A Step Beyond (21 page)

In the distance there were several stretches where the canyon wall appeared to have collapsed. They were marked by vertical streaks that looked like long, flat brushstrokes. The strokes faded into the smooth features of a sand dune as they approached the base of the canyon. Piled at the base were layers of debris, remnants of the rocky avalanche that had tumbled down the sides. He knew that by measuring the layers he could calculate the rate at which the material had made its descent. Mentally comparing the debris with measurements he had made of similar phenomena from satellite mosaics, he estimated the rate to have been seventy-five meters per second. He closed his eyes to imagine the event. The rock collapsed like a great waterfall, annihilating everything in its path. The sound was horrendous. Tremors rippled through the ground for several thousand kilometers. A great mushroom cloud rose up and dust darkened the sky, turning day into night.

He clapped his hands at the imagined spectacle. Opening his eyes, he looked down and saw the aftermath. He returned his attention to the matter at hand and took pictures of several possible descent routes. He would examine them more closely later. His time was running out. He was startled to discover that he was to have turned back several minutes before and that he had not noticed the numbers flashing red at the bottom of his visor. Old age must be catching up with me, he thought to himself, then wondered why no one had said anything. He decided that they must be at it again. He would know by the smell when he entered the lander. Smells had a tendency to linger in a closed-loop environment.

He turned his back to the cliff and made for the lander. He wondered where they were doing it. The
Gagarin
was not that large. There were only a few places that lent themselves to love-making. He was certain that Tatiana and Dmitri had found them all. Satomura took a perverse pleasure in the smells and in sniffing out their exact spot. It was the closest he would come to having a woman for quite some time.

It did not bother him that Tatiana was unfaithful to her husband. He had actually come to expect such behavior. His concern was how Vladimir might react. During his last communication with him, he noticed that he appeared tired and distant. He did not look healthy. He seemed unusually strained. That troubled Satomura because Vladimir was the sole occupant aboard the
Druzhba
. He feared how the emotions building inside Vladimir might be vented.

He decided he would speak to Tatiana about her husband. She must do something to reassure him of her fidelity, at least while they were on the planet.

K
omarov was standing inside a hole that came to his shoulders. He planted his shovel squarely before him and leaned against it as he caught his breath. The shovel was dented from the frozen ground. He glanced at his heads-up display to check the time, and his spirits lifted when he saw that they would have to head back soon.

“Half a meter more,” Satomura said. He was on his knees, looking down into the hole, and he was eager for Komarov to continue. His bulky suit was blocking much of the light.

Komarov was growing annoyed with Satomura. He waved him back, then took his time as he readied the percussion drill. The vibrations started in his hands and quickly worked their way up his arms and into his shoulders. They felt good at first, but within a few short minutes his body began to tingle with pain. First his hands, then the muscles surrounding them. He gritted his teeth. He continued until the pain in the back of his neck became unbearable.

“Damn,” he cursed, and turned the drill off.

“Not much farther,” Satomura offered encouragingly. Komarov rubbed the back of his neck against his helmet. “A moment’s rest,” he said as he sat down. They were digging down to the ice they had located several days before with their sounding equipment. Its presence supported the hypothesis that the planet still housed much of the water that had cut the channels in its surface. It had been discovered during the robotic mission ten years earlier. A Japanese probe found the water ice under a thin coating of frozen carbon dioxide at the north pole. Satomura was to look for evidence of life in the ice. He could recall the block of ice they had cut from the Antarctic, and the swarm of microbes that came to life when they thawed the ice and placed a sample underneath the microscope. He was told that some of the microbes had been frozen for hundreds of years.

It was Satomura who first noticed the change in the soil. Komarov was in the ditch, head deep, shoveling dirt out over his shoulder and thinking mostly of the effort required to bury and lift his shovel. With the last several shovelfuls white crystal-like particles began to appear.

“Hold it,” Satomura shouted.

“What is it?” Komarov replied, startled by the forcefulness of Satomura’s command. He sat down to gather his strength.

