Footprints in Red

By Doug Turnbull

The Mars Corporation is establishing a permanent colony on Mars. Hector Rodriguez along with Helen Meers are tasked with constructing the human habitats and support facilities from Earth-using robots. Mars colony will be up and running before Hector and forty-nine other intrepid pioneers arrive at their new home. And home it will be: because this is a one-way trip!

Rocky and Augie passed their Scout First Aid class, but their skills are put to the test when a medical emergency arises during an overnight campout in a Martian cave.

Aviation pioneer Titus Andronicus Scott perished in 1956 when an experimental aircraft he was flying crashed into the Pacific Ocean. Or did he? Neither Scott nor his aircraft were ever found. Learn the story behind the story in this biographical mystery.

Who is that woman in the back seat of the Mars rover and why is she clutching a metal cylinder so tightly? Join four Mars colonists as they travel across the vast Martian desert on a mysterious mission.

Elderly shipping tycoon Andrew Smithers recalls his long life as a Mars colonist while exploring a cavern he visited as a young man. See what the next century of life on Mars could be like through the eyes of one who lived it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doug Turnbull
• Release date: Aug 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476303642

Doug Turnbull

Doug Turnbull is the author of several science fiction books including Zachary Dixon: Officer Apprentice, Footprints in Red, Jupiter IV, The Future Revisited, and The Man Who Conquered Mars, as well as numerous short stories and novellas. In addition he hosted Mars Pirate Radio, weekly podcasts on the subjects of science, science fiction and the future. The podcasts include scores of interviews (135) with scientists, astronauts, as well as SF writers on the subject of space exploration and related topics and during its three year run had over 19,500 listeners, and are still available for listening. Turnbull also co-authored We Are the Martians a non-fiction book about the future settlement of Mars. He is an occasional contributor of non-fiction articles about space flight to Space.com, Astronomie Quebec, and other online publications. Most recently Turnbull was coauthor of a paper published by the Royal Astronomical Society Journal of Astronomy and Geophysics, entitled The Natural Evolution of Mars Soil for the Support of Plant Growth. He has been a guest of Alan Boyle on NBC News, at the University of Hawaii Astronomy Department, and at The Mars Society speaking on space science subjects. In 2013, his short story Tenderfoot won The Mars Society-Bulgaria’s Editor’s Choice award for short science fiction. Turnbull is single and resides in Frankfort, Kentucky, USA.

Book preview

Pathfinder: Mission to Mars

Helen, let me introduce Hector Rodriguez. As we discussed at the last staff meeting, Hector will be working with you for the next few months as a part of his training for the Pathfinder Mission. The speaker was Harold Tillman, the vice president in charge of site construction, and her boss.

The three of them stood near one side of a rectangular room about sixty feet wide and ninety feet long. All of the ceiling beams and ductworks were in plain view, and the structure could have been a warehouse as easily as what it was: the control room for a remote construction site. The space was devoid of any non-functional furniture, decoration, or other accoutrements. On one wall were multiple LED screens projecting images of several portions of the worksite: one displayed a panoramic view of the entire site, while another showed a diagram of the whole structure, with finished sections, sections under construction, and planned sections depicted in different colors. A large electronic sign was perched above the displays with the words SCHIAPARELLI STATION glowing in block letters. Judging by the desolate terrain, the construction site could have been almost anywhere in the desert near Tucson, Arizona, where this building stood.

A dozen workstations were arrayed in a semicircle facing the large screens, each with a seated technician in front of multiple smaller screens that depicted various portions of the worksite in more detail than the large screens on the wall. Each person in the room wore a patch on the right short sleeve of his or her shirt: a red circle, almost three inches wide, with the white letters MC across the center.

As was nearly always the case, or so it seemed to Dr. Helen Meers, the boss showed up just as she was in the middle of dealing with a crisis. Any other time, she would have been pleased to meet the new man, but she was busy. Talus II, one of the excavation robos digging the trenches that would contain Schiaparelli Station’s second phase habitats, was malfunctioning, and she had to develop a plan to fix the problem.

