CHAPTER-15
OUTPOST, for Tom Luong Films
By Julian Phillips
Jan. 23, 2010
Work is work, whether in space, back on Earth, or wherever
people must survive, Lila Meetek was thinking. Space-travel, in films and TV shows, or books from past writers, has been portrayed for whatever reason as very fancy and up-scale, even decadent. Artists have dreamed that Mars was occupied by six-legged horses, ten-foot tall green men with tusks and four arms, or beautiful princesses who lived in elegant and extravagant palaces complete with servants, silk pillows, wine and food, or massive artwork collections and amazing adventures (‘John Carter on Mars’, by Edgar Rice Burroughs). Or that star-ships were so limitlessly provided-for, as to resemble Paradise Cruises, with kushy malls and bars, gardens and astronomy view-patios, gymnasiums or holo-decks for amusement, wide hallways and automatic doors, and of course beautiful stewardesses, mixed drinks, and endless exotic visitors. Not to mention perfect, if not absolute safety, unless the ‘bad guys’ attacked for some reason, usually with lazer-beams. Perhaps, thought Lila Meetek to herself, later, as her work routine began again, now back for another six months at the Molinari Space-Dock---perhaps it was because of the perception that space-travel, if it were ever to be a reality, would be very costly, or expensive, given the reality of rocket-launches and air-locks or high-tech space-suits and computer navigation systems. And of course, it wasn’t cheap. But fancy? A Las Vegas-style romp? Lila had to laugh. As-if.
Yet, had the designers of the Molinari station, the base on Mars, or other ships and bases (like the one on the Earth’s Moon, known as PlanetView-2), created environments that were very harsh, dark-and-dank, military, metallic or inhospitable for heat, steam and vapors, and so on---no real residency would be possible, or not for any length of time. Lila’s workplace was somewhere in-between. The Russian-Islamic Eastern-block space-program was known for much harsher environments inside their ships and cabins on stations, etc. They could be like cramped iron diving bells, intended only for survival in extreme conditions, without so much as view-ports or windows or bed-cushions. But much to the pleasure of Lila and her co-workers, Molinari was not really uncomfortable at all, and had many creature-comforts, and accommodations, that made long stays tolerable, or even quite nice.
And the great thing about the work they did at Molinari, was that it was inevitably slow-paced, with a bird’s-eye view of both Earth and Mars, and beyond, so that much of what they did was to monitor various instruments and telescopes or scanners, for indications of changing conditions that would effect inter-planet travel. Earth’s solar-system is a fairly active place, but also of course vast, and even giant meteors like U-2356b (Big Baby Bertha), moved very slowly, given the distances involved. So it was all very stately and graceful, and also un-changing, or like a vast machine, set on it’s clockwork path from an original Source of Virtue and Miraculous Provision and Creativity. Comets, meteor-showers, solar-flares and heat-flares from the Sun, planetary orbits, moon-orbits, planetary conditions, even gamma-rays and neutrinos, or other cosmic phenomena---truly a celestial dance and endless wonder, vast beyond the scope of the mind of Man (or Woman).
So, Lila settled into her ‘shift’. Six months and possibly longer, monitoring her slate of scanners and telescopes, radios, and communications, and other chores. Lila’s specific tasks included: 1) planet-corridor ship or vessel transport logs and monitoring or tracking. This was done much as any space-launch would be tracked from Earth, such as the old ‘Houston Mission Control’ would keep track of the Apollo voyages. It was essential, and it was also how Lila came to be intimate with Guy Reisling, whose transport ship command caused them to be in regular contact. 2) Lila was required to organize and handle various day-to-day communications relays. And yes, this resembled the job of the fictional character ‘Uhuru’ (with respect to actress Black American Nichelle Nicoles, who made the role famous), from the now ancient and laughably inaccurate Star-Trek TV shows and films. Lila handled ‘calls’ from Earth to Mars, from ship-to-Earth or Mars, and in routed person-to-person contact along numerous various paths, linking-up much-needed information sources by radio-signal. She was not the only person who did this job, but it was among her assigned tasks. 3) Lila’s other job was to track and log ‘weather conditions’ in space, specifically those originating outward from the Sun (rather than any coming ‘inward’ from beyond Mars, or the outer planets). So this meant she watched for all kinds of changing conditions, the heat-flares or solar alterations and variations in fields of meteor-flecks the size of pebbles, also in orbit, like marbles on a skate-rink, round-and-round---and many other things the scientists felt needed to be watched, which also changed as new things were learned about the astonishing space-environment.
Lila and all the other Molinari also had many other much simpler and easier duties associated with life on the space-dock. Health-matters for any crew were essential, so many details were logged daily. Any virus or infections, even a common cold, could wipe them out. Crew maintained their own housing-quarters, articles of clothing and equipment (like the magnetic hallway slippers and gloves or butt-pads), and also grooming, diet, entertainment or studies. Anyone working at the base was considered a science-researcher by default, and indeed they were. They all knew their jobs were of that nature, and that their lives were not their own, in a sense---so every hour at the base took some form of service to the greater purpose, and nothing was wasted, as we might have thought in the imaginary world of space-travel that more resembled resorts or casinos, or luxury-hotels, with wine-and-song, hot-spa treatments, etc. The outer-space environment was indeed suitable to such functions, very serene and beautiful, exotic, full of wonder. And no doubt within a few centuries, enterprising corporations or business-interests on Earth would develop exactly those kind of uses. A space-bordello? An orbiting space-station religious cult? A deep-space health-club for anti-gravity athletes? An artist colony?
Molinari had telescopes that were the envy of Earth-based astronomers, and the view was unique. The famous orbiting Hubble-telescope from the early 2000’s and late 1990’s, had expanded the astronomer’s view of the heavens in ways that Galileo or Copernicus, or Issac Newton and other science-pioneers, would have much-enjoyed. Molinari had several similar space-telescopes, and a staff of highly qualified attendants and astronomers. In this way, the Universe Creation, galaxies and stars in truly limitless variety and species, worlds beyond worlds, heavenly formations to boggle the mind, could now be viewed and photographed, cataloged. Mankind was slowly and tediously becoming a citizen of the galaxy, at least as far as awareness was concerned. Whereas the writers of early Earth’s Abrahamic Bible, Saint Paul, or even Christ, or Moses, may have enjoyed believing in a very simple misconception, such as that the Earth’s atmosphere extended endlessly beyond the mountains and lakes of Giaia (Terra), by the time Lila was again working at Molinari in 2076, those comforting assumptions could no longer be appreciated. Any high-school or college-student on Earth was now forever a heretic, by virtue of the scheme of things observable to anyone ‘with eyes to see and ears to hear’.
Yet, spirituality was encouraged at the Molinari Space-Dock. Traditional forms of worship, and also more esoteric sorts, such as yoga, Zen-meditation, Buddhism, and a variety of credos and expressions---each was permitted and allowed, with meetings as well, music, even ‘priests’, though in reality formal services did not occur. But it wasn’t banned or outlawed, and in general, work in space was thought by most of them to be a deeply moving and transcendent experience. Both Molinari and Mars were visited by spiritual leaders or visionaries, who enjoyed the view as well, in their natural appreciation of a newly available platform to celebrate belief, or to expand consciousness for art-works, inspiration, etc. Most of the astronauts and space-workers, being dedicated science-researchers, kept a distance from these types, feeling they may become deluded under the heady influence of space-itself, weightlessness, the endless dark and stars---a sort of Darth-Vader ‘warning’ or doubt, such as megalomania, delusions of grandeur, and similar ‘G-D’-consciousness effects of the human creature. The planners knew it was a danger, psychologically, sad but true. But for the sake of health-and-wellness overall, and morale, there was no real strict prohibition. So most of the space-jockeys preferred the athletic model---big strong guys, husky and buff, pink with vigor, sexual, modest in opinion, laughing at it all, and likewise the women.
Eve Morton, Lila’s University of Illinois-originating gal-pal, had a word for her, about a week later, harvested from the daily logs. “Lila, listen to this,” Eve said, moving from her own work-station to where she found Lila three hours into her shift, there in the pod-like
Earth-Mars Traffic and Environmental Monitoring Work Room.