“Permafrost,” Satomura announced.

Komarov looked down between his knees and saw that the ground was spotted white and pink. He gathered some ice that had been broken loose by his shovel and studied it. There was a considerable amount of dirt mixed in with the ice.

“It should turn to liquid farther down,” Satomura said. “A kilometer or so. Liquid water is not stable above the two-hundred-and-seventy-three-degree isotherm.”

A cloud of vapors, similar to that which sublimes from dry ice on Earth, lifted from Komarov’s hand. He was watching the ice evaporate when he noticed the cloud that had formed around his feet. The sight made him anxious to climb out of the hole. He extended his hand for assistance.

“We need to collect some samples first,” Satomura said as he handed him several collection bags. “Be sure to seal them tight or else all we’ll have to show for our day’s work will be a pile of dirt.”

Komarov knew that the ice was important. But he was tired, and his thoughts had already turned to Tatiana several times in the past hour. He looked at the event timer on his heads-up display.

“We have less than five minutes,” he said.

“This should not take long.”

As each bag was handed to him, Satomura held it up to the sun to scrutinize its contents. He wondered what he would find and grew anxious to return to the lander so that he could commence his examination of the samples.

S
atomura surfaced from the eyepiece of the microscope to glance at the time. In one hour he was to wake. There was little point, he rationalized, in going to sleep now. It would do more harm than good, so he might as well carry on. He half believed the logic. The truth of the matter was that he knew if he lay down, he would get back up within seconds. He did not feel the least bit tired.

The samples of ice sparkled behind the glass pane of the containment case. He wondered which one he should select. The rubber gloves that dangled against the inside of the case sprang to life as he slid his hands into them. He had already examined several samples and verified they were mostly water ice. Two molecules of hydrogen combined with one of oxygen, frozen. He had found traces of carbon dioxide and volcanic ash, but more importantly he had found hydrogen peroxide, a compound that destroyed organic material upon contact. Although he had given up hope of finding life among the samples, he had not given up on finding fossilized remains. He selected a sample the size of an acorn. It resembled a light ruby. He twirled the ice between his fingers as he examined the particles suspended inside.

His hand froze. One of the particles was green. At first he thought that it might just be a trick of the light or that he was tired and that he was seeing things that were not there. But he took several deep breaths and shook his head to clear his thoughts. He closed his eyes. When he reopened them the particle was still there. He turned the ice slightly, and it disappeared. This did not surprise him. He turned the ice back, and it reappeared. “Well,” he said, “at least it is not a figment of my imagination.”

It appeared to be translucent. Since it was so small he could not be sure. Chlorophyll came to mind. Chlorophyll meant photosynthesis. But he knew that was impossible. For the past several weeks he had spent much of his time examining the samples they had gathered, and not once had he found any evidence of organic compounds. Without the compounds there couldn’t be chlorophyll. Besides, chlorophyll could never form in the presence of hydrogen peroxide, nor could it form so far beneath the surface under such cold conditions. But the tiny speck still fascinated him. He sensed he was overreacting and attempted to contain his excitement. After several minutes of examining the particle, he entered his impressions into the computer.

Before proceeding he stole a quick look at the clock. They would awake in forty-five minutes. That meant he had thirty-five minutes, at best, before he had to return to his sleeping bag and feign sleep. He had reprogrammed the computer to think he went to bed at the scheduled time. The deception was to keep the Russian Space Agency off his back.

If not chlorophyll, then what did he have before him? It had to be a mineral, a rock of some sort. If that were the case, he could melt the ice and easily separate the green particle from the water. But if it were not a mineral, if it were something that would melt with the ice, it might be difficult to isolate. No, he

would not melt the ice. He would leave the sample frozen and slice away the ice until he was left with a thin extract that he could place under the microscope.

He fixed the sample between the two ends of a vise. He then removed his hands from the rubber gloves and stood up. The laser was manipulated from the top of the containment case. It would take, he calculated, seven to eight cuts. Each cut would be more difficult as the sample became thinner and more delicate.