Great, she thought, just what I need: another ball to juggle.

Good to finally meet you, Hector, she said aloud, forcing a smile and offering her hand, which he shook briefly.

Pleased to meet you too, ma’am, Hector responded.

Please excuse me for a moment. As she spoke, she walked to a nearby workstation occupied by a dark-haired young woman who stared intently at a monitor displaying an image of a Bobcat-like machine methodically digging at the bottom of a trench. The monitor was one of several at this station, each depicting the same scene from a different angle, including the perspective of the aberrant robo. Take over for a bit please, Pouja, Helen said to the young woman, then added quietly: The boss is here and I have to play diplomat.

I have it, Helen. No sweat, no strain, Pouja answered, her dark eyes and bright smile reflecting complete confidence. Hey, if you need any help, she said, casting an appraising glance at Hector, let me know. She winked.

Was I ever that sure of myself? Helen thought as she turned back to the men.

I leave you in good hands, Hector, Tillman said when Helen reached them. I have to get to another meeting, he said to Helen, then walked to the door and out of the control room.

1900. Probably meeting with a scotch and soda, Helen thought darkly as she glanced at her watch.

As if he could read her mind, Hector remarked: When I was at Pendleton, things would just be cranking up at the officers’ club right about now. He smiled at her.

His smile melted the frost from her mood. Well, let me show you around so you can get an idea of what we’re doing.

Listen, Dr. Meers, he interjected. I don’t have to be prescient to see that you folks are up to your ears in alligators here, and you need me like you need another one. Why don’t I just watch how you handle whatever you all are dealing with, and you can give me the grand tour whenever the water’s smooth again?

Okay! Follow me then. Helen’s relief showed in her smile as she regarded the man standing before her. At just under six feet tall, Hector appeared well set up to Helen, athletic, trim, and fit. Despite his apparent youth, a few streaks of gray showed in his military-cut, jet-black hair. Black eyes and a dark complexion confirmed in Helen’s mind the Latin origin implied by his last name, while his rakish features reminded her of Cary Grant as he looked in the 1930s.

Maybe this will be okay after all, she thought, smiling more broadly.

Hector returned her smile and proceeded to follow Helen around like a shadow. Helen noticed that he only asked questions if an explanation was offered. At first she mistook this for a lack of initiative but soon realized that he was quiet so as not to disturb her workflow.

This is the parts and equipment warehouse, Helen said, pointing to a monitor as they visited the next workstation.

If I remember my briefing, Hector said, some of the other sub-projects are the water well, the nuclear power plant, the solar array, the rover construction shop, the robo servicing shop, the physical plant, the hydroponic garden, communication and electronics, the inside finishing work, crew quarters construction, and finally, overall site supervision and logistics.

You remember quite well, Helen observed.

She visited each of the twelve monitor stations that controlled the robos working on the construction site and ended the circuit back at the phase two habitat construction site being supervised by Pouja, and where Talus II was supposed to have stopped digging over an hour ago. Instead, it continued to scoop regolith and deposit it on a spoils pile next to the pit.

Well, what’s the score now, Pouja? Helen asked. Hi, Jimmy! she said to the slightly built young man standing next to Pouja. Hector Rodriguez, this is Jim Liu, aka Jimmy, sharpest IT man on two planets, and Pouja Kumar, one of our top equipment operators. Hector will be with us for a few months to learn how we do things, so he can do them when he gets to Mars. Helen was pleased but not surprised that Pouja had called Jimmy in during her absence.

Howdy, Jimmy, Pouja! Good to meet you. Hector offered his hand and received each of theirs in turn, then stood back and listened.

Jimmy thinks it’s the feedback loop problem we’ve had before, Pouja said to the group, but you can tell it better than I, Jimmy.

