Kate Rauner's Blog, page 84

Great North Road #ScienceFiction #Storytelling

Here’s a story I’ll never finish. I’ll never read it in a 21 day library lending period, but I realize I’ll never finish it anyway.

Peter F. Hamilton’s novel Great North Road put a map and time line right up front, which should have been a clue – any opus that requires such things is going to be ponderous. Indeed, even the bizarre murder of a bazillionaire’s clone that opens the book, and the cool technologies and climate change that form a backdrop, were buried in too much description for me.

Off-world chapters also have great themes that got lost – life in orbit around Jupiter, and colonies on distant worlds threatened by an unstoppable, mindless thing that consumes planets and changes the nature of matter. When one character stopped to explain how searching for an alien reminds him of the fossils of the Burgess Shale (on page 83 of 921 pages in my Epub version), I knew I was doomed. And I like the Burgess Shale! (Read Stephen Jay Gould’s non-fiction book Wonderful Life. It’s getting rather out of date, but is still a fun read.)

I tried my usual trick of reading the first sentence of each paragraph, and some paragraphs drew me in deeper, but that only got me to page 182. I still have the book as I write this commentary – I may take a crack at the two epilogs, one nine years after the story and the other 234 years after. Because I really like Hamilton’s concepts. The book is just too much for me.

So what’s wrong with me? The book has 80% four and five stars on Amazon (overall average of four stars), with 487 reviews. That’s a phenomenal success.

I looked at reviews by disappointed readers who posted three stars: ” LOTS of fluff, random events, boring filler,” “almost set it down many times,” “felt like retreads from his other works; the whole alien monster thing felt clichéd.” There were also readers who loved the characters and hated the plot, or loved the plot and hated the characters.

Most readers – 80% – loved both.

Storytelling

One of the most common tips on writing fiction is “show, don’t tell.” It makes a great bumper sticker and when writers critique each others’ work on critters.org, we studiously search out each “telling” for criticism.

Hamilton’s book is full of “telling” but most of his readers love it: “very detailed and rich,” “fine detail and… the plot just keeps going and going,” ” interesting and convincing,” “he writes for the hard core fan of science fiction and endless wonder.”

I think the bumper sticker advice is too simplistic. Maybe it should be “show, don’t tell unless what you’re telling fascinates your readers.” That’s the key – what fascinates the reader, not the writer (and if you’re a writer like me, you find all kinds of fascinating tidbits as you do research for a book.)

Peter F. Hamilton and his readers have found each other to their (I assume) mutual joy. After all, it’s called “storytelling,” not “story showing.”

Help me out, folks. What’s good telling and bad telling?

#GloryOnMars #OnMars Chapter Four: Journey

I’ve finished the draft of my new novel about colonizing Mars. Let me know what you think – I’m still making changes.

If you missed the story’s beginning, start reading here.

Exercising in space – NASA Photo ISS021-E-028204.

The journey soon became monotonous. Emma knew she wasn’t the only one to think so, because the Earth Scan sphere, which continued to float at the habitat ceiling, shrunk and glowed a sedate orange.

Emma expected a lot of things would set her teeth on edge. There was the constant hum of life support’s pumps and compressors, more noticeable than the HVAC systems in earthly office buildings. There was vibration, a tremor always present, that she noticed whenever she touched fingertips against a surface. There was the repetitive sound of the flexion machine; since MEX scheduled each of them for two hours of exercise every day, the machine was in use half the time she was awake. At least the ship provided good headphones and they were trained to not sing out loud with their music. But mostly cabin fever would develop because she was sealed in a can with three other human beings.

Duties were part of her individualized plan and she regularly inspected life support equipment on the upper deck – tightening fittings, torquing bolts, and recording pressures. The hum was louder on the upper deck so sometimes she’d pull on her headphones, curl in a ball above the hatch, and mediate as she floated along the aisle to the air intake.

Meditation helped manage isolation. Every afternoon the crew meditated together, which was supposed to build a community bond. Emma would open an eye to peek at the others. James preferred to place himself, cross-legged, upside down in relation to everyone else. He often had a sly smile on his face as he floated in classic lotus position, a novice achieving the yogic levitation that eluded adepts on Earth.

Emma paid careful attention to her exercises, her sleep schedule, and her meals. Every day the experts at MEX sent an evaluation of her previous day, right down to breathing rates during sleep. Experts on the ground kept detailed records, including her recreational time on the net, looking for any negative psychological patterns. But MEX didn’t have access to everything. Personal messages remained private and the AIs relayed them automatically without any interference from MEX controllers. Too much surveillance, the experts noted, led to paranoia.

Colony Mars continued to study the settlers during the flight but they weren’t employees anymore. Salaries stopped when they left Earth orbit, though there was some sort of stipend available for spouses left behind – Claude had explained how that worked. Emma had donated all her savings back to Colony Mars.

MEX and the ship’s AI managed the flight. The crew’s main obligation was maintenance, and that included cleaning. As Liz observed, wherever human beings go they take billions of microbes with them, and even organisms that are beneficial to life can damage systems in a sealed habitat. Once a week they opened all the hull panels to release any damp stagnant air. Liz slid swab samples into a handheld analytical unit and prescribed a spray from their biocide supply when necessary.

Colony Mars put as much development effort into waste handling as it did into rockets and engines. Nothing was actually viewed as waste, so they had to compact or compost everything and carry it on to Mars. They rotated responsibility for cleaning the sanitary unit in life support.

“Just think,” James said as he pulled himself up the ladder hand over hand for his turn. “Colony Mars spent billions to turn me into a toilet attendant.”

“They couldn’t have picked a better person for the job,” Claude said.

Emma chuckled at their banter. James had a knack for cheering everyone up, even Claude when he had a gloomy spell.

Emma spent hours on the ship’s net link. Reading and viewing dominated her time as the transmission lag length dragged out to minutes and chatting with Earth became awkward. She received lots of images of her mother’s travels, but nothing from her father.

As the experts recommended, she respected her crewmates’ privacy. Meals were the designated communal time, when conversation was encouraged. But sometimes news couldn’t wait.

Liz, I got a message from Malcolm, Emma texted across the module. Claude was exercising and wouldn’t notice, but James sat at the table, deeply involved in something on his pad, and she didn’t want to disturb him.

Rather than text back, Liz raised an eyebrow from across the module.

S-4 isolation eval is done and Malcolm washed out – dropped as a settler.

Liz drifted over to Emma and they turned their backs to the imagers. Emma glanced up at the Earth Scan sphere which had brightened to a golden yellow this morning. Perhaps MEX had released a new infotainment on S-4’s final crew selection.

“Oh, Emma.” The white noise that filled the habitat easily concealed her whisper.

“He was counting on following you on the next mission. Are you okay?” She reached for Emma’s arm with a touch of sympathy.

Liz meant well, but annoyance bubbled up. She had fun with Malcolm, but she’d succeed on her own. She liked him, sure, everyone did.

Emma looked down at Malcolm’s message displayed as text. Well, maybe not everyone…

I took your advice and talked to my mission counselor. You shouldn’t have told me to do that, because she never liked me. All I did was show some concern for Ingra’s death and she flunked me out. It’s so unfair. I registered a protest but the mission leader’s just as bad. It’s all over for me – the dream of Mars. They took it away. But I can still take care of you. There’s a controller job open on the satellite team. As a failed settler I have priority for another job and I’m fully qualified. It’s miserable consolation, but took it. I’ll be here.

She hesitated to show Liz the message. It gave her a little shiver as she reread the words. He was upset so some bitterness was understandable. And he loved her, Emma felt certain.

“He says he’s got a job as a MEX controller for the Mars satellite systems.”

“That’s a big team. There must be fifty guys managing the satellites between communications, GPS, weather, and the power station. They don’t talk to the settlers much, though.”

“It’s okay – really.”

Liz gave Emma a hug and pushed off, drifting back across the module.

Actually, it’s fine, Emma admitted to herself.

***

James had no trouble filling his days. He was finishing a PhD thesis, which occupied him for endless hours, headphones on, sometimes typing, sometimes scrawling on his screen with a stylus. He moved a chair and bolted it to the deck facing into his open bunk to make a study carrel. He spent so much time he needed the bunk fan running so the carbon dioxide he breathed out wouldn’t build up around his head.

“What’s your thesis topic again?” Emma asked at lunch-time conversation.

“It’s sort of abstract.” He sounded apologetic. “It’s a theory of quantum cohomology. Kinda hard to explain without the math equations.” James frowned.

“Actually, with my implants deactivated, it’s hard for me to follow, too.”

“You have cerebral implants? Wow. But why are they deactivated? I thought those were biologically powered.” Emma stopped, embarrassed.

“Sorry. I know that’s a private matter.”

“It’s okay.” James smiled, tight lipped. “We’re going to be as close as any people can get. Batteries aren’t the problem, but a lack of technical support – calibrations and periodic rebalancing of my brain chemistry. None of the necessary equipment will be sent to Mars until Settler Mission Fifteen at the earliest.”

“That’s, like, twenty-five years from now.”

“The implants will be permanently inactive by then.” James sighed with resignation. “Not that it matters. University’s not the world I’m competing in now.” But he frowned. Emma supposed losing a mental edge so suddenly would hurt. Liz must have seen that, too. She floated to James and gave his arm a pat.

“You’re giving up a lot of technology in return for the privilege of spreading life to a dead world.”

“I get to keep my high-tech, my robotics,” Emma said. “Liz, unless we need a medic, you get the low-tech.”

“I like gardening. Manual labor is low tech, sure, but it’s a timeless connection to our ancestors. The high-tech is in the seeds – we have the best biological stock.”

“Hey, I’m learning to be a pilot.” James’ good humor quickly rebounded. “This ship has a simulator.”

“That sounds more like you, anyway,” Liz said.

“Kamp has two jumpships and two pilots, but they want to train backups. It’s not too hard – the AI does most of the work.” He grinned wickedly. “The simulator lets me nosedive into some spectacular crashes.”

“So that’s what your shouting’s been about,” Emma said. “Somehow, I doubt crashing will get you behind real controls anytime soon.”

“What are you up to, Claude?” Emma asked politely. Claude had been quiet and Emma wondered if he was missing his wife.

“I set up a net site for geology students at my old university.” Claude transferred his pad image to the main screen.

“Have you got them submitting papers to you?” James asked.

“I like to keep track of their research, so I offered my services as editor.”

“What’s this?” James pointed to a sidebar of links.

“Proposals for deploying the prospecting drill we’re carrying. I’m considering their suggestions. Kamp Kans will need to mine metals if we’re going to survive.”

James snorted.

“It looks to me like you’re assigning homework. You can’t be anyone’s favorite professor.”

Claude rapped his pad in irritation and the main screen went blank.

“Just kidding, professor.” James affected an innocent expression that made Emma laugh despite herself.

Claude sulked. “This is my technical outlet. I’m a Martian lithologist, but I’ll spend my first year on survival projects – pulling cables and laying pipes in the new settlement bays.”

