A year or so into the sojourn, I was in orbit around Mars and preparing to land. There was an autopilot, but I stood ready at the controls just in case. There was a downward facing camera so I could see where I was going on the main display in the cabin. Otherwise, I kept my eyes glued to the instruments and watched warily for any sign of trouble. Right before touchdown, the engine stalled briefly, and so the craft fell like a rock for the last 20 feet or so. The impact damaged the power system and limited by communication to text only. At this distance from earth, it took half an hour to send and receive messages from mission control. As soon as I had determined there had been no hull breach or loss of oxygen, I painstakingly typed out a message to those anxiously waiting back home.
***
HORUS HERE
HARD LANDING
LOW POWER
I'M OK
PLEASE ADVISE
***
It was an agonizing wait to hear their reply.
***
GLAD YOU'RE OK
CONTINUE MISSION
INSPECT DAMAGE AND REPORT
***
I felt lucky to be alive, but the damage and low power meant I would not be able to send any video or audio back home. I tried not to worry about it. The purpose of the mission was to prove the feasibility of long-term space travel, so the real "mission accomplished" moment would be when I splashed down 15 months from now. I went to the dressing area and the robot helped me get into my bulky spacesuit. I went to the airlock and gingerly climbed to the ladder. I half-walked and half-hopped around the craft to inspect the damage. The gears were bent out of shape, and so the ship was pointed in the wrong direction for takeoff. Unless I could find a way to fix it, there was no way to get home. At least I had three months to find a solution. I typed another message with a stylus onto a communication device built into the forearm of my spacesuit.
***
GEAR BENT
CAN'T TAKE OFF TIL FIXED
STUCK HERE FOR NOW
***
I didn't get any more replies from them for the rest of the day. Still, the show must go on as the old saying goes. I extended the collapsible flagpole and stretched out the American flag. I thought planting the flag was a kind of silly jingoistic anachronism, but I rationalized it as a gesture of thanks to all my countrymen who helped me get this far. I snapped a photo of the scene and contemplated what a shame it was that no one would see it unless I could find a way to repair my stricken vessel. Suddenly, I felt a tremor in the ground. the ground under the flag bulged up slightly and knocked the flag from its place. I went to replant it and jammed it extra hard into the ground. At that moment, I heard a loud screech and then ground bulged up again even more. It knocked me from my feet, and I hastily crawled away.
Slowly, the red dust fell from the bulse to reveal a monstrous, blue crablike creature. What a day! First stranded on Mars, and now face to claw with a Martian! It angled its eyestalks to peer at me. I held up my hands in what I hoped would be a non-threatening gesture. To my astonishment, the creature used its giant pincers to mimic my movement. I began to wonder if this creature I had inadvertently roused was intelligent. That would be another great moment in science for the day. After checking my oxygen gauge, I pointed to the sun, which in the Martian sky appeared as a faint reddish disk about the size of a dime. Then using my stylus, I drew a circle in the ground and pointed to the sun once more to indicate what my crude diagram meant.
The alien behemoth watched patiently and intently as I drew four more circles and put dots in them to represent the inner four planets. I pointed at the ground and then to the dot in the fourth circle to communicate that we were currently on Mars, the fourth planet from the sun. Then I pointed at the dot in the edge of the third circle and so likewise pantomimed that I was from earth, the third planet from the sun. I also pointed to the drawing of earth on the mission patch of my spacesuit. If the Martians had telescopes, they would have noticed the blue color of earth vs. the red color of their home world. Math is the universal language, and so as a finale to my impromptu lecture, held my fingers on one hand then, with the stylus, touched them one at a time and lowered them. Every time I counted a finger, I used my stylus to write the appropriate numeral in the sand together with a tally mark. I wasn't sure how successful this method would be, but it was at least worth a shot.
How relieved I was when the creature began counting out rocks just as I had done. With its claw, it wrote what could only be Martian numerals into the sound together with the equivalent amount of tally marks, just as I had done. Well, I doubted very much we could have any deep conversations, at least for the time being, but it felt wonderful that the lowest hurdle of the language barrier had been cleared. I pointed to the spacecraft as if to tell my new gargantuan companion that it was time for me to go home. I watched him scuttled off some distance from the landing site and burrow into the soft, red sand. That was another good sign. It wanted to keep some distance, but also wanted to be close enough to resume the conversation when I emerged from the ship once more. Once I made it through the airlock and changed back into my jumpsuit, I eagerly sent a number of messages to mission control to detail the day's events. After a very long delay, I received an amusing and terse reply.
***
!
***
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