Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) (77 page)

Thursday, March 24,
2016 (T plus 33 hours, 10 minutes)

Abby fumbled around beneath the
toilet, grunting and groaning. “Shit! I can’t get this damn locking ring on.”

Jeff twisted to see what she was
doing. “Um, you’re turning it the wrong way.”

“Huh?”

“It’s Russian, Abby, it’s reverse
threaded.”

“Ah, crap, forgot about that.”

Jeff felt something tickle the back
of his neck. He glanced around and found Gabe’s ponytail reaching out as though
it meant to strangle him. The rest of her appeared sound asleep. He smiled and
gave her a gentle shove toward the other end of the Sundancer.

Abby sat up. “Okay, got it.” She
glanced at Gabe and frowned. “Lucky her. You ought to grab that ponytail and
take a half-hitch on the truss with it before she collides with Sue.”

He chuckled. “Eh, leave ‘em be.
They need the rest.”

“They’re not the only ones.”

“Yeah, that’s a fact. Come on,
let’s get the last set of wall panels in place, then maybe we can join them.”

“That’d be nice.”

The ‘bathroom’ was a 5-foot-long,
3-foot-wide, 7-foot-tall, self-contained modular unit consisting of shower,
sink and toilet, the base of which was rigidly affixed to one side of the truss
and the upper end free-floating near the Sundancer’s interior wall. Once
assembled, the unit was both water and airtight, and sat in the utility room at
the rear end of the Sundancer, to which the CSM was now docked. The toilet was
of Russian design and virtually identical to those used on the International
Space Station. The remainder was of their own design, loosely derived from
modular bathrooms utilized in motorhomes and travel trailers. A forced airflow
was created by fans in the ceiling blowing air in, while suction fans in the
drain lines of the toilet, sink and floor, drew water and waste material out.
All liquid waste was passed through the Potable Water Processor, while solid
waste was burned in a methane-fueled incinerator – methane being available from
the Sabatier reactor – releasing the water for recovery. The remaining ash –
mostly carbon residue – would be periodically collected and stored, eventually
to be jettisoned with the rest of the non-recyclable trash.

The Sundancer’s interior walls
consisted of tongue-and-groove, ultra-lightweight, half-inch thick, aluminum
honeycomb panels within acoustic-dampening thin fiberboard sheaths. The panels
were rigidly attached to the truss on one end, and free-floated in notched
slips glued to the Sundancer’s interior walls; thus allowing the habitat’s hull
to contract and expand under solar heating and cooling without damaging the
wall panels. Access to the eventual seven compartments – utility room, commons,
four bedrooms, and storeroom – was through the truss.

The panels required to outfit the
interior all had to fit within the truss for launch. There were 74 of them, all
individually pre-fitted and marked with orientation – fore, aft, side, and
location – with corresponding markings on the truss. It was an Erector Set, but
a fairly simple one.

“Okay, Abby, bundle #4, panels 19
through 24.”

One at a time, Abby fed Jeff wall
panels that he slipped into the outer notch, slid across the truss to align
with attachment points, mated with the adjoining panel, and torqued the bolts,
pre-loaded in grommets. The penultimate panel had no tongue, and the last had
neither tongue nor groove, and were affixed to the adjoining panels with four
aluminum strips that ran the length of the joints, and were bolted together
through the panels.

Jeff sighed. “Well, that part’s
done.”

Abby glanced around. “Hey, we built
a wall.”

“Yeah, and a bathroom.”

She hung her head and rubbed her
forehead.

“You okay?”

“Just tired.”

“Yeah.” Jeff pulled her to him and
wrapped his arms around her. “Why don’t you try and get some sleep.”

Abby leaned her head on his
shoulder. “Uh huh.”

Less than a minute later Jeff felt
her body go limp in his arms. He smiled, closed his eyes, rubbed his cheek
against her head, and whispered, “’Bout time.” They were 294,000 miles from
Earth and cruising toward Mars at two and a half miles per second. But for the
moment that just wasn’t very interesting, and Jeff fell asleep.

 #

FLIGHT, “
Ares
, Newport.”

Jeff rubbed his eyes and keyed his
mic. “Yeah, uh, roger Newport, go ahead.”

FLIGHT, “ Good morning. How are all
of you feeling today?”

He laughed. “Well, now that we have
a functional bathroom, and about 15 hours of sleep under our belts, I think we
all feel a heck of a lot better than we did yesterday.”

