Chapter 13
'I found these in the food store. They'll make a change from all that fruit you eat.'
Foreman poured some of the nuts onto a plate and placed it in front of Monkley. Monkley ate those as he watched Foreman with a protein meal. According to the label, it was meant to be chicken flavour. It wasn't like any chicken he'd ever tasted.
'All this stuff was shipped in from Earth. I suppose one day, the base will be completely self sufficient.' He was never sure how much of anything he said had any meaning to the GenMoP. Monkley as just a chimpanzee wasn't that far behind humans. Sharing ninety nine percent of their DNA with humans, put them right up there. Monkley had been trained from birth by Foreman, and with the artificial voice box giving him a wider vocal range than other chimps, he was able to express his thoughts and feelings to Foreman. 'I was thinking...'
'Ooooh!.'
'Don't act so surprised. I'd like to take a look at the crash site. Maybe place a marker. Not sure what. I'll think of something.'
With the meal finished, Foreman gave some thought to the problem. The idea of a cross came to him, but he wasn't particularly religious, and wasn't sure what beliefs his colleagues had had. History on Earth would place their names somewhere for posterity, he was sure of that. Assuming there was anyone left to do that. No. It was something he felt was important to do. The shallow grave he had dug was one thing, but somehow seemed inadequate. It had to be something durable for the Martian environment.
In the maintenance workshop, he looked around for inspiration. Stacked up in one corner were several offcuts of Luxotral pipe. Nothing was ever discarded in the base. Selecting a piece three feet long, he clamped it in the vice. With a marker, he wrote the names of the three dead astronauts on the pipe. Then, he got a drill and drilled small holes into the pipe where the letters were. All the time, Monkley was watching him, perched on a stool.
'This should last a few decades, pal. Now go and suit up.'
Foreman checked the air supply was full and that Monkley's helmet was secure. Monkley opened and closed the airlock doors and Foreman drove out.
'I'm pretty sure it's that way.'
It was impossible to use a compass on Mars, because the red planet has no magnetic field. The magnetic field on Earth is created by the inner core revolving inside the planet. The core on Mars did not revolve. This was one of the reasons the base was where it was, not far from Olympus Mons. The ship had orbited the planet twice and was on a gradual decent towards the mountain and the base.
Foreman drove the buggy up the ramp and headed left. It was early in the Martian day, so they would have plenty of time. If they couldn't locate the fallen ship, they would return before the air supply reached halfway. As they drove through the lifeless terrain, Foreman wondered at the attraction of the red planet. Who the hell would want to live here, anyway? Only idiots like him with no choice. But the bigger picture was to use Mars as a stepping stone for the rest of the solar system, and then beyond. Once the speed of light problem had been resolved, there would be no stopping mankind.
Finding the wreck was easier than Foreman could have hoped for. The blackened lump stuck out on the flat plateau like a zit on a nose. Foreman stopped the buggy a few yards from the remains. He sat and stared at it for a moment.
'Why? What the hell made it crash?'
'Crash.'
'Millions of miles of fault free flying, then the minute we get here, boom.'
'Boom.'
Phillips had given the order to buckle up for landing and Foreman had finished securing Monkley in his cage. He had been about to return to the cockpit and strap himself in, when they had dropped like a stone. From the tiny room where the cage was, Foreman had heard a muffled bang, a small explosion. He had been about to open the door to join the others, when the ship started spinning and falling. The sudden acceleration and the spinning had caused him and probably the others to black out. He doubted if being buckled up would have made much difference. The few seconds prior to the ship exploding would not have been enough for him to free the others and get far enough from the ship. But they were beyond saving. If the door hadn't opened enough to squeeze through, he and Monkley would have perished, also.
Foreman got down and Monkley followed him, cautiously, to the ship. The whole thing looked like some blackened work of surrealist art. Macabre, and permeated with death. The airlock door was still wide open, distorted from the intense heat. Climbing inside, Foreman's heart sank at the sight. The charred remains were barely recognisable as human beings. He could hardly distinguish who was who. He had no intention of removing the bodies and burying them outside. The ship would be their coffin.
'Mind you don't cut your suit on the jagged stuff, pal.'
Foreman could see there was nothing worth salvaging from the ship. He'd have been surprised if there had been.
'I guess you three died doing what you loved most.'
He was about to leave, when something caught his eye. Something that didn't look right. From all the other damage, he saw something odd. Kneeling down for a closer look, low down on the instruments and controls, a small hole, roughly fist sized. The edges of the hole were forced outwards. Any holes made by things smashing into it would have gone inwards, not outwards. The conclusions he was coming to, confused him. But he could see no alternative explanations. Something had exploded inside the instrumentation, causing the destruction of the ship.
'Foreman. Get real. You got this all wrong.'
He knew the explosion hadn't happened before he had gone into the storage area where Monkley was caged. Somebody would probably have mentioned it. This was it. This had caused the ship to crash and kill the others.
'It must have just been a piece of faulty instrumentation, right pal?'
Not prepared to accept the alternative, he peered into the hole. From what little he could see, the internal damage emanated from a single point. Everything from that point had been forced outwards. An electronics engineer would have been able to get to the bottom of it, but he had limited knowledge on such things. His gut feelings were telling him this wasn't a piece of faulty equipment. The systems had been checked out hundreds of times prior to take off. A horrible and terrifying word came to his mind. Sabotage. This was no accident. Three people had been murdered.
Feeling the anger about to consume, he had to get out. His mind was racing, confused and angry. Somebody was responsible. He leaned on the buggy, staring at the ship. He felt nauseated, but one of the first things he was taught was never vomit in a space suit.
'Bastards.'
'Bastards.'
'Somebody wanted us dead, pal.'
'Oooh!'
Taking the length of pipe, he secured it to the wreck. Then he saluted. Monkley copied him. They got back in the buggy and with the mountain as a guide, they returned to the base.