CHAPTER TWELVE
Outpost
By Julian Phillips
Tom Luong Films
Dec.29, 2009
Commander Bojji-Than led Karen away from her breakfast, again now into the maze of cavernous recesses, rooms, hallways, offices, tech-rooms, and work-areas, that were unanimously regarded as his 'kingdom', as leader of the US Mars-base on-site program, in 2076. He was a benevolent type, not given to tyranny of delusions of power and pleasures, far more interested in the science, research, progress and knowledge. Karen followed him like an obedient duckling, and he the drake, she somewhat of an Alice in this new wonderland on Mars.
"This is the Command Center, where I keep regular offices," Bojji said. "This way."
Bojji-Than had inherited his job at the Mars-base much as any of the space-program staff and leadership had been commissioned to their various posts---the pilots, launch-specialists, navigators, communications, technical, planners and policy, science-and-computers, rocketry, and those at work at the Molinari mid-point space-dock, such as Guy Reisling's lover, Lila Meetek. Years of training, education, and rising through the ranks, and each had proven themselves, and earned their jobs, which were highly prized. For Bojji, it had been through years of work with the program, mostly in launches, inter-planet navigation, and physics-science. Another egg-head, another adventurer, and a man beloved of his 'employees' for level-headed decision-making, human-compassion, and good-judgment, backed by solid knowledge and experience.
ROLL-CALL: these are the men and women who live and work at the US-Mars-Base at the time of the discovery of the approach of Asteroid U2752b, now circa 2076.
Commander Bojji-Than: male, about age 62-years, Asian. Responsible to oversee all operations at the base (on Mars). Installed as base Commander in 2070, at work on-the-job now six years. Thin, dark-skinned, and muscular for his age, the Commander enjoys playing classical violin as a hobby, and his collection of fine wine (a rarity on Mars).
Juno Amorrossi: male, age 45 years. Juno is the muscular, masculine and athletic base Security Officer, French-Belgian in heritage. He is affable and friendly, trained in marital arts and especially judo, at the Master's level. Work for Juno at the base on Mars is rather boring, due to the nature of the crew-and-staff who work there. He is only rarely needed for personnell disputes, sometimes misbehavior or intoxicated residents who over-do things, and minor disciplinary actions. Most often he would act as an event crowd-control manager, or public host, and then of course in a safety-and-security capacity, concerning matters such as proper air-lock function, or passage of people through air-locks safely. It must be said, Juno was a big hit with the ladies at the Mars-base (ciao!)
Vinces Grant: male, age 49 years, in the role of Mars-base Science-and-Research Lead. Work at the Mars-base had always been intended as a platform for discoveries about Mars, including anything and everything there was to know or learn. Thus, a vast arena, even an entire new world. With a staff of about 20 science-specialists, which also changed as needs arose, Vinces organized each long-term or short-term exploration---mapping, geology, life-and-water search, planetary physics, atmospheric and radiology-solar, soil values for potential agriculture or other uses, planet history and archeology, and so on. These were on-going, and all collected data was analyzed and recorded, or sent back to other researchers on Earth. Vinces Grant was a husky-looking Latin man, variously multi-ethnic in his DNA-origins and ancestry. Hobbies includes star-gazing and astronomy, and he also seemed to have an endless personal memory for sappy one-liners and jokes.
Chassidy Katola: female, age 28 years. Chassidy's job might have seemed at first less important than others, but Mars-base residents knew her as their primary source of Health-and-Wellness guidance in this strange world. Though young, she was a successful and advanced Wellness Therapist, and her work included nutrition, exercise, medical-holistic, emotional, and other health areas. Chassidy was a Black woman, very beautiful and sexy, and with quite dark skin. She also had an MD in a broad spectrum of 'wellness' knowledge. The base staff included many other MD's, various types of doctors, and dentists, others. Maybe it was because her discipline included all areas of health, that Chassidy was a touch-stone of help and guidance for all 230 base residents, in any area of physical-emotional distress, pain, fatigue, or illness---that she was so popular---or maybe simply because she was a fun and beautiful person, effervescent and joyful to be with. Any illness, or viral infection, even a simple flu-bug, could spell disaster for them all. Fear, ideas and rumours, and overall staff-and-crew fitness, s critically important. Chassidy encouraged regular and vigorous sexual release for all the Mars-base residents.
Matt Curisonn Van Templar: male, age 42-years. Matt, or 'the Templar Knight', as he was sometimes called, was the Lead-Person on Rocketry and Launches, for the Mars-base. This included any re-entry, or shuttle landings, ships in orbit, transports to and from Earth, and 'lifts' from the Mars-surface to ships waiting in the orbit-space above. Matt was a 'white man', not very physical, though fit enough, and trended towards 'nerd' in appearance and disposition. His job was critical; without the skill and knowledge needed to launch or land ships and people or goods on Mars, and from Mars, they would all soon perish. Or, if they didn't die---life would be very difficult until launches and rocketry were restored. Like anyone, Matt 'the Templar' took pride in his work, and there had never been a disaster or crash, under his command, that being some 15 years (including work back on Earth in the same arena). Crashes did happen. Ships would fail to re-enter atmosphere and gravity, or even explode, with all hands lost, for whatever reason---mechanical, human error, environmental. Matt was like a watchful hawk over each and every launch, keen for any hint of error or failure. and for this much he had earned the respect of all. He was also a homosexual, with a male-lover commonly known to many of his friends, who was a Safety Worker at the Mars-base.
Charley Barron: age 53-years, male, Mars-base Environmental Safety and Atmosphere-Integrity Officer. Charley's job was to mainatin the Mars-base facility internal environment such as to remain humanly habitable and sustainable for life-support, here on this hostile planet. His staff was one of the largest from among the 230 base inhabitants. The breathable air, the C02-scrubbing and oxygen recycling, temperature-control, drinkable water and waste-processing, crops and hot-houses, imports of supplies, raw-materials, chemicals, and also internal energy-systems, and much more, were all under his authority. And he knew what he was doing, never forgetting that all their lives depended on the environmental-system integrity and functionality. An air-leak to the outside, a recycling failure, a water-supply loss or contamination, an energy-power system failure for air-circulation, or even a tiny meteorite from space, that somehow penetrated the external shell of the base-structure---all of these dangers and more, would wipe them out in days, if not hours. The entire base was on back-up as far as most of these systems, but each required constant attention, monitoring and adjustments. The US-Mars base was remarkable precisely because it was 'self-sustaining', and could basically exist all on its own, pretty much as long as the residents could keep it all going, even without Earth transports. So Charley was in charge of making that a reality, Twenty-four/Seven, flawlessly and without any surprises. He was a short-statured man, rustic-looking, and given to parties and drink in off-hours. Everyone who knew him encouraged his happiness and parties or girl-friends, given that he held their lives in his hands.
Of course the Mars-base include many, many others. The Safety-Workers, the Reserve-Pilots, the Surface-Workers and Excursion Commanders, the Suit-Suppliers and Suit-Maintenance, Food-Workers, Communications, Satellite-Traffic, and on and on---all fascinating, healthy, colorful people, male and female, with much to offer. The oldest man at the base was nearly 70-years young, was was involved in water-research. The youngest person who was a Mars-regular was only 23 years-old, a Safety Worker. In the past, Earth children had sometimes visited the base, in groups of about ten at a time, as young as only about ten years-old.
Karen Tutturro followed behind Bojji-Than, into the Command Center where he was expecting another boring day. Boring is usually good, in space-travel. The oval-shaped room was much like an Air-Traffic Control Tower at a large Earth jet-airport. Numerous monitoring computers were manned by various staffers, working long-shifts---they kept track of everything from the external base-perimeter, to Mar's twin orbiting moons. If a dust storm was kicking up in the Southern hemisphere, 3,000-kilometers away, they needed to know. Communications from Earth were constant, but only a few types of messages had any real importance---the communications equipment and actual operating systems that Karen would be working on were elsewhere. Earth-communications were still functioning, and had been all along, but not at the level they needed for transmission of research data in large enough batches to make the effort successful. She had come a long, long way to get the job done, and it was important enough work that she was temporarily a minor celebrity at the base (as all new arrivals were).
"Everyone, please," Bojji addressed the room full of people, about 20 in all at various stations, in a loud voice. He stood at the head of the room on a small observation platform, and of course got their attention. "Please welcome our latest visitor from back home. This is Karen Tuturro, a Sci-Tech in Communications from Vandenberg. Hopefully Karen is going to repair our communications system."
Karen blinked and smiled. "Hi---everyone."
The room called back, some laughing, with 'hello's', 'howdy's' and welcomes. It was a rowdy bunch, mostly veterans who recognized a Mars-Virgin when they saw one. One man honked a small flatulent-horn he had at his desk. Others tapped their coffee-cups. "What's wrong?" Karen asked Bojji. "They don't seem to like me."
"Of course they do," he replied. "With most of these, if you had brought a 12-pack of beer from Earth,and barbecued ribs, it would seal your fate with them forever. Have no fear. They'll be your friends in no time. Especially if you can fix our antenna problem."
They moved off the platform at the head of the room, strolling slowly around some of the posts and tech-stations. "I don't think it's an antenna issue," Karen confided to Bojji-Than. "I was looking over some of the data-schematics and system-analysis. What I need to do is shut the entire Earth-link down for about two or three days. Then I'll be able to isolate various components and their functions, and find the gremlin. Once I find the gremlin, I make a repair on just the part that isn't working well, then hook it all back together and start it up again. Then you start-up a new data-stream to Earth of the type you were working with. With any luck, you'll have no problem."