Lila’s station had no ‘window’, other than electronic screens. It was as big as a household bedroom or living area, even only Lila’s area, and each of the other work-stations were similar, connected by short ramps and catwalks, and not closed or locked-in by doors. Inside, it was crammed full of detection gear, computers, communications-links and so on---desks, chairs, hand-rails, and Lila’s personal decorations (in her case, a very nice collection of stuffed toy-penguins and penguin-art). Even in her work-outfit, Lila was a nice dish of womanhood, having recently died her hair green, and outlining her eyes with green-and-purple cosmetics.
“What-cha’ got, Eve?” Lila said, turning in her chair. Eve literally floated into the room, pulling herself towards Lila by hand-rails in the exquisite anti-gravity, like Ariel, or Uriel, a somewhat absurd-looking image---a large, healthy female human creature floating towards her like a very large and very odd fish. Eve had a plastic binder with some files inside. As she reached Lila she deftly pulled herself into a vertical uprightness, then held herself down with the magnetic slippers.
“Vandenberg launch schedule for the next nine months,” Eve said. “And guess what? Guy’s transport is slated for launch four months from now.”
Lila smiled. “Wow, really? That means he would be here in about ten months.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll be back by then, I mean, from your next furlough,” Eve said. “What are you going to tell him about Tommy. You know?”
Lila winced. Tommy was a Molinari regular, one of the external-hull repair guys. A true astronaut, Tommy’s job was indeed perilous. Any work outside Molinari---minor repairs to the hull or exterior of the base, adjustments to the fixtures or joints, things like solar-panel up-keep, and even sometimes emergency work---anything like this, and Tom Bordino, along with ten other fully-equipped and trained men, were called into action. They were basically the Molinari Space-Walk Team, and it was every bit as demanding as any other space-work, if not moreso. So of course they had the suits, lines, rigs, oxygen, mission assignments, and so on.
Tommy and Lila were somewhat regular sex-partners. It was inevitable, to an extent, and sex among the workers at Molinari was not prohibited, within reason. But it was between life-partner lovers like Guy and Lila, for obvious reasons common at all ages of Man. Lila and Guy had even talked about marriage and children, and she was much more serious about Guy, for reasons only they understood. They thought themselves mature enough to allow ‘other partners’ along the way, if only for freedom and health. But the jealous beast within never really rests, and Lila was loathe to tell Guy about Tommy. The fact that Eve and others at Molinari knew about Lila and Tommy didn’t help matters.
“That’s not the question,” Lila answered Eve, who now had re-positioned herself and was floating upside down near her, or slightly sideways, still holding the files. “What I’m really worried about is what you or anyone else here who may know about me and Tommy, will tell him. You know---gossip. What I may or may not decide to tell Guy is my business, girl.”
“What’s to tell? Sex is sex. Big deal. He’s not really like that, is he?”
“No,” Lila said. “He has girl-friends, too. There’s this food-worker at Vandenberg he sleeps with, and she has big boobs and a big butt, too. But, he does get his feelings hurt, I guess.”
“Love hurts,” Eve said. “Anyway, this came over on the launch-schedule from Earth yesterday, then I realized Guy’s ship was listed. I’m glad he got his ship back. I never felt he did anything wrong, when they brought him up on charges like that. He could have lost everything, as far as his job.”
“It will be his first flight after the board-review,” Lila said.
“What choice did he have? The data on the solar flare was incomplete, and he had to protect the ship and crew. So he changed his flight path and fuel-type. Anyone would have done the same thing.”
“It just screwed thing up back on Earth for the navigators and re-entry crews,” Lila said. “But I agree. Of course, I’m not a pilot.”
Eve handed the file-binder to Lila. “Back to my cave. I’m watching the progress of a comet that won’t be within a million miles of us for ten years. But—uuuuh---it’s a living, right?”
“Thanks, Eve,” Lila said. “And please, don’t talk about me and Tommy. Especially not with Guy.”
“Didn’t you know Tommy put your last romp on video and sent it over the satellite?” she laughed. “Not really.”
Lila frowned. “Just float yourself out of here, bitch,” she said.
They both laughed. Lila opened the file-binder with the California launch-schedule, as Eve pushed herself the other way down the room, shoving off from a wall. The computers and machines and monitors buzzed and bleeped and winked all around.
--Julian Phillips
2,318 words
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
CHAPTER-14--'OutPost'-at The Molinari Mid-Point Space-Dock
CHAPTER-14
OUTPOST, for Tom Luong Films
By Julian Phillips
Jan. 12, 2010
“Come on then, follow me. We’ll track the data on the transporter log, and go after them,” Captain Kirk said.
“But to where? That dead moon is just a hunk of solid rock,” Doctor McCoy replied nervously, now walking quickly through the space-station hallways.
“To---wherever they went,” Kirk said.
“The signal was from somewhere inside the planet. We could end up re-materializing in solid stone.”
“Then you’ll finally get to take that long vacation like you’ve always wanted to,” replied Kirk.
Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, Paramount Pictures, 1982
The Earth’s Solar System of planets was at long last being fully explored by 2076, at the time of the conflict over the US Mars-base. Science-and-technology had progressed enough, and Earth’s own ecology and peoples were in a state peaceful and sustainable enough, that progress could be made. In any other era, the opening doorway into the Solar System, with its endless mysteries and resources, though obviously Earth’s nearest and most attainable neighbors---in any other era, the door would never have opened at all. And, as some science-exploration fans pointed out, wars and disasters on Earth, could easily create a circumstance in which the progress and learning of previous generations, and the means and will to go beyond planet Earth even only as far as Mars, would be lost, for whatever reason. In other words, if things went corrupt on Earth to the degree of open nuclear warfare, a serious meteor-strike such as the anticipated U-2753b asteroid, large scale Earth-environmental changes, total collapse of civilized life and energy or communications---anarchy---if these things took place, all would be lost as far as space-exploration, and possibly never recovered at all, in another million years of Earth history. The door had opened, and people like Lila Meetek and Guy Reisling, passed through as naturally as they would have boarded a city bus.
After Lila’s R-and-R back in California, and considerable enjoyments with Guy, there along the coast in his cozy love-shack South of Vandenberg, it was ‘back to work’, which meant, ‘back to space’, for her. All the regular space-workers took regular breaks back at home, to maintain health and well-being, and it was not too difficult to run the ships across the year-long passage, and move people around. The ship-transport system was no luxury-liner, and conditions were still quasi-military, or just plain demanding---not for everyone. But standardization, and up-dated techniques, made it all much more reliable. So when it came time to re-enter Earth orbit from a launch out of Florida (not Vandenberg), Lila knew exactly what to expect, and how to handle herself. From orbit they docked to a transport deep-space local planetary cruiser, and transferred people and goods from ship-to-ship. The deep-space vessel was configured for navigation away from the Earth’s gravity-well, and then proceeded into departure and attainment of speeds equal to the journey, as was normal. Not normal at all, from a passenger’s point-of-view, such as Lila, but also never really much more fearful than any other mode of machine-travel, even on Earth, where a road-crash in a hydrogen fuel-cell speed-car, was just as deadly, as anything that might happen in space. Once in motion, at rest, the journey was spectacular, to say the least.
But that was long ago, on Lila’s personal biological life-clock, having moved into the vast emptiness between the two orbiting planets, known as the Earth-Mars Corridor. Long ago for Lila, her life rather young and fresh, meant five months’ travel in space. More than five months, more accurately five months and ten days. She was not traveling to Mars, but making her ‘commuter run’ to work, at the Molinari Deep-Space Station.