“I think it’s wonderful to stay in touch with past students,” Liz said with a thin lipped frown to James.

“I understand Claude’s frustration,” Emma said. “I have to help Liz get the mealworms and gardens established before I’m scheduled to deploy the exploration units. When I got a degree in robotic engineering, I didn’t expect to become a subsistence farmer.”

“Farming’s a great job. Panspermia in reverse,” Liz said with a smile. “Some people think that life came to Earth from the stars. So it seems appropriate for Earth to spread life out to the stars.”

“Mars isn’t very far out,” James said.

“It’s a start.”

“You never worry about contaminating Mars with Earth life,” Emma said. There were still groups agitating to stop colonization of Mars for that very reason. “What if we kill off Martian life?”

“If there’s any life on Mars, it’s dying today. If we find it, we’ll nurture it. Humanity is good for Mars.”

“Liz will set a heater on some patch of ice and have red trees towering over us in no time.” James meant it as a joke, but he’d reminded them of Ingra looking for oak trees as she stumbled out the airlock to her death.

“I’m keeping up with all the reports from my company on rovers and walkabouts.” Emma tried to keep the conversation going. As usual, she didn’t mention it was her father’s company. “With two of each in the knarr module, we’ll get to explore the surface.”

The main screen suddenly activated, repeating the last entertainment they’d watched.

“Ship, did you turn that on?” Claude asked.

“Yes, Claude.”

“Why?”

“A settler requested the screen be turned on.”

The kitten was clinging to the bottom of the frame, batting at the screen with one paw.

“That’s kinda scary,” James said. “The ship takes orders from a cat.”

“Ship, don’t open any airlocks for the cat, okay?”

“Don’t worry,” the AI said. “I understand he’s a cat. I have modeled his access as ‘human toddler’. Besides, airlock operation is manual.”

***

The kitten was a great distraction and MEX asked for more vids of his antics. Liz found her pad would project a red dot of laser light for him to chase. He found all the spots in the habitat where he could get a grip with his claws, and would streak wildly around the module or launch across the room, legs stretched out and toes spread wide.

They took turns feeding him from small tubes of mushy food. He’d grip the hand holding a tube with his front claws, and lick at a little blob as it squeezed out. They had to be careful with water, which tends to crawl around in space like something alive. Feeding was a slow business, but the cat liked the attention and purred lustily throughout. Soon everyone’s hands were laced with fine pink streaks from his claws.

One morning, James’ shouts woke Emma. She hurriedly squirmed into her clothes and unzipped her bunk.

Flakes of something floated in the habitat, like a beige snow storm. She pulled the neck of her shirt over her nose to avoid breathing in…

“What is this stuff?”

“It’s just wheat bran,” Liz said through the hands she held over her face. “We have sacks of it for mealworm bedding. It’s stowed with the seed cases at the ceiling.” She pulled herself towards the storage brackets.

An orange blur rocketed past. The cat.

“Looks like the cat tore open a sack.”

Emma heaved a sigh. The tingle of fear in her stomach subsided. There was nothing to worry about. Well, there was one thing. Emma zipped her bunk shut tight.

“This is going to plug the air filters.”

“I’ll take the filter off…” James said.

“No, wait. Then the bran will get sucked into the compressors. Let me.” She swam up the ladder to life support.

“Hey, Settler Three. What’s going on?” an MEX controller said over the module link. The transmission lag was becoming annoying.

“It’s okay. Just a bag of wheat bran broke open, that’s all,” Liz said.

Emma returned with some large squares of plush filter medium in light frames.

“Brush off as much bran as you can, then put a clean filter in front. Like this.” Emma slid the new filter up as she brushed bran off the one installed in the hull. Airflow held it in place as bran collected on the surface.

“We just keep changing the filters until we collect all the bran. We’ll need bags, and where’s that vacuum cleaner?”

Liz floated over, passing out dust masks from the medical kit. They drifted in the swirling bran storm, waiting for the filters to collect enough to vacuum off. The cat clung with his back claws to a fabric square on the hull, wildly swiping at flakes floating by.

They spent all day cleaning. Even though it got tedious after a while, Emma welcomed the break in routine.

***

Holidays also broke the routine and brightened the Earth Scan sphere. Oktoberfest was an international festival, so everyone appreciated that. They celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving for Liz and Halloween for James. Claude had lived many years in California, so he was happy with North American choices, but added Martinmas. There weren’t any candles on board, of course, but he dimmed the module lights and looped a vid on the main screen of children singing and carrying lanterns through a forest.

“That looks like fun,” Emma said. “Why lanterns?”

“It gets darker earlier each evening until deep winter. During the cold dark months, people have to make their own light, so children carry lanterns to the neighbors.”

“I prefer Halloween,” James said. “Then I get candy.”

Emma expected Claude to grumble at James, but he looked lost in his own thoughts.

“Let’s eat,” she said brightly.

While tanks of macronutrients couldn’t provide much holiday cheer, even extruded into funny shapes by the food printer, there were a few treats in the galley cabinets – dried fruit, chocolate, textured cheese, and some squeeze tubes of wine and beer.

“Beer loses something in a squeeze tube,” Claude said sadly. “I can’t watch bubbles rise or smell the brew properly.”

“I can’t smell anything anyway,” Emma said. “My head’s all stuffed up and achy. I feel like I’m hanging upside down.”

“As your medic,” Liz said, “all I can suggest is grin and bear it. You’ll feel better when you get some gravity under your feet.”

“I know what you need,” James said. He maneuvered up to the ceiling and unfastened a few bungee cords.

“Hey,” Claude said. “Those hold cargo in place.”

“Oh, relax, Professor. The cargo’s not going anywhere.” He pushed off from the ceiling and landed next to Emma.

“I bungee myself against my bunk wall at night. Try it. You can snuggle into the sleeping roll. You’ll feel better all day after a good sleep.” He grinned at Claude. “It improves your mood. Want to try, Professor?”

“Well, I’m going to,” Emma said, taking the bungees. “Thanks.”

***

Shortly after American Thanksgiving the mid-point engine burn approached. The ship was still in an elongated elliptical orbit around Earth and had to increase velocity to transfer to a Mars orbit. If the engines didn’t fire, their ship would start a long fall back to Earth. Malcolm reminded her of that in another message.

“He said, this is my chance to return to Earth,” she whispered to Liz. “He wants me to tell MEX to call off the burn – let the ship fall back to Earth.”

“Does MEX know he’s saying these things?” Liz asked. “I bet they wouldn’t appreciate Malcolm trying to sabotage the mission.

“You don’t want to go back, do you?” Liz spoke with a cautiously neutral tone like psychologists used, but her eyes narrowed.

Emma’s back straightened and her shoulders squared. The journey was going well and she was happy – there was no reason to abort the orbital transfer.

“I’m going to tell him everything’s fine and that I’m committed to Mars.”

“Good,” Liz said, relaxing into a smile. “I know how to take your mind off Malcolm. I want to neuter the kitten now, so he’ll heal before the engine burn. You can help me set up the surgical kit later after lunch.”

She told Claude and James at lunch.

“Guys, it’s time for my big medical procedure. I need to pull one of the downdraft panels from life support to use here on the table.”

“Okay,” James said. “But I don’t see why you have to neuter the poor little fellow. He’ll be the only cat in the world. It’s not like he’ll make babies by himself.”

“He’ll be a better citizen. It’ll keep him cuddly and prevent any objectionable male behaviors.”

“Don’t look at me when you say that.” James kicked out of his chair and up to the ceiling in mock distress.

“Don’t worry, James, you’re safe. A colony wouldn’t make much sense without children, would it?”

Emma laughed with the others, but her fingers rubbed the spot on her upper arm where her contraceptive chip was embedded. She couldn’t feel it, but it was there, reliably pumping out hormones until she shut it off with the little device in her duffle bag. That was one personal electronic device she got to keep. But Colony Mars hadn’t scheduled the first Martian pregnancy for another five years. That allowed time for S-4, the Doctors, to arrive with a sample of frozen embryos.

All the research said Colony Mars’ chosen cryochamber design was impervious to the dangers of space flight, but with an abundance of caution S-4 would confirm the embryos remained viable and set up a medical bay for future pre-natal care. S-4 would have been Malcolm’s mission, Emma thought dryly. He’d cross-trained as a physician’s assistant, but Colony Mars replaced him with a full-fledged doctor who had a psych specialty. A replacement for Malcolm and for Ingra.

And after the Doctors would come S-5, the Kinderen mission.

S-5 was the only all-female mission, a chance to jump-start the settlement’s first generation. Colony Mars never used the term “breeders” in their PR – it was too harsh, too clinical. They preferred to keep the public’s attention focused on the children to come. That’s why, they explained when Emma had once asked, S-5 was the Kinderen and not the Mothers Mission.

Colony Mars was about to announce finalists for the Kinderen mission.

Ironically, the cat was neutered that same afternoon. Liz used a specially prepared surgical kit and he recovered quickly. James sagely observed that his behavior was as objectionable as ever.

***

The ship’s AI announced the engine burn an hour in advance and, tracking his transponder, helped Liz and Emma find the cat wedged between some pipes in a particularly warm spot in life support. He protested as Emma pulled him out, stuffed him into the carrier Liz held waiting, and sucked at the scratch on her hand.

They tipped the bunks into acceleration position and strapped in. Emma gathered her hair into one hand. It was long enough to put back and she twisted on a stretch-tie. They were secure far enough in advance for James to complain about the wait before the AI began the final countdown.

Despite being ready for acceleration, Emma could hardly breathe through the burn. The cat meowed pitifully. Emma was beginning to worry the ship would send them into the asteroid belt when the pressure evaporated and she sucked in a deep, shaky breath.

“The course correction is completed,” the AI announced. “Engine performance was within parameters.”

Emma glanced at the Earth Scan sphere, which was a soft orange. Apparently news of the successful burn hadn’t registered on Earth yet.

“Yee ha!” James pulled his straps loose. “Next stop Mars.”

#ScienceFiciton #FridayRead Frontier Mine on the Moon – Crater by Homer Hickam

Crater Trueblood is an up-right, low-key teenage hero. He is born and raised on the Moon with an unworthy best friend, a crush on a girl he only argues with, and – soon after the story begins – a new job he can’t seem to get right. He also has a gillie – a fascinating “biological machine” that sits on his shoulder (even the shoulder of his space suit) and runs his communications. At first gillie seemed to be simply an odd detail in Crater’s life, but as the story progresses, gillie becomes more significant and I enjoyed him – it – whatever.

Hickam’s whole story is like the gillie. It starts as an idea about mining Helium-3 to sell to an energy-starved Earth (if you care about how Helium-3 is used, read Hickman’s science-based note at the end) – a nifty look at the characters, dangers, and technologies involved in a Wild West sort of mining colony. Then Crater joins a convoy on a dangerous journey across the lunar surface to retrieve a package for the mine boss, and the story expands. There are dangers, big and small, along the way, and several groups of lunar inhabitants, including some humans who have been genetically tweaked to be very different from normal people.

