Over The Hills And Far Away
It wasn’t exactly how Theo had imagined the end of the world. They were sitting on the floor by the airlock, staring at each other. Nick was singing.
Again.
“Out into the wild blue yonder, over the hills and far away—“
“I think you’re mixing your metaphors there.”
Theo wasn’t sure if it even qualified as singing.
“Does it matter?”
The oxygen alarm started back into its cycle again.
“No, I suppose not.”
Three months ago, that hadn’t been a problem. It was another Martian sol like any other since the rest of the crew left, leaving him and Nick to the solo portion of the mission. On this particular morning, Nick was walking around the kitchen smelling the air.
“What are you doing?”
“Something’s off.”
An alarm rang three times, and stopped. Theo’s eyes drifted down from the ceiling.
“I do believe you may be right.”
Nick snorted, brushing past him. Theo followed and hovered over his shoulder while Nick worked through the alarm. Theo’s stomach sank further with every step.
He didn’t need Nick to tell him the result.
Nick said it anyway.
“There’s a problem with the solid oxide electrolysis unit.”
Theo stared out the observation window—the only one in the habitat.
“It’s not keeping up with our O2 demands, it’s degrading.”
“How long?”
Nick was starting over with the calculations.
“Nick. How long?”
Nick looked him square in the face with those intense eyes that always made Theo want to curl back into himself. Back where life was less real.
“Three months.”
The wind picked up outside, sending the dust swirling past the windows. They were at the start of a dust storm that was predicted to last two and a half months, covering everything in dust and cutting off their communications with Earth.
Three months seemed like an eternity.
Three weeks ago, the storm cleared. Theo sent an emergency communique to NASA, with Nick standing over his shoulder.
“That’s pointless.”
“What do you want to do? Sit down and die?”
“They can’t do anything.”
Theo kept typing.
“There isn’t time.”
“What do you want me to do?” Theo asked, exploding back from the keyboard and throwing out his hands, smacking Nick in the face. “Sorry.”
Nick backed away, rubbing his face.
“I know.”
The problem had gotten worse. And Nick was right about altering NASA. He was always right. You can’t get to Mars in three weeks. Theo had wild hopes about daring rescues, classified booster rockets from the Chinese, previously unannounced Russian missions, or a billionaire with enough money to solve anything.
It was an odd thing, living with the end at your fingertips. Brushing shoulders every day with the last person you were ever going to see. Theo tried to keep the negative thoughts down, but NASA had strict regulations about alcohol.
“There’s a fundamental fault in the cell.”
“Can we—“
“We can’t take the life support system apart again.”
“Why not?”
Nick knocked his knuckles against the helmet of his spacesuit. “Oxygen tanks are empty.”
That was the moment Theo lost it. It was ridiculous to think that a couple of emergency air tanks could save them, but having that scrap of a safety net was the only thing holding his sanity together.
Three days ago, it was time to time to face facts. Nick, all hard edges, had accepted it. Theo was tossing and turning in his bunk.
“Theo?” Nick’s voice floated down from the bunk above.
“I’m sleeping.”
“You’re keeping me awake, is what you’re doing.”
“It’s basically morning.”
“It’s Mars. Time is meaningless here.”
It was quiet for a few moments, the lights warming towards full, fake daylight.
“What did you say to your mom?” Theo asked, his voice quiet.
“You haven’t talked to your parents.”
It was too early in the morning for the compassion in Nick’s voice. Theo rolled out of his bunk and stumbled out towards to the kitchen. The diminishing oxygen in the air was obvious at this point. He’d had a headache for three days that no amount of coffee was going to fix.
“Hey,” Nick said, appearing as a warm hand on Theo’s shoulder.
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me it’s going to be okay?”
“Yeah.” Nick squeezed his shoulder and dropped his hand.
Theo cleared his throat. “Anything we haven’t tried?”
“No.”
Same question, same answer. They carried on as they had for the last three months. At a much slower pace, both of them dizzy. NASA was sending instructions and ideas and grief counseling, but Theo had stopped reading them. What were they going to say? Sorry for your imminent demise?
Three hours ago, the computer had chimed, confirming Theo’s sent message. At some point, Nick had ended up on the floor near the airlock, staring at nothing.
“What was that?”
Theo stared at the screen, his words mocking him. He heard Nick struggling to get off the ground. Theo blinked, text blurring, and then Nick was leaning on him, a hand on the desk attempting to support himself.
“Good for you.”
“It’s awful.”
“They’re only going to care that you said goodbye.”
Had NASA told his family? He couldn’t remember.
Three minutes ago, Nick broke his heart. Theo was propped against the wall, staring at the NASA patch on Nick’s uniform. His thoughts were fuzzy, but he was aware of that, so how fuzzy could they be if he knew his thoughts were going fuzzy from lack of air—
“I don’t want to die.” Nick’s voice cracked at the end.
Theo gathered the last of his strength and heaved himself to other side, slumping against Nick. Things were going dark. A hand found his, and he imaged he could feel his own lips pressing into a shoulder.
The next thing he knew, a bright light was cutting through the darkness and he felt worse than he had in the last three months, three years, or his life. Figures were moving around outside the light. Was that Russian?
Someone groaned to his left. Theo would know that grunt of complaint anywhere. He licked his dry lips, trying to get his voice to work.
“Lies hope.”
“What?”
“The last line in your stupid song.”
“Not stupid, you’re stupid,” Nick muttered.
Theo grinned. Nick smiled back.
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