“Aren’t you a little close?” she asked.
Upon hearing Tatiana’s concern, Komarov ordered them to retreat to a safe distance. Satomura spun rapidly around, his eyes wild with excitement, and marched over to Tatiana, who had moved back another several meters.
“We must collect what we can,” he blurted.
Tatiana watched with amazement as he disappeared into the mist and returned several minutes later with two collection bags full of samples. Water that had clung to his suit was bubbling, and a cloud of vapors surrounded him as if his suit were smoldering. He placated Komarov by telling him that the ice in the ejecta was too small to do any harm. Tatiana wasn’t certain that the ice was harmless, but she did not say anything.
They worked continuously for several hours, Satomura running into the mist and back, while Tatiana carried the bags to the dirigible. The ice in the bags was murky, and when Tatiana pointed that out to Satomura, he said that it was a promising sign. She held a bag up to the sun, but did not see anything of interest. Since they were able to collect the water at the surface, there was no need to set up the drill. They both felt the drill wouldn’t have been sturdy enough to withstand the pressure. The geyser had gained over ten meters in height by the time they had filled the last bag.
As they made their way back toward the dirigible, they were startled by how dark the sky in the distant horizon had become; neither had noticed the darkening before. It almost appeared as if a rainstorm were brewing in the distance, something they knew to be impossible; and after a few slow steps the possibility of a Martian dust storm occurred to them. They broke into a run.
Satomura shouted instructions in between gasps for air. “Dmitri, check the weather southeast of you!”
He was climbing into the dirigible when the response came back. “High winds,” Komarov said excitedly. “One hundred and seventy-five kilometers per hour heading northwest. Temperatures are rising. The surface is completely obscured. It looks like a dust storm, and it’s heading straight for us. Hold on.” The sound of rapid typing could be heard in the background, then a momentary pause as they waited for Komarov to read the data displayed by the computer. “It will reach the lander in approximately one hour and forty-five minutes.”
“Shut the hatch!” Tanya shouted. Satomura slammed his knee against the metal handle of the hatch and cursed out loud. His eyes watered with tears. With a groan and a curse he grabbed the handle. Through the open portal, he caught a glimpse of the geyser, reddish pink against the darkening sky, spurting as if it were a burst artery.
“We’re going up in five seconds,” Tatiana announced. Pulling back with what strength he could muster, Satomura drew the hatch shut. He dropped limply into his chair, and as he rubbed his knee he considered the dangers of being caught in a dust storm. He knew that the force of the wind was not as great as it would have been on Earth. In fact, it was one-tenth as strong because the atmospheric pressure of Mars was less than that of Earth’s. But there was still much to be concerned about. Dust entrained by the wind would be highly abrasive and could damage the hull of the dirigible. It would obscure the surface and might even interfere with the mechanics of the ship. But what troubled him the most was that the winds might increase in speed. They had been known to exceed four hundred kilometers per hour. This was the equivalent to a forty-kilometer-per-hour wind on Earth, which was too high for the dirigible to fly through safely. It was also too high for the lander. And since the dirigible would be flying against the wind, their progress would be slowed. He knew that the canyon might actually intensify the winds.
“We should be able to reach the lander with about ten minutes to spare,” Tatiana said. “That won’t give us enough time to deflate the dirigible.”
“Nor will it give me enough time to prepare the
Gagarin
for departure,” Komarov said. They were scheduled to leave the planet in two weeks. “I’d better alert the
Shepard
.”
When Nelson came on-line several seconds later, Komarov instructed him to pull up the transmission he had just sent him.
“What am I looking at?”
“It is a satellite image of a dust storm, and it’s heading northwest at approximately one hundred and seventy-five kilometers per hour,” Komarov said.
“It probably won’t get this far. Dust storms are normally confined to the southern hemisphere. But just in case, we’ll batten down the hatches. It shouldn’t last for more than a few days.”
“It looks as if it’s getting larger,” Komarov said. “I am comparing the first photograph with one that has just come in. I estimate that its north–south axis has increased by five kilometers.”