A thin ray of light shot toward the ice. Hastily, he brushed the shaved portions aside. It was when he was aligning the laser for the seventh and final cut that he realized he was not alone in the room. His initial reaction was not to look up, to continue with the cut until he was finished, but he found it nearly impossible to concentrate. He was afraid that he might make a mistake. Reluctantly, he released the controls of the laser and turned around.

“Up early this morning,” Komarov said with a slight grin. Satomura wasn’t certain whether it was a statement or a question. He responded after a noticeable pause. “I was unable to sleep, so I thought I’d spend the time constructively.”

“I see,” Komarov replied.

Satomura turned his attention back to the sample. He hoped Komarov would lose interest and walk away. This did not happen. Satomura found himself counting each step as his commander approached the containment case. It would not do to antagonize him, he warned himself. So with a concentrated effort to block out distractions he focused on his next cut.

He could hear the sound of Komarov’s voice. It possessed the distinct guttural quality of vocal cords that had been scarred by several decades of drink and late nights. Satomura knew if he tried, he could make sense of the sounds, but he did not wish to divert his attention from the sample, which had now become quite delicate. It was thinner than paper, and the green speck had grown more prominent. With care, he removed the sample from the vise and placed it under the lens of the microscope. The gloves fell limp against the container wall. Komarov’s voice was much louder now and carried a sense of urgency.

“Yes?” Satomura said, without turning around.

“The computer seems to be a bit confused,” Komarov said, and then waited for Satomura to break down and ask for an explanation.

“How so?” Satomura finally replied.

“It seems to think you’re asleep.” Komarov was obviously enjoying himself.

Satomura turned to face his commander. He tipped his head slightly to one side and, with considerable effort, grinned. “I didn’t want to alarm anybody. You remember the inquisition they subjected us to last time.”

“I’d prefer that you didn’t tamper with the bio programs.” “As you wish,” Satomura replied curtly.

“So what has kept you up all night?”

“The samples. I have been examining them. Just before you came in, I found something unusual. A green particle. I was just about to take a closer look.”

“Green?” Komarov said. “You don’t think it is some sort of plant life?”

“Not likely. If you don’t mind.”

Satomura took his commander’s silence to mean that he didn’t. At first the image was fuzzy. He adjusted the focus. The green speck emerged from the blurred background. Satomura knew at once that it was not organic. It was crystalline. He studied the magnified image for several minutes. With a deep breath, he straightened and took a step back.

“Well?” Komarov asked.

“Take a look,” Satomura offered.

Peering down the tube of the microscope, Komarov saw what he later described as a broken piece of glass that could have come from an ordinary beer bottle. It certainly wasn’t moving. Not lifting his head, he asked, “What is it?”

“My guess would be beryl,” Satomura replied excitedly. He no longer minded Komarov’s intrusion. “I won’t know for sure until I conduct further analysis. But if it is, then we have found something that should be quite rare on Mars.” He could tell by Komarov’s dull expression that he did not understand. “Beryl is a mineral made up of beryllium aluminum silicate and is found primarily in limestone and mica schist; neither of which is overly abundant on Mars.”

Komarov was becoming convinced that this one of those discoveries that might be a great revelation to the scientific community but had little meaning to the common man. As a result, he was rapidly losing interest. He listened as Satomura described a surface abundant in magnesium and iron, and was just about to make his excuses when he caught the word emeralds.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I said, beryl is the stuff that emeralds are made of. Not enough on the planet to make anyone rich, however.”

Komarov was quiet for a moment. “We gear up in two hours. You’d better get some rest.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Satomura replied. Suddenly, he was feeling very tired. He summoned his last reserve of energy to store the sample away safely, then headed straight for his cot to claim what little sleep he could before the day commenced. The beryl was not a significant find, but interesting enough to dominate his thoughts as he pulled the covers over his head. The computer program that kept track of the crew and their daily activities branched to a routine that reported back to the Russian Space Agency that Satomura had just awakened and was taking a shower.