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