The Furies' Bog - Mars Excerpt
Mars. Could there be any bleaker destination? Any vaster, emptier world where only the savage wind blows? Canyons and craters filled with dust. Pebbled, marbled, lifeless terrain draped with dust. Rust-colored dust that peppers the horizon. Blazing dust. Boring dust. Soul-sucking dust.
How does one alter this cold, lifeless planet into a habitable Eden? Hurl water at it? Bombard it with asteroids? Release stored energy and greenhouse gas components to blanket the atmosphere and restart a dead engine?
Bold, but brilliant. Eventually, we can jump-start evolution.
Lucas assumed a wintry smile, as cold as a Martian night, as he peered at the russet ball through the thin shield of his helmet. They were outside the VASIMR-powered Phoenix—their Variable Specific Impulse Magnetoplasma Rocket–powered spacecraft—drifting along in space during an EVA, a spacewalk. Both astronauts were clipped to a safety tether, as they scooted down a telescopic boom toward the robotic spacecraft and the mechanism towing the comet. The robotic spacecraft—the Asteroid/Comet Redirect Vehicle, or ACREV—had remotely captured the comet on its orbit near Jupiter from the Kuiper Belt and towed it over a period of several months toward Mars. On this EVA, they must first ascertain that the capture bag had remained tightly cinched since ACREV had snagged the comet, and also that it was still prepped for a spring release when they altered the comet’s current trajectory and aimed it at the red planet.
Lucas pulled himself forward, his body floating outward from the boom. It was a simple process, and coupling the slow-motion movement with the buoyancy of zero gravity had become second nature to him after the six-week journey to intercept the robotic spacecraft with its precious captive. The Phoenix’s plasma/ion engine, the latest in high-speed technology developed for interplanetary travel, utilized a nuclear generator. It was working efficiently with relatively few hiccups and had reduced what would typically have been a six-month journey to six weeks. However, Lucas did notice a slight quiver in his muscles, alerting him that they had become weakened even after such a short flight, despite his superior DNA and the added component of having had artificial gravity for part of the journey. Once the team settled on Mars, they would be blessed with continual gravity. It would only be one-third as strong as Earth’s, so their muscle mass would still diminish, but not to such an extreme extent. Their bodies would adapt. Terraforming Mars was Step One. Mars altering their own genetic code would be Step Two.
Step Two was several centuries away from becoming reality. Perhaps.
Lucas inched along the end of the boom, gradually scaling the capture bag, which hugged the jagged body of the ammonia-rich comet. Ammonia and carbon dioxide would be the primary gases they were about to introduce into Mars’s atmosphere. This process would thicken the atmosphere and contribute to a runaway greenhouse effect—the very feedback loop that had been wreaking havoc on Earth for decades.
The International Space Agency and Galactic Resources, the mining company funding the terraforming process, had been moderately successful with the first few waves of bombardment, as they flung small asteroids and comets at the planet. They’d also landed remote ships on some of the bigger asteroids to alter their orbits and send them crashing into Mars. As these “space rocks” approached the red planet, most of the gases peeled off into the atmosphere, while widespread detonations occurred on the surface, melting the CO2-rich permafrost and releasing additional greenhouse gases. Through these efforts, the average temperature at the south pole had been raised by 8˚ F, globally increasing temperatures by at least 10˚ and altering the 6-millibar pressure to hundreds of millibars.
A rather remarkable achievement, if Lucas did say so himself, since his role in the terraforming experiment was, and continued to be, instrumental. When the colonists finally arrived, they wouldn’t need bulky spacesuits and extreme-weather gear to survive on the surface. But the problem still remained of creating an ozone layer to protect any introduced flora or organisms from the harsh UV and cosmic rays that assailed Mars. And they would also need to build up the concentration of oxygen in the atmosphere to mammal-friendly proportions with hardy oxygen-generating plant life.
Bacteria and other microorganisms were the answer. The second task in their EVA: drill a hole deep into the comet’s icy shell and seed it with dormant, genetically-modified and -enhanced cyanobacteria and archaea—wonderful little oxygen and methane generators designed to withstand the heat of impact. The comet would pulverize rock on the planet’s surface and create hollowed bowls simmering with water where the bacteria could flourish.
These bowls would eventually nurture other plants, such as sphagnum moss and ericaceous shrubs. These bowls would become bogs.
A bog produces methane and feeds an expanding variety of plants. A bog creates soil, a rich black peat. A bog might be Earth’s undoing, but a bog was a gift to Mars.
“Hey there, Luke. How’s it going?” asked Gita Alatas, an astrobiologist and the commander of their fourteen-week mission.
“Almost to the soft site.”
This was the ideal location to commence drilling, a weak zone in the icy material that had been recently exposed to roiling heat as the comet flew by the sun.
“Jolson’s right behind me.”
