by Dade Archer, Mission Commander
It was our greatest dream, -my Sharon and me, that is- to go to the stars, and hold those little diamonds in our palms, and cherish them as all those who had dreamed before us had. But we had one advantage, the Mars Mission. No doubt you've read about the Perseus and Piraeus missions to Jupiter and beyond, and the fusion engines which may yet get man to Alpha Centauri and back very soon, but when we ascended to the heavens on board Obsidian 5, we were flying the first ship with an ion engine, and mighty expensive it was too! We were the pioneers, the first real revolutionaries since 1969. Back then an ion engine was a massive breakthrough, capable of propelling a ship dozens of times faster than any method of propulsion previously, in fact on our Mission we clocked a top speed of one-hundred thousand miles per hour, or one-hundred and fifty thousand kilometres an hour, which back then was somewhat impressive. Naturally, such a speed isn't actually required for travelling to Mars, cos we would have been there in just two weeks. You see, we scarcely even exercised the huge ion drives until after we had landed, since we had to use them for the return trip, being just about out of fuel as we were.
Now, I think you're probably wondering who Sharon is exactly. Well, maybe not, but I'm gonna tell you anyway. She's my daemon, though, you're not familiar with daemons are you. Oh well. Where should I start? I was just going to go into the mission in all its clinical detail, the costs, the logistics, the figures we got from the Mission, but I've kind'a changed my mind since writing that little bit about my dear daemon. Let me tell you about our experience, not our mission.
In the ten months leading up to March 23rd 2028, we were entirely isolated from the world outside, having to speak to our families and friends through plate glass, and having to read our mail electronically, even the snail stuff, which, surprisingly, kept coming in from all quarters. Kids who wanted autographs, and their parents too, single mothers, elderly fellows who had worked on the space program in their youth. The whole world was willing us forward, wishing us well, and we were thankful for every word of it! Well, most of us, but every barrel has its bad apples. Actually, that's not strictly true, cos Doctor Parry was a terrific doctor, and definitely the best man for the job, it's just that, well, he was so quiet. Not all the time, though, and not in the simple shy way, that place was taken by Bethany, the youngest of our crew, and our Comm.'s and secondary robotics whiz. But Doctor Parry, he was intense, looking into his eyes was often like looking off the precipice atop an erupting volcano, a mixture of fear, vertigo, and not a little heat, boiling, angry heat, just waiting for someone to mention the cause of all this fury. But he wasn't actually like that all the time. He was up and down, sometimes quite amiable and polite, sometimes withdrawn and quiet, and sometimes as intense as I have mentioned. But one thing which never left his face until later in my account was a profound sense of loss, and the sadness which must inevitably result from that loss. All this explains somewhat Doctor Parry's disposition as a bad PR apple. In the years after the Mission, Doctor Parry, -Will-, told me the whole truth, but I wish to do him the respect of not making him the charity case of my account, as he wouldn't want to be remembered that way. Therefore, I will not take any excess of time to describe his past and desires, suffice to say, his grief quite nicely proves the many-worlds theorem, and that, I feel, is as much as I have right to divulge. But anyway, onto the Mission. We were scheduled to lift off on March 23rd, so there was plenty to do in those ten months.
