Mission Mars (30 page)

The faint shimmer of the radiation barrier caught April's eye. Jacob Hawking's breakthrough invention was well on its way to changing the atmosphere to something near Earth standard. Though she did not know him personally, she had caught sight of him as they left the compound, a group of stern looking men in tow. The great-grandson of Stephan Hawking had been the most brilliant recorded mind of all time. But as brilliant as he was, their success all came down to hope. She hoped most of all that he succeeded in creating
a new atmosphere for Mars and a new homeland for humans. Or the rescue mission would die. Then there would be no hope for mankind at all. But no one would know for a long time. A cold chill ran down her spine at the thought of being on Mars for years.

A back breaking and bouncing hour later, they finally arrived at the initial dig site. It was a surreal moment after so much planning. Blinking several times, April slid off the seat, collecting all the bits and pieces that fell out of her pockets. Deacon all but jumped out of the vehicle, pulled out a handheld digital tablet containing all their research, plot points, and dig notes and flashed her wide a grin. “Show time, baby!”

Bit by bit they manually plotted the grid from the tablet onto the surrounding landscape using the holoscopes, flags, and laser lines. The computer projected the coordinates along each side. Then, they painstakingly walked over the site three times to sight any surface debris. Nothing but rocks.

As they were finishing their last sweep, April noticed the light had already faded behind them. Her face flushed with a mixture of frustration and regret. Her mother had always told her, “One day, your stubbornness will one day be the death of you.” Maybe today was the day. Not if I have anything to say about it, she thought to herself. She sipped from the water tube in her survival suit and fell back into routine.

In the waning light, they started with section A1. The first layers of surface were always the easiest on Earth. On Mars, though, it was significantly different. Here, loose, fine regolith, which renewed itself every few hours, was like excavating solid concrete. April and Deacon only got twenty centimeters before Deacon had to use the laser cutters. Not ideal for any
possible precious finds, but necessary if they were going to get anywhere at all.

Once night fell, they packed up the necessary equipment, activated the beacons so they could find everything covered in dust the next day, and headed back for the ship.

Back in their barracks, April's frustration at finding nothing on day one was softened by the sight of Deacon's organisational and decorating skills. Even in the small berth for two, he'd been able to use a few brightly coloured cushions and rugs to soften the sterile, white carbon fibre walls. A few photos of friends and family to remind them of what they were striving to protect hung on the wall above the bed. She hugged him, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. “You're awesome. The most amazing husband a woman could ask for.”

“Mmmm, well tell me something I don't know, woman.”

She pushed him away. “You get to write the report and use the shower second for that remark.”

He clicked his tongue, wriggled his eyebrows at her. “No problem, but I get to see you undress first.”

April frowned, but after a few seconds she was returning his smile.

She grabbed a towel and backed her way into the small but efficient bathroom that held an ionic shower, basin, and toilet. April closed her eyes and imagined needles of hot water stinging her skin, instead of the rush of sanitised air that rushed over her. Her skin tingled nonetheless, sensitive from
the long period of sleep and a long day's work. A faint odour tainted the air. A scent she couldn't quite put her finger on: an artificial aroma, maybe fake vanilla.

Her body ached for the warmth of the sun, the kiss of a summer breeze, the smell of the ocean. The pain of realisation rose deep from her belly. Never again would they see Earth, except from this barren place. Their future.

As Deacon took his turn in the shower, April ate her rations, then slipped into the bed. The cotton sheets rubbed against her skin, still tingling from the shower. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was still too wound up to sleep. Her thoughts turned to her grandmother. April regretted yet again not learning to knit. But it had pained her to see the old woman wrap her gnarled hands around the stiff, pointed sticks. April tried to push those thoughts aside. Too, too late now. Besides, there was no yarn on Mars.

Finished with his shower, Deacon slipped into bed behind her and wrapped his naked body around hers. The tension in her body receded as he kissed her shoulder, her neck, her ear. April, exhausted but excited by his touch, turned and embraced her husband. Moving together, they released each other's tensions, a well-oiled machine.

Afterward, she contently drifted off to sleep in his arms, dreaming of blue seas, clear skies, and picnics by the lake. Ella's laugh echoing in the distance.

