Lt. Commander Christian Anderson studied the radar display searching for orbital debris as the Edgar Rice Burroughs orbited Mars. The winged, pregnant dumbbell, called HERB by its crew and support staff, was comprised of three modules. Edgar's living and engine sections formed the heads of the dumbbell, connected by a long shaft, called the spine. The French-built Burroughs drilling platform and the Rice lander formed asymmetric twins hung from Edgar's spine, ready to be birthed in a few days time. The dumbbell's wings were recently deployed solar cells, used for aero braking and as a backup to HERB's controversial reactor.
With all orbital hazards mapped long ago, Anderson's task was nearly useless. Procedures dictated such activities and, thanks to Col. Thomas "Hardass" Hargrove's edict, HERB's crew followed all procedures to the letter.
Preaching regulations as ardent as any Bible-thumping reverend, Hardass demanded behavior of the book, by the book, and for the book. Before Anderson's last sleep cycle, Hardass called him to the engineering module for a reactor-side sermon. The scripture was from Regulations, Chapter 36, verses 1 through 45: Sexual Harassment. His sin: hitting on Dr. Zoe D'Arcy, the French mission specialist.
True, he'd once transgressed. A NASA Christmas party, a sexy red silk dress, a sprig of mistletoe, and a few shots of courage was a formula for a tabloid sensation seen around the world. To her credit, it was the most polite shoot down he'd ever experienced having, at least in his mind, the door open for something after they returned. That was the end of it, or so he thought.
The following week tabloids and yellow journals the world over sported their picture and stories of a torrid love affair. NASA, fearing their Western Alliance Mars mission had turned into a love cruise, floated rumors of his removal.
Zoe, a woman of beauty, brains, and a stubborn streak as wide as the Seine River, wielded her considerable influence with the European government. The government informed NASA it would be greatly displeased at his removal for such a "trivial matter."
Until now, the only fallout of the tabloid boondoggle was Hardass' occasional sermons on the evils of space sex and its affect on mission performance. Zoe and he worked well as a team. They alone were to descend to Mars and set up Burroughs, and Anderson contented himself with being the friend of a beautiful woman.
So what had Zoe said to set off Hardass? Believing the best way to handle problems is by frontal assault, Anderson planned his next encounter with the French physicist. Command school taught methods for resolving conflict. He rehearsed these, being the soul of reason, stressing teamwork and trust.
Dmitri Karmolov, physician, physiologist, and torturer, floated into the control cabin and interrupted his thoughts. The Russian, in his slow, thick accent said, "Zoe is in her last few minutes of aerobic exercise. You are expected for anaerobics in 20 minutes."
"Hey, Dmitri. Has Zoe mentioned anything about my behavior lately? Anything that would set Hardass off?"
The burly, fatalistic Russian viewed him as he would a biological specimen. "Who can know what will set Colonel Hargrove off? If there is one thing I have learned from my military career, it's that disciplinary actions are like lightning. Sometime you deserve them, sometime you don't. But they strike where they will, not where you will. If I had learned this lesson earlier and not complained as much then, maybe I would have advance beyond the rank of major."
Anderson could think of a great number of faults that kept Dmitri from going past the rank of major, but knowledge of the human body's response to low gravity and the conditioning needed to stop its ill effects wasn't one of them. He literally wrote the book on the subject.
The Russian bear tapped his watch. "Twenty minutes, Commander. I promise after this workout you won't worry about anything that might upset our beloved Colonel." Dmitri's answer to any problem was more weight and more reps.
Dr. Zoe D'Arcy entered the control room dressed in shorts and t-shirt, still sweating. The damp garments clung to her skin showing every curve of her athletic body. The delightful eyeful usually brought arousal despite Zoe's constant reminders Anderson was her "good friend." Today was different.
"Good morning, gentlemen." How Zoe remained cheerful after one of Dmitri's sessions was beyond comprehension. "Be careful, Commander. Dmitri's in a particularly evil mood today."
The Russian excused himself, "Yes, yes. I've got to reset the rack and thumbscrews before Christian arrives. I believe he has something to ask you, Zoe." With that, he left.
Damn the Russian.
