Red Planet
by Peter Dabbene

Russell Chase looked out the window at the rust-covered surface of Mars more than a thousand miles below. After ten years of planning, five years of training, and six long months in space, humans had finally arrived at the fourth planet from the sun. Now, inside their ship, the astronauts ringed the planet in a rough, elliptical orbit, awaiting confirmation from Houston Control that everything was A-OK for lander descent.

They were nearly twenty light-minutes from Earth, and communication with mission control was agonizingly slow. Throughout the mission, the crew had engaged in short trivia contests to kill time while waiting for responses. Once they all had gotten an initial look at Mars “up close,” Jackie suggested they revive the game one last time to set the mood for the historic landing to come.

“Okay, new game – other names of Mars.”

Sam reluctantly surrendered his prize spot at the viewport. He was incredulous at the timing of Jackie’s suggestion, but quickly realized that situations like this fell under her expertise. On a four-man mission, everyone wore several hats. Among other things, Jackie Llewellyn served as doctor and counselor, responsible for both the physical and mental health of the crew. With some of the mission’s most critical moments just minutes ahead, she had noticed the anxiety level getting a little higher than desirable, and decided to defuse the situation with a diversion.

“Other names? You mean like Ares?” Sam was competitive, and quick to engage in any sort of friendly contest, though slightly less so when there was no wagering involved.

Jackie smiled. She was in her forties, and she’d let her hair go brownish-gray after spending most of the training as a blonde. Her face, along with those of the rest of the crew, was puffy and bloated due to weightlessness. “Greek is too easy. But yeah, that’s the general idea. What other cultures called the planet, or what they call it now.”

“Okay then,” Sam said. “I’ll start. Her Descher – it’s Egyptian. It means ‘the red one.’” Sam, aside from being the main engineer and secondary mission geologist, was also well-versed in archeology and ancient cultures. This kind of challenge was right up his alley.

“Nice,” Jackie said. “How about Mangala? Sanskrit.”

“Auqakah,” Russell chimed in. “From the Incas.”

“Now we’re rolling. Wally?”

Wally was the Mars One mission commander, and he looked the part. He was of medium height, stocky, with thinning sandy brown hair and a determined look permanently etched onto his face. “Nirgal. Babylonian.”

Back to Sam. “Next round. Al-Qahira. Arabic.”

Jackie: “Hrad. Armenian.”

Russell: “Misengwe. From the Abenaki tribe, in southern Quebec.”

Wally frowned. “I’m drawing a blank. I don’t know. ‘Red Planet.’”

“No nicknames,” Jackie chided.

“I’m out, then.” Wally seemed relieved to be granted his freedom, and he went back to rechecking various monitors.

“Me too,” Sam said, pushing his slim body off the wall to follow Wally’s lead. “Good idea, Jackie, but I can’t concentrate on this stuff right now.”

Jackie sighed as Sam retreated to his window on Mars. She noticed that Russ was preparing to join him, and she called the American Indian geologist aside.

“Hey, Russ,” she said cheerfully. “Most of the names we gave for Mars, we knew because the valleys are named for them. They’re on all the maps, standard planetary nomenclature. But those ones you gave, I’ve never heard them before.”

“They’re Native American,” Russ said. “They–” A flashing red light on the wall panel stopped him. A response from Earth had been received.

Jackie pushed herself over toward Wally and Sam, leaving Russ to finish his thought in silence. Of course you’ve never heard Native American names for Mars. They’re missing from our maps, as if the future of Mars didn’t belong to Indian tribes, as if they never even existed.

“Looks like the relay satellite is working,” Sam said. The Mars One mission’s first major task had been to deploy a communications satellite into Mars orbit. Mars was only about half the diameter of Earth; the short horizon, plus the various mountains and rocks dotted across the Martian landscape, would severely limit the range of line-of-sight based radio on the surface. With the satellite in orbit, the range of surface communications would be substantially boosted. The satellite would also serve as a backup antenna to send messages to Earth in the event of a malfunction in the lander’s primary communications array.