"Sounds like a plan," Bojji replied.
"I'll also need an assistant or two, or co-workers, under my direction, from your Telecomm staff."
"Certainly," Bojji replied. They paused. After a moment, Vinces Grant, the Research Lead for the base, approached them both and introduced himself. Grant worked in a jump-suit that would have been more appropriate on a fishing boat off the coast of Catalina, back in California. Not tall, but rather wide, he had a slinky-masculine appeal that was irresistible and charming. He took Karen's hand. "Vinces Grant," he said. "Pleased to meet you."
"Vinces does control for all the base research teams, exploration programs, science-and-data. In fact, it's his programs and the data they have for the teams on Earth, that comprise the content for the Telecomm-systems to transmit, that failed---prior to your trip here to Mars," the Commander said to Karen. Bojji-Than had known Vinces for many years, and could anticipate one of his one-liner jokes, before Vinces even opened his mouth.
"Why are there no uncooked hot-dogs on Mars?" he tossed out, in Karen's direction.
"Huh?" she said. "Oh---uh---I don't know. Why?"
"Because Mars is the god of war, not the dog of raw."
Karen took a moment to try to understand the humor..
"Not one of your better jokes, Vinces," Bojji said.
"Come on, you get it---'raw' is 'war' spelled backwards, that's all. See? Laugh, dammit!"
Karen complied and chortled a bit, if only for his attitude and emotions. He was a pleasant man in any case. "No, really---I get it," she said. "No hot-dogs."
"The base cafeteria does not usually feature meat-products, due to storage and preservation issues with importation from Earth, and also the inability of the base here to produce any meat products of our own, like chicken or fish," said Bojji.
"That's the other reason," Vinces added.
"I don't really like hot-dogs anyway," Karen said. "You know, the nitrates they use. Unless they're organic."
They seemed to pause in the small-talk. "Well, nice to meet you," Vince's said. "Let's just hope those dick-heads in Russia and the Islamic-Hindu Space-Program Alliance don't figure they'll be gobbling us up here at the base like a handy little inter-planetary snack, in the near future, in anticipation of any meteors out there. Know what I mean??"
They both nodded. Everyone pretty much already knew about the approaching asteroid, and fears about the Russian-Islamic Space-Program. Even on Mars, it was a cold topic.
"Nice to meet you, too," Karen said.
---Julian Phillips
Dec. 29, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Chapter Eleven/OUTPOST (more about Mars)
CHAPTER ELEVEN
OUTPOST
By Julian Phillips
From the story by Tom Luong /Tom Luong Films
Dec. 20, 2009
“Three enormous volcanic mountains line up northeast to southwest, the Tharsis Montes. Each one is about twice the size and height of the volcanic island of Hawaii. Almost hidden in the shadow of Olympus Mons, an even larger volcano. Above it, wisps of water ice-clouds hover. Farther north, the pole displays a shrinking cap of carbon dioxide snow typical of early spring. East of the Tharsis Montes is a system of giant canyons that stretch some 5,000-kilometers, east to west.”
-Roy A. Gallant, Our Universe, National Geographic, 1980
Such was the Snikta-Ridge Volcanic Basin region, where the US-Mars base was built. The Snikta Ridge was a minor formation, and not particularly impressive, and of course the builders needed a hospitable, level, ‘flat’ or non-mountainous foundation, where the construction, approach of man-power or staff, and goods, would function. The view from within the base, or anywhere nearby, was quite beautiful, though barren and formidable, even deadly. Mars was hard to love, or hard to enjoy, or find lovely. But the staff and workers who lived at the US Mars-base, almost to a man, eventually realized that they were among the very few ever of the Earth, to live and work on another planet, and this alone endeared each person in dreams and reverie.
The red planet clearly once had a very active geological past. The volcanoes were dead, but not the deadly dust storms, which could be vast, even planetary-scale events, as the ancient reddish sand and dust was swept aloft by ‘winds’ that created huge clouds of terrible power, and could be seen from Earth by telescope.
By comparison, Deimos, the red planet’s outer of two moons, is only 15-kilometers wide, at its broadest point, which was irregular in shape and not perfectly globular. So Deimos, an orbiting moon, was only one-fortieth (1/40th) as broad as the Olympus Mons volcano on the planet surface.
Mars was the Roman ‘god’ of war, stereotypically represented by the ‘circle-and-arrow’ sign, often used to portray the male. And 'macho' it all was, for a planet where anyone would dwell or live, certainly compared to Earth, far more nurturing and feminine, with it’s near-Paradise of plants, life, water, people, food, cities, oceans, creatures, and so on. Only the strong could survive on Mars, it might have been thought. Yet, with the help of science-technology and good old know-how, many of the residents at the US-base, were women, and even a few children (who had visited temporarily in the past). The planners of the US space-program knew well, that with women joining together with men, as they voyaged into space, that morale improved overall, and depression and anxiety decreased. Yes, strong and healthy, athletic---but all-woman, feminine, nurturing, the second half of mankind’s Adam-Eve dichotomy, which was eternal for human-kind.
A ‘Martian Year’ would last for 687 Earth-days---almost two Earth-years. The planet has ‘seasons’, which are also irregular in length of days---in other words, the Northern Fall season can vary almost 60 days longer than the spring season. The planet is significantly smaller than Earth, about one-third as large, and one-tenth the mass (weight) of Earth, and less dense internally. Thus, gravity on Mars is just slightly more than one-third the pull of gravity on Earth. A 200-pound man, on Mars would weigh only about 70-pound. Like astronauts who first walked on Earth’s moon, this was a delight, or, at least, an ease and convenience when carrying heavy loads, or thick, heavy space-suits, or gear, etc. In a strange way, as their hearts yearned to play or glide and jump or leap, or fly about, or do incredible athletics, in the lesser gravity, the staff and workers on Mars at the base knew they never would be able to do so, for fear of the deadly atmospheric conditions. Naked, or in running-shorts on the surface of Mars was not an option, except in dreams.
At the closest point between the two planets, Earth and Mars, as they move in the dance of orbits, are about 56 million kilometers apart. This solar-system intimacy, or closeness (about 45-million miles or so), could take as long as two years to happen, and was purely a natural event, caused by the orbits and positions of the planets. A Martin ‘day’ is just slightly more than 24-hours, oddly enough, providing the Mars-base staff with a sense of Earth-like normalcy.
For what water there is on Mars, nearly all of it is found frozen beneath the ground. Both planetary poles had ice-caps. The polar caps are actually ‘dry ice’, or frozen carbon dioxide, with only a little actual ‘water-ice’. And, of course, much of the planet-surface is pock-marked with craters, large or smaller. The soil is somewhat like that of the soil on Earth, with silicon, iron and magnesium. The famous reddish color is apparently from iron-oxide.
The Tharsis Montes region is 1,000-times the distance from New York to Los Angeles, in its longness. The four giant volcanoes are three times higher than Earth’s Mount Everest. To the east is Valles Marinarus, with canyons deeper than America’s Grand Canyon, but longer than the US itself from coast-to-coast. Petrified lava-flows, sedimentary canals long dried and turned to dust, endless vistas of barren rocks, sand and rises, and many other formations, are everywhere. Yet not a single tree, bird, lake, grassy field, cow, horse, natural waterway, fish, beach, or indigenous life-form, anywhere on Mars at all, that had ever been found since exploration began.
Maps of Mars show formations called such as Chrysae Planitia, Sinai Planum, Arsia Mons, Hellas Planitia, Elysium Mons, Du or Martheray. There’s no liquid water anywhere on the surface of this entire world. The atmosphere is very dry, and any water-vapor that does exist, will not turn to liquid (like rain does on Earth). Even if all the water-vapor in the atmosphere of the entire planet of Mars was reduced from air-born mist to liquid, the entire volume of it would only fill a small lake. By comparison, of course, Earth is host to vast oceans over most of its surface, which though salty, condense and lifts into the moist atmosphere of the Earth, eventually turning into rain, or other water-forms, providing the basis of life. Mapping, measurements, geology and innumerable observations and records continued without end, as one of the US Mars-base’s principle objectives---to learn and record all there was to know about this ‘new world’.
The base itself was, from the exterior, rather a fortress of technology and survival-means off-world construction. From the ground-level, it seemed somewhat like a common military installation of some sort. There were numerous buildings and gates or entry-ways, large tanks and vats or towers, numerous antenna-arrays with gaudy high-tech spider-webs of dishes and spindly formations that could project radio and other signals all the way to Earth, and many other aspects. There were also glassy, or clear-view formations attached to the base, more or less like plant houses, or patio-like gardens, for restful viewing---but of course the entire inner-world of the base was protected, air-tight, from the harsh outer-world. And in this sense, although ‘home’, the base was also, and always would be, a prison, from which escape into Nature, meant only death for the human creature.
But life at Snikta Ridge was by far more comfortable than life on the transport ships that made the voyage from Earth, such as the one Guy Reisling piloted. The residents enjoyed fine meals, fresh water and air, good plumbing and bathing, regular personal quarters and housing that allowed for sexual relations, and off-hours of even a week or more at a time to relax, or ‘mini-vacations’. There was plenty of entertainment in every form, also a library, and small performance theater. After ten years, the crews at the base started a vocal choir, which then petered-out, to be replaced by a jazz-band and a small classical string-quartet, and other forms of arts, as staff found time and inspiration.