Hickam’s writing style is straightforward and sparse and he weaves in facts about the Moon.

At the end of the story, Crater has achieved a lot but is uncertain about his future. Hickam leaves other loose ends that will lead into the next book in the Helium-3 series. A few of the unexplained elements are important, like the motivation of the bad guys and the welfare of friends, but since the main plot line is resolved, I thought the ending worked.

The standard writing bugaboo of “show, don’t tell” get’s ignored a few times –

First step about to fall – NASA

sometimes as straight “telling” but there is also a side trip with tourists to Tranquility Base, the first lunar landing site. Since that trip is tangential to the main story, it’s close to a “telling.” But it was short and interesting – there’s a factoid about the fate of Neil Armstrong’s first footprint on the Moon that I must look up sometime to confirm.

I had a couple issues with the book. My Epub version had quite a few places where a new paragraph began in an odd place – like the middle of a sentence or in a block of dialog. While I noticed this, it didn’t interfere with my reading, so no big deal.

Towards the end, Hickam uses a technique I happen to dislike. After allowing me to ride along inside Crater’s head, privy to his thoughts and feelings, a character tells him something that Hickam won’t share with me. I realize this adds suspense for some readers, but it just annoys me. Especially since the story would have worked just fine if Crater had been left in the dark until Hickam was willing to tell us readers, too. And then he did it a second time! Sheesh.

Crater has a four star rating on Amazon, with 117 reviews. I guess not many readers are bothered by the trick of keeping secrets from the reader. I only noticed one negative review that specifically mentioned it. Some reviewers thought it started too slow. Others noted it was “geared towards a younger crowd,” and I do think younger tween readers will enjoy it (though there is death and destruction), as well as older readers who simply want a light read. Some reviewers noted the book reflects conservative ideas about society and Christian Values, but I think those themes are included with a light touch.

On balance Crater is a pleasant summer read.

#OnMars #GloryOnMars Chapter Three: Goodbye Earth

Here’s the third chapter of my new book. I’ve got the draft completed and am working on the final version – there’s still time for changes, so please comment. I’d love to see what you think.

If you missed the beginning, start reading here.

Spaceplane concept – NASA – AC86-0699-2

The next morning, slightly nauseous and heads aching, the S-3 crew boarded a spaceport sand coach and set out eastward across a broad desert valley. After a while, Emma looked up, then over her shoulder. The spaceport was hidden by a colorless slope behind them.

“Have you followed the cat debate?” Liz asked. “They’ve been at it all night.”

She used the coach’s link and played some messages out loud. It seemed the colonists started talking to Lunar Base about a cat months ago, ever since the Loonies announced a litter of kittens was on the way – kittens to be born on the Moon and raised at the Collins Space Dock. Emma roused herself enough to wonder why they’d kept it a secret from MEX.

Colony Mars engineers, quite reasonably, balked at adding an element to their mission at the last minute, especially a live animal. But Lunar Base had a complete proposal ready. They’d provide everything, including a plan for feeding a cat long-term on Mars. After Ingra’s extraordinary suicide, the psychologists were inclined to approve anything the colonists requested. The added mass of the cat’s supplies was well within the transport ship’s margin of error for fuel. A cat was formally added to their mission. Claude and James seemed noncommittal, but Liz was delighted.

The coach bounced and Emma squinted out a wide window.

“Where are we?”

“Jornada del Muerto,” the driver called out cheerfully. “Named by the Spanish who first explored this desert. The Journey of Death.”

“Ironic name, isn’t it,” Liz said. “We’re on a journey of life.”

“It’s a long ride,” Emma said.

“We’re this far from the spaceport so the space ramp could be built up onto the mountains, to take advantage of the angle for launch,” the driver said. “But you’re not tourists so you know that, I suppose. You’ll launch over a restricted area – the White Sands military base – so if you crash on take-off, you won’t kill anyone.”

“I’d feel terrible if I crashed on someone,” James said. He had recovered during the ride and sounded chipper.

“We’ll go under the launch track in a little bit,” the driver said. “Do you know how many loops you’ll make before they shoot you up the ramp? Never tried it myself. I’m told the ship builds up a lot of g-force.”

Emma shuttered at the thought, settled back into her seat, and closed her eyes. James chattered with the driver but she was silently grateful the road was smooth the rest of the way.

She opened her eyes again when the coach stopped. Sloping concrete walls supported a heavy metal track ahead of them, above a narrow shadowed tunnel.

“See the electromagnets mounted on the sides?” The driver said, pointing. “They accelerate the space plane.”

On the other side of the tunnel, the track stretched into the distance around them. The center of the huge circle was filled with heliostatic tracking mirrors focused on a central receiver tower – power for the mass driver magnets. On the loop’s opposite side, towards the mountains and the space ramp, was the launch building – an entirely utilitarian, a squat, flat-roofed structure of unpainted concrete. They’d be isolated in the east wing along with the medical staff. A separate building on the west side, equally ugly, housed the ground team on-duty. They’d had their own, non-alcoholic party last night and gotten right back to work. The relief team would arrive in a few days. MEX’s senior team lead Filip greeted them.

“I wondered why I didn’t see you at the party,” James said as he hopped down. “You’ve been out here since we arrived?”

“I’m not much for parties – especially when there’s a control room to see instead.”

“Your control room’s in Holland,” Claude said with a frown.

“My team has preparations well in hand, and Lunar Base handles the transport ship while it’s in Collins Dock. MEX doesn’t take over until you’re ready to break orbit, so I’ll be home in plenty of time.

“This is my last chance to shake hands with each of you.” He was suddenly solemn and a little teary-eyed. Emma straightened up, sensing a ceremony not listed in Colony Mars’ media kit.

“It’s been an honor working with you. Good luck – from me, the team, and posterity.” He clasped each of their hands tightly before opening the door and waving them towards the isolation wing.

The crew started final launch preparations immediately. Emma’s first appointment was for her pre-flight physical. The doctor was a tiny, birdlike woman.

“Take off your shirt, please,” she said after introductions, and looked slightly over Emma’s shoulder, reading from her contact lens link.

“Your contraceptive chip is in your upper left arm.”

It didn’t sound like a question, but Emma answered, fingering the spot.

“You have your personal device to deactivate the chip when you choose.” Again, not a question, but the device was in her personal duffle bag. “Colony Mars has the code on file for you, should you lose your device.”

The doctor now looked at her and – somewhat abruptly – smiled.

“If you would stand here, and place your arm in the gauntlet tray…” The doctor closed the lid and Emma felt pressure build along her forearm.

“Stand still, please. This will take a moment. A little more…” The doctor looked over Emma’s shoulder again.

“Party last night, I see. But you’re cleared for launch.” The gauntlet popped open and Emma rubbed her arm. It was covered with hundreds of barely-visible red dots.

“If that redness isn’t gone by morning, call me. I’m right here in quarantine with you. This is the last readout you’ll receive until the Settler Four mission delivers full hospital diagnostics to the colony.”

Emma nodded.

“That’s only two years away and there’s no reason for a healthy young adult to have a full diagnostic more often than every five years.” She took a plastic case out of the drawer next to her.

“This is your lacertossum medichip, which will tweak your own hormone production to maintain bone density and muscle tone. Emma Winters, correct?” She turned the case towards Emma to display her name across the top.

“Your upper right arm this time, I think. I’ll just deaden the area…” She used a thin needle to inject analgesic at a half dozen points- enough drug to visibly swell a spot on Emma’s arm.

“This has to go in deep enough to ensure capillaries will grow into the chip…”

Emma looked away until the doctor pressed a bandage over the area.

“The chip doesn’t relieve you of your exercise obligation,” she said as Emma pulled her shirt on. “But avoid lifting anything heavy with that arm for a couple days.”

The pre-launch schedule was modified to allow Liz to spend a day neutering cats with a veterinarian in the closest town. The doctors fumed over her shortened quarantine.

“They think I’ll contract something horrible at a vet clinic,” Liz said, laughing.

“You won’t laugh when you have to go through the entire physical again when you get back,” Emma said.

“My helicopter’s landing – gotta go. Pay attention at the feline briefing.” Liz hurried off.

Feline care was added to everyone’s briefing schedule. Emma had never paid much attention to Lunar Base news before, but she learned a few of the Loonies spent their spare time figuring out how to keep cats on the Moon and had happily donated a kitten to Kamp Kans.

The final week before leaving Earth was filled with briefings and medical tests, and Emma fell into her bunk each night, asleep before she hit the mattress.

On the morning of the first launch attempt the crew was awake before dawn. New Mexico’s monsoon rainy season had shortened over the years, so weather wasn’t a big risk for an August launch, but the ground crew carefully reviewed the forecast. The morning was clear and all systems were ready.

Emma stood, holding her small personal duffle bag, at the edge of the embarkation stairs. Red lights outlined the launch building so her eyes quickly adjusted to the lingering darkness and stars shown clearly despite the eastern sky lightening to gray.

“I never thought about it much before,” Emma said. “But I’m going to miss the stars.”

“Yup, atmosphere’s too dusty for much stargazing on Mars,” James said as he stood rocking on his feet impatiently. “And there’s no full Moon to swoon over, either. Just a couple little rocks zipping by overhead.”

Ridiculous to notice the stars, Emma thought. I’ve never spent much time looking at the sky.

The transport ship that would take them to Mars had blasted into Earth orbit months ago atop heavy-lift rockets. Today the crew and the rest of the live cargo would follow in a space plane. Emma could see the atmospheric ferry of the hybrid craft hanging over the track above them.

Ground teams were loading the space plane – half the seats had been removed to allow for their cargo. Emma watched as they moved canisters of fish and mealworms, each with its own life support unit, and packs of sturdy young plants. Food for the body is food for the soul, as Liz would say. Last on board were cases of seeds packed in nitrogen.

The settlers, dressed in their uniform of cargo pants and striped shirts and each clutching a personal bag, walked up the stairs, waved back at the cameras mounted on the launch building, and stepped through the space plane’s hatch. The pilot welcomed them like they were tourists. He had nothing to do until the ferry released the plane at the top of the atmosphere, so he busied himself ensuring his passengers were comfortably strapped in. Emma felt the tingle in her gut grow as the ferry pilots called out their checklist over the com system.

Just hang on, Emma thought to herself, letting her breath out slowly. Nothing to do but hang on.

The hatch was sealed, the stairs retracted, and the craft began slowly accelerating. They each had a window and Emma watched as they circled the ring until the increasing speed forced her to relax back into her seat. There wasn’t the slightest bump when the craft transferred to the ramp. The ground dropped away as the mountains caught the first pink light of dawn.

The ferry fired its onboard boosters and vibrations shook the ship. With a terrifying thrill, Emma wondered if something had gone wrong, but the ship settled into a steady rumble beneath her and she loosened her grip on the armrests.