Alberto Gonzales Molinari was a US Military General-Commander, who at about the age of 70-years, retired, was recruited by the space-program, to conceive, design, plan to build, and anticipate the use of, sustain-and-support, and future history, of this important space-docking station. It was his baby, and he was variously qualified, even an outstanding space-researcher and planner for the US. Molinari died before the space-station, the largest and most advanced ever, was completed, and set into orbit forever, halfway between two worlds. In so doing, progress into deep space was assured or even possible, and a new approach to near-Earth exploration was established, by which deep-space journeys to Mars, Jupiter, Saturn and so on, could be achieved. Planners felt that by creating a series of similar deep-space rest-stations---even ten, twenty or more, like a string of pearls between Earth and her neighbors---in this way, the very long voyages were now possible for frail human astronauts. So Molinari was remembered as a much-beloved figure, who more-or-less invented the ways-and-means to do this.
On the deep-space voyages, the ‘view’ was quite boring. No blue-green Earth below shimmering with puffy white clouds and green-brown lands, and dark blue waters. No planet Mars to gaze at, with it’s dusty red terrains and polar caps. No spinning comet-trails, like pixies or angels, fairy-mothers with wands of fire to dream about. No spinning giant asteroids, like the movies. No other ships, no aliens-in-saucers, no UFO’s. One could hardly even sense the forward-motion of the space-ship, though there was a vibration-effect. And true enough, passengers such as Lila really had no lazy patio they would sit on and gaze at the stars while sipping vodkas. There were external video-sensors that could create inner-ship images on electronic screens, and actual transparent-aluminum ‘windows’ or ‘view ports’. And then the pilot’s room, or navigation deck, which had it’s own view-system. And of course they didn’t fly by line-of-sight anyway, which would have been madness and certain disaster. But when docking, or approaching a world like Mars, and for other reasons (like any necessary space-walks), ordinary eyeball views were useful.
But for five months to Molinari, and at least 11-months to Mars, if not much longer, depending on the season, there was nothing to see. The deep-blue indigo Eternal Mother Space, and yes, stars, much like seen from Earth, far off twinkles---and that was all. Either Mars or Earth were so far off as to appear to be only stars. Molinari could not be seen at all within less than 100,000 miles. Blue velvet, like a deep sleep, peaceful beyond notion. Working in space was like working in a coal-mine of infinitude, silent and eternal, awesome. By the time Lila was finally back in her own rooms and work-area on Molinari, she could not have been more ready to share with her co-workers, and get back into the busy life of the space-station---never a dull moment. The transport ship connected successfully, other work and transferred-goods and items or data went back-and-forth. The ship’s crew could rest and enjoy life at the space-station too, and other travelers could connect to their destinations, and so on. Molinari humanized the whole affair, and was greatly appreciated by all.
Externally, Molinari was impressive, though maybe not beautiful. Space-station design over many years included all sorts of approaches---one would choose a wheel-hub design, another would be like a series of long connected tubes and machines and solar-energy collectors, with dock-ports, and telescopes or antenna. But Molinari was big---it had to be. The mid-point space-dock needed to house its own crew and staff of about 60 regular workers, and also be able to safely dock with numerous ships, sometimes as many as 20 or 30 a year, one-after-another. It also functioned to measure, monitor and analyze, as well as transmit back to Earth, or to Mars, information and data about anything and everything going on in that region of space, that would effect safe working research and transport. So the floating space-buoy was out-fitted with endless sensors, telescopes, antenna-dishes, radio-transmission, and so on. And deep inside, people like Lila Meetek, worked to keep all that going and up-to-date, watching computer-screens, tracking comets or asteroids, heat-flares and solar conditions, Mars-weather, planetary position and orbit, ships and people, goods and materials, or cargo, and also any related details of various ship movements or research programs, that might contribute to success with anything they were doing---or alert to failure and disaster.
“If I was African-American, you’d call me Uhuru,” Lila once told Guy, in a private moment. “Earth-Mother, Eve, the voice of the Word that keeps us alive forever. Is that arrogant?”
“Huh? I never got that stuff. But, yeah---you do good work, babe. Let’s find a cute little planet somewhere and start a new---uh, a new—you know---Genesis.“
“Most people just call them babies, or infants,” she answered. “Yeah, I know.”
“That’s it---that’s what I meant. A new human being, like a kid—and then another, and another---I’m pretty good at getting that going. You know. Start-up. Quick-start---species. A new world. Somewhere they don’t got wars and---death.”
“Right here ought to do, for that,” she answered, and he knew what she meant, as they rolled again in the hay-that-pays, there back near Vandenberg, in Guy’s love-shack, in each other’s arms, to that orgasm we all adults to share or discover, the wound that never heals. Within only a few weeks of their love-making and muse, Lita would be shot into space, as Guy began to re-invent his career, and his next trip to Mars, having won the challenge to his pilot-worthiness and judgment, by virtue of a mid-course flight-path correction, now a year behind him.
Molinari hung like a Christmas-ball ornament, in the nothing. It had five pods for docking and other work, around a central hub, that dropped below, with a tower-like structure above. It was quite large, about the size of an ordinary sky-scraper in New York, or a jet-airport in some large city. The materials were ‘new metals’, and obscure, ideal for deep-space, and secure to sustain life. Power-sources, solar-harvesting energy-collectors, communications---it might have been a deep-ocean underwater ‘base’, or an odd kind of bell, or a unique automobile engine part, from an old-style car (in shape and form). Lita and the others there called it ‘home’. It had taken 40 years of planning, and then work on building and fabrication, begun in secret, and then revealed to the world as a major achievement, about year 2050, with new hopes and promises. And of course the Earth-world community yawned---“What’s in it for me??”
Lila moved through one of the inner hallways. Yes, the space-station lacked for normal gravity—it was a zero-gravity environment through the entire structure, except for areas where there were centrifugal doughnut-shaped spinning rooms for certain purposes. But mostly, workers used slippers, with magnetic ‘teflon’ bottoms or soles, and movement hallways, and work-areas, had magnetic floors and also walls. The system worked fairly well, with a few complaints---it could even be fun. There were also hand-holds and rails. You could pull yourself along the halls by hand, floating at length, or use the slippers. Seats, toilets, dining-areas---any ‘people stuff’---all with magnetic strips, and then also gloves, clothing, and so on. It worked, and they learned to live with it.
As she entered the Earth-Mars Traffic and Environmental Monitoring Work Room, her co-workers, who had not seen her for months, turned and cheered. “Medusa has returned from her mirror gazing!” said one man, a chummy type. “Here she comes---Miss America!!” another man started to sing. Others greeted her with applause or hoots. Five people worked the room pretty much around the clock, in shifts. There were numerous computer-monitors, devices to detect various space-corridor conditions, communications, sensors and telescope feeds, kiosks for one-time video-communication to either Earth or Mars (somewhat rare), and many other services they provided.
“Yes, it’s me,” she said. The dress-code was ‘space dock casual’, which meant most of these sorts of workers wore ordinary street-clothes, but were supplemented with additional features, like harnesses that clung tightly to the body, with the magnetic strips or other useful items for movement about the station---like comm-links (inter-base cell-phones), timers, body-function monitors, small food bars, and so on. Molinari was no elegant shopping-mall, no tourist destination or space-hotel. It was all strictly business, and safety came first both within the dock, and for the beneficiaries of the work they did---the men and crews and passengers attempting the yet-dangerous and truly mammoth voyage, from Earth to Mars.
“How’s Earth?” said her best friend at the station, a woman about her age, with a similar job. This was Eve(or Eva) Morton, from Illinois State University’s space-program, part of the US internship-development partnership. Eve was an often giddy, yet a very intelligent and wise woman, given to flights of fancy, and who loved poetry, like Percy Shelley, or Anne Sexton, Robert Frost---a big hit with the guys, too, sexy. She had only been at Molinari two years, compared with Lila’s almost five-year run.
“Big, round, blue, and stupid,” Lila joked.
“Some things never change,” Eve replied. “Missed you. We had a meteor sprinkle a few weeks ago you would have enjoyed. No flights in the corridor, so it meant nothing. A lot of teeny ones, like the Leonid.”
“I always try to keep in mind that we’re in the corridor ourselves, here, ” Lila said, now settling down and adjusting to her work-station. Before her was an array that Star Trek’s Uhuru would have envied. She sighed a familiar breath. Home. “I mean, teeny meteors we track to protect the guys in the ships can hurt us too.”
