by T I WADE
“I’m getting very bored,” stated Jonesy to Maggie at about the same time Ryan was having his checkup on Earth.
“Go and take a walk in the park,” suggested Maggie working hard on the bicycle above him.
“How long before we officially retire?” asked Jonesy, who had asked the same question to his wife every 24 hours for the last week.
“One day less than you asked yesterday,” Maggie replied. “I know, suit up and head over to Allen’s ship for a game of chess or something. I have a new eBook I want to read, one Allen iMailed to me from Jamie, so I can command the ship until you return.”
The crew could play chess, or a hundred other games through the ship’s computers, but being together and playing a chess game on a real metal-surface board with metal pieces was far more fun. Also Maggie was the best chess player in the company, and Jonesy could get some practice in with the boys.
“Allen, Michael, I’m heading over once I’ve suited up to beat you guys in a game of chess,” stated Jonesy over the intercom.
“Beat us at chess?” laughed Michael. “We can both beat the crap out of you blindfolded and with our hands behind our backs.”
“Actually Michael, not with our hands tied behind our backs, Jonesy will steal all our liquor,” joked Allen, and which made Maggie smile.
“Want a wager?” Jonesy asked seriously.
“Of course Mr. Jones,” quipped Allen. “Bring over one of your bottles of bourbon or vodka. We’ll be happy to drink it for you.”
“I hope one of you will be a designated driver,” added Maggie. “You know how tough these solar system speed cops can be.”
“Maggie you have Flight Autopilot on command on your ship,” replied Michael. “We don’t need to drive, we just need to follow you.” Maggie responded.
“And what happens if a piece of rock attacks and I need to separate us. You guys will not be much good at getting out of its way.”
“Hopefully we won’t care,” added Jonesy smiling and getting ready to climb into his suit.
The computers on board SB-III, which were controlling both craft on autopilot were always moving them around objects that placed themselves on the radar monitors. Often they were straight ahead and moving slowly, or rapidly coming in at an angle. Nine times out of ten sightings, the computers could control the situation.
About one a week a really fast asteroid caused the computers to set off the alarms where they might need human intervention to dodge the bullet. Since both radars monitored out 400,000 miles, it took a really fast asteroid or piece of rock to set off the alarms, but usually the crew had several minutes to divert around the incoming missile.
Only once had an asteroid, the size of a house, entered their screens so fast that they had less than a minute to react, and even then, a change in direction at 72,000 miles an hour by a hundred feet took less than a second. Only once in thirty years of flying, and that was aboard Astermine II on the second asteroid mission to DX2014.
“What stocks do we have? What should I take as a bet?” Jonesy asked his wife.
“Well, I have only three pouches of Mars wine left. We have two bottles of vodka, and a bottle of bourbon. I think it not wise not to take a bottle with you. You are going to lose it and then you’ll be grumpy for the rest of the flight.”
Jonesy thought as he was putting on his suit. “What is worth more on this ship than bourbon or vodka?” he asked Maggie, smiling.
“Water,” she replied.
Her husband nodded in agreement, and searched for the empty bottle of vodka they had finished the week before. Maggie watched as her husband pressurized in water into the empty vodka bottle from their reserve and twisted its cap back on.
“A good idea my darling, you are going to tell them that its water, not vodka in that bottle?” she asked skeptical of her husband’s honestly. Jonesy smiled at her, said nothing and continued to put on his suit. “Don’t tell me you are going tee total?” Maggie asked, a very weird thought coming to her.
Still smiling he handed her his helmet to crew on. “I do hope we get better helmets for the next flight,” he stated pulling “a red herring across the trail.”
“What next flight, you are retiring right?” Maggie asked.
“Oh yes! I forgot that we do have a life other than sitting in these tin cans,” remarked Jonesy as she slipped the helmet over his head.
Maggie shook her head. Her husband was starting to lose it in her book, and she must remember to ask him about this “ASS” society the others had mentioned. As far as she was concerned, the ASSs in this crew were the male astronauts. She was so right
Twenty minutes later, she watched out of her side windshield as her husband jetpacked over to the other shuttle. “I think the time has come General John Jones to put you out to ASS pasture,” she stated loudly to herself, and tied herself down to do some reading.
“This isn’t vodka!” shouted Allen Saunders over the intercom a week later, and after both men had beaten Jonesy in all of the six chess games played.
“Nobody said it was,” smiled Jonesy from the bicycle back in SB-III. He was about finished for this period’s exercising, and Maggie was below him getting ready to listen in to the usual traffic. It was morning in Nevada, the weaker sun had just set at both bases on Mars, and to the crew in both shuttles it didn’t matter what time it was. They had no sunsets and sunrises, just 24 hour periods that never changed.