The pilots kept up a running commentary as they tacked through bands of strong winds. They skirted the jet stream near the top of the troposphere and continued up to the edge of space. The curve of the Earth stood out distinctly and the sky was black. At maximum velocity, Emma’s weight disappeared and only the harness straps tugged on her torso.

Emma was glued to her window when the pilot announced separation. The ferry clamps disengaged and Emma felt the seat drop under her. After a moment to clear the ferry, the plane pilot engaged his ion engines, and the force of the plane’s acceleration pushed Emma into her seat again.

It wasn’t long before the pilot cut the engines and they were weightless, cruising towards the Collins Space Dock. The dock was located at a Lagrangian point, a spot where the gravity of the Earth and Moon balance, where their transport ship was effectively parked. The Moon was a disk faintly illuminated by Earthshine and thinly rimmed by a crescent of light. Within an hour they spotted the ship with the enormous Moon, now half illuminated by the Sun, hanging beyond.

Settler Three didn’t look much like a spaceship. The heavy lift rockets and aerodynamic nosecone had been stripped away and sent back to Earth, leaving a cylinder. The solar collectors below the habitat module were still in their stowed position and three small engines with individual fuel tanks hung on the aft end, ready for the journey to Mars. Weirdly, smaller cylinders protruded at regular intervals. These were airlocks, welded on by the Collins teams. Once in Mars orbit the ship would disassemble and each module would land to become part of the settlement, connected at those airlocks.

It looks like something I made in kindergarten from cardboard tubes, Emma thought as she pressed against her window.

The space plane slowed and rolled, putting the ship out of view. Finally a shudder ran through the cabin as the pilot locked the docking clamps and the Collins dockhands opened the hatch.

Emma floated slowly through, crinkling her nose at her first whiff of the ship’s air, like hot metal, a smell picked up from ions in space and brought in on the dockhands’ gear. James slid past her like a swimmer under water.

“You okay?” he asked. “You look a little green.”

Emma smiled at him but continued her slow progress. She’d felt fine on the ride up, but now was dizzy.

“Ship: I’m James. Activate my transponder.”

“Welcome aboard, James.” The transport ship’s artificial intelligence voice was vaguely feminine. They each announced their presence.

Emma had trained in an identical habitat module. She could cross the living quarters in eight steps on Earth, though steps didn’t mean anything in zero-g. She clung to handholds at the edge of the airlock, kept her feet aimed at the gray floor, and pushed off gently. An oval table was mounted left of center, so it was a straight shot across to the second airlock where the Collins team’s shuttle was docked. To her right were cocoon-like bunks and to her left, the galley. Macronutrient cylinders stood against the hull there, floor to ceiling, and there was a food printer to extrude the nutrients into different shapes with, hopefully, appealing textures. In front of the galley, exercise equipment was bolted to the floor.

An Earth Scan sphere floated at the ceiling, glowing green. Apparently, the settlers’ arrival was a popular event.

Emma clung to a chair at the central table to survey her new home. The habitat module was configured for its ultimate use in Mars’ gravity, so floor and ceiling, up and down had meaning. The airlocks entered on the lower level, the living space. Above was the life support level with sanitary facilities. Wiring, ducts, and all the electronics were installed in the cylinder’s hull, hidden behind panels for the most part. The exceptions were sets of three small LED lights, each below a finned black heat sink protruding from the hull. They provided supplemental cooling for the individual servers behind panels – specialized, fault-tolerant, with a very low failure rate – the physical brain of the ship’s AI. Emma maneuvered in a slow circle, checking their status. No red lights glowed, which was good. In half or more, the center green light blinked a slow on-off rhythm. Those were installed spare capacity on stand-by. The rest were in use as the solid green lights indicated.

Watching her crewmates explore the habitat, Emma appreciated the effort Colony Mars made to balance their skills. Emma came to Colony Mars with a degree in robotics, and she also knew a lot about all the systems in the exploration rovers. That gave her a passable knowledge of life support, control systems, and coms applicable to the ship and the colony. As a lithologist, Claude would prospect for raw materials vital to their survival on Mars, but was cross-trained in life support, including all the utility installations required as the nederzetting expanded. James had primary knowledge of communications and the satellite systems orbiting Mars as well as AI administration.

Emma was cross-trained in biodynamics – the system of farming that was Liz’s specialty. Liz further cross-trained in medicine. They all had first aid training, of course, but Liz could perform basic surgery. One of her most important tasks would be to ensure they kept up with psych evaluations – since Ingra’s suicide those were scheduled monthly. The AI could remind them of the schedule but Liz was the human being who would, if necessary, cajole them into compliance.

Emma looked for outlets on the table legs and around the hull. Colony Mars insisted on plug-in pads so they provided lots of outlets. Emma reached one arm towards the bunks to guide herself over and stow her personal bag. She could touch both elbows against the inside wall of her bunk compartment, but at least she’d have a modicum of privacy, and zipped it closed as she left.

Dockhands in yellow coveralls dove back and forth from the space plane, bringing in cargo.

“Was there any trouble with the knarr?” Emma asked a nearby woman. She was feeling steadier already and balanced against her bunk with fingertips as she gestured towards the habitat floor. “The cargo module,” she added. Colony Mars conducted business in English, but words from other languages crept into their daily conversations.

She’d seen original Scandinavia knarrs on a trip to Demark, to museums preserving graceful wooden cargo boats from the Viking era. It seemed a grand term to apply to the can attached below them, studded with airlocks and packed with supplies – and with their exploration vehicles.

“We don’t have access to the knarr during the flight.” Emma was worried about her rovers and walkabouts. “If anything shifts, we’ll be out of luck.”

“Everything’s fine, ma’am,” the dockhand said. “The cargo’s packed so tight I doubt you could slip through to check even if there was a hatchway.”

As the space plane was unloaded, Emma steered the fish canister “up” to the life support deck through the open hatch. With a dockhand’s help, she hooked it into the water recycling system while Liz unpacked the seedling pots and slotted each plant into a special lighted cabinet.

Emma floated down the ladder head-first to watch the dockhands stow their seeds. They tossed the hard-sided cases from hand to hand. The last man was standing on the ceiling with his toes braced under stowage brackets.

Another dockhand floated in from the Collins’ shuttle, which was docked opposite the space plane. In one hand he held a large yellow duffle bag and in the other a small pet carrier with mesh sides. The carrier meowed insistently.

“Here’s your cat,” he said. “We picked a rusty colored kitten for a rusty colored world. Better not let him out until all the airlocks are sealed. He’s one hellion.” He grinned proudly. “We put a transponder on his collar for you. Ship – this is the cat.”

“Welcome aboard, Cat.”

Liz pushed off and bounced into the dock hand.

“Oops, sorry,” she said as he steadied them both against a handhold. “How old is he?” She took the carrier and peered inside.

“Eleven weeks. He was born on the Moon and he’s been on the dock platform with us for a couple weeks now, so he’s used to zero-g.”

Two more dockhands drifted in behind him, carrying large sacks against their chests.

“Here’s your cat food. There’s about six months worth of dry food for use on Mars, double bagged so the little tike can’t claw the sacks open. In space you’ll have to rehydrate these squeeze packets. Inject water here.” He fished a packet from a sack and pointed. “Squeeze the food out here. The cat knows how it works.”

The dockhand with the dry food kicked off towards the ceiling to stow the sack. He hung there as more sacks tumbled up to him from someone in the airlock.

“You better show me how the zero-g litter box works,” Emma said, swinging away from the life support hatch to let another dockhand through. “I see it’s already plumbed into the air system on the vacuum side.”

“What’s that?” Liz asked as yet more cat supplies arrived, this time a stack of stiff knobby fabric squares floated in through the airlock.

“These go on blank spots on the hull,” the cat man said. “The cat needs places to grip with his claws and to scratch. Sorry the color doesn’t match your hull, but we didn’t have time to bring up anything else from Earth.”

“Damn cat has a bigger gear allotment than I do,” James said as the dockhands glued the squares around the hull, leaving it crudely checker-boarded with green on beige.

“Tell me again why we’re taking a cat.”

“Because Ingra is dead and who’s going to say ‘no’ to the survivors?” Claude looked as dubious as James sounded.

“Cats are a wonderful diversion,” the cat man said. “You’ll be pleased to have him. Space is deadly dull most of the time.”

“I’m already pleased,” Liz said.

Emma was fairly sure James was feigning annoyance, and she hoped the cat man was right. Psychologists had prepared her for a long tedious journey so any diversion was welcome.

Once everything was stowed, the Collins Dock team wished them luck, said good-bye to the cat, and double-checked the airlock seals as they left. The space plane and the Collins shuttle undocked with a few clunks.

There wasn’t anything else to do. Settlers were passengers. The ship’s AI system and controllers at MEX would pilot them to Mars.

“Hold this so I can unzip it,” Liz said to Emma. The meowing stopped and a small striped head poked out. Liz cooed and inside the Earth Scan sphere at the ceiling the silver earnings hoop spun happily.

“Eleven weeks old? He looks awfully small.” James held out a finger for the cat to sniff.

“He’s only a kitten. Besides, the Loonies breed small cats. They don’t expect him to be more than half the size of typical house cat, full-grown.”

Suddenly the cat rocketed out of the carrier, sending Emma floating backwards. He bounced off the hull like a ping-pong ball, flailed his legs towards a fabric square, and clung there. He was an orange tabby with closely spaced tiger stripes, white paws, and a wild look in his yellow eyes.

“We should be named the biophilia mission,” Liz said. “Life-loving. There’s a theory, you know, that human beings need to be surrounded by nature to thrive, that we understand that on an instinctive level. A live animal is much better than a pet-bot. The cat, the fish, and the plants we’re bringing will be good for morale.” She shook her head sadly. “Too late for Ingra.”

The cat shot across the module.

“Kittens can fly, even on Earth,” Emma said. “This guy will be quite an acrobat in zero-g.

***

Since the weather had cooperated and the space plane took off on the first scheduled attempt, they had a week before the transport ship would leave orbit. They elected to immediately go on a standard Martian day – a sol – twenty-four hours, thirty-nine minutes and thirty-five seconds long. MEX was staffed full-time while their ship was in flight, so allowing their ship’s daybreak to drift through the Earth day was manageable for them. It presented a challenge for the crew, though.

“Time to adapt our circadian rhythms to a Martian day,” Liz said. “Ship – initiate our light therapy routine.”

“Done, Liz,” the ship said pleasantly.

“You’ve all tried this in training, so it should be easy. The ship will shift the module’s light level at the end of our day.”

“I know what the experts say,” James said. “Turn up the lights blue in the evening to reset our body-clocks. I’m not sure I need that – I never had trouble staying awake into the night.”

“I bet you overslept the next morning. Without light therapy, the extra-long day on Mars is like a little jet-lag every day.”

“We’ll be living inside a sealed habitat. Who cares if our body clocks are out of synch with the Sun?”

“I care, once we start prospecting,” Claude said. “If the colony stays on Earth time, habitat-morning and surface-morning won’t line up. I want full days to work.”

