MARSQUAKES

Terra then pulled out her steth-o-line, connecting the end to the soldier's helmet. Terra kept a little distance, apprehensive about her safety. Behind the soldier's clear faceplate was the hair, cheeks, lips of a young woman. “Miss?” Terra spoke softly, “Do you hear me?” The soldier's eyes blinked. Her chest vibrated. She coughed. The survivor's clear helmet faceplate suddenly clouded with a red coating from the inside. “Are you okay?” Terra began to panic. The woman in the pressure suit was spitting blood. There was absolutely nothing Terra could do to help. The sleeve instruments indicated that the pulse briefly quickened, and then went blank. The soldier was dead. Terra's hands began trembling. She knew she couldn't scream locked in her own helmet. She stood, and started walking back out the way she had come. Another crash victim's motion caught her eye. She ignored it as she stepped over the carnage. She had to get out. In the rover she removed her helmet. She sat at the driver's seat crying for several minutes. Her hands continued to shake. Finally, she calmed enough to call home. She stood, and went to the kitchenette unit to get herself a cold beverage. She drank quickly, too quickly. She nearly choked. Again, she sat. A young soldier just died in front of her. She thought of the motion she caught as she rushed from the wreck. Was there one survivor? Just one? With time she regained her composure. She returned to the broken spacecraft. Inside she stopped to focus her light toward the front of the ship. Near the cabin, was someone seated at a communications console. Outfitted in a complete pressure suit, he had a hose extending from his hard case helmet to a portable air canister. Terra pointed her flashlight at him, illuminating his hand as it lifted off the desktop.