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that
faced the two main launch complexes, though the Firing Room itself
faced away from these windows.
    Seeing the Firing Room empty was perhaps a greater shock to
their systems even than crashing. This room was the central hub at
Kennedy of all operations for their mission; anytime an American
was in space, the Firing Room was packed with hardworking men
and women doing everything they could to ensure the success of the
mission and the safe return of the crew.
    The dozens of computer terminals still glowed with power, many
of them continuing to receive data from the downed Ares, even now.
The large main screen at the front of the room was flashing a hazard
warning due to the crash. But no one was there to see it, nor to turn
it off. Trisha located the appropriate console and switched off the
warning lights.
    Trisha and Terry were both still covered with bruises and crusted
blood, dirt, and sweat, but they'd shed their hefty flight suits, keeping only their basic one-piece jumpsuits. They had little concern for
appearances; all either of them could think about was figuring out what was going on. There would be time for hygiene and mending
injuries later. Getting their "sea legs" back after years in reduced
gravity was a procedure that normally would have been allowed
significant time and medical assessment, but there was nothing normal about anything now, and they were forced to muddle through
physical oddities like balance issues and decreased muscle mass on
their own.

    Trisha suffered the aftereffects worse than any of them. She would
never ordinarily let the others see her wincing or groaning at the
physical exertion each step required, but she couldn't stop herself
from it today.
    Trisha Merriday was what NASA referred to as a "twofer" on the
Mars mission. NASA normally had two types of astronauts: pilots and
specialists. Her brief stint as a Marine pilot qualified her to pilot the
Ares when needed, while master's degrees in both astrophysics and
geology gave her mission specialist status.
    Though much of her time on Mars was to be dedicated to scientific research duties, NASA made the unusual move of selecting the
twenty-eight-year-old as the mission's second in command. Efficient,
determined, and passionate about space exploration, Trisha was one
of NASAs stalwarts, a friendly, comfortable, and knowledgeable face
to the public, and she wore the fact that she was the first astronaut
assigned to the mission's crew-even before Chris-as a badge of
honor.
    She only hoped Terry was too preoccupied with the larger situation to notice that she was operating far below peak efficiency.
    So far he seemed to be. The youngest member of the crew at
twenty-four, Terry Kessler played the role of little brother. Diminutive
and squirrelly, with the build of a horse-racing jockey, he operated
almost entirely on instinct in the cockpit, and in life. Terry was a
gifted pilot and confident in his abilities.
    His job among the crew had been to pilot the two specialized vehicles carried aboard the Ares that were intended for use on Mars-one being the Martian lander that detached from the Ares and carried all
of the materials that would be needed there, the other the six-wheeled
surface rover. He used the lander to make periodic supply runs back
up to the orbiting Ares so that the crew had all the food, water, fuel,
and other supplies they would need for an extended stay. He also
had a natural clumsiness on his feet and an unerring ability to say
the wrong thing at the worst time.

    Trisha knew it was Terry who would be the least prepared to face
what seemed to he happening. If any of them were actually capable
of processing it.
    "This isn't ..." Terry faltered. "I mean ... everybody's going
to jump out and yell `gotcha' or something, right? This is not really
happening. Is it?"
    "I don't know" was the only real, only honest reply she could
offer.
    "It's just .... Terry said, "this is so ... I