Strange Water

1.

Constance Gramercy hadn’t attended Harvard and Yale, survived fifteen years in the Space Force, battled her way through the astronaut training program, left her two children behind, and divorced her asshole ex-husband just to die on Mars.

She took another deep breath of plastic-smelling oxygen and forced one booted foot in front of the other.

Despite the fact that she weighed thirty percent less out here, she felt heavy and exhausted. It had taken a full day for their rover to make it to the nearest Martian ice deposit because the Deliverance had landed significantly off course. Then another day of gathering samples. Then, on the third day, after the rover was loaded, the rover gave out. Every single move they made seemed to be thwarted.

“Looks like we’re hoofing it,” her colleague, Major Drew Halloway, had said after discovering the busted wheel gear.

And now the wind, icy and rude, swept away her footprints and the footprints of her colleague as if the planet were trying to erase their foreign presences.

But Constance had what she came for: thirty-two ounces of frozen Martian water from the south pole in a pack. She wasn’t going to stop until she reached the Deliverance, about seven more clicks to the northeast.

The landscape, while pretty in images projected to Earth, was a bitch. Gusting sands. Sharp rocks. Wind tugging their uniforms and whipping debris at their visors. Constance heard the planet’s frustrated howling through her helmet. Every step took monumental effort. You had to push against the wind and then you had to make sure that you didn’t step on some rock waiting to trip you or twist your ankle.

She kept her focus on getting that thirty-two ounce block of Martian ice to the ship. The thermal package bounced against her hip.

Constance took two more steps. Then she realized Drew was no longer beside her.

2.

Signs of dehydration: cramping, dizziness, seizures, loss of blood pressure, loss of consciousness.

Drew was barely conscious, and cramps had him bent double. He clearly hadn’t been drinking enough, his insistence on conserving resources backfiring on him.

Knowing she couldn’t drag him through the Martian landscape, Constance looked for a decent spot to shelter. Spotting a rocky outcropping, she made for it, nearly collapsing with exhaustion as she reached its base. It would provide meager protection, but it was better than nothing. With trembling hands, she erected their emergency shelter—a handy auto-inflating tent-jobby which had surprisingly effective insulation from the Martian elements. Getting it grounded was the most difficult part.

She set it up, pulled him inside, and secured the seal. She activated the oxygen and pulled off Drew’s helmet.

Giving him the last of his Earth water abated his symptoms somewhat, but not nearly enough to continue to the Deliverance.

“Thirsty,” Drew whispered.

His voice sounded raw.

Constance didn’t answer him directly, instead directing her distress call to the Deliverance. “Mayday. Mayday. Deliverance, this is Constance.” A burst of static answered her. She gave their coordinates, just in case the crew could hear her better than she could hear them. The ship was just a blur of unintelligible noise at this point. Constance wasn’t an engineer, but suspected the weather had something to do with the comms.

“Thirsty.”

“I’ve given you the last of your water reserve and my own,” Constance said. “Did you not drink before we left?”

Drew shouldn’t be so dry. They hadn’t hiked that far, though the walking had been strenuous. Constance would be lying if she said she wasn’t grateful for the brief pause from the howling wind. She’d drunk half a gallon before leaving and now, with him talking so much about thirst, she was getting parched herself.

“Thirsty,” Drew said again.

“No water,” Constance said.

“Water—thermal container.”

“The Martian water?” Constance asked. Drew had lost his mind. A shame for a scholar like him. “It hasn’t been tested. We don’t know what’s in it. No.”

Anything could happen if she gave him alien water. Apart from hazardous chemical mixtures, there was also the potential for ancient viruses frozen in the ice. The consequences of drinking strange water were too dangerous.

3.

They stayed in the emergency shelter for hours. Constance knew they couldn’t stay much longer. They were out of communication range with the Deliverance — so she couldn’t request a rescue party that way. She’d have to go get help herself.

“I’ll be back, Drew,” she said. “I promise.”

Drew shook his head. Even his skin looked dry now. Fine lines—had they been there before?—stretched out from the corners of his eyes. His lips were deeply chapped. As she watched his bottom lip cracked but didn’t bleed. There didn’t seem to be enough liquid in his system to bleed.

“Water,” he said. “Leave…water.”

Both blocks of Martian ice had melted in the heat of the emergency shelter. They sat there in their containers on the ground between the two astronauts, just out of Drew’s reach.

Another cramp seized Drew. He curled up.

“I can’t wait to get help, buddy,” she said. ”I’ll be back. I’ll be back.” She didn’t know whether she was lying.

Why had she waited so long?

As soon as she stood up though, she knew. The muscles in her thighs buckled, resisting the idea of heading back out into the wind. She shook her head against the exhaustion. Drew resisted as she put his helmet back on, but he was too weak to fight effectively. She took his pack, including the second emergency shelter. Then she stepped out and left Drew curled up in the shelter.  

Constance grabbed both packages of water, heard the slosh. Her own thirst threatened to get the better of her. She licked her lips.

4.

The red sands spun around her. Constance heard the particles hit the plastic of her visor. She couldn’t see more than three feet in front of her.

“Leave…the water…” Drew said, his weak voice in her helmet giving the wind a voice.

Constance grit her teeth and tried to ignore him.

An hour. Another.

Drew fell silent.

Her tongue felt drier than her skin. She couldn’t swallow. She’d stopped sweating a while ago. Her stomach was cramping. Dehydration had come for her too.

“…water…” Drew whispered. It was the first time he’d spoken for a while.

Constance set up the second emergency shelter. Crawled inside, dragging specks of Martian dust with her.

5.

The Martian water sat before her. It looked so much like Earth water. Clear. Surface tension. Light refraction.

“…leave…the water…” Drew said. She barely heard him now. He was so far away.

Constance could barely move.

She’d come so far. One hundred and thirty seven million miles.

She thought of all the scientists who’d taken great risks for their discoveries. Salk testing the polio vaccine on himself, for example. Great risk, great reward.

In her headset she heard Drew say something else. Or maybe he just groaned. If she didn’t hurry, he was going to die. Hell, she might have killed him anyway by not letting him take the risk she now contemplated.

Constance opened the thermal pouch, sniffed it. The water smelled like nothing. It smelled like…water. She put her cracked lips to the pouch opening, then—no more thinking—tipped it back.

It felt like water. So ice-cold it hurt her teeth. It trickled down the back of her throat, soothing the tightness that had built there. It tasted metallic, but not unpleasantly so. Mostly the water felt good.

“…no…water…” Drew said. …no…drink…water…water…”

But she ignored him. Drew’s voice was background.

She finished the first container.

Then she reached for Drew’s collection pouch.

Something was wrong. Both containers should hold sixteen ounces. But Drew’s pouch seemed low. More like twelve ounces. Both had been full before they left the sample site, she was sure of it.

“…no…water…” Drew said.

A cramp, strong and sharp, tightened her gut. With it came a feeling as liquid as the water she’d just swallowed.

“…water…dehy…dehy…”

“It dehydrates you?” Constance felt her throat tighten again. Unnatural. Strange. All she wanted to do was drink more. A sharpness entered her knees and elbows.

“Drew, did you drink this water?”

“….not water…no…” Drew was trying but he was fading fast. She heard the effort he made. “…ice…ice…cur…ious” Then he said nothing else.

But she understood. He’d eaten the ice.

She dropped Drew’s water, watched the water spill at her feet. It seeped and flowed like Earth water. The rivulets streamed and pooled at small indentations on the shelter’s plastic floor. The water brushed at her boot and blended with the specks of Martian dust, turning red.