Chapter-19
OUTPOST
By Julian Phillips
For Tom Luong Film-Story Development
2010-03-03
On a small ranch in Montana, about year 2030, a banker-accountant and his wife, who worked the property with small crops and farm animals, had a boy-child they named Robert, after his grandfather, Robert Laverne Cowan. So Guy Reisling’s co-pilot (Rob), was actually named Robert Laverne Cowan, II. The eternal Earth never really changes much, and Montana was yet by the time Rob was birthed, a mountainous wilderness-type area, fit for cowboys and folks with horses or who enjoyed fishing, or tractors, wood-splitting and ‘critters’. Rob had three other siblings, two girls and another boy (younger than himself). They were quite a bunch there, secluded and safe from the ways of the world, just as their parents wanted, for life on Earth in 2030 was ever-the-same as now---a wild and half-mad scramble of humanity for wealth-power, survival, treasures of lust and pleasure, and yes, love-compassion. The privileges of natural-living and simple work, and the bliss of beatific-vision childhood, wandering around having fun, or facing coyotes and raccoons, gave Rob a strength and intelligence that stayed with him all his life, his strongest-best self. And this while many co-passengers on Spaceship Earth were grown under far inferior circumstances, even grinding poverty, starvation, war and terrorism, Rob learned all he could at the best schools, and with athletics, and at university. A background like this gave him and all the space-program workers and astronauts an excellence that was much-needed, and even a long-term hope for mankind, that space-research could eventually improve things for all. Yet, no one was ever really that strong, and the moon is a harsh mistress.
As a grown man, Rob Cowan was tallish, lanky, and a bit hairy, with a sort of sunken-chest full of hair, bony, but strong. He had an under-chin, or an ‘under-bite’ that made him seem humorous or somehow chummy and funny, and he loved to laugh, and joke, at almost anything. The arts and music, poetry, literature, and so on, were not lost on him, but after his youthful years he abandoned the intellectual-side, in favor of the call to service in military, air-force, and then the space-program. But deep inside, Rob had a Bohemian animal-nature, that made him both tough, smart, and a dreamer. He had a thatch of dark hair, and sometimes a fast-growing beard. His arms were like tight wires of fleshy-muscle, and he could swing a large hammer to knock down a wall, for many hours at a time. As he entered service to military and air-force, this side was ‘cleaned up’, and Rob was re-invented as the ‘ideal astronaut’, because there were no fucked-up astronauts in the program, with personal issues serious enough to endanger others by virtue of the dangers and responsibilities of space-travel.
Within the US-Mars space-program, Rob was enough of a veteran to co-pilot for Guy Reisling (‘Oh, Captain! My Captain!), and he did a good job, very detailed, cautious, and skilled. They were friends, and enjoyed a lot of rowdy time together off-duty, such as at bars near Santa Barbara, south of Vandenberg, and then at times for barbecues at Guy’s home nearby. Rob kept his home on the Montana ranch, so it was not such as a daily closeness. They kept private jokes and views, vaguely rebellious as all good astronauts are, more-or-less at odds with the government, and figuring philosophical about the world and life, into the small hours of the night over a brandy or bud of marijuana, which by 2070 was legal for personal use in California, with limitations. But the program frowned on any drug use, especially for the enlightenments of recreation, and they were mostly very limited adventures for any workers in the program, and if not, they were quickly found out and dismissed, for the good of all concerned. Laddish ways, as the British say, the astronauts needed those joys and romps, to keep their souls from withering and dry-death in the monotony of their jobs.
By the time the Penelope had launched with her cargo for transport to Mars, in 2076, it was a given that Rob would co-pilot, along with the rest of Guy’s regular crew, and a few changes. Guy’s Condrum-21 Deep-Space Local Planetary Cruiser from Monsanto-Dupont, was like a temporary home for all of them, and they knew her well. Similar to even small aircraft, the ship needed to be more or less mechanically perfect---and not less. Failures in deep space would kill them all quickly, sad-but-true, it was no joy-ride or cruise-ship, no walk-in-the-park, not a picnic. And they knew it and accepted the risk. The pre-launch also included a work-up on each crew-member, by now routine with each ship, but still a requirement. So for a week or more prior to launch, aside from flight-plans and cargo, the men were examined for health. This took place at the Vandenberg base, where Penelope would launch from.
Rob’s turn came, like the others. He was feeling fine, in general, and anxious to get ‘back-to-work’. But there was a problem, which he had been working through with various doctors. It seemed minor: Rob was suffering from the loss of a testicle due to athletic-stress. It wasn’t cancerous, but urologists told him there was a blood-flow problem, leading to swelling, leading to the loss of the organ, which was easily removed by simple surgery, and then healed for cosmetic and sexual function, with on-going therapy and prosthetics. It had been two years since these procedures, and Rob was quite fit overall, even in the strength of his groin-muscles. (Rob was married at this time to his second wife and they enjoyed normal, vigorous sex, with two children).
The physician attending the examination looked over Rob’s file, as the pre-launch prep-period went ahead. The examination room was typically cold and somewhat sterile, with white walls, green curtains, a few monitors and tools, an examination-bed. There were much more sophisticated medical diagnostic-gear nearby, and Vandenberg had a very complete hospital. Rob was in dress-down half-robed, having been probed a bit. The nurses found him delightful.
