“Commander to ground team. Best of luck! We are keeping an eye on you.”
Martin raised his head to the sky and tried to detect the spaceship that floated a few kilometers above them. He did not see anything. They were alone.
In front of the first major obstacle they linked their spacesuits with a safety line. The radar had detected several deep fissures. Climbing was surprisingly easy due to the low gravity. If the situation had not been so dire, it would have been great fun to be able to jump so far and so high. When the cliffs were higher than ten meters, though, they had no choice but to find a way around them. During mission planning, no one seemed to have considered mountaineering. These detours were not strenuous, but they took time.
After an hour, Martin first checked his oxygen supply and was shocked. I have a capacity of four hours and forty minutes left. They had used up a third more than planned. The display showed the distance to their goal as 44.1 kilometers. If they continued this way, their oxygen would be used up well before the half-way mark.
Martin stopped. “Francesca, can this be true?” He pointed at his display. Francesca checked the numbers and compared them to her own.
“This seems to be more exhausting than it feels,” she said. “Maybe it’s the adrenaline driving us.”
“What should we do?” he asked.
Francesca shook her head. “Nothing. We can’t change that.”
“And if we carry each other?”
“What do you mean?”
“Imagine I was a piece of luggage,” Martin explained. “You can easily carry those two kilograms. That way we alternate saving oxygen.”
“Should I tuck you under my arm, or what?”
“No, we shorten the line and you would simply pull me after you.”
Francesca laughed. “The ideas you come up with.”
“Let’s try it out,” he urged.
The pilot nodded and tightened the safety line. Then she started walking. Martin fell down, but he did not fight it. I am a piece of luggage. I need to relax and save breathable air. The back of the spacesuit hit the ground, since this was the heaviest part. Each of Francesca’s steps shook him. The numbers on his display went haywire because buttons were being pressed randomly.
This does not work. As a living piece of luggage I use up more air, not less.
“Thanks, Francesca, this has convinced me,” Martin said. He got up and patted some snow from his suit. “I have a better idea, though.” He pulled the injector from a side pocket. “When you are unconscious, you use a third less oxygen.”
“Me, unconscious?” She looked at him. “Out of the question. And how would that help us anyway?”
“I would carry you. We are connecting our suits with the pressure hose. This increases our range by one-sixth.”
“That won’t be nearly enough, though, Martin.”
“I know, but it will take us a bit closer to the goal.”
“You are still hoping for a miracle, aren’t you?” Francesca’s voice sounded husky, as if she had been crying.
“Yes,” Martin said, nodding.
The former fighter pilot sat down on a chunk of ice. She bent over.
“Then just do it. It might be better this way.”
Martin did not hesitate for long. Time is running very short, after all. He placed the device on the thigh of Francesca’s spacesuit. The hypodermic needle punched through the fabric and sealed it again. Francesca would not be conscious for the next few hours. And what happens if we run out of oxygen? The thought was painful. I should have said farewell to her.
Dragging Francesca did not make him faster, but oxygen consumption decreased. After two hours he had reached the six-kilometer mark, and the oxygen supply still stood at four hours and twenty minutes. The low gravity allowed for high jumps, but it made normal walking more difficult.
“Commander to ground team, how is it going?” The question is useless. Martin knew the others were aware of the statistics and projections. I know the commander is just asking this to show she cares. But, it still feels good that she asked.
“Well, it could be better. Though we are advancing according to plan,” he answered. Everyone knows what this means—death according to plan. He could cover a maximum of 16 kilometers. Even in a best-case scenario, this would be considerably less than half the distance. Hayato and Jiaying will arrive too late. I hope they have not started their march. But he did not want to ask about that.
“This is Marchenko. Just a moment, I have an idea.”
“Marchenko?” The commander’s voice sounded surprised.
“I am currently in the airlock,” he said.
“You said you were taking a nap,” Amy said.
“I knew you were not going to give me permission.”
“Permission for what?” the commander said in a flat, tight voice.
“I am getting the SAFER and two oxygen tanks from storage and I am flying down.”
“Marchenko, you’re crazy.” Now Amy sounded really upset. She must realize, though, that she cannot stop the Russian, Martin thought.
“No, I ran the calculations. The SAFER has enough fuel to get me down there.”
“Impossible. It won’t be enough for a clean landing. You cannot decelerate, and you are going to…”
“Maybe not. I am going to aim for a fissure that is not too deep. The oxygen tanks will certainly survive the impact.”
“But you won’t. Marchenko, don’t be a fool. This is suicide,” Amy pleaded.
“No, it is a pragmatic use of our resources. I am old. Francesca and Martin are more important to our mission.”
There was silence on the radio channel. Everyone knew Marchenko would not budge from his plan. He would take the life-giving oxygen from the spaceship to the surface, and he would die in doing so. Martin heard a quiet sobbing. Is that Jiaying? Martin felt warm inside, but at the same time, a deep sense of sadness hit him. I am not worth this sacrifice. Yet if he protested, he would interfere with Francesca’s life. He set her on the ground and looked at her. Her eyes were closed. Martin wondered what she would say if she were conscious. Would she reject the doctor’s sacrifice? Can I make the decision for Francesca? Once, by voting to continue the mission, he had already decided her fate. And yes, I would have done the same for Jiaying if I were in Marchenko’s place. He looked at the unconscious pilot in her spacesuit and felt guilty because he would profit from this sacrifice. Would she accept the sacrifice? Probably not. However, Marchenko left her no choice.
Martin took a deep breath, lifted the pilot’s spacesuit and continued on his way.
After an hour, the commander spoke over the radio. “Marchenko is on his way.” She added the target coordinates. “Touchdown in 14 minutes.”
The target was a crevasse in the ice. According to radar it was eight meters deep. That was clever, as normally a SAFER and its passenger would simply bounce off the surface. The crevasse was supposed to prevent that and absorb the kinetic energy of the impact, which probably would have drastic consequences for the object touching down. On the other hand, it must not be too deep, so that Martin could reach the life-saving cargo. He hoped Marchenko had calculated everything correctly. To lose both him and the cargo will turn a heroic act into a useless sacrifice.