MIDNIGHT: SOL 49/50
THE BASE DOME WAS DARK AND SILENT, ITS LIGHTING TURNED down to sleep shift level, its plastic skin opaqued to prevent heat from leaking out into the Martian night. Stacy Dezhurova was still sitting at the comm console, drowsing despite herself, when Rodriguez’s call came through.
“We’re back in the plane,” the astronaut announced without preamble. “Lemme talk to Vijay.”
“Vijay!” Stacy shouted in a voice that shattered the sleepy silence. “Jamie!” she added.
Running footsteps padded through the shadows, bare or stockinged feet against the plastic flooring. Vijay slipped into the chair beside Dezhurova, her jet-black eyes wide open and alert. Jamie and Trudy Hall raced in, bleary-eyed, and stood behind the two women.
“This is Vijay,” she said. “What’s your condition?”
In the display screen they could see only the two men’s helmets and shoulders. Their faces were masked by the heavily tinted visors. But Rodriguez’s voice sounded steady, firm.
“I’m okay. Banged up a little, but that’s nothing. I purged Mitsuo’s suit and plugged him into the plane’s emergency air supply. But he’s still out of it.”
“How long ago did you do that?” Vijay asked, her dark face rigid with tension.
“Fifteen-sixteen minutes ago.”
“And you’re just calling in now?” Dezhurova demanded.
“I had to fix his battery pack,” Rodriguez answered, unruffled by her tone. “It got disconnected when he was knocked down—”
“Knocked down?” Jamie blurted.
“Yeah. That’s when he hurt his ankle.”
“How badly is he hurt?” Vijay asked.
“It’s sprained, at least. Maybe a break.”
“He couldn’t break a bone inside the suit,” Jamie muttered. “Not with all that protection.”
“Anyway,” Rodriguez resumed, “his suit wasn’t getting any power. I figured that getting his suit powered up was the second most important thing to do. Pumping fresh air into him was the first.”
“And calling in, the third,” Dezhurova said, much more mildly.
“Right,” said Rodriguez.
“I’m getting his readouts,” Vijay said, studying the medical diagnostic screen.
“Yeah, his suit’s okay now that the battery’s reconnected.”
“Is his L.C.G. working?” Vijay asked.
“Should be,” Rodriguez said. “Wait one …”
They saw the astronaut lean over and touch his helmet to the unconscious Fuchida’s shoulder.
“Yep,” he announced, after a moment. “I can hear the pump chugging. Water oughtta be circulating through his longjohns just fine.”
“That should bring his temperature down,” Vijay muttered, half to herself. “The problem is, he might be in shock from overheating.”
“What do I do about that?” Rodriguez asked.
The physician shook her head. “Not much you can do, mate. Especially with the two of you sealed into your suits.”
For a long moment they were all silent. Vijay stared at the medical screen. Fuchida’s temperature was coming down. Heart rate slowing nicely. Breathing almost normal. He should be—
The biologist coughed and stirred. “What happened?” he asked weakly.
All four of die people at the comm center broke into grins. None of them could see Rodriguez’s face behind his visor, but they heard the relief in his voice:
“Naw, Mitsuo; you’re supposed to ask, ‘Where am I?’”
The biologist sat up straighter. “Is Trudy there?”
“Don’t worry about—”
“I’m right here, Mitsuo,” said Trudy Hall, leaning in between Dezhurova and Vijay. “What is it?”
“Siderophiles!” Fuchida exclaimed. “Iron-eating bacteria live in the caldera.”
“Did you get samples?”
“Yes, of course.”
Jamie stepped back as the two biologists chattered together. Fuchida nearly gets himself killed, but what’s important to him is finding a new kind of organism. With an inward smile, Jamie admitted, Maybe he’s right.