As ships entered orbit around Mars, a standard re-entry, or shuttle-to-surface descent, was initiated---not by the transport pilot, but by a specially-trained ‘space harbor-master’, to whom this process was not a mystery. To the pilots, or any person arriving on Mars, the view from orbit of the Snikta Ridge Volcanic Basin US-Mars Base, was indeed spectacular. Telescopes and magnifiers provided digital-screen views, and the naked-eye was really not much use, even through the thick transparent-aluminum port-views ‘windows’. Maybe it was because after months in deep-space transport, travelers knew that when they arrived at the base, they would again enjoy ‘normal’ gravity, walk around in open-air interiors, have private rooms all for themselves, and so on. Or maybe it was just the wonder of it all.
In any case, what they saw from above, when entering Martian orbit, was a spread of about five or ten square miles, laid out like a patch-work of squares, circles, and other shapes---the same air-tight fortress which from the planet-surface rose up beneath the dark cliffs like a strange specter of the power of modern science and the survival spirit of humanity. There were launch-pads, too, and landing-areas, and roads between the useful platforms or storage for fluids, liquid-oxygen, or H20, and then areas for surface-to-orbit rockets or ‘lifters’. Complex hardly described what was needed to survive in this way on Mars, in the year 2076. As an achievement of human consciousness, Snikta Ridge was equal to the Great Pyramids of Egypt, or any of the Earth’s great cities, or other wonders ‘back home’. Yet it all seemed as lonely as the silent and dead planet upon which it rested, a tiny spark of human life, against the face of the Universe, a fortress of the living, as strong as any ever conceived---an ‘outpost’, in the true sense, as may have been established in the early exploration of the American West, or the early European exploration of the ‘New World’ of the Americas, or Marco Polo’s first voyages to China and the East.
Sunrise on Mars was oddly unique and just as wonderful as the rising Sun on Earth. More distant from the Sun by millions of miles, Martian sunrise was more distant as well from the source of life and heat and warmth---the Sun. So it seemed ethereal, somehow hollow, or lacking a certain familiar mighty blaze, almost like tin compared to brass, or silver compared to gold. The reddish dust and dark-reddish mountain cliffs, the huge volcanoes, higher than any man would probably ever climb, set against the rising Sun, distant to the east in the early hours of each morning---there was no doubt this was ‘another world’, however much one wished to go home. Base staff could watch the sunrise event from glass-domed patios, and at various view-ports, and also on digital camera screens.
As a regular task that needed to be done daily, a base perimeter air-lock seal and atmospheric facility breach check was performed, in three crews of two men each. Comfortable in their Mars-Suits, the men rode on small electric carts suitable to the surface soil and inclines. Communicating by internal radio-links, they were equipped with gauges and detectors that would reveal any oxygen leaks, mostly at various points that were most likely to decay, break down, or release internal air-pressure due to wear-and-tear. As they stopped the carts, at some twenty points along the foot of The Castle (as they sometimes called the base), they looked like rock-hunters, with magnetic metal-detectors in their hands, which in fact were for reading chemicals associated with any leaks.
There were many daily dangers and environmental threats on Mars, but an internal air-pressure breach, or leak, was among the most feared. So the men worked carefully, every single day, to find even a very small leak. A small leak could become a large one, and a sudden loss of internal air could result in many deaths, before it could be controlled or contained, if they caught it in time.
“Nothing here,” said one of the workers, through his inter-suit radio, to his partner. “It’s clean. Not even a molecule. Let’s try the footing seals on Number Two.”
“Got it,” his partner responded. They moved back to the little electric cart, like figures in a dream, against the distant Sun rising behind the giants, tin, not even silver.
“Are you ready?” Bojji-Than, the base-commander, inquired of Karen Tutturro, who he found that morning at the cafeteria. Karen had maintained her schedule meticulously since her arrival, more cautious than perhaps she needed to be. She wanted the other crews at the base to respect her, of course, which was no simple matter. “I want you to meet some people you’ll be working with,” Bojji-Than added.
“Certainly, commander,” Karen said, getting herself up from the table where she was eating breakfast, along with 20 or 30 other shift-workers, at one of the cafeterias.
“Please just call me Bojji,” he said. “Everyone else does.”
“Okay,” she smiled back. “Bojji.”
They walked out together from the dining-area, into one of the halls. The base was alive and vibrant with life, work, and a pulsing truth that sustained them all.
--Julian Phillips
Dec. 20, 2009
OUTPOST
By Julian Phillips
From the story by Tom Luong /Tom Luong Films
Dec. 20, 2009
“Three enormous volcanic mountains line up northeast to southwest, the Tharsis Montes. Each one is about twice the size and height of the volcanic island of Hawaii. Almost hidden in the shadow of Olympus Mons, an even larger volcano. Above it, wisps of water ice-clouds hover. Farther north, the pole displays a shrinking cap of carbon dioxide snow typical of early spring. East of the Tharsis Montes is a system of giant canyons that stretch some 5,000-kilometers, east to west.”
-Roy A. Gallant, Our Universe, National Geographic, 1980
Such was the Snikta-Ridge Volcanic Basin region, where the US-Mars base was built. The Snikta Ridge was a minor formation, and not particularly impressive, and of course the builders needed a hospitable, level, ‘flat’ or non-mountainous foundation, where the construction, approach of man-power or staff, and goods, would function. The view from within the base, or anywhere nearby, was quite beautiful, though barren and formidable, even deadly. Mars was hard to love, or hard to enjoy, or find lovely. But the staff and workers who lived at the US Mars-base, almost to a man, eventually realized that they were among the very few ever of the Earth, to live and work on another planet, and this alone endeared each person in dreams and reverie.
The red planet clearly once had a very active geological past. The volcanoes were dead, but not the deadly dust storms, which could be vast, even planetary-scale events, as the ancient reddish sand and dust was swept aloft by ‘winds’ that created huge clouds of terrible power, and could be seen from Earth by telescope.
By comparison, Deimos, the red planet’s outer of two moons, is only 15-kilometers wide, at its broadest point, which was irregular in shape and not perfectly globular. So Deimos, an orbiting moon, was only one-fortieth (1/40th) as broad as the Olympus Mons volcano on the planet surface.
Mars was the Roman ‘god’ of war, stereotypically represented by the ‘circle-and-arrow’ sign, often used to portray the male. And 'macho' it all was, for a planet where anyone would dwell or live, certainly compared to Earth, far more nurturing and feminine, with it’s near-Paradise of plants, life, water, people, food, cities, oceans, creatures, and so on. Only the strong could survive on Mars, it might have been thought. Yet, with the help of science-technology and good old know-how, many of the residents at the US-base, were women, and even a few children (who had visited temporarily in the past). The planners of the US space-program knew well, that with women joining together with men, as they voyaged into space, that morale improved overall, and depression and anxiety decreased. Yes, strong and healthy, athletic---but all-woman, feminine, nurturing, the second half of mankind’s Adam-Eve dichotomy, which was eternal for human-kind.
A ‘Martian Year’ would last for 687 Earth-days---almost two Earth-years. The planet has ‘seasons’, which are also irregular in length of days---in other words, the Northern Fall season can vary almost 60 days longer than the spring season. The planet is significantly smaller than Earth, about one-third as large, and one-tenth the mass (weight) of Earth, and less dense internally. Thus, gravity on Mars is just slightly more than one-third the pull of gravity on Earth. A 200-pound man, on Mars would weigh only about 70-pound. Like astronauts who first walked on Earth’s moon, this was a delight, or, at least, an ease and convenience when carrying heavy loads, or thick, heavy space-suits, or gear, etc. In a strange way, as their hearts yearned to play or glide and jump or leap, or fly about, or do incredible athletics, in the lesser gravity, the staff and workers on Mars at the base knew they never would be able to do so, for fear of the deadly atmospheric conditions. Naked, or in running-shorts on the surface of Mars was not an option, except in dreams.
At the closest point between the two planets, Earth and Mars, as they move in the dance of orbits, are about 56 million kilometers apart. This solar-system intimacy, or closeness (about 45-million miles or so), could take as long as two years to happen, and was purely a natural event, caused by the orbits and positions of the planets. A Martin ‘day’ is just slightly more than 24-hours, oddly enough, providing the Mars-base staff with a sense of Earth-like normalcy.
For what water there is on Mars, nearly all of it is found frozen beneath the ground. Both planetary poles had ice-caps. The polar caps are actually ‘dry ice’, or frozen carbon dioxide, with only a little actual ‘water-ice’. And, of course, much of the planet-surface is pock-marked with craters, large or smaller. The soil is somewhat like that of the soil on Earth, with silicon, iron and magnesium. The famous reddish color is apparently from iron-oxide.
The Tharsis Montes region is 1,000-times the distance from New York to Los Angeles, in its longness. The four giant volcanoes are three times higher than Earth’s Mount Everest. To the east is Valles Marinarus, with canyons deeper than America’s Grand Canyon, but longer than the US itself from coast-to-coast. Petrified lava-flows, sedimentary canals long dried and turned to dust, endless vistas of barren rocks, sand and rises, and many other formations, are everywhere. Yet not a single tree, bird, lake, grassy field, cow, horse, natural waterway, fish, beach, or indigenous life-form, anywhere on Mars at all, that had ever been found since exploration began.
Maps of Mars show formations called such as Chrysae Planitia, Sinai Planum, Arsia Mons, Hellas Planitia, Elysium Mons, Du or Martheray. There’s no liquid water anywhere on the surface of this entire world. The atmosphere is very dry, and any water-vapor that does exist, will not turn to liquid (like rain does on Earth). Even if all the water-vapor in the atmosphere of the entire planet of Mars was reduced from air-born mist to liquid, the entire volume of it would only fill a small lake. By comparison, of course, Earth is host to vast oceans over most of its surface, which though salty, condense and lifts into the moist atmosphere of the Earth, eventually turning into rain, or other water-forms, providing the basis of life. Mapping, measurements, geology and innumerable observations and records continued without end, as one of the US Mars-base’s principle objectives---to learn and record all there was to know about this ‘new world’.
