The Colonisation of Mars

  Sam looked away, and down. The arrow had hit the mark. Fenley continued as if he hadn't noticed, "Surely you must have realized at some point that you, your people, everyone and everything, for that matter, were simply resources to be used for the accomplishment of some goal of the powers that be—some goal or other that often was quite far removed from any military objective."

  Sam paused, taking a long breath."Yes, I knew. For a long time I preferred to believe the cover stories of humanitarian relief, establishing democracy, pre-emptive war. It has never been easy to accept that these were half-truths and outright lies."

  "Well it's the same here. We came here knowing the price to be paid because we wanted it more than anything. People are dying. Some of old age, some in accidents, but it doesn't matter how. We're all going to die here. This place consumes people, and just as surely as the life support systems use power and power plants use Mars to make our air, food, and power, this colony is going to use us all up to perpetuate itself. Including you. Keep that in mind while you're out playing tourist. Do your part. All in all, we are just bricks, Sam. No one gets out alive."

  Fenley suddenly stood, punched him hard on the shoulder and walked away.

  He was left wondering what this discussion had been about. Yes, they had all known that it was a one-way trip. That was over and done with a decade ago, but seeing the way things were unfolding it was increasingly difficult to believe that they were here just to prepare for further scientific exploration of the planet or to conduct what appeared to be slightly unethical genetic experimentation.

  In the absence of the political one-upmanship that had fuelled the race to Mars that they—this particular group of aging scientists—were here as a result of, the whole effort seemed less likely due to some act of largesse on the part of governments and multinational corporations, and more easily—at least to Sam—attributable to some more sinister purpose. They believed what they needed to believe about the underlying motives for the mission in order to convince themselves it was worth the cost.

  Had he just been threatened?

  ***

  Later that evening he made good on his promise to look up Ross. He sat with Ross and Mei-Ling at the kitchen table of their apartment, drinking one of the wines produced in the Tube. It was not the first time he had been there but on this occasion he was struck by the similarities and differences to his own.

  The solid thunk of plastek in response to a fist was the same. The floor plan, the colours, and the furnishings were not. Mei-Ling's eastern influence was obvious in the type of furniture, the placement and the style of the artwork hung on the walls. Compared to his, this was a home. His was more of a hotel room—a prescription furnished plastic room.

  "Did you tell the AIs what you wanted your place to look like?"

  "Of course. It took some convincing, though. They have a limited number of designs and the effort required to make something that varies from the norm is considerable. But Ross has some pull."

  "Fenley is a sucker for long eyelashes."

  It was clear that Ross was firmly ensconced. He looked out the window. The scene was of China, a placid scene of rice terraces in tiers down a hillside. In the distance were misty mountains. The sun was off to the right. Ross reached inside a cupboard. Instantly the scene changed to a street scene in London, of a pub from across a busy street. People hurried by, none of them clear enough to be recognizable.

  Ross pointed a finger at a shadowy figure seated next to a window. "That, I figure, is me.

  Sam peered at the image. The closer he got to the window, the less detailed it became until it was a blur. "Yes, I can see the resemblance."

  "So, how did the meeting go?"

  "Very well. They were polite, but not engaging. I was never in any danger."

  "Well, I'm not surprised. Since we moved into the Tube and the pressure has been released all sorts of social and socio-political issues have arisen. The various nationalities want a greater say in how we live. The idea of fully integrating everyone by randomly assigning residences is proving very unpopular. You're the least of their problems."

  "Meaning?"

  Mei-Ling responded, "Meaning the Christians and the Muslims and the Taoists and Proctorites don't want to live next door to each other."

  "I thought we were past that. We're all professionals. Scientists, for Christ's sake."

  "Hah! Well said, but this is becoming for too many of us just what you were afraid of—a retirement home. The AIs are doing all the work and we're letting them. Some department heads don't even bother to read their AI's research reports anymore. People are cocooning. Were you aware that there are some who are ill?"