Constant training toensure we wouldn'tchuck up during lift-off or planet-fall, and getting used to the diet, wereSOP;ensuring no one's bowls would suddenly decide they didn't want to have space food in their midst. So, when zero hour finally came, we were driven across the ten miles of clearance required around the vehicle in every direction, cheered on by our compadres, both in mission control and in the tower. We could actually hear the crowds cheering even at ten miles, there being about two million people watching from the boundaries, and then over a billion would see us launch on TV. Taken by the lift to the pinnacle of the great Obsidian 5 RDS, we were strapped in, and made ready for our take-off in one hour's time. It was midnight when we entered the command module, so we would be leaving Earth on our great journey at 1am on the 23rd. Apart from a slight delay between the fuel being released to the engines and their actually firing, the whole process went without a hitch. The whole module started to shake incredibly, as though being shaken by some monstrous earthquake, but then there was a huge jolt, driving us back into our seats, as the Obsidian rose unto the heavens, leaving our lives and our world behind. Unlike conventional rockets, the Obsidian 5 uses an ion charge to ignite the propellant, and as a result the rocket was out of the atmosphere and hurtling in its three-quarter orbit of Earth within one minute of lift-off, and then, with the extra momentum provided by our little spin, we were sent racing at one-hundred thousand miles per hour towards Mars. After ten minutes, we shut down the engines, and started making ready for the four-week trip ahead. After all, you can't have all the beds in a fit state to sleep in during lift-off, they'd probably tear a hole in the ship's hull. The whole process of fixing up the beds, kitchen, and gravity well –yes, we were the first ship to use a gravity well!- took about an hour. Unlike previous space flights, we had plenty of headroom, terrific panoramas from our large, numerous view ports, and the toilet was in the gravity well!! So we could shit properly! It was truly novel, the idea of not being revisited by your own faecal matter after you thought you'd vanquished it. So we were lucky, really, except, naturally, Will, who, when not seeing to his rather sparse duties as mission doctor, would sit by the no.4 view port, looking back at the Earth which grew several times smaller every day as the day before. On day seven, I was going over some manoeuvre procedures with Laura, because we were one quarter of a degree on the wrong course, and in space that is very dangerous, as is wasting valuable fuel trying to manoeuvre yourself back onto your proper course. Therefore, we were trying to figure out the most economical way to use our fuel, in order to keep our reserves high. John and Bethany were both busying themselves in the Lander module, adjusting figures and preparing the robotic bits and pieces that we would require to collect and analyse sand and rock samples. Will, meanwhile, was tidying up the mess from our take-off party, looking rather dull and tired himself, even though he hadn't joined in, as we just blew a few whistles, broke out the beverages which were allowed us for this purpose, although we knew that to balance the ship's weight we had to place the bottles back exactly where they had been kept already, and sang and danced our way into a temporary oblivion. But Will seemed not to be much enamoured of alcohol or merrymaking. So he sat out in the medical module through the whole several hours. When he was finished with the cleaning, Will just went back to the window and stared for half an hour, until I called John and Bethany up from the Lander module, to address the three of them.
"Right," I said, "we've got a little problem, we're a quarter of a degree off course, and the further we go this way the more fuel we have to burn to get back on track. Laura and I have figured out a strategy and sent a diagnostic back to Earth. Their reply will come in about two minutes from…" I looked at my watch, checking that it was exactly 5:40pm EST and seventeen seconds, before saying, "now. "Bethany, I want you to take your standard seat, Will, you have to take medical, and John, I want you on no.2 Lander."
With our weight distributed thus, Laura and I hoped to minimise the fuel requirement for the manoeuvre which was drawing ever closer. A moment after everyone was in position, we got the all-clear from Houston, and I strapped into my command seat, and clenched my teeth, hoping to God that we'd only need a few gallons from our spare fuel, because I didn't expect -and my crew agreed with me on this- that our standard fuel outfit was all we would need to actually use. After all, this was new territory. The ion engine had pushed us so fast that we had actually come out of our orbit a fraction of a second late, and when you have to be as careful as you do when you're in space, that fraction of a second, that fraction of a degree, can be deadly. And in light of that error, it seemed to me that such a thing could happen again, and thus we would need as much reserve fuel as possible. The ship started to vibrate nervously, as though shivering in the awful cold of the vacuum that enfolded it, and suddenly, there was an enormous shudder, as the engines came to life and began to propel us back onto our correct course. I remember the sensation of nausea coming back, and clenched my teeth, fists, and just about every part of my body. The cabin was now bucking wildly, and my harness was hard put to hold me in my seat, but I was safe, we all were, the whole process took only a minute, and suddenly the heavy bucking stopped. I sighed quite audibly as the sound and rocking died quickly away. As soon as the ship was on course, and the engines were once again slumbering, John emerged from the Lander module, and we all cheered heartily for many minutes, signalled back to Houston that we were fine, and that we had succeeded in expending a minimal amount of fuel. But after a few moments, I realised someone was missing, and I'll give you three guesses as to who it was. I descended to the medical module looking for Will, and found him sitting, withdrawn into a corner, stroking the air beside him, and just then I felt a terrible fear that our medical officer was descending into madness, and tried to move toward him, but something half inside me and half outside held me back, and I could hear something counselling me to hold back, to let Will have this moment to himself. I left him there for half an hour, but I no longer felt like celebrating with my crewmates, so I simply sat in my bunk, wondering as to what it could be that was doing this to our doctor. After several hours sleep –in which I dreamt a crazy little dream about meadows, pylons and break boxes- I was roughly awoken by Will, a big surprise on my part, seeing him being proactive in this way was quite new.
