This is a fan translation of Road to Mars (Дорога к Марсу) by fifteen Russian science fiction writers.
This chapter was written by Sergei Lukyanenko.
I claim no rights to the contents herein.
Chapter 33
General Gathering
"You're insane!" Serebryakov couldn't hold back. "Do you seriously think you can survive a space flight?"
Yana shrugged her fragile shoulders.
"There's no other way, Colonel. Believe me. I'm not in a hurry to go to Mars, but the decision has been made at the highest level. If you don't believe me… then we can go to the Kremlin. Can we, Colonel Kirsanov?"
"Yes, of course," Kirsanov replied without any surprise. "If the documents signed by the President isn't enough for you…"
Serebryakov anxiously smoothed his hair, as if he was about to meet the leader of the nation.
"I mean, I'm a military man," he said. "If there's an order, then I'll go with you, Yana… or with you, Colonel… or even with Lenin's mummy. What do I care? But how are you going to handle the g-forces?"
"I'm a strong woman, I won't die," Yana replied. "Although I won't be of much use during the launch. But that why you'll be there, won't you?"
"But why you?" Serebryakov could hold back.
Yana sighed and admitted, "Actually, there is an alternative. Irina Pryahina. What's important is for there to be a woman with Andrei on Mars. I'd rather not hand the mission over to Pryahina… but if you insist…"
Serebryakov felt he was going insane.
"What kind of nonsense is this?" he asked. "If you're talking about… umm… a biological experiment… then Kartashov will have left Mars by the time we reach it!"
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Yana answered seriously. "So it's your choice. Pryahina or me."
"It's a beautiful ship," Kartashov said, looking at the slowly approaching Orion. "Old-fashioned but beautiful."
Bull wasn't about to argue.
"Why reinvent the wheel? If it worked for the Lunar program, then it'll work for Mars."
The Orion really did look a lot like the old Apollo, except it was a lot bigger. But right now, when the Orion was approaching the docking node, it was difficult to spot the difference in size.
"Why does ground control want to sent you two to the Orion?" Piccirilli asked sadly. "This wasn't the original plan…"
"No one planned to lift the Orion into a higher orbit," Kartashov replied. "Its resources are limited."
"And yet?" the Italian asked stubbornly.
Bull suddenly touched Kartashov's shoulder, "You know, I'm in agreement. Going to Mars with just the two of us and leaving four in orbit is ridiculous. Especially since our time on the surface has also been reduced…"
"Givens is in a coma," Kartashov reminded him.
"So what? If I recall, you were a vegetable fairly recently too. It doesn't take three people to take care of Givens."
Kartashov watched Bull carefully.
He's afraid, Andrei realized suddenly. He's afraid of me. Of what happened to me… and what might happen next…
Unfortunately, Kartashov understood that Bull had a reason to be fearful.
"Then we can leave three," he said, watching the approaching Orion out of the corner of his eye. It was a textbook docking, the indicators on the console were blinking green, the approach sensor was beeping evenly. Except for Anikeev, no one was watching the screens. After Kartashov's words, Bull and Jeubin stared at him. Even the Frenchman, who was not going to set foot on the Red Planet in any case.
"Is anyone going to ask me?" Anikeev asked without looking away from the screen. "I'm pretty sure I'm still the ship commander."
Kartashov saw a broken black shadow that shifted slightly among the Orion's antennae. He swore mentally and exclaimed, "Sashka!"
Anikeev threw a surprised glance at Kartashov, as he'd never called him in such a familiar way before. And he didn't see a quick black shadow dash across the Orion's hull. Round body, six long jointed legs… It dashed and disappeared somewhere in the vicinity of the docking node.
Kartashov sighed in relief and said, "Bull's right. I was in a coma… so who knows what's going to happen to me next? I might fall and lose consciousness at any moment. Right, Jean-Pierre?"
"Right!" the Frenchman confirmed happily, suddenly feeling a ghostly hope of going to Mars. "Vyacheslav, I think Kartashov is right!"
Anikeev turned back to the screen, frowned, and muttered, "Then it's best if he doesn't go at all."
"We can't leave the landing team without a contactee," Kartashov replied calmly. "You know you can't go with Bull and risk the expedition losing both pilots. Jeubin… you knew from the beginning you weren't going to set foot on Mars. Givens is in a bad state, so there has to be a doctor aboard. But we could use Piccirilli on Mars. Since there are fewer of us now, the robots will have to carry a heavier load."
"There's another reason," Piccirilli said suddenly. "If you recall, my friends… I have to make a decision whether to go back to Earth, if it comes to that. If we run into danger on Mars."
"Combat tripods," Jeubin snorted.
"It would be best if I can make that decision for three instead of six!" the Italian finished with a friendly smile.
"That's a nice set-up," Anikeev said in irritation. "Excellent…"
The ship shuddered slightly.
"We have contact," Bull reported. "Everything seems in order…"
Anikeev was silent while the servos were slowly pulling the ships together and sealing the transfer hatch. Then he decided, "If everything is fine on the Orion… and if there are enough resources for three people… then the three of you will go."
