Aurora by David A. Hardy

training, several hours of flying experience back on Earth, but that would be of little help when it came to controlling this strange craft in an alien atmosphere. The Blimp could carry only one person plus about 50 kilograms of equipment. The two women tried to claim an advantage, on the grounds that they were lighter, but were promptly told that they would have to take their chances along with the men.
    It was Claude Verdet who drew the lucky short straw, and his thin black moustache almost met his ears as he beamed with pleasure. He settled himself in the fragile-looking cabin—actually no more than a framework, open at the sides but with a transparent plastic shield curving from front to back. The propeller, angled downward for takeoff, began to rotate, the tethers were released, and the Blimp surged upward.
    The silvered gasbag rose quite rapidly for a few meters, then hovered, a bright alien object against the dark sky, the rosy early-morning sunlight illuminating its underside.
    Aurora was suddenly overcome by a wave of emotion and staggered, clutching at the side of the rover next to her for support. She had a powerful feeling of déjà-vu ; what could it be?
    She saw the dirigible superimposed on an image of a broken brick wall, a crooked chimney stack, flames, blackened wooden rafters pointing to the sky at unlikely angles. There was a roaring noise in her ears. Other pictures crowded at the borders of her consciousness, demanding to be let in, but she swept them aside.
    Some of her colleagues were looking at her strangely, or with concern, and Robert Lundquist, wearing his stern possibly-a-medical-emergency face, was advancing towards her.
    Aurora waved him away, almost angrily.
    â€œIt’s all right. I’m—OK. Just went weak for a moment. Didn’t sleep much last night—must be all the excitement!”
    She managed a weak smile.
    â€œAre you sure?” asked Lundquist. “Is your arm bothering you?”
    â€œNo, really, Bob. It’s nothing.”
    But her mind was whirling. It hadn’t been one of her flashes, even though it had possessed something of the same quality. After all, the flashes had to be products of her imagination, didn’t they? This had felt like an actual experience—a memory.
    She brushed the frantic thoughts aside and concentrated on the Blimp’s ascent.
    Verdet had now angled the propeller so that he was slowly turning to face down the canyon. He gave them a wave as he moved off, and his voice, high with excitement, came over their helmet phones.
    â€œ C’est magnifique! The view is amazing from up here. The canyon keeps subdividing for as far as I can see. There’s still some fog further off, though, hiding the floor, so I’ll wait ‘til it burns off before I try to go higher and take mapping photographs. Meanwhile, I’ll put this ship through its paces, OK? Oh—over.”
    The Blimp dwindled in the distance, occasionally rising or falling, or turning to explore various tributaries. The rest of the crew watched it until it became a silver star, then they quietly dispersed to go about their various duties.
    Orlov stayed at Rover 1. He was in charge of erecting the living quarters and also setting up the communications link, which would relay voice and pictures through its powerful transmitter to the big S-band dish at Base—which had been left unmanned, except for computers, digital recorders and robotic maintenance equipment—from where they would be beamed onward to Earth. As radio waves took nearly twenty minutes to reach the home planet, conversations were impossible, and unless there was an emergency transmissions from either direction were sent in daily bursts.
    By mid-morning, having completed various chores around the camp, Aurora set off on her own to explore the canyon floor, taking samples as she went. She had already noted several spots where fan-shaped slopes of debris reached almost from rim