The base itself was, from the exterior, rather a fortress of technology and survival-means off-world construction. From the ground-level, it seemed somewhat like a common military installation of some sort. There were numerous buildings and gates or entry-ways, large tanks and vats or towers, numerous antenna-arrays with gaudy high-tech spider-webs of dishes and spindly formations that could project radio and other signals all the way to Earth, and many other aspects. There were also glassy, or clear-view formations attached to the base, more or less like plant houses, or patio-like gardens, for restful viewing---but of course the entire inner-world of the base was protected, air-tight, from the harsh outer-world. And in this sense, although ‘home’, the base was also, and always would be, a prison, from which escape into Nature, meant only death for the human creature.
But life at Snikta Ridge was by far more comfortable than life on the transport ships that made the voyage from Earth, such as the one Guy Reisling piloted. The residents enjoyed fine meals, fresh water and air, good plumbing and bathing, regular personal quarters and housing that allowed for sexual relations, and off-hours of even a week or more at a time to relax, or ‘mini-vacations’. There was plenty of entertainment in every form, also a library, and small performance theater. After ten years, the crews at the base started a vocal choir, which then petered-out, to be replaced by a jazz-band and a small classical string-quartet, and other forms of arts, as staff found time and inspiration.
As ships entered orbit around Mars, a standard re-entry, or shuttle-to-surface descent, was initiated---not by the transport pilot, but by a specially-trained ‘space harbor-master’, to whom this process was not a mystery. To the pilots, or any person arriving on Mars, the view from orbit of the Snikta Ridge Volcanic Basin US-Mars Base, was indeed spectacular. Telescopes and magnifiers provided digital-screen views, and the naked-eye was really not much use, even through the thick transparent-aluminum port-views ‘windows’. Maybe it was because after months in deep-space transport, travelers knew that when they arrived at the base, they would again enjoy ‘normal’ gravity, walk around in open-air interiors, have private rooms all for themselves, and so on. Or maybe it was just the wonder of it all.
In any case, what they saw from above, when entering Martian orbit, was a spread of about five or ten square miles, laid out like a patch-work of squares, circles, and other shapes---the same air-tight fortress which from the planet-surface rose up beneath the dark cliffs like a strange specter of the power of modern science and the survival spirit of humanity. There were launch-pads, too, and landing-areas, and roads between the useful platforms or storage for fluids, liquid-oxygen, or H20, and then areas for surface-to-orbit rockets or ‘lifters’. Complex hardly described what was needed to survive in this way on Mars, in the year 2076. As an achievement of human consciousness, Snikta Ridge was equal to the Great Pyramids of Egypt, or any of the Earth’s great cities, or other wonders ‘back home’. Yet it all seemed as lonely as the silent and dead planet upon which it rested, a tiny spark of human life, against the face of the Universe, a fortress of the living, as strong as any ever conceived---an ‘outpost’, in the true sense, as may have been established in the early exploration of the American West, or the early European exploration of the ‘New World’ of the Americas, or Marco Polo’s first voyages to China and the East.
Sunrise on Mars was oddly unique and just as wonderful as the rising Sun on Earth. More distant from the Sun by millions of miles, Martian sunrise was more distant as well from the source of life and heat and warmth---the Sun. So it seemed ethereal, somehow hollow, or lacking a certain familiar mighty blaze, almost like tin compared to brass, or silver compared to gold. The reddish dust and dark-reddish mountain cliffs, the huge volcanoes, higher than any man would probably ever climb, set against the rising Sun, distant to the east in the early hours of each morning---there was no doubt this was ‘another world’, however much one wished to go home. Base staff could watch the sunrise event from glass-domed patios, and at various view-ports, and also on digital camera screens.
As a regular task that needed to be done daily, a base perimeter air-lock seal and atmospheric facility breach check was performed, in three crews of two men each. Comfortable in their Mars-Suits, the men rode on small electric carts suitable to the surface soil and inclines. Communicating by internal radio-links, they were equipped with gauges and detectors that would reveal any oxygen leaks, mostly at various points that were most likely to decay, break down, or release internal air-pressure due to wear-and-tear. As they stopped the carts, at some twenty points along the foot of The Castle (as they sometimes called the base), they looked like rock-hunters, with magnetic metal-detectors in their hands, which in fact were for reading chemicals associated with any leaks.
There were many daily dangers and environmental threats on Mars, but an internal air-pressure breach, or leak, was among the most feared. So the men worked carefully, every single day, to find even a very small leak. A small leak could become a large one, and a sudden loss of internal air could result in many deaths, before it could be controlled or contained, if they caught it in time.
“Nothing here,” said one of the workers, through his inter-suit radio, to his partner. “It’s clean. Not even a molecule. Let’s try the footing seals on Number Two.”
“Got it,” his partner responded. They moved back to the little electric cart, like figures in a dream, against the distant Sun rising behind the giants, tin, not even silver.
“Are you ready?” Bojji-Than, the base-commander, inquired of Karen Tutturro, who he found that morning at the cafeteria. Karen had maintained her schedule meticulously since her arrival, more cautious than perhaps she needed to be. She wanted the other crews at the base to respect her, of course, which was no simple matter. “I want you to meet some people you’ll be working with,” Bojji-Than added.
“Certainly, commander,” Karen said, getting herself up from the table where she was eating breakfast, along with 20 or 30 other shift-workers, at one of the cafeterias.
“Please just call me Bojji,” he said. “Everyone else does.”
“Okay,” she smiled back. “Bojji.”
They walked out together from the dining-area, into one of the halls. The base was alive and vibrant with life, work, and a pulsing truth that sustained them all.
--Julian Phillips
Dec. 20, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
OUTPOST-Chapter Ten, onward to Mars
CHAPTER TEN
OUTPOST
By Julian Phillips
From the story by Tom Luong /Tom Luong Films
Dec. 11, 2009
“There’s no goodness in me equal to all the badness of the world. But deep space---what could go wrong?”
-US Mars-Program spaceship transport pilot Guy Reisling, 2076
Like a dream of globes, or gigantic stones, or spinning tops in the hands of a child-deity, formed from infinity, yet round and lovely, spheres--the first solar planetary object, the second, and then third through ninth, and beyond, had been dancing delightedly for so long, few could truly remember their origins. In fact, no one could. But it was long ago, for sure, and the furnaces of creation, the formation of matter and energy, and Guy Reisling’s ancestors, somewhere in his blood-stream and DNA, silent yet eternal---those burn-bins yet lingered in the rear-view mirror of himself and mankind, ever-curious, super-chimps, as one philosopher said, like ants on our glorious Earth, home forever.
And there away on Mars, after long years of hard work and learning, the US had, at one point now past, established the Mars-base, under discussion in their meetings. Why do we do these things, mankind might have mused, taken whole? What’s the use? Who cares for Mars? It’s dry and boring and empty and barren, only rocks, no good air, cold and hot both, in extremes, without a single tree. For every single person on Earth, there was no question---thanks, but no thanks, I like it here. Even the Earth’s bitterly poor had a handful, otherwise not long to live, and adventures of their own, humble. Yet the few, the proud, the US Mars program space-flight workers, and the other Earth space-explorers, really numbering only a few thousand people, but a tiny fraction of humanity---where few had gone, few would ever go, and among them who did, most learned not to ask themselves why, for their own self-respect.
Dinner on Mars, at the so-called Snikta-Ridge Volcanic Basin US Mars base, was a family-type affair, and tended with the perpetual concept of keeping spirits up and overcoming exhausted workers and depression or other off-world emotional troubles---same as at home on Earth, just without the view. Much like any demanding service that trained and skilled people would undertake, such as military, the food was prepared with the very best quality available, for this reason. On one evening, Earth date then at January 23, 2076, in the food-court within the safety of the base itself, the meal for about 20 or 30 people, was---once again---completely vegetarian. The main reason was that for the base to be self-sustaining, they needed to raise their own food, difficult on Mars to be sure. But it was essential---they would all die if the shipments of goods that Guy Reisling and others were responsible for, failed for some reason, for a significant period. Rice was the most successful. It grew easily in shallow water, was acclimated to heat-changes, high in carbohydrates, and also preserved well. They had many other types of crops, carefully tended in long, very large hot-houses---beans, corn, organic melons, onions, carrots, and so on. The plants also produced free ambient oxygen, exchanging C02 for 02, for photo-synthesis. But the chefs were stocked with wonderful spices and ingredients, and the meals were truly quite good, with many variations. Once or twice a year the Earth-transports brought in a supply of familiar meat-products, too.
The crews ate in shifts, around the clock. The base was occupied by about 230 people at this time. The number at the base changed, but not by much, as Earth-bound passengers departed, no more than five or six at a time, and others arrived. Thus, there at the dinner-table, on that day, the Communications Tech-Support Karen Tutturro, now, at last, found herself enjoying her first meal on the new planet---and she was filled with wonder, and joy, though cautious, at everything she was learning about this new world.
“Do we always eat here, or is there another dining area?” Karen asked her guide, whose name was Juno, a Belgian-German base security man, whose real job---since they were never under any actual threat, or hostility, other than that of Mother Nature---was mostly to maintain the ebb-and-flow of civic and family life there at the base, which was complex enough that minor disputes could be disruptive and needed to be dealt with. But that was rare.