“Just as importantly, you’re going to be a Martian.” Liz was exasperated by James’ teasing.

James raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not objecting. Let’s add the extra forty minutes every day to the cocktail hour.”

Emma suppressed a laugh at the disapproval on Claude’s face.

“The extra minutes will be productive time, once we get to Mars,” she said. “But maybe James has a good idea for Saturdays.”

“Every day is Saturday now.” He gave her a wink.

He was right, since they didn’t have any work to do while the ship orbited, waiting for the perfect instant to break orbit. Emma practiced maneuvering in zero-g and began to enjoy gliding magically up and down the ladder. James preferred superhero leaps which often ended in tumbling crashes.

“Look there,” he said to Emma with a nudge as they both clung to the ladder after one spectacular save. Claude was turning somersaults above the table, towing the cat in a wide circle as it clung to one arm.

“In zero-g, even a serious old curmudgeon will play.”

Emma giggled.

They spent a lot of time on the net link to Earth – from orbit the transmission delay was barely noticeable. Liz played with the kitten, but Emma tried not to move around too much. She occasionally had a sudden sensation of falling and had to suppress the urge to flail around looking for “down”.

When MEX announced they were ready to break orbit, the crew tipped their bunks to the proper orientation for acceleration and strapped in. Liz cajoled the kitten back into his carrier and held it next to her.

As they waited, Emma plugged her pad into the bunk outlet and found a message from her mother, wishing a safe journey.

She must have checked the mission site for our departure time, Emma thought with a smile.

“Ready guys?” The MEX controller’s voice rang through the module. “Here we go.” And the engines fired.

Colony Mars used a standard transfer orbit for their missions. The ship was already in a high Earth orbit so a relatively small amount of thrust was needed to stretch the orbit out into a long ellipse where, mid-course, a short engine burn would send them to Mars. Even so, after a few days in zero-g the acceleration was uncomfortable. Vibrations rumbled through the ship and into the bunks, and the constant hum from life support seemed to push harder against Emma’s ears. The kitten yowled and Liz made comforting shushing sounds. The engines continued and Emma couldn’t hold her breath any longer. She closed her eyes, breathing out slowly, practicing her meditation routine. The minutes ticked by.

Then it was over. The engines cut out and zero-g returned. A small shift indicated thrusters had aimed the tail of the ship towards the Sun, so the packed knarr module would provide extra shielding against solar radiation.

Emma floated loosely against the straps. Liz unzipped the cat carrier and the kitten rocketed out and up to the life support deck.

They were all euphoric and bounced together, hugging and laughing.

“Ow, ow,” James said as they bounced him into the hull. Emma wanted to run and jump, but there was nowhere to go. After a few summersaults in the restored zero-g, following Colony Mars’ recommendations seemed the only thing to do. They gathered in front of the galley imager, floating arm-in-arm in semblance of standing together, and took turns describing the start of their journey. At MEX, controllers reviewed the ship’s diagnostics and quietly confirmed they were on course to Mars.

“We’ve got enough vid,” MEX said. “Thanks, guys.”

Claude plugged in his pad.

“I’ve got a personal message. Mind if I play it on the big screen?”

The others turned to their own pads, offering him what little privacy they could.

“I wanted to show you my wife, Emma,” Claude said. “Come watch.”

He opened a vid of a slender lady dressed in a red parka, standing on a windy shore.

“That’s my wife,” he said. His face was impassive, but tears spread a sheen of moisture across his face.

The vid must have been taken from a boat. The camera pulled away from the lady and, as she grew small on the screen, she waved. Claude cleared his throat and wiped his face.

“We’re going to stay married,” he said. “There are benefits from Colony Mars for a spouse, and she deserves them.”

“It must be hard to leave her behind,” Emma said.

“Since I was selected, we’ve been like kids. Sophia moved back to Germany, and every day I had off we met somewhere, every place in the world we said we wanted to visit. It’s been great.” He wiped his face again as the vid ended and the screen went blank.

 

Dove Arising – Teens in a Double #Dystopia

I must admit that I did not finish this book. It belongs to the “teens fighting in dystopia” science fiction genre like its more famous sister The Hunger Games. I think I’ve OD’ed on this genre for the moment, so my reaction may not be fair to Karen Bao. Her book includes two dystopias – one on the Moon and one on Earth. The idea of a Moon Base set up by people escaping conflicts on Earth is neat and I enjoyed reading about the base. The young-teen protagonist enters military service for an admirable reason: to earn money to save her family and especially her mother, who has been quarantined for expensive medical care.

Bao’s book is published by the Penguin Group, a well-established traditional publisher, so my comments refer to Penguin’s editing as well as Bao’s writing. I compared the book to a few of the bits of writing advice I keep running into.

First is a trend I’ve read about to avoid or at least reduce descriptions of characters. The idea here is that modern readers want to create their own vision of a character. Bao bucks this trend (if it really is a trend) by including descriptions, though they are not detailed. For example: “awkwardly tall body resembles the skinny tree,” “eyes so dark I can’t tell where the pupils and irises meet,” “eyes the…shade of onyx,” “full cheeks and black hair.”
A more established writing tip is to avoid saidisms – that is, avoid any words other than “said” or “asked” as dialog tags. Bao tags a lot of her dialog with action as the tip advises:”‘Ah!’ When he spots Tinbie, he hurries to the table.” Though, tips do advise avoiding exclamation marks. But she also uses quite a few saidisms: whispers, drawls, continues, cries, rasps, sobs.
Show Don’t Tell, a well established tip to avoid narrative explanations. Bao “tells” quite a bit, especially about how her world works and its history.

So my bottom line is: a traditionally-published author and her publisher are willing to ignore some standard writing advice and still be fairly successful – three and a half stars from thirty-nine reviews on Amazon – a record I would be happy to have. And while I didn’t finish the book, if you are looking for a book in this genre, I’d say give it a try.

More of my posts on writing tips:

Successful Novel Defies Standard Advice – Never Let Me Go

Sphere: Hit SciFi Novels Follows Some Advice, Flaunts Other

Stephen King’s Writing Advice

Maze Runner and Writing Advice

“Star Wars is the ultimate example of Rule of Cool. None of the technology in Star Wars makes a lick of sense, but we love it anyway, because it is awesome.”

http://monsterhunternation.com/2010/05/14/ask-correia-3-sci-fi-weapons/

Sci-fi “guns” http://www.projectrho.com/public_html/rocket/sidearmintro.php

Writers’ Resource: Critiques Available

#GloryOnMars Chapter Two: Spaceport #OnMars

If you missed the story’s beginning, start reading here.

Virgin Galactic facility under construction at Spaceport America. Jeff Foust

Spaceport America’s main terminal squatted like a huge horseshoe crab shoved into New Mexico’s desert floor. Dry mountains rose in the distance and roads crisscrossed a sandy plain to launch pads, past low scrubby trees raising gray-green leaves to the blue sky. It was the end of the rainy season and birds flitted across the landscape, searching for ripening seeds.

The reception party was canceled after Ingra’s death, but a banner still hung at their arrival gate: Welcome Colony Mars Settler 3 Explorers. Colony Mars ground support teams met them, accompanied by spaceport officials. They’d spend two nights in the spaceport’s elegant hotel before shuttling out to the launch site.

Emma carried two duffle bags to her room. Settlers took few personal possessions with them and she dropped the small bag on the closet floor. The second bag held what she’d need for her time at the spaceport. She’d leave it behind.

The room was huge. The bed alone was larger than her room on Mars would be, where she’d have a bunk in one of the repurposed ship modules. Kamp’s dormitory bay wouldn’t be built for years.

She activated her link and made a voice contact.

“Hi Mom. I’m at the spaceport.”

Her mother had vacillated between congratulations and tears throughout Emma’s training. Today it was tears.

“I can’t believe you’re really going,” she said with a sniffle. “Living on Mars! It doesn’t seem real. What are you going to do every day?”

“Mom, didn’t you read the Colony Mars mission site?” She’d tried to explain a dozen times. Her mother never listened.

“Yes. Well, some of it. What’s this about you eating worms? Sounds dreadful.”

“It’s practical. The first two missions have been living on space rations while they build the basic settlement bays. There’s room to plant gardens now and – yes – raise mealworms for protein. Fish, too, if that sounds better to you. But the exciting part is the exploration gear – we’re taking the rovers and walkabout suits I designed at Dad’s company.”

Her father’s early business ventures had all failed, according to her mother. But the robotics company he started about the time she was born took off. Her mother wasn’t interested in robotics or business and Emma couldn’t remember a time when her father wasn’t working long hours. It was no surprise that her parents divorced shortly after she started college.

It was her father who got Emma interested in Mars. After she finished her engineering degree, he gave her a job on his contracts with the colony. All his talk about humanity’s destiny in space inspired her to apply. That, and the chance to personally test the robots on the Martian surface. Emma’s enthusiasm bubbled up as she talked about the walkabouts.

“The adjustable seals on the walkabouts were a real challenge. I had to…”

“It sounds very interesting, dear. I’m sure your father’s thrilled, though I haven’t heard from him lately.”

Emma sighed. She should know better – Mom could only listen to technical talk for so long.

“I’ve arrived at the gallery opening, so I’ve got to go. I’m going to miss you so much,” her mother smiled through tears. “I’m proud of you and so happy you’re following your dream.”

Emma flopped across the coral and turquoise bedspread as the link closed. Her mother never shared her zeal for engineering – Emma was her father’s child in that way. He’d encouraged her, though mostly from a distance. She’d treasured every message he sent her and saved them all. Sometimes it was hard to tell where her father’s passion stopped and hers began. Emma hoped she was following her dream.

***

Emma expected to have the next morning to herself, but as she dressed her link beeped, summoning her to a meeting, immediately. She’d already pulled on a tee-shirt and old jeans – comfortable old jeans she’d leave behind. She decided not to change and headed for the room noted in the message, trying to ignore her growling stomach.

The room was a top floor suite and, as she lifted her hand to knock, the door opened. She didn’t recognize the man who tipped his head politely, but he was dressed in khakis and a Colony Mars blue-striped ground-support shirt.

“Please come in. Your crewmates will be here shortly.” He waved her inside.

Emma stepped into a large sitting room and looked past the upholstered chairs to a splendid breakfast buffet set next to a round table across the room.

“Please, help yourself.”

She was starting on a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs when her crewmates arrived and happily filled plates for themselves.

“I don’t know what this meeting’s about,” James said, spearing a perfect strawberry and holding it up. “But I approve.”

The doorman bustled around, pouring coffee for each of them and offering a carafe of warm cream.

“Mademoiselle.” He turned, holding the coffee pot balanced against a crisp white napkin.

A slight, elderly lady in a formal business suit quietly entered from the suite’s next room.

“Mademoiselle Lambert, may I present Claude Krueger, Liz Brown, James Moore, and Emma Winters.” He nodded at each of them in turn. “Ladies and gentlemen, Mademoiselle Amelia Lambert.”