They repeated the pattern in the days that followed. Utilising their best stratigraphic skills, April and Deacon
repetitively sifted through dirt, peeling back time, revealing each layer of rock and sand, opening up Mars' dirty little secrets. After utilising every flicker of daylight possible, they returned to the mother ship, checked their rover in with Lieutenant Whitman, and returned to their barracks. They systematically refueled and cleaned their weary bodies, rested, and collated the daily reports. It left no time or energy to socialize with the other colonists. Besides, April, and even Deacon would struggle to find anything in common with biologists, geneticists, architects, or the military.

The makeshift lab covered one bench, including equipment they brought. Each day, they tested every rock and soil sample, searching for any possible life form or fossil. Every day the results were the same. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

“Argh. Deacon, what if we're wrong? What if all this was for no reason?”

“No. We're not wrong. I am never wrong, remember?” He pulled one rock out of the machine and placed another in.

“But we haven't found anything at all. Not even a smidgeon.”

He turned, and for the first time since they'd met, his face tightened in anger. It frightened her. “We. Are. Not. Wrong.” The machine beeped another negative. Deacon pulled the rock out and repeated the procedure. “We just haven't found the right dig site yet. Mars is a big place.” April was sure that if nothing else, the beeping may drive her mad.

The machine beeped another negative. His teeth clenched, Deacon placed a different rock in the scanner.

Three hot, dust-filled weeks later they reached the deepest level of digging they could without using the excavator equipment. April had seen enough shades of red and black sand to last her the rest of her life. In Grid C, ten layers down lay an assortment of fossil-like rocks. Without thought, April dug her gloved fingers into the ground, levering out a hand-sized porous stone. Contained within was a definite shape of a snail-type creature. The samples that followed also held different types of small life forms encased in stone. April tingled from head to toe as each sample was loaded into the rover. Proof of life. They'd found proof of life on Mars. Could other forms of life—aliens—have lived alongside these creatures? If so, were they still alive here somewhere? Could they help humanity survive?

Deacon reached for April's hand. She squeezed it, grinning at him like a little kid. For the first time since they'd arrived on Mars, their excitement was palpable. Adrenaline pumped through her body like a drug.

That night neither of them could sleep. They spent the night testing sample after sample and finding each one contained traces of organic material. April fidgeted when she sat, wriggled when she lay. She could not stand still. Deacon typed reports like a madman, dissecting and comparing samples until the bag was empty.

“Well?” April asked, pacing around the bed.

Deacon scratched his head. “This is going to sound crazy, but the DNA patterns aren't what we expected at all. It's strange.”

She sat beside him and grabbed his arm. “Sentient snails?”

He snorted. “No. Not like that. I mean … I expected it
to be … alien. Different. But this is not that either. All the samples are clones—or near clones—of species we have on Earth. Or have had at different times in history.” He shook his head. “It doesn't make sense.” Deacon leaned over and kissed her full on the lips. “I need time to think about this. And I do my best thinking naked,” he mumbled as he pulled her top over her head. She was anxious for answers, concerned with the turn of events, but she still laughed and reciprocated his advances fuelled by a new-found hope.

The alarm on her wrist vibrated. With a fresh rush of energy, the two dressed for another day on the dig site.

Using a blower, they drove off the layers of dirt that had resettled on top of the site. Using the trowel to edge around the fossils, they uncovered at least twenty more different types before having to change to a mech digger.

The sound of metal hitting metal rang in her ears as happily as a church bell to a preacher. But patience had never been one of April's virtues, so she and Deacon manually excavated around edges of the dig, metre by metre, revealing what looked strangely like metal. Deacon swept his broom back and forth, creating a red tornado. What looked like Cuneiform, or some related language, started forming on one side of the metal panel. April and Deacon stared at each other, mouths agape.

“What is that?” April mumbled.

“It looks like some sort of metal plate, maybe adamantium. But how?” Deacon turned the plate over again and again, as if
that would somehow explain how it got there. The new metal had only been used on Earth since the thirtieth century. It had been named after a fictional metal in a classic Marvel movie series back when people cared about such things.

“There must be more where that came from.”

“Some rogue agency had to have sent scouts to Mars years before our colonies got here. Maybe they dropped it?” Deacon rubbed over the Sumerian-like letters with his gloved hands.