This is a fan translation of Road to Mars (Дорога к Марсу) by fifteen Russian science fiction writers.

This chapter was written by Anton Pervushin.

I claim no rights to the contents herein.

Note: Footnotes can be found at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 37

The Mystery of the Phaetians

"A skeptic, you say?" Anikeev asked after a lengthy pause. "What does your skepticism say to that?"

Bull didn't reply, staring at the screen showing alien spiders as if in a trance.

"A network," Kartashov repeated. "It's all starting to come together…"

The Commander rounded at him.

"Come together?"

"Facts. And guesses. Let's estimate what we know. Mars has been settled. Long ago. But not by us. By a civilization that's far older and more powerful than ours. We could even say that the entire Solar System has been settled. The power demonstrated by these… hmm… beings, such a global approach makes sense. Clearly, the aliens are not hostile to humans. Otherwise they'd have destroyed us easily. Instead… they have allowed us to get to Mars. But now we also know that they're not interested in establishing contact. They're avoiding it. Gently telling us they're not ready. Thoroughly hiding their presence and capabilities. But we've gone too far, so they have to react somehow."

"Maybe they're not hiding," Bull stated. "Maybe they simply can't communicate with us in ways we understand. They're too far ahead of us. Would you, Andrew, be able to explain to ants where they're allowed to build an anthill and where they aren't?"

"Sure." Kartashov curved his lips up. "I'm a contactee. Ants rely on pheromones. Finding the right combination of pheromones corresponding to particular chemical signals would allow me to control the life of an anthill."

"That's not what I mean. Would you be able to clearly explain to a particular ant in concepts it can understand why it can be here but not there? Maybe the aliens are already controlling us, but at the planetary level. And we're considering their presence to be a natural phenomenon… If I understand you Bykov correctly, then the gravity phenomenon has been picked up a while ago. What is it but an invitation to establish contact and a demonstration of their capabilities?"

"I agree with John," Anikeev said. "They're trying to reach us through very different channels. And we're confused and don't understand anything. Like those psychological shifts, hallucinations, dreams… It's all messed up!"

"In that case," Kartashov noted, "It would've been far simpler to just land a flying saucer right in front of the Kremlin."

"Why the Kremlin?" Bull asked indignantly. "Everyone knows that flying saucers always land on a special lawn pad in front of the White House!"

"That's what concerns me…" Kartashov said. "Not a saucer in front of the White House, of course, but these complex dances around our flight. Let's say the gravity 'ghost' really is inviting us to establish contact. And we had to reach a particular level of technological development in order to even pick up the invitation. That make sense, it's logical. But nothing else! There are no other indicators. I only see one explanation to what is happening: we're dealing with a program, not a creative individual."

"Meaning?" Anikeev asked.

"Meaning, the aliens have long ago left the vicinity of the Sun but have left a kind of robotic system that is following a prescribed plan. What plan? I have no idea. Maybe the system is supposed to help us become a galactic civilization. Maybe… I'd really like to believe that…"

"2001: A Space Odyssey?" Bull asked. "Like the way Stanley Kubrick showed?"

"Yeah, like Arthur C. Clarke. But maybe I'm mistaken, and the system has been created for something else, like turning Mars into something closer to the aliens' homeworld. After all, we intend to terraform planets someday, so why wouldn't they do the same with all their power?"

"An interesting possibility," Anikeev agreed. "Then how would you explain the gravity phenomenon in that case?"

"Initiation. The start of a new process. System modernization. Or a reset. We know too little about that system to be more specific. And I can't say what awaits us on Mars. We can only hope that the aliens need us and have foreseen our arrival. And have calculated the consequences."

"Sounds menacing," Anikeev summarized.

"What else is there to do?" Kartashov spread his hands. "We're already here. It's too late to retreat. And it would be dumb. Especially on Space Day! Yuri Gagarin and Sergei Korolev would not have approved…"

Bruno Piccirilli appeared in the compartment. He looked a little disheveled.

"My friends!" he started. "Are you monitoring the situation? Or are you too busy?"

"What happened now?" Anikeev tensed noticeably.