Michael Pitt was asleep, Allen Saunders had finished his workout, completed a bag bath, supper and he was also checking the radio for the timed incoming messages from both directions. It was time to have his first shot of his winnings, won by easily beating Jonesy in three games of chess. It had only cost him and Michael two thirds of a bottle of their vodka between the three of them while they had played the six games to win the whole bottle from Chief Astronaut Jones.
Allen Saunders had sat back, smiled at his remembrance of Jonesy’s face, which looked pained as he had handed over the vodka bottle, Allen had felt superior in chess, and was winning something that really hurt his friend. He opened the bottle and took a swig.
“What do you mean it isn’t vodka? I beat you in chess to win this bottle,” Allen replied, waking Michael Pitt.
“I told you never to trust that SOB,” stated Michael, the other shuttle could hear, and Michael headed back to sleep.
“I never told you it was anything but a bottle,” stated Jonesy untying himself from the bicycle, and floating down to his seat.
“But, but…” replied Allen as Ryan’s voice over the radio shut him up.
“Nevada Base to The Martian Club Retreat, and Mattville, do you copy. Nevada Base to The Martian Club Retreat, and Mattville, this is Ryan Richmond, do you copy, over”
“I won a bottle of vodka fair and square. I actually won vodka, not damn water whipping your ass in three games,” continued Allen Saunders knowing that replies to Nevada’s outgoing message would take about 7 minutes, or minimum 210 seconds each way before it would pass them by in the opposite direction.
“I bet you a bottle to beat you at chess. I didn’t say what was in it,” Jonesy replied smiling to himself.
“Crappy cheater,” remarked Maggie to her husband from the right hand seat. “Allen, I will suggest that in future, you check the merchandise before you accept any bets from my husband. I know he will never lie, but bend the truth, yes, and you and I both know there is something that doesn’t tick properly in his brain.”
“And that lousy malfunction is sure getting worse,” laughed Michael Pitt as he floated into his right hand seat for the radio conversation.”
“I’ll never trust that guy again,” replied Allen Saunders knowing that he should have known better, and began contemplating what he could do to Mr. Jones to return the favor. Silence reigned on the two shuttles 100 million miles from earth, as they waited for the radio acknowledgements and reports.
“Martian Club Retreat to Base Nevada,” was the reply from Vitalily, another of Jon
esy’s friends who fallen for the same trick two decade earlier on board America One returning from Saturn to Earth. “Night has fallen. Temperature outside is minus 112 degrees Celsius. Zero wind, a clear day with nothing moving outside. We have cleared the last of the topsoil from the outer plateau, and expect to close down the last shield when the time comes. It is still a blessing to have the shield, we all enjoy walking and sitting outside in the shield and will miss it when we need to take it down. We have nothing much else to report. Our captive is becoming friendlier, and we are working all angles to see if we can get more information out of him. He and I were talking earlier, and he finally decided to try our latest batch of red wine. Much unlike Ruler Roo in Mattville, the commander still dislikes rocket fuel,” joked Vitalily knowing that Ruler Roo was definitely listening in the other base, everybody was. “What was interesting was that glass of red wine loosened his tongue, like it does to the Chief Astronaut.”
Maggie smiled at her husband, whose face muscles didn’t even flutter at his mention.
Allen Saunders raised a real shot of vodka at that remark. This time his shot glass had been filled from their last onboard bottle. Thanks to Jonesy, their ship would be totally dry in ten days as Michael and he usually enjoyed two shots each per day.
“His only remark that was new” continued the radio message “was that if we wanted to see more about his old base that we should swim in the lake under the river. I believe he said that to kill us with the cold, as a sort of joke,” added Vitalily. “Message to Max, I think that you should try and build a canoe or boat or something, and look further into the underground lake of yours. Something about the way he said it made the hairs on my neck stand up. That is end of my message, over.”
“Mattville to Base Nevada, this is Max with my daily report. First Vitalily, we copied that, thank you for the idea but we have already thought about going out on the underground lake further, but have nothing here in the base we could make a floating devise out of. Nevada, I suggest you think of something that can handle freezing water, small enough to fit down the stairs, maybe in pieces, and bring it with you. I was thinking of an air boat, one of those old Zodiac air boats we could blow it up from an air tank once we got it down the stairs. I don’t even think you could carry a canoe down there. I don’t believe there is canoe short, or narrow enough on Earth. A cord tied to a spacesuit, and water wings, the things kids used to play with in swimming pools back home is an idea. Remember the larger than normal door is only six feet tall, the staircase down is circular. We cannot get anything down there longer than eight feet or width wider than two feet. I have tested the fact. We tried to get a pole down there to fit a second light on, and we had to shorten it to get it down the stairs. I’m thinking there is enough dry surface to maybe build something small down there, so an air boat is the best bet, and bring as many as you can. Other than that, this new base is great but I say that every day. The water splitting into hydrogen and oxygen is at full speed. We are processing about 50 gallons of water from the river per day. The crew are happy, and prefer this establishment to the old one. Boss, Ruler Roo wants to say hi.” There was a pause as Roo came to the mic.
