"I was being an idiot." Those words echoed through my brain an I did the pre-flight check on the Cerberus III, a prototype recon plane meant for the Martian atmosphere. The sleek modular jet was shaped like a U, with the cockpit between two jet-embedded wings. It handled fine on earth; I'd taken it for a spin around the Mojave a few times and across the north pole a time or two. Due to the shape the plane handled strangely, like I was flying through syrup.
It wasn't meant for flying in a thick atmosphere like Earth's. We'd created the lightweight craft to be able to skim Mars' ultra-thin air. Our atmosphere at sea level is about 1,000 millibars, while Mars' is about 6 or 7. Think about pushing you fingers through a glob of hair gel, then think about pushing it through a foggy mist and you'll kinda get the idea of the difference.
This flight was different, though. Paisley - my plane - was resting in the new hangar on Moonbase Kelly on the rim of Peary Crater near the lunar north pole. I'd certainly been here before - hell, I was one of the truck drivers that hauled people and cargo from earth and from some NEAs. After landing on the Lunar South Pole, India made leaps in their tech, making getting to and extracting minerals from near earth asteroids cheap and fast. They shared this tech with the world while subsidizing the space programs of many countries that had never even dabbled in extra-Earth exploration and research. This, in turn, spurred the US to move even faster.
I wasn't the first to land on the Moon or the first to walk on Mars (fuckin' Bryn, my bud from Space Camp way back when… she managed land that distinction, so proud of her -knew she could do it). But, if things went well, I'd be the first to actually fly something other than a lander on the red planet. Today was the first time trying it on the Moon. She'd been parked for 30 days, going through rigorous tests every day. The 30 day hold was a practical one - since the plane was built and tested on Earth, we wanted to make sure the transition from Earth's gravity, temperature and atmosphere didn't cause any issues, like cracking, warping or electronic devices.
The Moon's atmosphere is essentially zero - 0.000000000000003 millibars - but we were hoping it would still be a viable testing environment.
The lunar dust beneath my boots shimmered in the pale light as memories of Bryn and me flew past my mind's eye. Those late nights when we'd lay on a grassy hill, tracing constellations and imagining a future up there. Bryn, with her fiery spirit and wild dreams, had always been an unstoppable force. I remembered the pain of not talking to her for a while due to a toxic relationship I was in at the time. But time, as it does, healed most wounds. When we reconciled, it wasn't as lovers, but as comrades of the sky, finding our solace in the vastness of the universe.
"Hey, Sage, you daydreaming or you planning to fly that thing?" a voice called out, breaking my train of thought.
I turned to see Bryn, her spacesuit catching the faint sunlight, a familiar smirk on her face. "Just reminiscing about old times," I replied, smiling. "You ready to watch history being made?"
Bryn chuckled. "Always. Just remember what you taught me when we started flying together: trust your instincts and let the plane do the work."
The cockpit of the Cerberus III welcomed me like an old friend. The controls were familiar, the slight hum of the engine a comforting purr. As I accelerated down the makeshift lunar runway, the memories of Bryn and our adventures served as my co-pilot, a reminder of the incredible journey that brought me here.
The Cerberus III ascended with grace, cutting through the near vacuum of the Moon's atmosphere effortlessly. The barren landscape of craters and ridges spread out below me, a gray expanse that seemed to stretch forever. Despite the initial concerns, the plane was handling the conditions superbly.
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My radio crackled. "Looking good from here, Sage! You're making it look easy," Bryn's voice came through, filled with a mix of pride and nostalgia.
"Thanks to you," I replied, thinking of all the challenges we'd faced together and the bond that had grown from them.
After executing a series of maneuvers and testing the Cerberus III's limits in the Moon's environment, I began the descent. The landing was smooth, and as I exited the plane, the small gathering of engineers and researchers erupted into applause.
Byn approached, her helmet now off, revealing her radiant smile. "I knew you could do it," she said, embracing me.
I laughed, the weight of the accomplishment slowly sinking in. "One small flight for me, one giant leap for Martian aviation," I quipped.
Bryn chuckled, "Always the showman. Next stop, Mars?"
Nodding, I looked up, my gaze fixed on the red dot in the distance. "Absolutely. Can't let you have all the fun there."
The days following the lunar flight were a whirlwind of preparations and briefings. The Cerberus III was no standalone interplanetary vessel. It was more agile and sleek, designed for the atmosphere of Mars, not the vast expanse of space between celestial bodies. It would need to be loaded onto the U.S.S. Celestialis, an interplanetary carrier designed for such long journeys. The Celestialis was a marvel of engineering – a massive ship, elongated and fortified with layers of ablative armor to shield against micrometeorites and the harmful radiation of space.
The ship used a combination of ion propulsion for the long haul, using electric power to expel ions and create thrust, and a more traditional chemical propulsion system for quicker adjustments and orbital insertions. The ship was designed to rotate, creating a semblance of artificial gravity in its outer rings, allowing the crew to live and work in conditions not entirely dissimilar to Earth's gravity. This reduced muscle and bone degradation over the long voyage, a problem faced by many in the earlier days of space travel.
Inside, the Celestialis was compartmentalized, with sections for research, living quarters, hydroponic gardens to supplement the crew's food supply, and a vast hangar to house smaller crafts like the Cerberus III. The hangar was a beehive of activity, with engineers and technicians constantly monitoring, repairing, and maintaining the various crafts.
The crew of about a hundred was a mix of pilots, engineers, scientists, medical professionals, and a few members of the press, keen to document this monumental journey. Everyone had a role, a purpose, and as the days turned into weeks, routines were established, drills were conducted, and the anticipation grew.
Navigation was aided by a combination of onboard computers and a ground team back on Earth, ensuring that the Celestialis stayed on its trajectory. The journey would take several months, and so psychological and recreational needs were also addressed. There was a gym, a library filled with digital books and films, and a common area where crew members gathered for relaxation and socialization.
Outside, the vastness of space was an ever-changing tableau. Stars twinkled, and occasionally the ship passed close enough to an asteroid or minor planetoid that it became a point of interest, drawing crew members to the observation decks.
As Mars drew closer, excitement aboard the Celestialis was palpable. The red planet, humanity's next frontier, was within reach. The Cerberus III was prepped and checked repeatedly, ready to be deployed once they entered the Martian orbit.
Captain Helena Ramirez addressed the crew one evening. "We've come far, and Mars awaits. Let's show the universe what humanity can achieve." With that, the final preparations for Martian descent began, with Sage and the Cerberus III at the forefront of this new chapter in space exploration.
Ramirez clapped a hand on Captain Waters' shoulder, grinning. "Waters, it's time to make waves on Mars!"
And then, there I was, descending gently onto the Martian surface. Sage Phoenix Corlett Waters, the first to fly on Mars.