Not that he wanted to mention his co-driller, Astronaut Bob Jolson, an astrogeologist and the least hardy member of their team. Bob had become ill en route, probably from a virus he’d picked up before leaving Earth. Although he’d assured them he had completely recovered, he was already breathing heavily into the comm from this minor exertion. Quirky, happy-go-lucky Bob had also been responsible for their having nearly missed their comet rendezvous, by applying the trajectory-altering burn a little too long when they’d experienced a computer malfunction. Then, to top that off, blaming the recent solar flare—which had only added about 5 rem to their radiation level—and deteriorating vision, which he claimed was from their zero gravity stopover on the Lunar Space Station, he’d almost botched the capture of ACREV. Gita had been monitoring with the camera and readjusted their aim just in time, or they might have buckled their ninety-three-billion-dollar spacecraft. But somehow, despite Bob’s failings, they’d captured the vehicle, towed the comet into low orbit above Mars, and were now seeding and prepping for the release of another bacterial insemination.
The universe would be better without Bobs.
Lucas cast Bob a scowl as he cut a square in the capture bag, while Gita suspended the massive drill of the mechanical space arm above their target.
It would be better without Jennifers who dump toxic pesticides into pristine streams; and Hadjis who transport giant hogweed, which is known to cause blindness, from Asia to North America to feather out their gardens; or Borises who release their pet anacondas into the Florida ecosystem where they seem quite content to kill all the native species, including alligators. The universe would be much improved if it dumped certain DNA from the evolutionary chain.
“Almost there,” said Bob, as the boom shivered along its length. Not a good sign.
Bob was having trouble maintaining a solid grasp on the boom. His muscles were rebelling because he hadn’t adhered to the ISA’s strict regimen of exercise while he was ill.
Lucas ignored Bob and helped guide the laser drill onto the selected site, attaching braces and punching in bolts to keep it secure.
“Bob, your heart rate’s accelerating,” said Gita. “We have a good two hours of drilling to do. You sure you’re up to it?”
“I’m fine,” said Bob, floating around the boom and coming level with Lucas.
Lucas glanced quickly through Bob’s faceplate. He was flushed, and his face glistened with perspiration. Bob was either going to pass out or drop the precious packets of bacteria and send them sailing off into space where they might, eventually, thousands of years later, seed another planet.
“Breathe, Bob,” Lucas said patiently, even though he felt like throttling the weakling.
Bob nodded and proceeded to take deep whiffling breaths.
“Now fasten your tether to the boom so we don’t lose you.”
Or the bacteria. Nothing would make him happier than to lose Bob. But the astronaut was already tethered to the hatch of the Phoenix, so there was no real hope of that. However, if he lost his grip on the boom he might sail several feet away, and Lucas would be required to expend extra effort to haul him back.
Bob stopped breathing—unfortunately it was only momentary—and clipped his tether to the end of the boom.
“Ready when you are,” he said, with a wink.
“Sure,” said Lucas.
Weak, clumsy, a waste of good oxygen. And not ready by a long shot.
“Except we need the shield.”
“Oh. Right,” said Bob.
He released his hold on the boom and fumbled with the belt and link with which he’d attached the shield to his suit. The Kevlar in their suits would protect them from micrometeorites in space, but if the drill blasted ice particles toward them at this proximity, the projectiles might puncture the material, and then they’d lose pressure and be exposed to the vacuum of space.
Bob released the drill shield and nearly failed to recapture it, his hands having an epileptic fit of trembling. Damn Bob.
Lucas reacted as quickly as zero gravity allowed, seizing the thick Plexiglas sheet and positioning it between their bodies and the drill. He anchored it to the capture bag with grappling hooks. Then he flipped the switch, triggering the laser. A beam shot from the nozzle and sliced into the frozen shell of the comet, melting and vaporizing the ice, and also deflecting multiple droplets into space. They refroze instantly, resembling a still-shot image of a geyser. The initiation sequence complete, all they needed to do now was to monitor the drilling process and finally, when they’d penetrated as deep as was required, lower the bacterial specimens into the comet.
Lucas kept one eye on the beam intensity and the integrity of the drill position and the other on the red planet. It drifted below his suspended body, a mosaic of bronze, tan, salmon, and charcoal mountains and valleys, extinct volcanoes, and intricately carved canyons. Craters pocked the entire surface, most of them millions of years in age. But now, rather than the ubiquitous dust, daring curlicues of cloud streaked the atmosphere, trapping moisture and creating ozone.
What a thrill to be part of this renewal process, even though he wouldn’t get the chance to explore the surface. He recalled the first human explorers who’d set foot on Mars years ago and discovered remnants of bacteria and a wealth of precursor molecules that proved without a doubt that this planet had once harbored life.