“Yeah, but our dock is much heavier with the titanium-abstracted plastics. It’s tougher than anything. But you’re right. We’re in the corridor too. Good to have you back, girl. I hope Guy was making life work for you down there, yeah??”
“Uh---big, round, pink and stupid,” Lila joked. They both laughed at her slightly erotic humor. “Mind you own business, Eve. Geez. My sex-life is private!!”
--Julian Phillips
2,318 words
OUTPOST, for Tom Luong Films
By Julian Phillips
Jan. 12, 2010
“Come on then, follow me. We’ll track the data on the transporter log, and go after them,” Captain Kirk said.
“But to where? That dead moon is just a hunk of solid rock,” Doctor McCoy replied nervously, now walking quickly through the space-station hallways.
“To---wherever they went,” Kirk said.
“The signal was from somewhere inside the planet. We could end up re-materializing in solid stone.”
“Then you’ll finally get to take that long vacation like you’ve always wanted to,” replied Kirk.
Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, Paramount Pictures, 1982
The Earth’s Solar System of planets was at long last being fully explored by 2076, at the time of the conflict over the US Mars-base. Science-and-technology had progressed enough, and Earth’s own ecology and peoples were in a state peaceful and sustainable enough, that progress could be made. In any other era, the opening doorway into the Solar System, with its endless mysteries and resources, though obviously Earth’s nearest and most attainable neighbors---in any other era, the door would never have opened at all. And, as some science-exploration fans pointed out, wars and disasters on Earth, could easily create a circumstance in which the progress and learning of previous generations, and the means and will to go beyond planet Earth even only as far as Mars, would be lost, for whatever reason. In other words, if things went corrupt on Earth to the degree of open nuclear warfare, a serious meteor-strike such as the anticipated U-2753b asteroid, large scale Earth-environmental changes, total collapse of civilized life and energy or communications---anarchy---if these things took place, all would be lost as far as space-exploration, and possibly never recovered at all, in another million years of Earth history. The door had opened, and people like Lila Meetek and Guy Reisling, passed through as naturally as they would have boarded a city bus.
After Lila’s R-and-R back in California, and considerable enjoyments with Guy, there along the coast in his cozy love-shack South of Vandenberg, it was ‘back to work’, which meant, ‘back to space’, for her. All the regular space-workers took regular breaks back at home, to maintain health and well-being, and it was not too difficult to run the ships across the year-long passage, and move people around. The ship-transport system was no luxury-liner, and conditions were still quasi-military, or just plain demanding---not for everyone. But standardization, and up-dated techniques, made it all much more reliable. So when it came time to re-enter Earth orbit from a launch out of Florida (not Vandenberg), Lila knew exactly what to expect, and how to handle herself. From orbit they docked to a transport deep-space local planetary cruiser, and transferred people and goods from ship-to-ship. The deep-space vessel was configured for navigation away from the Earth’s gravity-well, and then proceeded into departure and attainment of speeds equal to the journey, as was normal. Not normal at all, from a passenger’s point-of-view, such as Lila, but also never really much more fearful than any other mode of machine-travel, even on Earth, where a road-crash in a hydrogen fuel-cell speed-car, was just as deadly, as anything that might happen in space. Once in motion, at rest, the journey was spectacular, to say the least.
But that was long ago, on Lila’s personal biological life-clock, having moved into the vast emptiness between the two orbiting planets, known as the Earth-Mars Corridor. Long ago for Lila, her life rather young and fresh, meant five months’ travel in space. More than five months, more accurately five months and ten days. She was not traveling to Mars, but making her ‘commuter run’ to work, at the Molinari Deep-Space Station.
Alberto Gonzales Molinari was a US Military General-Commander, who at about the age of 70-years, retired, was recruited by the space-program, to conceive, design, plan to build, and anticipate the use of, sustain-and-support, and future history, of this important space-docking station. It was his baby, and he was variously qualified, even an outstanding space-researcher and planner for the US. Molinari died before the space-station, the largest and most advanced ever, was completed, and set into orbit forever, halfway between two worlds. In so doing, progress into deep space was assured or even possible, and a new approach to near-Earth exploration was established, by which deep-space journeys to Mars, Jupiter, Saturn and so on, could be achieved. Planners felt that by creating a series of similar deep-space rest-stations---even ten, twenty or more, like a string of pearls between Earth and her neighbors---in this way, the very long voyages were now possible for frail human astronauts. So Molinari was remembered as a much-beloved figure, who more-or-less invented the ways-and-means to do this.
On the deep-space voyages, the ‘view’ was quite boring. No blue-green Earth below shimmering with puffy white clouds and green-brown lands, and dark blue waters. No planet Mars to gaze at, with it’s dusty red terrains and polar caps. No spinning comet-trails, like pixies or angels, fairy-mothers with wands of fire to dream about. No spinning giant asteroids, like the movies. No other ships, no aliens-in-saucers, no UFO’s. One could hardly even sense the forward-motion of the space-ship, though there was a vibration-effect. And true enough, passengers such as Lila really had no lazy patio they would sit on and gaze at the stars while sipping vodkas. There were external video-sensors that could create inner-ship images on electronic screens, and actual transparent-aluminum ‘windows’ or ‘view ports’. And then the pilot’s room, or navigation deck, which had it’s own view-system. And of course they didn’t fly by line-of-sight anyway, which would have been madness and certain disaster. But when docking, or approaching a world like Mars, and for other reasons (like any necessary space-walks), ordinary eyeball views were useful.
But for five months to Molinari, and at least 11-months to Mars, if not much longer, depending on the season, there was nothing to see. The deep-blue indigo Eternal Mother Space, and yes, stars, much like seen from Earth, far off twinkles---and that was all. Either Mars or Earth were so far off as to appear to be only stars. Molinari could not be seen at all within less than 100,000 miles. Blue velvet, like a deep sleep, peaceful beyond notion. Working in space was like working in a coal-mine of infinitude, silent and eternal, awesome. By the time Lila was finally back in her own rooms and work-area on Molinari, she could not have been more ready to share with her co-workers, and get back into the busy life of the space-station---never a dull moment. The transport ship connected successfully, other work and transferred-goods and items or data went back-and-forth. The ship’s crew could rest and enjoy life at the space-station too, and other travelers could connect to their destinations, and so on. Molinari humanized the whole affair, and was greatly appreciated by all.
Externally, Molinari was impressive, though maybe not beautiful. Space-station design over many years included all sorts of approaches---one would choose a wheel-hub design, another would be like a series of long connected tubes and machines and solar-energy collectors, with dock-ports, and telescopes or antenna. But Molinari was big---it had to be. The mid-point space-dock needed to house its own crew and staff of about 60 regular workers, and also be able to safely dock with numerous ships, sometimes as many as 20 or 30 a year, one-after-another. It also functioned to measure, monitor and analyze, as well as transmit back to Earth, or to Mars, information and data about anything and everything going on in that region of space, that would effect safe working research and transport. So the floating space-buoy was out-fitted with endless sensors, telescopes, antenna-dishes, radio-transmission, and so on. And deep inside, people like Lila Meetek, worked to keep all that going and up-to-date, watching computer-screens, tracking comets or asteroids, heat-flares and solar conditions, Mars-weather, planetary position and orbit, ships and people, goods and materials, or cargo, and also any related details of various ship movements or research programs, that might contribute to success with anything they were doing---or alert to failure and disaster.
“If I was African-American, you’d call me Uhuru,” Lila once told Guy, in a private moment. “Earth-Mother, Eve, the voice of the Word that keeps us alive forever. Is that arrogant?”
“Huh? I never got that stuff. But, yeah---you do good work, babe. Let’s find a cute little planet somewhere and start a new---uh, a new—you know---Genesis.“
“Most people just call them babies, or infants,” she answered. “Yeah, I know.”
“That’s it---that’s what I meant. A new human being, like a kid—and then another, and another---I’m pretty good at getting that going. You know. Start-up. Quick-start---species. A new world. Somewhere they don’t got wars and---death.”