“There is another one, three corridors down, and then a third as well,” Juno said. Each one will feed 150 people at a time. But there is no need. They work in shifts. The second food hall is smaller, and the other one about this size. How was the transport voyage? How is Earth these days? I haven’t been home in six months.”
Karen laughed. “Well, it’s still there,” she said. She continued eating. The dish was rice-rissotto, with pickles and nuts, and veggies, and a soy-based fruit-type nutrition drink, with other items as treats. “The transport was fine, but demanding. You know. I liked everything, except the bedding was too rough, or---just not very comfortable.”
“That was your first time, then?” Juno asked her.
“Yes. I’m a Mars virgin.”
“You’ll get used to it. Take nothing for granted. It’s still dangerous, even today. A few miles beyond these walls---certain death.” He just smiled. “Even for Mars virgins, it’s cold outside.”
The dinner-hall was an echo of pleasant voices. People laughed or chatted. Mars-TV, as they jokingly called the in-house communication system, played popular entertainments on a screen-surface. The most popular were nature-documentaries from Earth, but also many others, agreed on by committee.
“My job is working on the Inter-planet communications,” Karen said. “I was sent because there were troubles in the system that made failure possible, which might cause troubles or mix-ups in essential services.”
“Yes, I know,” Juno said. “It was more than a year ago. There was a needful communication series regarding a research inquiry program, and complex data. But they messed up somehow. It was a geological survey, with samples, too. But it failed badly. They panicked. And now here you are.”
“In the words of Ringo Starr, I’m glad to be here or anywhere,” Karen replied. “I’ll get to work tomorrow, today I rest from the voyage. It took the ship more than 60 days from Earth. I’ll have my hands full. It’s a complex system.”
After a while, they left the cafeteria, and entered the rest of the Mars-base complex, as Juno would guide her around for the next couple of hours, to view the ‘tour’ that new-comers enjoyed. The various halls of the facility were arched, large enough for small motorized carts, and went on for even miles, taken together, though only a total of about four miles in all. Karen seemed to take charisma with Juno, and they laughed a bit, and became friends, as everyone at the base was encouraged to be.
The Mars-base planners wanted to create and fabricate a long-term facility that would serve several main purposes: to host the science-and-research team, the pilots and crews, and equipment-computers-machines; and also for work involved in the hot-houses and with growing plants, processing chemicals and oxygen-water, recycling, process-generation; and also of course for purposes such as housing, offices, astronomy, and operations. Beyond the main walls, were modest launch-pads, and a series of ramps and short drives leading to the eight main gates; there were also observation equipment-stations, raw-materials containers, and ladders or steps that could access the upper decks, windows, pads, observations stations, and then the roof.
The entire layout looked very patch-work and military, like a puzzle of squares and shapes, and various components, small roads and containers. The actual Snikta-Ridge Volcanic Basin had been chosen by the base designers because of the geology structure of the rocky region. The ridge was a solid 100 miles long, North to West on the planet surface, in the upper-equatorial area, and included the unique aspect of containing an underground ice-flow, or H20-pack of frozen moisture, perhaps millions of years old. There was some frozen ‘dry-ice’ on the surface as well. This incredible find meant the base could be self-sustaining within only a few years of completed construction, which was about 2064.
Karen and Juno turned a corner deep inside the base, about two corridors over from where they had eaten their rice-rissotto. They moved into an area with a room full of computers and tech-gear, mostly for communications with Earth. An Asian man, named Boji-Than, met her by appointment. This was the Mars-Base Commander, far more a man of science than a soldier. He was taught-looking and slender, keen-eyed, fast-talking and very wise about all things related to the base.
Juno, the escort, dismissed himself. Boji-Than took Karen’s hand, and she smiled gratefully. “We have much to discuss, I’m so glad you’re here,” Boji said. “Come with me.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said.
Karen knew a good deal about the type of gear and tech they used to communicate back-and-forth with Earth. The system was essential for their survival. Her unique area was in microwave and basic radio, directional and power-supply, as well as antenna-array, and data-compression, and similar. Of course she had studied many years, with special education and knowledge. Likewise, Bojji-Than was completely appraised to these tasks.
They move through the equipment and he showed her various monitoring-screens and simple ways to appraise the system’s functionality. “It was no one’s fault, the way it broke down,” he said. “We were in the middle of a research project, mostly a geo-survey. None of the information was very important, which is typical here on Mars. It was a six-month project just to send the findings back to Earth, which were on-going.”
Karen gazed at one of the monitors, a computer that measured the flow of signals from one point to another, their receipt and content-stability. “You see?” Bojji-Than said. “The origins and transport-flow are fine, apparently. But when you reach this point—“
He pointed at one of the sections on the screen. This icon indicated a certain collection of computers and processors, that routed pre-compressed signal data to their final output via an antenna-array. “It’s blocked, and we don’t know why,” he said. “I’ve been working on it personally for weeks. By the time you were called up, it was a mess. I can tell you more, but that’s the outline.”
So, they talked more, mostly tech-stuff about the system she would be working on and various specifications. After half-an-hour, they settled down in an office in the same area.
“What are your feelings about the news from last year’s Spring Up-Date at Vandenberg?” Karen asked Bojji-Than. “About the meteor and the Russians?”
Bojji-Than relaxed a bit, and folded his arms. “Of course we heard all about it. As base-commander, it is very significant. We’ll have to adjust to whatever the Earth planners decide. My feeling is the situation could become a disaster, if the Russian-Ukrainian-Islamic forces in their space-program do indeed arrive. This base has no defenses for that sort of thing. No one ever dreamed we would need them. I am not a military person. So, we’ll see. Hopefully things will resolve without a problem.”
“The end of the world was never a problem before,” Karen joked.
“Only a few times,” Bojji said. “If something has a beginning, it has an end.”
“Let’s hope not,” Karen said. “It is home, after all.”
“For me, too,” Bojji-Than said. “I have not been back in almost a year.”
They continued to chat, and Karen was able to tell Bojji-Than about some more mundane aspects of life-on-Earth---new films, sporting events, new car models, things in the news, celebrities. This cemented their friendship somewhat. The work before them was demanding, and would take a lot of time. The mid-point processor that had broken down was complicated and highly-technical. Karen had brought a good deal of the back-up tools and analytical equipment she needed. After a while she was guided to her quarters and other new friends she would meet, while getting to know her new world.
“Just like Earth,” she said to herself, as she was finally alone. “Nice planet.”
---Julian Phillips
Oct. 28, 2009
2,051-words
OUTPOST
By Julian Phillips
From the story by Tom Luong /Tom Luong Films
Dec. 11, 2009
“There’s no goodness in me equal to all the badness of the world. But deep space---what could go wrong?”
-US Mars-Program spaceship transport pilot Guy Reisling, 2076
Like a dream of globes, or gigantic stones, or spinning tops in the hands of a child-deity, formed from infinity, yet round and lovely, spheres--the first solar planetary object, the second, and then third through ninth, and beyond, had been dancing delightedly for so long, few could truly remember their origins. In fact, no one could. But it was long ago, for sure, and the furnaces of creation, the formation of matter and energy, and Guy Reisling’s ancestors, somewhere in his blood-stream and DNA, silent yet eternal---those burn-bins yet lingered in the rear-view mirror of himself and mankind, ever-curious, super-chimps, as one philosopher said, like ants on our glorious Earth, home forever.
And there away on Mars, after long years of hard work and learning, the US had, at one point now past, established the Mars-base, under discussion in their meetings. Why do we do these things, mankind might have mused, taken whole? What’s the use? Who cares for Mars? It’s dry and boring and empty and barren, only rocks, no good air, cold and hot both, in extremes, without a single tree. For every single person on Earth, there was no question---thanks, but no thanks, I like it here. Even the Earth’s bitterly poor had a handful, otherwise not long to live, and adventures of their own, humble. Yet the few, the proud, the US Mars program space-flight workers, and the other Earth space-explorers, really numbering only a few thousand people, but a tiny fraction of humanity---where few had gone, few would ever go, and among them who did, most learned not to ask themselves why, for their own self-respect.
Dinner on Mars, at the so-called Snikta-Ridge Volcanic Basin US Mars base, was a family-type affair, and tended with the perpetual concept of keeping spirits up and overcoming exhausted workers and depression or other off-world emotional troubles---same as at home on Earth, just without the view. Much like any demanding service that trained and skilled people would undertake, such as military, the food was prepared with the very best quality available, for this reason. On one evening, Earth date then at January 23, 2076, in the food-court within the safety of the base itself, the meal for about 20 or 30 people, was---once again---completely vegetarian. The main reason was that for the base to be self-sustaining, they needed to raise their own food, difficult on Mars to be sure. But it was essential---they would all die if the shipments of goods that Guy Reisling and others were responsible for, failed for some reason, for a significant period. Rice was the most successful. It grew easily in shallow water, was acclimated to heat-changes, high in carbohydrates, and also preserved well. They had many other types of crops, carefully tended in long, very large hot-houses---beans, corn, organic melons, onions, carrots, and so on. The plants also produced free ambient oxygen, exchanging C02 for 02, for photo-synthesis. But the chefs were stocked with wonderful spices and ingredients, and the meals were truly quite good, with many variations. Once or twice a year the Earth-transports brought in a supply of familiar meat-products, too.
The crews ate in shifts, around the clock. The base was occupied by about 230 people at this time. The number at the base changed, but not by much, as Earth-bound passengers departed, no more than five or six at a time, and others arrived. Thus, there at the dinner-table, on that day, the Communications Tech-Support Karen Tutturro, now, at last, found herself enjoying her first meal on the new planet---and she was filled with wonder, and joy, though cautious, at everything she was learning about this new world.
