less dependent upon her. That would be nice, she thought. But as she watched him, an uncomfortable notion that there would be trouble ahead swelled inside her. His face was a mask of sculpted iron, the muscles beneath the skin taut and rigid. There was no emotion in his voice, just the flat sound of the countdown.
“E minus one minute,” he said. “Atmospheric spectrometer activated.”
“Activation confirmed,” Komarov replied as he glanced at a stream of data flooding the lower half of Satomura’s monitor.
Tatiana looked quickly out the portal and saw that outside was still black. Sprinkled with stars. She looked back at Vladimir.
“E minus zero seconds. The
Gagarin
has just entered the Martian atmosphere,” Vladimir said. “Entry angle is fourteen-point-twelve degrees.”
She did not feel anything at first. The computer flashed 0.05
g. They were 240 kilometers from the surface and eight minutes and forty-seven seconds from touchdown. She looked over at the portal and still no change. Her heart was pounding quickly in her chest, and Vladimir and his troubles were slipping from her mind as she began to sense the weight of her body.
“L minus seven minutes.”
“Spectrometer deactivated.”
She scanned the control panel and focused on the event timer, where the seconds appeared to be ticking at an accelerated pace.
“L minus five minutes,” Vladimir said.
His face began to bounce and break apart into a haze of white snow. They were losing contact with the
Druzhba
. Tatiana felt heavier as the g forces gained intensity. The display indicated 2.2 g’s. Turning her head to look out the corner of her eye at the portal, she saw the red-and-orange flickering of flames.
The lander was shaking from the turbulence. Her muscles tightened. She tried to relax, telling herself it was not as bad as what they had endured a couple of days earlier. She looked up to see if Vladimir had reappeared, even though she knew it was too soon. The high-definition monitor was filled with snow that crackled like tiny firecrackers. For the next few minutes they would be entirely on their own. All communications had been severed by the ionized gases that surrounded the lander.
As she watched the instruments on the control panel, the altitude decreasing, the velocity increasing, she visualized the red Martian surface growing larger as their capsule plunged toward it. A wondrous feeling chilled her body. She was about to land on a strange planet.
She felt a sudden jolt.
“Main parachute deployed,” Komarov announced. “L minus one minute and thirty-three seconds. Five-point-nine kilometers.”
The flames disappeared, to be replaced by a pink sky. The high-definition monitors displayed a rocky, red surface that swayed back and forth with the motion of the craft. The surface was chopped into an intricate network of canyons. Valles Marineris. Although she had flown the landing simulator many times before, the sheer size of the gorges startled her. They were growing in size with each second. The edges of Valles Marineris disappeared over the horizons, and all she could see were canyons. It was an imposing sight.
“L minus sixty seconds,” Vladimir said, as his image reappeared on the monitor.
“Five seconds to descent-engine ignition,” Komarov said. “Four, three, two . . .”
Tatiana was pushed back into her chair by a second jolt.
“We have descent-engine ignition. Parachutes have been jettisoned. Deploying landing gear.”
She heard the sound of the landing gear extract itself. “Righting maneuver complete,” Komarov said. The ship, which had been coming in at an angle, was now heading straight for the surface.
Tatiana could see the sides of the canyon as they descended into it. She felt as if she were being swallowed up by the planet. The opening was gigantic. The canyon wall outside her portal was nearly one hundred kilometers distant. She magnified the image on the monitor and could see thick layers of rock sandwiched one on top of the other. Each layer was from a different period in the planet’s evolution. At the rim the stone was much darker and appeared to be basalt, a dense rock formed by molten lava. As they descended, the tiers became thinner, compressed together by the rocks above them. The tiers near the bottom were from earlier periods in Martian history.
They were headed for a mesa in the center of Candor Chasma. It rose a little more than a kilometer above the canyon floor, but was still a kilometer beneath the surface. The satellite photographs of the landing site showed the surface to be relatively flat and free from boulders. They were expecting mostly sand. But the monitor was cluttered with rocks.
