The Long Mars

Come the evening they had a hot meal in one of the bubble tents, washed up, and took to their sleeping bags early. The plan was to rise at dawn and use the full day to descend, do whatever had to be done at the base of the pit, and climb back out again before the sun fell.

That night Sally slept no better and no worse than she had during the whole trip. Another legacy of her solitary, nomadic life: she had adapted to getting by on whatever sleep she could snatch, as and when she got the chance. She was always aware, though, oddly, of the thread to the sky just a couple of miles away, silent, ancient, with space at its tip and some kind of fallen culture at its feet. Her life had always been odd, even before Step Day. Just when she’d thought it couldn’t get any odder . . .

Thor lifted, propelled by the methane rockets, as obedient and responsive as ever. Willis was piloting.

Once they were into their glide Willis made one circle over the landing site. Sally looked down at the ground, at Woden gleaming bone white in the morning sun, and their bubble tents like blisters on the scuffed Martian dust. Frank Wood stood alone, staring up. He waved, and Willis waggled the wings in response.

Sally still had that faint alarm bell ringing in the back of her head. There was something about this situation that wasn’t right, that they hadn’t thought through or prepared for. Well, Frank Wood was more experienced than Sally in this kind of situation, less intelligent than Willis maybe but calmer, more capable in many ways. If something did blow up, she’d have to rely on Frank’s instincts to save the day.

Thor turned away from the landing site and towards the pit, and Sally turned her attention to the challenge facing her.

They were over the pit in only a couple of minutes. Willis, getting the feel of the craft, took Thor banking in tight circles over the opening, keeping one eye on the elevator cable. ‘I can see the cable easily,’ he said with some relief. ‘Also I rigged up a proximity sensor that will ping if we get too close. Short of flying straight at the damn thread, we should be OK.’

‘Don’t tempt fate, Dad.’

‘Now you sound like your maternal grandfather, Patrick. Remember him? The gloomy Irishman. OK, let’s take her down.’

He began a lazy spiral around the axial cable, cutting the speed, Sally guessed, as low as he dared without risking a stall. Soon they were descending towards the mouth of the pit, the low sunlight wheeling through the glider cabin – and then, with a smooth wash of rising shadow, they fell beneath the lip of the hole, with its artfully consolidated ridge. The sun caught only the uppermost stretch of the wall of crimson rock, and soon they were falling into the darkness.

Sally felt an odd sense of claustrophobia. But that was logical, for her, with the instincts of a natural stepper. Sally had grown up knowing in her bones that as a last resort, whatever difficulty she got into, she could always just step away, even without a Stepper box. Even on the Long Mars that was true, though she would generally just be swapping one lethal landscape for another. But you couldn’t step out of a pit, a hole dug into the ground, because there would be earth and bedrock in the worlds to either side stepwise. A pit, a basement, a cellar, even a mine, was therefore a simple defence against stepping aggressors, as had been figured out very early after Step Day, even by neighbourhood cops like Monica Jansson.

On the Long Mars as on the Long Earth.

She was trapped in a cage one world thin.

As she descended twenty miles.

Into the dark.

Towards the unknown.

It came as a relief when Willis switched on lights, shining front and back of the glider and to either side, picking out the wall on the one hand and the cable on the other. The floor was still too far below to be visible. The wall of the pit was layered, with a spray of sun-blasted dust on the surface, then a mass of rubble and gravel and ice – and then the bedrock, itself deeply cracked, a record of the huge primordial impacts that had shaped this world. She wondered if these walls had needed some kind of consolidation, to keep this tremendous shaft from collapsing. Maybe Mars’s lower gravity, and its cooler interior, helped with that.

‘Piece of cake,’ Willis said as he piloted the glider. ‘Just got to hold her steady. And get used to the thickening air. Worst danger is I’ll fall asleep at the wheel.’

‘Don’t even joke about it, Dad.’

‘You keep watching, the walls, the ground. I have cameras working and other sensors, but anything else you spot—’

‘I can see something.’ The wall, in the plane’s spotlight, was no longer featureless, she saw. The rock face, as rough as ever, was etched with a kind of zigzag spiral. ‘Stairs,’ she said. ‘I see stairs. Big ones, four or six feet deep, it’s hard to tell from this vantage. But they’re stairs, all right.’

‘Ha! And we’re not a mile deep yet. Should have anticipated stairs. A culture careful enough to build this hole in the ground in anticipation of its entire civilization collapsing was always going to install something as simple as stairs.’

‘Why don’t they reach all the way to the surface?’

‘Maybe they just eroded away. I have the feeling this pit has been here a long time, Sally.’

After that, for a time they descended in silence. The circle of Martian sky above them receded, a coppery disc, like a coin. From above, the ship must look like a firefly spiralling down the barrel of a ca

At about twelve miles deep Sally thought she saw more detail on the wall, and she had her father level out for a closer look.

‘Vegetation,’ she said, watching carefully as the glider slid past the walls. ‘Stumpy trees. Things like cacti. Dad, this is like what we saw on Gap Mars.’

He checked the air pressure. ‘Yeah, we’re up to about ten per cent of a bar already. I guess this is the lower limit of tolerance for that vegetation suite. And there must be just enough sunlight down here to support their kind of photosynthesis. Remarkable, isn’t it, Sally? We keep seeing the same biospheric suite, essentially, taking its chance wherever it can, wherever the environment lets up its stranglehold, even just a little. I can feel the air thickening, getting kind of bumpy. . .’

So it was. Sally guessed that the pool of air trapped in the pit was turbulent, stirred up by the heat from below and falling back when it cooled. She tried to watch for more evidence of life on the walls, but mostly she monitored the glider’s increasingly ragged descent.

‘OK,’ Willis said at last. ‘Less than a mile to go. Pitch black down there. Radar’s showing ground. I’m going to put her down on as smooth a patch as I can find – and not far from that anomalous metal heap I detected from the surface.’

She stayed silent; she could only distract him. She checked the seals of her own pressure suit, and telltale sensors monitoring Willis’s suit.

Only in the last few seconds did she see details of the pit bottom, which looked as if it was encrusted with life, a multitude of shapes and colours gaudy in their pa

‘Here we go . . .’

The landing was bumpy. Through the fabric of the craft Sally heard scrapes, crackles, liquid noises, before they came to rest.

Willis glanced back over his shoulder at her, and gri

Sally clambered cautiously out of the glider.

The only light came from splashes from the glider’s floods. The disc of sky, far above at the top of this rock chimney, was too remote even to see – although, glancing up, following the blue thread of the beanstalk cable, Sally thought she saw something moving, falling, occluding what light there was.