the known climate and survive any contingency - or so the International Mars Project had believed. The site near the equator had been chosen for its relatively stable climate and for level plains between mountains and rift valleys, many of which had filled completely and turned into life-giving lakes when the comets struck. Nearby Elysium Mons - one of the red planet's great volcanoes - meant shelter from caves left by cooled lava tubes, and potentially fertile soils. Plans for terraforming Mars had eventually matured; so the World Economic Forum committed to fund the Comet Deflection Initiative. Eleven major Space agencies would combine to study the composition and orbits of suitable comets and develop the means to steer at least four, whose ice content met the criteria, into an impact trajectory with Mars. This had been successful. The two which crashed on the northern and southern ice-caps not only released their own water but in the heat of collision melted much of the polar ice. This ran rapidly through ancient channels on the planet's surface to meet new rivers and lakes forming from the impacts near the equator. With Mars now a watery planet for the first time in four billion years, the first experiments in terraforming could take place.
With utmost delicacy Jack turned the fragile leaves of the diary. It began in 2079 with the single exclamation - "Water!" then pages of perfunctory personal and technical remarks until the heading "2081" under which were two words - "We're here!" Jack couldn't see a name anywhere ... he turned to the last, almost illegible page before the darkened leaves hopelessly stuck together, and was able to make out a faint scrawl that looked like "Pete Branson." Branson! He remembered Branson! He was the direct descendant of an earlier Branson who, with cash from a self-built media and transport empire, had pioneered space travel at the beginning of the 21st century. Jack was sweating with excitement inside the protective suit that made handling this unexpected treasure so difficult. But the state of the final pages of the journal disturbed him. This wasn't from damp and iron oxide. Surely this was blood. He tried to read more of that last page.
"Dare not go outside. Friends killing each other. No food. Can't reach water. If I'm still breathing please help me. Trying to" then the words stopped. He must have written his name before his energy ran out completely and he died. But where was he?
The radio crackled. "Jack? You there? Confirm OK - over."
"Yeah, OK Paddy. Found something in a lava tube. Wanna see? Over."
"Flash me - I'll come and find you. Can't get much sense out of these guys. They're wrecked. Have to get them home I guess. Over and out."
Shortly his friend's stocky shape appeared through the pinkish haze of the Martian afternoon, heading for the bright radio-optic beacon that was standard kit now for extraterrestrial travel.
"You got something there, Jack?"
"Yeah. Diary. Lot of it stuck together - with blood I reckon. Can't see a body yet. But you'll not believe who wrote this."
"Who?"
"Pete Branson."
"Geez!"
"Nine months - you'd think it'd be better preserved; but all the oxide has got to it, and the damp air. We need to go through this. If the guys who survived aren't talking, Pete may give us some clues as to what happened here."
The two men walked back to the ruins, Pete's diary carefully wrapped in film. There was nothing left, really. That part of the small colony that had utilised the nearby cave system was more or less intact and had saved the lives of nine men and women who now lay in the rescue craft's medical bay already on monitors and intravenous drips. All the external geodetic domes had shattered and blown away, leaving only their pink foundations. There was no longer any plant life; the ground as far as the eye could see between the fossae was dust, rock and red mud. God alone knew where the animals had gone.
Jack waved Paddy over to a stone bench in the mouth of the main cave.
"Come on. Let's read this. Tell us what killed you, Pete."
The journal confirmed that Pete Branson had - like Jack - started out as a civilian, but sharing the family lust for adventure had put himself forward for astronaut training at Houston, the hub of space exploration for over a century now. A year after the cometary impacts, as soon as the water dispersion had stabilised and the new rivers, lakes and seas were thoroughly mapped, a call went out for volunteers to embark on Mars' terraforming. Pete had been one of the first. There had been a further year's intensive preparation for the many complex tasks ahead, then, accompanied by supply ships, a series of craft each carrying about two dozen pioneers left at regular intervals for the red planet.
"Our ships are arks!" wrote Pete. "We have at least two of everything - especially people - we need our wives! And of course seed banks. We're carrying dry seed as well as cryogenic cells, to see which leads to the quickest and healthiest growth."