“You’d best get to work. Good luck, Dmitri.”
During the interval prior to the storm’s arrival, Komarov and Nelson performed emergency EVAs to secure equipment and tie down the protective tarps that covered the landers. Carter coordinated their activities from a laptop in his bunk, while Endicott reported on the storm’s progress. They tried to reach Vladimir, but he did not respond to their call. The horizon grew more menacing with each passing second.
Tatiana could not get the dirigible to achieve its maximum speed and suggested to Satomura that he dump some of the samples to lighten their load. He sorted through the samples and threw two of the bags out. Upset but knowing that he would not part with more, she told him to throw out whatever else he could. Their speed increased slightly, but not enough to make her feel any more comfortable. Every time she glanced out the side window the storm appeared closer. By the time the dirigible was in sight of the camp, the winds had picked up another twenty kilometers per hour.
Tatiana pointed at a small figure, which she knew to be Komarov, standing next to the
Gagarin
. Komarov stepped forward and waved his arms over his head. The sky above him was a mixture of colors, a whirlpool of yellow, maroon, and dark gray.
“Get on the ground,” Komarov shouted. “You only have a few minutes.”
“I’m taking her down,” Tatiana said.
“Take as many collection bags as you can,” Satomura said. “To hell with the collection bags,” Komarov said. “Just get the hell off that thing.”
When the ship touched ground, Tatiana kicked the door open and jumped out. Satomura was right behind her, with several bags in his arms. The dust was swirling at their feet. They took a few minutes to secure the dirigible and then walked quickly for the lander. Now that they were off the dirigible the winds posed less of a danger. They could stand upright in a two-hundred-kilometer-per-hour wind as if it were a mild zephyr. Komarov helped them into the airlock.
As they rested against the walls of the chamber to catch their breath, they heard the first sounds of the storm. It began with a low whistle. Gradually, the whistle grew louder and became high-pitched.
“Two hundred kilometers per hour and still increasing,” came Endicott’s voice over the intercom, and all eyes turned toward the monitor on which he appeared. “It is growing fast. I have several satellite photographs, each taken fifteen minutes apart. I’ll display them on the monitor.”
The Valles Marineris Canyon dominated the lower half of the picture, running horizontally, east to west. They recognized Candor Chasma, at the northwest tip of the Marineris system, and the mesa inside Candor upon which their lander was perched.
“This picture of the storm was taken just minutes before you first noticed it. If you look southeast of the landing site, at the very edge of Candor Chasma, you can see where the surface features are blurred. Dust from the winds is obscuring the surface.”
The second picture depicted a storm system that had grown nearly twice in size from the first. The storm continued to grow in the third and the fourth, and by the sixth it had reached the edge of the mesa. The mesa was completely covered in the seventh.
“It looks as if it might be going global,” Satomura said.
“The models I’ve run have the storm dissipating within a few days. But it does have sufficient force to lift the dust into the lower atmosphere. You might be right.”
Endicott removed the photograph and replaced it with a mosaic of the western hemisphere. The small corner of the planet they occupied was blurred, as if someone had smudged it with an eraser. “This mosaic was generated just five minutes ago.”
Satomura rudely stepped in between the two cosmonauts and placed himself directly in front of the screen. “Overlay wind and pressure patterns.” Seconds later the photograph was covered with dotted lines, animated arrows, and neon numbers. Satomura traced the patterns with his fingers as he hummed a tune that no one recognized.
His lips twitched to form a brief smile before he spoke. “The local winds and the tidal winds appear to be augmenting each other. This could produce a runaway situation. Notice the tornadoes to the south. I suspect we will have the opportunity to observe the development of a global dust storm firsthand. We must make haste. There is much work to be done.”
Komarov was not in any hurry. He instructed the crew to take their time and be thorough as they cleared the airlock of dust.
C
arter opened the package of mixed Italian vegetables and poured its contents onto his plate. The vegetables sounded like balsa wood. Resisting the temptation to pluck an uncooked piece, he added water, stirred, and placed the tray inside the microwave. He turned the timer to three minutes and switched on the nearest monitor to view the latest news from Earth.