Her smile faded. "Is something wrong, Commander?"
He looked into her dark, beautiful eyes. His speech, concerning teamwork and trust, vanished. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. A slight smile grew on her face.
"Thanks for sicking Hardass on me," so much for command school conflict resolution. She looked confused. "'Unwanted sexual advances' ring a bell?"
"Oh, that. Do not worry, mon ami. Colonel Hargrove overheard part of a conversation and misunderstood."
"Misunderstood, my ass. When have I ever acted inappropriately toward you?"
"Does the phrase 'hottest body to hit space in the Sun' ring a bell?" she said imitating his Texas drawl.
"Oh." Damn that tabloid reporter. "But that was six months ago. Back when I thought I.... You can't blame me for that!"
"I can blame you for a great deal," she said crossing her arms in mock outrage, which quickly softened back to her usual grin, "but unwanted advances are not one of them. That was all a mistake."
He refused to let that smile break his anger.
"Then you've got to let Hardass know it's a mistake. If he blue sheets me I can kiss my next promotion goodbye."
"I can't."
"For the love of Christ, why?"
"It's a secret."
"I'll never understand women. Never. Not in a million years."
"That is as it should be, Commander."
Looking satisfied, she brought up a terrain map showing probable locations of underground liquid carbon dioxide and water. "I think we should drill a bit to the North of our original site. The topology indicates a thinner crust there."
"This is my life you're screwing with, Zoe."
She abandoned her console and looked at him. "They would hurt you for this?"
"Oh they'll welcome me home, throw a parade, talk about how brave I am, but I'll never see space again and never reach full commander."
"You may never understand women, Christian, but I'll never understand America's sexual repression." She thought for a moment more, chewing her lip. "Ok. I promised I wouldn't tell but that was before I knew it would hurt your career." Schoolgirl excitement spread across her face. "Besides, some secrets are too good not to share."
A burst of static from the radio and a warning ping from the radar interrupted her explanation.
"What the hell?" He stared at the console not believing the contact streaking across the screen.
"What is it, Commander?"
"Something at 900,000 kilometers, closing fast at seventy-five thousand kilometers per second. That's one quarter the speed of light!" His hand went to the intercom, but the contact disappeared before he could call Col. Hargrove to the command cabin.
As he adjusted the radar settings, another contact appeared on the opposite side of the HERB with the same course, speed, and radar cross-section. It stayed for a few seconds then disappeared. The radio emitted a short burst of static as the blip appeared and disappeared.
Zoe leaned over to view the screen. "A glitch, no?"
"Maybe. Do me a favor, and check the diagnostic server. Cole has it running a full system diagnostic. If something's wrong it should show up there."
Anderson replayed the radar loop. Each contact lasted three seconds with a three second interval between appearances. The speaker emitted regular, static bursts, their volume fading, then gone.
"Nothing from the diagnostic server regarding the radar. Dmitri's rats are still misbehaving, however." Much to the crew's amusement, zero gee struck Major Karmolov's rodent experiment like Viagra; they copulated energetically and constantly. Even Hardass thought it was funny.
"Look at this, Commander. The scanners detected a broadband EM spike coincidental with the first radar contact. It appears every six seconds, in the first contact's direction, and every eighteen seconds in the second contact's direction. The distance between contacts is approximately 12 light seconds. I do not think the radar's malfunctioning. Something's out there."
"So what are you saying? Bug-eyed Martians are coming to pay us a visit because they're displeased with our drilling site? Traveling in teleporting ships at one quarter the speed of light?" Anderson asked.
One perfect eyebrow arched upward in challenge. "No, Commander. What I'm saying is that something traveling four times the speed of light, in a line that crosses over our ship, briefly slows down enough to be detected. And according to this," she said pointing at the reading, "they are arcing back toward us."
Anderson worked it through in his head. Impossible as it seemed, her theory accounted for the readings. He was still struggling to find another, more reasonable, answer when the radar registered an object emerging from the planet's shadow.
He and Zoe struck the bulkhead as HERB spun on its axis. Anderson, by fate or design, landed squarely on top of her. "Didn't Colonel Hargrove warn you against such advances, Commander," she said straight-faced but with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Anderson grimaced. Zoe often joked to defuse tense situations, just when he thought humor most out of place.
