Leland looked up and around, taking in the view. The other astronauts were walking about, testing their bodies and suits against the gravity and the terrain. Bursts of chatter flitted in and out of Frank’s ears like birds—everything seemed interesting, the rocks, the clouds, the dust in between, the shape of the land, the way the sun shone through the atmosphere and threw halos and bands of light and dark in the sky.
Only the pilot seemed content to just be. She could, of course, be reliving the last few minutes of flight when triumph and disaster were separated only by her skill and her reactions. But her face was impassive behind the layer of optical-grade plastic.
“So, Lance,” said Leland, “you got any advice for us new bugs?”
Again, the mental gears had to mesh before getting up to speed. “Don’t fuck up?”
Leland laughed. It was an easy, unpracticed sound, that just rolled out of him. “Well, that’s a philosophy I can get behind.”
“Here, everything’s trying to kill you. Everything. And if you fuck up, it will.”
“You’ve done OK, Lance.”
Frank had just about survived. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t say anything about it at all. His mistake—his only mistake—was trusting XO. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
“That’s because I didn’t fuck up.”
“That’ll be music to Fan’s ears. Safety first, last and always.”
“I’m here to serve,” said Fan, “all and equally, according to their need. And to remind them, in the words of our friend here, not to fuck up.” He reached out and touched Frank’s suit, where the bullet had gone through. “So what happened here?”
“I got a swipe with an unfinished ring section.” Frank felt he ought to embellish the story. “The robot’s sensor must have been on the fritz.” He felt he could pretty much blame anything on the robots, since they never existed and certainly weren’t around to examine now.
“Must have been an interesting few moments. But you dealt with it?”
Frank dipped into his waist pouch and held up a selection of patches. “You should be carrying these around with you, too. All the time.”
“Just in case. We’ll see to that. Thanks, Lance.”
He was getting the hang of it. Lance. Lance Brack. That was the name he answered to, even if it wasn’t painted on his suit.
“OK, people,” said Lucy, “gather round. We’ve got a schedule, and Mission Control will be wondering what we’re doing. Introductions first. This is Lance Brack, XO’s representative at MBO. When we all get up to MBO, he can show us around and talk us through any changes to the routines and infrastructure we need to get up to speed on. Lance has been here, by himself, for eight straight months, and having all of us descend on him is going to be a difficult adjustment, so let the man be. If you’ve got questions that aren’t a priority, stow them for now. OK, Lance? We’ll keep out of your hair for as long as you need.”
They were all now standing in a circle. Seven of them. It was almost like old times, back in training. And it was how it should have been, on Mars. All seven of them, standing and looking at the base they’d made, living and working side by side. Not Brack: he was never part of the team. But Frank’s colleagues were. Cons. Misfits. The awkward squad. His team.
Goddammit, he wasn’t going to cry.
“Fanuel’s already introduced himself. Jim is our rock hound. Isla will be doing all the plant experiments. Yun—Feng Yun—is an atmospheric scientist, and hopefully you’ve got all her kit. Leland is that thing that no one knows they need until they need it, the appropriately titled “human factors”, and I guess you know who I am. These people are my responsibility. Anything and everything that happens to them is my business, because when we go home, we’re all going home.
“This afternoon will be orientation and safety drills. Tomorrow, and the next few sols, will be dedicated to unpacking our mission-specific equipment and testing. This has been a long road. For some of us, most of us, this is going to be the high point of our careers, of our whole lives. We’ve dedicated ourselves to get to this exact point, and we’ll never have these moments again, so every hour, every minute on Mars needs to count. Tonight, we get to party. Tomorrow, we start work. OK? Let’s get to it.”
There was a chorus of assent—someone said “so say we all”, echoing back to a sci-fi show Frank faintly remembered from the reruns.
“Leland, Isla,” said Lucy. “You’re first up. Lance, if you could escort them to MBO, then head back for the next batch.”
“I’ve got two buggies. One of them could drive back with me, pick everyone up.”
“We can do that. Leland, you good?”
“I’m magnificent. Lance can show me the ropes.”
“You need a trailer for hauling stuff? I’ve got two of those as well.”
“We traveled light. Hand-luggage only.”
“OK. You’ll have to hang on, and I’ll take it as slow as I can.”
Frank led the two astronauts to the buggy, and already it seemed normal. He didn’t know how that could possibly be. There were six—count them, six—extra people here, and it was just normal. Maybe it’d sink in later, when they were all in his base, making noise, filling up the connecting ways, tramping dirt around and generally being there.
And it wasn’t just for today. It was for the next year and beyond. He was going to have to make some big adjustments, and Lucy had been wise enough to start by telling her crew to back off when he needed the space. That was how someone earned his respect from the get-go.
Frank climbed up the usual way, reaching for the lowest strut, pushing a foot against the wheel, and half walked, half clambered over the latticework until he could drop into his seat.
“Hop on up,” he said, through the chatter. It was noisy, and he couldn’t mute it. Or rather, he could, but it wasn’t like he was trying to keep secrets, just the peace and quiet. Isla—Weber, American—just pulled herself up, hand over hand, without using her legs.
“Where should we stand?” asked Leland, looking up.
“We—” OK, stop there. There is no “we”. There never was. “Wherever you want, but somewhere behind me, hanging on to the roll bars will be fine. Probably easier if you sit down and you can brace against the struts.”
Like we all did. Like I did. Except I can’t say that because if I’ve done it, who the hell was driving?
Frank strapped himself in, and looked at the controls. His mind was inexplicably blank for a moment. He blinked and reached forward, and his hands naturally fell into position. That was better. He felt the chassis rock as Leland joined them. He couldn’t turn round to check on them, so he said: “Everyone OK? Holding on?”
“We’re good. Take us home, Lance.”
One of them patted his shoulder—Frank was going to guess Leland again, who seemed quite tactile—and he took that as a sign that he could move off. He drove them in a broad arc away from the Hawthorn, then back along the base of the Heights to the start of Sunset.
He almost said “we” again, and bit down on the word before he could voice it. “I normally come down this way. The slope’s stable here, and not so steep. If you’re going out onto the eastern plains, then it’s the most direct route. Straight along and up Long Beach, where the crater wall’s collapsed.”
“Long Beach? You from LA?” asked Leland.
Dee was. Dee had died, but his names lived on. “It was a Mission Control thing,” said Frank. “The base is up on the Heights, and the road between is Sunset Boulevard. The ridge of hills down the middle of the crater we called Beverly Hills.”
The “we” crept out again, but that was OK. He’d already introduced the idea of Mission Control giving him a hand.