Shepherds of Mars

T-30 hours

Few would admit it, but sunsets here made most of the base’s personnel uneasy. Every evening the sun shifted blue as it scattered through the iron-rich atmosphere of Mars. With instincts shaped by millennia of orange-red evenings, this cold glow felt all wrong. Confusing, beautiful, and alienating. 

The dusk’s light filtered in through her office windows, but Aya noticed none of it, absorbed as she was in the screen at her desk. With quick, frantic movements, she tapped out the last of her message. Desperately squeezing one last request into the rapidly shrinking communications window with Earth. After a final few clicks, it was done, and she sunk down into her chair with a deep sigh.

Is it enough? Will any of this be enough?

Out of habit, she picked up the small wooden figure from her otherwise sparse workspace. A crude carving in a rough humanoid shape, smoothed by years of handling. It passed between her hands, while her mind raced through the day's events. Exhaustion anchored her into her chair, tugging her further down into a slump. A tinge of dread fluttered through  as she finally started to process the news. Ever since that morning's debrief with Earth, she'd been trapped in a frenzied state of work, and tomorrow would be more of the same. Another desperate struggle to squeeze every useful byte of information out of Earth, and into their scientific outpost’s data banks. And just like today, she'd do it alone, that was her lot as Martian Outpost Administrator. She'd accepted the post for bigger reasons, which were usually enough to stay sane. Because usually, they were all building towards a better future. Usually, there was hope for a better future.

Just then, a ping on her wrist roused her, and she creaked her spine slowly back into an upright seated position. She carefully returned the wooden figurine to her desk, and read the notification. A meeting request from Dr. Miguel Flores, for this very moment. He must be standing just outside her office door, stewing in anger and indignation. After a moment to compose herself and take a deep breath, Aya approved the request.

Miguel burst into the room, throwing out a rant that had been brimming at his mouth for hours.

"Canceled? Canceled!? What the hell are they thinking! I've been waiting on that package for a year, and now they're just canceling it? How am I supposed to get any work done, are they expecting miracles up here?"

He'd started pacing the moment he came in, and had already completed 4 circles in the small room. Despite his short stature, he had a way of filling up the entire room with it. Aya wished he'd sit down and breathe, but he just kept going, each word thrown out quick as a boxer's combo.

"All this over some cooked up drama that'll boil over in a few weeks. Then I'll have to wait for the next launch window, 4 more months, at least!"

She nodded sympathetically, her mind already wandering back to her own problems, knowing the biologist well enough to let him tire himself out.

"You've got to talk to them Aya. They have to understand that their decisions have consequences, even if they don't have to deal with them. I just can't work like this!"

His pace slowed eventually, and Aya gestured to the chair in front of her desk. With a last frustrated huff, he sat down, arms crossed.

"Miguel, I'm sorry, but there's not much I can do for you right now."

His mouth opened, ready to protest, and she quickly continued, knowing just what to say to soothe him.

"You know what, this reminds me of that issue with the algae tanks, when that new strain wasn't taking. You're up here because you solve problems just like that, you might be the only one that can. I'm sure you'll find a workaround for this. Because if you can't figure it out, well, no one can."

The words came easily, even when she had no idea what he was talking about. She knew what made her chief biologist tick. Start with a reminder of past glory, add a little dash of ego-stroking, and he'd be back on track in no time. Then she could go back to focusing on the problem at hand, with no risk of Miguel finding out about it.

His shoulders loosened, and the growl melted into a light scowl.

"Yeah well, that might be true and all. But still. They can't keep canceling shipments like this, so last minute. That's the third time in a row!"

He shifted around in his seat, arms falling back to his side.

"Aya really, you have to talk to them, especially about the next shipments. If they delay the next staffing ship, so help me god…”

His hands balled into fists and relaxed again before he continued:

“I'll go crazy if I have to look at these same faces for another 6 months."

An amused snort escaped from Aya, and Miguel caught it immediately. He narrowed his eyes at her, as she tried to maintain a calm and neutral demeanor.

Stupid mistake. The less he knows, the better. The less all of them know, the better.

"Is something going on Aya? You seem more... distracted than usual."

She shook her head as nonchalantly as she could, but he continued, having sniffed out a lead.

"In fact, why are you still here? It's way past working hours. What are you working on that couldn't wait a day?"

A new voice spoke up, turning her inner monologue into a dialogue.

What makes you better than him? Why can you know, but not him?

She leaned back and looked past Miguel, out of the plastic window to the red soil outside, which was quickly darkening to brown as evening descended. Slowly, words formed, as if she was constructing an idle thought out loud.

"Let me get your thoughts on something... Say you had a choice, to save a selection of data from Earth. What would you prioritize? What’s most important?"