Claude leaped to his feet and the others followed. Mlle Lambert was Colony Mars’ benefactor, a wealthy reclusive patron whom no one, as far as Emma knew, ever met.

She stepped forward and shook Claude’s outstretched hand, shook hands with Liz and James, and turned to Emma.

“I’ve looked forward to meeting you, Doctor Winters. I’ve known your father for many years.”

“My pleasure,” Emma said uncertainly.

Damn, she thought. Does everyone know my father?

“Jason, champagne for my guests, please. Then take something for yourself and relax.”

The doorman pulled an ice bucket and bottle from under the buffet tablecloth and popped the cork. He conjured crystal flutes and served Mlle Lambert, then Emma and the other settlers before retreating out of sight. Emma didn’t think he relaxed.

“I might inquire how you like your rooms,” Mlle Lambert said after a sip. “But I imagine you are more interested in why I asked you here.”

“Why, yes, mademoiselle,” Claude said. He had recovered his manners faster than the others. “It’s a great honor…”

“Rather a great surprise, don’t you think?” Mlle Lambert’s eyes sparkled over a mischievous smile. “I have a special request. I thought I’d deliver it in person.

“You probably know the settlers at Kamp have cut off their live video feeds. The colony’s artificial intelligence system is recording everything, but the settlers have voted to limit the feed to Earth. Right now, we have access to one imager in the plaza bay, the most public portion of the nederzetting.”

“It’s understandable, isn’t it?” Liz asked. “They want privacy after Ingra’s death.”

Mlle Lambert pulled a pad from her pocket, laid it flat on the table, and called up Earth Scan’s 3-D image. A miniature sphere glowed and spun above the pad.

“Understandable, oui. But it does not help us enlist public support. It does not help with fundraising.” She tapped the pad again and a bar chart, like a handful of pencils, floated in mid-air.

“Here are donations, here’s time.” She ran a finger along each axis. “People are frustrated when they can’t see the settlers, can’t hear their reactions. They lose interest and that reduces donations.

“Colony Mars plans to keep sending settler missions forever, but in practice, we can only send missions as long as we have funding. My people use Kamp’s feeds to produce weekly infotainments. Access to live feeds is a perk for our premium subscribers.

“I can fund Colony Mars for a time. Sale of my Tuscan estate, for example, bought your transport ship. But it’s my hope that Colony Mars will continue to send settlers long after I am gone.” She closed the chart display.

“I am a determined woman. All the women in my family are willful. When we choose to accomplish something, we succeed, and that is the attitude needed to colonize Mars. Technology may keep you alive, but attitude will allow you to thrive.”

“Perhaps you understand the situation,” Mlle Lambert said. “Once you join Kamp Kans on Mars, you will favor the video feeds.”

Liz and James were nodding and Claude looked determined. The little speech reminded Emma of her father, but she didn’t need more inspiration.

“I don’t think the first thing I want to do is start an argument with the other settlers,” Emma said.

“Very wise. Keep in mind the colony is not yet self-sustaining. We will launch ships through mission seven, one every twenty-five months – then we must skip a few years, so ships don’t arrive at the height of Mars’ storm season. After that… we shall see. By then, perhaps there will be enough resources on Mars for the colony to survive without us.”

“Mission seven. We’ll have twenty-eight settlers on Mars by then,” Claude said.

“Twenty-seven.” Liz corrected him tightly.

Mlle Lambert sipped her champagne for a moment. “Twenty-seven are not enough settlers to satisfy the experts, as you know. But, with luck, perhaps enough for humanity to have a permanent home on Mars.” She rose from her chair.

“Of course you must do what you feel is right.”

Jason appeared and opened the door behind her.

“Please enjoy your breakfast,” she said. “A human foothold on Mars has been my lifelong dream, and you are making it come true. You have my gratitude.”

She gave them each a nod, turning to Emma last.

“Your father never mentioned me, did he?”

“I’m afraid I don’t remember…”

“Quite right. Good luck Doctor Winters.” Mlle Lambert stepped through the door and Jason followed her. There was the soft click of a lock turning.

“Well, I’ll be…” Claude continued to stare at the closed door.

“She seems to like you,” James said to Emma. “What do you think of this business with the vid feeds?”

“It’s close to eight months before we enter Mars orbit. Maybe things will sort themselves out,” Emma said. She walked back to the buffet and picked up a wedge of watermelon.

“It’s seedless, Liz.”

“Too bad. We don’t have any watermelon seeds with us.”

***

That evening, Emma dressed for the farewell event in a standard settler’s uniform: a rust and blue striped rugby shirt over khaki cargo pants. The version she’d wear on the spaceship and at Kamp Kans were stain-free, self-cleaning fabrics knit from fibers infused with a slippery film.

At least I won’t be doing laundry for years to come, she thought, and sadly rubbed the soft cotton shirt between her fingers.

Emma didn’t usually worry about how she looked. In robotics labs, fashion consisted of colorful frames on safety glasses. Outside the lab, Colony Mars had been dressing her for a couple years. But she had cropped her dark hair very short for the journey to Mars and the severe cut didn’t enhance her square, pale face. Tonight was a party, so she tried to fluff her hair out around her ears but didn’t bother with makeup – there’d be none on Mars.

There was just one last duty before the farewell party, a final press conference in the convention wing of the hotel.

She was walking down the hall with the rest of the crew when her link beeped.

“Huh, it’s Dad,” she said to Liz. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

Her father’s face appeared over the link. He usually wore a solemn expression, but tonight he looked grim.

“I’ve kept your old job in robotics open,” he said. “If you’d like to come back.”

Emma stopped dead in the hallway.

“What? You encouraged me to go. What about all those speeches you made about mankind’s destiny? What about having a member of our team to operate the walkabouts?”

“I’ve got more Mars contracts right here at home you can work on.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll miss you, hon.”

“We never see each other anyway.” Emma waved her hands in exasperation. “We can trade messages – just like always, every couple months.” She felt inexplicably angry.

“We have dinner sometimes, when I’m in town.” He sounded hurt.

“You want me to give up a dream for dinner once a year?”

Liz glanced over a shoulder at her. Emma took a deep breath and forced the shrillness from her voice.

“Look, Dad. I’m going. And nothing changes between us.”

She hurried to catch up with the crew and whispered to Liz what her father said.

“His wavering is natural,” Liz said. “It’s hard to say goodbye. But we’re lucky. We’ll have contact with our families and all our favorite book and picture files. That’s more than most immigrants had throughout history.”

“Does it give you second thoughts? Saying goodbye, I mean?”

“I’ve cried, but – no. Mars or bust.” Liz shook her fist with a thumbs-up.

“What about Ingra? You have medic training – do you think someone else will go crazy?”

Liz shook her head. “It’s worth the risk. Expanding the spiral of creation is the purpose of life.”

Emma retreated to her own thoughts. Liz was a member of SolSeed, dedicated to seeing life take root among the stars, as she’d often said. Mars was humanity’s first step and Liz wasn’t worried about personal deprivations. Emma didn’t have a cosmic purpose to comfort her.

In the small conference room, Colony Mars functionaries ushered the crew to seats at a long table. Logo-festooned banners hung from the table and two staff psychologists were already seated. A dozen folding chairs faced the table, all empty. Emma was used to these internet press meetings. As each journalist was tapped by the coordinator, their hologram would pop up in a seat and a question would read into her ear in English, usually out of synch with the lip movements of whatever language the questioner spoke.

Most questions tonight were about Ingra’s suicide and Emma was happy the psychologists answered those. They offered assurance that the colony would survive – serious answers tinged with optimism. Finally there was a familiar question, one asked all the time.

“Why go to Mars? You’ll be the most isolated humans who ever lived. Why, especially, do you want to live the rest of your lives there?” The image of a pale slender man blinked on to their left and the crew turned their heads. It was easier to be engaging if they pretended he was really there.

James was their spokesman.

“Half a millennium ago, Europeans set out to conquer the Earth for gold, glory, and god. Well, Claude wants to study Martian rocks – that’s our gold. And Liz is called to carry life to a barren world, a sacred obligation to god. But me and Emma…” Here she smiled at him on cue. “We’re in it for the glory. The pure, glorious idiocy of the challenge.”

Emma smiled out at the room’s cameras, ignoring the tension in her body. It was a relief when the conference ended.

They walked straight down the carpeted hall to a large ballroom. Emma paused at the door to look around. There were spaceport officials and Colony Mars executives glad-handing significant donors. The ground support team members were milling around quietly, easy to pick out in shirts striped with two shades of blue instead of the settlers’ blue and rusty red.

A Colony Mars official gestured the crew to join him, grabbed a microphone, and the crowd quieted. After a short eulogy to Ingra, he called for a minute of silence.

When the minute passed, he raised his fist defiantly.

“Ingra’s sacrifice is not in vain. On to Mars.”

“On to Mars!” The crowd shouted back to him and the party began.

Someone pushed a flute of champagne into Emma’s hand. She abandoned her usual restraint, had a second glass of champagne, and switched to tangy margaritas when waiters carried around platters of cheese-stuffed jalapenos.

“Settlers, we need you at the front of the room.” The climax of the evening was coming. An officious looking man in a suit waved his hand solemnly and the crowd parted. Emma walked to the front of the room with her crewmates.

“These are the final Colony Mars contracts,” the man said. For an oddly archaic effect he held long paper pages over his head. Liz pushed forward to sign first and the rest of the crew queued up behind her. Emma had already read the contracts and scribbled her name awkwardly with a pen. She understood there was no chance of returning from Mars, understood her survival was not guaranteed, and relinquished her right to sue Colony Mars for any reason.

“Okay everyone. Gather round.” The support team lead hopped up on a chair and swayed precariously. “It’s time for the electronics swap.”

Unexpectedly, Emma felt a wave of panic battle the tequila in her bloodstream. She’d had pads and tablets, games and links for as long as she could remember. But batteries were a luxury on Mars, used only for necessary applications. All her earthly devices would be left behind.

One by one, with laughing and back-slapping, the crew of Settler Three relinquished their devices. Contact lenses were popped out and snapped into cases, earpieces and pads dropped into a box.

“We don’t leave our intrepid settlers out of touch,” the support lead shouted over the crowd. He passed Emma a hand-sized pad. With a cord. An electric power cord. And then he handed her an extension cord.

Emma stared at them. Of course, she used corded pads in training, but the permanence of surrendering her own devices hit home. She wandered towards the edge of the crowd, to the ballroom wall, and plugged into an outlet.

Her pad powered up immediately and, already set to Emma’s account, popped open a message.

“Hey! I’ve got a message from Kamp,” she called out. People nearby turned towards her and the room quieted when they saw her puzzled face.

“They want a cat.”

“What?” The support lead tumbled off his chair in confusion.

“They want us to bring them a cat.” Emma held up the pad, hitting the end of the power cord.

“You mean a pet-bot?” someone asked.