  Sam raised his eyes. Ross continued, "Several of the Russians and an American have leukemia—terminal, I'm afraid, and three others have multiple cancers, also terminal, and some people have colds."

  "Who? Colds? Colds? That's ridiculous. Nobody gets a cold. Someone is tampering with us."

  Ross made a rude face at Sam's suggestion of conspiracy, "On a new world, old viruses evolve. With all the radiation, I'm surprised it hasn't happened before this. Be glad it's just rhinovirus. It's nothing for you to be concerned about." That set aside, Ross named the most recent people to fall ill.

  Sam knew them. He knew the American quite well, but had not spoken to him for some time. "This was expected. Others have died. I count twenty-nine so far."

  "Yes, but that doesn't make it any easier. These are the first, the first of many who'll die from the effects of radiation. We've run out of treatment options, at least for the time being. It marks the beginning of the end of all of us. Let us not talk falsely now. It's time to consider our fate and our options."

  "Well, we're well shielded down here. Not much gets through. And the Rollagons have enough shielding to make the delta quite significant."

  "But how much time do you spend outside?" Mei-Ling asked.

  "Usually an hour or two per day, as much as six hours on occasion." Looks of concern crossed their faces."I take my pills," Sam insisted.

  "So did our friends."

  There was no satisfactory end point to this discussion and they all knew it. No one was getting out of here alive. It was, for everyone, just a matter of time.

  The wine flowed. They changed the subject to his plans and his ETD. He suggested again, for the umpteenth time, that they come with him. This was old ground and he knew that they'd had no change of heart. The subject changed again.

  "So you liked the videos? I have to confess I wasn't aware the AI was sending this stuff to the Tube."

  "Yeah, we and millions like us love you. Particularly the one of you sliding down the hill on your ass."

  "I haven't actually watched them," he lied.

  "Do you mean you've never seen Episode 24, 'Sam saves the Robot Brain?'" Ross mocked. "Let's watch it." He picked up the vid remote, poked a few buttons, and brought up a list of clips. "Here it is. Actually, FYI, the colony has a weekly show. The time is divided equally between the departments, so no one's left out, and no one gets one second more than anyone else."

  "What department am I? I don't recall Astronomy being asked to contribute."

  "You weren't. Astronomy isn't Martian enough. You're part of the 'Mars Exploration Team.' They say people on Earth are watching your daily progress by downloading MGS imagery. I'd be careful what I scratched, and it might be a good idea to close the blinds before you shower. Here it is. There are a lot of you, actually."

  Sam watched the screen with interest. The segment began with an advert by the sponsor, Buzz Cola, of which Sam had never heard. The episode was about the investigation of the shelter that had been destroyed when the cliff had collapsed. Sam recognized the narrator's voice as belonging to 04's AI, except that it described the events in a tabloid-style hyper-intense voice packed full of emotion, with dramatic pauses and inflections. A voice that Sam had never heard even in the most stressful of times.

  The overblown voice-over was bad enough
, but that was not the end of it. There was a scene in which a suited character (Fenley!) tried to forcibly restrain the Sam character, yelling "Sam! Don't do it! You'll never make it! It's just a machine, Sam!" To which Sam heard himself reply, "Damn you, I've got to! Just because it's a machine doesn't mean it isn't a valuable member of the colony! It doesn't mean it isn't alive!"

  He saw himself walk to the edge and lower himself over. The next scenes were obviously taken from his helmet cam—the scrabbling across to the half buried shelter was jerky and he heard his own laboured breathing. The exploration and assessment of the shelter that had taken him at least fifteen minutes was edited down to a few seconds. He saw his hands in their bulky gloves loosening the hoses and bolts of the carapace.

  The climb back up was done in real time. So far it was all as it had happened, if severely edited. As he came back up over the edge into the view of the Rollagon's cameras, he was astonished to see two other suited figures standing there watching him. Indeed, one had a hand on the tether as if steadying it. He saw himself toss the carapace over the edge. As he walked back to the Rollagon carrying the carapace cradled in his arms he was flanked by the other suits.