FLIGHT, “Uh, roger, that’s great
news. At 49 hours, 55 minutes, we have you at 13,551 feet per second, 448,664
miles from Earth, and right on course.”

“Uh, roger, Newport. We took a peek
in the rearview mirror a little while ago. It’s comforting to see y’all still
back there. You look to be about twice the moon’s diameter as seen from Earth,
but you’re sure shrinking fast. And of course we’re viewing the night side with
just a hint of the morning terminator, so there’s not much to see. Anyway,
we’re looking forward to a busy day and, uh, hopefully getting into a bit more
of a routine. A good long rest was very helpful.”

FLIGHT, “Roger, that. We’ve been
looking at your rotational wobble and it doesn’t appear to be increasing. We
concur with your assessment from yesterday to let it be, for now.”

“Yeah. Um, we looked at that just a
little while ago and agree. We’re gonna spend most of the day working on the
Sundancer’s interior. I think we’ll all be a lot happier once we get that job
done. But, uh, we’ll be right here so, if you need us, you know where to find
us.” He heard Chrissie chuckle.

FLIGHT, “Uh, roger that. Per the
flight plan, the MCC is now in a three-section watch with only the primary
consoles manned. Also, CAPCOM has passed to FLIGHT.”

“Yeah, roger. Hope everyone there
is also getting some rest. Okay, Chrissie, you get some rest too. And if we
need anything, we’ll be sure and give you a holler.”

FLIGHT, “Roger,
Ares
.
Newport out.”

Saturday, March 26,
2016 (T plus 3 days, 16 hours)

Jeff panted as he pedaled the bike
while breathing pure oxygen from a mask.

“Come on, Jeff,” said Susan, “pedal
faster.”

“Do I look like Lance Armstrong?”

“No, not really. Just shut up and
pedal faster. We don’t have a recompression chamber and you don’t want the
bends.”

“Nag, nag, nag.”

Abby, also wearing an O
₂
mask, shook her head. “Jesus, Gabe’s stuffed bear can pedal faster than that.”

Jeff grumbled, “Shut up. How much
longer?”

“Five minutes,” said Susan. “But if
you don’t pick it up, I’ll make it ten. I’ve got nothing better to do than sit
here and watch you suffer.”

“Gee, thanks.” He grunted and
picked up the pace.

Five minutes later Susan patted
Jeff’s hand. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Jeff stopped pedaling and leaned
over the handlebars, panting hard. “Oh, thank god.”

“I thought I had you in shape.”

“I am in shape.”

“Really? Abby barely broke a sweat
doing that.”

“Abby’s a lot younger than I am.”

“Whiner. Okay you two, into the
airlock.”

Jeff glanced at Abby. “That has a
rather ominous sound to it, don’t you think?”

Abby grinned. “Eh, she’s not gonna
kill you, you’re the only man for a million miles around… literally.”

Susan smiled and shook her head.
“Just get in. Let’s not take all day, I’ve got other things to do.”

Jeff motioned toward the airlock.
“Ladies first.”

Abby chuckled. “Whatever gives you
the idea that I’m a lady?”

“Beats me.”

“Me too. I’m a fighter jock,
there’s a difference.”

Jeff grinned. “Alright then,
fighter jock, get your ass in the damn airlock.”

“That’s more like it.” Abby twisted
around, dropped into the truss, and crawled into the airlock while Susan fed
her oxygen line in behind her.

Jeff followed behind and, once
inside, closed the hatch. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”

“Yeah.”

Susan peeked through the window as
her voice came over the intercom. “Okay, commencing nitrogen purge. 50 minutes
and you’ll be on pure O
₂
, then you can remove your masks and
suit-up. I’ll be back.”

Jeff gave her a thumb-up.

Between their I-suits, the high
gain antenna array, the telescope, an assortment of tools, and themselves, the
airlock was cramped, at best.

Jeff squeezed in beside Abby
against the aft hatch. “Guess we should have brought a deck of cards.” He could
see her smile behind the air mask.

“I can think of something else to
do. 50 minutes is plenty of time.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, um, maybe
later.”

Abby shook her head. “There’s no
maybe about it. Regardless of what else happens on this trip, I don’t want to
go home without having made love with you in space. That’s an experience – and
a memory – that I want.”