"Our Chinese colleagues have split their ship. The landing module is on its way to Mars at full speed."

"Crazies!" Bull exclaimed impulsively and even moved towards the comm station. "Kamikazes!"

"No, no!" Piccirilli stopped him with a wave. "I know what they're thinking. They can't slow down in time because of the gravity beam. So they want to use aerobraking. And aerobraking is impossible when linked with the hab module and the reactor — the ship would break apart and explode."

"It's going to do it anyway," Anikeev declared. "I remember the Chinese design quite well. A passive ballistic descent, the jettison of the heat shield, deploying parachutes, and landing thrusters just before touchdown. Otherwise the size and the mass of the return stage wouldn't have fit. What aerobraking?"

"They can use the heat shield for multiple brakings in the atmosphere," the Italian countered. "The important part is calculating the craft's orientation correctly, but that why they have a computer."

"How would they maintain the precise orientation?"

"With the return engines."

"But then they won't be able to lift off again!"

"What if they don't intend to? Where would they go? The Millennium Boat no longer exists as a single ship…"

"G-forces! There will be incredible g-forces. Between ten and twenty g's, depending on the depth of the aerobraking maneuver…"

"They're Chinese heroes," Kartashov reminded him gently. "They were born to overcome…"

Anikeev fell silent. He could feel that logical reasoning was pointless here. The Chinese were chomping at the bit to be the first on Mars, and no sensible argument were going to change the situation.

"If they survive…" Bull said. "And I still hope those crazies survive… If they survive, we'll have to rescue them somehow…"

"There's another problem." Piccirilli once again got everyone's attention. "I've calculated the trajectories of the Millennium Boat's parts after the undocking. Just in case we end up dangerously close. Fortunately, we won't… It's much worse than that. Within an hour, the Chinese reactor is going to slam into Phobos. At the relative velocity of twenty-five kilometers per second."

"So much for Space Day…" Anikeev muttered in shock.

Memories were crap. After not seeing his wife for two months, he ought to have remembered how it all began, how they'd met, the first movie they'd seen together, the first restaurant they'd gone to, her wedding dress, buying the rings, remembering the best moments of the weeks, months, years they'd lived together. But, instead, Colonel Serebryakov clearly, as if it happened yesterday, recalled the crazy day he'd been reported of the unexpected result of the Ten Little Indians Project that could "have very serious consequences." He recalled his surprise and a flash of desperation, the impotent fury, and all the words, mostly curse words, told to Colonel Kirsanov who happened to be there; in fact, he would later learn, Kirsanov was only tangentially involved in the project, only responsible for its secrecy.

Ivan had only a general idea of the project itself. He probably could've learned more if he'd wanted to, but the subject matter was too specific and far from his sphere of interest. The Ten Little Indians Project was run by the Institute of Biomedical Problems and was funded by the Ministry of Defense, with the Air Force curating it. Its participants included all of the nation's more or less distinguished biochemists, genetic engineers, and nanotechnologists, but the lab itself where the primary "mysteries" were taking place was run by his wife, Yelena Serebryakova, who had a PhD in Biological Sciences. The goal of the project was to create a controlled and balanced environment for interplanetary spacecraft. Lengthy studies aboard the Salyut, Mir, and ISS had shown that terrestrial organisms really didn't like confined spaces and artificial climates. While it was possible to get a small greenhouse to work by keeping a close eye on it and regularly renewing the soil, any increase in size resulted in the biological system crumbling: plants faded, dried, and died. It was even more problematic with fish, birds, and small animals — they stubbornly refused to grow and reproduce in zero-g. It seemed that a clear gravity vector was a necessity. Therefore, on the wave of success of the global synthetic biology, Russian scientists decided to build a shipboard biosphere with genetically modified organisms that would easily survive the harmful factors of spaceflight and could provide the crew with protein-rich food and recycle waste.