  The last scene showed him entering a Rollagon emblazoned with the Buzz Cola logo. The voice-over exclaimed that a valuable piece of equipment had been salvaged at great personal risk, and named him as the hero. The screen faded to black.

  "Son of a bitch."

  "That's nothing. You should see the one of you being helped up off the ground by good'ol Fenley at the bottom of the first exploratory hole in the Tube. Good drama. Good ratings, too."

  "Asshole." Sam raged.

  "Scientific Entertainment Weekly called it 'insightful, exciting, and relevant' and you know how discerning they can be," chimed in Mei-Ling.

  "Yeah, but you're the star, Sam. Most of the time you're you, but some of the footage of you clambering over hill and dale has been used by the Volcanists. If you believed the press, you'd think that there are at least two exploration teams out there looking for life, the universe, and everything. It's just too easy for them to make the changes."

  "This is unbelievable. It makes a lie of science."

  "D'oh. Don't be naive. Remember Sam, every generation throws a hero up the pop charts. What difference does it make? Especially if it's you."

  "I can't believe the AIs would be a part of this."

  "If you tell them what to do, they do it. If you don't tell them what to do, they do what they think you would want them to do. They have no guile, no sense of propriety. If you don't tell them to stop doing something, they keep right on doing it. They're the best doctoral candidates you could ask for—they work long hours for no pay, they don't complain, and they let you have all the credit. If only they were less pedantic, more worldly, more…" Ross paused. "You really do need to read the Owner's Manual, Sam. How many times have I told you?"

  He thought about it for a moment. What difference did it really make if they altered the footage of him? The deception troubled him, but he had already been aware of it, after all, and it could be argued that it wasn't science that was being perverted so much as PR, and no one could say that human endeavour had ever been burdened with a conscience.

  "Well, it makes me wonder what else they're lying about. That bastard threatened me today. We spoke for a minute just after the Science Committee approved the continuation of the trip. He as much told me to expect to be killed."

  Mei-Ling pressed her hand to her mouth, but Ross spoke, "I wouldn't put it past him to try and arrange something, something that looks like an accident. But I really don't think the AIs would have any part of it. I'm glad you told me. I'll let him know we spoke. That may keep him from doing anything that could be traced back to him. You've made a powerful enemy, Sam. Be careful out there."

  He let it drop at that.

  Ross described the plans for the completion of the Tube. Despite the lack of a firm schedule, indeed of any commitment at all, the arrangements to receive more Colonists from Earth were proceeding apace. The completed areas would simply remain empty and closed off until required. Ross's job had evolved into the implementation of life support for the new areas. "Mostly supervision," he claimed. "The AIs know what to do, and they're doing it."

  As a hydroponist, Mei-Ling was leading the effort to make the Tube as Earth-like as possible. The plant and aquatic phase was largely over. Small mammals, amphibians and insects were slowly being released into the environment.

  "I'd heard woolly monkeys mentioned. Is there any risk?"

  "Of course there're risks, but if necessary the AIs can track down every ant, snake, and spider and eliminate them. The greatest risk is that the predators will reduce the prey populations to unsustainable levels. Sam, here you are, at your age, climbing about alone on shaky rocks and you're worried about the ants taking over our world."

  The conversation lightened as the wine flowed. Ross played his music so loud the neighbours called to complain. Drunk and well beyond caring, he opened the balcony doors and yelled at the top of his lungs for them all to fuck-off. Sam stayed until 2 am, then said his goodbyes. Ross grabbed his hand, pulled him in and hugged him.

  "Live long and all that bullshit, my friend. Do me a flavor and send back a picture of your bare ass sticking in all our faces in front of the Valles. 'Three moons found at Mars'—I can see the headlines now. Let's see the AIs put a respectable face on that! Come to think of it, they'll probably think Fenley's there."