He saw Mars come into view from the same side of the craft he was pinned to. It had a green tint now. Years of sub-orbital fighter pilot experience screamed at the wrongness. He should be pinned against the wall opposite the spin.
"That's..." he said.
"...on the wrong side," she finished.
A ship, unlike any from Earth, came into view. It was an inverted flying wing with a forked tail section. Sunlight glinted off alien characters painted on its surface.
The source of Mars' green tint was a field extending from the alien ship that surrounded HERB. Their ship stopped spinning as the field disappeared. Freefall returned.
"They control gravity!" Zoe said and then drifted into French.
Lt. Col. Marsha Cole flew into the control room shouting profanities that would make a forty-year veteran sailor blush. Dmitri followed HERB's lanky engineer. Both were in a state of dishevel. Cole's colorful expletive describing the new ship came at the same time as Dmitri's "Bush Moi."
Colonel Hargrove flew into the control cabin spouting profanities, though not as artistically, or profusely, as Cole. His flat top hair was unruffled but his ever-present, unlit cigar was bent to the point of breaking.
"What the hell is going on Anderson? If you fired maneuvering thrusters without my authorization, I'll bust you back to E1 so fast you'll..." Hardass' voice trailed off as he saw the vessel. "What the hell is that?"
"Hell if I know, sir but we think it's capable of traveling faster than light."
Lt. Commander Christian Anderson knew the Marine Colonel had seen much in life. Raised on a small Kansas farm, getting an appointment to Annapolis, being a war hero, then becoming an astronaut, he was a small man's success story. His "by-the-book" style, while unimaginative, made him popular with his superiors.
To his credit, Hardass didn't stay stunned long. "Readings. I want readings from every scanner we have. Designate the unknown as contact Alpha.
"Anderson, get down to Rice and use the high-resolution terrain mapper to get a contour image. Cole, you and Dmitri analyze Alpha's design. Determine if it's inhabited and if so, by what. D'Arcy..."
"I'll use Burroughs spectrum analyzers to determine the ship's material composition."
"Very well. Let's get moving people. I'm on the radio to Earth."
Christian Anderson and Zoe D'Arcy flung themselves through pressure doors, down the spine, and into the Rice lander. Both strapped in. Working as a team, they brought systems from standby to full power. Hardass' image appeared on the communications console. "Mars is blocking Earth so I can't send a signal out. I've tried radioing that thing with a 'Hello' in every language Dmitri and I know. They haven't responded. How's the warm-up?"
"Almost finished, Colonel," Anderson replied.
In the image background, Anderson saw the burly Russian pat Marsha on the butt. People who are intimate have a certain comfort around each other's bodies. While Anderson was no empath, it was obvious something was going on between the crass American and the pessimistic Russian. The two exchanged knowing smiles.
He looked at Zoe. She saw the same thing. Finally he understood. She smiled at him. "That's your secret?"
"Oui, mon ami. Hargrove overheard a bit of conversation between Marsha and I. As you know, he can be most forceful, and you know his rules on fraternization. So to keep them out of trouble, I lied. I believe you call it 'Flying Cover.' Aren't they cute?"
"Freaking adorable." Seeing the indicators turn from yellow to green he keyed the comm channel open. "Warm up complete, sir. Ready to scan on your mark."
"Very well. Prepare for burn." Hargrove chewed the bent stogie with near manic ferocity.
Safety harnesses held them in place as HERB spun under its own power, pointing the underside of Rice and Burroughs at the alien craft.
Their field of view was limited to the Edgar's head and Burroughs. Zoe activated the spectrum analyzers and then pointed Rice's telescope toward the craft. As Anderson activated the radar, sending his scans to Dmitri and Cole, Zoe zoomed in.
"Exciting, no?" Zoe grinned like a child about to ride a roller coaster.
"More like freaking terrifying."
"Where's your sense of adventure?"
"Back at a nice safe space station in orbit around Earth." Anderson examined the contour scans. "Do you see those openings in front? Do those look like torpedo tubes to you?"
She shrugged.
