The probe was on the central panel of the unfolded tetrahedron. The other three sides were each attached to the central panel with a metal hinge. As anyone at JPL will tell you, probes are delicate things. Weight is a serious concern, so they’re not made to stand up to much punishment.
When I took a crowbar to the hinges, they popped right off!
Then things got difficult. When I tried to lift the central panel assembly, it didn’t budge.
Just like the other three panels, the central panel had deflated balloons underneath it.
Over the decades, the balloons had ripped and filled with sand.
I could cut off the balloons, but I’d have to dig to get to them. It wouldn’t be hard, it’s just sand. But the other three panels were in the damn way.
I quickly realized I didn’t give a crap about the condition of the other panels. I went back to my rover, cut some strips of Hab material, then braided them into a primitive but strong rope. I can’t take credit for it being strong. Thank NASA for that. I just made it rope-shaped.
I tied one end to a panel and the other to the rover. The rover was made for traversing extremely rugged terrain, often at steep angles. It may not be fast, but it has great torque. I towed the panel away like a redneck removing a tree stump.
Now I had a place to dig. As I exposed each balloon, I cut it off. The whole task took an hour.
Then I hoisted the central panel assembly up and carried it confidently to the rover!
At least, that’s what I wanted to do. The damn thing is still heavy as hell. I’m guessing it’s 200 kilograms. Even in Mars’s gravity that’s a bit much. I could carry it around the Hab easily enough, but lifting it while wearing an awkward EVA suit? Out of the question.
So I dragged it to the rover.
Now for my next feat: getting it on the roof.
The roof was empty at the moment. Even with mostly full batteries, I had set up the solar cells when I stopped. Why not? Free energy.
I’d worked it out in advance. On the way here, two stacks of solar panels occupied the whole roof. On the way back, I’ll use a single stack to make room for the probe. It’s a little more dangerous; the stack might fall over. Also, the cells will be a pain in the ass to stack that high. But I’ll get it done.
I can’t just throw a rope over the rover and hoist Pathfinder up the side. I don’t want to break it. I mean, it’s already broken; they lost contact in 1997. But I don’t want to break it more.
I came up with a solution, but I’d done enough physical labor for one day, and I was almost out of daylight.
Now I’m in the rover, looking at Sojourner. It seems all right. No physical damage on the outside. Doesn’t look like anything got too baked by the sunlight. The dense layer of Mars crap all over it protected it from long-term solar damage.
You may think Sojourner isn’t much use to me. It can’t communicate with Earth. Why do I care about it?
Because it has a lot of moving parts.
If I establish a link with NASA, I can talk to them by holding a page of text up to the lander’s camera. But how would they talk to me? The only moving parts on the lander are the high-gain antenna (which would have to stay pointed at Earth) and the camera boom. We’d have to come up with a system where NASA could talk by rotating the camera head. It would be painfully slow.
But Sojourner has six independent wheels that rotate reasonably fast. It’ll be much easier to communicate with those. I could draw letters on the wheels. NASA could rotate them to spell things at me.
That all assumes I can get the lander’s radio working at all.
Time to turn in. I’ve got a lot of backbreaking physical labor to do tomorrow. I’ll need my rest.
Oh God, I’m sore.
But it’s the only way I could think of to get the lander safely onto the roof.
I built a ramp out of rocks and sand. Just like the ancient Egyptians did.
And if there’s one thing Ares Vallis has, it’s rocks!
First, I experimented to find out how steep the grade could be. I piled some rocks near the lander and dragged it up the pile and back down again. Then I made the pile steeper and made sure I could drag the lander up and down. I repeated this over and over until I found the best grade for my ramp: 30 degrees. Anything more was too risky. I might lose my grip and send the lander tumbling down the ramp.
The roof of the rover is over two meters from the ground. So I’d need a ramp almost four meters long. I got to work.
The first few rocks were easy. Then they started feeling heavier and heavier. Hard physical labor in a space suit is murder. Everything’s more effort because you’re lugging 20 kilograms of suit around with you, and your movement is limited. I was panting within twenty minutes.
So I cheated. I upped my O2 mixture. It really helped a lot. Probably shouldn’t make that a habit. Also, I didn’t get hot. The suit leaks heat faster than my body could ever generate it. The heating system is what keeps the temperature bearable. My physical labor just meant the suit didn’t have to heat itself as much.
After hours of grueling labor, I finally got the ramp made. Nothing more than a pile of rocks against the rover, but it reached the roof.
I stomped up and down the ramp first, to make sure it was stable, then I dragged the lander up. It worked like a charm!
I was all smiles as I lashed the lander in place. I made sure it was firmly secured, and even stacked the solar cells in a big single stack (why waste the ramp?).
But then it hit me. The ramp would collapse as I drove away, and the rocks might damage the wheels or undercarriage. I’d have to take the ramp apart to keep that from happening.
Ugh.
Tearing the ramp down was easier than putting it up. I didn’t need to carefully put each rock in a stable place. I just dropped them wherever. It only took me an hour.
And now I’m done!
I’ll start heading home tomorrow, with my new 200-kilogram broken radio.
CHAPTER 10
Seven days since Pathfinder, and seven days closer to home.
As I’d hoped, my inbound tracks gave me a path back to Lewis Valley. Then it was four sols of easy driving. The hills to my left made it impossible to get lost, and the terrain was smooth.
But all good things come to an end. I’m back in Acidalia Planitia now. My outgoing tracks are long gone. It’s been sixteen days since I was last here. Even timid weather would clear them out in that time.
On my way out, I should have made a pile of rocks every time I camped. The land is so flat they’d be visible for kilometers.
On second thought, thinking back to making that damn ramp… ugh.
So once again I am the desert wanderer, using Phobos to navigate and hoping I don’t stray too far. All I need to do is get within 40 kilometers of the Hab and I’ll pick up the beacon.
I’m feeling optimistic. For the first time, I think I might get off this planet alive. With that in mind, I’m taking soil and rock samples every time I do an EVA.
At first, I figured it was my duty. If I survive, geologists will love me for it. But then it started to get fun. Now, as I drive, I look forward to that simple act of bagging rocks.
It just feels nice to be an astronaut again. That’s all it is. Not a reluctant farmer, not an electrical engineer, not a long-haul trucker. An astronaut. I’m doing what astronauts do. I missed it.
I got two seconds of signal from the Hab beacon today, then lost it. But it’s a good sign. I’ve been traveling vaguely north-northwest for two days. I must be a good hundred kilometers from the Hab; it’s a miracle I got any signal at all. Must have been a moment of perfect weather conditions.