The observation dome gave Pat a panoramic view of the alien world outside their habitat. The landscape was barren, deadly to unprotected humans, but he still wished he could walk outside without a space suit. It broke his heart to know he was going to die without ever feeling sunlight on his face again.
Hank entered the living space from the service area.
“Still staring outside?”
“Yup.”
“Thought I asked you to look after the hydroponics.”
“I don’t give a shit about the hydroponics. Let them die, they don’t produce enough food, barely any oxygen and we can save the water for ourselves.”
Hank frowned, but Pat ignored him. Hank’s rigid dedication to duty was starting to grate. There was no point tending to the poor, shriveled plants. They would be dead soon enough.
“It isn’t for the plants, it’s for you. You should try to keep busy. Staring outside all day isn’t good for your mental health. We need to keep our spirits up; staying active helps.”
“We’re as good as dead, why bother?”
“Mission control is still optimistic about our chances.”
“We’ve got no chance. Bloody reusable rocket. Hardly very reusable when it breaks up in Earth’s atmosphere on its first return journey. And now we’re stuck up here.”
“They’re building a replacement. The last report said it was nearly ready.”
“So what? It can’t get up here in time to rescue us.”
“It might. If you put a little more effort into the hydroponics, we could supplement the dehydrated food.”
“We’ll run out of oxygen before we run out of food.”
“The filters are still working.”
“Not for much longer.”
“Why are you being so negative?”
“Why are you being so positive?”
“Because we still have a chance. We need to keep optimistic, keep fighting.”
“All I want to do is go outside one last time.”
“Go out then, the suits are still okay.”
“No, I mean without a suit.”
Hank left, back into the service area. Pat wished for the thousandth time he hadn’t volunteered. Private money was behind the project. A consortium of billionaires had clubbed together to achieve what governments were unwilling or unable to attempt; the human colonization of an alien planet. Pat thought back to the day when the expedition had been announced to the press. The whole world had exploded with excitement and optimism. They’d been the most famous people on Earth. They were the pioneer crew, the first men to land on Mars. Their mission was to erect the habitats and tend the hydroponics that would provide shelter, oxygen and food for the main, permanent expedition. The press and public loved them; they were the brave explorers, breaking the final frontier.
In retrospect, it was clear that billionaire entrepreneurs weren’t any better than governments at building rockets. The famous, innovative reusable rocket, the one that had landed them on the surface of Mars, had exploded on re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere. Faulty heat shielding seemed to be the culprit.
Pat knew they were screwed. The consortium had only built one rocket. The plan had been for it to return to Earth, then head back to Mars with the main crew and fresh supplies. Most of the payload that had accompanied Hank and Pat had been equipment. The habitats, the seeds and the tools. Their supplies of food and water had been carefully calculated to be sufficient for the time required for the rocket to complete the round-trip back to Mars. There had been some excess calculated into this equation, but not enough to sustain them indefinitely. When the news of the disaster had reached them, they’d immediately rationed everything, but despite their best efforts the food was almost gone, the oxygen and water the same. Time was running out.
Pat stared at the arid, rocky terrain outside. There was no life on this barren rock, although it was possible it had existed at some point in the distant past. He thought about Bradbury, the author of one of his favorite books, The Martian Chronicles. On Bradbury’s version of Mars, there’d been canals. There’d been Martians who lived in the cities and vacationed in marble villas in the hills. In his book, human colonists had killed the Martians by accidentally infecting them with chickenpox. The humans had defeated Mars, not by their own efforts, but by introducing a deadly pathogen.
Pat looked at the distant hills. He wished it was true; that the Martians were real, that they’d retreated to their villas when the ship had arrived. He wished they were up there now, watching the invaders from Earth. Pat hoped the Martians would see their plight and take pity on them, decide to help. Pat closed his eyes and wished for it to be true. In his mind’s eye, he saw the Martians descend from the hills and travel across the plain in one of their amazing sand ships. He saw them park outside the pathetic little habitat.
Pat opened his eyes. There was a knock on the airlock door.