He frowned, his gray and bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought. Just as she expected, he couldn't resist the allure of a hypothetical problem.

"What are the constraints? Why not just store everything and let future historians figure out what's important?"

"Say you have 10 terabyte to work with, you can't save everything"

"And what are we saving it for?"

"Let's call it a backup of humanity's achievements and progress."

A slow nod from him, and then in a confident, self-evident tone he declared:

"Well in that case: science, of course. Every experiment, paper, journal, textbook, and theory. That's what you'd have to prioritize."

She feigned surprise, despite the answer being exactly what she'd expected.

"Oh? How about culture? What about our history, music, art?"

He shrugged.

"Sure, if there's the bytes left for it. But it has to be deprioritized. Culture is interesting, but if we're backing up humanity, we need to save the most useful things first."

She cocked her head at him, and he continued.

"Culture is... it's just a reflection of the context and setting of a group of people. It'll well up organically wherever it's needed. Science on the other hand, science is built on past knowledge. So you'd need to prioritize saving that over anything else."

"Doesn't culture grow over time as well? It builds on the past and evolves. Excluding it means you're stunting that growth, maybe even beyond repair."

He shook his head, then sat up straight. He was getting animated, gripped with the joy of intellectual sparring.

"Just because it's changing, doesn't mean it's on a path of progress. Change doesn't have to mean improvement, it's just change. That's culture, just an ever-changing stew of social norms and practices."

His arms spread in wild gesturing as he continued.

"Science on the other hand is a tower. Built on top of past achievements and knowledge. Sometimes parts of it get demolished and renovated, sure, but it's always progressing upwards. That's more important to save than anything else."

Aya felt herself getting heated now too, her heart beating faster, despite the exhaustion gripping her body.

"But humans think in stories. We're constantly creating the story of ourselves, building a narrative from our memories. Isn't that true for our collective identities too? Once we lose access to our shared past, we'll be adrift, lost in a world we can't understand. Surviving, maybe, but never thriving."

His face and voice took on a sudden edge, as he leaned forward, the spell of their hypothetical argument broken.

"What do you mean, 'lose access' Aya?"

She stiffened, not saying a word, and he continued, pointing out the window.

"Earth is right there, and on it are all the memories we'll ever need. Both good and bad. We've got redundant communication lines, satellites in Lagrange points all over the system. If we're talking about ideas and connection, Earth is right there, just a few minutes data transfer delay away. Always will be."

His eyes found hers, pinning her down as he asked directly.

"What's this all about Aya? What are you actually asking?"

Fear and pain passed over her face, and from his reaction, Aya knew that he'd noticed. She noticed his surprise. The ever patient and stoic Administrator Aya, rattled by something, afraid even.

"What's going on?" he asked, now with a pleading edge. And with a sigh, she told him what she'd learned that morning. She told him that the unthinkable was now inevitable. The Asia-Pacific treaty negotiations had broken down. Drones, bombers and fighters were scrambling over the Taiwan strait. Mobilization orders had been issued in the European Union and African Union, and the first naval engagements were already reported off the Philippine coast. Nuclear silos across all continents on high alert. There was a day left, maybe two, till total war and nuclear annihilation. The world they’d left behind would be erased, replaced with craters and radioactive rubble.

She'd expected shouts, anger, denial. Instead, he stared into the distance in silent shock. A few tears came, as he listened to her speak. Aya was surprised to feel a few rolling down her own cheeks too. They wiped their faces, and she offered a tissue from a box under her desk. Miguel finally took in a deep breath, and after a long exhale, nodded with quiet determination.

"I'll let my team know. I can tell the other department chiefs too if you prefer. Spare you the pain."

"No. You'll do none of that."

He didn't reply, not verbally. His questioning glare said enough.

"Miguel, you and I are the only ones who know this now. On Mars anyway. We can't have panic, we can't be distracted by the chaos of that. And more importantly, we can't spare the data bandwidth I'm sure everyone will demand."

He moved to object but she cut him off with a firm tone.

"No let me finish. I've thought this through. They'll want to talk to loved ones, to say their goodbyes. I understand that. But this isn't about us, this is about the future of humanity. Like you said, we have to prioritize the things that will give us a head start. The things that can pull humanity up when we're ready to build back out of the rubble."

"You can't use my words against me like that, that was a hypothetical scenario. We were talking about something completely different!"

"Were we?” Miguel retreated into his chair as Aya leaned forward and continued.

“I asked what you would prioritize, what you would focus on saving. Science, the tower of our achievements, that was your answer. Not sentimental communications back home."

He blustered, looking as if the floor had fallen out underneath him. He fell back to verbal sparring, with none of his former confidence.