“Good to know we haven’t screwed up so far,” Wally commented. He pressed a button to start the video feed, and a familiar, middle-aged woman appeared on the screen: NASA’s main liaison with the crew. “Mars One crew, you are cleared for landing,” she said, emotion strangely absent from her voice. “Proceed at your discretion. End message.”

“I can’t wait to get some gravity back under me,” Jackie said. She noticed Sam, who would stay in orbit, purse his lips. “Sorry, Sam. At least you’ll get a little privacy.”

The lander’s computers would take care of everything automatically, from minor adjustments of approach angle to timing the firing of the landing thrusters. Because of the delay in communication, any kind of remote assistance from Earth was impractical. As the main pilot and mission commander, Wally would have complete control; if anything went wrong with the computers in the Patriot lander, their fate would rest with Wally’s training and skill.

“Meridiani Planum, here we come,” Wally said aloud, more for posterity than any need to inform the crew. The entire landing, start to finish, was being recorded, sure to be heard millions of times in the next few weeks, by space enthusiasts and casual observers alike. “Mars One Patriot lander, beginning landing sequence.”

Patriot was an appropriate name for the lander, as this was a distinctly American mission. Ten years ago the space race had reignited when it became obvious that “international cooperation in extraterrestrial matters was no longer politically sustainable”– the diplomats’ fancy way of saying that the United States had decided to go it alone. As the once-naïve idealism of colonizing Mars became more practical, so too did discussions of the Red Planet’s future turn from grand visions of a conflict-free political utopia to the same kind of carved-out, built-up society the Mars One crew had left behind.

“I see one of the supply ships,” Russell said. “There’s another.” Five unmanned cargo ships stocked with food, equipment, water, oxygen, hydrogen, and seed stock had been sent ahead of the Mars One mission. All had landed safely on the surface, clustered neatly around the prime meridian, where they awaited the astronauts’ arrival. “Looks like we should be no more than a few kilometers away from any of them. That’s precision flying.” He patted Wally’s shoulder in appreciation.

“Nothing to it,” Wally said, moving his hands to rest them on top of his head.

Indeed, the first manned landing on Mars seemed almost an afterthought to the incredible accomplishments of the computer-operated supply ships. The ships, launched two years before, were busy using their stores of hydrogen to complete the Sabatier reaction, converting the carbon dioxide atmosphere of Mars into methane and water. The methane was stored as propellant, and any water not needed for the astronauts’ sustenance was broken down by electrolysis into its component hydrogen and oxygen. The oxygen would be used to help sustain a breathable environment inside pressurized domes constructed by the astronauts, while the hydrogen would be recycled to begin the Sabatier reaction again. The process was simple and elegant, and it was the key to human life on Mars.

There was other machinery in the supply ships too, all packed with self-checking algorithms and multiple redundancies to make sure everything kept working properly, even in the absence of human supervision. Mission engineering had ensured that most of the difficult work would be performed mechanically, freeing the crew to take soil samples, explore, and make impromptu adjustments as needed.

Planting the flag in the sandy red surface of Mars was the moment everyone would remember, but in fact the first humans on Mars had one simple but crucial task: to survive.

The crew of the Patriot was methodically preparing to go out to the surface. Jackie extended the main video camera from the underside of the lander, where it would film the first steps on Mars. After she had tested it and found it functioning properly, she joined Wally near the airlock.

“Where’s Russ?”

“Already in the airlock suiting up. I guess he’s excited.”

“He’s not the only one.” She smiled.

Inside the airlock, Russell climbed into his pressure suit and hardshell in record time, under the watchful gaze of the empty suits and helmets lined along the wall like Martian scarecrows. The suits were all black, to better absorb heat from the distant sun. Average air temperature on Mars was -67°F, with ranges from -13°F during daytime to -125°F at night. The climate-controlled suits would compensate, of course, but every bit of ambient heat would help.