Yes, Mars had once flourished! And asteroids had been crucial in creating a viable planet, he’d learned through his studies of planetary geology. During what was classified as the Noachian period, 4.1 to 3.7 billion years ago, which started with the formation of the Hellas impact basin—the second largest impact zone on Mars—an age of warm temperatures and abundant water began. Asteroid impacts had introduced energy and volatile gas, just as the comets would do now. Carbon dioxide and nitrogen from the atmosphere had bound readily with magnesium, iron, or sodium in the minerals on the planet’s surface to form carbonates and nitrates. Volcanoes like the enormous Olympus Mons—a shield volcano three times the height of Mount Everest and with six times the base diameter of Mauna Kea—had recycled these elements by boiling nitrogen and carbon dioxide out of the minerals and reintroducing them into the atmosphere.
What a wondrous sight it must have been—this active planet bubbling with life and awash in shallow oceans. But the volcanoes had died and Mars had reabsorbed its atmosphere. Mars, without a vital core of circulating magma and therefore without an electromagnetic field, no longer had the ability to shield the surface from the charged particles of the solar wind. Even with all humanity’s efforts at terraforming, the absence of a circulatory system would continue to plague them. The upper atmosphere and the ozone layer would be vulnerable to the particles carried by the solar wind and, once stripped away, would no longer block the UV radiation that nothing, including extremophiles, could survive. But with the ozone up and running, they would have centuries to consider the problem. Maybe they’d have to tow a few asteroids into orbit and combine them to create an artificial moon. Mars did have moons—Phobos and Deimos—but neither one had enough mass to promote circulation and an EM field.
That’s why the Gilgamesh Movement is proceeding too quickly. Let the scientists contemplate this issue further, before they are of no more use. After all, they aren’t all Bobs. The Movement should look at them as resources that needn’t be squandered prematurely, especially since the terraforming may take another century to prepare Mars for permanent settlement.
The laser beam’s progress suddenly stalled, and a warning light flashed on the drill monitor, indicating that they might have encountered an obstruction—most likely a rock buried in the comet. But they’d already tunneled 500 feet. He stopped drilling to temporarily adjust the laser to a higher setting before restarting it and pulverizing the stubborn rock. Soon they would be approaching the ideal depth—800 feet into the comet’s interior.
“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?” said Bob, pointing at the Martian surface, barely paying attention to their expensive hardware. “I wish they’d let us land.”
“Good idea,” said Lucas, tempted to swat the man’s head. “Land on the most unstable planet in the solar system, right after we’ve kick-started its volcanoes and generated massive earthquakes with our comet and asteroid bombardment. And if we don’t think that’s a great enough challenge, I’d love to set down in the middle of one of those dust storms, just to see if we can crash the MADVEC.”
“Well,” said Bob. “I’d be willing to take the risk. It may be dangerous but, hell, space is dangerous. After all, we won’t live long enough to see it when it’s finally ready to settle.”
You won’t, anyway. Which will be a blessing.
Longevity or cloning might give Lucas the opportunity, though.
“Even if it were a possibility, we’d be wasting valuable fuel and we could miss the targeted fuel depot and become stranded. We need to stick to the mission assigned us.”
“Are you really such an obedient drone?” asked Bob, eying him through his long Bambi lashes. “You ignored Mission Control when they instructed you to review the mission details regarding the previous asteroid capture and tow around the moon. Instead, you kept checking engine control systems as if Geneva doesn’t monitor them 24/7. And when you did finally scan through the document, you spent an awfully long time recalculating, as if you didn’t trust the genius minds behind the mission.”
Lucas bristled. If there was anyone he didn’t trust . . . But maybe Bob was more observant than he’d realized. Gita usually left Lucas to his own devices, confident he’d follow procedure and make accurate calculations in case of computer malfunction, since he was the designated flight engineer and copilot. But Bob had always been nosy. Lucas had assumed, from Bob’s obvious uncertainty and dubious abilities, that this was his way of double-checking his own work—looking over Lucas’s shoulder to extract information that he might be lacking, and probing Lucas with questions to ensure that he performed his own operations correctly. But maybe Bob wasn’t as bumbling as he seemed.
“We won’t always have those genius minds to rely on, as you should know.”
“I know. I know. I nearly goofed. I guess I depend too religiously on the computer, and I didn’t realize it had jumbled all the data. But if we’d missed that comet it wouldn’t have had the same repercussions as redirecting our homeward-bound asteroid.”
“Which is why I was recalculating. But you’re wrong about the repercussions. Any delay in the terraforming could mean disaster on Earth, too. We only have finite time to make Mars habitable before our overburdened planet dies.”
“I guess,” said Bob. “Which is why I’d like to help you in the Near-Earth Asteroid Capture and Retrieval Mission. Just to have, you know, an extra pair of hands, in case there’s trouble.”
“There’s no drilling involved in that one,” said Lucas, trying to keep his voice level. “It’s just a matter of relocating the asteroid to a location that is accessible for the mining crews near the moon. It doesn’t require an astrogeologist.”