“Do we always eat here, or is there another dining area?” Karen asked her guide, whose name was Juno, a Belgian-German base security man, whose real job---since they were never under any actual threat, or hostility, other than that of Mother Nature---was mostly to maintain the ebb-and-flow of civic and family life there at the base, which was complex enough that minor disputes could be disruptive and needed to be dealt with. But that was rare.
“There is another one, three corridors down, and then a third as well,” Juno said. Each one will feed 150 people at a time. But there is no need. They work in shifts. The second food hall is smaller, and the other one about this size. How was the transport voyage? How is Earth these days? I haven’t been home in six months.”
Karen laughed. “Well, it’s still there,” she said. She continued eating. The dish was rice-rissotto, with pickles and nuts, and veggies, and a soy-based fruit-type nutrition drink, with other items as treats. “The transport was fine, but demanding. You know. I liked everything, except the bedding was too rough, or---just not very comfortable.”
“That was your first time, then?” Juno asked her.
“Yes. I’m a Mars virgin.”
“You’ll get used to it. Take nothing for granted. It’s still dangerous, even today. A few miles beyond these walls---certain death.” He just smiled. “Even for Mars virgins, it’s cold outside.”
The dinner-hall was an echo of pleasant voices. People laughed or chatted. Mars-TV, as they jokingly called the in-house communication system, played popular entertainments on a screen-surface. The most popular were nature-documentaries from Earth, but also many others, agreed on by committee.
“My job is working on the Inter-planet communications,” Karen said. “I was sent because there were troubles in the system that made failure possible, which might cause troubles or mix-ups in essential services.”
“Yes, I know,” Juno said. “It was more than a year ago. There was a needful communication series regarding a research inquiry program, and complex data. But they messed up somehow. It was a geological survey, with samples, too. But it failed badly. They panicked. And now here you are.”
“In the words of Ringo Starr, I’m glad to be here or anywhere,” Karen replied. “I’ll get to work tomorrow, today I rest from the voyage. It took the ship more than 60 days from Earth. I’ll have my hands full. It’s a complex system.”
After a while, they left the cafeteria, and entered the rest of the Mars-base complex, as Juno would guide her around for the next couple of hours, to view the ‘tour’ that new-comers enjoyed. The various halls of the facility were arched, large enough for small motorized carts, and went on for even miles, taken together, though only a total of about four miles in all. Karen seemed to take charisma with Juno, and they laughed a bit, and became friends, as everyone at the base was encouraged to be.
The Mars-base planners wanted to create and fabricate a long-term facility that would serve several main purposes: to host the science-and-research team, the pilots and crews, and equipment-computers-machines; and also for work involved in the hot-houses and with growing plants, processing chemicals and oxygen-water, recycling, process-generation; and also of course for purposes such as housing, offices, astronomy, and operations. Beyond the main walls, were modest launch-pads, and a series of ramps and short drives leading to the eight main gates; there were also observation equipment-stations, raw-materials containers, and ladders or steps that could access the upper decks, windows, pads, observations stations, and then the roof.
The entire layout looked very patch-work and military, like a puzzle of squares and shapes, and various components, small roads and containers. The actual Snikta-Ridge Volcanic Basin had been chosen by the base designers because of the geology structure of the rocky region. The ridge was a solid 100 miles long, North to West on the planet surface, in the upper-equatorial area, and included the unique aspect of containing an underground ice-flow, or H20-pack of frozen moisture, perhaps millions of years old. There was some frozen ‘dry-ice’ on the surface as well. This incredible find meant the base could be self-sustaining within only a few years of completed construction, which was about 2064.
Karen and Juno turned a corner deep inside the base, about two corridors over from where they had eaten their rice-rissotto. They moved into an area with a room full of computers and tech-gear, mostly for communications with Earth. An Asian man, named Boji-Than, met her by appointment. This was the Mars-Base Commander, far more a man of science than a soldier. He was taught-looking and slender, keen-eyed, fast-talking and very wise about all things related to the base.
Juno, the escort, dismissed himself. Boji-Than took Karen’s hand, and she smiled gratefully. “We have much to discuss, I’m so glad you’re here,” Boji said. “Come with me.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said.
Karen knew a good deal about the type of gear and tech they used to communicate back-and-forth with Earth. The system was essential for their survival. Her unique area was in microwave and basic radio, directional and power-supply, as well as antenna-array, and data-compression, and similar. Of course she had studied many years, with special education and knowledge. Likewise, Bojji-Than was completely appraised to these tasks.
They move through the equipment and he showed her various monitoring-screens and simple ways to appraise the system’s functionality. “It was no one’s fault, the way it broke down,” he said. “We were in the middle of a research project, mostly a geo-survey. None of the information was very important, which is typical here on Mars. It was a six-month project just to send the findings back to Earth, which were on-going.”
Karen gazed at one of the monitors, a computer that measured the flow of signals from one point to another, their receipt and content-stability. “You see?” Bojji-Than said. “The origins and transport-flow are fine, apparently. But when you reach this point—“
He pointed at one of the sections on the screen. This icon indicated a certain collection of computers and processors, that routed pre-compressed signal data to their final output via an antenna-array. “It’s blocked, and we don’t know why,” he said. “I’ve been working on it personally for weeks. By the time you were called up, it was a mess. I can tell you more, but that’s the outline.”
So, they talked more, mostly tech-stuff about the system she would be working on and various specifications. After half-an-hour, they settled down in an office in the same area.
“What are your feelings about the news from last year’s Spring Up-Date at Vandenberg?” Karen asked Bojji-Than. “About the meteor and the Russians?”
Bojji-Than relaxed a bit, and folded his arms. “Of course we heard all about it. As base-commander, it is very significant. We’ll have to adjust to whatever the Earth planners decide. My feeling is the situation could become a disaster, if the Russian-Ukrainian-Islamic forces in their space-program do indeed arrive. This base has no defenses for that sort of thing. No one ever dreamed we would need them. I am not a military person. So, we’ll see. Hopefully things will resolve without a problem.”
“The end of the world was never a problem before,” Karen joked.
“Only a few times,” Bojji said. “If something has a beginning, it has an end.”
“Let’s hope not,” Karen said. “It is home, after all.”
“For me, too,” Bojji-Than said. “I have not been back in almost a year.”
They continued to chat, and Karen was able to tell Bojji-Than about some more mundane aspects of life-on-Earth---new films, sporting events, new car models, things in the news, celebrities. This cemented their friendship somewhat. The work before them was demanding, and would take a lot of time. The mid-point processor that had broken down was complicated and highly-technical. Karen had brought a good deal of the back-up tools and analytical equipment she needed. After a while she was guided to her quarters and other new friends she would meet, while getting to know her new world.
“Just like Earth,” she said to herself, as she was finally alone. “Nice planet.”
---Julian Phillips
Oct. 28, 2009
2,051-words
Thursday, December 3, 2009
OUTPOST-Chapter NINE (meet the 'bad guys')
“Earth-crossers, or Apollo objects, orbit in a path around the Sun and towards the Earth, then back again, in a journey of about five years. There are about 40 of these known Apollo objects. Some, such as Hermes, have come to within twice the distance to the Earth’s moon, about 770,000-kilometers, of our planet. A direct hit on the Earth may happen only once in 250,000-years, and some experts feel such a collision might happen only once in a million years. Such an impact, however, would produce an explosion as great as 20,000-megaton hydrogen bombs. Scientists feel it was this kind of meteor strike that led to the extinction of the dinosaurs, 65-million years ago.”
---‘Our Universe’ by Roy A. Gallant, National Geographic, 1980
Two weeks before the US-Mars Defense Plan Task Force met at Fort Hunter-Liggett, in California, where it was warm all year, dry, and oak trees everywhere, along the sides of gently sloping brown hills---away beyond the cusp of awareness, also hidden, in another land, so different and far-off as to almost be viewed as ‘another planet’, or ‘another world’, which was the Southern Ukraine region, formerly a part of Mother Russia, and the vast USSR before that---here it was that the Russian-Islamic space-program, for at least a small part of their various efforts off-world, held court, made their plans, and dreamed their dreams. It was cold here, often with snow on the ground, and high, rocky mountains, and woods very different and deeper or darker than those of California. To those who knew where to find it, a Space Port known as KK-F/Region Six, had been built years past, and now rested, there among the woods, mountains and snow.
Somewhere among them, inside the facility, their own team had assembled, this for the eighth or ninth time in a period of several months, with the same set of science-facts and research, as the US-Mars Program had. Among them were four of their regular space-flight pilots, all husky, large men, pink-skinned with dark whiskers, or shaven, dressed for warmth, in casual uniforms. The Commander was Rudolph Terchenko, an older, mature man, and veteran of Russian space-flights for many years. In addition, the on-going Russian-Islamic ‘think-tank’ participants included so-called Islamic Renaissance scientists, and Resource Managers from Saudi, Iranian and the Northern Indian sub-continent.
This alliance for space-research was much different than the American program, and formed itself from a wide pattern of states, nations, science-Universities, military bases and space-ports. In an odd way, the Russian-Islamic space-program was far more resourceful and ‘tougher’ than the US program---they managed the same accomplishments and feats in space as the US-side, but working with less. Longer space-walks, greater distances beyond the moon, faster launches, and rougher landings, were the rule, and a matter of great pride among the men working in that team.
