Yup. Read that article, Darkhelmet. Glad you caught it!

And yes, with recent relevations, John has some thinking, and maybe even some growing up to do. Sorry that the situation between Cho and Roger hasn't been focused on, much. They'll get more air time. Sometimes I get caught up in a single story line, to the detriment of others. Sorry.

38

Endurance-

They had gotten this far, with Mars now swollen in the main view screen to the size of a blotched and sullen grapefruit, on calculations.

The figures John Tracy had input before going under (for almost the last time) used the position of the sun and distant Canopus to determine attitude. With thousands of Doppler readings, their radial velocity was constantly measured and adjusted, and information from Mission Control relayed positional data.

In short, they'd known where they were, relative to the plane of the ecliptic, how far they were from Earth, and how fast they were moving. All very important. Now, though, it was time for a human pilot to take over, to make all of the course adjustments and engine burns necessary to go into orbit around the planet. It was an on-board job. The sheer distance from Earth, and the time required to get a signal there and back made long-range micro-management difficult, to say the least.

The Ares III crew were back in their red survival suits now, strapped in and seated on the flight deck. John and Pete were up front, with Linda, Roger, and Cho ranged behind them in seats further back.

There were many things to be accomplished before that all-important landing, beginning with the return of manual guidance. The safety covers were off the flight controls, red tags removed from all the start-up keys. Everything was set.

Pete checked and re-checked the data streaming across his monitor screen from Johnson Space Center and the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Then, glancing over at the pilot, McCord spoke, his voice sounding canned and whisper-close over the helmet comm.

"It's about that time, Tracy. Ready?"

John looked everything over, that one extra time. From his position, the repaired engines, the thrusters, fuel and control surfaces looked good, as did the never-ending flow of sensor input. Everything seemed functional and communicative (with the possible exception of Dr. Bennett). Five's message was 'green across the board', the folks at JPL seemed pretty confident, and... most important of all... Endurance 'felt' right. The million-and-one signals he was getting, the vibrations, noises and motions, together wove an image of a bird that was ready and eager to fly.

John gave the commander a curt nod.

"She's good," he replied.

"Okay, then. Time to quite hugging the damn wall, and dance." The mission commander reached up, and began flipping switches.

"Returning manual control... now."

The change-over was immediately obvious, to John, at least. The stick and throttle sprang to life in his hands, providing resistance and feedback. To John, it felt a little like the give-and-take between horse and rider, through reins and bit.

First order of business, a 15-second, reverse-thruster burn to slow their furious speed. Pete talked him through the steps, instruments hummed and chattered, while deep in his own head, John read the manual and Endurance's mood.

With three swift button presses, he triggered the burns, firing a trio of fusion-powered lithium-tantalate thrusters. He heard a brief chirp, followed by a fire-hose's loud, hissing roar. Pete counted off the seconds as John watched their speed drop, feeling Endurance shudder and strain around them. Everyone was flung forward, ground against unyielding seat straps by the harshly applied braking forces.

"3... 2... 1... Cut off!" Pete was saying.

At his signal, John killed the thrusters, then checked their position, waiting to compare his numbers with Houston's. He was far too busy to dwell on his own emotions just then, but had he paused to examine them, John would have been most surprised to learn that he was... happy.

He shot a quick glance at the main view screen, where Mars glared back against the blackness of space. Rusty-orange she was, blotched with dark grey, and veiled here and there with the filmiest of white clouds.

Doq qo', the Red World. Not blue and welcoming, like the Earth, nor stark-grey and deadly as the moon, but a beautiful, grim challenge who would sell her secrets dearly, if at all. Many things tumbled through John's head and heart, then; too swiftly to be grasped, or named.

Pete caught his eye and grinned at him, saying,

"Yeah. Me, too."