The newscaster was in her mid-forties and had grown more attractive with age. Her hair was dark and cut short in a style that had fallen out of fashion several years before, but she bore the style well, and Carter felt certain that no one, even her producer, would suggest a change. He stared unabashedly at her blouse and cursed when her image was replaced by a news clip. The planet Mars appeared on the screen, but much of its familiar markings were missing. They were replaced by dark swirls. The title
GLOBAL DUST STORM
appeared in black letters across the screen.
He could hear Nelson approaching, then felt a hand on his shoulder. Neither said anything.
A shot of Carter’s cast appeared on the screen. The camera pulled back to show his entire body leaning upon a pair of makeshift crutches. Balancing most of his weight on the crutch farther from his broken leg, he lifted his free arm and waved at the camera. The shot switched to Nelson, who was studying the most recent weather map. He looked up briefly and smiled. A businesslike voice was commenting upon the crew being in good spirits. A brief shot of the Russian crew, then two still photos of Endicott and Vladimir, a photo of Brunnet, then Dr. James D. Cain standing behind a podium, besieged by reporters and flashing bulbs.
Dr. Cain threw a switch on the panel built into the podium, and a satellite picture of Mars appeared behind him. As the lights dimmed, a laser beam sprang from the pointer in his hand. “This area, as you can see, has no visible surface features. They are blocked from our view by the beginnings of a global dust storm. It has formed a veil over the two landing sites and—”
Carter turned off the volume and glanced at his watch. “What are you doing?” Nelson asked.
“Timing the broadcast.”
Nelson considered this, but refrained from comment. They had just watched a similar broadcast a half hour earlier. The mosaic of Mars was replaced by a photograph of Amazonis Planitia; the entire photograph was a blur except for its northern edge. Nelson watched the silent screen for a while, then said, “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“They say this thing could last nearly three months.”
“The global storm, yes. But the winds are relatively light. Ten to thirty kilometers. The lander can handle that. We’ve got nineteen days before the launch window to Earth closes. That gives us plenty of time to pick a safe launch date.”
“Not if we’re caught in the same storm that struck the Russians,” Carter said. “They’re reporting winds over two hundred kilometers per hour.”
“It should let up in a few days.”
The news station flashed its logo on the screen. The picture switched to the Russian press room and Colonel Schebalin, who was fielding questions from reporters. A final shot of Mars, features obliterated, and the news anchor was beginning another story as if the first had never taken place. The buzzer for the food startled both men.
“Exactly three minutes,” Carter observed wryly. “That’s a minute and a half less than yesterday’s report.”
“You should take it as a positive sign,” Colonel Nelson replied. “There is a direct relation between airtime and perceived danger.”
Carter gazed at his food with disappointment. He switched the monitor to a view of the surface. The sky was overcast with what appeared to be yellow clouds of dust. Other than that there was no other evidence of a global dust storm. The sand on the ground did not move. A readout on the lower part of the screen showed that the wind speed was only eighteen kilometers per hour.
“Did you replace the C0
2
-detector cartridges this morning?”
Carter nodded that he had. He did not like the way the sky looked. It had the eerie stillness of the calm before a storm. With his leg still healing there wasn’t much they could do on the surface. The risk was too great to conduct an EVA with one astronaut. It seemed to him that they should just leave. But he knew that there were surface experiments that still needed to be collected, and that in a few days his leg would be strong enough for him to participate in their collection.
“How are you feeling?” Nelson asked.
“I’ll survive.” Carter swept up the remaining juices with his fingers as he stared out at the barren landscape. He was troubled that his immobility had resulted in the cancellation of several of the mission objectives and that it seemed now to be a factor in most of the decisions that were made.
P
ropelled by the force of Komarov’s fist pounding smartly against the table, an aluminum meal tray with two empty food containers jumped several centimeters into the air and flipped twice before landing upon the floor. The resulting clatter did not distract Tatiana from the monitor that displayed the tarp flapping loosely in the wind.