"But we still don't have the manpower to sustain even that level of effort."
Taking offense, Rebecca walked several steps from the table and then whirled around to face Townsend again. "Manpower? There are five of us here, Colonel. We can all dig."
Oh shit, Townsend thought, here comes another feminist tirade. He gave her a condescending smile. "Dr. Sherman, I'm sure you have your modern theories about the roles of men and women, but even in the face of death there are certain values worth defending."
"Screw your values, Colonel," Gwen interjected unexpectedly. "I don't want to die."
"Major, I'm just trying to make clear that..."
"You're a gentleman and a jackass." Gwen was unstoppable. "Look, you may be half a watermelon taller than me, sir, but I'm a miner's daughter, and I've done more hard work in my time than you or anyone in your family has done for the past hundred years. I can out-dig you any day of the week. The professor, too."
Townsend had to smile. "Okay, perhaps you can. But Dr. Sherman? I doubt she has ever used a pick and shovel in her entire life."
"I learn fast," Rebecca said firmly.
"Do you realize what you're talking about, Doctor? Long, grueling hours of hard physical labor, day after day, week after week."
"I can take it. I'm sitting here with the most important scientific discovery in human history, and I'm going to get back to Earth to present it, or I'll know the reason why."
The colonel turned to the muscular mission geologist. "Luke, where do you stand?"
"With the ladies, of course."
"Professor?"
McGee rubbed his chin. "I'm reminded of other expeditions that were stranded in remote locations, Shackleton's 1914 attempt on the South Pole, for example—"
Townsend cut him off. "Bottom line, McGee, your vote."
"I think Rebecca's right." McGee's voice was level. "We'll save ourselves or no one will. It may be futile, Colonel, but I'm game."
They've just volunteered to quadruple their workload, Townsend thought. Looking over his crew, he felt a warm glow of pride. Maybe this bunch of prima donnas has the Right Stuff, after all. He cleared his throat and summoned his command voice. "In that case, I'll make it unanimous. We start tomorrow, two duty shifts every day, each twelve hours, with one person, rotated daily, assigned to light duty around the greenhouse and Hab. That'll give each of us a day off from hard labor one day in five... ."
OPHIR PLANUM
MAY 27, 2012 07:00 MLT
The sun had been up barely an hour when Rebecca and Luke reached their digging site.
Rebecca gripped her shovel and tried to fight the sinking feeling inside her. She hated hard physical labor and had generally managed to avoid it all her life. There had been one exception: Devon Island in the summer of 2000. She had been there to be part of the initial crew of the Mars Society's Flashline Mars Arctic Research Station. However, when the crane sent in to build the station was destroyed in a failed paradrop, and the professional construction crew had deserted, the scientists were left to their own resources. They had rallied and, together with some Inuit youth who hired on, and some unsuspecting journalists who were pressed into service upon arrival, had managed to get the station built using brute-force ancient Roman construction techniques. It had been horrible, dangerous labor, involving fourteen-hour workdays in the high Arctic, but its success was critical for the cause, and Rebecca had pitched in as part of the team. The memory of that adventure gave her strength; it had given her the courage to become an astronaut.
But she had been twenty-eight then, and as tough as the Flashline construction work had been, it had only lasted a few weeks. Now, because of her own big mouth, here she was, at the bottom of an ancient Martian pond basin, preparing to dig—and do nothing but dig, all day, nearly every day, for the next year. The bleak prospect filled her with dread. Intellectually, she knew it had to be done, and she had managed to convince the others. But now the reality confronted her. She stared down at the barely moist dirt in dismay. Somehow, she couldn't move.
Luke Johnson held his gloved hands in front of his helmet and pretended to spit on each one. Then he thrust his shovel deep into the ground and heaved a huge lump of dirt into the trailer. Then another, and another. At last, he paused. "Well, little lady, care to get started?"
The redneck bastard, thought Rebecca. He knows what I'm feeling. He thinks I'm not up to this. She dug her shovel into the ground and lifted it. Her load was tiny compared to the geologist's, but it seemed heavy to her, even in the low gravity. She walked two steps to dump it into the trailer, losing most of it along the way. It was a pathetic first effort, and she knew it. Without looking, she could sense the malicious grin on Luke's face. She dug another scoop, larger than the first, and managed to get most of it in the cart. There. She looked at Luke in triumph.
The muscular geologist acknowledged her effort and started shoveling again, throwing load after load into the cart with the smooth flowing motion of a practiced ditch digger. Rebecca had no choice but to try to imitate him.
She shoveled for what seemed like an eternity. After a while her hip muscles started to ache. When do we break? How long have we been doing this? She looked at her chronometer. The answer came with a shock: forty-three minutes.
Another five hours, seventeen minutes, until lunch. Her body told her it was impossible. But cold Reason argued the contrary: For the past five thousand years, most humans have labored this way. If they could do it, I can do it.
Somehow she made it to lunch, though her every muscle was demanding that she stop. By the end of the day, she was numb beyond aching. But she kept moving, her limbs driven more by spirit than body.
Back at the Hab, she silently ate the briefest of dinners and collapsed into her bunk. Then, seemingly in seconds, her alarm rang.
It was dawn, and time to dig again.
OPHIR PLANUM
JUNE 3, 2012 16:20 MLT
Rebecca moved about the greenhouse, stiff limbs turning her previously graceful walk into a semi-stagger. All around her, plants bloomed, their odors filling the air; while not exactly fragrant, it still told the good news of the exuberance of life.
As she transferred seedlings from their beds to the intermediate growth bin, the doctor felt her spirits rise a little. Eight days since the full-scale digging effort had commenced, this was her second greenhouse break-day. During her first day off, she'd been too numb to do more than stumble through the motions. While still dog-tired, her head had now cleared enough so she could begin to take stock of the situation.
The past week had been pure hell. By the fifth day of digging, she had fallen into a kind of exhausted trance, which had helped her make it through. But as useful as such a state might be in helping one sleep through a day of digging, she knew it could be a dangerous frame of mind. They were on Mars, after all, and the slightest mistake could be fatal.
On the first day, she'd been too tired to eat much, but hunger had set in the following morning. The workload had increased everyone's appetite, and by the fourth day it was apparent that the previous short rations could not be maintained. Rebecca increased their allotments from seventy percent to one hundred percent NASA minimum... then to one hundred twenty percent, then to one hundred fifty percent.
No one seemed to notice. Even doubled, the meals were still modest, and the hungry crew gobbled them quickly. But Rebecca knew they had crossed a divide. By increasing the rations, she was throwing away all possibility that the five of them would last until the 2015 return window. If they continued to consume their larder at this rate, the crew would have to make it out in 2013, or else starve.