"Can you come with me?" he asked me, and naturally I said; "Yeah, sure." And so we descended into the kitchen module, where Will wished to be even though command and medical were both empty also. He directed me to sit in the only seat in the room, while he crossed over into the gravity module, and sat on the stool which was bolted into the floor there. And we spoke like this, me sitting under port.06, him rotating before my eyes in the gravity well.
"Well, I have to tell you something, skip," he said, "You saw me earlier, didn't you?" I nodded. Then he continued, making what he said sound like an afterthought, "That was my daemon. 'Name's Kirjava." Now, what would you do if someone told you, indirectly, but told nonetheless, that their invisible demon was sitting with them in the medical module of a spaceship? Suffice to say, I was taken aback somewhat, and quite speechless. "Tell you what," he said, "To ease your worries, I'll show you how to see her. There'll be a perk to this, though, just so you'll know, once and for all, that I am in the right place here rather than some nuthousein Ol' London Town.You'll alsosee your own daemon." Guess my reaction.
"I have a demon?" I couldn't keep the incredulity out of my voice at hearing that.
"If you're thinking of big red chaps with horns, you can forget it! Your daemon is your soul; it'sthat counselling voice that brings comfort and warmth. Without a daemon, you would not be human. I once knew someone who had actually seen people without daemons." His voice tremeloed noticeably on that last sentence. "And I've even seen daemons eaten away." He shivered noticeably, and even now I'm not entirely sure why, but so did I.Will had my undivided attention, but I was now convinced that the guys who selected the crew had made a terrible mistake. His yarn lasted the better part of four hours, in which even I could not extricate myself and go to bed, which of course is what we were all supposed to do a lot of. Sleep is incredibly important in space, simply because you need your head about you for the kind of things you have to do up there, but Will's story was magnetic, and I felt something like a part of Will half seducing a part of me into listening, and as he spoke I seemed to dose, but it only made every word that he said even clearer, and as I dosed, I saw something, something that thrilled me so deeply I could have cried for joy, for there by Will's side was a cat, and the cat was talking to another animal, and I knew that it was female, and I knew that she was my daemon, and I knew thatinher moment of self-realisationthat she hadcalled herself Sharon, or had I?Here was my soul, my closest companion, and we both knew alsothat, with Will's help, soon we would be together all the time.
There was a great gulf at this point, as time and place had as much meaning as the dust the little ship ploughed through on its way to the other world. I knew nothing, and I was nothing. I was no longer Captain Dade Archer, I was in bliss; and the ship, this one-off machine of human exploration, was lit as brightly as though we had reversed our course and journeyed straight toward the sun. The very hull and bulkheads were alive with a constant, golden glow of pure consciousness, curiosity, compassion. This timeless sensation, however, did end, and I was still under port.06, and will was still rotating before me in the gravity well.
"You saw it?" I could only nod a vague acknowledgement. The whole experience was over, and now I saw no cat, and no... what had she been? I looked at Will, and the understanding, the knowledge that he had imparted upon me, of Dust, the universes, and the vast expanse of human thought surrounding us on this man-made craft, was as clear as my dream-like experience.
"It's best if you don't try again to see Sharon until after we've made it home, though. It's too strange to expose the rest of the crew to it just yet." I agreed, and, naturally, so did Sharon, who, being a hummingbird, wouldn't appreciate being cramped into a space-suit with me.