Jeff leaned his head back against
the hatch and nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at her. “A story to tell the
grandchildren while bouncing them on your knee?”

She laughed.
“Uh, probably not.”
Abby twisted a little sideways.
“Ah, that’s better. Why couldn’t we have used the Mark III suits, and skipped
the pre-breathe?”

“Cause we’re
not gonna have them with us on the way back, because they’ve been on the
surface, and’ll be jettisoned with the MAV. So we may as well get used to doing
this.”

“Hell of a waste of $60 million worth of perfectly good
suits.”

“Well, they’re liable to be a bit worn by the time we’re
done with them.”

“Still…”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. But that’s just the tip of the
iceberg. Besides photos and data, all we’re bringing back is rocks and the CM,
which will belong to NASA. I mean, for $3 billion we won’t even have any
t-shirts.”

“Uh huh. But we will be able to say we were there.”

“Yep. That should count for something.”

She nodded.

They sat silently for a while, then
Jeff sighed, “It sure is quiet in here.”

“Yeah. In the Sundancer at least
you hear the hum of the ventilation fans. But this is like a tomb.”

“I wish you wouldn’t use that
word.”

She chuckled. “Sorry.”

“When I lived in Long Beach I never
imagined any place could be so quiet.”

Abby nodded.

“Must have been a little quieter up
on the hill?”

“I don’t know. It got so crowded up
there, there was constant traffic noise.”

“Where’d you live?”

“You familiar with Palos Verdes?”

“Some.”

“Eastfield Drive.”

“Behind the gates?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, high rent district.”

“Yeah. It was nice.”

“Your grandfather didn’t make that
kind of money in the Navy.”

“No. Grandma came from old money.
She inherited a lot.”

Jeff nodded. “Is she still alive?”

“Yeah, she’s 77. Still lives up
there.”

“Alone?”

“She has three cats.”

He chuckled. “I’m not sure they count.”

“She thinks they do.”

“Yeah, I suppose. So, what does she
think about all this?”

“She thinks I’m crazy.” Abby
chuckled and shook her head. “But she’s always thought I was crazy.”

“Why’s that?”

“Eh, grandma’s really prim and
proper; Victorian-like, almost to a fault. She tolerated grandpa because he was
a dashing Naval officer.”

Jeff grinned. “Aren’t we all?”

“Yeah, but grandma didn’t think
dashing Naval officer was a suitable occupation for a girl. She always leaned
toward debutant, cotillion balls, some fancy private girl’s college, and
marriage into a wealthy family. Unfortunately mom was a great disappointment,
failing dismally in that arena. Course, growing up in Southern California in
the ‘60s and ‘70s, that was probably inevitable. So, grandma had higher hopes
for me, but grandpa had other plans.”

“I dunno, that doesn’t sound too
bad. Maybe your grandmother had a point.”

Abby shook her head. “Boring.”

“I seem to recall you mentioning an
uncle.”

“Uh huh, mom’s older brother, Eric,
but he left right after high school. He went to Texas A&M on an Army ROTC
scholarship. After college he got his commission, went Armored, did his twenty,
retired as a light bird, and lives on a small ranch in Wyoming. Hardly ever
hear from him.”

“Does he have a family?”

“Yeah. Got married when he was in
the Army. He’s got two daughters, my cousins, but they’re a lot younger than
me; like 26 and 24, I think. I’ve only met ‘em once, about eight or nine years
ago. I thought they’d come to grandpa’s funeral, but they didn’t.” She
shrugged. “Neither did uncle Eric.”

“Huh. Why?”

“I dunno. He’s kind of standoffish.
He keeps his family real close, but doesn’t socialize much with anyone else. He
was with the 1
^st
Cav in the Gulf in ’91. Mom says he changed a lot
after that; she thinks he saw some stuff and has PTSD. He retired the year
after 9/11 when it looked like we were gonna get busy in Iraq and Afghanistan.
He wanted no part of it. I guess it’s a lot different being on the ground than
in the air.”

Jeff sighed, “Yeah.”

“Well, I saw plenty of gun-camera
footage, including mine. You could see hostiles on the ground before the bombs
detonated, and none afterwards. You couldn’t see the whites of their eyes, but
what happened to them was pretty obvious.”

Forty minutes later Susan tapped on
the window. “Okay, you’re on pure O
₂
, you can remove the masks and
suit-up.”