A burst of light appeared behind the alien craft. Another ship, similar to Edgar in design, came into view. It had two hexagonal modules separated by a long boom. Six, evenly spaced, cylindrical pods ran the length of the boom.
"Two space ships, mon ami. They're trying to make first contact. We'll go down in history as the first humans to meet extraterrestrials."
"Are you getting this, Anderson? Another craft just appeared," Hargrove said.
"Yes, sir. We have it on our telescope, but my radar isn't showing it at all."
"Designate as contact Beta. Edgar's radar doesn't show anything either. Beta emitted an EM burst as it appeared."
"We picked up something similar before, sir. It's almost as if a rock traveling faster than light were skipping across the top of Einsteinian space. It causes an EM spike every time it slows below light speed."
Dmitri pointed to a monitor near Hardass. He reported his findings in his thick, Russian accent. "We've found possible hatches," he said pointing to a monitor with one hairy arm, "Assuming these are hatches, the beings are slightly taller and wider than humans. This appears to be an airlock."
"Good. Get on Beta," Hargrove ordered.
Cole pointed to Dmitri's monitor. "Hardass, Alpha has control surfaces, so it's designed for space and atmospheric travel," Cole said. Only she dared use Hargrove's nickname to his face. No one else tried. Cole took no shit and dished out plenty. Hargrove seemed to respect that. She floated toward the video pickup. "Hey, Princess. I'm picking up a bunch of signals back and forth between those craft. You think you can use one of those fancy French doctorates to take a look at them. They don't match any PRI or modulation pattern I've ever seen."
Zoe looked at the data streams on her console.
The Alpha rotated until it faced the newcomer. "If those are weapon ports.... Colonel, I think we should get out of here."
"Commander, I’m not blowing a first contact because you've got cold feet."
"Mon Dieu," Zoe shouted, "They're firing at each other!"
Beams, similar to the new Western Alliance charged particle weapons, flashed between the two ships--red from the Alpha, blue from the Beta. The blasts splashed short of their target as some invisible screen surrounding each ship flared in rainbow colors.
Alpha accelerated and was gone. Beta moved closer to HERB. In action too quick for any eye to follow, Alpha reappeared in a burst of light and strafed the newcomer. Beta sent a truncated beam under HERB. Something exploded nearby. Shrapnel bounced off Rice.
Zoe screamed. Anderson ached to do something but, stuck in Rice, he possessed limited options.
"Prepare for burn!" Hargrove said as he rotated HERB in the direction of orbit then ignited the much-protested nuclear engine.
Anderson watched in horror as a red beam beheaded Edgar just behind the command module near Rice. The rapidly vaporizing metal and escaping air flipped his crewmate's section end over end toward Mars.
A second beam struck behind Burroughs toward the drive section. A small explosion, luckily not the fuel cells, sent the engine and spine tumbling away from each other. Burroughs broke free, crashing through the solar wings leaving Rice the sole knot on a long stick.
Anderson ordered, "Emergency separation. Now!"
"They're dead." Zoe sat there, stunned.
"Zoe!"
"They're all dead. Don't you understand? They're all dead!"
"So are we if we don't get out of here. Start emergency separation and start it now. I've got to give us some cover."
She hesitated for a moment longer. Finally training overtook emotion. Anderson cut power to the radar and established a link to the Burroughs module. "Come on you oversized mosquito. Activate."
Burroughs responded. Anderson initiated its orbital descent program as Zoe detonated the docking ring, shooting Rice away from Edgar's remains. He adjusted his craft via attitude jet and brought Rice into a steep descent in front of Burroughs. Old instincts and reflexes from his career as a sub-orbital fighter pilot came into play. He used thrusters to set his velocity close to that of Burroughs.
A barrage of translight missiles appeared in a flash of light near Burroughs as its retro rockets fired. The drilling craft exploded shooting brightly glowing debris past Rice.
A large mass brushed them, spinning Rice slowly. Hoping the damage was minimal, he let the craft tumble uncontrolled, knowing emissions, whether engine or electronic, would aid the alien craft in targeting them. Sporadic beams flashed past Rice but none struck.