The order of exit had been predetermined by mission control, carefully choreographed as the public relations landmark it would be. Wally, as mission commander, would take the first steps on Mars, followed by Jackie, and then Russell. Sam would get his chance another time; for now, he remained in orbit to maintain the link with Earth and monitor the vitals of the astronauts from a safe distance.

That was the way it was supposed to happen, as far as mission control was concerned.

Russell drew a few deep breaths to test whether the suit’s air valves were working, then checked the gauges on the small wrist-mounted readout panel. He grabbed one of the heavy drills designed to penetrate the thick Martian permafrost and walked to the exit door of the airlock. Through the small reinforced window on the inner door, he saw flashes of movement – Wally and Jackie were about to enter. He turned and frantically pressed at the button that would open the outer airlock door. He saw the light above the exit door switch from red to green, as the light above the interior door switched from green to red. Wally and Jackie were locked inside the lander. Outside was Mars.

Russell Chase poked his head out of the Patriot and gazed in wonder at the salmon sky and the crimson-brown plains before him. He moved out onto the short gantry ladder. Then he stepped down to the surface.

“Russ, what the hell are you doing?” Wally’s voice was a shriek that echoed inside Russell’s helmet. “You can’t do this!”

Russell debated whether to respond. His plan had been to maintain radio silence until he was ready to deliver his message to Earth, but he couldn’t resist playing with Wally’s level-headed, by-the-book modus operandi.

“Why not?” he asked calmly.

An angry silence followed, then the sounds of a whispered consultation with Jackie. “We’re coming out,” Wally finally growled.

Russell spun as quickly as the bulky suit allowed, as the airlock’s exit door sealed shut behind him. They had recovered from their initial shock, and had used the computer override to retake control of the airlock. Wally and Jackie were suiting up, getting ready to try to salvage the landing. Up in orbit, Sam relayed the events back to mission control with the passive, matter-of-fact frankness of a veteran of the space corps.

Russell knew that now, there was no turning back.

A few moments passed, the only audible sounds the amplified inhales and exhales of his own lungs.

The exit door retracted and locked into place. Wally appeared in the opening, gripping the doorway with both hands. Russell imagined the furious stare that lay hidden behind Wally’s sun visor, and clutched the soil drill tightly.

“Don’t come out here,” were the first words spoken on the surface of Mars.

“What do you mean, ‘Don’t come out here’? What’s gotten into you, Russ?”

“Wally, I have a core sample driller out here with me. If you or Jackie go extravehicular, I will press the driller against your suits and hit the on button.”

Wally gasped. This was much worse than a mere attempt at hijacking a more prominent place in history. Russell was threatening murder. If the suits were compromised, their bodies would not explode; there would be no instantaneous boiling of body fluids. But oxygen would rush out of the breach, and after as little as ten seconds, they would fall unconscious. It might not be a dramatic death, but it was death just the same.

Wally wondered if Russell was bluffing. The Indian geologist was a prominent member of the scientific community; he had spent five years training and traveling alongside his crewmates. Could he really kill them so easily? Was it worth testing him? How could the mission psychologists have missed the potential for something like this in Russ’s psychological fitness exams? Was it madness, brought on by six months’ confinement in a small ship? Or was it simply… mutiny?

Wally closed his eyes, then blinked a few times, hoping this would all disappear. It did not. His lifelong dream had become something out of a nightmare.

He took a step down the ladder and was matched with an equal advance by Russ. The drill bit gleamed its readiness as Russ waved it wildly from side to side in the thin Martian gravity.

What were the options? Grab one of the other drills from inside and challenge Russell to a duel? Not the way NASA wanted people to remember the first landing on Mars, and not the way Wally envisioned himself dying. Talk, Wally told himself. For now, just talk.

“Russ, you may feel like you have us trapped up here, but it’s just the opposite – you’ve stranded yourself on the outside! You’ve got a couple of hours of air, no more than that. Leave the drill outside and come back to us.” He wasn’t sure how they would secure Russell during the rest of the mission if he did surrender, but right now that would be a good problem to have.