We checked the records, and this is the first time since the last solar flare that Talus II has run this particular program suite. I think something got damaged during the storm and is just now showing up. For whatever reason, the program sequence is restarting itself over and over again. I suggest we shut it down, run the remote diagnostic, and see what it says.

How long, Jimmy? We are behind schedule now, Helen asked, annoyed at the bad luck of it all. We never seem to be able to keep all three of these machines running at the same time.

"Maybe two hours to do the diagnostic. If it is a hardware problem, we’ll have to put it in safe mode and take it to the shop."

Sounds like we’re through for the day, then, Helen said, resignation in her voice.

Good chance of it, boss, Jimmy responded. "I’ll know by 2100 hours one way or the other.

Are the other big boys doing okay, Pouja? Helen asked.

Talus III is doing fine at the other end of the trench, and Talus I is in the shop for routine maintenance, but should be ready to go tomorrow.

Good job and thanks, Pouja. Helen turned and started to walk away from the workstation; then suddenly she whirled around again.

Hey, Jimmy!

Yeah, boss?

Make sure Mayfield Robotics is in the loop on everything about this problem. It’s looking like we may have a design issue here.

Check!

Mayfield built most of the robos that are working at the site, didn’t they? Hector asked as they moved on to the next workstation.

That’s right, Helen answered. The similarities between remote work at the well-head of a deep water rig and what we are doing were too obvious to ignore. Why reinvent something that already exists?

And Mayfield is the best of the best, so they got the contract, Hector offered.

Actually, it was harder than that. In the end, it was really politics. Bill, I mean Mayfield Robotics, she quickly corrected herself, got the deal because their skillful handling of a North Sea oil spill a few years back gave them credibility with the European Space Agency. That led to a contract to build the ESA station in Clavius Crater. Mayfield used their Lunar experience as a selling point to get ESA support for the Schiaparelli contract. Also, Mayfield is based in Texas, which gave them NASA backing. Those solid votes on the Mars Corporation Board were enough to swing the others who were either backing one of their own local outfits or were uncommitted.

Kind of hard to get away from politics, even in a non-governmental organization like Mars Corporation, isn’t it? he asked rhetorically. If I remember my homework correctly, the Talus robos are the biggest and are used for digging and hauling around heavy stuff.

That’s right, Helen affirmed. The Rex series robos are the next largest and are used for assembling structures such as the greenhouse and the habitats.

I assume the Robby series got its name from an old movie, he interjected. Those are the troubleshooters and are used for repair work on the other robos. They are the most versatile of all the robos. Your turn, he said with a smile.

Okay. The Futura series are the housekeeping robos. When he started laughing at that one, she laughed as well.

Who came up with these names? Hector asked. I mean, the only robot with a feminine name gets to do the housework. Didn’t someone in the political correctness department squawk?

Bill Mayfield named them after robots in mythology and science fiction, and as I am sure you’ve guessed, he has an irreverent sense of humor, Helen responded, shaking her head. I guarantee that Futura got her name and job by design.

I have to meet this guy.

You will. I’ll introduce you to him the next time he is in town.

Well, I’ll finish, he said. The Huey, Dewey, and Louie models all run on rails and are routine maintenance robos for specific areas, such as the greenhouse, the solar array, the water well, the nuclear power plant, and so forth.

You did your homework well. If I had a gold star, I’d give you one. She gave him the thumbs-up sign instead.

As they talked, Helen moved from workstation to workstation, asking the technicians how things were going. All was well except at the worksite with the malfunctioning Talus robo.

We have been shipping tons of building material and equipment to Mars for the last eight years, Hector stated. How do you guys keep it all straight?

Everything is barcoded, Helen answered.

So, Hector responded, every piece of cargo that has been shipped to Mars, no matter how small or how many identical pieces there are, has a unique barcode on it? Like items in the supermarket?

That’s correct. Everything has someplace it is supposed to be, whether it is a wall panel or the screw that helps hold that panel or maybe just a spare part in a bin. That information is all in the master database. The barcodes allow the robos to identify the items they are handling so we can tell them what to do with them.

