Taylor attacked the slope on a shallow angle, heading toward the west at first then turning the bike directly uphill momentarily before heading back to the north. With each turn the bike rocked on the edge of tipping over backwards, the front wheel lifting slightly, losing a bit of traction on the hard surface of the slope.
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, each traverse gaining them a few vertical meters on the slope. Taylor shook his head to clear it, knowing that any loss of concentration on his part could kill them both. Now that they were three-quarters of the way up a tip-over would send them plunging back to the bottom, a tumble that neither of them would survive.
“One more turn,” Surra cheered him on. “We’re nearly there!”
Taylor made the final turn and gunned the motor to drive the bike over the lip of the deep fissure and onto the flat, dusty plain. The Three Sisters—Archaeus, Arisa, and Pavo-nis—came into view as they emerged.
“Turn northeast about twenty degrees,” Surra shouted, “and gun this son-of-a-bitch!”
Taylor needed no prompting and sent the bike surging forward at fifty klicks. By his estimation they only had an hour’s worth of air left and Rescue Point was nearly a hundred kilometers away.
They weren’t going to make it.
Olympus’s lower levels were covered with dirt and small rocks. Down here even Mars’s weak weather had smoothed out the rough edges of the volcano, filling the craters with sand, thermally fracturing the rocks into smaller pieces through the seasonal freeze and thaw cycles, and generally making the lower skirts of Mons a less forbidding place. The bike rode easily over the relatively smooth surface.
“I’ve been thinking,” Surra said suddenly. “What if we started broadcasting a mayday on our suit radios? Maybe someone will hear us before we get to the finish line.”
“Great, we’ll do that as soon as we get within range—about fifty kilometers, I’d guess. Another hour, at least.”
“We won’t make it, will we?” Surra said calmly.
“We might have enough air. My guess wasn’t that scientific, you know.”
“Then again, we could have a lot less,” she countered. “My jinx, y’know.”
“Stop that! You got us this close through intelligence and knowledge of the mountain. Luck hasn’t had a damn thing to do with it!”
“And you did it yourself as well,” she shot back. “I didn’t see your family helping you back there!”
“Know something? I think I just realized that what my family thinks of me doesn’t matter a bit. I’m doing this race for myself after all, for the acclaim it will bring. Yeah, and maybe, some day, I’ll tell gramps about it.”
As Surra broadcast their mayday Taylor concentrated on getting every erg he could out of the bike’s batteries, pushing the motors to their design limits, and beyond. The bike bounced unmercifully whenever it hit an outsized rock, forcing a muffled scream out of Surra, but that was better than slowing down and losing precious time. Every second saved put them that much closer to safety.
“No response,” Surra reported as he steered the bike along a narrow chasm formed by ancient, massive folds. “The hills ahead might be shielding us,” she suggested. “They run for another twenty klicks. I’ll wait until we get clear before I start shouting again,” she said, and then added, “Cutting it pretty close, aren’t we?”
“Maybe. How long do you figure we can breathe the stale air in our helmets after the air runs out?”
“Three to five minutes is all, by then the carbon dioxide buildup gets us. Say, don’t we have an hour or so in our suit bottles? Hey, maybe we can make it after all!”
“Good going, lady. But keep broadcasting just the same.” He didn’t remind her that he had used up half of his bottle already. Even optimistically, he’d be a half hour short of rescue.
“Surra,” he said at last. “Could you steer with one arm?”
“I guess I could if I had to, but it wouldn’t be at this speed. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” He hesitated. “But if anything were to happen to me, you’d be able to make it to Rescue Point, wouldn’t you?”
“What the hell’s going on Taylor? What are you trying to tell me?”
“I might need to take a rest when we get out of these hills, is all. Pretty exhausted. Don’t know if I can drive much more.” He hoped that explanation would satisfy her.
“You are full of crap. Remember what I told you about how I feel about liars? Still holds, kid. Come on, what’s the problem?”
Briefly Taylor told her about his estimation of the air supply and the status of his own suit bottle. “So you see, you’ll be able to make it, even if I can’t.”
“Well, let’s pray that it doesn’t come to that,” she replied. “Say, can’t you make this buggy go any faster?”
Taylor pushed the bike to sixty and watched the scenery flash by. Was it his imagination or was the air already starting to get a little stale?
Twenty minutes later he knew that the air was definitely getting stale. He decided to hold off using his suit bottle until he absolutely had to. Breathing began to come harder and he felt himself growing more drowsy. It would be so nice to close his eyes and take a brief nap that…
“Taylor!” Surra shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Huh,” he opened his eyes.
“The bike’s swerving like mad. Use your suit unit. The bike’s air’s gone now. Come on, Taylor, talk to me!”
He twisted his suit’s valves, took a deep breath, and felt the fresh oil-tainted air flush his system. “Thanks, almost fell asleep there,” he admitted. “Be ready to take over the steering in about twenty minutes. I figure that’s all I have left.”
“Listen to me,” Surra said calmly. “I’ll take over right now. The arm doesn’t hurt that much any more. Shut your supply to half and let yourself go to sleep. You won’t burn as much oxygen that way. That will stretch out whatever you have a little longer.”
“Waste of time,” he said groggily, but did as she instructed. Sleep came instantly.
Someone was shaking him vigorously. “Come on, wake up,” Surra said. “Damn it, kid; talk to me!”
Taylor realized that she was sitting on his back, straddling him with her knees. A flood of fresh air was flowing into his helmet. “What happened?” he asked.
“Decided we’d finish this race together or not at all,” Surra replied. “Hooked you into my suit so we’d share whatever’s left. Now come on, Rescue Point can’t be more than a few kilometers away.”
Taylor didn’t argue, but he thought it was probably the most idiotic thing she had ever done. Now they were both doomed. Nevertheless he pushed the bike forward at max speed.
They popped over the last ridge and started down the long slope to Rescue Point. As they came nearer he saw a small caravan of bikes heading toward them. “The rescue squad,” he gasped.
“Remember how I said we could survive about five minutes after the air ran out, didn’t you?” Surra asked calmly.
“Yeah, but they’re only a few minutes away.”
“I think we can make the finish line on what we have left,” she said in a rush. “Do we go for it?”
“Why the hell not?” he replied. “Yeah, let’s go for it!”
Taylor raced by the shocked rescue party and headed for the entrance to Rescue Point lock, the finish line. There were no other competitors in sight. Taylor looked at the clock as the Point’s lock cycled and realized that they had done the entire run in little over forty-three hours.
“We’ve broken the record, Surra!” he said wearily. “We’ve done it! We beat your jinx!” There was no answer. Her body fell limp from his back as he turned.