GREENHOUSE GARDEN: SOL 6
TRUDY HALL WAS SAYING, “THE IMPORTANT THING, OF course, is to avoid contamination.”
“Yes,” Mitsuo Fuchida agreed, “we don’t want to accidentally introduce Earth microbes on Mars.”
Jamie nodded. He was walking with the two biologists between long trays of barely leafed plants. The greenhouse garden was finally set up in its own dome, connected to their habitat dome by a double-hatched airlock. The two domes were exactly the same size, even though much of the garden’s floor space was not yet used. Room to grow, Jamie told himself. For the people who follow us.
The atmosphere in the garden was just the same Earth-normal as that in the main dome, but kept at a slightly higher pressure so that air from outside its dome would not leak into the garden.
“Then there’s back-contamination to consider, as well,” Hall said, her brows knitting slightly. “We can’t have Martian organisms infecting us.”
“Or our food supply,” Fuchida added.
The greenhouse garden served two purposes. The long rows of hydroponic plants were intended to supply the expedition’s food: soybeans, potatoes, leafy vegetables, green beans, onions, peas, eggplant, melon and strawberries. All fed by nutrient-rich waste water that the plants themselves recycled—with the aid of specially cultivated scavenging bacteria.
Fuchida intended to raise wheat eventually, using high-intensity full-spectrum lamps instead of natural sunlight.
“It looks good,” Jamie said.
“It is good,” replied Hall, very seriously. Fuchida looked equally proud of the garden.
Hall went on, “We’re thinking, Mitsuo and I, of increasing the carbon dioxide partial pressure in this dome.”
“To accelerate the growth of the plants,” Fuchida said.
Looking across the rows of seedlings, Jamie asked, “Will that mean that we can’t breathe in here?”
“You won’t need a space suit, just an oxygen mask,” Hall said.
“But we don’t have masks.”
Fuchida allowed a tiny smile to crack his serious facade. “There are four oxygen masks in the medical stores. We could use those.”
Before he could reply, Jamie heard the airlock hatch sighing open. Turning, Jamie saw Dex Trumball step through.
“There you are,” Trumball said. Striding along the aisle between rows of plants, he said to Jamie, “I just heard you’re going to go with us on the first traverse. Is that true?”
As mission director, Jamie’s place should have been at the base camp. But the expedition’s first overland traverse was heading for Tithonium Chasma, where the lichen had been found, and Jamie had no intention of remaining in the dome while the others were in the field.
“You really want to come out with us?” Trumball asked, looking somewhere between amused and annoyed.
Through the open hatch Jamie could hear a country and western tune that someone was playing, plaintive guitars and nasal yearning.
Jamie nodded solemnly. “You bet I do.”
Trumball swept an arm through the air, grinning. “And give up all this luxury?”
“I’m part Navaho,” Jamie countered, making himself grin back at Dex. “I’m rugged.”
Their base was at last in order. All systems were functioning adequately, even the toilets. Possum Craig was outside with the drilling rig, digging deeper every day, seeking samples of bacteria from the “Plutonian biosphere” that Earthbound biologists had conjectured.
The backup water generator now stood less than fifty meters from the dome; the plumbing lines from both the primary and backup machines were buried underground and heavily insulated. Now that Fuchida and Trudy Hall had transferred the hydroponic garden from the ship to its own transparent dome they could eat a completely “home grown” vegetarian diet again, as they had during the long flight from Earth.
There were two fuel generators, as well. The first one, sent ahead of the explorers, still sat slightly more than two kilometers away. After discussing the situation with the two astronauts and Craig, Jamie had decided to let that one continue to serve as their backup and use the one that had landed with them as their primary fuel source.
Standing in front of Jamie, close enough almost to touch noses, Trumball planted his fists and his hips and cocked his head slightly to one side. “So it’s going to be you, me and Trudy: two geoscientists and one biologist.”
“And Stacy.”
“Our driver.”
Safety regulations required that every field mission had to include one of the team’s astronauts until each of the scientists qualified as an experienced driver.
Jamie said, “I’ll double as her backup; I’ve had experience driving on Mars.”
“Learned how to do it back on the reservation, I’ll bet.”
With a curt nod, Jamie answered, “It’s a lot like Mars back there, yes. Where’d you learn to drive?”
“Boston,” said Trumball. “If you can drive in Boston you can drive anywhere.”
Mars was bracketed by three communications satellites now, hovering above the equator in synchronous orbit, so they stayed fixed over one spot on the ground.
One of Mars’ two tiny moons, Deimos—no bigger than Manhattan island—orbited almost at the synchronous altitude. Its slight gravitational pull would eventually warp the commsats out of their precise orbits, but calculations had shown that the satellites should remain stable for at least the length of the explorers’ stay on the ground.
So Jamie was not concerned that he, as mission director, would be away from the base for a week. He could remain in touch with the camp, and with Earth, through the hovering commsats.
As he suited up for the ten-meter walk to the waiting rover, he saw Vijay Shektar step through the airlock’s inner hatch and lift off her helmet. She shook her hair free, noticed Jamie, and smiled at him.
“I’ve double-checked all the supplies,” she said. “Everything’s in place.”
“Then we’re go for the excursion,” said Jamie.
“Yes.”
I She sat beside him on the bench that ran the length of the hard-suit lockers and with sigh began to pull off her gloves.
“Blasted suit is chafing my right elbow raw,” she complained.
“Put a sponge pad on the spot,” Jamie suggested. No matter how well the suits fit, there was always some discomfort. His own suit felt inordinately stiff. It would be impossible to run in it.
Jamie had already gotten into the leggings and boots, the hardest part of suiting up. Now he stood and stepped over to the waiting torso.
“It’s like getting into a knight’s armor, isn’t it?” Shektar said.
“Going out to joust with the dragons,” said Jamie.
“Dragons? That would be news!”
“Real dragons,” he said. “Ignorance, the unknown.”
“Ah. Yes, real dragons, all right.”
“And fear.”
“Fear? D’you feel fear?”
“Not fear of going outside,” Jamie explained hastily. “Not fear of Mars. This world might be dangerous, but it’s not malign.”
She sat there encased in the hard suit like a woman being devoured by a metallic monster, and smiled curiously at Jamie.
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid—but others are. Afraid of finding things that upset them.”
“Such as life?”
“Such as intelligent life,” said Jamie.
Understanding lit her face. “That’s why you insisted on going out on this traverse. Your cliff dwelling.”
Jamie nodded solemnly.
“Do you really think you can find it?”
“I could walk to it, if I had to.”
“And you really believe it’s an artifact, built by intelligent Martians?”
Dex Trumball came through the airlock hatch and slid up his visor. “We’re all set to go, soon as the mission director climbs aboard.”
“Two minutes,” Jamie said. Then, looking back at Vijay’s questioning eyes, he added, “We’ll find out pretty soon, won’t we?”