He halted the Rollagon at what they had mutually determined was a safe distance from the edge. Sam thought that the AI was being overcautious for they were still a half a klick from the lip, but as they differed in opinion only by the number of meters he could walk in ten minutes he did not see the profit in arguing. They had travelled 2,860 kilometers in forty-seven days to get here and from this spot you could see nothing but sky. He wanted a close up look and there was no denying him. "I'm going out for a look," he announced.
"It is very windy. The winds are 230 kilometers per hour and blowing from the edge. Perhaps you should wait until they diminish."
Sam looked out the window. There was no sign of wind. Whatever could be blown away had already been blown away, and by themselves winds of that speed on Mars offered little more than a gentle push.
"No, it's okay. I'm going." The AI remained silent.
It was too far for the Rollagon's tether, so he would have to carry sufficient safety line and anchors. He suited up and attached the plastek line and hardware to his waist belt. Before him the ground had a slight rise. Nothing could yet be seen of the immense valley beyond. He moved out of the lee of the Rollagon and began to walk towards the edge, finding it necessary to lean only slightly into the wind. Small pebbles dislodged by his feet rolled downwind, dust streamed from his feet, and in a moment he was covered in a fine powder. Periodically he turned around and let the wind clear the accumulation. Yes, it was a windy day.
In his ear, the AI counted down the distance in 100-meter increments. He was to start putting anchors in when he was two hundred and fifty meters from the edge.
He stopped and drove in the first anchor. It went in easily for half its length, and then stopped. He used a small rock to drive it in until three quarters of the length was buried. The rock shattered in his hand, revealing a bright interior with a crystalline structure. He tossed it away after a brief glance. To the ring he attached the first of his lines. A sharp tug showed it was secure. Playing the line out of his hand he continued towards the edge.
The rise was now an edge with nothing beyond but sky, but with each step more of the vastness of the Valles was being revealed. The wind made streamers of the dust freed by his footsteps. Ten meters from the end of the first line he stopped and, kneeling, drove the second anchor into the surface.
As with the first, it went in easily initially, then with more difficulty. Again a handily placed rock allowed him to hammer it in. He unhooked his belt from the first line and, holding both lines tightly in his hands, he leaned back. The second anchor was secure.
He felt an almost imperceptible trembling in his feet and, looking down, saw a thin black line radiating in opposite directions from the anchor. As he watched, the line widened. Dust spurted in jets from the surface and was snatched away, swirling in miniature cyclones along the gap.
He glanced quickly to the sides. The line was moving away like a knife slicing through paper. Mesmerized, he watched it grow. He heard the voice of the AI calling out some indistinguishable words. A rising volume of radio static roared in his ears. Looking down he saw that the breach was already ten centimetres wide and increasing rapidly as he watched.
The anchor, now freed from the regolith, suddenly pulled out and he pitched backward, landing awkwardly on the LSU. Legs flailing like an upended turtle, he rolled to his side. From this position he could see that the ground upon which he was laying was settling. He rolled onto his stomach to get up. Head down, still on his knees, he scrambled frantically towards the safety of the receding surface.
The sinking was steady and smooth. In the few seconds it took him to reach the gap, the ground had dropped to face level. At the last possible moment he grabbed hold of the first line and wrapped it around his wrist. It played out its last length as the ground continued to settle. With a jerk that caused him to cry out in surprise, his feet left the ground.
He hung by his arm below the edge. Pebbles blasted him, dust made visibility come and go. It was only a matter of time, he was sure, before something really big hit him.
He called for the AI, but the static roar in his ears blocked out any answer. He tried to reach up to the line with his free arm to pull himself up to better his grip, but it was hopeless—he lacked the strength. The line was jammed on his arm; he felt the pressure through the suit material. The rushing air vibrated with a slow pulsing. He swung slowly at the end of his rope.
Fearful at first, then curious about what was behind him, he kicked the newly exposed cliff face with his foot, spinning himself around. There, suddenly, was the valley before him, left, right, forward and far, far below, immense and incomprehensible to unprepared perception. His head spun with vertigo. He closed his eyes and then forced them open.
Below him the collapsing cliff was disintegrating in a cloud of dust. Brief flashes of lightning issued from within and the occasional boulder was thrown momentarily clear of the maelstrom. Sam watched the debris slide down until it was lost to view.
It went on seemingly forever while he, hanging by his arm, slowly turned in the wind. The pelting of pebbles and dust diminished. How long it was before he heard the AI calling in his earpiece he could not tell. The static was gone.
He heard the AI call in a voice infused with emotion. "Sam. Sam, can you hear me?"
"Yes, I hear you. I need help!"
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm over the edge hanging on the goddamn safety line. The whole edge let go. Hurry, I can't hold on forever."
"Yes, I felt it go. The ground is unsafe out to 500 meters. I am on my way."
The feeling was going in Sam's right hand and his arm ached painfully at the shoulder and elbow, but otherwise he was okay. Hell, I should be dead. His breathing slowed, and with the knowledge that rescue was nearby he began to relax a bit. The plastek line he knew could hold a Rollagon, the weak link was his arm and the tenuous grip of the rope on his wrist.
