Starship Legacy: A Novel by Not Elon Musk

…continued.

The comm unit beeped in his ear, a welcome slice into the echoing silence. "Shaw, it's Sarah. Mind giving me a hand here? This Martian soil's got a mind of its own."

"Copy that, botanist," Luke replied, amusement tingeing his voice. "On my way."

He pushed off the wall, propelling himself along the corridor with slightly more effort than on Earth. Years on Mars had taught him to gauge his movements, but the lower gravity still held surprises. He navigated the maze of pipes and conduits lining the hab module with practiced ease, a stark contrast to his early days of clumsy, overcompensating leaps.

Reaching the botany lab, he had to suppress a smile at the sight. Sarah, a petite whirlwind of energy, was battling a stubborn sack of soil. A fine red powder clung to her spacesuit, dusting her usually immaculate workspace with a rusty hue. "Stubborn, are we?" Luke asked, grabbing a corner of the sack.

"More persistent than a bad case of algae bloom," Sarah shot back, tugging at her end with a playful growl. Despite the frustration, Luke saw the familiar glint in her eyes. Sarah was the eternal optimist, her belief in coaxing life from the Martian dirt as unwavering as the planet's dust storms.

"Just another day in paradise, right?” Luke quipped, straining against the recalcitrant sack. They had long since lost the gloss of fresh-faced colonists. There was a shared understanding among them, a kinship forged not just by ambition, but by the everyday grind of making the inhospitable livable.

With a grunt and a final heave, the sack relented, spilling its contents with a lighter thump than it would have on Earth. Sarah gave a triumphant grin, wiping her brow on a sleeve and leaving another red smudge. "See? Cooperation, even with Mars. Now, about these seedlings…"

The next hour was spent in companionable work, the banter between them a comforting counterpoint to the ceaseless hum of the lab's life support systems. Luke found solace in the methodical tasks - repotting seedlings, adjusting nutrient levels, the repetitive rhythm grounding him in the present. It was a necessary contrast to the vast, alien landscape beyond the dome, where every bounding step was a reminder of their altered relationship with gravity.

As they finished, an alert flashed across Sarah's monitor. "Huh, we've got a solar flare warning coming in from Houston," she said, her usually cheerful tone laced with concern. "The forecast's calling for a significant increase in radiation, a long duration one, too."

Luke’s stomach tightened. He knew the drill– batten down the hatches, hunker down in the central core, and wait out the storm. Mars had a tempestuous side, spitting bursts of radiation that could fry electronics and leave any foolishly exposed colonists with an ugly case of radiation sickness.

“Any ETA?” he asked, already moving to seal the lab shutters.

"Two, maybe three hours until the worst of it hits. Houston says we should be in the clear within 48,” Sarah said, a note of forced optimism in her voice.

The news hung between them, heavy and unspoken. It was a reminder of the delicate dance they performed with their implacable environment. All their planning, their redundancies, could be swept away in a matter of hours by an indifferent star millions of miles away.