The programming must be incredibly complex.

It is. We have people like Jimmy and my worksite techs, who are just brilliant. They keep it all straight and running smoothly. Many of them, like Pouja, were video gamers and game designers before we hired them. She laughed. I think they do this because for them, working for Mars Corporation is even cooler than designing video games. Money seems to mean little or nothing to them. It’s all about the challenge.

******

The rest of the shift passed like a blur for Hector. He marveled at the energy Helen brought to her work and how that energy transferred to her subordinates. He could see that they were all high achievers and they truly wanted to excel, but a portion of that desire for excellence was also a desire to please Helen. Having seen it in a few—too few—commanders in the field during his service in the Marine Corps, he recognized this as a leadership quality. It was rare, and when they went to coffee in the diner located just down the street from the Mars Corporation compound after the shift at 0300, he asked her about it.

You really fire those people up. Where did you learn how to do that?

I’m not sure I understand the question. These are top-shelf people. I picked most of them myself. They all believe in this as much as I do, as much as we all do. She gestured to include him. It isn’t anything I do other than directing the activity. They are all self-starters.

But you keep them performing at an amazing level of intensity, he reasserted. You should be in charge of this whole project, not just the control room.

Harold’s in charge of the construction project, and I’m glad he is. Most of what he does is the kind of stuff I hate, she answered, distaste showing in her expression.

I can hear that, he said. I’m sure Tillman has to do a lot of glad-handing, but I bet he’s good at it. They both laughed. You were an astronaut and have been to the ISS a couple of times. You also know more about Schiaparelli Station than anyone. Why didn’t you put in for the mission? Family ties? he guessed.

Yes, personal reasons. Her closed expression indicated that she didn’t want to discuss it any further.

Just then, the waitress brought their coffee. Ready to order? she asked.

Hector looked at Helen, eyebrows raised. She nodded in the affirmative. Yes, please, he answered.

After they ordered their breakfast, they were silent for a minute, and Hector took a good look at the woman who had been showing him around the control center: her control center. Helen Meers was slim and athletic, of average height. He knew from her bio that she was thirty-four years old. She had chin-length black hair that framed her face, curling inward slightly at the bottom, with bangs that covered the top half of her high forehead. Her wide-set brown eyes and aquiline nose complemented a broad smile that was infectious when she chose to use it. Lightly applied makeup accented the fine features of her face. Being photogenic, she had been pursued by reporters during her astronaut years, and Hector remembered seeing her interviewed on television. He had been impressed then and was even more so now that he had met her in person.

You will be in charge of finishing what we have started on the phase two construction when you get to Mars, she said. Twenty-six months after you arrive, fifty more colonists will show up at your doorstep, and they will expect to have warm beds and hot meals ready for them.

That’s right, he answered. We have been training in the mock-up of Schiaparelli over in Bisbee to get a feel for it. Everyone needs to know each nook and cranny of the place. There are fewer of us than they had at the Plymouth Colony, but I think we are better prepared. I hope so, anyway.

Well, almost everything in phase one is finished and being tested now. The greenhouse is up, and the hydroponic garden already has plants growing and producing oxygen. The output of the water well increases every day as the size of the warm water injection zone increases. It now makes over a hundred gallons per day, which with a ninety-five percent recycling rate means there will be abundant water.

You have done a marvelous job, Helen. Hector interrupted what he felt was going to be an extended monologue.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to brag. She looked down shyly, almost girlishly.

Hector found the gesture vaguely familiar and very endearing. Don’t be sorry, he said. You have a right to brag. We will be the best-prepared colony in history. This isn’t going to be Roanoke; it will be Plymouth, only without the hardships: a going concern.

I’m sure it will be, she answered. Here’s breakfast, and this girl is ready!

As they ate, Hector continued to talk about the robo construction site. You know it will be a whole lot easier for me to direct the excavation and construction onsite. I am amazed at how well you have dealt with the time delay and having to preprogram everything.

