19:36 hours

28 February+4

Year: 2034

Mars Orbit

The StarZ Escape Pod’s mini boosters had not been enough to break the Martian gravity. The SUV sized craft hit its zenith. The forward viewing window paused on a vision of the central Milky Way, strung across time and space. The ship balanced between orbit and gravity for a second.  Through the front viewer Commander John Santo saw his intended destination: the StarZ Resupply Vessel, an oblong craft the length of a football field, that had been dispatched to deliver critical resupplies six months into the colony’s life. It hovered barely 60 metres in front of the craft. 

Come on. Just a bit more altitude. Otherwise I'm not gonna make it.

 The Resupply Vessel was automated to reach Mars orbit, deposit supplies and return to Earth. It was now over the drop zone. In the next 30 to 60 seconds the cargo bay doors would open, jettison cargo and then close again. That had been the window he had been waiting for. It was slipping away with every second. 

The forward momentum is gone.

He swore, fogging up his damaged helmet. There was no way the StarZ Escape Pod and the Resupply Vessel could draw closer together. Any second now and his tiny craft would start tumbling uncontrollably to the Martian surface below, smashing into sand and rock with him inside, becoming another piece of rubble alongside the shattered base and fractured landing pads, all that remained of Mars Base One. His grave would be unmarked, perishing in silence like the other colonists had. 

The Escape Pod began dipping as it turned towards the Martian surface. The window filled with the ocre sand. The pitch and roll were getting heavier now, started by the spluttering death of first one and then the other two of the three engines. The uneven thrust prior to the Escape Pod reaching the top of its climb had warped the craft out of an upright and uniform path. The viewing windows alternated between a red Martian tundra and a star studded blackness of the void above. The fuel gauge read 0%, using all the methane they had manufactured. Mars’ claw of gravity took a stronger grip on its prey, tilting and distorting the craft’s trajectory into a downward parabola.

From the cockpit John’s mind veered towards panic. The tiny capsule was not designed for re-entry or controlled landing. The three mini thrusters, spaced evenly around the circumference of the cone shaped capsule were made for adjusting on docking and undocking, not emergencies. Soon it would spin wildly out of control. Even if he could get it on an even plane, there was no way he could land it. Each rotation filled the window with contrasts: the redness of Mars and the void’s blackness, broken only by the thin Resupply Vessel.

He tried to stabilise. He grabbed the two joysticks: one for pitch, the other for roll. He pressed gently. Thinking quickly, he used the Martian redness as a reference point to try and level out. He hoped he could control it just enough and keep it as close as possible to the Resupply Vessel. He turned the left hand for pitch and pushed down for roll. Miraculously, the Escape Pod steadied. Mars’ red curve filled the lower half of the forward view window, and the Resupply Vessel was almost directly above. But the red was creeping up the front viewing window. The craft was also rotating, heading for a flatspin.

He looked up. The Resupply Vessel’s bay doors were opening. The size of whale fins, they shielded his view of the payload that jettisoned out in a flash, powered by many smaller thrusters attached to the cargo. He winced as it passed the Escape Pod by inches to his right. The open doors stayed hanging. 

I can crash land inside this craft, or there's just a chance I can...

His 30 to 60 seconds were counting down. His mind worked rapidly.

He punched the restraining belt release and sprang out of the pilot's seat. He had to be quick if his desperate plan was going to work. Pulling himself to the roof, he grabbed the emergency hatch release handle, yanked, and held on as the roof hatch exploded out, carrying him outside. His heart pounded in his suit, looking up at the Resupply Vessel only 50 metres away with the vastness of space all around it.

The Escape Pod began to rotate, flatspinning. Holding onto the handle, he could keep himself in place, but began to feel the growing centripetal force. He had to adjust to the spinning. Like a ballerina, he kept his eyes fixed on the Resupply Vessel. He would need all his concentration for this move. He would have to time it perfectly. He did the calculation in his head. Holding onto the ship, he was within the arc of a sling. He could turn the centripetal force of the tumbling craft to a tangential force like a sling releasing a stone. With his heart counting down like a stopwatch he felt his time slipping away. When the pod swung around again, he released his hand and pushed his legs against the pod's shell. The push sent him away from the pod, however, the uneven force from his two feet (one had been almost fully extended whilst the other was bent) sent him tumbling end over end towards the Resupply Vessel. But he was rising up away from the spinning Escape Pod and towards the Resupply Vessel. He knew it was only a matter of seconds before the bay doors were closed and he would have no way of getting inside. On each forward spin he could see the grab handles which were used to open the bay doors in emergencies. These handles stuck out like redheads, the same design like emergency release handles on an aircraft. About 7 inches long, they were a small target for him, but they were the only thing he could grip onto and stop his momentum. He knew that if he went clean inside, he would smash against the bulkhead and see himself helplessly bounce back out, that is, if he wasn’t knocked out. He had to grab the handle in the next two or three rotations. If not, he’d continue on tumbling into space beyond, unless gravity took him back to the dead Mars surface below.  He tensed his muscles. He counted the swings. The resupply ship and handles were so close now. 

Three…two…one…

He sucked in one last breath on the bottom of the rotation. The redness lit his sweaty face for the last time. He thrust out a hand for the handle, hoping against hope that he would find it.