Marcus hadn't eaten for twelve hours. While such hunger was manageable for a special forces operator, for the ordinary civilians and technicians, it was torture. Many had already collapsed, unable to work.
There is an old saying: An army marches on its stomach. Miss a meal, and you get hungry; miss a day, and you get desperate.
"Don't worry! The Noah is making an emergency descent. In a few hours, relief will be here!"
Marcus moved tirelessly among the survivors, trying to bosting their crumbling confidence. But while the hunger was bad, the dehydration was far worse.
His own lips were cracked and bleeding. His endurance far exceeded that of the ordinary soldiers under his command, who had only undergone two months of basic training. Yet, spurred on by Marcus's relentless energy, they grit their teeth and persevered.
Currently, they were using wet towels to physically cool the feverish patients. The worst cases had fevers spiking to 40.5 degrees Celsius. If they couldn't bring the temperatures down, organ failure would set in.
"Captain, we're out of saline!" a soldier rasped over the comms, his voice parched. Despite rationing, the stockpile was gone.
"Then make it yourself!" Marcus barked. "0.9% sodium chloride solution. You all learned the formula in basic. Get the distilled water and the salt packets. Move!"
"Yes, sir!"
Moments later, another soldier shouted, "Report! The Noah's anchor pylons have impacted. Awaiting instructions!"
These were the massive iron stabilizers driven into the surface to secure the Noah during a planetary landing. Each one was a meter in diameter.
"Good! Take a breather, soldier," Marcus ordered. He felt a surge of adrenaline, licking his dry lips. The relief was palpable.
He suppressed the urge to celebrate. Damn it, Jason and the cavalry are almost here. Just hold on a little longer.
He wiped a patient's burning forehead with a cool towel. Stay with me. Just one more hour.
...
Orbit of Mars - The Noah
"Orbital adjustment complete. Position deviation within 200 meters. Initiating tertiary review..."
"Tertiary review complete. Deviation confirmed within 180 meters. Landing criteria met."
"Surface wind: Level 1. Negligible impact."
"Descending. Current altitude: 20,000 meters... 10,000 meters... 8,000 meters..."
Guided by the supercomputer in the central command deck, the massive city-ship began its slow, controlled fall. It was carrying hundreds of millions of tons of external ballast, ore and heavy rock to counteract the atmospheric buoyancy.
Jason sat in the captain's chair, monitoring the data streams and issuing commands. Technically, landing on Mars was simpler than many maneuvers they had pulled off; the gravity was manageable, provided they controlled the descent speed to avoid a catastrophic impact.
As the commands were relayed, fifty thousand civilians rushed to the viewports. Looking down at the looming orange-red sphere, their hearts no longer held the romantic wonder of the previous months.
There was only tension. Urgency.
Their compatriots were dying down there. Some were friends, some family, others strangers.
After the hardships of the moon, humanity was finally forging a true unity.
"Attention all passengers. Upon touchdown, strict bio-control protocols will be in effect. No personnel may exit the ship without authorization. Any personnel returning from the surface must undergo a mandatory 24-hour quarantine in the isolation ward..." The PA system blared the new security regulations.
"We are currently recruiting volunteers willing to fight the pathogen on the front lines. Requirements are as follows..."
These regulations had been drafted in emergency sessions by the ship's council. Although a minority argued that a planetary landing was too risky, over ninety percent of the population agreed: they had to save the five hundred. This was Jason's stance, and the people stood with him.
However, strict security was non-negotiable. If the unknown pathogen breached the Noah and infected the general population, humanity would be extinct.
"Landing sequence initiated. Impact in five, four, three, two, one!"
BOOM.
A tremor ran through the hull as the Noah made contact with the Martian surface. The massive hydraulic buffers groaned, absorbing the shock.
"Anchor systems engaging... three, two, one. Hard lock confirmed."
"Retracting buffers."
"Cargo elevators coming online."
The Noah had landed.
