Expedition

67 15 6
                                    

Another day, another inspection. The rover isn't what it used to be. It wasn't designed to last forever. It wasn't even designed for this poisonous atmosphere. But we have to work with what we have in the failing search for signs of life on this barren planet.

There are other research stations, though most have gone silent over the years. All that's left are pockets of desperate scientists and soldiers working together in this futile endeavour.

"You alright, Captain?"

"What?"

Fischer is watching me with worried eyes.

"You must have kicked that tyre a dozen times, sir."

I glance around the airlock, there is no one else there.

"We're alone, Leigh."

"I know, Captain."

I shake my head, not bothering to get into this argument again. Despite everything, Fischer insists on following protocol. She insists that everybody else does too, even though I don't care about my rank. I'm a biologist, not a soldier. By the time they put the scientists in charge, it was far too late. Now they call me Captain. But it means nothing.

I decide to change the subject to keep myself from spiralling.

"How much longer till the rover dies on us?" I ask, though I don't particularly want to know the answer.

"It'll last a lot longer if you stop kicking her." She smiles, but the jest offers little camouflage for the obvious truth.

Eirik and Anders open the door in time to break the lengthening silence. The researchers were useful once, when there were still signs of life to be found. Now the brothers waste their time collecting samples and finding nothing of interest. Just like I do.

"Where to today, Captain?" asks Eirik, though he doesn't appear to be too concerned with what the answer may be.

"There's a valley just under two hundred kilometres to the north-west," I say, unfolding an old map of Norway. "It was covered in glacial ice once, not all that long ago."

They all stare at the map in silence. I know what they're thinking, but we've already searched everywhere else within reach.

"So long as the air filters are functioning on the rover, we should be able to rotate our oxygen tanks."

I look to Fischer for confirmation, but she doesn't respond.

"Any arguments?"

The brothers glance at one another, then nod. Fischer reluctantly joins them, her hand subconsciously sliding to her belly. I pretend not to notice.

We load up our instruments, and prepare our suits and oxygen masks. We crosscheck for any signs of problems, make sure our gear is all functioning the way it should. A boring ritual, but none of us is ready to take needless risks.

"Okafor, do you copy?"

"Loud and clear, sir."

The rest of the team test their radios, and we climb into the rover as the airlock releases and the outer door rises. Thick clouds of carbon dioxide and methane flow into the room, invisible to the eye, but deadly.

"Let's get going."

Fischer nods, and the rover promptly begins to roll out onto the red sand. The sun strikes us from its position a short way above the horizon, and even this early in the morning, the heat is oppressive.

"Batteries full," says Fischer, "solar panels functioning. Everything looks good, Captain."

I glance nervously at the four oxygen tanks piped into the air filters. We'll need to switch them out in a couple of hours, then refill the tanks we're using now. If the filters fail out of range, we'll never make it back.

Eirik and Anders are already getting comfortable. Somehow they can always sleep, no matter how wretched the journey. The terrain is rough out here, dry and weathered, pocked in the land's illness. The rover wasn't built for luxury.

Nor was it built for these long journeys.

A Red PlanetWhere stories live. Discover now