“No. A real, live cat. They say they’ve arranged for a kitten to be delivered to our ship from Lunar Base.”

Fuzzy with margaritas, Emma was perplexed. Maybe the settlers on Mars were going crazy. But somewhere in the crowd, she was sure Liz was smiling.

***

Emma slipped out of the party and wandered down the hall to a hotel coffee shop. Real coffee with real cream was something she’d miss and she didn’t trust the stuff they’d brew at the launch facility. This could be her last cup.

She chose a small table in the far corner of the room. As she nursed her cup, Claude Krueger came in. She wasn’t sure she wanted any company and certainly not another settler. But he spotted her, carried his coffee with exaggerated care, and sat at her table.

“Hi, Claude.” Emma forced a smile. “Enjoying your last night?”

“They’re all so damn happy in there.” He gestured vaguely towards the hall. “They’re not going to Mars. You and me. James and Liz. We’re going. I don’t even know most of those people.”

“The party’s not really for us – it’s a Colony Mars event. Didn’t you take your vacation last month with family?”

He didn’t seem to hear her.

“Wanna see a picture of my wife?” He fumbled in his pocket and laid out his pad, then swore. “I forgot. This thing needs to be plugged in.”

Emma leaned forward, realizing she’d been wrong – she did want to talk.

“Do you ever have second thoughts? Regrets?”

“Second thoughts, no. Regrets…” He slurped at his coffee and wiped a hand across his mouth. “I’ve had regrets since I filled out my application. I was happy, had a good job, good life.” He fingered the pad.

“So why did you apply?”

“For a chance to go to Mars!” He sat back in the chair and spread his hands out helplessly. “How could anyone ignore the opportunity? I’ve taught classes on Martian lithology, designed experiments to determine its mineralogy. If I had the chance and passed it up, how could I live with myself?”

“I helped develop the rovers and walkabouts we’re taking,” Emma said. “That’s what gives our mission its name – the Explorers. That’s what I’m going for.”

Claude waved his hand dismissively.

“Tools. Just fancy versions of my rock hammer. It’s the rocks. The damn, blasted rocks, that are important.”

“Claude, you’re drunk. You should go to bed.”

Without another word, he snapped the lid on his cup, pocketed the pad, and tottered out of the shop.

He’s right, Emma thought. Who could pass up the chance to go to Mars? She felt a tingle in her gut, maybe thrill or maybe fear.

I’ve got grit, she thought as she watched the barista serving another late-night customer. It’s my best feature. When I say I’m gonna do something, I do it. I got top grades in school because I’ve got grit and that made Mom and Dad proud of me. I got my PhD because I’ve got grit, and my advisor was impressed. Now I’m going to Mars for the rest of my life because I’ve got grit. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.

She stared at the coffee counter. Next to the pad where people tapped their links to pay was a jar with a few coins.

Whenever she dithered over a decision, her mother told her to flip a coin. You’ll be relieved at the result or disappointed, she’d say, and either way that tells you how you really feel.

“I’m borrowing a coin,” she said to the barista. “Just for a minute.”

She tipped the jar, fished out the largest coin, set its edge against the counter, and gave it a spin. As the spin turned to a wobble, she whispered.

“Heads for Mars, tails for Earth.”

The coin fell and she knew. The tightness inside her vanished. Emma was going to Mars.

#Aboriginal Memory Thousands of Years Old #citizenscientist

Myths and legends usually belong to folklore, but Australian aboriginal tales helped scientists find meteorites and traces of a tsunami. One “legend describes the landing of a meteor in Australia’s Central Desert about 4,700 years ago.” Anglo prospectors found pieces of meteorites and the area is now Henbury Meteorites Conservation Reserve. Another led to the discovery of “a layer of ocean sediment, about 2m down… between 500m and 1km (0.6 miles) inland” that indicate a tsunami.

These indigenous peoples may have unique legends. Isolated on Australia for 50,000 years, they avoided the invasions, diasporas, and assimilation that swept larger continents. They also developed “very particular beliefs about the importance of telling stories properly… [and] employ a rigid kin-based, cross-generational system of fact-checking stories… rock paintings, drawings and engravings.” Stories that retain their basic truth for five thousand years and more leave me – holding my pile of defunct floppy disks – in awe.

With their devotion to accuracy, these Australians were the first citizen scientists, before science was invented. And they have more to teach us.

“Earlier this year, another team of researchers presented a paper arguing that stories from Australia’s coastal Aboriginal communities might ‘represent genuine and unique observations’ of sea level rises that occurred between 7,000 and 11,000 years ago.” This may be the only human record we have from the end of the last ice age.

Thanks to bbc.com for their article, which is quoted above.

#GloryOnMars Chapter One continues #OnMars

Dust storms can blanket Mars in a few days – storms cause a lot of trouble in my novel. Thanks to NASA for this image.

Read the beginning of my new science fiction novel about the first colony on Mars. If you missed the opening, start here.

Chapter One: Incident (continued)

“If we’re all ready? My name is Emma Winters and I’m a Martian settler. Colony Mars will launch me and three crewmates into orbit, to board our transport ship, in twelve days. I’ll be your guide today through this replica of the Kamp Kans colony habitat or nederzetting, as our Dutch founders call it.”

“Wow,” one of the bouncy boys said. He was clearly a fan, dressed in a rugby shirt from the gift shop, striped in rusty red and sky blue just like Emma’s uniform. “Are you really going to Mars and never coming back?”

“Yup. This is my last day in Holland.”

She watched everyone’s eyes widen at that. Public outreach, like this tour, was part of every settler’s training, right up to their final day. Personal contact kept public interest, and donations, high.

The urgent message tugged at her thoughts and she pushed it away again.

“Why don’t one of you young men open the door and we’ll begin.” She gestured towards the white metal hatchway. The younger boy hopped forward, stopping just before he ran into the door.

“Hey!”

“You have to open it manually, dummy,” his brother said. He looked back at Emma proudly. “All the nederzetting’s doors are manual.”

“That’s right,” Emma said with a practiced smile. The tour always started with the surprise of a manual door. “Colony Mars uses the latest technology for some things, like construction, communications, and power generation. But technology requires lots of support – spare parts and maintenance. There are only eight people on Mars now; twelve when my mission gets there. Human beings are flexible – our hands can replace dozens of servomechanisms.”

The boy scowled at her skeptically.

Emma held up a pencil she carried especially for this bit.

“Even simple tools are complex to manufacture. The wood for this pencil is logged in Oregon, in America. The graphite in the center is mined in Sri Lanka. Zinc and copper mines in Africa produce metal for the cap, and the eraser combines Italian pumice with Canadian rapeseed oil.” She waggled the pencil at the crowd.

“I haven’t mentioned the machines needed to produce it, or the thousands of workers and machines, and piles of parts at every step. On Mars, we use low tech wherever we can.” Emma cranked the wheel-shaped handle, and stepped to one side as she heaved the door open.

“Even ‘no tech’. These hinges will still be working a hundred years from now.”

She pushed the urgent message firmly out of her mind as the group stepped and stumbled over the door frame.

***

The quickest route to the mission control building was through the visitors’ center. From the lobby, tourists turned right to enter the museum and gift shop under a banner in four languages.

Mars is ons geschenk aan de toekomst

Marso estas nia donaco al la estonteco

Mars est notre cadeau pour l’avenir

Mars is our gift to the future

Instead, Emma stepped behind the lobby’s welcome desk and laid her hand on the scanner. Rather than the usual cheery greeting, the attendant gave her a grim look as the door clicked open. Alarmed, Emma hopped on the walkalator to the Mars-Earth Exchange building.

She could see the MEX antenna farm from the glass corridor. Today a group from the nearby European Space Agency’s Technology Center stood at the base of the main dish – their visit had been the day’s news at breakfast – but she was too distracted to wonder if they’d award another grant to Colony Mars.

She entered at the back of the stadium-style control room, behind two dozen stations, each arranged like an individual cockpit, and scanned the room looking for Filip Krasts, today’s MEX shift lead. The front row, on the lowest level, was fully occupied as always by controllers running the satellite systems that orbited Mars – communications, tracking, weather, and solar power. On the second level technicians were installing upgrades for Emma’s Settler Three mission.

Filip hurried across the top level, past the special projects stations, and ushered Emma to a glass-walled cubicle against the back wall.

“There’s been a… an incident at Kamp. This isn’t easy to watch.” He steered her to a video console in the corner and hit playback. “There’s been a death.”

Emma sat up straight and felt her fingers go cold.

On the vid, the colony’s doctor, Ingra, was stepping through a door in the habitat module. The lights were dimmed and the audio feed was silent except for the hum of life support systems – it was pre-dawn at the settlement. She crossed to the airlock, slowly rotated the door handle, and hopped through.

Filip tapped the console, switching to the playback from inside the airlock. Ingra sealed the door and looked up at the imager.

“By the time this transmission reaches Earth, I’ll be gone. I can’t stay here any longer. There’s a huge old oak tree beyond that little crater. No one can see it, but I know it’s there. I’m going home. Forgive me.” She walked past the surface survival suits hanging on the wall and reached for the airlock control panel.

Emma felt the knot tighten in her stomach.

“She can’t get out without a suit, can she? The airlock pumps are slow; she’ll pass out before the pressure is low enough for her to open the outer door, right?”

Filip pointed back to the screen.

Ingra stepped to the outer door. With a pull and twist, she opened the emergency decompression valve. Red lights began to flash and ice fog clouded the imager lens. Ingra fumbled with the outer door and it opened. With her last lungful of air, she pulled the door open and disappeared into the darkness.

Emma looked up, not quite believing what she’d seen.

Filip shook his head.

“We sent alarms from here as soon as she entered the airlock, but she was gone before anyone received our transmission. With the outer door open, this airlock is disabled. Two of the settlers have already suited up and gone out the other way – to retrieve her body.

“You’re the last one to view this,” he said gently. “The rest of your mission crew’s in the settlers’ lounge. If you’ll wait there, we’ll keep you posted.”

The lounge was at the opposite side of the building, down the main hall. Murals would one day cover the walls with a panel for each mission, but there were only six missions sketched out so far, with only Settler Missions One and Two completed in full color. Emma walked past pictures of the early robotic missions, the satellite system with its orbiting power station, and the squad of construction robots on the Martian surface. She stopped at the Settler One panel, The Pioneers, to look at portraits of the first crew. Ingra’s face was smiling and confident. The first four settlers had lived in their ship, its modules reassembled on Mars’ surface, for two years while building the large plaza bay and utilities spine to tie in future habitat bays.

Settler Two’s panel, The Builders, depicted four more smiling portraits. Their transport ship had also been disassembled when it reached Mars. All the ships would be cannibalized this way. There was no going back to Earth.

I don’t understand, Emma thought as she gazed at the panel. Sure, the first two years were tough when they only had the three modules brought down from their transport ship as habitat. But the second transport added three more modules and they constructed the plaza bay – pressurized it with air harvested from the wisp-thin Martian atmosphere. Things were looking up.