“Right here ought to do, for that,” she answered, and he knew what she meant, as they rolled again in the hay-that-pays, there back near Vandenberg, in Guy’s love-shack, in each other’s arms, to that orgasm we all adults to share or discover, the wound that never heals. Within only a few weeks of their love-making and muse, Lita would be shot into space, as Guy began to re-invent his career, and his next trip to Mars, having won the challenge to his pilot-worthiness and judgment, by virtue of a mid-course flight-path correction, now a year behind him.
Molinari hung like a Christmas-ball ornament, in the nothing. It had five pods for docking and other work, around a central hub, that dropped below, with a tower-like structure above. It was quite large, about the size of an ordinary sky-scraper in New York, or a jet-airport in some large city. The materials were ‘new metals’, and obscure, ideal for deep-space, and secure to sustain life. Power-sources, solar-harvesting energy-collectors, communications---it might have been a deep-ocean underwater ‘base’, or an odd kind of bell, or a unique automobile engine part, from an old-style car (in shape and form). Lita and the others there called it ‘home’. It had taken 40 years of planning, and then work on building and fabrication, begun in secret, and then revealed to the world as a major achievement, about year 2050, with new hopes and promises. And of course the Earth-world community yawned---“What’s in it for me??”
Lila moved through one of the inner hallways. Yes, the space-station lacked for normal gravity—it was a zero-gravity environment through the entire structure, except for areas where there were centrifugal doughnut-shaped spinning rooms for certain purposes. But mostly, workers used slippers, with magnetic ‘teflon’ bottoms or soles, and movement hallways, and work-areas, had magnetic floors and also walls. The system worked fairly well, with a few complaints---it could even be fun. There were also hand-holds and rails. You could pull yourself along the halls by hand, floating at length, or use the slippers. Seats, toilets, dining-areas---any ‘people stuff’---all with magnetic strips, and then also gloves, clothing, and so on. It worked, and they learned to live with it.
As she entered the Earth-Mars Traffic and Environmental Monitoring Work Room, her co-workers, who had not seen her for months, turned and cheered. “Medusa has returned from her mirror gazing!” said one man, a chummy type. “Here she comes---Miss America!!” another man started to sing. Others greeted her with applause or hoots. Five people worked the room pretty much around the clock, in shifts. There were numerous computer-monitors, devices to detect various space-corridor conditions, communications, sensors and telescope feeds, kiosks for one-time video-communication to either Earth or Mars (somewhat rare), and many other services they provided.
“Yes, it’s me,” she said. The dress-code was ‘space dock casual’, which meant most of these sorts of workers wore ordinary street-clothes, but were supplemented with additional features, like harnesses that clung tightly to the body, with the magnetic strips or other useful items for movement about the station---like comm-links (inter-base cell-phones), timers, body-function monitors, small food bars, and so on. Molinari was no elegant shopping-mall, no tourist destination or space-hotel. It was all strictly business, and safety came first both within the dock, and for the beneficiaries of the work they did---the men and crews and passengers attempting the yet-dangerous and truly mammoth voyage, from Earth to Mars.
“How’s Earth?” said her best friend at the station, a woman about her age, with a similar job. This was Eve(or Eva) Morton, from Illinois State University’s space-program, part of the US internship-development partnership. Eve was an often giddy, yet a very intelligent and wise woman, given to flights of fancy, and who loved poetry, like Percy Shelley, or Anne Sexton, Robert Frost---a big hit with the guys, too, sexy. She had only been at Molinari two years, compared with Lila’s almost five-year run.
“Big, round, blue, and stupid,” Lila joked.
“Some things never change,” Eve replied. “Missed you. We had a meteor sprinkle a few weeks ago you would have enjoyed. No flights in the corridor, so it meant nothing. A lot of teeny ones, like the Leonid.”
“I always try to keep in mind that we’re in the corridor ourselves, here, ” Lila said, now settling down and adjusting to her work-station. Before her was an array that Star Trek’s Uhuru would have envied. She sighed a familiar breath. Home. “I mean, teeny meteors we track to protect the guys in the ships can hurt us too.”
“Yeah, but our dock is much heavier with the titanium-abstracted plastics. It’s tougher than anything. But you’re right. We’re in the corridor too. Good to have you back, girl. I hope Guy was making life work for you down there, yeah??”
“Uh---big, round, pink and stupid,” Lila joked. They both laughed at her slightly erotic humor. “Mind you own business, Eve. Geez. My sex-life is private!!”
--Julian Phillips
2,318 words
Monday, January 4, 2010
Chapter-13: Karen's Mars WalkAbout
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Outpost
By Julian Phillips
Tom Luong Films
Jan.4, 2010
Within only a day, Karen found herself in a large fitting room, where Mars-base staff were suited up for any external Mars-surface work or travel. The Alice-in-Wonderland effect was wearing off, and she felt confident and assured about her work. The voyage across the abyss, or planetary corridor, was itself demanding and unpleasant---just something about it, as any space-traveller of 2075 would confess. Now on Mars, her physical body functions returned to normal, and her mind was sharp. The Earth-Mars communications system, from the Mars-side, was of course complex and high-tech. Which was why she had come to Mars, given her training and education. After clearance and de-bugging, and orientation at the base, Karen enjoyed a short time at the exercise-area, which was a gym---to her delight, the one-third gravity on Mars seemed to bestow amazing physical prowess, and her usual yoga-and-dance routine was somewhat like that of a 'tiger on the moon'. She had never lept so high in her life,or felt so powerful. But it was deceptive and she knew it. Otherwise, throughout the Mars-base, the lower gravity was not really a 'problem', and folks could walk about normally, as a 170-pound man now felt himself a mass-weight of only about 60 to 70 pounds, but still functional. Cargo and heavy items were easy to move, and sometimes people would play gravity-games or pranks, like one of the janitorial workers who had learned to run and quickly climb up a tall wall and even run quickly across the ceiling, like Donald O'Connor in the film classic, 'Singing In the Rain'. But it never rained on Mars.
Each surface-excursion was carefully planned and prepped. Every foot-step beyond the safety of the air-tight base was dangerous, if only for lack of 'normal' air. The base workers enjoyed speculating about how long a healthy person could last, without a suit, on the surface, such as in regular outdoor gear, maybe a thick jacket and boots or a thick hat. Even a strong person would only last a few minutes, it was unanimously agreed. Attempts to breathe the very thin, oxygen poor Mars atmosphere would seem like a sprint-runner sucking his air through a soda-straw, and within only a few minutes, you'd collapse. Additionally, the Mar-surface temperature in the region of the Snikta-Ridge Valcanic Basin, at the feet of the Tharis Montes volcanos, towering higher than Mount Everest on Earth, was very cold. A warm day might see 10-to-20 degrees Fahrenheit, and cold days could quickly drop to well below freezing. The Sun, so blazing with it's heat and glory on Earth, here on Mars, was hollow and distant, fainter, and not nearly so intense or providing as much ambient surface heat. Complicating survival matters, was the fact that without a dense atmosphere, certain types of radiation easily penetrated from above, and surface-walkers on Mars would find themselves 'burning up'---or 'sun-burnt', without proper protection, from UV rays, and other exposure.
The Suit-Room and Surface Excursion Crew were ready when Karen arrived. Her 'surface-work' today was simple. Herself and two others, would hike North along the South-facing base of the facility, only a matter of 300-yards or so, to inspect and review the antenna-array and satellite-communnications radio-transmission tech-stations, that were necessarily built exterior to much of the operational base. In this way, Karen would have a first-hand look at what she was dealing with, rather than from mere schematics and books. No one expected her to go much farther than just those 300-yards and back---she wasn't an astronaut or explorer, and was not very experienced with the suits. Other Mars teams would commonly go on excursions of even a few hundred miles (in the motorized carts). So Karen's outer-work today was 'easy'. Nevertheless, every detail was planned-and-prepped carefully, scheduled, timed, and monitored, for complete safety. Back-up rescue teams were always ready if anything went wrong.
