OUTPOST--Chapter SEVEN---HERE NOW AND ELSEWHERE!

CHAPTER SEVEN
OUTPOST
Julian Phillips
For Tom Luong Films
Nov. 6, 2009

“And when he had opened the Seventh-Seal, there was silence in heaven about the space of half an hour.”
---Saint John’s Divine Revelation, 8:1
“They used to call it Heaven, the skies and stars and planets, the infinite. I call it a pain-in-the-ass.”
---Guy Reisling, Mars-base space transport pilot, 2075

Lila Meetek felt herself something of a Galaxy Baby, one to whom working in space, near-Earth (but not near enough), was more-or-less a normal career, or a normal environment, something her generation took as granted, though of course dangerous. Guy, on the other hand, had simplified the term, and thought her in every way, a ‘Galaxy Babe’. And true, she was. She was just 40 years-old, athletic and slim, real hard-body material. All the space-workers were in top-condition as an absolute conditional aspect of the rigorous work involved. It was by no means easy. Lila was among the best, although her job was somewhat sedentary, at least once she arrived at the Molinari Space-Dock, via a transport-ship much like Guy’s. Her official job-title was ‘Deep-Space Traffic Corridor Environment Monitor’, which meant that she sat at computer-tracking, and satellite-analysis data feeds, with various inputs back on Earth, and on Mars, and in-between, looking for trouble. There were more than ten people at Molinari who performed this function, without respect to gender. But it also meant that Lila was spared some of the more difficult tasks of space-travel, like space-walks, or re-entry, or suspended-animation sleep-periods, or planet-level oxygen-suit journeys and excursions. And this suited her just fine.

There was much to know about the work at the Molinari Space-Dock. Lila had been there almost five years, making her a true program veteran. It made a lot of sense for extra-planetary exploration Earth-sciences, as far as the establishment of the space-dock. Despite the public view seen in film and TV, any planetary travel was laborious, and very slow. Depending on the relative position of the two worlds, it could take as long as a year for a ship to travel from Earth to Mars. So, one of the first choices the planners made, was to create a mid-point rest-stop, even before the first ships arrived on Mars, and began to build the base, now 15 years in-the-making. The same system would be used for Jupiter-missions (or, to the moons of Jupiter), almost like a ladder of platforms, or series of extended positions for the sustainability of life, always in danger in deep-space. With Molinari in place, ships headed to Mars had the edge, for the unexpected. Pilots could dock, re-fuel, rest, board-and-offload, get information or corridor-conditions updates, and more. For emergency situations, it was a lifeboat. And this made Lila a very popular woman indeed with all the space-crews.

“God---there we are! I’m home!” Lila exclaimed. She was gazing out one of the view-ports on a people-mover transport, that was about ready for re-entry into Earth orbit, and then her shuttle down to Terra-Firma. The Big Blue Marble, Earth, was like the Divine Mother---green with promise, fresh air, beaches and oceans, cities, people walking upright with regular gravity, trees and birds and animals---kids. The view-port windows were few on the transports, and much coveted for star-gazing and dreaming. Lila was on leave from her regular work-shift at Molinari, and looking forward to seeing Guy again. But from where she now was, just entering orbit, he may as well have been an ant. Yet there was a connection between their two hearts, beating passion.

The transport ship seemed to glide above the planet like a sleek stone, or elegant knife, looking to be slow, but in reality moving quite fast, even thousands of miles-per-hour (which of course was not how the ship’s speed was calculated). These ships were about 1,000-feet long or longer, perhaps the size of an old-fashioned deep-ocean cargo-ship, circa late 20th-century, like the Exxon Valdeze, or a big oil-tanker, in space. But not so in appearance at all.

Mars-Labor Unions and also space program management, only permitted Molinari workers to spend six-months on duty at a time, for obvious reasons. Exhaustion, fatigue, and so on, took their toll, and efficiency suffered, which could cause mistakes. Six months on, six-months off was the rule, which was sometimes skirted just a bit, given the rarity of needed skilled labor. Prior to departure from Molinari, Lila had been in touch with Guy, via space-phone, a sort of video-audio-link, which could be set-up for one-on-one communications at certain kiosks.