Commander Terchenko laughed and rolled back his chair from a long wooden desk. It was a chamber for his rule over the space-program arena he was in charge of, and he had himself very well-equipped with comforts many of his countrymen did not have: food and drink, plenty of vodka, warm heaters, computers and communications, servants, and a real wood fireplace. His assistant, a slender young woman with a stiff laugh and dark hair, gathered his papers and books, and laptop computer. She knew where he was headed.
“No, Milana, it’s not true, what he told you. It never was that way. They tested the bombs, yes, and then the areas were sealed for contamination. But anyone who lived in the region was evacuated,” he said.
“But he said there were deformities, and still-births, and cancer, and diseases, from the nuclear tests, Commander,” Milana replied. “I’m sorry to repeat it again, he was very insistent.”
“Do not believe lies,” he answered. “Unless they are mine.”
They left his chamber, and proceeded down a hallway. This was a simple complex of offices and administrative centers, and also research-and-science, associated with the Russian leadership portion of the Eastern space-program alliance. Terchanko talked as Milana walked with him, toting his stuff.
“I was only curious, sir,” Milana said.
“Nevermind,” Terchenko said. “This meeting ahead will decide our final choice about the US Mars-base. That is, if we plan to take it, or not. You understand. So please, keep yourself quiet about anything, and just take notes, or get my meal. It will be a long meeting.”
“Yes, sir,” Milana said.
“The Iranian military space-program leadership will be present. They have great power, and very specific equipment, and also trained men, and clearance. Also, my entire staff. We have trained our teams for months, but there is no command to launch. If we launch, it is war. A space-war. You must not discuss this sort of thing with anyone, dear Milana,” Terchenko said.
“Never,” was her terse reply. They continued down the hallway. Ahead were double-doors to a large meeting-room. Soldiers nearby in uniforms, and armed, kept watch---a needless guard, given the obscurity and hidden location of the KK/F-Region Six space-port facility. You would have had more luck passing bodily through the Wailing Wall in Old Jerusalem, then entering here, un-welcomed.
The double-doors opened, and they passed inside. The room was a busy place, with an entire complex of long work-tables, perhaps ten or twelve long areas, with seats, name-plates, computers, and covered in long sheets of dense white-blue cloth. Each man at his seat had papers and books, and beyond the back of the room was a large projector screen-image, where data, statistics, and graphs-and-charts, could be viewed by them all. Commander Terchenko and his assistant, young Milana, took their place at one of the tables. A plate of dried apples and cheese, with hot black coffee and brandy, was at his left hand.
At once as Terchenko settled, a small Eastern-looking man with dark skin and a gray beard walked nearby toward him, much like a scientist but perhaps ‘some sort of egg-head’, as Terchenko mused within himself. “Commander,” the man said. “Please, just a moment. Before we start.”
“Yes,” said Terchenko. “ You are---??”
“Doctor Martin-Sarcasian, with Central Planning. You don’t believe me? Here.” He produced a small leather-bound packet with his immediate ID inside, on a nylon cord around his neck. Terchenko viewed it briefly.
“Yes, I know you,” Terchenko said. “An egg-head.”
“Just a word, sir, before the meeting. I’m troubled by the direction we are going, on the council team. There is an aspect of reality here with the planners, it has been discussed, but I think there was no fair hearing about the matter. I want to review it again. But it is very sensitive. I don’t even know if there is time for a full review. I’d like yourself as local program Commander to---maybe---just bring it up, with the group---at the right time.”
Now Terchenko had seated himself and was having his coffee. “Well, fine. Tell me first, and I will decide.”
“You already know,” Doctor Martin-Sarcasian replied.
“The meteor? Yes, we know,” Terchenko said.
“No, no,” said Sarcasian. “I’m talking about the Edinberg Society contact we’ve had. The Scottish group. What the panelists don’t recognize is the long-term motivation for taking control of the base on Mars.”
“To survive the meteor strike,” Terchenko said. “Is it not?”
“Well, yes, on the face of things. But we can’t survive on Mars forever.”
“With our men on Mars, after the meteor hits, if it ever does, we can send survivors back to rebuild, or work recovery, and so on,” Terchenko said.
“You are not familiar with the Edinberg group. Our people have been considering off-world information---off-world, I mean, from other planets. Not Mars. Worlds far out into our galaxy. Inhabited places. That is, you would say---aliens.”
Terchenko paused. He refreshed his coffee. “Go ahead, Doctor Martin. Please be brief. I don’t believe in aliens. They don’t exist.”
“The planning team has not recognized that once we take the Mars-base, and if Earth is smitten of the meteor, with heavy damage, that the contacts through Scotland, would be re-established in the future, on Mars, with our people who survive there. In other words, the human race could survive. We’d go on. I know it’s far-fetched. But you see---I have studied this aspect. I know a lot about it. It has a high level of probability. The information is secure.” Sarcasian continued.
Terchenko laughed again. He had a big jovial laugh, spreading his hands widely on the table. “Maybe we just want to survive, anyway!” he said. “Maybe we just want to survive the damn meteor and the hell with your aliens!”
Doctor Martin-Sarcasian seemed angry. “That’s not the point,” he said. “Of course we want to survive. If the meteor hits, we want people on Mars. That’s not the point. What I’m saying is, we need to plan ahead for this aspect, so that when-and-if we arrive on Mars, or take the base from the Americans, that we will be prepared to deal with the Edinberg Society findings and radio-telescope deep-space communications---for the survival of all mankind! We need to plan ahead so that we can accommodate this---it’s important!”
“Even if it’s all horse-shit?”
“Damn you, Terchenko! I’ll bring it forward myself! Good day to you!” Sarcasian now walked away. Terchenko smiled. He had been a part of the Russian space-program a long time. Men like Sarcasian had big ideas, big dreams, and radio-telescopes to listen to for years on end. But it almost always meant nothing, so as a practical person he never trusted them at all, or their information. He made a mental note, and felt the man’s idea would probably come up again. It had already been discussed. Sarcasian seemed unsatisfied that the planning team was thinking ‘his way’ about it. He probably wanted to be assured that any future Russian-Islamic stake on Mars, would include the gear, technology, man-power, and resources, needed to re-establish whatever his so-called Edinburg Society had accomplished. As if Terchenko could plan ahead to build him a radio-telescope on Mars, at the same time they were over-powering the US-Mars forces, and taking control of the base, with as little loss of life and damage to the Mars-facility as possible. And also, Terchenko himself had no real faith in the Edinburg Society, and certainly no faith in talk of any aliens. For real space-men in 2075, it was a joke.
The rest of the meeting proceeded as planned. They wrangled over the issues and topics for hours, shouting each other down in native Russian, or sometimes other languages. The ships and men were trained for the mission. The plan-of-attack was prepared. Some members felt an attack on the Mars-base was premature---the meteor was still years away, and might never even hit the Earth at all, or be deflected. Others saw it as an opportunity, but the political-wing fully understood the ramifications for Russia and her alliance-in-space, when they had to explain to the global community what they had done.
Later it became clear that the fear-based military side was winning the argument. The game was played such as to launch or not-to-launch, and when. By giving themselves a year’s advance at the base on Mars, or longer, well ahead of any meteor---which well they knew about, and were tracking as closely as the rest of the world---the notion was that they could secure their goals, made to sound lofty and noble, or in terms of saving humanity---when it was true enough they also wanted to save their own skins, and avoid a future-life on a dead-Earth, smitten by the meteor, with untold damages, a new Ice-Age, an unlivable world, the environment uninhabitable. Even if only a few hundred---at least it would be ‘their side’.
A secret vote passed from table-to-table, hand-written on scraps of paper. It was late, they were all exhausted. They were collected and tallied. The results were brought to Terchenko, who as Commander of the local space-program was placed in the role of meeting co-ordinator---and announcer of colossal mistakes.
“Thank you,” Terchenko said to the Aide, after the tally was gathered, and the vote was done---yes-or-no to launch, and also yes-or-no on a spectrum of launch-dates, which had to be arranged in harmony with the position of both planets, within the coming year. The Commander’s smile evaporated.
“All right then,” he said. “The vote is done. The answer is to launch our forces, to the US-Mars base location, in three months, which is in May, to accommodate the position of the planets. So that is the vote. We will launch. Done is done. Thank you.”
The room descended from anxious silence into hushed chatter in every corner. With all their brain-power and egg-heads, all their information and data, and the space-ships, they had chosen to attack. For the good of all mankind, of course.
“Get me another plate with the apples and cheese,” Terchenko told his assistant Milana. “And more coffee.”
She looked down as she scurried off quickly towards a facility kitchen.
---Julian Phillips
Dec. 2, 2009
For Tom Luong Films
2210-words
---‘Our Universe’ by Roy A. Gallant, National Geographic, 1980
Two weeks before the US-Mars Defense Plan Task Force met at Fort Hunter-Liggett, in California, where it was warm all year, dry, and oak trees everywhere, along the sides of gently sloping brown hills---away beyond the cusp of awareness, also hidden, in another land, so different and far-off as to almost be viewed as ‘another planet’, or ‘another world’, which was the Southern Ukraine region, formerly a part of Mother Russia, and the vast USSR before that---here it was that the Russian-Islamic space-program, for at least a small part of their various efforts off-world, held court, made their plans, and dreamed their dreams. It was cold here, often with snow on the ground, and high, rocky mountains, and woods very different and deeper or darker than those of California. To those who knew where to find it, a Space Port known as KK-F/Region Six, had been built years past, and now rested, there among the woods, mountains and snow.
