Finally we were approaching the red planet. The view up on the flight deck was, in so many ways, truly impressive even from such a distance. At the speed we were travelling, Ivan reckoned only two further days before injection into orbit.

 

I was ready for the task, or so I thought until Caterin issued her instructions to suit up and check that everything was working properly. If all went as anticipated, there would be no time for delays in the period from locating where the survivors were, to leaving the Ark in one of the large crafts. I was to be flown down to the surface by Ivan, who would probably have to be dragged away from this, his new ‘toy’. He would be required to pilot a large craft to the vicinity of any received message, where I would attempt to make, or had made, the first direct contact.

 

One of the promoted young pilots would accompany Ivan but other than this, if all did not go well I would be on my own. I was expected to face the risks or handle whatever may be directed towards me. Trouble was not expected but Caterin was being cautious. I will have been the one to make the initial mental contact and assuming all was going well it was considered appropriate for the same mental ‘tone-of-expression’ to be employed when close contact was attempted or achieved upon the surface.

 

I was to go down to the planet to ensure that all was well, a safe liaison could be achieved, an evacuation effectively arranged and the situation sufficiently safe to continue. Alternatively, if all was not well or it was unsafe to start an evacuation, I was to become no more than the go-between or organiser to get things moving, even if that involved me in safety risks. I had no idea what to expect and stepping into the unknown might not be as easy as I was being told. It might even be dangerous but this option was not discussed; perhaps it should have been.

 

That bit about safety became foremost in my mine; I was the guinea pig to become either the hero or something else less pleasant. I had accepted and was enjoying my role in this great project but accepting any kudos from success could only be a small part of the result. There were all sorts of unknown dangers associated with what I was about to undertake. I had faced risky events many times in the past, which had then been the name of the game, now I had to just get on with it one more time accepting whatever came my way. I wasn’t panicking; ‘stage fright’ would probably be a better description of how I felt right now.

 

Before we had departed from Earth, as I had been advised, there had not been any indication in the media of one of the ‘moons’ orbiting Mars having disappeared. Perhaps the concern with the establishment (and enforcement) of the New World Order was now the primary consideration in the stage of world events and the ‘loss’ of a distant body had simply not been noticed by the astronomers. More worryingly, there existed the option that the disappearance had been noticed and that someone or other was biding their time before any action was planned or to be taken when it suddenly reappeared.

 

Caterin had addressed this potential issue by insisting that we stay cloaked at all times, even when going into orbit but added a worry of her own. Would the new powers on Earth investigate the giant explosion that took out one of their large triangular craft, then to discover a secret base had been in their midst all along?

 

Would they then tie in the disappearance of the occupants of the destroyed base (there were, of course, fresh bodies to be found in the rubble) with the apparent disappearance of one of the two moons that had previously been orbiting Mars? We could only continue with the planned location and meeting of whatever survivors there were and as rapidly as possible extricate them to the Ark and leave in the search for the Mother Ship.

 

There was a lot of room in this Ark but it may be insufficient if the number of survivors to be rescued was greater than the number of occupants already on board. It was possible that the large empty holds, one of which I was employing, could accommodate large numbers of people but there were no spare beds, or any other furniture for basic needs.

 

There was, of course, the possibility that the other ‘moon’ of Mars was the second Ark mentioned in some parts of the ancient records of the base Settlers and, indeed, had been the storyline I had written in that book of mine. There were too many unknowns at present and it would have to be a case of act upon what may be found or might even become a rapidly changing and fluid situation. Speed would also be very much of the essence. Decisions would have to be made according to what was discovered and especially as events unfolded. We could not anticipate what action the new powers of Earth might take.

 

Would one of the alien crafts be sent after us? Would they launch an attack from the surface of Mars, even being unable to see the cloaked Ark? Would they perhaps wait to launch an attack on the Ark if or when it had to drop its cloaking? The nerves of trying to guess what might happen were taking over, but they always did, why should I be disturbed at this? I had to regain full control of myself, confident that as events proceeded I would simply behave correctly and with the confidence of past events. Take a deep breath, hold it, focus (but not for too long), breath out and then ‘get on with it’; that phrase again.

 

With Ivan and his young co-pilot, a chap by the name of Mark, we got ourselves suited up, boarded our selected large craft, checked out the integral systems and were fully satisfied all was well and in perfect working order. We were ready to depart. It was now up to me to locate those on the planet still alive and offer them a rescue, a rescue that was possibly several hundreds of thousands of years in coming.

 

From the flight deck, the view of the red planet started to fill the viewing screen. It looked magnificent, if somewhat barren, and there in plain view was a magnificent northern area, a circular cap of bright white. I was advised by Ivan that it was mainly water ice, similar to the polar areas on Earth. Considering what I had just been told, this was contrary to the misinformation released by NASA that it was cold enough for only frozen carbon dioxide to exist there.