“Geez, you look like crap, Lila,” Guy said. “What the heck are they feeding you? I mean that in a good way, of course. You’re beautiful to me, I mean.”
Guy was at the Vandenberg base, where the same type of comm-link was available. No one had them in private at all. It was then months before, with Lila at a similar station on Molinari, floating somewhere in space.

“Kiss my grits, Guy,” Lila responded. “I look great and you know it.”

“All I see is this vid-screen in front of my eyes like a piece of plastic and glass and you on the other end of it, and you got your hair all messed up and your eyes look droopy. You all right?”

Lila brushed back her longish, thin hair, currently colored red-and-green. She sneered. Guy had a way with her, and he knew it. “Yes, Guy,” she spit back at him. The radio-waves traveled through space with a certain spin at that point. “I’m fine. I even had sex with two of the environmental men last week, just to piss you off, and it was great!”

“Two of them? Grow up, Lila,” Guy responded. It was daylight at Vandenberg, but Molinari seemed always somewhat in darkness, even inside, where electric lights were always running. “You did not. That’s a code-violation and you know it”

“We call it the Three-million Mile High Club,” she said, and laughed. They both smiled and paused. There was something they shared, maybe knowing who they were, that was endearing to all their friends. Space-opera romance. Star-crossed lovers.

So, they shared the details of her voyage. Even though routine, it was still dangerous, as it always was. Her arrival time-and-date, shuttle-to-Earth landing, then her de-bugging and de-briefing, and finally her freedom. By the time the comm-link went dead, and their conversation ended, it was once again confirmed to them both, that ‘love’ could somehow survive, even in space.

Lila’s transport performed flawlessly back into orbit, months later, and the shuttle back to planet-side was also seamless. Her de-briefing and medical review, and so on, took three days. Within another two days, she was staying at Guy’s place North of Santa Barbara, back in his arms and in deep embrace within hours. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but there is truly no distance between hearts-of-fire in love, Guy thought. Even a million miles.

A day and a night of love-making, food and drink, walks, hot-showers, current film releases, restaurants, gazing into each other eyes, sharing those moments that the written word cannot intrude. The clouds above the cliffs of Santa Barbara blushed red with embarrassment. You know, sex-like-athletes. The Right Stuff. Made it all worthwhile. Some things never change.

Rumors had of course reached both Molinari, and the base on Mars, regarding the Mission Program Spring Update Conference, and the ‘news’ about the Russians, and the approaching meteor. Lila also wanted to know all about Guy’s re-commission to certified-pilot status, and what had gone wrong on his last flight back to Earth. They had a lot to talk about, there again in his backyard, where he seemed much-at-ease. Lila was making grilled burgers. The smoke winnowed into the air like souls.
“Local organic beef only,” Lila said. “Less than a week off-the-hoof. Thick patties, but larger-around, flops over the buns.”
“I like that,” Guy said. “Flops over the buns. Got it. Let’s try that later.”
She smiled. Right. What a lover-boy. “You season prior to grilling, and I only use a special steak-blend from a steak-house I just adore up the coast. I have no idea what’s in it. Pepper-and-onion, cloves, garlic-salt, chilli-powder, like that. So you season both sides. As you grill, the fire is not too hot, you go slow.”
“Go slow,” Guy mocked her. “Right. Not---uh—premature?”
“You’re funny,” Lila said. “I know about you and the gal from the base, Guy. Don’t pretend.”
“Which one?”