The response was immediate. Saving lives is like fighting a fire; speed is everything. Within minutes, the massive cargo elevators lowered, deploying a convoy of over a dozen heavy transport rovers.
These vehicles were modified lunar transports. Engineers had tweaked the engine parameters to suit Martian gravity. Although their top speed was only about eighty kilometers per hour, they were chosen for their massive capacity and reliability.
The rovers were packed to the brim with personnel and supplies: over a hundred research scientists, two hundred doctors and nurses, and tons of advanced medical equipment.
Professor Nakamura sat in the lead vehicle. His heart was strangely calm, the water still. He had made his peace with what might happen.
He wasn't the only scientist in the transport. He was surrounded by colleagues, biologists, virologists, geneticists.
Looking at the faces behind him, Nakamura felt a sudden swell of emotion. "You all..." His lips moved, but the words failed him. instead, he simply bowed his head deeply to them.
"Nakamura, don't hog all the glory," a scientist teased gently, "You're not the only hero here."
"That's right," another colleague smiled, though the fear was visible in his eyes. "We want our names in the history books too."
"This is alien life. If I knew about it and didn't dare to challenge it, I would never forgive myself..."
"Humanity will not fall to a bug."
Hearing these jokes, this bravado, Nakamura felt a lump in his throat. He realized he had been arrogant to think he was the only one willing to sacrifice.
Scientists aren't usually the type to make heroic speeches. They were past the age of youthful recklessness. They knew the odds. When humanity fought SARS, it took months of global cooperation. Now, facing an alien pathogen with limited resources?
Could they win? They didn't know.
Would they die? It was a statistical probability.
They were terrified. They were afraid of the pain, afraid of the void. But in this situation, humor was their armor. They encouraged each other because the alternative was panic.
This is a war, Nakamura thought. We are the soldiers on the front line. If we don't fight, who will?
They were the elite of the Noah, the ones who enjoyed the best rations and quarters. Now, the bill had come due. It was time to fulfill their responsibility.
They stepped forward. That alone made them heroes.
Nakamura rubbed his red eyes, composed himself, and spoke. "Everyone, the lab down there is small. We can't all go in at once."
"If we all get infected simultaneously, the research stops. I propose we split into shifts. My team goes in first. We have a window of maybe four hours before the suits become a liability or fatigue sets in. If we fall... Shift Beta takes over."
"This maximizes our use of the equipment and spreads the risk," Nakamura explained. "My primary goal is to find a way to sterilize the air and reduce the contagion vector. If I go down, I need someone ready to pick up the torch immediately."
"Agreed," Dr. Nathan nodded. "Don't be so pessimistic, Nakamura. Humanity doesn't end here."
...
The Noah had touched down twenty kilometers from the Forward Base. The rover convoy covered the distance in half an hour.
The rescue team cycled through the airlocks. The doctors and nurses remained in their EVA suits to treat the patients. However, for the scientists, the situation was different. To operate the delicate electron microscopes and manipulate the samples with the necessary precision, they would have to use glove boxes but the bulky EVA suits made even that impossible. They would have to switch to lighter, plastic hazardous material suits.
The protection was decent, but against an airborne alien pathogen, the risk of infection skyrocketed.
The first team of brave souls numbered fifteen, led by Nakamura. They were all volunteers. Under the gaze of the soldiers and the sick, they walked into the laboratory module without hesitation.
At that moment, they looked like giants.
"Do you have the samples?" Nakamura asked.
"Yes, Doctor. These are the mineral samples from the deep mine," a soldier said, placing a sealed containment box into Nakamura's gloved hand.
Blood samples from the infected. Air samples. Mineral samples.
Their time was limited. Maybe four hours before the viral load in the air overwhelmed their light filters. Every second had to be cherished.
"Our first mission is simple," Nakamura announced to his team. "Find out what kills this thing. By any means necessary."
He took a deep breath. He knew they wouldn't cure the patients today. But if they could figure out how to sterilize the air, they could stop the spread. That was the first step to victory.