Thanks, Hector. Right now, with eleven months to go to the launch window, Mars is about two hundred and fifteen degrees ahead of us in its orbit. That means we are nineteen light minutes away.

That’s thirty-eight minutes from the time you send a command until you can see what happened, Hector interrupted. It also means that right now, noon at Schiaparelli in Nicholson Crater is 9:00 PM here in Tucson.

This isn’t a nine-to-five job, that’s for sure, Helen said with a laugh.

Unless you mean 9:00 PM to 5:00 AM! he responded.

******

Bill Mayfield sat opposite Hector at their table in the Pima Steakhouse. Helen sat on one side of the table, between them. Bill stood a little over six feet tall and was slim but not skinny, weighing one hundred eighty pounds. His gray hair was streaked with its original brown and, while thinning, was still sufficient to cover his head. Despite the fact that it was winter, his face had the tanned and weathered look of an outdoorsman. Slate gray eyes danced in apparent amusement above a prominent Roman nose that had clearly been broken. His smile had a wry appearance, turning down on one side and up on the other.

Hector knew a little about Bill, but only what was common knowledge. He was wealthy, having made a fortune building a robotics company that manufactured the robots used to service undersea oil drilling rigs. A potentially disastrous oil spill in the North Sea that was quickly contained by robots developed by his company moved Bill Mayfield into the public eye and his small firm into the first tier of well servicers.

Mayfield Robotics was the chief robotics contractor for Mars Colony. According to the profile Hector read earlier that day, Bill was sixty-four years old, single, and a self-made billionaire from a humble background: his father an autoworker, his mother a schoolteacher. According to the article, he had never married but was reported to have had romantic relationships with several ladies, including a well-known British actress and a Brazilian nightclub singer of some prominence. The most recent and ongoing relationship listed was with a retired astronaut: Dr. Helen Meers, PhD.

So, Hector, in less than a year, you and forty-nine other pioneers are headed for the Red Planet—to stay, Bill said, looking across the table at Hector.

That’s it. Eleven months till the launch window, then we’re off.

Envy is a base emotion, but I have to admit that I envy you this adventure, Bill said, his eyes shining with excitement.

I was tremendously lucky to have the opportunity, Hector responded with genuine modesty.

Well, it is a great endeavor and I am happy to be a part of it myself, Bill said as the waitress appeared to take their drink order. Helen ordered a vodka Collins, while Bill and Hector each ordered bottles of beer.

You guys will have to excuse me for minute, Helen said, rising after the waitress took their orders. Be back soon.

Now that it is just the two of us for a bit, maybe we can level with each other. The appearance of amusement left Bill’s eyes, which turned hard and unforgiving. I’ve had you checked out, and on paper you look like a stand-up guy. You went into the Marines at seventeen, were wounded in combat, went to college, then OCS, and then served again in the last war, finishing up as a brevet captain and company commander. You were married and widowed when your wife died in an accident. You have no children. You got onto the Pathfinder Mission based on high entrance exam scores and personal recommendations from Wesley Caldwell and Rodney Wiseman. You have degrees in both mechanical and civil engineering, which is just perfect for what you’ll be doing at Schiaparelli. Right so far, Captain Rodriguez?

Close enough, but Hector will be fine. My warrior days are past.

Pretty amazing résumé for a thirty-one-year-old guy, I must say. Bill looked at him intently. I can see why Wes and Rod wanted you on their team.

Thanks.

Okay, Hector, let me get right to it. Bill lowered his head and looked straight into Hector’s eyes. What are your intentions toward Helen? Are you looking to put an astronaut on your scorecard? He raised an eyebrow.

Hector felt his anger rising at the sheer audacity of the man confronting him like this. Just as he was about to push the smite button, he realized that the question may have a benign purpose and reined in his emotion: "To the extent that it is any of your business, sir, my intentions are honorable. May I