The last thing he needed was a bloody buffoon like Bob peering over his shoulder, interfering in his work. He’d busted his ass for this assignment. He’d mortgaged his life to get through graduate school and astronaut training, scored brownie points with the ISA for his Mars seeding proposal, then tripled his score with a moon mission that proved he was equipped to handle space travel. He’d never experienced a touch of space sickness, had maintained his muscle mass like an Olympian and, despite a double dose of radiation exposure because of back-to-back missions, showed not a hint of genetic aberrations nor any deterioration of his vision. He was the ideal man for this mission, with the ideal brain. Someone like Bob shouldn’t even be allowed to approach his corner of the spacecraft, let alone intrude on his work.
“You may not require it, but it always pays to have someone double-check your work.”
“After what happened with your last assignment, docking with ACREV . . .”
Bob flicked his finger at the drill unit. He tilted his head and followed up with a wave of his hand.
Lucas returned his focus to the unit, noting the signature depth.
“Don’t you think it’s time to switch off?”
“Yes, Bob. I think it’s time to switch off.”
He switched off the laser, instantly erasing the intense beam, which temporarily played havoc with his vision. When his pupils finally adjusted to the blackness of space, he motioned to Bob.
“Time to place the specimens.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Bob.
Lucas eyed the man again. Had he known all along that they were approaching the ideal depth? Was Bob playing a game with him, acting the fool to keep him complacent while at the same time attempting to make him seem incompetent? Did Bob, perhaps, know about the Movement? Was he thinking of sabotaging Lucas’s career because of his involvement with them? But no one knew of their plan except insiders, and who among them would leak . . . No. Not his brother. He might be an aggravating oppositionalist, but he wouldn’t have gone that far.
“Yes, we’re ready,” said Lucas. He detached the drill from the comet’s surface, yanking out bolts, then informed Gita that she needed to retract the space arm.
“Very good, Lucas,” said Gita. “And I’d keep the arguments to a minimum, guys. I know we might be getting on each other’s nerves after living in such close quarters, even if it was a short hop, but an EVA is not the time to let off steam. I don’t want to see any mishaps out there, especially considering the cost if we fail on this mission.”
“Not a chance,” said Bob. “We’re not arguing, are we, Lucas?”
Did Bob just grin through his contoured space helmet? Lucas gritted his teeth, but Gita’s command required a response.
“No. No arguments. We’re bosom buddies out here. Mission almost completed.”
Bob fumbled with his pack—or was he fake-fumbling?—and finally extracted the capsules of bacteria. With the capsules neatly tethered in a tensile net, the whole assemblage resembled a massive condom. In the meantime, Gita had extended the opposite arm with a telescoping pole and a strong, thin cable. Lucas clipped the samples to the cable, and they began the tedious process of ever-so-gently lowering the bundle of bacteria into the comet. Since there was no gravity, the cable had to be powered to force the bundle into the cavity and to the proper depth.
This was a twenty-minute procedure, but eventually Lucas released the bundle, and the cable was carefully withdrawn from the deep pocket in the comet. As Gita retracted the arm, the men’s last task was to return to the capsule, working their way hand over hand along the boom. Bob’s breathing rasped through the comm like a whistling tornado; his arms continued to tremble with every grip and release. Since contracting the virus, he’d become physically ill-equipped for this mission. But was he mentally competent? Or maybe even canny?
As they approached the hatch, a nagging thought badgered Lucas. Bob blotted his view like a bloated wall, blocking any glimpse of Mars or the hatch or even the vast emptiness of space. Bob should be dismantled, blasted apart, dismembered. Bob stood—or floated—solidly in his way.
He ripped open his Velcro pocket with eager fingers, tunneling toward the cushioned utility knife at the bottom—the tool he’d used to cut into the comet’s capture bag, and a necessity in case their tethers became tangled and kept them from returning to the hatch. Now he could sever a tether for another reason. Of course, it would require a solid push to get Bob beyond the short flight distance the fuel in their jetpack allowed.
Lucas’s fingers hovered over the thick cord of Bob’s tether which, as Bob climbed closer to the hatch, dangled back toward him and constantly flicked against his helmet. He raised the knife, poised to slice.
“Bob, do you really want to visit Mars?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I dream of it.” He didn’t look back or give any indication he found Lucas’s question disturbing.
Lucas hesitated, the temptation so excruciating his head throbbed. But in the final instant he retracted the blade.
I wish I could make your dream come true, Bob.
He re-sheathed the knife in his pouch.
But I may need you just a little longer.
Bob sailed in through the hatch, totally oblivious, as Lucas gazed one last time at Mars—a russet and butterscotch orb cupped in the void of space. He had an inexplicable ache in his belly.
And you don’t deserve Mars, even as a corpse.