They very quickly learned that it was possible to go even further and create an autonomous individual biosphere (basically, a symbiont), capable of ensuring human survival in any dangerous environment for as long as possible. Since this now touched upon the issue of national security, the project was immediately classified, all the participants were forced to sign nondisclosure agreements, and the project began to receive steady government funding. Naturally, the name was changed too, but, when speaking with his wife, Serebryakov still preferred to call it Ten Little Indians. He recalled even teasing her when in a playful mood by reciting the American counting rhyme and hinting that the whole symbiont plan was yet another pseudoscientific hoax with the goal of milking government funds; that the "little Indians" were going to run off soon after failing to produce real results, leaving Yelena writing boring reports. He'd jinxed it, hadn't he?

What the hell happened there? The details were still classified. Something about one of the "little Indians" getting sloppy, resulting in a fire and the culture tanks being exposed. The biotech products got free and infected everyone in the lab. No, the people themselves weren't contagious, but each had their immune system seriously affected. Some even died, while the survivors got acquired immunodeficiency syndrome, or AIDS, but in a new, unusual form. Yelena Serebryakova was one of them…

"Everything is burning and changing…" his wife repeated, studying Ivan; then she stopped smiling. "But some things remain the same. This is your eleventh time here, Ivan, and each time you have to explain everything from scratch."

Colonel Serebryakov felt like a fool. The old useless memories were being pushed out by the more important and relevant ones, and he couldn't figure out what the conversation was about. Yes, he periodically came here, to the Special Research Center, to see his wife, but each time they talked about nonsense. They'd barely even talked about the Martian expedition training, as Yelena was still working for the Institute and had access to lots of information, including information on the training of the three Ares crews.

"Explain what?" Serebryakov asked.

"Sit down!" Yelena moved an ordinary office chair close to him, remaining standing herself. "Try to concentrate. It's not going to work, but sometimes it helps to retain clarity of thought. What do you know of Phobos-Grunt?"

"A forgotten project," Serebryakov said. "An interplanetary craft was supposed to leave in the fall of 2011 but failed to break orbit. The booster failed. Just like ours." He chuckled gloomily.

"Yes, that's exactly what you're supposed to think." Yelena shook her head and pursed her lips, which, in her case, indicated a high degree of disapproval. "Listen carefully, Ivan. I repeat: concentrate! Phobos-Grunt reached its target and came back with samples. During the re-entry, the craft exploded, its contents scattered and came down with rains, resulting in the Phaetians taking over the world."

"Who? Who?.."

Serebryakov suddenly felt that he was going deaf. As if someone had wrapped an invisible but thick towel over his head. Everything his wife was saying came through a growing resistance, some words were lost, and the Colonel had trouble getting the meaning. What the hell is going on? he thought, and then Yelena stepped towards him and shook him by the shoulders.

"Concentrate!" she barked. "Phaetians are artificial nanosized viruses. They can read associations, but, more importantly, they block memories at the synaptic level and perception at cerebral cortex level. We call them Phaetians because the word stimulates associations that have no direct relation to the phenomenon but result in understanding with those in the know on a nonverbal level. Concentrate!"

Serebryakov swallowed several times. The deafness moved away, and his head cleared up.

"The Phaetian control center is on Phobos," Yelena went on, speaking loudly and clearly. "They use our own spacecraft to send commands and receive feedback. Any data related to the real Mars is being blocked or significantly distorted by the Phaetians. We wouldn't have known of their existence if not for the paradoxical side effect of our project. We didn't lose our immunity, Ivan! On the contrary, we've become immune to the Phaetians. Everyone working in the lab when it happened can perceive reality the way it is. Concentrate!"

"Hold on!" Serebryakov waved his hands. "I'm a little shocked. It all sounds like… nonsense."

"You've already said that many times!" Yelena stated. "In those exact words. And each time you forget… Everyone forgets. Even the President, even though he's more protected than others… We're weak, Ivan, it's difficult for us to resist the total information blockade. We never know the result of our actions. The Phaetians have limited our interactions with others. But we did manage a few things. The Ares went to Mars. And it's in orbit now! But Anikeev's crew needs help. Urgent help. Concentrate! We've taken care of that. Ivan, we succeeded in creating the 'symbiont', an autonomous biorobotic system that will help the crew see reality. The 'symbiont' is aboard the ship. Right now, you have direct access to the operational comm channel with the Ares. Yana Kartashova is using a special code to transmit information on board. Unfortunately, she keeps forgetting everything too. We have to control her, and it's not easy… Concentrate! You have to relay the following to the ship through Yana…" Yelena paused, walked up to a bookshelf, picked up a tattered book, flipped through it, then tore one of the pages out. "Take it."