Anderson wished for his old Shrike fighter as he ignited the main engine. Rice spun awkwardly as he oriented the large landing thrusters to get them behind Phobos. He held his breath until several million tons of rock floated between he and the alien ships.
"You did it," Zoe shouted.
"I haven't done jack. Wait until we're down. Then you can thank me."
"Why land?"
"Because it’s the only thing this piece of shit is good for. For now we land, wait for the fighting to stop then get a signal to Earth."
"Then we die."
"Hey, we've got two weeks of air. A lot can happen in two weeks."
He wondered why he preferred the slow death on Mars to the quick death that seemed imminent in space. In the end it didn't matter. Dead was dead. Maybe part of him wanted to finally reach his goal of stepping on the red soil. Maybe he just wanted something to do before death, wrapped in a bright red beam, sliced through Rice like butter.
He fired the landing engine to drop the craft toward Mars. Minutes passed. Anderson realized he would soon pass under the futuristic battlefield.
He spared a look toward his crewmate. Her face was a mixture of sorrow and fear. Tears would come soon.
"We'll deploy the drag chute in two minutes. Let's see if they're still fighting."
"Will they shoot at us again?" Zoe asked.
"Only if we look like anything other than a piece of debris spiraling in. I wouldn't worry if I were you. More than likely they're too busy with each other to worry much about us." He knew God damn good and well they should worry but he thought it best to give Zoe something to hold on to.
He rotated the craft to give them a view of the stars. They saw nothing.
"Zoe, find us a landing site on the other side of the planet.
"Oui." He had never known her to appear so frail. The woman who stubbornly set her oar against the rapids of life was now adrift.
He remembered well seeing his wingman's Shrike explode on his first combat mission, the paralyzing fear and knowing he was next. All you had to do is survive one more minute. In times like that anger made a good oar.
"Zoe, I need you mad. Hate the bastards that did this. Do whatever it takes to get through. Keep thinking, 'Today we live. Tomorrow they die.'"
His words sunk in. While she didn't look angry, she didn't look helpless. "There is a relatively flat area we can make near Burroughs' original landing sight. I'll try to patch into the global mapping satellite. If it's still there, maybe we can get a signal to Earth without danger."
Anderson overrode the computers preprogrammed landing sequence. He judged the distance to the landing site and their rate of descent. The thrusters fired again to bleed away their velocity. Shortly, Rice dragged against the thin Martian atmosphere. "Drogue chute deploy in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1-now!"
With a bang the chute deployed. Deceleration pressed them into their seats as the thin fabric bit into the atmosphere. As he had hundreds of times in the simulator, Anderson continued landing procedures. "Disengaging drogue chute." Another explosive charge released Rice, and they were in free fall again.
"Engaging thrusters," Anderson continued. With a loud roar the landing thrusters burst to life pinning them to their seats. An anvil of weight fell on his chest. After a ten count it lightened enough for him to breathe again.
"We'll overshoot the original landing site," she said. "I'm activating the terrain mapper to look for another."
The mapper would send a flood of emissions to the aliens yelling "shoot here" but Anderson decided if the engine didn't give them away nothing would.
An image appeared on the center monitor. "Here. This is a wide, flat plane on our current course. It should do."
Alarms began buzzing. "Oh shit. We're losing fuel, Zoe. We've either got a tank rupture or a line break."
Anderson ran through the line pressure readings to localize the break. Just before he began diverting fuel down an alternate pathway something in the fuel system exploded. Rice tumbled wildly toward the surface. "We're going down hard."
The French scientist closed her eyes. Anderson wished he could do the same. He adjusted the craft to go in butt first, their best chance at survival.
He'd faced Death before. Learned to stare the Grim Reaper in the hood and laugh as he ducked past his skeletal grasp. There was no way out of this one however. The bastard was going to win.
For some reason his mind flashed to an old movie made in the late twentieth century. A red pinto station wagon with two Illinois Nazis fell from a bridge for an impossibly long time. He looked at Zoe and said, "I've always loved you." He thought it a very Zoe-like joke.
She didn't get it. "You have the worst romantic timing possible, mon cher." She grabbed his hand and squeezed.
They fell toward their fate and the red planet.
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