 

At the low temperatures required for CO2, somewhere around -100°C at the low atmospheric pressure of 1/100th that of the Earth, also claimed by NASA, the electronics in the buggy probes on the surface would have failed very rapidly. Clearly from the news and images released over the years, the probes had not failed but had continued successfully. The poles had to include a lot of water ice and while the atmosphere was most probably a lot thinner and colder than Earth’s, if the electronics of the buggies had survived and functioned well then it was unlikely that the winter temperature dropped much lower than their minimum operating temperature of -45°C. Summertime air temperatures, of well above freezing, would not present any problem to the functioning and survival of Earth’s electronics. The only exploring buggy I knew to have failed most definitely was the one predicted in my book, subsequently seen by the Settler scientists as a reality having been put out of action by some physical means or other and moreover, by a suited survivor.

 

The great canyon, splitting across the surface of the planet came into view as Ivan determined that we would enter into an orbit of only a few miles altitude with an orbit period of only some eight hours. This would be the same position it had been in before leaving for Earth and Ivan determined that the Ark would park itself automatically without any attempt at control by him.

 

Now was the time for me to go down to my position in the vast hold and start transmitting to find out, if they, the anticipated population of survivors, could hear me. Ivan advised that he and Mark would, as soon as he was happy that the Ark had indeed been inserted into a stable orbit, take up positions in the selected large craft parked in the hanger and await my presence. This assumed that I would be successful; but of course I would, what would be the point otherwise. What was I doing having doubts at this critical point?

 

“Come on Ian,” I actually shouted at myself, “get on with it.”

 

Down in the hold, I sat on one of the two seats that I and Ed, on his occasional visits, had occupied during my training and practice. I checked with Caterin, gently, that she could hear me for when I announced that I had made contact and moreover received a reply.

 

I focussed my thoughts outwards and downwards to where I assumed, not being able to see of course, the planet’s surface surely existed.

 

“Hello, is anyone there?” I projected the most obvious words in the correct direction with some serious strength.

 

Nothing.

 

“Hello, is anyone there?” Now at the best power I could manage.

 

Nothing.

 

“Hello, is anyone there?”

 

Nothing.

 

After some four hours or more of continuous calling out, I really doubted the whole exercise and indeed even myself as tiredness started to creep in.

 

Then a weak and faint, “Yes, where are you?”

 

My previous doubts were immediately blown away, the tiredness now gone and with the adrenalin flowing fast, I immediately called out again, “I can hear you, I can hear you.”

 

“You are fading . . . .” I made out the reply but only just before it weakened to nothing.

 

I instantly advised Caterin, at a ‘normal’ degree of strength and she logged the position we had just passed before I let out a whoop of joy, followed by an instant apology for the high volume burst that I had not quite contained.

 

“Understood Ian, that was not too bad, but control, control, control, please,” came back Caterin’s words.

 

An odd thought then struck me in my elation and with my nerves tingling. I was asking my question in English and I had received a reply in the same language. Why would, or how could, a survivor on Mars be fluent in English and understand me. I had not thought of this at all before now and I spent a little time in thought considering this unforeseen quandary.

 

My elation was suddenly tempered by what was clearly an almost ridiculous question.

 

The only solution I could give credence to was, that while I might be transmitting, or so I thought, in my native tongue, perhaps thought messages are handled by the brains of transmitter and receiver in entirely different ways to the spoken word. Whatever the answer, I had to keep transmitting my thought question until we returned over the same location on the next full orbit. It was also possible that there might be more than one location where these survivors could be located.

 

“Hello, is anyone there?”

 

Nothing.

 

And again, and again, and again . . .

 

Then really distinctly, although not very loud, but again, “Yes Ian, we are waiting for you, yes, yes, yes.”

 

My name, they whoever ‘they’ were, were aware of it somehow. I managed to let Caterin listen in, simultaneously but at a sensible level, my few minutes of maximum strength conversation with whoever was on, or was it below, the surface. I had just surprised myself by exhibiting a complex communication technique; the relay of words I was listening to at a low strength in response to my calling out at maximum strength, to Caterin at a ‘normal’ strength. I was stunned by my ability and had no idea where it came from; it was not something I had ever practised.

  

Caterin had noted the position more accurately this time without me wasting further time breaking off any of the words being exchanged with the survivor, whoever he or she was. This was the same general location as the first contact as we had circled the planet. The next full orbit, some hours later, Caterin advised me, with a good five minutes advance notice, that we were fast approaching the logged position.

 

I beamed the message, “Coming down to you next time round.”

 

I received a distinct, “We are waiting, we are waiting.”

 

There was a note of obvious happiness in the reply.

 

I removed myself from this previously lonely, but now very happy, position and made my way up to the hanger as fast as I could. There was the selected craft, its ramp in the lowered position with Ivan and Mark inside waiting for me.

 

“Ian, I have the co-ordinates for our landing and as soon as we come round again, we shall be on our way,” Ivan advised.

 

“Helmets and gloves on now please,” he instructed. “This is my craft and I am in charge of it, understood Ian?”

 

He was, of course referring to my episode with Franz and Ed where I started barking out orders to get what I wanted.

 

“Understood,” I replied with a slight smile as I placed my helmet over my head, secured it, lowered the visor and then put on my gloves.

 

I was sat behind Ivan while Mark took a co-pilot's position alongside him. We all sat quietly for what seemed an eternity before Ivan jumped into action with, “Here we go.” We glided out of the Ark through the vanishing wall and into the darkness of space to our right and the brightness of the red planet to the left.

 

Down we went.