Free On Mars Pathfinder (The Mike Lane Stories Book 1) by Jim Melanson Page B

given the chance again next orbit; and then again the following orbit after that. If I missed pressing it for three orbits, then the MTV would execute a preplanned burn with its final bit of remaining fuel, and enter a free return trajectory to Earth. Of course, I would never be able to survive that trip. I pressed the button.
    The display on the computer in front of me gave me the countdown: I was at seventeen seconds. One last look around, I re-tighten the straps holding me to the couch, squint my eyes shut, and quickly recite a portion of the 23 rd Psalm.
    When I opened my eyes, the countdown was at three seconds. When it reached “one”, I heard the tunnel between the Lander and the MTV depressurize; I also heard the Lander/MTV mechanical couplings thunk open (the mechanical couplings that had held the Lander to the Command Module for the whole journey). There was an ever-so-slight jolt and barely a sense of forward momentum as manoeuvering rockets moved me away from the Command Module. I was now completely detached from the MTV. Looking forward through the dorsal portal I could see the MTV moving away from me, or more accurately, me moving away from the MTV. With a sudden twinge of nostalgia, I raised my hand to my visor and gave it a salute, “Goodbye old friend, old smelly friend.”
    I reached out to the COM panel and transmitted the confirmation signal for successful detach. Telemetry would provide the technical information on the procedure. I was just sending the human confirmation. I think they just wanted me to feel useful in this fully automated descent stage of the trip, like every other fully automated stage of the trip. I said a quick prayer for a safe landing, then after a pause, I yearningly whispered, “Look out Barsoom, here I come.”
    Everything I said and whispered was being relayed back to Terra, and broadcasted on the internet. I learned from Hans later on, that this statement had caused all those in Mission Control to go sombre for a few moments. Shortly after being informed of this proof of concept mission, I had bought a dozen copies of Princess of Mars , and put them into circulation at the Corporation’s head office. A lot of the Mission Control staff had already read it. Those that hadn’t already read it fell in love with it. It was about a time and place when men were honourable, women were strong, and adventure waited at every turn of the page. The words I whispered had struck a chord with everybody for the monumental nature of what we were doing, the dreams that we were turning into reality, and that we were doing all of it right now . That I was doing all of it, all alone.
    My couch was oriented to a normal upward position. I was on my back facing the top of the Lander, which meant I could only see where I had been, and not where I was going. When the Orbital Manoeuvering Package (OMP) fired, the downward force thrust me upward, in the direction I was facing. It was like a big hand reached down and was trying to pluck me out of my seat, but the restraints held me in place. The OMP burn only lasted a few seconds, and then I felt normal again. I could feel a distinct sense of motion, but once more, my ship was ballistic and no longer under power. It was up to physics, Martian gravity, and prayer to get me where I needed to be; to get me there safely. I took care of the prayer part, and left the rest to Newton. I was roughly twenty-five minutes from touchdown in Chasma Boreale in the North Polar region of Mars, only a kilometre above the northern edge of the Hyperboreae Undae region of sand dunes. Specifically, I landed at 81° 40’ 27.28”N and 44° 32’ 24.92”W, West of the Martian prime meridian.
    This site was selected for its proximity to the North Polar ice fields that covered thousands of square kilometres, and were estimated to be 2 to 3 kilometres thick. The site presented excellent drilling opportunities for water, and the test drilling carried out by robotics indicated a