Somewhere among them, inside the facility, their own team had assembled, this for the eighth or ninth time in a period of several months, with the same set of science-facts and research, as the US-Mars Program had. Among them were four of their regular space-flight pilots, all husky, large men, pink-skinned with dark whiskers, or shaven, dressed for warmth, in casual uniforms. The Commander was Rudolph Terchenko, an older, mature man, and veteran of Russian space-flights for many years. In addition, the on-going Russian-Islamic ‘think-tank’ participants included so-called Islamic Renaissance scientists, and Resource Managers from Saudi, Iranian and the Northern Indian sub-continent.
This alliance for space-research was much different than the American program, and formed itself from a wide pattern of states, nations, science-Universities, military bases and space-ports. In an odd way, the Russian-Islamic space-program was far more resourceful and ‘tougher’ than the US program---they managed the same accomplishments and feats in space as the US-side, but working with less. Longer space-walks, greater distances beyond the moon, faster launches, and rougher landings, were the rule, and a matter of great pride among the men working in that team.
Commander Terchenko laughed and rolled back his chair from a long wooden desk. It was a chamber for his rule over the space-program arena he was in charge of, and he had himself very well-equipped with comforts many of his countrymen did not have: food and drink, plenty of vodka, warm heaters, computers and communications, servants, and a real wood fireplace. His assistant, a slender young woman with a stiff laugh and dark hair, gathered his papers and books, and laptop computer. She knew where he was headed.
“No, Milana, it’s not true, what he told you. It never was that way. They tested the bombs, yes, and then the areas were sealed for contamination. But anyone who lived in the region was evacuated,” he said.
“But he said there were deformities, and still-births, and cancer, and diseases, from the nuclear tests, Commander,” Milana replied. “I’m sorry to repeat it again, he was very insistent.”
“Do not believe lies,” he answered. “Unless they are mine.”
They left his chamber, and proceeded down a hallway. This was a simple complex of offices and administrative centers, and also research-and-science, associated with the Russian leadership portion of the Eastern space-program alliance. Terchanko talked as Milana walked with him, toting his stuff.
“I was only curious, sir,” Milana said.
“Nevermind,” Terchenko said. “This meeting ahead will decide our final choice about the US Mars-base. That is, if we plan to take it, or not. You understand. So please, keep yourself quiet about anything, and just take notes, or get my meal. It will be a long meeting.”
“Yes, sir,” Milana said.
“The Iranian military space-program leadership will be present. They have great power, and very specific equipment, and also trained men, and clearance. Also, my entire staff. We have trained our teams for months, but there is no command to launch. If we launch, it is war. A space-war. You must not discuss this sort of thing with anyone, dear Milana,” Terchenko said.
“Never,” was her terse reply. They continued down the hallway. Ahead were double-doors to a large meeting-room. Soldiers nearby in uniforms, and armed, kept watch---a needless guard, given the obscurity and hidden location of the KK/F-Region Six space-port facility. You would have had more luck passing bodily through the Wailing Wall in Old Jerusalem, then entering here, un-welcomed.
The double-doors opened, and they passed inside. The room was a busy place, with an entire complex of long work-tables, perhaps ten or twelve long areas, with seats, name-plates, computers, and covered in long sheets of dense white-blue cloth. Each man at his seat had papers and books, and beyond the back of the room was a large projector screen-image, where data, statistics, and graphs-and-charts, could be viewed by them all. Commander Terchenko and his assistant, young Milana, took their place at one of the tables. A plate of dried apples and cheese, with hot black coffee and brandy, was at his left hand.
At once as Terchenko settled, a small Eastern-looking man with dark skin and a gray beard walked nearby toward him, much like a scientist but perhaps ‘some sort of egg-head’, as Terchenko mused within himself. “Commander,” the man said. “Please, just a moment. Before we start.”
“Yes,” said Terchenko. “ You are---??”
“Doctor Martin-Sarcasian, with Central Planning. You don’t believe me? Here.” He produced a small leather-bound packet with his immediate ID inside, on a nylon cord around his neck. Terchenko viewed it briefly.
“Yes, I know you,” Terchenko said. “An egg-head.”
“Just a word, sir, before the meeting. I’m troubled by the direction we are going, on the council team. There is an aspect of reality here with the planners, it has been discussed, but I think there was no fair hearing about the matter. I want to review it again. But it is very sensitive. I don’t even know if there is time for a full review. I’d like yourself as local program Commander to---maybe---just bring it up, with the group---at the right time.”
Now Terchenko had seated himself and was having his coffee. “Well, fine. Tell me first, and I will decide.”
“You already know,” Doctor Martin-Sarcasian replied.
“The meteor? Yes, we know,” Terchenko said.
“No, no,” said Sarcasian. “I’m talking about the Edinberg Society contact we’ve had. The Scottish group. What the panelists don’t recognize is the long-term motivation for taking control of the base on Mars.”
“To survive the meteor strike,” Terchenko said. “Is it not?”
“Well, yes, on the face of things. But we can’t survive on Mars forever.”
“With our men on Mars, after the meteor hits, if it ever does, we can send survivors back to rebuild, or work recovery, and so on,” Terchenko said.
“You are not familiar with the Edinberg group. Our people have been considering off-world information---off-world, I mean, from other planets. Not Mars. Worlds far out into our galaxy. Inhabited places. That is, you would say---aliens.”
Terchenko paused. He refreshed his coffee. “Go ahead, Doctor Martin. Please be brief. I don’t believe in aliens. They don’t exist.”
“The planning team has not recognized that once we take the Mars-base, and if Earth is smitten of the meteor, with heavy damage, that the contacts through Scotland, would be re-established in the future, on Mars, with our people who survive there. In other words, the human race could survive. We’d go on. I know it’s far-fetched. But you see---I have studied this aspect. I know a lot about it. It has a high level of probability. The information is secure.” Sarcasian continued.
Terchenko laughed again. He had a big jovial laugh, spreading his hands widely on the table. “Maybe we just want to survive, anyway!” he said. “Maybe we just want to survive the damn meteor and the hell with your aliens!”
Doctor Martin-Sarcasian seemed angry. “That’s not the point,” he said. “Of course we want to survive. If the meteor hits, we want people on Mars. That’s not the point. What I’m saying is, we need to plan ahead for this aspect, so that when-and-if we arrive on Mars, or take the base from the Americans, that we will be prepared to deal with the Edinberg Society findings and radio-telescope deep-space communications---for the survival of all mankind! We need to plan ahead so that we can accommodate this---it’s important!”
“Even if it’s all horse-shit?”
“Damn you, Terchenko! I’ll bring it forward myself! Good day to you!” Sarcasian now walked away. Terchenko smiled. He had been a part of the Russian space-program a long time. Men like Sarcasian had big ideas, big dreams, and radio-telescopes to listen to for years on end. But it almost always meant nothing, so as a practical person he never trusted them at all, or their information. He made a mental note, and felt the man’s idea would probably come up again. It had already been discussed. Sarcasian seemed unsatisfied that the planning team was thinking ‘his way’ about it. He probably wanted to be assured that any future Russian-Islamic stake on Mars, would include the gear, technology, man-power, and resources, needed to re-establish whatever his so-called Edinburg Society had accomplished. As if Terchenko could plan ahead to build him a radio-telescope on Mars, at the same time they were over-powering the US-Mars forces, and taking control of the base, with as little loss of life and damage to the Mars-facility as possible. And also, Terchenko himself had no real faith in the Edinburg Society, and certainly no faith in talk of any aliens. For real space-men in 2075, it was a joke.
The rest of the meeting proceeded as planned. They wrangled over the issues and topics for hours, shouting each other down in native Russian, or sometimes other languages. The ships and men were trained for the mission. The plan-of-attack was prepared. Some members felt an attack on the Mars-base was premature---the meteor was still years away, and might never even hit the Earth at all, or be deflected. Others saw it as an opportunity, but the political-wing fully understood the ramifications for Russia and her alliance-in-space, when they had to explain to the global community what they had done.
Later it became clear that the fear-based military side was winning the argument. The game was played such as to launch or not-to-launch, and when. By giving themselves a year’s advance at the base on Mars, or longer, well ahead of any meteor---which well they knew about, and were tracking as closely as the rest of the world---the notion was that they could secure their goals, made to sound lofty and noble, or in terms of saving humanity---when it was true enough they also wanted to save their own skins, and avoid a future-life on a dead-Earth, smitten by the meteor, with untold damages, a new Ice-Age, an unlivable world, the environment uninhabitable. Even if only a few hundred---at least it would be ‘their side’.
A secret vote passed from table-to-table, hand-written on scraps of paper. It was late, they were all exhausted. They were collected and tallied. The results were brought to Terchenko, who as Commander of the local space-program was placed in the role of meeting co-ordinator---and announcer of colossal mistakes.
“Thank you,” Terchenko said to the Aide, after the tally was gathered, and the vote was done---yes-or-no to launch, and also yes-or-no on a spectrum of launch-dates, which had to be arranged in harmony with the position of both planets, within the coming year. The Commander’s smile evaporated.
“All right then,” he said. “The vote is done. The answer is to launch our forces, to the US-Mars base location, in three months, which is in May, to accommodate the position of the planets. So that is the vote. We will launch. Done is done. Thank you.”
The room descended from anxious silence into hushed chatter in every corner. With all their brain-power and egg-heads, all their information and data, and the space-ships, they had chosen to attack. For the good of all mankind, of course.
“Get me another plate with the apples and cheese,” Terchenko told his assistant Milana. “And more coffee.”
She looked down as she scurried off quickly towards a facility kitchen.
---Julian Phillips
Dec. 2, 2009
For Tom Luong Films
2210-words
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