Townsend's voice crackled in his helmet radio: "Careful you don't cut that suit."
"Roger that." He found his next set of handholds and footholds, and pushed again. Up another meter. At least the muscle part of this is easy, he thought. One-third g is very cool for rock climbing. Eat your heart out, Boulder.
He pushed again, and again. Now he was halfway up. The next handhold did not exist... but there was a hairline crack. He took his first spike and inserted its tip, then pulled the hammer from his belt and tapped lightly. The rock was sandstone and the spike went in easily enough. He lowered a climbing line to the ground, attached part of it to the spike with a carabiner, and then another portion to himself. This was "protection." If he were to fall, he could now fall not much lower than the spike.
Then up another meter, and another piece of protection. Two more spikes, two more pieces of protection, up again, another spike, more protection, up again, then another spike, up again, one more, another protection, then up, and up—and he'd made it to the top.
He pulled himself onto the mini canyon rim, stood up, and surveyed the downward slope that would have to serve as their way forward. More boulders and cliffs, but it was all downhill. It should be passable enough.
McGee fastened his end of the line around a medium-sized boulder, walked back to the ledge and waved to Townsend. "Come on up!" he shouted.
The shout was unnecessary, since they were communicating by radio, and his loud voice echoed uncomfortably inside his helmet. OK, so I guess my adrenaline is up a bit, he admitted to himself.
The rope went taut, and a minute later a panting Townsend appeared at the top. He looked McGee in the eye. "A bit excited, are we now?" he ribbed.
McGee answered with a shrug and gestured toward the waiting path that led downward again. Without a word, they were on their way once more.
More of the same for the next few hours. They had to rappel down one cliff face after another, and climb their way out of several more box canyons. As they made their descents, the dislodged pebbles that rattled down canyon walls turned into small avalanches. On more than one occasion, a hand slipped, and a body went swinging out on a cable, only to be hauled back in by a stalwart companion.
Finally they reached the bottom and began trudging along a dry riverbed, flanked by the towering walls of the Valles Marineris. McGee and Townsend scrambled down boulders into a deeper ravine, which turned to the right, suddenly opening into a valley filled with huge stromatolites. Gigantic formations lay scattered everywhere, far more impressive than the stromatolites Rebecca and McGee had discovered on their earlier mission.
The historian was awed. "If only Rebecca were here."
Townsend just shook his head. "She'll have to settle for photographs. We've no room in our packs for any of those."
McGee took out his video recorder and scanned the stromatolites. As they marched on, the formations became progressively more complex and bizarre. In many places he saw the same blue-green signature that had led to the discovery of extant life, but here it was much more apparent. Some stromatolites even exhibited alternative varieties of blue-green pigment. There's more life here than we thought. There is much here that is left to discover. His sense of wonder reawakened, McGee tried to zoom in on some of the more novel objects as he continued the trek without pausing.
Eventually the two men made their way out of the ravine and into an open canyon floor region that was devoid of stromatolites. They marched on, trudging, bouldering, scrambling. Finally they rounded a bend in the canyon—and in the distance they could see the second ERV.
Townsend and McGee stood gaping in amazement for a few seconds, then set off for the vehicle in as close an approximation of a run as the rough terrain allowed. Upon arriving at the ERV, they were winded, exhausted, but charged with excitement. They climbed the access ladder, Townsend first.
The outer airlock door opened easily enough, and the two climbed into the lower cabin without difficulty. The disorienting sight gave them a bit of a shock: Here were the snug, completely immaculate quarters planned for the next returning crew, who now would never be launched.
McGee took a sidelong glance at the pantry loaded with edible rations. Unfortunately, the two would not be able to carry much with them on the way back out, but at least they would eat well tonight.
Still, dining was not their mission, and they left the lower deck and climbed into the control cabin. Townsend ducked under the control panel, emerging seconds later with a computer card that appeared to be in perfect shape. The colonel applied a small electrical meter to two of the card's terminals, and the meter's green light flashed on. He applied yet another set of connectors, and the green light went on again. As one test after another showed green, McGee's spirits rose. Finally the colonel gave him a big thumbs up.
"Salvation," McGee said in a hushed voice.
Townsend put the computer card down. At the control panel, he threw switches and checked readouts. Satisfied with what he saw, he removed his helmet. "The life support system is working fine, Professor. We'll shack up here for the night. It's much too late to try an ascent today."
McGee was grateful for the opportunity to get out of his helmet and shuck his suit. "Can we call the Beagle and let them know we made it?"
Townsend shook his head. "This ERV's only radio is X-band, with no over-the-horizon capability. Its voice channel needs programming, and we don't have time for that. But we can try sending a signal to the DSN, via the ERV's engineering telemetry link, which is now up and running. That'll at least let them know we're here, and they can relay the good news to the Beagle."
But the thought of the untouched pantry downstairs and McGee's growling stomach made it clear to him that they should have other priorities. "Great idea, but can't it wait till after dinner?"
Townsend grinned. "You bet it can." The two of them raced down the ladder to loot the food supplies.
Then they ate, and ate, in the manner of men who had put in a very hard day's work. It was several hours before they finished.
CHAPTER 23
NASA JSC
OCT. 30, 2012 15:20 CST
IT WAS LATE that night Valles Marineris time, mid-afternoon Houston time, that some strange events began to unfold at the Johnson Space Center.
In Mission Control, Al Rollins got the initial readout that set things in motion. He waved Phil Mason over to get his attention. "Chief, I just got a report from the DSN station at Goldstone. They say that the propellant level monitor on the ERV Homeward Bound is flickering erratically."
"That's strange." The well-dressed Chief of Operations scowled. "There is no propellant in that ERV. It was emptied the same night as the Retriever."
Tex Logan called across the room. "Let me have a look at that telemetry."
Rollins threw a switch, and an oscilloscope trace appeared on Tex's monitor. The old veteran stared at it for a few moments, searching for some kind of pattern, and then it was obvious. Tex looked up and grinned. "It's Morse code. See, these long bumps are dashes, and the short ones are dots. It says:
L,O,J,S,C,C,A,R,D,G,O,O,D,A,L,L,F,I,N,E, T,A,N,D,M, H,E,L, and then repeats."
The other flight controllers scribbled down the letters as Tex read them off. Rollins was first to spot words. "Good all?"
Alicia Castillo went further. "I get ‘Card good all fine.' "
Comprehending at last, Mason's eyes went wide with joy. "They made it!" he shouted.