Despite it all, McGee couldn't resist an inward chuckle at the thought of Rebecca sighing for an unobtainable beauty. "Frustrating, isn't it?"
The biologist was alert. "Now, Kevin, don't start," she smiled.
You can take the girl out of Central Park West, he thought, but you can't take Central Park West out of the girl.
Any further flirtation was precluded, however, by an announcement from Gwen. "I'm getting vibration in the rig! I think we should shut down."
She reached for the power switch, but Luke put his gloved hand on hers. "Hold on. That's not rig vibration—it's seismic activity."
The ground began to tremble.
McGee had lived in the earthquake-prone Pacific North-west. He had felt this before. "Mars quake!"
Luke saw alarm spread across the faces of his crewmates. They didn't understand. "Bullshit! It's, it's—" The ground seemed about to split beneath them.
"Run for the hill!" Gwen commanded, pointing to a nearby rise.
They scrambled for safety, but before they could take five steps, a torrent of steam gushed out of the ground, firing the drilling rig high into the sky. After an instant of terror, the crew stopped in their tracks to stare in amazement. With a whistling roar, steam spouted out of the ground like the Old Faithful geyser. Up into the sky it went, shooting several hundred meters high. Then, mushrooming out at the top of its trajectory, it came down as snow. All four were awestruck at the sight. Snow. Snow! Snow was salvation.
"It's an honest-to-God gusher!" Luke screamed. "Yahoo!"
Gwen emitted a piercing rebel yell.
McGee stared at the drifts rapidly forming around his feet, then kicked a mound into the air. "Snow! It's snowing on Mars! We're saved."
Rebecca picked up a handful of the beautiful crystals. When she'd been a child, snow had sometimes meant freedom from school; somehow that sense of hope always accompanied the stuff. And this snow was life itself. She wanted to jump, she wanted to sing, she wanted to play. Well, why not? Packing the snow into a ball, she threw it at McGee, hitting him squarely on the side of his helmet.
He turned to face her, obviously surprised, then saw the light in her eyes. He returned it, along with a powdery snowball of his own. But Rebecca was nimble, and ducked, causing the projectile to overshoot her and hit Luke. Mistakenly believing that the ball was thrown by Gwen, the Texan grabbed her and gave her a country swing in the low gravity. Gwen accepted her partner, but then, breaking loose, grabbed McGee and swung him as well.
It was crazy, but in an instant all were dancing with each other. All feuds forgotten, all tiredness gone, the four danced in the twilight as the blessed crystals of water poured down around them. Copland's Rodeo would have provided a great sound track for their wild dance. But they didn't need music to accompany them: They had snow.
The next morning, Townsend puttered around the Hab checking instruments. He'd had no contact from the crew since the previous afternoon. In the mid-distance in the plain, the rover suddenly came over a rise and into view. About time they checked in.
Switching on the radio, he heard singing: "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas..."
What the heck is going on?
Then he saw it. Behind the rover was a trailer carrying a huge load of snow. Townsend dropped the mike and rushed into his Marsuit. In less than two minutes, he was out the lock to greet the crew.
The rush outside was worth the effort. Townsend could only gasp in awe at the mountain of frozen water.
From inside the rover, Gwen gave him a big thumbs up sign, which the colonel returned with both hands.
Earth, here we come!
CHAPTER 21
OPHIR PLANUM
OCT. 29, 2012
WATER IN A GLASS can cool a parched throat. Water in a shower can revive a dried, tired body. Accompanied by shampoo, it can turn a wild rat's nest of hair covering a woman's head back into spectacular long, shiny locks and tresses. Together with shaving cream and a razor, water can make a man's face look civilized again. With soap, sponges, and a mop, water can make a dirty ship spotless, and fill vases on its wardroom table with happy flowers.
Water was now available to the crew in torrents. As it filled their return ship with propellant, it filled their minds and bodies with hope and life. Like the holy rain that reportedly washed sickness and sin from the world when Christ died, the flood of crystal fluid washed away all tiredness and despair from the crew of the Beagle.
Light filled the ship. Everyone showered. Townsend shaved. Rebecca combed, and as she did, she filled the ship with the sweet sound of her well-trained classical voice. Luke, who but a few days before would have disputed her right to do so, now enjoyed her musical background as he arranged and classified his rock collection. As if by a miracle, the dingy Hab became spick-and-span, brightly reflecting the crew's rejuvenated morale.
By the second day after the return, the trailer load of snow had been melted into water. Stored in the ERV landing-stage tanks, it was piped by automated systems into the propellant-manufacturing unit. The hard work over, the crew's assignments were shifted to those specific to the return flight.
The most important of these—flight preparation of the Earth Return Vehicle itself—fell to Gwen. Assisted by McGee, she began testing every valve and circuit. Many people might have found such a job tedious, but Gwen and McGee, now lighthearted, considered it fun. Reflecting their mood, the ERV's music player accompanied their work with the playful sounds of 1960's rock and roll. As one system after another checked out, the Beach Boys, the Eagles, the Beatles, the Grateful Dead, and Three Dog Night all blared their best. By the time the two astronauts reached the pilot control board, Simon and Garfunkel were up at bat with, fittingly, "Homeward Bound."
Gwen attached her meter to a set of terminals. "Primary pilot control circuit reads green."
"Check," McGee replied.
She moved the connectors. "Secondary pilot control circuit reads green."
"Check."
"Primary life-support-system control circuit reads green as grass."
"Check."
She moved her meter wires to the last set of connections. "Flight control central processing unit reads..."
Her sudden silence was deafening. A shudder of uncertainty ran down McGee's spine. Could there by a problem? Don't do this to me, Gwen.
"Well, how does it read?" he finally demanded.
Gwen turned to face him, consternation in her eyes. "It doesn't."
Without another word, she picked up a screwdriver and disappeared under the control panel. McGee waited anxiously until a few moments later she emerged with a charred and blackened computer board.
"The flight control CPU," she said flatly.
McGee looked at the unit. It was obviously burnt beyond hope of repair. "I don't suppose there's a backup to that?"
The mechanic shook her head.
In the background, the lyrics of "Homeward Bound," which had sounded so joyful only seconds before, suddenly seemed mournful.
But there was still hope. Perhaps the ERV could be flown without the CPU. Townsend was game to try. It took a few hours to reprogram the ERV flight simulator to mimic the behavior of the vehicle with the central flight control CPU out of the loop. Shortly after dinner, the crew gathered in the control section of the Beagle to witness the attempt.
With some ceremony the colonel, complete with wing-adorned leather jacket and peaked hat, sat down at the controls. He gripped the stick, then looked to Gwen seated next to him in the co-pilot's chair. "Okay, let's go for it."