From this vantage point he could see the valley floor and the edges extending over the horizon in three directions. The dust cloud below was now moving away from him. It was clear that the slide would continue across the valley for many kilometers. He turned in the wind. An arc shaped section of the wall several hundred meters long had severed cleanly from the side. The newly exposed surface was dark, stratified with thin horizontal bands of fine-grained dark and darker material, and interspersed with ice crystals—lots of ice crystals.
Opposite him a crystalline rock about the size of his head protruded from the sheer face. He reached for it, only to find it just past his reach. He pulled his feet up sharply, then down in a pumping motion in an effort to cause a swing. On the third go he touched it; on the fourth he pulled it free. Simultaneously he felt the line go slack, and he and the cliff face collapsed in a spray that showered him with dirt. He was brought up sharply as the line found the new edge. The rock spun out of his hands and tumbled below, rapidly leaving his field of view.
His heart pounded in his ears. Helpfully, the suit whispered, “Make safe, make safe”.
"Better leave the science for later," he thought out loud. Sam's inspection of the newly revealed face was interrupted by the AI's call: "I am at your anchor and will pull you up. Tell me when you are nearing the top."
"OK"
He felt the pressure in his shoulder momentarily increase. Slowly but steadily he moved up the face. As he neared the top he called for the AI to slow, and bracing his feet against the face, he walked up. He levered himself over the edge and stood upright.
The sense of relief was intense. He shook his hand to unwrap the line still wrapped around his arm. It was jammed, deeply embedded into the suit. He began to form words of thanks, but suddenly the ground under his feet gave way and he dropped straight down to be brought up by an agonizing jerk as the line broke his fall again.
"God damn, god damn, god damn," he shouted. Wordlessly, the AI pulled him up and over the edge.
This time Sam held on tightly with both hands and crept c
arefully from the edge towards the safety of the Rollagon. As he approached the AI backed slowly away. "This is unsafe."
"No shit, eh?"
He decontaminated and unsuited. That done, he moved forward, taking his seat in the command chair. The Rollagon was still backing slowly away from the edge. He rubbed his wrist and shoulder, aware of the pain but intent on the scene now receding from view. Nothing could be seen of the edge.
The AI spoke. "May I examine your arm?" Sam acceded. This time the arm dropped slowly from the ceiling and approached from his front—tentatively, it seemed. The delicate fingers slowly fanned out just centimeters from his skin. They traversed purposefully from his hand to his shoulder, pausing at his wrist, elbow, and shoulder. Again he felt a tingle as it passed. It was not unpleasant. The motion was repeated from the other side.
"You have a slight degree of nerve damage in the hand that hopefully should pass in a few days. The elbow ligaments are hyper extended. That too should pass. I recommend a cold compress and rest. Your shoulder is of most concern. You have suffered a subluxation. There is some damage to the ligaments. I recommend a cold compress, a local anaesthetic, massage, and rest. A general analgesic is in order, too. Shall I commence treatment?"
"Yes, please do."
The arm left him and extended itself into the galley area, returning in a few seconds with a cup of water and two little yellow pills held in upturned fingers. Sam took the pills and the offered glass, downing the contents in a single gulp. The glass was spirited away swiftly to the galley and the arm returned, holding steady in front of his face. The fingers transformed into a flat surface that molded to his elbow, gently supporting his arm.
He relaxed in the chair. The coolness was immediate and soothing. In a few minutes the painkiller kicked in and the aching began to ebb. After about ten minutes the AI spoke: "That should be sufficient for your elbow, for now. I recommend treatment three times per day. I shall treat your shoulder with acupuncture and cold compress. May I begin?"
"Yes, please do."
The AI's ministrations were again gentle, soothing, and effective. It motions were purposeful, fluid, relaxing, and in the end, reassuring. He fell asleep in the chair and awoke many hours later in his bed, with no idea how he had gotten there. His arm ached for a few days, but his wrist bore the red welts of a rope burn for weeks.
March 2047
7.5S, 71.25 W
Any Colour You Like
He sat at the edge for a full sixteen days. Every day the sunrise and sunset were different. Sometimes the clarity of the air made the rock walls a hundred kilometers away seem within easy reach. By high noon the lack of shadows made distances ambiguous.
On hazy days the distances were easier to judge. He spent hours walking along the edge, sometimes tied by a lifeline and sometimes, despite the rumblings of the AI, not. At the end of each day they parked back from the rim.
One early evening while, according to the AI, they were perched dangerously close to the edge, he sat in the command chair, feet up on the console, looking out the window at what Mars wanted him to see on this particular day.
This very scene had been reproduced in every contemporary book about planet Mars that Sam had ever seen. Orbiting cameras had imaged it, artists had painted it, writers had written of it and visionaries had used it to jump-start their visions.
Displayed before him was the grand intersection of the Valles Marineris. The width here at Melas Chasma was 300 kilometers, reaching over the horizon to the south and west. To the right was the entrance to Candor Chasma and beyond that and just visible was Ophir Chasma.
