“Methane leak?” said Ladro. “Unbelievable.”
One of the assistant engineers raised a hand. “Methane leak. Just discovered it this morning when we switched over to the auxiliary sensors in Twelve. We think the methane check valves... uh, let’s just say they didn’t so much check as they encouraged the flow. Cheap Chinese knockoffs.”
Ladro eyed the corporate board cooly. “And the stock price keeps going up.” They all either glared at him, or squirmed in their chairs.
The head engineer nodded. “As I was saying, one person can do it, but it will be extremely dangerous. The risk of injury—or worse—is very high. I’d say we send either Farnsworth or—”
“Send me.”
Frank could hardly believe the words came out of his mouth. So he repeated them to make sure they were his. “Send me.”
Governor Ladro shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. We need you, Mr. Bickham. You’re too important to spare. You’re an inspiration to everyone in the colony—if we lost you, we’d have a serious morale problem on our hands.” He turned back to the head engineer, but before he could say anything else, Frank decided to lie. There simply wasn’t time to come up with an excuse that would mask the truth.
“Governor, I’m dying. Doc Pratt says I’ve got a month. Tops. Chronic, terribly painful condition—this doesn’t end well for me know matter how you look at it. Seriously—send me.”
Ladro eyed him skeptically, but asked the chief engineer, “can he do it? If you guide him over the comm?”
“I don’t see why not. He was the third man on Mars, after all. He should know his shit.”
“Second.”
“Excuse me?” said the engineer.
“Second man on Mars. But the first to die, apparently. What luck!” He laughed a little too loud, and started coughing when no one else joined in. “Well, shit. I guess I better go suit up.”
Frank cranked on the wrench, tightening one last gas fitting into place. “That’s it,” he said into his commlink. “How’s the flow?”
The chief engineer’s voice sounded over the speaker in his helmet. “No flow yet. Still not getting an accurate atmospheric composition over there. You’re either at ten percent methane, ninety percent methane, or, well, there could be no atmosphere at all. What do you read on your suit?”
Frank eyed the analogue pressure gauge on his forearm—luckily it was a pre-Interplanetary Reserve suit, so the damn thing still worked just fine. “I’m reading half an atmosphere. But no idea how much is methane, how much is nitrogen, and how much is hot air escaping from Interplanetary’s CEO’s hairy ass.” He grinned. He knew the conversation was being broadcast throughout the colony, and would be heard on Earth about six minutes later. The CEO would probably bust a gasket, but served the bastard right.
Whatever he did, Frank was minutes away from glory. No matter what happened when the flow turned back on. He’d repeated his little trick on habitation module twelve’s airlock as soon as he passed the threshold, the outer door had sealed, and he was out of sight of the engineering crew. The moment he stepped back into that thing and cycled the air, the inner airlock door would jam, permanently lock, and all the air in both the airlock and half of habitation module twelve would escape out into the near vacuum of Mar’s atmosphere.
“Ok,” said the engineer. “We’re going to start the flow. You’re either about to be able to breathe without your suit, or explode. Godspeed, Mr. Bickham.”
“Roger that.” He raised his voice, knowing that the entire colony was listening. That he was being recorded for history. “And if I don’t make it out of here, I just want every Martian in the sound of my voice to know that... that it was an honor serving with you. These past few months I’ve made wonderful friends, I’ve lived with you, loved you, and if I don’t come back from this, my only hope is that I’ve made your lives a little better. What can any man really hope for when he’s gone? Thank you. Frank out.”
He closed his eyes, waiting for the possible explosion. A minute passed. Two minutes. Then a voice. “Frank? You still there?”
“Yeah.”
“Good news. The air is cycled, and optimal oxygen flow restored, now from the Tycho Dome. Congratulations, sir! You’re not only alive, but saved everyone in Huygens dome.”
He heard a cheer from everyone in the room on the other side of the comm, but all he could think was, Damn, I guess I’ve got to do this the hard way.
“Roger that. Heading to airlock now.” He worked his way from the engineering alcove in habitation module twelve to the airlock, and before initiating the irreversible process that would jam the door and vent the whole module, he sat down to check his messages one last time. He’d sent one final note to his granddaughter, Ramona. Looked like she hadn’t replied yet, so he burned another minute rereading his message to her.
Sweetie,
I’m about to do something very dangerous to help the colony, and if I don’t come out of this I just wanted you to know I love you, and I’m proud of you. You’re a wonderful mom, and an amazing lawyer. Please give Sammy and Ted big kisses from me.
Ramona, you asked me, right before I got my assignment here back in November, what I wanted to be remembered for. I think by asking me that you were trying to get me to change my mind about coming here. You wanted me to stay with you and Sammy and Ted. I wanted that too. But I also wanted something more.
I want to matter. I want my existence to have mattered. For people to remember that I was here, and that I was here for a damn good reason. I want people to say, “Frank was here, and thank God he was.”
Doing this thing that I’m doing now is the best way I can think of to achieve that goal. And if it means I have to be the first man to die on Mars to achieve it, then so be it.
Goodbye, Sweetie.
He looked up at the airlock controls next to his seat. Everything was ready. If he delayed any longer the engineering team would begin to worry, and possibly suspect something.
History was waiting for him.
A chirp from his handset made him jump. He looked down, expecting to see a message from Ramona, but instead it was a call from someone in the colony.
It was the kid. Wix.
Tentatively, he accepted the call. “Hello?”
“Grumpy? Where are you?”
“I’m, ah... I’m in habitation module twelve, kid. Your old home.”
“You said you’d come back today. Are you still coming?”
“Working on it, kid.”
He thought he heard a little sniffle on the other end. “I miss you, Grumpy. You didn’t come yesterday, either. Doc said you were in the hospital to give me blood, but you left right away without a visit. And then when you didn’t come today, I thought you’d never come back. I... I...” He paused, then lowered his voice. “Grumpy, can I tell you a secret?”
“Shoot, kid.”
He whispered. “It made me cry. Please don’t tell any of the other boys that I cried. It would be catatrophic.”