It took them two hours to assemble the airlock. It was in kit form, and they had fun putting it together and arguing over which bits should go where. It had all been good natured arguing, as they were all fully trained in how to assemble the vitally important apparatus.

Despite his initial emotions, it had not taken Montreaux long to be caught up in the moment. They had landed on Mars successfully, and were preparing for their first Extra Vehicular Activity, or EVA.

Their landing had been incredibly well executed by the on-board computer: Jane had already noted that within fifty metres of her window she could see a small metal crate, the deflated airbags that had protected it on its descent just visible in the layer of dust and sand that covered everything around them. Danny commented that being so close to the previous drops could be interpreted as very poor landing; a bit to the left and they would have landed right on top of the metal crates. Not only would it have been inaccessible to them, but the damage to the MLP could have been catastrophic.

Their first directive during their EVA would be to perform an exterior status check of the MLP, followed by a quick reconnaissance of their surrounding area. The crate seemed like a perfect place to start.

“There, all done,” Danny declared triumphantly.

The airlock stood six feet tall and five feet wide, to one side of the interior of the MLP. A large round door gave entry to the airtight chamber inside, which could be seen through two small windows. The status of anyone inside the airlock could be visually monitored from there. The sides of the MLP were pre-equipped with three ready-made hatches, one of which the airlock had been placed against. It had been designed so that it could be placed on any side of the MLP, an important contingency in the event that they should incur any damage on landing, or land next to an immovable object, such as a boulder or cliff. The outer door of the airlock lay flush with the rubber wall of the MLP. Opening the door for the first time would pierce that thin membrane and lead on to the Martian surface.

“OK, I think that it needs a road test!” Jane said.

Montreaux was already putting his EVA suit on. “Is everyone alright with the mission plan?” he asked as he zipped and sealed his left boot.

Danny and Jane looked at each other and smiled. “Absolutely, Captain,” they said in unison.

The Russian sat down on a small bench next to where his EVA suit had been put, hanging from the wall lifelessly. He unhooked it from the wall and started to unzip the front of the jacket and trouser combination, ready to step into it. “I will follow you once you give the OK.”

“And I will stay here like a lemon and make sure that you are both having as much fun as possible!” Jane said, pretending to be hurt.

Montreaux had finished sealing his boots, and the scientist helped him with his gloves.  The atmosphere of Mars, and similar pressure to Earth, had meant that their EVA suits could be designed very differently from traditional suits used on the Moon and International Space Station. Consequently, they looked more like divers than astronauts, the skin of the suits hugging their bodies closely.  This also improved their effectiveness during EVAs. Although it was not encouraged, it had been possible during testing to run at quite some speed in the suits, and the close-fitting gloves even made it possible to grip certain types of pen or computer stylus and write with a degree of accuracy.

He stood up and walked over to the airlock gingerly. His helmet was sealed, but the inbuilt two-way radio system routed his voice through to the MLP’s speakers.

“OK, can you hear me?” he asked.

“Ouch! Way too loud!” she replied.

“At least when you’re out there, Jane, we will be able to turn you down for once!” Danny joked from behind her as he prepared to fit his head snugly into his helmet.

She shot him a grin and prepared Montreaux for his EVA. She sprayed an aerosol solution over the tight skin of his suit to check for leaks, before turning him around and double checking his regulators.

“You’re all set,” she gave him the ‘OK’ signal by making a circle with her index finger and thumb and waving it in front of his visor.

Montreaux returned the gesture and turned towards the door.

Entering the airlock, he looked around. There were two small benches, one on each side. On his left was the door he had just come through, leading into the MLP, on his right, the hatch that led to the never-before-walked-on surface of Mars.

For some reason he didn’t feel nervous.

He looked up at the window in the wall and saw Jane looking down at him. Every few seconds she checked a reading in front of her before repeating the OK gesture. Each time he replied in kind. Suddenly, Danny’s head appeared in the window next to her, in an EVA helmet. There was a huge grin on his face.  Montreaux gave the OK sign with both hands to him, and he waved back.

Inside the airlock, he could see two lights, one red and one green. The red light was on, telling him it was not yet safe to open the hatch.

“How are you doing?” Jane’s voice came through the headphones in his helmet.

“Fine, a little cold, but I’m sure it’ll get warmer,” he replied.

Danny’s laugh echoed loudly in his ears. “Oh, yeah, I hear it’s real sunbathing weather out there: minus forty degrees Celsius. Get me some ice cream!”

Montreaux was about to reply when the green light came on. He checked his forearm, where a small OLED panel gave him vital statistics on his suit and the surrounding atmosphere. It also let him control heat, airflow, lights and a video camera mounted in his helmet. “How’s the video feed?” he asked.

“Crystal clear!” Jane replied.

Looking up at the faces in the window, he gave the OK signal one last time. “Here goes!” he said. Turning towards the hatch, he took a deep breath and reached for the handle, a recessed metal rod that lay vertically at its centre. He gripped it with both hands and turned it a full ninety degrees anticlockwise. He was rewarded with a dull clunk as the locks along all four edges of the hatch disengaged. He pushed gently on the metal and felt the outer wall of the MLP give as the hatch tore through it precisely. The hatch swung open slowly.

He fancied he could feel the cold Martian breeze against his shins as he crouched down to fit through the low opening. Ducking his head, he fixed the small ladder from the inside of the airlock to the outside of the MLP, and stepped out. He descended cautiously, and landed his left foot with a crunch, sinking several centimetres into the dust and grit. His right foot followed, and he was standing outside the landing craft. Turning round, he gently closed the hatch using the external handle. He took a step back.

He was standing on Mars.

He had practised this moment all of his life, in his head. He had always imagined that he would walk on the surface of Mars and say something monumental, something to rival Armstrong’s immortal words of 1969, almost a century earlier. An icon for a new generation: a symbol of hope.

He had practised his speech so many times that in that instant, as he took several further steps out onto the Martian plain, he completely forgot to say anything.

After a long minute, he stopped dead in his tracks and looked up at the sky. Not red, as his ancestors had believed, but blue and grey, like a winter’s morning on Earth. And then it came back to him, the first words that he knew everyone on Earth had been waiting for.

Over the past couple of weeks, he had played the scene over and over in his mind. Maybe he would use this chance, this opportunity to call for help, to denounce Su Ning’s murder. It would be a heroic gesture, for sure, and certainly foolish: he had no way of guaranteeing his words would ever reach Earth. His pre-written walking-on-Mars proclamation, chosen for him by a panel of experts and mission planners, was now long forgotten. He would instead use this one moment to show his defiance by not using NASA’s words, but a mixture of his own and those of a twentieth century American writer.