Photo Source: RawPixel After a six-hour search for the damned downed aerial mapping probe, Gunnar’s legs begged for a stretch. He tapped the breaks meters away from the shade of Olympus Mons. The wind-blown dunes, studded with boulders and rippled by crescent-shaped ridges, stretched to the horizon, reminding Gunnar of his home village of Kirkjubæjarklaustur. The Sun painted smoky streaks on the pale pink canvas of the sky, fading to blue at the edges. The wind whipped tiny dust devils...