Russell listened to their words and thought about being alone on Mars for the next year or so. It was a small sacrifice, and certainly not suicide. Plenty of air, and food, and water in those supply ships. The radiation shelters practically build themselves.

“Sorry, I have a speech to deliver,” he said.

“Well, it’s not going to be heard. Sam, cut off the relay to Earth.”

“You got it,” Sam’s voice crackled.

“Russ, only we can hear you now. Your words won’t reach Earth. It’s over.”

“It’s not over, Wally. This is just the beginning. It’s over for you, though. You have twenty minutes to rejoin the orbiter and prepare to return to Earth. If you leave Mars now, you can make a free-return trajectory and be back on Earth in two years. If in twenty minutes you’re still on the surface, I’ll take this drill and its damage-resistant diamond bit to the Patriot’s hull and wreak so much havoc that you’ll never make it back to Earth orbit alive. It’s your choice.”

“He’s bluffing. You’re bluffing!” Sam screamed over the now-closed channel.

Wally was somber. As mission commander, his primary duty was to the safety of his crew. That meant playing it safe. Through gritted teeth he said, “Contact mission control and apprise them of the situation.” He turned toward the airlock and stepped inside. The exit door began to close behind him, and Russell breathed a sigh of relief.

Jackie cut in over the channel. “Russ, listen to me. Russ, are you there? Russ–”

A loud click sounded over the com. “He’s switched us off, Jackie.”

“But why…” Then it dawned on her. “Oh my God!”

“He’s going directly through the relay satellite,” Sam said quietly.

“Can we shut him down?” Wally asked.

“The satellite is designed to accept priority override messages sent from our spacesuits, in case of emergencies. I don’t think the engineers back home ever imagined a situation like this.”

“Is that a no?”

“That’s a no.”

The sunlight was fading, and Russell Chase watched as Mars grew dark. Could it really work, he wondered? As soon as the success of his mission was made public, the launch from Star City, Kazakhstan, would occur, carrying the first group of – what were they? Pilgrims? Settlers? Immigrants?

Reinforcements.

World opinion would keep the Americans at bay for a while – virtually every country would prefer to see Mars under separate Indian control than as a new colony of the United States. As long as the Indians paid for their spaceflights up front, Mars was theirs.

It would not always be that way. They would have to buy weapons, and create new ones, to protect their new home. The Americans would attempt to close their casinos and the many business ventures that had sprouted from them, but it was too late for that. Native Americans had moved into the international realm, made alliances with the right people, and as they did, their attachment to the land of their fathers was worn away. Instead, they looked to the stars.

Russell Chase sighted Earth in the sky, a small, bright, bluish-white star from this distance, and began the words he’d been preparing to deliver for the last five years.

“Indians of All Nations, I address you: This is Russell Chase of the Sioux, born on the Pine Ridge Reservation. On behalf of the indigenous people of the Western Hemisphere, I claim this planet, which the white man calls Mars.

“I call on my Indian brothers and sisters to join me. Gather your belongings, your most sacred treasures, and leave your birthplace. Here, we will build a new world for ourselves. This is the Fifth World of the Hopi prophecies.

“Come, Navajo from the desert and Inuit from the Arctic. Come, Kayapo from the Amazon. Come Pomo, Crow, Comanche, Nez Perce, Iroquois, Algonquin, Pawnee, Iowa, Seminole and all the rest.

“Let us make a new start, away from the Trail of Tears, and the Massacre at Wounded Knee, away from fire water and blankets laced with smallpox. Remember the spirit of our people. Remember Alcatraz and Red Power.

“We will transform the surface of this planet, melt its ice and free its water. We will plant seeds so that one day the color green will appear. We will build bricks from the dust, and our homes from those bricks. And one day, the buffalo will roam free again, here.

“This is the ultimate product of Red Power. This is the fulfillment of the Red Man’s destiny. This is, and will forever be, a Red Planet.”

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