Colin Taber: RED: Burning Skies

Or so it seemed, until the clearing vision revealed the damage done to the crops, scattered debris, and seven suited bodies.

But there was also something else; one of the squad members was struggling up to his feet and moving.

The alarms blared and blue emergency lights blazed. But the automated warnings, triggered by the sudden drop in pressure at Yanjiang Er, were not needed by those still alive as the screaming escape of the habitat’s precious atmosphere, misting white with water vapor, alerted them all too well to the danger.

The full squad, or those still alive, knew they only had moments.

Except for one of them…

Wei struggled up from his knees, his head ringing as something wet ran down the side of his temple and along his jaw. Crates lay strewn across the red dirt beside him, his scratched and worn helmet amongst them.

He couldn’t recall what had happened or where he was.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

But he knew the alarms meant something important.

Just like the flashing blue lights blazing over the red dirt floor and rugged rock walls of the cave he was in.

Red dirt…

He remembered; he was on Mars!

Above the scream of the escaping atmosphere, he heard someone yell, “Helmets!”

It came back to him; there had been a meteor strike. The ground had bucked, and then the stacks of crates beside him had collapsed, knocking him flat.

From out of the chaos, a distant voice, sapped by the fast falling air pressure, cried, “Get to the tents!”

As Wei got to his feet, trying to steady himself while buffeted by the escaping atmosphere, he saw something dark fall away from his nose.

Blood.

The red drops were grabbed by the chill tempest and sucked away to be cast out upon the Martian surface.

Wei worked to stay standing as he picked up his helmet and made for the nearest emergency tent, his head still spinning.

The inflatable white and clear plastic haven was close, but the drag of the venting atmosphere heavy with debris tried to suck him away. He stooped and continued unsteadily forward, while trying to clear his head. The tent itself stood bucking against its restraining pegs in the chaos.

His head rang, blood still flowing from his temple and nose, while the howl of the atmosphere and chorus of the klaxons drowned out everything else.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

He was gasping for breath now, trying to take in what he could of the habitat’s precious atmosphere before it was all stolen away. The air was already bitterly cold and thin, but the tent was only a few more steps. He made for it, steady as he could, while lifting his helmet to clear his head.

With each staggering step, other details came back to his confused mind.

He was on Mars as part of a construction mission.

Dust, debris, and precious green leaves blew past him, whipped away and cast out onto the lethal planet’s red wastes.

He got the helmet over his head and brought it down.

The noise quieted in a moment, although his eyes showed the chaos still played out hard and fast. The seal between his helmet and suit clicked as it tried to close, but the internal light that should have confirmed the fit began to flash the same blue as the alarms on the rock walls around him.

His helmet could not seal—it had been damaged!

Wei could hear the hiss of his suit’s life support as it pumped hard to save him, but the precious air just found the gaps in the broken seal and joined the habitat’s atmosphere escaping to the surface.

With each passing heartbeat, more memories came back to fill his spinning head.

He was on Mars and he needed a seal to live!

Wei continued his last steps towards the emergency tent, at the same time running his gloved fingers along the helmet’s seal to see if something was blocking it.

There was a crack in the rim at the back that shouldn’t have been there. He could feel loose metal through his suit’s gloves. A break. Some of the crates must have hit it when they had fallen and split or buckled it.

Without a seal, he was going to die!

He looked around, the dust and vapor beginning to clear, but the ruined habitat was still bathed in the chaotic strobing of blue warning lights.

He couldn’t breathe, in spite of how fast his life support tried to pump!

Someone shoved him hard from behind, sending him flying towards the emergency tent.

Reaching out with his gloved hands, he hit the open button on the side, setting the airlock module at the front to open. He fell through, his damaged helmet falling off as he hit the pristine white plastic deck in front of him as his vision blacked out.

Unfortunately, one of his boots lay across the threshold, stopping the airlock from sealing.

Commander Tung and Yong watched as one of the squad members staggered towards an emergency tent as he wrestled with his helmet, trying to get it on.

In a flash of movement, another man shoved him from behind towards the tent’s airlock.

The first man fell forward, but managed to stay on his feet long enough to hit the entry button and get to safety. As he crashed down onto the white floor, his helmet fell free.

Behind him, his squad brother crashed into the dirt outside in spite of being suited and helmeted. He lay there still.

The first man’s body was in the tent airlock, aside from his boot, which tripped the door, not letting it seal. He did not seem at full strength, although no external injury was obvious.

Yong tensed watching the squad member’s struggle, silently urging him to pull his suited foot in so the airlock could close and he could breathe. But something was wrong.

Tung hissed, “What’s he doing?” He then yelled, “Get your foot in!”

The man stopped moving, his boot still blocking the seal. But as the air cleared, the cameras showed the red of blood on his forehead and temple, unmistakable where it was smeared on the white floor of the tent.

Yong whispered, “He’s concussed.”

Tung frowned. “He’ll be dead in seconds if he doesn’t get his foot in!”

And then the squad member laying outside the tent stiffly lifted his arm up and forced the survivor’s boot in the airlock. The doors snapped shut to complete the seal. He then collapsed, his faceplate clear on the cameras, covered by a web of cracks.

The man he had saved lay in the tent, but no longer moved.

The commander asked, “Is he unconscious or dead?”

Yong searched for a better camera angle as the haze in the lava tube habitat cleared.

Now everything was still.

Tung said, “I want to know if the man in the tent recovers. See if you can work out who it is. Also, get to work on finding out what happened. It looked like a meteor strike, but there are other possibilities. Check our scanners and data feeds on the various orbiters. Perhaps the Americans have finally moved against us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tung pursed his lips for a moment, debating whether to add any more. A glance at the camera feeds showing the bodies was enough to lead him partway. There might have been almost a thousand men on Mars under his command, but the ten at Yanjiang Er were not inconsequential. They would be missed. It had taken decades and a trillion dollars to achieve what Beijing had so far. This was a setback, and one they had to be certain was a natural disaster and not an act of sabotage. “Use the relief command team to assist you as you go over the data feeds and footage. Check all cameras within one hundred kilometers to see if they captured anything at all. We need to be certain of what happened and rule out any external players, both in orbit and on the ground.”