She huffed. “Anyway. So you grill until cooked well inside, all the way. Then on the bread, you use the sour-dough from San Francisco, the big ones, but sliced thin. I always want fresh-raw red onions, fresh iceberg lettuce, and decent sliced tomatoes. Pickles if you like, and mustard, or ketchup. Only organic. But you can make it up any way you like. I’m easy.”
“Damn fine burger, girl,” Guy said.
If a meteor was approaching Earth and the world’s second or third remaining so-called Super-Power space program was planning to forcefully take over and control the Mars-base where they both were involved as workers, you wouldn’t have known it. Their talk turned to those topics. Guy had been to the conference, but Lila knew most of the details, too. It was more a matter of opinions that would enable them to go on, or, how they would view such things, as worker-bees, the scuttle-butt, that seemed intense. The science was boring as hell. The real-life work and people---that was different.
“Maybe the meteor will be deflected, or maybe not do as much damage as they thought, if it hits,” Lila mused. “I can’t quite grasp it. It’s like going to work, and you come home later, and your whole town is gone. Or your whole state.”
“Every returning is a new beginning,” Guy said. They had finished their meal, with beer, and also ice-cream. It was for all purposes just another pleasant California day, or afternoon.
“What do you really think about it, Guy?”
“Uh---oh---end-of-the-world, I guess. You know. No more planet Earth. Or, a ruined Earth, like a dead-world, Ice-Age, thousand-year frozen dust-cloud, billions dead, ocean tidal waves washing away cities like children’s toys, people floating away like ants. Or, vast regions of impact-zone, ground-zero, like a thousand nuclear bombs. Not good.”
They paused in somber silence. Birds flew past, twittering.
“I hate when that happens,” Lila said. A meek chuckle escaped between them.
“What can we do?” Guy offered. “We’re not in command. We just play our parts. They’ll find a way to deflect it, I bet. It can be done. The meteor is still five years off. What are they calling it now? Big Bertha, or something?”
“I heard other names for it,” Lila said softly. “Bad names. People are likely to panic.”
“Not my problem,” Guy responded. “I don’t care what they call it.”
“It will be your problem if there’s no place to come home to, five years out when you’re on your run, if you still are. What do you think about the Russian Islamic space program take-over on Mars? Is it real?”
Guy’s mouth was stuffed with a big bite from his hamburger. “Mmmmppp---mmmm---just a sec,” he said, chewing and swallowing. Earth food was way-better than the stuff they ate in space, for sure.
Lila reached tenderly towards him and wiped away a bit of ketchup from his bottom lip.
“Thanks,” he said. “Well, look, I just don’t know. About that. The Russian-Islamic space-program thing. They said it was real, but you just don’t have any real way of knowing. They had documents and files and so-called evidence of a plan to attack. But so what? They always do. It could happen. Sure it could. It makes a certain kind of sense. They want their people to survive, and the Mars-base looks good. People like you and me will never know until something starts to happen, and we’re needed to respond. All we can do until then is prepare. And don’t worry, we’ll be preparing, it’s already in motion, as far as what will be needed. But I transport goods, and you monitor the planet-corridor for heat-flares and comets. You won’t have a gun in your hand, or be killing any Russians. Neither will I. And I don’t want to. Some of my friends are Russian. They’re good people.”
“What about a ground war, here on Earth? Like a regular Earth-war?” Lila now was in political science-mode. Not very sexy.
“What about it?” Guy said. “If everyone panics, it’s certainly possible. The base on Mars means survival, even if only a few hundred people. Who the heck knows? Regular war was outlawed by the Planet Authority-Federation, 30 years ago or more. Big deal. They break the rules when things look bad, they always have. If they want the Mars-base, and try to take it by force, even if the meteor is deflected, the US side will almost certainly respond at the Earth-level, or international. It can’t be helped. More war, more death, more killing. I don’t even care. It’s bull-shit.”
They paused again in their meal, relaxing a moment with the same heavy thoughts.
“I always saw the whole thing, my work, and the program, as just science-and-research,” Lila said soberly.
Guy burped. “I saw it as an opportunity to have sex with you in a weightless-environment, personally,” he joked.
“A multi-national, multi-trillions-of-dollars program based on thousands of years of advanced space science-and-evolution, so you personally could orgasm in a weightless environment. Great. You really are a philosopher, Guy. You really are.”
He laughed. “Lighten up, Galaxy Baby,” he said.

---Julian Phillips
Nov. 6, 2009
For Tom Luong Films
2, 290-words