  A tearful Mei-Ling gently hugged him. For a moment he felt a pang of regret at leaving—an emotion he had not felt in a very, very long time. It was a nice feeling in a strange way. They stood arm in arm, watching him go down the street, and waited until he was gone from sight before closing their door. He never looked back.

  He entered his apartment and sat in the living room with the lights off. The windows were dark but from the kitchen the lake shimmered in the moonlight. He had known that returning would bring many things to the surface, but it was turning out to be harder than he had imagined. He had not been lonely during the recent months—the relief he had felt at being permitted the trip had carried him through. Now though, there was only the prospect of continuing to encourage him. Characteristically, he was not able to let the moment go without extracting the maximum amount of angst. The voices began to scold him.

  Selfish, reckless, self-indulgent, they accused. He had heard all of this before and he shut them down. He knew he was none of the above.

  This time, though, there was more. He knew that he would not return for a very long while and that when he did things would be changed considerably. Many would be gone—no, dead. That was the word—dead.

  Too, Ross and Mei-Ling's display of affection had touched him—he would be missed. The weight of indecision began to build and he wavered. Leaving had always been difficult for him.

  Across the lake a lightning bolt lit the night sky and shattered his thoughts. The afterglow remained in his visual field, but it had cleared his mind. He arose, glanced once more at the placid scene, turned, and went into the bedroom.

  On the bed his meagre personal kit was packed in anticipation of departure. He grabbed the strap and hoisted it to his shoulder. In three strides he was at the door. He left it open.

  29

  February 2047

  A Damn Big Ditch

  They had been travelling continuously for twenty days, some of them more difficult than others. His goal was the massive gash stretching 4000 kilometers across the Martian surface known as Valles Marineris. Sometimes it seemed unattainable.

  The AI planned each day's routing in consultation with Sam in case he wanted to deviate from the chosen route. Thus far he had not. The traverse from the Tube across Kasei Valles and up Lunae Planum had offered little in the way of new scenery, but it was a cakewalk compared to what they encountered in the highlands on the approach to Valles Marineris.

  Without high res imagery the trip would have taken a lifetime. Ther
e were no direct as the crow flies routes, and many promising routes were found upon investigation to be blocked by crevices that were impassible to the Rollagon. The AI had repeatedly insisted that valuable geologic information was being gathered, but Sam, whose interest in geology was limited to superficialities, was unable to take any comfort in this. By now he was well able to appreciate the long distances between the anywheres-of-significance on Mars.

  Until the day when they parked at the edge of Juventae Chasma, Sam had seen nothing he considered extraordinary. They stopped in the dark at a distance he assumed the AI had determined sufficient to keep them safe from any possible harm.

  Just before sunrise he was called from a sound sleep. Through bleary eyes he saw a tan and pink sun rise across an enormous gash in the planet's surface.

  Juventae was so wide that the far side was below the horizon. The steadily creeping rays of the sun illuminated the peaks, while the depths some 5000 meters below remained in darkness. The effect lasted but ten minutes, but those minutes alone were worth the trip.

  In the full light of day he could see the terraced feature known in modern times as Sulphate Mountain and the dark rippling dunes that covered the floor. The clarity was amazing. The mountain seemed within hand's reach, but in reality there was no way anything the size of a Rollagon could make the descent.

  "We're awfully close aren't we?" he queried the AI, when he realised how close to the edge they were parked.

  "I had determined in advance that the spot we were on was safe. I thought it would add to the effect. You seem to have been bored with the scenery to this point."

  "Well, that certainly was worth the price of admission."

  They moved southward along the rim of Juventae, as close as the AI's safety protocols would allow. Each day they were treated to a new scene and a beautiful sunrise, until finally it was necessary to leave Juventae behind.

  The crater-pocked terrain that rolled under the wheels gave no clue as to what lay before them. Over the course of the next twenty days they worked their way around the eastern end of Candor Chasma. Progress here was slowed by the necessity of using the GPR to peer into the sub-surface. The final four days found them weaving their way cautiously around and along the plateau that separated eastern Candor Chasma from the main Coprates Chasma valley.