"Aya, do you know what you're saying? There's families and loved ones back home. There's children, hell I have my children back home!"

More tears slipped down his cheeks, but his anger kept the words coming undeterred.

"This is my last chance to say goodbye to them, and you want me to what, just quietly let them go? I won't stand for this. Nobody else will either. You're asking for a mutiny Aya!"

"Careful now Dr. Flores. That kind of talk doesn't lead to a good end."

With a scoff he stood up, gesturing and raising his voice even more.

"A good end? What are you talking about! My family, everyone I've loved... Oh god everyone I've ever known... You think you can scare me, with this coming for us all?"

Miguel sat back down heavily, avoiding her eyes. He'd shrunk a little, condensed into a grimacing ball of fear, anger, and barely suppressed grief.

"Aya please, just let me speak to my children. Let me say goodbye, that's all I ask."

With closed eyes, she shook her head, prompting another teardrop to roll down her face.

"I can't do that. I can't make exceptions. This is bigger than us, more important than any one of us."

With a cracking voice, barely audible past the hand that now covered his face, he asked:

"Do they know how bad it'll be? What's the Parevski survival rate?"

For a moment, Aya considered saying nothing, but the biggest truth was already on the table. Better to just let it all out.

"It's going to be bad. DoD is projecting 0.4 Parevski. 11% survival rate for humanity, 30% for all land-based life. At best, a 2 century timeline to get back to industrial age technology."

His back was spasming, his sobbing barely contained behind shaking hands. But contain it he did, looking up at her with reddened eyes to continue the argument.

"Aya you have to let me, all of us, talk to our loved ones."

It was her turn now to bring a hand to her face, softly massaging the bridge of her nose.

"I can't do that."

"What are you trying to accomplish Aya?"

She pointed at the poster over her shoulder, knowing where it was without looking. A 1 square meter sized high-quality gloss print of the blue marble that was home, true home.

"That isn't going anywhere. And humanity isn't going anywhere. In the grand scheme of things... this is just a detour. And we can shorten that detour considerably. Imagine, everything they can regain, as soon as they get communications technology back online. We could, slowly, send every bit of information we've gathered back to the next generations. We can be their lifeline, we can pull them back out of the depths."

"Yes, exactly. Exactly!"

A surge of excitement passed through Miguel, as he sensed his opening and desperately leaped for it.

"That's right, we have to be their lifeline! We won't be any good up here dead, right? We have to survive up here too."

Met with nothing but silence and a light frown, he continued.

"We have what we need here. Mostly anyway, and we'll figure out the rest. There's plenty of smart people who can get us to self-sufficiency. But we can't create a workaround for morale and emotions."

He sat up, each word filling him with more energy, till he was almost out of his chair again.

"The only way we can save Earth and humanity, is if we survive to save it. And that's only possible if we have closure! You know what, I'll speak for myself. I need closure. If I can't say goodbye... if I can't get that... I'll never be ok. I will never forgive you."

His eyes turned cold as he said calmly:

"Aya, if I can't get closure, I'm not going to keep living. And I won't be the only one. Let us say goodbye, so we can survive."

The sun outside had set completely, and under the warm glow of the ceiling lights overhead, her face seemed softer. Lighter. Like none of these words mattered, as if all of it was determined already. It looked to Miguel like she'd found a deep peace. In a sudden flash of intuition, he sensed why.

"My god... you're not planning on surviving, are you Aya?"

She said nothing, and her serene quiet was all the answer he needed.

"No, no no... No! You can't give up on us like this, that's tantamount to murder!"

There was still no response from Aya, and in a dazed panic he switched tracks:

"You say this is bigger than us, more important than any one of us. Great, I agree. So let's walk through the outcomes."

He stood up and strode quickly past her desk to the giant framed print of Earth behind her. She had to swivel around to see him standing with a finger stretched out at the picture of their home.

"What are they going to find in a century or two? Say they finally recover communications with us. What do you want them to find? A textbook, beaming back to them from a dead outpost, or a living and breathing community? A community of fellow humans, a group of shepherds! That cares for them and welcomes them with open arms across time and space. What would be best for them?"

The last sentence was almost shouted as he tapped angrily on the print, smudging it with a sweaty fingerprint.

"It's not about what's best," she said finally. "It's about what's possible."

"What's possible? Anything! We can figure this out. Earth's best and brightest, all in one place, we can do anything!"

She gestured back to the empty chair, but Miguel stood his ground, refusing her request with a short angry shake of his head. She shrugged, and replied.

"This isn't a homestead Miguel. This is a science outpost, in a hostile environment. The best we can hope for with what little time we have left, is to create an unmanned off-site data backup. We don't have the tools to survive on our own out here."

