John Karr - Detonation Event

In its first billion years, the red planet may not have appeared red at all, but purple or even blue like Earth, depending on the ratio of breathable air to iron oxide particles spewed from volcanoes and lifted by wind from mountains and deserts. Surface water existed in the form of streams and lakes and perhaps even seas. Clouds of water vapor circled the globe. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed.

Rain fell on Mars.

And it was no coincidence that the planetary cores were active and “alive.”

Radioactive heat loss and convective currents of magma produced a magnetic field that bound the atmosphere to the planet in a geologic dynamo, the like of which still functions on Earth.

What killed Mars?

Perhaps its smaller size limited the amount of radioactive supply, and it simply ran out of energy. Or massive impact with an asteroid ejected the charged particles out to space. Whatever the case, death arrived soon after the Martian inner core went cold. Having lost its heat source, the molten outer core turned to stone as if succumbing to the Hydra’s gaze. The dynamo failed and its magnetism all but vanished. Gravity alone was too weak to hold the atmosphere. Air and water molecules escaped into space. Without a magnetic shield and atmosphere to deflect them, solar winds and radiation further stripped the surface dry.

Mars lost the means to support life beyond a microbial level.

Now temperature fluctuations spawn the only weather events. Night and polar regions regularly plunge two hundred degrees below zero Fahrenheit; cold enough to freeze its most abundant gas—carbon dioxide—into dry ice, though at times the equator at full sun can reach as high as sixty degrees. Far less drastic temperature swings combine with the weak gravity in a near vacuum to spawn frequent dust storms. The greater the temperature difference, the larger the storm.

Dust, prevalent everywhere, is lifted rather than scoured from the surface. Storms of it can be monstrous, at times engulfing the entire planet except for the gargantuan Olympus Mons. Far more common are the dust devils that waltz through a desolate Hell.

Some of the rust-hued particles fall into the open maws and down the tunnels.

No twists or turns arrest their journey. They gain no purchase along laser-bonded walls. Down they drift like mineral snowfall, passing signal relays at every mile. The dust falls for weeks toward the core. Recent inductees will never reach bottom before Detonation Event.

Electronic relays form a spiral pattern and flash in sequence for two thousand miles, down and back again, each briefly illuminating a section of tunnel along the way. Constantly monitored by satellites positioned above, the relays are members of a large supporting cast.

The lead roles belong to the hydrogen (thermonuclear) megabombs residing at the base of the each tunnel. These are cutting-edge nuclear fusion explosives; the latest in the class of Asteroid Busters.

Ever silent, Mars awaits its chance at resurrection.

2230 AD

Two retaining arms were released from the dock and withdrew into the shuttle body. A slight sense of weight shift was the only indication that the spacecraft was now buoyed by ion power. Ry Devans gave a single tap on the throttle and the shuttle glided forward. He retracted the shields from around the bridge, leaving all sides transparent. Three hundred feet above loomed the bay ceiling, with the floor forty feet below. Everything awash with light was part of the landing bay. It was large enough to handle the simultaneous space traffic of a vacation tour ship, planetary shuttles, individual fliers under jet pack power and drones, but right now PS-9 was the only vessel of size in motion. The darkness of space waited beyond the gulf of brightness.

Devans eased the shuttle out. The long dock slowly slid away while space-suited workers and drones walked, worked, and flew about. The activity halted. All humans faced the shuttle and touched right hand to opposite shoulder.

A little surprised by the nonstandard display, Devans stood and returned the gesture, then sat again as a vast gray wall, the color of moon dust, took the place of the dock area. Bold lettering scrolled past them:

COLUMBUS BAY, SCONA MARS ORBITER ONE (MOS-1)

Through the transparent floor panes, Devans glanced down at the scorch marks on the lower wall and floor below.

No expense had been spared on landing bay safety measures, including the ultimate precaution: the Rams of Death. They lurked at the innermost sections of the bays: slabs of titanium with diamond claws and booster rockets. Part bludgeon, part interceptor missile, they lay in wait in a series of vented alcoves inside the hull of the station. Any accident that could not be contained in a hurry would soon find itself intercepted and jettisoned into space by a juggernaut of brute force.

More evidence of this crept into Devans’ view through the side panes. Jagged scorches and scrapes still marred the walls. A hundred missions since the tragedy, and these scars locked his gaze every time. These were the result of superheated plasma streams against the metal of the bay; the grave marker of PS-4 and several of her crewmembers.

Ion engines are safe. Nuclear fusion engines are surprisingly safe as well. But on PS-4 both suffered explosions. The ion drive failed completely. The nuclear reactor remained intact but went into overload. Fail-safes failed. Navigation was compromised. The shuttle spun and ricocheted off and burned the massive bay wall.

All decks of MOS-1 went code red.

The diamond claws of Columbus Bay’s first ram tore deep into PS-4 ’s belly and held her fast, kept the distressed shuttle from careening to other parts of the bay.

Jagged cracks formed along the shuttle’s engine funnel. Superheated propellant found new pathways of escape, scorching the sides of the bay wall. The shuttle banged against the side wall on its way out, but the ram had gained immense velocity in only seconds. Chemical rocket propellant filled the bay like smoke as the emergency ram forced the shuttle out toward space. A massive plume was pulled into space after the two. MOS-1’s engines fired at full reverse for emergency evasion.

The comm link with the pilots held until the final explosion.

The shuttle pilots fought to gain enough control to send the rocking, twisting mass away from the massive orbiter. The directional funnel disintegrated. Blinding light and superheated plasma gushed forth in torrents, mixing with the chemical propellant from the ram rocket. The hull had cracked first outside the engine room, despite its reinforced walls. The captain gave the order to abandon ship. Three escape pods blasted outward. The final explosion came seconds later and a thousand miles away, and the shockwaves sent tremors throughout the fleeing space station.

All of it was captured on visual record.

The external footage—shocking as it was—did not compare to the internal video feeds that auto-engaged inside the doomed shuttle.

An explosion went off in the ion engine room. The two engineers at the main control console vanished. A second explosion occurred outside the sealed chamber of the nuclear engine. Compromised but not destroyed, the reactor surged toward overload.

Emergency shutdowns never occurred. Fuel pellets flooded the fusion chamber. PS-4 rocked violently back and forth. Security analyst Ivanka lurched into the engine room and was thrown against the wall and onto the floor. She fought to stand, then severed the metal housing and hydrogen feed line with a laser cutter, but the fusion continued unchecked. The computer fail-safes had gone offline. Ivanka slammed bloodied hands onto manual shutdown levers. Jets of freezing gas sprayed into the reactor.