“Surface is rough,” Komarov said calmly. “Assuming control. Prepare for manual landing.”
“Recommend alternate landing site,” Vladimir said. “Proceed to seven degrees south, seventy-seven degrees west.”
“Negative,” Komarov responded. “We’re going to take her down here.”
They were only fifty meters above the surface, and the thrust from their engines was beginning to kick up sand. Tatiana pressed forward as far as the restraint straps would allow to get a better look at the monitor. There was no place to land. The ground was covered with rocks, some of which were large enough to pierce the hull. The dust was beginning to swirl and obscure their view.
“I’m taking her up ten meters,” Komarov said. As the ship climbed, the dust cleared and fell back onto the rocks.
“You have nine minutes and twenty seconds of fuel before descent abort,” Vladimir warned.
“I’ll have her down long before then,” Komarov replied. He looked over at Satomura and raised his eyebrows. “Where to?”
“Let’s try north,” Satomura said.
C
arter was looking down inside the ancient vent of Olympus Mons. The giant rim encircled the vent like a castle wall that had been ravished by violent bombardments. Portions had collapsed and crumbled into the caldera, leaving large gaps. Through the gaps, molten lava had spilled and flowed down the sides, forming long, spidery trails of hardened magma that seemed to stretch forever. Inside the volcano were several vast craters, broken circles, overlapping each other. Each crater was formidable in itself. The largest was over forty-two kilometers in diameter.
“Parachutes have been released,” Nelson announced, as the ship jumped forward.
Carter returned his attention to the job of piloting the lander. They were heading for the base of the volcano on the southeast side. The site was about five kilometers above mean planetary level. As a result they had less room to brake. The
Shepard
was still traveling fast enough to come in at an angle. It was heading straight for the side of the volcano, a vertical wall of rock towering four kilometers above the surface. Just like the simulation, Carter thought to himself. The wall of rock completely filled both monitors.
“Five seconds to retro-rocket ignition,” Endicott announced over the intercom.
The rocks grew larger, and it looked as if they were going to crash into the side of the volcano. Carter caught Nelson glancing over at the override switch that fired the retro-rockets. He looked back at monitor and thought the cliff did look close, but he did not let it bother him.
There was a deafening roar as the restraint straps pressed deeply into their flesh. A mixture of fluorine/oxygen and methane combusted and burst through the plug nozzle of the descent engine with 140,000 pounds of thrust. Long, hot flames shot out of the bottom of the
Shepard
. The red cliffs disappeared behind the bellowing exhaust.
Carter glanced at the event timer. The ship initiated the maneuver to right itself and start its vertical descent. He looked out the side portal, and the wall of rock seemed no more than two hundred meters away.
“Close,” he said, chewing his gum. “Going to have to back her up some. Appears we overshot the landing site. Receiving transponder signal loud and clear.”
“A few more seconds and we would have been a permanent fixture on that cliff,” Nelson said as he looked out the portal.
“Optical illusion. Just seemed closer than it really was because it’s so large.”
“You gentlemen all right?” Endicott asked.
“Never better,” Carter replied. Nelson gave a thumbs-up to the camera and a forced smile.
“You are point-six kilometers northwest of Landing Site Alpha,” Endicott said.
“Roger,” Carter replied, directing the craft away from the volcanic wall.
“I have visual contact on Monitor B,” Nelson said. “Looks clean.”
“Landing Site Alpha is a go,” Carter said.
“Take her down easy,” Endicott said.
“Fifty meters,” Carter said. “Forward five.”
“Fuel looking good,” Nelson said. “We can be selective with our real estate.”
“Forty-five meters.”
“Starting to kick up some sand.”
“Forty meters. Northeast two. Looks like we could land just about anywhere. I’m going to take her down.”
“You are within fifteen meters of the transponder.”
“Some rocks coming into view. They’re directly below,” Nelson said. “Take her forward ten.”
“Appears I spoke too soon,” Carter replied with a Southern drawl. “Forward ten. Twenty-five meters.”
