After three hours, our teams returned to our respective vessels, the reality of our situation too overwhelming to bear. We were marooned on a world lacking fresh water, vegetation, and breathable air. There was no ozone layer to protect us from the alien sun’s ultraviolet rays, and in five months, our ship’s supplies would run out … assuming the nocturnal scavengers did not devour us first.

Two million years ago, our ancestors had managed to survive their own harsh beginnings in the jungles of East Africa. The first humans had migrated into new lands and faced life-threatening challenges. They had sought shelter in caves, and crafted tools to hunt with. They had learned how to harness fire and to farm, and had built thriving civilizations. Ever the explorer, man had eventually constructed great vessels, crossing dangerous oceans in order to satisfy both his need to improve his lot in life and his inquisitiveness.

And now, in a sense, so had we.

As Michael Gabriel, I had once remote-viewed a member of Christopher Columbus’s crew. Sharing Bill Raby’s consciousness, I could finally experience what these brave explorers must have felt as their voyage across the Atlantic grew more desperate.

The hopelessness.

The fear.

The constant bickering.

Twelve Earth ships had crash-landed in a toxic environment. Twelve ships possessing a limited supply of air, food, and water.

Twelve ships. Six hundred-plus opinions.

Long before we had launched from Earth, Mars Colony and its ten thousand chosen inhabitants had been preorganized into five districts. We had appointed representatives and even a newly elected president. The multiple party system had been tabled for the moment, but democracy would rule the Red Planet just as it had shaped America, with a new Constitution and a Bill of Rights.

None of that had any bearing on our present dilemma. We were castaways, forever separated from the collective. In space, the crew had called the shots, but now the ships were dead, and anarchy ruled the day.

If we had been a colony of ants, we’d have been working side by side before that second dawn. If we had been a beehive, there would have been no question of authority.

But we were modern man, cursed with ego, full of self. So before we could begin searching for food and fresh water, before we could start designing shelters, before we could see to our most basic needs … first, we had to decide who was in charge.

Imagine twelve cramped space vehicles filled with hundreds of emotionally crazed passengers and a limited number of atmospheric suits. It took three hours of negotiations on the ship-to-ship communicators just to determine where the first council meeting would be held and who would attend.

Atmospheric scientists wanted to be heard. So did the geologists, horticulturists, medical staff, engineers, architects … in fact, everyone wanted to voice an opinion. It was an endless gaggle of babble, compounded by the hopelessness of our situation.