Then with a pained smile, she added:

"What did you come in here to complain about? A delayed shipment... what was it again?"

She glanced at her palm screen for a moment before looking back up at him.

"Right, a shipment of Crispr-Cas9 and other assorted enzymes."

He looked down, avoiding her gaze as she continued.

"There will never again be a shipment, Miguel, of anything. Sooner or later, you're going to run out. Something will break down. Some part will wear down in this harsh climate, with no spares left to repair it. Then what'll happen?"

He shook his head, and lifted his gaze back up from the floor.

"You're asking me to give up, you're asking all of us to just give up. I won't do that, because there is a chance. The slimmest of chances, sure, but we can survive! We'll need to get lucky, but more than that, we all need to believe. We'll all have to work together."

He took a step forward suddenly, shocking her a little, unused as she was to having anyone on this side of her desk.

"Aya, you're not alone up here, though I know you feel that way. You've been the archetype of the lonely leader, but that part's played out now. You're one of us, and we care about you. Don't you give up on us."

A drawn out silence, and Aya picked up the wooden sculpture from her desk again, giving her something to look at other than Miguel's intense stare. The wood's curves had softened over the years, but even so, there was still a rough and crude charm to the piece. A tangle of loving but imprecise lines, left by the small hands that had carved it. Carved long ago, by a son that had died not so long after. A son that, thankfully, didn't have to live to see this painful chapter of life on Earth.

Aya didn't fear death. In fact, she realized now that a part of her longed for it. The end of humanity as they knew it... what better time to die than that? Had she been alone up here, or had she stayed back on Earth, meeting that end would be easy. It felt like letting go, letting all her responsibilities and roles sink away from her. Giving back all the pain and guilt she'd shouldered over an entire lifetime.

Yet here stood Miguel, asking for more. More of Aya, and more of her pain.

Miguel shifted his weight, then said slowly:

"I promised I wouldn't say a word of this to anyone, but given the circumstances...."

She looked up at him, and in his eyes she found confidence. Conviction, streaming out of him, worming its way into a far corner of her mind and planting a tiny seed of hope.

"Dr. Bajwa is pregnant. She's due in 7 months. And if all shipments and crew transfers are canceled... Well I guess we'll be meeting our first true Martian pretty soon."

It's not enough, it might never be enough.

Miguel extended a hand to her, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it. He pulled her out of her seat and into a hug. A tear-filled, shaky hug.

It's not enough, it won’t ever be enough.

But I don't get to make that choice for everyone.

She pulled back and squeezed Miguel's shoulder lightly. She saw the same man that had first stepped into her office over a year ago. The same naive confidence, and the same questioning eyes. Eyes that asked something of her: guidance, friendship, leadership.

With a hoarse throat and heavy tongue, she finally spoke.

"Ok. Let's tell them."

#

 Epilogue 

T+50 days

The aches and strain were less biting these days, and getting less so with each shift. Aya wasn't sure if it was a physical and muscular adaptation, or if she was just getting used to the pain. She stretched her back, and in the tight space bumped into a planter box behind her. She was alone in the former physics lab which, like most rooms, had been converted to a brightly lit indoor farm. Makeshift basins were stacked wall to wall, packed with dark brown dirt and regular patterns of tiny green seedlings.

Except for the slight hum of the overhead grow-lights, the room was silent. Quiet enough to leave her appreciating the soft background chatter of the hallway outside, as she trudged back to her room and bed. She felt so tired, and she saw that feeling reflected in all the faces she passed. Most everyone spent over 8 hours a day farming for food or oxygen. It baffled her how much energy it took just to secure the minimum resources they needed to survive. What she wouldn't do for a few farmbots up here... But underneath all the exhaustion and discomfort was also a familiar warm glow. There wasn't hope, not yet, but there was gratitude. Gratitude for her decision, and most of all gratitude for everyone in the outpost.

Both before and after Earth's final hours, all 150 of them had pulled together in ways she couldn't have predicted. Of course there was pain, anger, and grief. But everyone also understood the weight of their responsibility. They'd voluntarily given up personal data space, and had collectively agreed to take only 5 minutes of video communication per person with Earth. She'd been surprised by the admin staff, desperately copying non-vital records to paper just to create a few more bytes of storage. And the mathematicians, who'd gone without sleep trying to create new compression algorithms for every one of the outpost’s use cases. Each spare byte on their servers and personal devices had since been filled, stuffed with all the treasures of mankind's millennia of progress.

Earth's final message was a single line of text, pinged over from the last ship to make it out to orbit in time. 

'Good luck out there, Mars Station Alpha. See you in a century or two.’