Footprints on Mars: A Martian Trilogy

By Patricia May Davis

Footprints on Mars, tells three adventure stories of young people living on Mars in the future.

Glen and the Gardens of Mars, is told in the voice of Glen Roland. At ten years of age, in 2042, he lands on Mars with his astronaut parents, determined to become an astronaut himself, in spite of his loss of a right foot.

Rusty and the Rocks of Mars, is related from the point of view of Rusty Pierce, fifteen, who in 2087, pretends to be a twenty-one year old hard-rock miner. He goes to Mars with two other miners, fulfilling his late uncles dream, by putting a wreath on the Tom Mutch Memorial. He also wants to supplement his uncles rock collection, with a sample of Native Iron, only found on Asteroids.

Amanda and the Mirrors of Mars, relates thirteen year old Amandas efforts, in the twenty-second century, to save her underground town from a terrible flood, caused by giant orbiting mirrors, melting the North Polar ice cap.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 29, 2001
• ISBN: 9781453550649

Patricia May Davis

The author, Pat Davis, is a product of St. Louis, Missouri, teaching there, in the primary grades for thirty years. Pat enjoys making up stories for her daughter, students, grandson and granddaughter. She wrote science stories for over twenty years, favoring those adventures on Mars, the newest frontier.

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Copyright © 2000 by Patricia May Davis.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

PART I

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PART II

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

PART III

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

APPENDIX I

APPENDIX II

PART I

Glen and the Gardens of MARS

By Pat Davis

CHAPTER ONE

The Breath of Mars

Did you ever wish you could float in space? I did – and I got to do it from the time I was nine, until I’d been ten for three months. We were on our way to Mars and now I saw the Red Planet. Mars swelled like an orange balloon, in my spaceship window—with lines of dead rivers and craters. Not new and great—only like its pictures. I was disappointed. Then I saw my reflection in the window—with my dad’s yellow hair and Mom’s brown eyes—a real astronaut. (I wish!)

I looked through Mom’s camera again. Mars was different.

Oh, no! Mom, look at Mars! Mom smiled and packed her map-drawing stuff. Mom, where can Dad land? Mars is blurred—a fuzzy peach—no mountains!

She looked up, eyes wide, and bounced to the window, bumping into Dad—brown curls mixed with Dad’s blond spikes.

Dad, look at Mars!

Dust storm, Dad said. I’ll change my landing plans— circle Mars—find an opening in the dust cover.

(The first three people, to land on Mars, and we can’t see it!) Dad grabbed the door frame and stopped himself. His blue eyes narrowed.

Glen where is your plastic foot? You didn’t use the bike, did you? Bike exercises keep your legs strong.

index-10_1.jpg

Handbar Exercise

I hate that bike, Dad. It doesn’t move. The hand-bars make my arms strong. Why do I need strong legs, with one foot? Dad gave me that look.

How do you expect to stand in Mars gravity? (Dad will never think I can be an astronaut.) I grabbed my floating helmet and kept my mouth shut. Dad looked out the window again.

Get your suits and helmets on.

I pulled my plastic foot from the duffel bag. My fingers pressed it on my right knee stump. Mom fastened her helmet and strapped herself to the gray wall.

Glen! Betty! An opening! North Polar ice field. We enter Mars atmosphere.

I strapped myself across from Mom, my helmet still in my hand!

Here we go! Dad called. The ship rattled onto an icy surface. We jerked sideways, with a squeal. I held my ears and dropped my helmet. It slid across the floor. My head pushed forward, then slammed back. With eyes shut, but full of lights, we stopped! I opened my eyes to see emergency lights come on, making spidery shadows.

We’re at the edge of the polar ice cap, Dad said. Are you all right?

I felt heavy—dizzy. Undoing the wall straps, I crawled after my helmet. Mom was bent over, hanging from her straps!

Dad, Mom needs help. I crawled to her and unfastened her helmet.