The next day we had a big physical to check on our fitness, and in typical Will fashion we had a very hard day of it, though at the end we all talked together for about half an hour before going to sleep. Next day, after an excruciatingly long urinalysis, our beloved doctor was able to say, quite safely, that John was a donkey, I had no X-chromosome, and Bethany could do with some more fruit. We all started to seriously enjoy this new, open Will. Twenty days later with Will being far more talkative, and we all were ready for the final phase of the journey, slowing to an orbital velocity, a process which we had to begin now, an hour before we got into orbit. Too fast and we'd overshoot, to slow and we'd have to keep burning fuel to keep ourselves out of the atmosphere. With everybody strapped in and Laura already making adjustments to the controls on my right, we began our descent into a fifty-mile orbit. The flight was easy and uneventful, but after having made our descent, we realised we were in trouble. The fuel reserves were down to just seventy gallons in each of the five standard tanks. At 0302hrs on the 15th of April EST Obsidian 5 was in secure orbit, and here the live transmissions began. Surprisingly, in this era of media control and 'openness', we did not have to make ridiculous TV appearances throughout the flight, which was probably partly on account of Will's generally being so bad with PR. Instead, our only live transmission to Earth would be the Mars landing itself, in which John, Bethany and myself would go to the surface of Mars in the Lander whilst Laura kept her eyes on the ship and Will would, well, see that medical was on alert for any injuries.
On the way down we kept transmitting to Earth so the good folks at home in their living-rooms got to see our faces pulled into some wonderful shapes as we hurtled down at three-hundred miles per hour into the boiling friction of the Martianatmosphere. Ten seconds after the friction stopped I released the parachutes, and after another three minutes we were low enough that we could see our landing site clearly. The vessel touched down in theMelas Chasma. On the ground we collected samples, thousand of them, and raised aloft the flags of the United States, the United Kingdom, Japan, China, Russia, France, Italy, Germany, Korea, and Sweden, all the countries who had a part in the creation of Obsidian 5 and her predecessors. We filmed everything, and the live broadcast lasted approximately thirty-seven-and-a-half hours, from our getting into the Lander to our emerging again back on board ship. The issue of the fuel was glossed over by the PR people back home. The greatest moment for me wasn't Mars at all, but the story which Will told me as we hurtled toward Earth on our reserve fuel and part of the ion igniters. He told me about a great war, life after death, the three-part nature of human beings, and so much more besides, and I haven't forgotten a word of it, though, as I've said before, Will isn't a charity case, but an inspiration.
We made it safely to Earth, the Obsidian docking with the ISS and the space shuttle Emancipation taking us to Canaveral, where we were debriefed, and almost immediately afterwards Will left for England, for reasons he confided in me alone. He left it to me only to tell my own nearest and dearest what he told me.
And so, in the year following our return home, Will showed me how to see my dear Sharon, and he extended the same courtesy to the whole crew. John's was weirdest, being a tiny little Jellyfish, something you just have to put under a microscope and examine, so it was certainly appropriate.
We still keep in touch, the four of us. Will died last year, a terrible shame, I've lost a very great friend, but here is the final part of my story, you can believe this if you wish, or just take it with a pinch of salt. Either way, I swear upon my honour and all the life I have left that it is entirely true; A few days before writing this account, I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, and my heart was gripped by a terrible fear, but where it came from I couldn't tell. No one had tried to enter the house. I was as safe and secure as can be expected of an old man, and yet I was terrified! I did not sleep the rest of that night, and by dawn I was going almost paranoid with the feeling at my breast. Then, suddenly, something within me seemed to sigh, both Sharon and I felt it, and we were suddenly overtaken by an incredible happiness, and felt as though every atom in the universe were celebrating with us. Even now I do not know what caused that tumult and revelation, but I believe what Will told me before he died, and that's that. I'm expecting Bethany and her two daughters to show up this afternoon, and perhaps we'll have a barbeque and discuss space exploration, the past, and all kinds of wonderful curious things, and we owe it all to them, to a pair of children no longer children.
The End
Explanations;
Ion drives are a reality. We have the technology, we have the resources, but unfortunately the immense cost of these potentially wondrous devices means that it'll in fact be 2050 or even later before any are actually used for space exploration.
Acknowledgements;
Jopari for a timeline which included as one entry "2028 – Will Parry is mission doctor on the first manned flight to Mars" which inspired me to write this.
I found out about the anatomy of spacecraft and mission procedure from my dad and some books I have at home on 'Space'. Also Ipicked out Melas Chasma simply because it was the first major Martian feature I could find a name for. Blame NASA, I'm determinist!!
Copyright 2003 Matthew Hayden.