Rawling and Dad had loaded all the supplies into a platform buggy, a clear minidome perched on a deck that rode on huge rubber tires. Storage compartments and the motor were underneath. The motor didn’t burn gasoline because Mars has no oxygen in the atmosphere to allow any fuel to burn. Instead, it ran on electricity made from solar panels that hung off the rear of the platform. The minidome looked much like the igloos I’ve seen in Earth photos. A small tunnel stuck out from the minidome onto an open portion of the deck. Then a ladder descended to the ground from there. From my wheelchair on the ground I had to lean way back to see the platform. Rawling stayed up there as Dad climbed down. Mom was beside me, her hand on my shoulder, as we waited for Dad to get to us. He kissed Mom’s forehead. “I’ll miss you. I’m glad I’m leaving for only a few days, not …” He didn’t finish his sentence. In a few more weeks, when the planetary orbits were lined up so the journey from Mars to Earth would be at its shortest, Dad would be on a spaceship again, beginning another three-year journey.