Good work, son. Her helmet is cracked. Bring me a piece of ice for the bump.

I’ll get ice from the Mars surface, I said, opening the airlock door—then the outer door.

Dad, we’re trapped with a wall of ice! (He didn’t answer. I won’t tell him.)

Bright ice, covered the door with smears of orange—fingerprints of rusty Mars. They were like jail bars! My two-inch knife cut out a chunk. I took the ice to Dad.

Here, Dad. How’s Mom? (I said this in my calmest voice.)

She’s opening her eyes, Dad said. Dad wrapped the ice in a plastic bag and placed it on Mom’s bloody brown curls. (I’m glad Dad’s a doctor. What would I do, if Dad had such a bump?) I hobbled over to the window. My face was reflected in the dark pane.

Ice, I turned.

Dad, your head is bleeding too. I’ll get you more ice.

I grabbed Dad’s laser gun to make an easy cut. The laser melted the ice and left a hole, but froze again—a tiny, icy waterfall. I put the gun down and used my knife.

Tiptoeing into the ship I put the bag of ice on Dad’s head. He woke up.

How does it look out there, Glen?

It’s dark. (I didn’t lie.) I’ll get more ice.

Making the hole deeper with the laser gun, I got through the ice—but not outside! "I’m in an ice hole!"

CHAPTER TWO

Icy Grip

Crawling through my new tunnel, I pounded spikes into its icy floor and pushed the rope ladder over them. Halfway down the ladder, I slipped and fell flat on my back. The breath pushed out of me. I lay on an icy floor. The ladder crumpled down on top of me.

Ow! The spikes hit my leg. Laying there, I got my breath. Sitting up, with my hammer as a weapon in one hand and my flashlight in the other, I looked around for monsters.

Glassy, walls of ice reflected spots of pink, orange and green, when I shined my flashlight on ceiling icicles. I took a deep breath.

Dad, I called, but got no answer. I grabbed the two spikes. With the rope ladder as a belt, I stabbed a spike into the ice. Pulling myself up, I reached higher. I made another stab and held on. My legs were dangling. Pulling out the first spike, I pushed it again, higher. Four more times, I stabbed the ice wall and pulled myself up. My fingers were cramping. I flung my arm into the tunnel and stabbed one more time. I was up! I crawled out into the ship.

I fell asleep, Dad said, as I reached him. Betty, are you feeling better? Mom sat up, then held her head.

I’m so heavy, Dave. My head is like a smashed watermelon.

It’s still dark out. Dad said, pulling on his suit.

"We have a problem, Dad. I cut ice away from the door, but didn’t get to the surface—only a kind-of ice cave. I tried

to use the ladder, but it fell."

Dad and I, barely fit into my little tunnel.

You did a great job, Glen. I’ll fasten the ladder to the ship. Dad hooked the ladder to the door of the ship, then helped Mom climb down the six feet, to the ice cave floor. We stood on the icy, white floor of the glittering cave. The floor was scalloped with two-foot-high bumps of ice. I sat on one.

My thermometer shows 20 degrees, Fahrenheit, Dad said, warm for the North Pole.

This cave would make a great dining room with more oxygen, Mom said. I’d love to eat somewhere instead of the ship. She sat down on a white bump of ice. These chairs were made from the dripping icicles. They must be old— when the cave was younger and warmer.

I’ll test the walls tomorrow, for a way out, Dad said as he opened the valve of a red oxygen tank.

index-13_1.jpg

Ice Cave

I’m glad we don’t have to wear helmets in the cave, I said, breathing the cold air, ten minutes later. Your voices sound squeaky in headphones.

These icicles are like chandeliers, Mom said. When they sparkle in our flashlights, tiny rainbows dance on the walls. She put our cookies and drinks on a milky white table.

Gravity makes a difference, Mom said. I don’t need a straw to keep my drink from flying in the air.

