Geoffrey Landis - Mars Crossing

Around the spacecraft, the snow was clean and undisturbed. Not even a ripple marked the locations where the two Brazilian explorers had fallen.

Ryan started to go to her, and Tana held him back. She switched over to the private channel. “Leave her be,” she said. “I think she needs to be alone for a while. Let’s go check out the spacecraft.”

They were desperately in need of the supplies. They had eaten the last of their ration bricks two days ago and were living on nothing but one liter of recycled water per day. It wasn’t enough, and they were all suffering from the effects of dehydration.

There was a habitat module at the base of the Jesus do Sul . Ryan knew where it had to be—he had watched the tapes of the Brazilian exploration hundreds of times and had memorized all the details of the base—but nothing was visible. It was buried beneath the snow.

Estrela was looking around frantically. “João!”

Tana ignored her own advice and went toward Estrela. “Estrela?” she said. “Are you all right?”

Ryan turned to the rocket. They had to get into the habitat, and they didn’t have any extra time.

The Brazilians had taken a much more streamlined approach to the design, and the part of the rocket that protruded from the snow looked like the spire of an onion-domed cathedral, with two smaller domes, the tops of the two first-stage boosters, to either side.

The dome at the top of the spire of Jesus do Sul contained the Earth Return Module, the uppermost stage of the Brazilian rocket. Ryan climbed the ladder to reach it. The hatch was over his head at an awkward angle. He pulled at the latch.

It didn’t move.

It’s locked, Ryan thought, and then immediately, no, that’s ridiculous. Nobody would put a lock on a spaceship hatch. It’s just stuck. He put his full strength against the latch and pulled. Nothing.

He paused to think. Cold. Cold, and dry, sitting in the cold and dry for eight years. The hatch had sealed solid against the rim. He went down the ladder back to the snow where he had left his skis, picked up one of the makeshift metal skis, and returned to the hatch. Using the end of the ski as a hammer, he methodically pounded, working around the edge of the sealed hatch. The metal of the ski twisted; he ignored it and kept working, moving clockwise around the seal once, twice.

He used the ski as a lever to pry against the hatch handle and tried it again. No success. He put both hands on the lever and pulled with his full strength against it, and felt something, a slight, almost infinitesimal give. He jerked it again, and then began to rhythmically pull with a succession of quick jerks. With an abrupt sucking, the bottom of the hatch pulled open, and then the top. He nearly fell backward as it opened.

The interior had two couches and a control panel. It was completely dark.

If even the emergency batteries were dead, they were in trouble. But no, when he switched over to emergency power, a feeble cockpit light came on, enough for him to see the controls.

Good enough. He looked around. The advice from the ground had mentioned that there was an EVA maneuvering gun, a small rocket engine mounted on a pistol-grip that could be used if ever there had been a reason to go outside the spacecraft. The ground crew had listed it as a possible item to discard to decrease the launch mass, but Ryan had a different use for it now.

Buried below the snow there was a habitat module, stocked with food and water and an electrical generator, all the necessities for the three hundred and fifty days the Brazilians had planned to stay on the surface.

Ryan intended to melt his way down to it.

He’s buried, Estrela,” Tana said. She tried to be as gentle as she could. “He’s at peace.”

Estrela’s only reply was an inarticulate moan. She had been on her knees on the ice, at the spot where João had lain, for an hour.

The ice was empty. Over the eight years since João had fallen, his body had slowly sunk into the ice, and new snow had fallen on top, until now only the barest shadow under the ice marked where he had died.

Estrela had been crying continuously. Tana had never before seen her cry; she’d always seen Estrela as being cold and unemotional, sensuous, yes, in her negligent way, but not affected by anything. Tana tried to remember what it felt like to love a man like that. Had she ever loved Derrick so much? She couldn’t remember.

Ryan had melted a tunnel down through the ice to the habitat. Or sublimed a tunnel, rather; at this pressure ice vaporized rather than melted. He was beginning to get the solar arrays cleared and the habitat systems powered up. Good old Ryan, she thought; if there’s any possible technical solution to a problem, Ryan will find it.

The heat of Estrela’s suit had vaporized down six inches of ice around her. The heaters on the suit were good, but at sixty degrees below zero, being pressed right against the snow was pushing them beyond their limits. Why, she must be freezing, Tana thought.

She reached out for Estrela’s arm and pulled her up. “Come on. Aren’t you cold? We have to get you inside.”

Estrela twisted her arm free and shoved Tana away. Wordlessly, she turned back to the little hollow she had melted into the ice and went back down to her knees.

Ryan came up. “I’ve got the habitat powered up.” He looked down at Estrela. “Has she been here this whole time? Is she okay?”

Tana shook her head. “I think she’s going hypothermic.”

Between the two of them, they managed to pull her to her feet. She struggled fiercely for a moment, and then allowed them to guide her without resisting.

After eight days sleeping inside the sausage, the tiny fiberglass habitat of Jesus do Sul seemed like a cathedral. Inside, Tana pulled Estrela out of her suit, and then released her own. “Yikes!” she said. “Sweet Christ, it’s cold in here.”

“Sorry,” Ryan said. “The power system is underperforming. It should warm up in a bit. Coveralls in the storage locker over here.”

Tana, starting to shiver, went to the locker. Ryan had already pulled on a coverall. The air in the little dome was frigid. Their breaths came out in white puffs, and the walls around them grew a coating of frost from the exhaled vapor in their breath.

Estrela, stripped down to only her suit lining, had not moved. She was completely still, not even shivering. The tears on her face had frozen into tiny glistening icicles down her cheeks and chin. Tana reached out and touched her on the side of the neck. Her skin was icy to the touch. Tana swore briefly under her breath.

“She’s hypothermic, all right,” she said. “She’s not shivering; that’s a bad sign. A real bad sign.”

She looked around. “We’ve got to warm her up. Can you heat up some water?”

“Water supply is still frozen.” Ryan shook his head. “It’ll be an hour before we get enough power to heat up anything.”

“That’s too long,” said Tana. “Wrapping her in a blanket won’t do, she’s so cold that there’s no heat to conserve. Her skin is too cold.”

Tana stripped Estrela down to bare skin. Estrela made no objection; she didn’t seem to even notice them. Then Tana peeled away her own clothes; first the coveralls and then her suit liner. The air of the habitat was frigid winter against her bare skin. She wrapped her arms around Estrela, hugging her as close to her as she could, trying to maximize skin contact. It was like hugging ice cubes.

“Can you find a blanket?” Tana asked.

Ryan went to their suits and detached the thermophotovoltaic isotope power supplies. He arranged these around Tana and Estrela. The waste heat from the radiators felt good. It helped. Not enough.