The Suit-Room was large enough to prep and outfit as many as 12 men at a time. The 'suits' were stored 'ready-for-use' in closets like row-after-row of coffin-like bins and chutes, and each bin was equipped with electrical chrarging, oxygen-tank re-charge, saftey-testing, and other. They were not 'moon-suits', like the Apollo astronauts wore. Mars was a significantly different environment, and so were the suits and the needs. But they were similar, and also more advanced in terms of the materials and techniques applied for the comfort and mobility of the walkers. They looked rather like floppy, aluminum or metallic, cloth-like head-to-toe jump-suits, thick with padding in rings, and with joints and elbows worked carefully for movement and strength. The boots were more common and not very unusual, except that they connected to the legs by an air-tight seal, also rings. Similar with gloves, and then the head-piece, a full-cover helmet, with large plexi-glass type rounded hood for 280-degrees viewing, and an internal radio-link to both inside-base monitors, and other walker-team members. The walker could control various features through a small panel of buttons on the right forearm sleeve. Once suited-up, a back-pack connected to the suit, carrying more than 24-hours of fresh oxygen, and also water, and a heating-system, and internal body-monitors. Amazingly, they were farily light and easy to use. But running a great deal, or any kind of vigorous repeated movement such as an athlete, was somewhat unlikely, due to bulk. Some people at the base liked them, and some didn't.
Two Suit-Helpers worked with Karen, as well as her team-mates. John Balker was an experienced surface-walker veteran, more-or-less her guide, mlae, about age 45with three years on Mars (not counting Earth-vacations). The other walker going with them was Bob Johnson, a former transport pilot who was recruited to work on Mars with the ships and launches, as a 'space-harbor' pilot, or what they called a re-entry pilot. Bob was only 38 years-old. Both men were of the same husky astronaut 'right-stuff' mode that they all aspired to, jocular and up-beat.
"We exit at Gate-Three, the air-lock," said Balker. "That's off the main-entrance you came through when you arrived, just to the South about five hallways. Once we're outside, we'll just walk. we could take a cart, but I thought you might enjoy the experience. So, we just go North along the facility perimiter, 250-yards or so. Nothing out there, just rocks and dirt, and cold. Then we move up by the antenna-array, and just beyond are the other communications stations."
Balker and Johnson were already suited-up, and were testing their gear. Each person always took full responsibility for their own suits, and knew them well enough so that any emergency would not be a mystery. Karen, however, was maybe not-so familiar with the set-up's.
"Slip your hand under, then over, then through the hole," said one of the women Suit-Helpers.
Karen complied, and then figured it out. "It's a lot like mountain-climbing gear, isn't it?" she said.
"Very similar, yes," the woman answered. As Karen finally got herself completely into the suit, she laughed. It was a locker-room atmosphere, given that the walkers would put on their suits, with only 'long-underwear' underneath. "How's that?" Karen said.
"Looking good, lady," Bob answered.
"Let me just check you out on the safety-systems one more time," said the woman.
"We're still on schedule. Base-Control doesn't have us leaving the air-lock for another hour. A hallway mobile-cart will move us to the air-lock so we don't have to walk through the building wearing these things," Bob said.
"I'm also going to need my testing-equipment and hand-computer," said Karen.
"Your bag," said John.
"What?"
"You'll have your carry-bag. If it works inside, it works outside. Just make sure any electronics are not going to freeze, and have charge, and that you can push the buttons with your gloves on. And nothing with really sharp edges, like knives or blades. Other tools may be okay. I'll look at what you have before we exit."
Now all three of them closed down and latched their rounded plexiglass helmet hoods. The helpers booted the life-support systems, and the suits went 'live'. For the next five hours, each of them would exist in a tiny, closed-system inner-world, sometimes sweaty-moist or uncomfortable. If they had an itch, it wouldn't scratch, and pee-and-poop went into an often less-than-perfect diaper-and-catheter system, with large fitted-plastic male or female 'rump kits', that routed substances as appropriately as possible. John tapped his helmet as their radio-link went live.
"Read me? Karen? Bob? Testing---"
"How do I look?" Karen said, posing.
"Ready for Hollywood," Bob answered.
"Not a movie. Not a TV-show. Say it often," Karen joked.
After more adjustments and waiting, a hallway mobile-cart came and took them from the Suit-room to Gate-Three. Other base-workers were used to the sight---just another external gig, function, or labor of some kind. By the Martian clock, it was early afternoon, a good time, because the distant Sun had by now heated the surface to about the daily high-temperature.
Gate-Three was an air-lock gate, operated by three workers. It looked much like an Earthside jet-air travel gate at a large airport, perhaps wider, and more industrial, or even military-looking---not for tourists, to be sure. Walkers passed through the first inside door, onto a mid-point platform. Then the first door closed behind them, and was sealed for air. Once sealed, the second, outer-door, now was opened by the operators by machine-power, and they could pass on foot to the outside---the actual surface of Mars. This door then closed and sealed again behind them. It was quite safe. However, sans the machine-power and air-pressure seals and pumps that filled the mid-point area with fresh air, there was no way a person could use the gates, or pass through. In other words, you could not go through the air-lock gates 'manually', or operate them by-hand. There were other 'hatches' and portals into the base from outside, that could serve that purpose, should the need arise. Inner air-pressure leaks and safety were obviously a critical safety issue at all times.
As instructed, Karen, John and Bob, processed through the gate, which took about five minutes. When they stepped outside, Karen could not help but slip again into Alice-mode. Her inner-child thrilled. Here she was, walking on the surface of another planet, Mars.
"Good heavens! It's beautiful! Oh my god!" she said.
The other walkers chuckled, which she could hear on the radio-link.
"Yeah," John said. "Definitely. Not Earth, that's for sure. You'll get used to it."
Once-in-a-lifetime moments for Karen had included her first sexual encounter, college graduation, and the first time she smoked marijuana. They paused for a long moment. What she could see was the region that stretched out before the face of the Mars-base, but the view extended literally hundreds of miles, as they were rather high-up. Tharsis Montes rose and extended like the gods themselves, to the East and far out of view---jutting skyward as bands of rock and colors, a geological marvel, yet so large as to be almost dizzying. The planners wanted permanance for the base they were building, so the facility seemed almost to be fitted into the rock itself, yet at a much lower level, flatter. The mountains did not have 'snow', but seemed to glow with a crystalline sort of shimmering, especially up higher, as if the ages and ages of 'dry-ice' moisture had coated the stone, like a far off silver. Clouds and mist were also not really present in amounts one would think of as 'weather'---or like Earth-clouds. But as tall and high as the mountains were, one could see that the Martian atmosphere had a substance of some sort to it, as if carried by the wind, which was hardly even the slightest of breaths.
In the other direction, downward off the flat-land where the base was built, Karen could turn and see that the surface of Mars was indeed barren. Rocks and sand, or dirt, with only a little variation, spread away outward from her feet, towards the distant Martian horizon, perhaps hundreds of miles. Even this vista was stunning, much perhaps like California's Mojave, or Death Valley. Slopes, and ridges, small rocks, patches of colors, varous rising areas---far beyond, more mountains, also of great size. The sky-color was an odd patina of blue-green-red, for daylight hours. The Sun was visible, too---distant, smaller than on Earth, somehow cold-looking, seeming to strain with long slender rays of life-energy extending towards them.
"Let's get to work," Karen said, after her moment.
The two men chuckled again. The inner-helmet radio-link had a quality tone, and operated automatically with each spoken word. Each team-member could hear any conversation. "This way," John Balker said. They started the hike in the direction he was leading them.
He touched a button on the fore-arm panel on his suit. "Hello, base. This is Balker, with Karen Tuturro and Bob Johnson. Please recognize."
A moment. They could hear the Inter-base Communications Monitor and Excursion Team Link, a woman named Sally.
"Hi John. Base Inter-link here, I'm Sally. Got you covered. How's the weather?"
"Paradise never changes," John said. "Beautiful day!"
"Of course," Sally answered. "You're on my screen, looks good. Hi Karen---Bob."
