SOL 40: SUNDOWN
The thermometer on the instrument cluster built into Jamie’s left sleeve read forty below zero Celsius. He almost smiled. The one place where the Celsius and Fahrenheit scales agree: forty below is forty below on either system. Cold, no matter which way you read it.
The sun had just touched the jagged horizon, throwing immensely elongated shadows across the broken, rocky ground. Jamie saw his own shadow reaching out incredibly, stretching far out in front of him. But nowhere near far enough.
He had been pushing forward around the rippled sand that betrayed the dust-drowned crater. When he turned to see the tiny lifeless sun he also saw his rover, two thirds sunk in the red dust, disappointingly close. He had been trudging around the ghost crater’s perimeter for more than an hour, yet it seemed that he had hardly begun his trek to the second vehicle.
The cable stretched from the connection on his harness backward toward the partially buried rover, most of it resting on the ridged surface of the sand. The farther I go around the crater, the more cable’s going to be lying on the sand, Jamie said to himself. That shouldn’t cause any problems. I don’t think it will. Shouldn’t be any problem at all. The cable won’t sink into the damned sand. Even if it does we can winch it taut if I get to Vosnesensky’s rover. Not if. When. When.
He kept walking. Even when he turned backward he kept his legs moving toward his goaclass="underline" that second rover where Vosnesensky and Reed and Ivshenko were waiting for him.
It was getting dark. And cold. Jamie’s legs felt rubbery, weak. Cold saps your strength. Got to keep going.
He walked at the slow, steady pace he had learned from his grandfather when they had hunted mule deer up in the mountains. "Just get your rhythm right," Al would say, "and you can walk all damned day, no trouble. It’s all in the rhythm. Don’t hurry. Don’t rush. The doer won’t run very far. You can walk him until he’s exhausted and ready to drop at your feet."
Yeah. Right, Grandfather. If you’re healthy. If you’ve been getting all your vitamins. If you’re breathing real air and it’s not forty below zero and dropping fast.
It was getting too dark to see the ground. Jamie reached up and turned on the lamp atop his helmet. Don’t want to step into the sand by mistake. Wonder how golfers would like it here on Mars? Sand traps two kilometers wide. No water hazards. Maybe we ought to bring a set of clubs here the next time. Might start a demand for tourism. Take your vacation on Mars. Climb the solar system’s tallest mountain. Drink a glass of Martian Perrier. Put your bootprints where no one has stepped before.
"Jamie! Did you hear me?"
He snapped his attention to Vosnesensky’s demanding voice. "What? What did you say?"
"I asked if you had turned on your helmet lamp. It is becoming quite dark."
"Yes, it’s on."
"Can you see the ground well enough to guide yourself?"
Jamie looked down. He was trudging along the hard-packed stony soil. A dozen paces to his right the rippled sand began.
"Yep. I can see okay."
"Good. Good."
Then Jamie realized what Vosnesensky’s call meant. The Russian could not yet see Jamie’s light. He was still too far away from the rover to be seen. He had miles to go.
They chattered back and forth, Jamie, the two cosmonauts, even Connors and the women. Jamie listened to the tension in their voices even when they tried to joke and banter. They’re scared. They’re all scared. And I am too.
It was fully night now. Jamie heard the soft breeze of Mars sighing past him. Gentle world, he told himself. If only you weren’t so damned cold. Why did you make it so cold, Man Maker? Or why did you make us so weak? Did Coyote trick you into it?
"Talk," Vosnesensky said. "Speak, Jamie. Let us know that you are all right."
"It’s getting… too damned cold… to talk much," he said. He was panting now. His legs felt stiff, hurting.
"Turn up the heater in your suit to maximum."
"Did that already."
"Make certain."
"Right."
The heater dial was already turned to max, Jamie knew. He tried it again and the dial would turn no further. Too bad we don’t have a thermostat control for the planet. Stop the temperature from dropping any lower. Be a nice touch.
He kept plodding along, one foot after the other. One step at a time. I can outwalk any mule deer in these mountains. I can walk all the way around Mars if I have to. Show me how, Grandfather. Lead me.
Jamie remembered the fetish, stuck in his coverall pocket. He wished he could worm his arm free and reach into the pocket for it. He knew its power would warm him, bring him strength.
The cable suddenly pulled taut, yanking Jamie off his feet. He toppled over backward and hit the ground with a thud.
"Holy shit," he muttered.
"What?"
"What is it? What’s wrong?"
Vosnesensky in one ear, Joanna in the other.
"Cable’s stuck," Jamie said. He struggled up to his knees, tugged on the cable. "Christ, it feels as if…" he had to take a gulping breath "… as if the winch motor’s frozen."
"That should not happen," Vosnesensky snapped.
"Right. Tell me." Jamie pulled on the cable again, leaning his full weight against it. It gave a little, stuck momentarily, then suddenly freed up. He staggered backward ludicrously, arms flailing to regain his balance, a string of obscenities he had not used since undergraduate days flowing from him.
"Jamie!" Joanna’s voice was pitched high with anxiety, almost a scream.
"Okay… I’m okay…," he gasped. "It worked loose again."
"The motor of the winch is self-heating," Vosnesensky said, as if to prove that what had happened had not happened.
"Right," said Jamie. He looked down at the ground to get his bearings, then started out again, keeping the sand a dozen paces to his right.
Sure, the motor’s self-heating. Down to what temperature? Fifty below? A hundred below? A hundred fifty? Jamie did not want to look at his thermometer again. The numbers would be meaningless. It was cold. He could feel his life warmth seeping out into the thin keening night air. Numbers. Numb. Cold and freezing and numb.
His feet felt as if they no longer belonged to him. Cold and numb. He kept plodding forward; at least his legs obeyed the dogged commands of his brain. He leaned into the harness, dragging the cable behind him. If the winch motor goes I’m really stuck. Damned cable weighs too much for me to drag all the way without a motor helping me.
He heard a humming sound in his earphones, almost rhythmic, droning.
"What’s… that?"
"’The Song of the Volga Boatmen,’" Vosnesensky’s voice answered solemnly out of the darkness. "It has been used for ages by men pulling barges up the Volga river. I thought it would help you."
"Sounds like… a funeral dirge."
Vosnesensky stopped his humming. "If you do not appreciate my music, then let me hear you speak. I want to hear you."
"No breath for talking."
"Make breath! I want to know that you are conscious and making progress."
"You can hear my gasping, can’t you?"
"Yes, but I — wait! I can see your light! Jamie, you are getting close enough for me to see the light from your helmet lamp! Where are those binoculars? Yes! It is your helmet lamp! You are getting closer!"
Vosnesensky was being ridiculous. What other light could he possibly see out on this frozen empty slope?
"Keep moving, Jamie." Tony Reed’s voice. "Don’t stop now."
"Don’t stop now," repeated Vosnesensky, with even more fervor in his voice.
"What’re you… going to do… if I stop? Come out… after me?"
"If both my legs worked," Ivshenko said, "I would gladly come out to greet you."