She reached up to the diagram and touched the airlock Ingra had used. That airlock was probably still open to the frozen Martian atmosphere. Dust would drift in, she thought idly, and the it would be hard to clean the airlock seals.

She jumped when the link beeped in her ear.

“Hi Emma. It’s Malcolm. Have you heard about Ingra? Are you okay?”

His face, projected into Emma’s left eye on her contact link, was pinched with worry.

“Malcolm – you can’t contact me in real-time.”

Malcolm and the rest of the Settler Four crew were nearing the end of an isolation evaluation, sealed inside a mock-up of a transport ship’s habitat module. Anyone who came out early would lose their place on the mission.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there with you.”

It was like Malcolm to risk a direct message. But then, he was a charmer and could talk his way out of anything. At a party, he was always in the middle of the crowd, offering jokes and compliments. They’d spent a long weekend together once, he’d planned everything and she had fun.

She walked past her own portrait – Settler Three, The Explorers – to the Settler Four panel, stood so his image overlaid his portrait, and hugged herself. “But we can’t talk like this. Send a time-lagged message.

“And don’t worry about me. I’ll be with my mission crew.”

***

Emma walked into the settlers’ lounge, past a table to a circle of sleekly upholstered chairs pulled close together. Liz Brown jumped up. She had her hair pulled back in a streaked blond pony-tail, which emphasized her long face. Her eyes were red and, as Liz hugged her, Emma felt tears form in her own eyes. Emma had never lived outside the United States before she joined Colony Mars and Liz was Canadian, so they were comfortable together. Emma had volunteered to cross-train as Liz’s back-up farmer and they made a good team.

Emma sank into the empty chair next to Liz. On her other side, James Moore gave her a wan smile. The son of a diplomatic family, he’d lived all over the world and was generally irrepressible. It was strange to see a sober expression on his face.

“Do you think they’ll delay our launch?” None of them were especially close to Ingra – she’d left Earth before they arrived at Colony Mars’ headquarters – so James was as worried for the mission as saddened by her loss.

“I think that will depend on the other settlers on Mars.” Claude Krueger was the oldest member of the S-3 crew. He was a field lithologist and looked the part, squarely built with callused hands. Claude was German, but had been teaching in California when he applied to Colony Mars.

Emma glanced around the room. The S-4 crew was, of course, in their isolation evaluation. Candidates for S-5 clustered together on the opposite side of the room. One of them gave Emma an uncertain nod. Settlers had a say in selecting subsequent crews, and they didn’t know how to react to Ingra’s suicide in front of the S-3 crew.

“Suicide. Could it be anything else?” Claude asked.

“I don’t know.” Liz had talked with Ingra more than the rest of them. She took medic training and they often messaged back and forth. “She sounded delusional on the vid. She was seeing things.”

“She’s Kamp’s psychologist. I don’t see how this could happen.”

“Doctors make lousy patients. Being a psychologist, she’d be able to fake her own routine psych evals.”

“Well, this may be ghoulish, but her death’s sure increased interest in the colony,” James said.

Emma’s eyes snapped up to the Earth Scan sphere spinning in the far corner of the room at the ceiling.

The most sophisticated artificial intelligence used by Colony Mars didn’t run life support on Mars or pilot spaceships; it tracked their public presence on Earth. Earth Scan collected trillions of inputs worldwide, compiled reports, and projected a holographic sphere, a snapshot of how billions of people viewed the colony project.

The sphere was swollen to double its usual size, reflecting increased views. Color coded like a main sequence star, the sphere had intensified to blue from the usual yellow. Inside the translucent sphere, a silver hoop spun to show the rate of earnings from premium content, donations, and merchandise. It was twirling.

“MEX cut the live feed when they realized what was happening,” James said. “And I guess the premium subscribers have been howling. They released it a few minutes ago.”

“Hell,” Emma said. “They released the entire video?”

Emma’s link interrupted her with another message from Malcolm. She answered in a whisper, as if talking out loud would draw more attention to his breach of protocol.

“I talked to one of the women on my crew. She’ll trade places with you, so you can fly with me.”

“That won’t work. The robotic rovers and walkabouts are already packed in the cargo module. And I’m the mission roboticist. I’ve got to go.”

“I don’t want you in danger. Ingra was the colony’s psychologist, for god’s sake, and she killed herself. It’s not safe until the experts figure out what’s going wrong.”

“I’m not going to kill myself.”

“Of course not. But what about the others, the colonists already on Mars? What if another one goes crazy?”

“The colony’s Artificial Intelligence can run psych evals for psychologists at MEX.”

“It’s just that, I love you, Emma. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

His intensity transfixed her. It had drawn her to him originally and a tingle ran down her spine. But they hadn’t spent enough time together to talk about love.

“I’m signing off, Mal. My crew’s waiting for me.”

“You can’t go.” There was a cold edge to his voice.

Emma’s feelings shifted abruptly. His concern had been touching, but he had no right to tell her what to do.

She’d been talking softly, but now pulled out her pocket pad to enter a private reply. Colony experts might decide to change crew assignments. But I’m not volunteering to give up my spot on S-3.

The words looked harsh on her screen. He was, after all, worried about her with good reason. Critics predicted psychological issues would destroy the colony. That’s why Colony Mars decided routine assessments by Kamp’s AI weren’t enough and included a psychologist among the settlers. Ingra’s evaluations of individuals were, of course, confidential, but Emma read all her summary reports. There was some insomnia, fatigue, loss of appetite, and complaints about poor concentration. None of that sounded fatal, but Ingra was dead.

Don’t worry about me. I’m with a good crew and I can take care of myself. You need to take care of yourself, talk to your mission counselor.

“Malcolm,” she said in response to Liz’s raised eyebrow. “He’s flipping out.”

“He was a lot of fun at that candidate mixer party.” Her forehead wrinkled with concern. “Are you still seeing him?”

“Not for a while – we’ve each had so much training, different duty schedules…”

“He should talk to his counselor if he’s upset.”

“That’s what I’m telling him.”

She read the pad again, added a ‘please’ at the end, and hit send.

When the S-3 mission manager walked in he had more details, but no more insight. “I’ve received a few suggestions to change your mission,” their manager said. “But there’s not enough time to explore what unintended consequences could arise. And no one wants to miss a launch window. So the Explorers Mission is still a go.”

James must have been holding his breath. He heaved out a sigh in relief, Liz and Claude nodded, and Emma ignored the tightness in her stomach.

“But if any of you want to drop out… I’ll try to place you on another flight, but I can’t make any guarantees.”

“I’m ready to go,” Claude said and the others agreed.

Emma’s back straightened and her jaw set. “I’m not dropping out.”

“I knew you’d all feel that way.” He smiled grimly.

Emma sat with her crewmates the rest of the day, abandoning plans for a final walk along the shore. They followed reports from Kamp, heard that Ingra’s body was carried beyond the colony’s construction zone for burial, and that the airlock was cleaned and closed. Colony Mars issued a formal statement and began planning a memorial service. Emma was sorry they’d miss the ceremony, but she had to pack – they all did. The crew’s flight to Spaceport America would leave Rotterdam airport the next day.

Then on to Mars.

###

Thanks for reading – Please comment, I’d love to know what you think of this chapter. Watch my blog for the next chapter.

So You Want to Live #OnMars

Mars-One plans to send the first human colonists to Mars – a one-way trip. Here’s what some of the wannabe colonists say:

This is a dream job for me — a dream job! I was always attracted to the unknown, to know what is out there…So I was crazy about Mars. latimes interview
We stagnate here on Earth. We are so predictable… Just think about if we start to live on another planet, what a breakthrough. We will be a totally new kind of human, homo sapiens Martianis. latimes interview
I believe the potential benefits of the Mars One project far outweigh the potential costs it may have to me, personally. I believe these benefits will be scientific progress, which can benefit all of us on Earth. mars-one profile

One hundred finalists have been selected that meet Mars-One qualifications: They are “intelligent, creative, psychologically stable and physically healthy… resilient, adaptable, curious, creative, resourceful, and have ‘self-informed trust.'”

For comparison, here’s some of what you need to become a NASA astronaut:

Have a technical background – at least a Master’s degree – such as medicine, chemistry, biology, or veterinary science, or especially engineering.
Excel at everything you do, whether mountain climbing, scuba, music, dance, or competitive sports
Meet rigorous physical and psychological standards
Be a person others like to work with
A pilot’s license seems to be a big help
Be lucky

I suppose being lucky applies to Mars-One candidates, too. But NASA’s astronauts will come home after their missions.

Polar explorers in the Victorian age withstood incredible deprivations and were sometimes confined to a ship trapped in the ice for months. These were usually private expeditions undertaken to satisfy curiosity and a need for adventure or to claim the glory of being a “first.” But the explorers planned to return home to claim their fame.

Colonists must build a new home on Mars, and I imagine that is easier said than done. In the novel I’m working on, I give my colonists plenty of electrical power and robots to build living space – and things still go horribly wrong. The more I think about it, the harder colonizing Mars sounds.

Would you go?

Colony Mars #OnMars #ScienceFiction

Cover Concept – not quite done yet, but what do you think?

Colonists take a one-way trip to Mars. They may have made a mistake. They must build a foothold on the cold barren planet, but troubles follow them from Earth and threaten them from space.

Here’s the opening of my new novel.

Standard writing advice says the first few hundred words must grab readers. I’d love to know what you think, what you like and what you don’t, so please comment. I’ll post the first few chapters over the coming weeks. Thanks for the read. — Kate —

Chapter One: Incident

European Space Research and Technology Centre for spacecraft and space technology in Noordwijk, South Holland

The seaside resort of Noordwijk was a strange place to train for a mission to the barren deserts of Mars, but Colony Mars had its tidy headquarters north of the Dutch city, inland from the deep dunes of the beach. Sightseers hurried through the visitors’ center to join guided tours of a Martian colony mockup and settler-candidates stopped between austere block buildings to admire the beds of summer flowers that replaced spring tulips.

Emma was about to start her last English-language tour when her link beeped an incoming message – the tone for “urgent”. One family was still coming up the ramp, two young boys ricocheting among signs diagramming the mockup of the colony they were about to enter. Emma turned discreetly to one side and tapped her headset.

“There’s a mission problem.” Emma didn’t check her contact lens for metadata – that was the mission lead’s voice. “Come to the control room as soon as duties allow.”

A chill ran through Emma. Maybe her launch date had slipped. Maybe they’d miss the window entirely and she’d remain on Earth, temporarily reprieved. Why was that the first thought that came to her? Must be pre-launch jitters.

Balancing the planets’ orbital dance with fuel requirements, Colony Mars could launch a mission every twenty-six months. Emma was about to fly on Settler Mission Three and her ship’s fuel and engines were tailored to an especially narrow launch window. If they missed it, there’d be a two year delay. But Emma excelled at focusing on the task at hand, so she turned her attention back to her tour group… to be continued.