This time Serebryakov felt a headache. He pushed his wife's hand away and started to rub his temples with a grimace. Black dots appeared in his vision.

"Concentrate!" Yelena shouted again. "I know it's unpleasant, but concentrate."

The Colonel accepted the torn-out page and read the paragraph highlighted in yellow marker. "For hundreds of millennia, man grew up in nature, learned to make fire, clubs, axes, bows and arrows for hunting animals, cultivated the land, sewed, planted, harvested, abandoned the caves, finally moving into dwellings built by his own hands. And he was always surrounded by flowers, grass, trees that served him, protecting and raising him up! He was used to seeing them, smelling them, tasting them, listening to them. And they warned him of danger with the rustling of leaves, crackling of dry branches, and their silence made him feel calm and dream of a brighter future." [Footnote 1]

"What do I need to do?" The text disappeared from his mind as soon as he read it, and Serebryakov struggled through the pain to try to understand what his wife wanted from him.

"You. Need. To call. Yana Kartashova. You. Need. To Read. This paragraph. You need. To demand. That she transmit. The text. To the Ares. It needs. To be read. By Andrei Kartashov. On the Ares."

"Why?"

"Don't ask. It'll make it worse. Just remember what you need to do. Just remember. I'll repeat…"

The migraine only left Colonel Serebryakov after he entered the elevator of the quarantine zone. He caught his breath and looked at his reflection in the mirror on the wall. His meeting with his wife had turned into yet another meaningless cooing. Too bad… What had Kirsanov expected when he offered Yelena as a crewmember on the Ares 2? Such a stupid and dangerous idea! He needed to call him. And tell Yana Kartashova that… That she what?.. Serebryakov slowly unclenched his fist. Inside was a crumpled piece of paper, a page from an old book. "For hundreds of millennia, man grew up in nature…" It was nonsense! But he had to definitely tell Kirsanov about it, who had to tell Yana. And she would send the text to the Ares, to Andrei Kartashov. Why? It didn't matter! He just had to do it right. And remember everything!..

"It's about to start," Piccirilli said, throwing a sideways glance at the clock.

The spacers had gathered in the observation dome, which presented certain difficulties as it was meant for two people. But none of the still-standing Ares crewmembers wanted to miss the horrifying event — the impact of the Millennium Boat's reactor on Phobos. Obviously, a blow at such a high relative speed would turn the reactor itself into fine radioactive dust, but the same blow could send up a cloud of large debris that could seriously litter the low orbits. Until they received new information, TsUP had forbidden any preparation of the Orion for landing.

"What sort of people are we?" Jeubin asked sadly, not talking to anyone in particular. "We haven't even seriously established ourselves in space, but we're already destroying unique natural objects."

"We've started destroying our first unique natural object even before we got into space," Anikeev said. "What can we do? Such is the other side of progress: we create by destroying…"

"How do we learn to create without destruction?.."

"Impact!" Piccirilli shouted, unable to hold back the tension.

From their high orbit, Phobos looked like a star quickly speed against the backdrop of the red surface of Mars, but it was an asymmetrical star, brighter on one end and dimmer on the other. It was impossible to see the impact with the naked eye, but its consequences turned out to be even more impressive than expected. The star of Phobos now seemed to be wrapped in a cloud of golden dust, and then something incredible happened: a shimmering blue halo appeared around it. It glowed for several seconds, and all that time the crew of the Ares spent writhing in convulsions, knocking into one another like blind kittens.

The halo vanished, and so did the illusion, along with the pain. Anikeev was swearing illegibly. Bull was floating over the observation seats, picking up his feet and embracing himself. Jeubin floated out of the dome into the transition compartment.

"Look at the planet!" Kartashov called out, sitting in one of the seats.

And they saw Mars.

Footnotes

1) This is from the untranslated portion of Alexander Kazantsev's The Destruction of Faena.