Chapter 2
Conserving energy, neither said much. Monkley had a vocabulary of around five hundred words, but Commander Phillips had seen fit to expand on that on the journey, adding several expletives to the young GenMop's repertoire. As Monkley's keeper and trainer, Foreman had politely asked Phillips on numerous occasions to desist the practice, but to no avail. Soon, all humans were collectively known as assholes.
The Martian day, roughly the same as Earth days in duration, was turning into night. Although the suits would spare them from most of the effects of the freezing temperatures, Foreman had no desire to test them any more than necessary. After all, he thought. He'd trusted the ship, and look what happened to that.
'Are we there, yet?'
It was something Monkley asked every twenty or so minutes. Foreman noticed the little guy was getting progressively weaker each time he asked. Eventually, Monkley sat down in the red iron oxide, exhausted.
'Come on, pal. Stay here, we die.'
Monkley didn't seem overly concerned. It was if he had faced the question of his own mortality, and dying seemed a preferable option to him than the continuing trudge through the soft red sandy dirt. They had walked for nine straight hours, and although the landmark of Olympus Mons mountain seemed so many miles away, Foreman had no intention of just sitting down to wait for death. He did sit, however. He wrapped his arm about Monkley. Those big trusting brown eyes stared up at him. They had been together four years, ever since the Genmop had been created. It was the only reason Foreman had been allowed on the trip in the first place. The Genmops were part of a program to create a more expendable alternative to humans. Capable of understanding many commands, more intelligent than the smartest of dogs, they could be easily trained to perform basic tasks. The artificial voice box was a vast improvement on the chimp's original, giving him greater range of sounds and expression. It had been Foreman who had worked with him to master speech.
The purpose of the trip was, amongst others, to do the essential maintenance on the base, make modifications to the automatic plant and train Monkley to look after the place during human absence. Depending on how well Monkley adapted and performed, he would be left behind to run the place until the humans returned a couple of years later to establish a colony. That had been the part Foreman was least comfortable about. He loved the little guy, but had promised to act in a mature and responsible way when the time came to leave. He had assured the brass he could and would do it. Now, it wasn't even an option.
Above them, in the dust laden night sky, were two tiny moons, Phobos, twice the size and much closer than Deimos, twinkling star-like above them. Deimos was nowhere to be seen. They rested a few minutes more, and then Foreman forced his thirty eight year old body onto his feet.
'Come on, Monkely.' Monkely didn't move. 'I'm not leaving you, pal. Come on. On my back.'
Monkley rolled over onto his feet and jumped up on Foreman's back. The total sixty pounds felt more like a ton, even with the reduced gravity. With the mountain as a guide, they pressed onwards, until Foreman could go no more. He dropped to his knees, will power gone not long after the last of his strength expired. Twenty two hours had passed since the crash. Foreman let the darkness of the Martian night envelope him, draining the last of the air supply as his dried up rasping breathing battled with his will to survive, waiting for the inevitable.