Some tools were provided before the voyage; others would be made in-flight or after landing with holographic printers and a variety of raw materials. Those developed from the discovery of graphene were especially useful, with unmatched strength and lightness. And with the right technology a planet so rich in iron could provide all the metal the settlers needed.
Everything went well. The community swelled, cave dwellings became homes, and the domes of this second Eden Project protected the first small farms where seed was tested, animals housed and fed, crops grown. Once the right seed-plants were identified, the settlers moved out onto the plain and began the process of greening the landscape of Mars. Crops, flowers and trees would feed on the atmospheric CO2 and begin to fill the Martian air with oxygen.
"We'll need suits for years yet," Pete wrote, "but the O2 measurements are gradually rising. Such a slow job! But we're a patient lot out here."
Then ...
"The weather's becoming unstable. Something has changed."
The water breathed mists at first, then piled up clouds overhead that far surpassed the wispy cirrus seen in decades of photos. Everyone knew about dust storms on the planet, and how intense they could be; the welcome surprise of real rain promised a moist soil and gentler climate.
This was not to last.
"The atmosphere is so thin!" wrote Pete. "Water is sublimating. The soils are drying again and though the air's cold, surface temperatures are too high for the outdoor crops. We've held an emergency meeting, and agreed to retreat under the domes. If we extend the hydroponic farm under the mountain we can still sustain ourselves and the livestock - at a pinch."
Bur before they could harvest the last of the unprotected fodder the storm struck. Pete Branson's words were brief:
"Utter terror. Utter destruction. Climate in chaos. Death everywhere. Stuck in a cave. Nothing to eat. Little to drink. No-one's answering. Trying May-Day. May not survive this."
Further on ...
"Saw Doc pass my cave with a knife. Blood on his suit."
Then,
"So tired. Air-con failing in suit. Hallucinating. God help me."
And then the last page.
"Astonishing that nine of them managed to come through this," said Jack.
Signals were coming from the rescue craft.
"Right. Time to go," said Paddy.
They both missed the bone-heap in a crack in the lava.
Back to Top
CELEBRATION
It was inexplicable. The planet they had been approaching for so many months, and whose dark contours had been growing so slowly against the brilliant stars, was bursting with light.
Frank stared at the screen, scratched his head, and zoomed in on the image to the limits of its resolution.
"I still can't make out what's going on here," he said. "Are you picking anything up on radio?"
"Nothing. This world doesn't transmit. All I'm getting is the usual inter-stellar background."
"What about other frequencies, George?"
"Nothing measurable."
"Not even thermal?"
"Not even thermal. No vulcanism. No explosions. No fires."
"Well," said Frank, "We'll just have to wait till we get there. Anot
her week and we'll know."
Exo-planets had already been explored for twelve years. Refinements in radio and optical telescopy had brought a rash of discoveries; star after star revealed itself as a complex system of orbiting planets and cosmic debris, and many were now within range of the new beamed propulsion vehicles launched from a growing network of space stations around Earth and Mars. Access to these had been made blessedly easy through the rapid development of graphene elevators - so familiar by now that the Tsiolkovsky Lifts were known affectionately to Press and public as "Beanstalks". Frank Bloxham and George Gold were the latest NASA graduates to get their Starship Commission, head out with a small crew to the Red Planet, and join the search for extra-terrestrial life.
"That light is so bright! I can hardly see the surface. George, we may have to go down on auto-pilot. Are you in touch with Houston?"
"Intermittently. Reception comes and goes. Sometimes I can hear Mary but then she can't hear me. ... Houston? This is Explorer Taurus 75. Are you receiving me? Over."
"Taurus 75, this is Houston. Can just about hear you. What is your status? Over."
"Houston, Taurus 75 reporting status: attempting descent now. Vision compromised; too much light emission from surface. Switching to autopilot now. Request guidance if available. Over."
"Taurus 75, this is Houston. Cannot monitor your descent; reception poor. Continue on autopilot and report landing. Good luck, all of you! Over and out."
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