I got back in and shut everything down but life support. I forced myself to think, to make a plan. I had a single bottle of water, no food. I had a compass, but I wasn’t certain of my location relative to the Gateway or satellite station, and regardless they were too far to walk to in my suit. My communications system was out of range.
I was going to have to wait until the sun rose again. On a piece of paper I did the math, trying the numbers three different ways. If I cycled the rover on every fifty minutes, I could stave off hypothermia until dawn. The first heat cycle would be in forty-five minutes, and I set my watch in case I fell asleep.
The sun slid lower on the horizon until it was just a thin slice of rosy yellow and the temperature inside the rover dropped. My fingers turned cold and my breath made clouds. I watched the minutes count down. Finally it was time and I turned on the heat, felt the blast of warmth like pinpricks on my face, neck, fingers. I rubbed my hands together over and over. Too soon it was time to cycle off. I set my watch again. There were still six and a half hours till dawn.
My body quickly cooled. I felt the freezing air seep gradually into my skin, muscles, bones. My neck and wrists and elbows turned stiff; my toes seemed to shrink inside my boots. Tremors moved through my body in waves. It was fully dark now. Outside was an empty expanse of black that seemed to stretch forever. Inside I had only my headlamp’s single spot of light. My sense of the rover, its titanium shell, pressure coated windshield, metal alloy tires—the shape and weight of all those parts—fell away, and there seemed to be nothing between me and the deep darkness surrounding me.
I went through three more cycles, my limbs becoming more rigid and my mind more sluggish with each one. I couldn’t hold on to thoughts, and the color of things changed. My suit turned gray, the rover’s dashboard white. The windows blue. The third cycle of heat seemed to have no effect at all. My body was a block of ice, my mind a flat, cold blank. I slowly crawled into the back of the rover, over the battery pack, which still held some warmth, and I pressed my body against it. The temperature dropped further. Memories skittered through my brain, of frozen trees outside the window at my aunt’s house. Icy sheets on my bed in the girls’ dormitory at Peter Reed. Crystalized condensate on an equipment panel on the Sundew. Then the memories began to shift and blur.
I tried to focus on one image at a time. The book I used to read in the window seat at my aunt’s house, New History of Energy. Carla’s hand reaching out in the darkness between our two beds at Peter Reed. But the pictures got mixed up and fused together strangely. Carla’s face appeared on the cover of the book. My dormitory bed floated in the darkness outside the porthole on the Sundew.
I pressed my body closer to the battery pack, and it was warm. Warmer than it had been, which made no sense. I felt fear, but I couldn’t think. The battery grew warmer still, until I was hot. So hot I had to unzip my suit. I had to. My skin felt like it would burn off and I wanted to pull off my gloves, my boots. But I didn’t. My brain wasn’t working, wasn’t processing, but I didn’t do it because the heat wasn’t real.
An overwhelming heaviness stole over my body, starting with my fingers and toes, and moving inward. My eyelids lowered, and I snapped them open. The next cycle was soon. I had to stay awake. But my eyelids were like lead. They lowered. They lowered. They lowered again.
45
I became aware of light on my shoulders. I tried to raise my head but it was an incredible immobile weight.
Then the light went away. And came back. I blinked. Someone stood in the window.
James.
But it wasn’t James. It was a man wearing a patched suit and a helmet with a discolored visor. He tapped on the window and motioned for me to put my helmet on. I couldn’t move my head. My face was numb; my cheek felt like it had adhered to my arm.
He tapped again. You have to move, he said, his voice muffled behind the glass. He tapped over and over.
I raised my head an inch and the sunlight was cruel. My head throbbed; a wave of nausea moved through my body. I forced myself to move my arms, and then my legs. Vomit stole up my throat and I swallowed it. I dragged my body sideways, felt for my helmet. I lifted my head more, two inches, enough to get my helmet on and lock it.
I stared out the window dumbly.
The man—who was it?—gestured to my chest. I looked down; my suit was unzipped, the strip of exposed skin red and raw. I fumbled to secure the zipper, my fingers numb and my grasp clumsy. After a few tries I managed it, and he opened the door and pulled me out. My limbs buckled, and he held me up.
Silt popped loudly on my helmet; sunlight bored into my eye sockets. I tried to see past the milky haze that obscured his visor but could make out only the shape of his head, the curve of his ears.
He helped me around the rover and into the passenger seat. He got in too, repressurized the rover, and helped me take off my helmet. Silt fell to the floor. I shook off my gloves; my fingertips were red and fat, the nails a sickening gray. He held out a bottle of water but when I raised my hands they began to pulse with pain. He brought the bottle to my mouth.
I gulped the water. Slowly, he said and his voice was soft and precise. It was my uncle’s voice. He pulled the bottle away.
I leaned back in my seat and the rover began to move smoothly over the ground. It felt as if we were gliding. There were no jolts or bumps, only gentle dips and sways. Light flickered across the windshield. A structure appeared in the distance, domed white modules against the pink sky. We slid toward it.
I ran my scratchy tongue over the roof of my mouth. I wanted to say something.
The man’s suit was faded blue and covered with a fine dusting of silt. You’re not real, I said.
His hazy visor reflected my face.
I squeezed my stinging eyes shut. I wish you were real but you’re not.
When I opened my eyes the rover was still and the light was different. The sun was low in the sky. Shallow pink hills surrounded me. Directly in front of the rover was a module with a round top and an airlock in its side.
I looked at my red fingers in my lap.
I looked at the steering wheel and touched it. I was in the driver’s seat. I turned my head sharply and there was no one in the rover but me.
I pulled myself out and stumbled to the domed module. The airlock opened. My body wanted to drop to the floor but I stayed standing; my eyes wanted to close but I kept them open. On the other side of the airlock was a dark corridor followed by a series of modules. I pushed through a plastic-draped door and found a greenhouse full of withered plants. Soybeans, I thought. The next room was full of dried-up wheat. I was in the agricultural outpost that had been recently shut down. I kept going and opened doors until I found the equipment room. I needed to find the oxygenator, and when I did, I sat down on the floor and moved by rote.
When I was done I crawled to a life support monitor, pressed buttons, and took off my helmet. The air was warm and still and full of a sweet, fetid smell. Down the corridor I found a module with beds in it. The one closest to the door had a blue blanket and a single flat pillow. I pushed off my boots and wriggled out of my suit. It seemed to take forever, but when I finally got myself out I sank onto the bed. The pillowcase was smooth against my raw cheek, the mattress soft under my hips, my elbows, my heels. I reached my throbbing fingers out so nothing touched them but air.