"Thank you, Slava!" Kartashov said with feeling. "I'm really sad that everyone can't go."
"Trust me, so am I," Anikeev said gloomily.
At times, Givens thought everyone had forgotten about him.
No, his mom remembered, of course. So did his wife. His daughter. His son… well, probably not, he'd only been six months old when they left for Mars. But his crewmates had probably forgotten. A black guy was lying in the infirmary, and what of it?
Logically, Givens understood that no one had forgotten him, that his friends were carefully watching over his body, changing his diapers and rubbing his body with alcohol… or whatever they were supposed to use to avoid bedsores.
Then again, there wouldn't be any bedsores in zero-g.
Givens laughed. Over his time here—he couldn't force himself to call this place "Mars"—he'd somewhat forgotten the daily routine of space flight. Besides, he'd been on his way to a dead planet, where they might find some ancient artifact at most. Instead, he was on the sort of Mars that had last been seriously described by Burroughs. All right, Bradbury had also not shied away from writing about green hills and human-like Martians…
But the really sad part was that the natives with their spears were gone, and there were no trees either. After leaping off the cliff—too bad Kartashov hadn't followed him… he wondered where he was now—Givens had been flying towards the ground for a few seconds. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, his body tensed in expectation of a blow, and for a moment Givens was afraid he was going to wet himself, and then decided it was dumb to worry about that…
And then everything changed. As if someone had changed the set decorations all around him.
Givens was already lying on the ground, his face buried in sand.
Rising slowly, Edward looked around.
To be honest, one bedlam had given way to another. The mountains he'd fallen from were gone, as were the rivers and the jungle. A smooth desert covered in fine red sand stretched in all directions. There wasn't a cloud in the transparent clear air. The weak sun was barely providing any warmth, but Givens wasn't feeling the cold.
If not for the fact that Edward was breathing normally, he might have decided that he was now on the real Mars. The way it was in reality.
"No," Edward said firmly. "I refuse to play this game."
He lay down on the sand, folded his hands on his chest, and closed his eyes.
Givens's thought were simple: what was happening to him wasn't real. It was some complex hallucination, a projection into his mind… an experiment being conducted on him by… whom? Then again, it wasn't important at the moment.
What was important was that the subject of the experiment could study the observer too. And Givens had absolutely no intention of roaming the desert. Let the reality change. Let the jungle appear. Let the natives show up. But not this desert that insulted his multifaceted, developed personality!
"Ten little Indian boys went out to dine; one choked his little self and then there were nine." Givens started singing off-key. His throat suddenly constricted, he choked, but continued stubbornly, "Nine little Indian boys sat up very late; one overslept himself and then there were eight…"
For some reason, he wasn't surprised at all that he was now feeling drowsy. It seemed his challenge had been accepted! Givens had no idea whom he was trying to prove something to with this song. But he still sang out loudly, "Eight little Indian boys traveling in Devon; one said he'd stay there and then there were seven…"
The sand under Givens suddenly grew soft and wet. He smelled something heavy, swampy, and rotten. Givens opened his eyes.
He was lying in a strange forest of huge jointed horsetails. Dragonflies the size of a crow were flying through the air. And there was a spider staring at Givens. It was the size of a stool…
"I was talking about Devonshire!" Givens shouted. "Not the Devonian period!"
He closed his eyes again, which demanded a lot of willpower, and continued belting out the song, "Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks; one chopped himself in halves and then there were six…"
Nothing seemed to be happening. At the very least, no one was hitting him with an axe.
"Six little Indian boys playing with a hive; a bumblebee stung one of them and then there were five!"
There was a buzzing sound, and something lowered itself onto Givens's face. Something that was sort of like a bumblebee but the size of a pigeon. Givens didn't even think about opening his eyes, "Five little Indian boys going in for law; one got in Chancery and then there were four."
What do you want? appeared in Edward's mind. It wasn't his own thought.
It was first contact!
"Four little Indian boys going out to sea; a red herring swallowed one and then there were three!" Givens shouted and added, feeling water roll over his legs, "I want an honest game! I'm an intelligent being. I'm ready to communicate!"
Are you now? now there was obvious mockery in the foreign thought. More importantly, are you ready to keep singing?
"Three little Indian boys walking in the zoo; a big bear hugged one and then there were two!" Givens sang.
Something big and heavy stepped towards him and growled. Gives felt its awful breath.
"Two little Indian boys sitting in the sun; one got all frizzled up and then there was one!" he shouted.
Naturally, he was now very hot.
"One little Indian boy left all alone; he went and hanged himself and then there were none!"
You're a stubborn one, a thought appeared. That's good. You've earned your prize.
"What prize?" Givens asked curiously.
But no one answered.
Givens carefully opened his eyes and laughed.
He was in the infirmary. Jeubin was standing with his back to him and filling a syringe with a liquid from an ampoule.
"Hey!" Givens said, and Jeubin leapt up.