Those raisin cookies just lay there, I said, Now they don’t float. But I’m sick of eating them. At least I can make this dirty-yellow drink into a popsicle.

I know we eat the same things every day, Dad said. but Mr. Llyons wanted to save money. I agreed because he gave us more for the Mars Station.

Dad, Mr. Llyons’ blue eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw my tomato plants. ‘I like the way the boy takes care of plants,’ (I imitated Mr. Llyons’ voice.) ‘He must plant my garden on Mars.’ Then I stood and bowed.

He saved money, Mom said, sending us.

Dad, Mr. Llyons said people aren’t interested in Mars, today. NASA can’t help us much.

Well, Dad said, NASA gave us the magnetic sail. It saves fuel, and protects us against solar flares.

Politicians made people afraid to go to Mars, Mom said. Machines seemed better. They might be right. We had trouble landing.

We did land, Dad said. We’ll be all right when we rest. Mr. Llyons and his group are in the space business. Their money got us to Mars. Mr. Llyons thinks our trip will stir interest for NASA to send others. Dad stood and headed for the ladder. It must be bedtime in a nice warm ship. I was glad to crawl into my sleeping bag.

Next morning, I pushed myself through the ice tunnel, to eat breakfast in the cave. First, I looked around for animal footprints. Then I joined Mom, drinking juice. Dad was cutting ice from the wall.

Dad, are you testing to find the outside wall, or melting cave ice for water to drink?

Neither one. I’m looking for signs of life to view with our microscope. You can help your mother test the ice for drinkable water.

I hurried to get the water-test kit. Mom was busy drawing her map of the cave and snapping pictures. I decided to test the ice myself. I saw Mom do it.

I’ll prove I can be an astronaut. I lit the burner from Mom’s kit and melted a chunk of ice. Chemicals showed it was water! I tasted some. Rusty, but all right! I wrote the information in my notebook—like a real astronaut.

Later, I was using my computer, when I heard cracking ice. Dad was hacking at the wall again.

Dad, the wall might fall apart.

It will! I’m planting an explosive. Get back!

I grabbed my helmet. Waiting in the tunnel with Mom and Dad. Dad’s remote control touched off a blast.

CHAPTER THREE

Striped Monster

Dad. The ice wall cracked, but it’s not falling.

I’ll use another explosive.

Can I dig the hole for it? I said.

Yes, but don’t make the hole bigger than two inches. Here’s the pick. Dad went for another explosive.

I climbed up the steps Dad made in the wall, to the place where he wanted to put the next explosive.

I used the pick to loosen a chunk of ice.

Mom, can’t we use a compass and make sure we’re going the right way?

Compasses don’t work on Mars. Don’t worry, Glen. We’re going opposite from the tunnel.

The big chunk broke out of the wall. I hugged the wall as it went by. The hole was too big. I used my knife to cut a smaller hole inside the big one. Pink sky!

You did it, Glen! Mom said. I pushed the pick into the hole and pulled out more cracked ice.

Dad came with the second explosive.

Dave, we’re through the ice. That rusty dust makes the sky a hot pink. Mom jumped back as other chunks of ice fell at her feet.

Good work, Dad said. I won’t need the second explosive. This wall is not as thick as I thought. I kept pulling out more chunks. Then Dad took over the job. As ice blocks fell, they made a bumpy ramp. We crawled over chunks of ice and got out of the cave.

We’re onto the frozen surface of a thousand snows, Mom said. We pushed the ship away from the tunnel.

Like ants with picnic crumbs, we cleared milky ice chunks from around the spaceship. The ship’s white wings looked pink as the sun struck them. The red ball of sun swept low on the horizon – and it was noon.

I’m looking for animals, I said.

You won’t find any, Dad said. Animals, on Mars, will only be a fourth of an inch long, or less.

Dad, suppose the animals are viruses. They could make us sick, or kill us.

No, Glen. Only a virus growing up with humans or other Earth animals could hurt us.

"The ship is clear