Karen and Bob both answered with greetings. They were walking, over the sand and rocks, with the walls of the facility to their right, and the buildings and structures looming near, comforting. Their boots crunched on the sand---swish-crunch-swish-crunch-swish, like the sound of walking on a rocky beach in roller-skates. With the lighter gravity, the walking wasn't too physically demanding, yet was hard enough that Karen had to breathe deeply and focus. She had her carry-bag with testing equipment, and she had a good idea what she wanted to accomplish. Bob and John also knew why she needed to look at the Communications outer stations and antenna-array, but neither of them were trained about those systems (though they knew them well-enough).
It took them an hour to reach the outer stations and small buildings and structures that housed the communications gear and antenna-arrays and so on, that she wanted to look at. They stopped to rest several times along the way. Karen was eventually stricken with one painful truth about Mars, as she again enjoyed the view. If there was anything truly alien about the place, it was the total absence of any form of life, or natural plants, or any kind of foliage, or running water, or trees. Beyond the base, peering through her helmet visor, viewing---she blessed her memories of Earth with its abundant life. Nowhere could she see even a single twig. No life. Except themselves.
"This is the lower of the two Off-World Radio Dish systems," Balker told her, when they reached their goal. "You can see, it has the three large radio-telescope type dish projectors, and then a series of smaller ones. The large ones go to Earth, controlled by a targeting computer, so the positions change slowly. The small ones can signal to orbit, or also to surface. Some of the small ones can reach Earth, too, but not as efficiently. Our helmet-link radios are actually running off smaller antennas up there, on the second platform building---I think."
For Karen, it was like coming home. She recognized all the types they were using, and their functions, power-sources, routing, and computer-controls. There were large platform pads, with out-buildings suitable to the Martian environment, and then the dishes above, and arranged all around. At the highest point the set-up reached upwards about two stories, notreally all that impressive for size at all.
She tapped her helmet. "Can we get any music on these things? You know---some Beatles tunes or anything? I like to listen to music while I work."
"I'll see what I can do," Balker replied.
"The old Beatles, not the late stuff. I never liked their darker works."
Both the men with her laughed, then found repose on rocks or against the buildings, as Karen began what only she knew needed to be learned and discovered, to begin work on repairs to the base's vital commnications-link to Earth. The Alice-effect loosened its grip as her mind focused on familar, highly involving tasks.
---Julian Phillips
Jan,4, 2009
2,600-words
Outpost
By Julian Phillips
Tom Luong Films
Jan.4, 2010
Within only a day, Karen found herself in a large fitting room, where Mars-base staff were suited up for any external Mars-surface work or travel. The Alice-in-Wonderland effect was wearing off, and she felt confident and assured about her work. The voyage across the abyss, or planetary corridor, was itself demanding and unpleasant---just something about it, as any space-traveller of 2075 would confess. Now on Mars, her physical body functions returned to normal, and her mind was sharp. The Earth-Mars communications system, from the Mars-side, was of course complex and high-tech. Which was why she had come to Mars, given her training and education. After clearance and de-bugging, and orientation at the base, Karen enjoyed a short time at the exercise-area, which was a gym---to her delight, the one-third gravity on Mars seemed to bestow amazing physical prowess, and her usual yoga-and-dance routine was somewhat like that of a 'tiger on the moon'. She had never lept so high in her life,or felt so powerful. But it was deceptive and she knew it. Otherwise, throughout the Mars-base, the lower gravity was not really a 'problem', and folks could walk about normally, as a 170-pound man now felt himself a mass-weight of only about 60 to 70 pounds, but still functional. Cargo and heavy items were easy to move, and sometimes people would play gravity-games or pranks, like one of the janitorial workers who had learned to run and quickly climb up a tall wall and even run quickly across the ceiling, like Donald O'Connor in the film classic, 'Singing In the Rain'. But it never rained on Mars.
Each surface-excursion was carefully planned and prepped. Every foot-step beyond the safety of the air-tight base was dangerous, if only for lack of 'normal' air. The base workers enjoyed speculating about how long a healthy person could last, without a suit, on the surface, such as in regular outdoor gear, maybe a thick jacket and boots or a thick hat. Even a strong person would only last a few minutes, it was unanimously agreed. Attempts to breathe the very thin, oxygen poor Mars atmosphere would seem like a sprint-runner sucking his air through a soda-straw, and within only a few minutes, you'd collapse. Additionally, the Mar-surface temperature in the region of the Snikta-Ridge Valcanic Basin, at the feet of the Tharis Montes volcanos, towering higher than Mount Everest on Earth, was very cold. A warm day might see 10-to-20 degrees Fahrenheit, and cold days could quickly drop to well below freezing. The Sun, so blazing with it's heat and glory on Earth, here on Mars, was hollow and distant, fainter, and not nearly so intense or providing as much ambient surface heat. Complicating survival matters, was the fact that without a dense atmosphere, certain types of radiation easily penetrated from above, and surface-walkers on Mars would find themselves 'burning up'---or 'sun-burnt', without proper protection, from UV rays, and other exposure.
The Suit-Room and Surface Excursion Crew were ready when Karen arrived. Her 'surface-work' today was simple. Herself and two others, would hike North along the South-facing base of the facility, only a matter of 300-yards or so, to inspect and review the antenna-array and satellite-communnications radio-transmission tech-stations, that were necessarily built exterior to much of the operational base. In this way, Karen would have a first-hand look at what she was dealing with, rather than from mere schematics and books. No one expected her to go much farther than just those 300-yards and back---she wasn't an astronaut or explorer, and was not very experienced with the suits. Other Mars teams would commonly go on excursions of even a few hundred miles (in the motorized carts). So Karen's outer-work today was 'easy'. Nevertheless, every detail was planned-and-prepped carefully, scheduled, timed, and monitored, for complete safety. Back-up rescue teams were always ready if anything went wrong.
The Suit-Room was large enough to prep and outfit as many as 12 men at a time. The 'suits' were stored 'ready-for-use' in closets like row-after-row of coffin-like bins and chutes, and each bin was equipped with electrical chrarging, oxygen-tank re-charge, saftey-testing, and other. They were not 'moon-suits', like the Apollo astronauts wore. Mars was a significantly different environment, and so were the suits and the needs. But they were similar, and also more advanced in terms of the materials and techniques applied for the comfort and mobility of the walkers. They looked rather like floppy, aluminum or metallic, cloth-like head-to-toe jump-suits, thick with padding in rings, and with joints and elbows worked carefully for movement and strength. The boots were more common and not very unusual, except that they connected to the legs by an air-tight seal, also rings. Similar with gloves, and then the head-piece, a full-cover helmet, with large plexi-glass type rounded hood for 280-degrees viewing, and an internal radio-link to both inside-base monitors, and other walker-team members. The walker could control various features through a small panel of buttons on the right forearm sleeve. Once suited-up, a back-pack connected to the suit, carrying more than 24-hours of fresh oxygen, and also water, and a heating-system, and internal body-monitors. Amazingly, they were farily light and easy to use. But running a great deal, or any kind of vigorous repeated movement such as an athlete, was somewhat unlikely, due to bulk. Some people at the base liked them, and some didn't.
Two Suit-Helpers worked with Karen, as well as her team-mates. John Balker was an experienced surface-walker veteran, more-or-less her guide, mlae, about age 45with three years on Mars (not counting Earth-vacations). The other walker going with them was Bob Johnson, a former transport pilot who was recruited to work on Mars with the ships and launches, as a 'space-harbor' pilot, or what they called a re-entry pilot. Bob was only 38 years-old. Both men were of the same husky astronaut 'right-stuff' mode that they all aspired to, jocular and up-beat.
"We exit at Gate-Three, the air-lock," said Balker. "That's off the main-entrance you came through when you arrived, just to the South about five hallways. Once we're outside, we'll just walk. we could take a cart, but I thought you might enjoy the experience. So, we just go North along the facility perimiter, 250-yards or so. Nothing out there, just rocks and dirt, and cold. Then we move up by the antenna-array, and just beyond are the other communications stations."
Balker and Johnson were already suited-up, and were testing their gear. Each person always took full responsibility for their own suits, and knew them well enough so that any emergency would not be a mystery. Karen, however, was maybe not-so familiar with the set-up's.
