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The First Sol – Elena Markova’s Arrival (Part 1)
- Icarus
- Apr 27
- 5 min read
Updated: 6 days ago
A young engineer’s first day on Mars, where it’s not just gravity that tests her, but people too.
Read the first scene of the story below.
In January 2083, Elena Markova arrives on Mars as a rookie, stepping into the dusty, unforgiving world of Vostok Outpost. This story follows her first hours—where the toughest battle isn’t technology, but the human side of survival.
Tiny droplets of condensation gathered on the inside of her helmet, merging into a hazy patch dead center. Elena Markova could barely see through the wide, panoramic visor that, in a veteran’s hands, would have been an advantage. All she could hear was the rapid rush of her own breathing, air racing in and out of her lungs. The suit’s internal systems detected her rising stress levels and tried to compensate, pumping air calibrated to Earth-normal, but every fiber of Elena’s body knew she had stepped into a different world.
Inside the massive cargo hold of the aluminum-lithium frame dropship, Elena’s footsteps echoed faintly, lost in the half-empty space. Her boots thudded dully against the carbon-reinforced wall panels, while cold, metallic air seeped behind her helmet’s visor. Supply containers, loosely secured, rocked gently from the turbulence of descent. Dust floated in soft waves through the stale ventilation currents, settling only when the ship’s heavy mass kissed the Martian ground.
A streak of light slashed across the deck as the loading ramp began to descend. The ship’s servos moaned and strained, lowering the ramp with a shriek of metal barely audible through the thin Martian air. Elena noticed immediately: she could hardly hear the grinding itself—but she could feel the deep, heavy thud of the ramp hitting ground, vibrating through her suit.
Instinctively, she raised her arm to wipe the visor—only to tap helplessly against the clear polycarbonate. "Come on," she muttered to herself. "Just one step."
She stood. Her muscles protested under the weight of gravity she hadn’t truly felt for months, after floating so long in micro-G. She took a step toward the ramp—and stumbled, crashing to her knees on the dust-coated metal.
Another sharp breath rasped into her helmet—then Elena curled in on herself and retched. She tried to fight it, but the acidic burn surged from her gut, splattering against the inside of her visor.
At the bottom of the ramp stood a tall, grim figure. Major Ivanov. For a moment, he simply watched as Elena struggled to rise from the dust-caked ramp.
With a wide, ironic grin in his voice, he remarked: "Nice landing. Welcome to Mars, Markova. No need for introductions—you’re already feeling it."
First Evening in the Outpost Canteen
The dim light tubes sputtered weakly against the cold metal walls. The monotonous hum of the air filters pulsed like a distant, sick heartbeat.
Elena clutched her tray, scanning for an empty seat in the corner—anywhere far from the staring eyes.
The men were all Mars veterans: faces hardened by dry air, movements carrying the weight of exhaustion. None of them spoke. They just watched her, like some rare, alien specimen blown in by the dust.
Elena sat down. Her knees buckled slightly against the chair, which let out a sharp screech.
The synthetic puree on her tray was odorless, tasteless—and the first spoonful triggered a wave of nausea she barely managed to swallow back.
A shadow fell across her table.
A woman stood there.
She wore a tight, dark-gray uniform reinforced at the chest and shoulders with carbon-fiber panels, built like she was ready for a technical failure or an emergency at any moment. A wide utility belt cinched her waist, studded with clips and compact tool pouches. A faintly glowing digital display flickered across her chest—probably an internal station code or ID number.
Her face was lean and sharp; her blue eyes scanned Elena with cutting precision, as if looking for weaknesses. Her hair was pulled back severely, and every line of her face seemed pulled down by gravity itself. There was no rank insignia. No name tag. She didn’t need one. Her presence spoke loud enough.
"Markova?" she asked, dryly.
Elena nodded.
"Five o'clock. We start," the woman said—and turned away, disappearing back into the hangar’s shadow like she had just delivered a package.
Elena stared after her for a long moment, then muttered to the untouched puree, half to herself:
"Yeah. Thanks for asking."
A wiry man sat at her table, jabbing a finger after the departing woman.
"Lyudmila," he grunted.
Elena stiffened. Years in Kazakhstan had taught her that when a man started like that, nothing good usually followed.
"Yeah?" she said dryly, ready for anything.
The man shrugged.
"Chief engineer. Lyudmila Vetrova. Don’t expect a warm welcome."
Before Elena could reply, the miners at the back started jeering.
"What’s the matter, Volkov? You fancy the newbie? Even an old goat’ll lick salt when he finds it!"
"Shut it, you little punk," Volkov growled without even looking over. Then he glanced back at Elena. "They’re no better, but at least they don’t bite. Give it a few days. They'll get used to your face....and you’ll get used to the air."
Elena forced a faint smile. She knew even a smile was currency here.
"Elena," she said simply.
"Misha Volkov," the man nodded. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."
Elena reached for her tray to leave—but as she stood, her body betrayed her again. Trapped between Mars' low gravity and thin oxygen, she stumbled—and dropped the tray with a dull clatter.
The first steps were never easy on Mars. Gravity was weaker, yes—but tricky. Alien.
The air was thinner, every breath feeling like a half-finished movement. Her body wasn’t ready. Her blood carried less oxygen. Her muscles lagged behind her mind’s commands. It wasn’t her balance that failed. It was human nature struggling against a planet that didn’t want her.
For a beat, the canteen froze. Then came the laughter. Loud, gut-deep, tearing through the steel beams above them.
Misha Volkov lunged to help her up, but Elena, face burning, teeth clenched, ripped free from his grasp. She tried to walk out—but the momentum tipped her off-balance again.
She slammed shoulder-first into the metal doorframe.
The laughter now shook the whole place, the miners slapping each other’s backs.
Elena cursed under her breath and staggered out, her words swallowed by the door slamming behind her.
Inside, the laughter lasted long after she was gone—Not just laughing at her, but at themselves too. Because every single one of them remembered their first night, when Mars had put them on their knees.
This short story is a standalone narrative set in the same extended universe of the Mars Chronicles, featuring some of the same characters in a parallel storyline. While it can be read independently, it adds depth to the broader Mars settlement world. If you're interested in exploring more from this universe, you can find available chapters from ICARUS here: https://www.themarschronicles.com/blog/categories/book
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