“Fuel pressure good. All systems check,” Nelson said. “Fifteen meters.”
A cloud of fine red dust engulfed the lander.
“We have lost visuals. Radar shows flat ground.”
“Five meters,” Carter said. With a slight bump the
Shepard
settled onto the Martian surface. “The
Shepard
has landed.”
“Abort status?” Endicott asked.
“All systems green,” Carter replied as he flipped several switches above his head. “We are stable. Proceeding with shutdown of descent engines.”
“Checking ascent engines,” Nelson said. The monitor in front of him filled with a schematic of the engines and a diagnostic readout. Segments of the schematic turned from blue to green as the computer ran through the check. They were preparing the ship for an immediate liftoff in the event they determined it was unsafe to stay. The last blue line disappeared, and the words READY FOR LAUNCH flashed on the screen. “Engines have passed emergency diagnostics.”
“Stay no stay?” Endicott asked.
“We’re here to stay,” Nelson replied, checking the monitors. “Congratulations, gentlemen,” Endicott said. “How does it feel to be the first humans to land on another planet?”
“Glorious,” Carter said, ridding himself of his helmet. He smiled up at the camera with white shiny teeth and placed a folded stick of gum between the brilliant rows. “Most glorious indeed.”
“T
he Americans have landed,” Vladimir announced.
“Fuel?” Komarov demanded, unwilling to detach his eyes from the monitor that displayed the Martian surface beneath him.
“Two minutes and seventeen seconds remaining.”
“Over there,” Satomura exclaimed, pointing to the west. “A clearing about fifty meters due west.”
Komarov glanced out the portal, then returned his attention to the instrument panel. His face was expressionless. The muscles in his neck stuck out like rigid bands of steel. He would not get a second chance. If he wasn’t on the ground within less than two minutes and seventeen seconds, he would have to abort the landing. He could see Carter, with his large country-bumpkin grin stretched ear to ear, planting the U.N. flag in the Martian soil.
“Rotating ninety west,” he said. “Forward fifty. Descending five.”
“Two minutes,” Vladimir said. “Estimated landing time: fifty-seven seconds. You have one minute to spare.”
They arrived at the location Satomura had indicated. The high-definition that displayed the ground directly underneath was littered with scattered rocks. The rocks were smaller but packed together tightly. He scanned the surface for something less treacherous.
“We can’t land here,” Tatiana said.
“One minute thirty seconds.”
“Going north twenty.”
“Forty-five seconds,” Vladimir said. His tone struck Tatiana as odd. He sounded slightly pleased. This surprised her. She didn’t know what to make of it at first. The bastard, she thought. He’s actually hoping we’re going to abort. She looked at Satomura and could see concern in his eyes. She then looked at Komarov. He appeared unusually grave. The unthinkable was closing in on them. It did not seem possible. She pressed hard against her restraint straps as she searched the monitors for a place to land.
“Forty seconds.”
“Arm ascent engines,” Vladimir said. “Prepare to abort.” “Over there!” Tatiana shouted, pointing.
“Thirty seconds.”
“Where?” Komarov demanded.
“Fifty meters northeast,” she said, jabbing her finger at the spot.
“Fifteen seconds,” Vladimir said. “You’ll never make it. Initiate abort sequence.”
“Like hell,” Komarov growled. “We’re going down.”
The lander was not an airplane, it did not have wings or ailerons or rudders or a tail. It did not float or glide. It was an elon-gated capsule, shaped vaguely like a missile, and was designed to go two directions: straight up and straight down. The descent engines allowed lateral movement, but the movement was limited. The aerodynamics were simple. When the mixture of fluorine/oxygen and methane ran out, 140,000 pounds of thrust would dissipate, gravity would take over, and the craft would drop out of the sky like a lead weight. He was only going as far as the fuel would take him. There was nothing he could do to change that. But he could push the machine. As a test pilot, that had been his job. No pilot worth his salt would do less. He didn’t get to be the best by backing off. There really had never been any doubt in his mind. He was not going to give up until the last drop of fuel was spent.