Jérémy Chapi :
Pavel settled into the pilot's seat, and we repressurized the Liberty's cabin. That allowed him to fly more freely, without the cumbersome gloves, and also gave us a chance to clean ourselves up a little from the accumulated sweat. He listened attentively as I explained the ship's controls, which were handled with two joysticks—one for each armrest.
Takeoff was the easiest part. Once at altitude, he followed my instructions to adjust the speed and stabilize the craft.
"It's easier to fly than I expected," Pavel said, focused but smiling.
"Yes, it handles like a drone, which makes it extremely maneuverable," I replied proudly.
"I can see you've really done an incredible job on this shuttle. It might be missing a few measurement instruments, but honestly, it's impressive," he added with a sincere smile.
"Thanks for the compliment. That means a lot. We spent so many sleepless nights on this project I stopped counting them," I said with a small laugh.
"I'll head toward Mars's white pole then—to collect some ice?" he asked.
"Yes, do that. Personally, I'd love to stumble across Curiosity or Perseverance. Even if the chances are slim, I'd love to take a picture with one of them."
Pavel burst out laughing. "We'd need a lot of luck for that!"
"We're not moving very fast—you can accelerate a little with the lever on your left. Easy does it, just pull gradually," I advised.
"This one?" he asked, tugging lightly on the control.
In a split second, we were slammed back into our seats by a brutal acceleration that knocked the air from our lungs. Without panicking, Pavel immediately pushed the lever forward to reduce thrust, and the Liberty slowed to a calmer pace.
"I'm not touching that acceleration again!" he exclaimed, half-shocked, half-amused.
I burst out laughing, holding my ribs still aching from the jolt. "Ah, that hurts! That's why you've got to ease into it. I learned that the hard way back on Earth after a bad maneuver."
"I can imagine. I think I see Mars's white pole now," Pavel said, adjusting the Liberty's trajectory toward the ice cap. While he piloted, I made a bit of space for what I'd been planning.
From the cooler—carefully insulated from the freezing vacuum of space—I pulled out a few culinary treasures from home: assorted cured meats, chunks of pungent cheese—Comté, Rocamadour—a crusty baguette, half a bottle of red wine, and a few cans of energy drink in place of coffee. Pavel stared in disbelief.
"You're kidding—a real gourmet feast on Mars?"
"Why not!" I laughed. "After all that work, we've earned it. And it's still better than the nutrient paste from the station, isn't it?"
We shared that meal with disarming simplicity, almost surreal. Every bite, every sip of wine took on a special flavor in that improbable setting—a red dusty plain dotted with ice stalagmites under a brownish sky darkening toward dusk. It was a picnic from another world, a fleeting human moment millions of kilometers from Earth.
"Cheers!" Pavel said, raising his improvised glass. We clinked cans and bottle necks together, the faint chime echoing softly through the Liberty's cabin.
As calm settled in, my eyes fell on my watch—and my heart skipped. "Pavel, we've got barely fifteen minutes before we have to head back."
"Already?!" he exclaimed. Without hesitation, we drained our cans in one go. I slipped my gloves back on and got ready to exit.
But when I tried to open the Liberty's hatch, nothing happened. It stubbornly refused to unlock. I turned to Pavel, confused, as he tapped the helmet resting on his knees with a teasing grin.
"Right—you forget, we're not on Earth," he said, laughing.
I rolled my eyes. "Ah yes… the helmet." I grabbed mine, put it back on, and started the depressurization. The air slowly vented, and once the pressure equalized, we could finally step out to collect samples of Martian ice crystals. We worked quickly, aware of time slipping away. The samples were sealed in an airtight container, ready for study.
Before climbing back aboard, Pavel suggested one last photo. We stood side by side, gazing toward the crimson horizon. That picture would surely become one of the most precious memories of my life.
Back in the Liberty, I resumed the pilot's seat. We gave Mars a final farewell wave before lifting off. Re-entry into space caused a few tremors, but nothing serious. In zero-G, crumbs from our meal floated all around us.
"That's why they avoid crumbly food on a space station," Pavel said with a smile.
"Yeah, I see why now," I laughed. "I'll depressurize for a second to vent them out."
A short decompression cleared the cabin. Once the air stabilized, Pavel asked,"So—what's next?"
"We should soon see the Son of Light reappear to guide us back to Earth. But since the signal was cut, I'm not one hundred percent sure it will return."
"And if it doesn't, we can still make it home on our own, right?"
"In theory, yes," I replied. "But the real problem will be the trip's length—and our oxygen supply. I've got about three hours left. You?"
"I already dipped into my reserve in the cargo compartment, but we can pressurize the cabin for about an hour. After that, I'll have maybe two hours left with the recycler."
I frowned. "Yeah, that's cutting it close. But our biggest issue is finding Earth among all these stars. If we get lost, it's game over, no matter the reserves."
Pavel stared out the window for a long moment. "That's not a problem," he said calmly. "Look—the Earth's there, between Leo and Leo Minor."
I turned, intrigued. He pointed to a cluster of faint lights.
"Wait—you're sure? How can you tell?"
"It's my profession. I know the constellations well. Judging by our position and the planetary alignment, that has to be Earth. And look—Saturn's right there." He pointed to a barely visible yellowish dot. He sounded so confident that I decided to trust him.
"All right, in that case we'll head that way. If the signal doesn't return by the deadline, we go home on our own."
"Perfect," he said, giving me a thumbs-up.
Time slipped by. Mars shrank behind us; Earth was just a distant spark in the void. A few bits of debris grazed the hull, adding a dull tension. Worry for my daughter tightened my chest. The abrupt loss of her signal haunted me. What had happened? Was she safe? I never should have left her alone. What if her last words were truly the last I'd ever hear?
Unconsciously, I whispered, "I want to see her again… now."
"You all right?" Pavel asked, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
I took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm fine… I think we've waited long enough." A tear rolled down my cheek before I refocused on the controls.
Suddenly, Pavel pointed ahead. "What's that?"
A blinding light split the darkness of space. It streaked past the Liberty and struck Mars. Bursts of energy blossomed across the planet's surface like the petals of a luminous flower. It was beautiful—hypnotic.
I understood instantly. "That's our signal, Pavel."
I maneuvered the Liberty to align with the beam, deploying the docking arm. As soon as contact was made, a violent acceleration shook the ship. My muscles screamed, but I held firm. Pavel, more seasoned, bore it better.
Gradually, the vessel stabilized. The monitors flickered back to life—and a crackling voice came through the speakers.
"This is Liberty… do you copy, my daughter?"