The zipper had a button at the bottom instead of a zipper tab. I pressed it experimentally, and the suit closed from the crotch upward in one smooth motion, somehow avoiding entangling my clothing in the process.

“Where’s the helmet?” Patrick said.

“Press the button on your right collarbone area.”

We all reached up and followed Sheldon’s instruction. As I pressed the button, the suit kind of sucked in around me, like I was being vacuum-packed. At the same time, the collar unfurled around my head, becoming a goldfish-bowl helmet. I poked it with a finger. It seemed rigid, but like hard leather rather than glass.

Patrick struck a pose, one arm out, pointing dramatically. “To the airlocks!”

“Should we all go at once?” Nat asked. “Sheldon?”

“What would someone remaining in the ship be able to do that I couldn’t do? For Covenant species, this is as routine as driving a car. Just try to avoid tripping over your own feet and impaling yourself on a rock.”

The three of us exchanged a look. Nothing more needed to be said. We would be the first humans to set foot on Mars. Nothing was going to stop us.

The airlock system operated exactly as I’d expected, and within minutes I was at the bottom of the staircase, staring at ochre-colored sandy soil.

“What’s the hold-up?” Patrick’s voice said over what had to be a suit radio. It couldn’t possibly have carried through suits and the thin Martian air, but it sounded as clear as if he were in a room with me.

“I feel like I should say something profound,” I replied. “But I got nothin’.”

“One small step?” Patrick said.

“To boldly go?” Nat added.

“Space, the final frontier?” Patrick replied.

“I’m beginning to envy Alaric,” Sheldon’s voice interjected. “Do I have to tilt the ship to shake you off?”

I chuckled. “All right, Sheldon, chill.” I thought for a moment, then straightened my back. “As for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts.” And with that I stepped off onto the surface of Mars.

“Nice choice,” Nat said, as she and Patrick followed me.

Patrick kicked at the soil under his feet. “It feels like dirt. Dry, not quite sand, but just basically dirt.”

“What were you expecting?” Nat replied. “Styrofoam beads?”

Patrick ignored her. “You could have done something from Burroughs, a John Carter quote.”

“Couldn’t remember any,” I replied.

“Look,” Nat said.