On the topic of the testicle loss, the doctor wanted to be clear. “There seems to be no real problem at this time, Rob,” he said. “I know you feel good, and strong, too---and you are. With your right testicle, it’s basically healed from the surgery to remove it. But you are taking the on-going pills for anti-septic, or anti-biotic, is that right?”
“Yes,” Rob said. “There was some pain, and then a minor infection. Not the testicle---I mean, there is no testicle, but the sack and remaining vesicles. It had moved up into the lower bowel somehow, and was sensitive and soft, like a hernia. But it was very small, and then reduced. So the urologist is using the anti-septic bacterial pills, to avoid any further problem. For right now, it’s fine.”
“How long ago did that appear?”
“Uh---this was, now, I guess---nine months. Back---last year. There was the swelling, pain, not that bad. The doctor refrained from more surgery, said it was normal. The anti-biotics since---four months ago.”
“Yeah, that’s fairly normal. The same anti-biotic series we use now also prevent a wide variety of other problems---flu, cold, diabetes, inflammation, angina. They are very advanced. But I’m not sure the anti-biotics will function in total harmlessness in deep-space, you know? Do you have any other symptoms?”
“No,” he lied. “Not really.”
The physician waited a moment, pondering. “You have a few days before the launch. I am going to spend some time and look at the medications, and your blood-work, and other tests, and compare with previous space-flight records of other astronauts on anti-biotics. It will take a day or so. Okay?”
“Sure,” Rob said. “I think it will be fine. I mean---what could happen?”
“Just let me look into it,” the doctor said. “I know you love to fly. It could---it might mess you up. The stress and null-gravity, the food, the radiation, and the other chemicals we use to help you on the space-flight---it’s a mess, if the anti-biotics conflict. It might not be wise.”
“Sure, all right,” Rob answered. “When will I know?”
“Within a day. Before launch, with a window to schedule a replacement co-pilot, if needed. I’ll also inform the launch-command, as per protocol.”
And that was that. By this time in the year 2076-77, anti-biotics had advanced significantly beyond the old days of penicillin or other types. For some, anti-biotics were in-use for years at a time as a daily health-matter, and they prevented more than just colds and flu. Other doctors used these more sparingly, feeling they altered the body’s natural-immune systems. AIDS (Acquired Immune-Deficiency Syndrome), the scourge of the late 20th-Century, and the many millions of deaths attributed to that disease, had been conquered, and was quite treatable and survivable, even in Africa. The completion of the Human Genome-Project, and developments and advances in medical applications based on the complete detailed mapping of the human DNA-map, meant that a healthy person like Rob, could anticipate a very high-quality of life as far as longevity and overall health. In Rob’s case, with a potential infection and inflamed or painful testicular removal, and the swelling or minor surgery, the new anti-biotics were par-for-the-course. But, in the deep-space environment, his doctor simply wanted to review any known or foreseeable effects that might come up. These could include dizziness, disorientation, and even psychosis, which sometimes happened to some workers in space.
For Rob Cowan, it was a cautionary note that he well-knew he needed to be attentive to personally. That haunting dread a person sometimes feels, when the edge of sanity or the depths of organic failure start to loom large, planted its seed---but he also knew how to quickly up-root his worst fears. In space-travel, the mental forms were peculiar, to say the least, and a dreamer, or religious person, could begin to experience euphoria, or fugue-states. Rob’s doctor also was aware, and behind the mask, Rob simply didn’t want to lose his job, or be denied the position he had worked so hard to attain, as an astronaut, a pioneer and even a ‘hero’.
By the time they launched for Mars, Rob’s health and his medical use of the anti-biotics were cleared by the Vandenberg-base doctors. Other astronauts were using the same chemicals in space without any trouble, and the various parameters were reviewed, along with any other concerns about his testicle-loss. “Just forget about it, “Guy told him in private. “If you have a problem, don’t keep it a secret. I’ll watch your back. You’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, boss,” Rob told him. They really were close friends, but work was work, and space is no place to screw around with those kind of problems for a person in a position of responsibility and stress.
In a dream, Rob was back in Montana, in a heavy downpour of rain, there on the family ranch. He was a child, in the dream, and the rain was so heavy his parents and family, and the other kids, were scared. The horses had to be led to their stalls and barns, and other creatures, and the windows of the house rattled with wet, and the sound on the roof above them was like a freight-train. Then somehow, walking down a hall, it grew dark, and 11-year old Rob, just a boy, entered the realm of his worst fears, like a miasma of vortex-powers, swirling around, no longer simply another room in his parent’s large ranch-house, no longer simply another storm in the mountains, no longer the simple fears of mother-nature and broken tree-limbs that crushed cars, or animals swept away in flash-flooded gullies, or sheds that fell apart, or muddy drives that had to be cleaned again for regular use in the sunshine. Those fears would have been comfort, natural fears, for they were strong and well-prepared. In their place---a personal nightmare of un-reality, for which he also needed to be strong. Only a dream, one night, but with a message from his sub-conscious. “Beware of thoughts that linger,” the dream told him.
-2,045 words
-Julian Phillips
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