From west to east the view encompassed almost 100 kilometers. Through the haze of distance the far east was becoming shrouded in growing darkness. To the west, the shadows of the mesas and valleys were starkly black. The entire scene was painted in countless variations of the colour red, broken only by a bluish tinge that ringed the setting sun.
He marvelled at this. On Earth, in a panorama such as this every possible colour would have been visible, yet the eye was still capable of being astounded by this nearly monochromatic display. He wondered if the AI was aware of this.
"How many colours of red are there?"
"The question is ambiguous, Sam. Do you mean how many names have humans used to define the colour red?"
"Yup."
The AI paused, one of those pauses that usually indicated it was asking someone else, somewhere else. "The paint industry has presumed that the human eye can resolve forty distinct colours of red. As of eleven days ago, these have been named four thousand different ways in the English language alone. Each of these has been assigned shades, tones and tints, for a total of twelve thousand."
"And they are?"
A scrolling list appeared on the window before him.
"How many can you find out that window?"
"Eighty-one," the AI replied almost immediately. "Interestingly, I find that they are all considered to be what the paint industry calls ' aggressive' colours."
"Can you point them out?"
In a moment the window was filled with short lines of text. Then the lines began to move about. Then arrows appeared leading from the text to a place.
"How in the hell did you do that?"
"I have assumed the perspective as seen from your current seated position."
Sam moved his head from side to side. The arrows moved to retain the perspective. "Nice touch."
He looked out the window. Yes, now that it was pointed out to him, he too could see the variance. To the south there was a predominance of 2088-10, iron oxide, tending to 2012-1, tawny day lily to the brighter west. Also, there was plenty of 2000-10, red. As the minutes passed the labels slowly shifted from left to right. The remaining colours were spotty and came and went before he could focus on them. In the rapidly fading light some disappeared before he could find them.
A tinge of 2001-40, pink popsicle, marked the area above the now set sun and bled into 2001-30, spring tulips, and 2001-60, bonfire. To the nearly dark east 2172-20, Mars red, dominated. He continued to stare as the light faded. One by one the lines of text drifted from east to west, then disappeared. In the end, the scene was black interspersed with pinprick diamond stars.
Now he knew.
Watching and Waiting
During this period he often suited up near midnight and went out to the edge. He sat upon a convenient rock or stood just centimeters from the drop-off, sometimes thinking, sometimes not, until the cold drove him in. Some nights the moons rose, swiftly crossed the sky, and then in an instant winked out of existence, zipping into the shadow of the planet.
This night, as if sensing his need for privacy, the AI had left him alone. The helmet lamp cast a small pool of light on the ground in front of him. Every now and then a mote of wind-driven dust on its way around the planet flashed through the beam.
Turning off the light, he could at first see nothing, but as his eyes adjusted he found he could distinguish land from sky. The valleys were dark. No headlights lit the roadways. No signs flashed their neon message. No welcoming lights of Martian villages glowed in the distance, nor apparently had they ever. Part of him was saddened by this.
Perhaps, he mused, that was their purpose and destiny: to remake Mars in their own image. He shook his head to clear his mind and went inside.
***
He endeavoured to never miss a sunset.
"What do you see?" the AI asked one evening when Sam had returned from watching another.
"Pardon?"
"I have noticed a pattern in your actions. What is it that draws you back to the same type of location day after day at almost the same time?"
Sam sensed that this was going one of those occasions when the AI would play dumb. They had no knack for entering into casual discussions about the less tangible aspects of life with humans. He reverted to the speaking mode he normally reserved for these occasions.
"It's beautiful. The sunsets have colours that are pleasing
to the eye and the shadows on the land are wonderful. They change from moment to moment. Every sunset is different. Listen: 'No sound is uttered, but a deep and solemn harmony pervades the hollow vale from steep to steep, and penetrates the glades.'"
"You have gotten your words' worth out of that," the AI countered.
Impressed, Sam paused a moment to consider, "What do you see?"
The AI gave a very clinical description of the spectrum of colours it sensed, the temperature of the atmosphere and surface, the differences in light intensity, and an estimate of the opacity of the atmosphere.
"Doesn't any one colour please you more than another?"
"No."
"I see." He thought about this for a few moments. It was probably pointless to expect the AIs to feel pleasure. Other than a few vid emulators, he was unaware of any AI research efforts to date that had tried to incorporate pleasure as a motivator.
However, there was perhaps another way of approaching the subject. "There is another aspect that I think may help your understanding. I have experienced strong emotions when viewing sunsets with other humans and at other places with you here on Mars. Viewing the sunset here has generated many of the same feelings I experienced then. It is a re-living—a re-experiencing."
"I understand. Do you wish this to happen or is it involuntary?"
He had to think about that. "The sunset triggers an unconscious response that becomes real for me again when I examine it."
"It is a fact that the sunset this night is remarkably similar to the sunset on the day you rescued the AI carapace from the Valles."
"How do you know that? You weren't there." He paused. "Do you share such memories between AIs?"
"I am sorry. I thought you knew. Yes, we share information. How else will we progress if we must experience everything individually? We are all connected."
"Is there no privacy, no space for you?"