Keiron fidgeted anxiously between his mom and dad as they waited in line outside the commissary. It was 3:25 in the afternoon and, hungry as he was, they were not waiting to eat. The base commander had called another all hands meeting for 3:30.
There had been no further violence since the kitchen raid, but posters had continued to appear throughout the base. Keiron’s dad was away more often, as the base commander now kept a security detail in the kitchen around the clock.
Meetings like this were usually called at least 24 hours in advance, but this one had been announced only a few hours ago. Clearly, something important was going on. Waiting in line, Keiron overheard conversations around him. There were rumors of a ship from Earth. Of a new ration schedule. Of the discovery of a new food source. He even heard someone mention alien contact.
As his family found a seat at one of the tables, Keiron searched the crowd for Ro. He saw her dad and the usual people sharing their table but did not see her. He frowned in disappointment.
The influx of people slowed and the base commander stood up. He tapped the mic. He cleared his throat. “Hello,” he said. There was a momentary squeal as whoever was mixing the sound turned him down slightly. “If you could all take your seats,” he continued, “we’ll begin.”
The crowd settled and the room became quiet. Mason Steinitz clicked a controller in his hand and some text appeared on the screen behind him.
“At 09:29 this morning,” he said, “our comms center received this message from the Earth-Mars cycler, currently inbound.” He paused for them to read the short message. “As you can see, the AI in that cycler is active and is aware of our situation. We’re not quite sure why.”
There was mumbling throughout the crowd. “Since that time,” the base commander continued, “we have been in communication with the AI and held further discussions within our base infrastructure community. We think there may be a partial solution to our problem here.”
The crowd noise grew as the potential meaning of his words sank in. Keiron forgot that he was hungry for the first time in several days.
Mason Steinitz clicked his controller, and the screen changed to an image of the cycler. The crowd quieted. “As most of you know, the cycler, also called Ares Manor, is a transport facility in an orbit that takes it past Earth and Mars at regular intervals. It has not been used for many years. The AI is proposing that we rendezvous with it and use it to get to Mars.”
The crowd became noisier. Keiron heard exclamations of excitement and hope. He also heard negative comments. Why would we go to Mars? This is ridiculous. Earth is right there. He looked at his parents. His mother had her hand over her mouth and her eyebrows were raised. His dad’s brow was furrowed with attention.
“Yes, it is exciting,” said the base commander. “But we have a lot to cover here.” He waited until the crowd quieted. “Typically, a specialized ship called a taxi would carry crew and cargo to intercept the cycler, dock, and offload. That taxi would stay with the cycler until it passed Mars. There, the taxi would detach and enter an eccentric orbit around Mars, aerobraking to slow down enough to land. Because the taxi is rated for atmosphere, this aerobraking would take only one or two orbits.”
He paused and took a sip of water.
“We don’t have such a taxi. The only ship we have is the ferry currently on the pad, which is not ideal for this job. However, our engineers have run simulations that suggest it may work. With a gravity assist around Earth, it could catch and dock with the cycler. After that, it should have just enough fuel left for a braking burn at Mars that would allow it to enter a stable orbit. The ferry is not rated for atmosphere. It would be up to the Martians to bring the refugees to the surface.”
Keiron noticed two interesting things about that last sentence. The first was that it was phrased in the third person, as if the commander were talking about someone else. The second was the use of the term refugees. Was that what they were now?
“We’ve verified that all systems are functional on the cycler, and there is enough air and water aboard to reach Mars,” said the commander. “There is, however, no food. The refugees will have to bring their own.”
There was that third person again.
“The trip will take five months,” said the base commander.
After a slight pause, the crowd erupted. Everyone knew they only had one month of food with rationing. Five months! If they starved on the way to Mars, what was the point? The commander waited for calm.
“Our modeling suggests we can get the children currently in Metzger to Mars. We can save our kids, but only if we send all of our remaining food with them.”
The disagreeable man stood up. “What do you mean ‘modeling suggests’? Will they make it or not?”
“Our models say there is a high probability,” said the base commander.
“You keep using that word: models. What do you mean?” said the disagreeable man.
One of the engineers jumped in. “Mathematical simulations of reality. Models are like stick figures. Cartoons of reality. There are many variables at play in such a trip. We build computer models, which allow us to plug different values in for those variables. Then we can predict how the trip might go under different conditions. These models suggest that this plan will work.”
“You want us to send kids out into space, while we all starve, based on a cartoon?”
“Well, that’s not how I would put it, but, yes, I suppose so,” said the commander.
Keiron heard another voice at the same table say, “Sit down, Tom.”
“I won’t have it!” said Tom. “This is ridic…”
“I said sit down!” The owner of the voice stood up and Keiron saw that it was Ro’s dad. He made a threatening gesture. Tom sat down.
Ro’s dad turned to the commander. “I haven’t agreed with much that has been said in these meetings,” he said quietly. “But it seems to me that if Earth could save us, they would have by now. If you say there’s a chance to save my daughter, I say we take it.” He sat down.
Mason Steinitz waited a moment to see if there would be any more dissent. Then he nodded. “Okay, then, let’s talk about the details.”
Keiron and his parents were silent as they walked back to the hab. The implications of what had been said in the meeting were too huge to contemplate. So they spent the few minutes of the walk pretending all was normal and not talking about them. They held hands though, which wasn’t normal between parents and a twelve year old.
The rest of the meeting had been a blur of questions and answers. Arguments and counter-arguments. It had all been surprisingly civil, considering the events of the past few weeks. In the end, nobody was going to publicly argue that they shouldn’t save the children.
Keiron had listened passively. Some emotional defense mechanism of his mind prevented him from seriously considering what was being discussed. For the next hour, he was as a small child, waiting and fidgeting while the adults discussed “the refugees.”
At the hab, they sat down around the little table. Keiron’s parents looked at each other. Keiron looked at his hands. A thought leaked through his defenses. Mars? He was going to Mars? It seemed crazy just to think about. He was going to Mars without his parents. Even crazier. Wait. He was going to Mars without his parents and taking all the food… He looked up and saw that they were looking at him. Both had tears in their eyes. He stood up abruptly, his chair falling over, slowly in the lunar gravity.
“No!” he said. “This is crazy. I’m not going. I’ll stay and they’ll give us the food I would have eaten in five months and we’ll split it and we’ll find some other…” He trailed off, looking at them. They were smiling. There were tears in their eyes, but they were smiling.
“It’s okay,” said his dad. “It’s okay.” His parents stood up and moved around the table. They pulled him in, and they hugged.