"Slip your hand under, then over, then through the hole," said one of the women Suit-Helpers.
Karen complied, and then figured it out. "It's a lot like mountain-climbing gear, isn't it?" she said.
"Very similar, yes," the woman answered. As Karen finally got herself completely into the suit, she laughed. It was a locker-room atmosphere, given that the walkers would put on their suits, with only 'long-underwear' underneath. "How's that?" Karen said.
"Looking good, lady," Bob answered.
"Let me just check you out on the safety-systems one more time," said the woman.
"We're still on schedule. Base-Control doesn't have us leaving the air-lock for another hour. A hallway mobile-cart will move us to the air-lock so we don't have to walk through the building wearing these things," Bob said.
"I'm also going to need my testing-equipment and hand-computer," said Karen.
"Your bag," said John.
"What?"
"You'll have your carry-bag. If it works inside, it works outside. Just make sure any electronics are not going to freeze, and have charge, and that you can push the buttons with your gloves on. And nothing with really sharp edges, like knives or blades. Other tools may be okay. I'll look at what you have before we exit."
Now all three of them closed down and latched their rounded plexiglass helmet hoods. The helpers booted the life-support systems, and the suits went 'live'. For the next five hours, each of them would exist in a tiny, closed-system inner-world, sometimes sweaty-moist or uncomfortable. If they had an itch, it wouldn't scratch, and pee-and-poop went into an often less-than-perfect diaper-and-catheter system, with large fitted-plastic male or female 'rump kits', that routed substances as appropriately as possible. John tapped his helmet as their radio-link went live.
"Read me? Karen? Bob? Testing---"
"How do I look?" Karen said, posing.
"Ready for Hollywood," Bob answered.
"Not a movie. Not a TV-show. Say it often," Karen joked.
After more adjustments and waiting, a hallway mobile-cart came and took them from the Suit-room to Gate-Three. Other base-workers were used to the sight---just another external gig, function, or labor of some kind. By the Martian clock, it was early afternoon, a good time, because the distant Sun had by now heated the surface to about the daily high-temperature.
Gate-Three was an air-lock gate, operated by three workers. It looked much like an Earthside jet-air travel gate at a large airport, perhaps wider, and more industrial, or even military-looking---not for tourists, to be sure. Walkers passed through the first inside door, onto a mid-point platform. Then the first door closed behind them, and was sealed for air. Once sealed, the second, outer-door, now was opened by the operators by machine-power, and they could pass on foot to the outside---the actual surface of Mars. This door then closed and sealed again behind them. It was quite safe. However, sans the machine-power and air-pressure seals and pumps that filled the mid-point area with fresh air, there was no way a person could use the gates, or pass through. In other words, you could not go through the air-lock gates 'manually', or operate them by-hand. There were other 'hatches' and portals into the base from outside, that could serve that purpose, should the need arise. Inner air-pressure leaks and safety were obviously a critical safety issue at all times.
As instructed, Karen, John and Bob, processed through the gate, which took about five minutes. When they stepped outside, Karen could not help but slip again into Alice-mode. Her inner-child thrilled. Here she was, walking on the surface of another planet, Mars.
"Good heavens! It's beautiful! Oh my god!" she said.
The other walkers chuckled, which she could hear on the radio-link.
"Yeah," John said. "Definitely. Not Earth, that's for sure. You'll get used to it."
Once-in-a-lifetime moments for Karen had included her first sexual encounter, college graduation, and the first time she smoked marijuana. They paused for a long moment. What she could see was the region that stretched out before the face of the Mars-base, but the view extended literally hundreds of miles, as they were rather high-up. Tharsis Montes rose and extended like the gods themselves, to the East and far out of view---jutting skyward as bands of rock and colors, a geological marvel, yet so large as to be almost dizzying. The planners wanted permanance for the base they were building, so the facility seemed almost to be fitted into the rock itself, yet at a much lower level, flatter. The mountains did not have 'snow', but seemed to glow with a crystalline sort of shimmering, especially up higher, as if the ages and ages of 'dry-ice' moisture had coated the stone, like a far off silver. Clouds and mist were also not really present in amounts one would think of as 'weather'---or like Earth-clouds. But as tall and high as the mountains were, one could see that the Martian atmosphere had a substance of some sort to it, as if carried by the wind, which was hardly even the slightest of breaths.
In the other direction, downward off the flat-land where the base was built, Karen could turn and see that the surface of Mars was indeed barren. Rocks and sand, or dirt, with only a little variation, spread away outward from her feet, towards the distant Martian horizon, perhaps hundreds of miles. Even this vista was stunning, much perhaps like California's Mojave, or Death Valley. Slopes, and ridges, small rocks, patches of colors, varous rising areas---far beyond, more mountains, also of great size. The sky-color was an odd patina of blue-green-red, for daylight hours. The Sun was visible, too---distant, smaller than on Earth, somehow cold-looking, seeming to strain with long slender rays of life-energy extending towards them.
"Let's get to work," Karen said, after her moment.
The two men chuckled again. The inner-helmet radio-link had a quality tone, and operated automatically with each spoken word. Each team-member could hear any conversation. "This way," John Balker said. They started the hike in the direction he was leading them.
He touched a button on the fore-arm panel on his suit. "Hello, base. This is Balker, with Karen Tuturro and Bob Johnson. Please recognize."
A moment. They could hear the Inter-base Communications Monitor and Excursion Team Link, a woman named Sally.
"Hi John. Base Inter-link here, I'm Sally. Got you covered. How's the weather?"
"Paradise never changes," John said. "Beautiful day!"
"Of course," Sally answered. "You're on my screen, looks good. Hi Karen---Bob."
Karen and Bob both answered with greetings. They were walking, over the sand and rocks, with the walls of the facility to their right, and the buildings and structures looming near, comforting. Their boots crunched on the sand---swish-crunch-swish-crunch-swish, like the sound of walking on a rocky beach in roller-skates. With the lighter gravity, the walking wasn't too physically demanding, yet was hard enough that Karen had to breathe deeply and focus. She had her carry-bag with testing equipment, and she had a good idea what she wanted to accomplish. Bob and John also knew why she needed to look at the Communications outer stations and antenna-array, but neither of them were trained about those systems (though they knew them well-enough).
It took them an hour to reach the outer stations and small buildings and structures that housed the communications gear and antenna-arrays and so on, that she wanted to look at. They stopped to rest several times along the way. Karen was eventually stricken with one painful truth about Mars, as she again enjoyed the view. If there was anything truly alien about the place, it was the total absence of any form of life, or natural plants, or any kind of foliage, or running water, or trees. Beyond the base, peering through her helmet visor, viewing---she blessed her memories of Earth with its abundant life. Nowhere could she see even a single twig. No life. Except themselves.
"This is the lower of the two Off-World Radio Dish systems," Balker told her, when they reached their goal. "You can see, it has the three large radio-telescope type dish projectors, and then a series of smaller ones. The large ones go to Earth, controlled by a targeting computer, so the positions change slowly. The small ones can signal to orbit, or also to surface. Some of the small ones can reach Earth, too, but not as efficiently. Our helmet-link radios are actually running off smaller antennas up there, on the second platform building---I think."
For Karen, it was like coming home. She recognized all the types they were using, and their functions, power-sources, routing, and computer-controls. There were large platform pads, with out-buildings suitable to the Martian environment, and then the dishes above, and arranged all around. At the highest point the set-up reached upwards about two stories, notreally all that impressive for size at all.
She tapped her helmet. "Can we get any music on these things? You know---some Beatles tunes or anything? I like to listen to music while I work."
"I'll see what I can do," Balker replied.
"The old Beatles, not the late stuff. I never liked their darker works."
Both the men with her laughed, then found repose on rocks or against the buildings, as Karen began what only she knew needed to be learned and discovered, to begin work on repairs to the base's vital commnications-link to Earth. The Alice-effect loosened its grip as her mind focused on familar, highly involving tasks.
---Julian Phillips
Jan,4, 2009
2,600-words
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