“Ryan, Roo here. The three new children are blending in well with the others. I heard what you were discussing with Vitalily, and with Max. I had asked the children about the underground cave a few days go. The eldest boy, his name is Det, has been underground to the lake before for a few seconds. The air was too bad for him to breathe and he nearly perished. Commander Fob didn’t allow anybody down the stairs, except for tribe members elected by him who tried to do what Max is discussing: to float across the water. Det told me that in his lifetime, he had heard of three attempts, each with a single Matt in a blue spacesuit heading down the stairs. They never were seen again, and I suggest extreme caution. Det believes there is something out there that has eaten the three people, but that is also a child’s suggestion. My family is fine, the base very nice and we all look forward to your return. Please tell Mr. Jones that I have stopped drinking, and that he should do as well. Max will be ready to report in again tomorrow, out.”
“Yes, Mr. Jones, listen to your friend Roo, and stop drinking,” stated Allen over the intercom once the message had passed them on its way to Earth via the radio.
“SB-III to Nevada base, Jones on radio,” stated Jonesy ignoring what Allen had just said. “Nothing to report from our two ships. We are on course and ETA LSO: 37 days. Our food supplies are good, water supplies, are good, fuel supplies are excellent, and I will not be taking Ruler Roo’s advice, over.”
“Didn’t think so,” stated Maggie.
“I didn’t think so either Maggie,” added a still grumpy Allen Saunders from the neighbor shuttle. “We are going to be dry in a week, ten days if we ration ourselves further.”
“Don’t blame me,” replied Jonesy.
A boat, huh!” thought Ryan loudly twenty minutes later as the messages arrived one after the other, and in order.
“Sounds like a horror movie,” stated Kathy Richmond sitting next to him. “Those poor Matts heading into the dark unknown and never being seen again.”
“The bad air would have killed them within an hour or so,” added Dr. Smidt.
“I’m not going down there, wherever it is,” added Pluto Katherine. “Lunar, did you go down there?”
“No, but Dad did.”
“Is it that scary?” Pluto Katherine asked her father.
“Not really,” Ryan replied. “No more scary that landing on a moon, or asteroid for the first time.”
“You know Ruler Roo gets excited about most things,” added Kathy.
“Maybe a gunboat, or gun-canoe might be needed?” added Lunar. “I’m sure VIN knows about those things from his Marine days.
“Martin will be landing in his new jet/spacecraft in a few minutes. Dr. Smidt please go through the messages for anything we missed. Also the coordinates of Mr. Jones’ radio transmission for a readout of his location to Earth. I want to see this new design of Martin’s, land.”
The doctor nodded as Ryan picked up his old handheld radio and headed out of Hangar One with his three girls in tow. They joined several others who were already watching the skies round the base.
“New radar contact 180 miles due east, incoming at 680 knots altitude 60,000 feet,” stated the PA system from the control tower.
“Too high for a commercial jet,” stated Ryan, as his radio squawked.
“Nevada Base this is Martin Brusk, do you copy over?” Since there was still far less traffic in the air than two decades earlier, 70 percent less, there wasn’t a real need for radio protocol as yet.
“Martin, Ryan, we have you 180 miles out, over.”
“Roger, old friend that is me descending through 58,000 feet,” replied Martin. “It sure is always a nice view up at these higher altitudes than before. You can see a curve in the Earth’s horizon at 75,000 feet, over.”
“Not as nice as when you see our planet grow from a star into a blue ball,” replied Ryan.
“Yes, I’m looking forward to my first trans-planet flight with you guys next year.”
“You are really trusting your new plasma thrusters,” smiled Ryan.
“Yes, good news, we will be ready to ship the first six in two months’ time, but I will tell you more when I get down. Nevada base control, I will be landing vertical from 30,000 feet, over.”
“Nevada base tower to incoming aircraft, we copied that. I am transmitting our coordinates for your vertical descent to your onboard computer IP over. There will be ground personnel for a visual descent if you need it, over.”
A couple of minutes later, the crowd on the apron could see a white speck descending directly above where a ground controller was walking out with batons.
Ryan’s old Gulfstream, which certainly didn’t look anything like a Gulfstream, or even an old fashioned jet anymore, came down to land.
Compared to the silence of the shuttles landing in their blue shield
s, Martin’s craft still sounded like an old Harrier Jump jet, and all put their hands to their ears for the last few hundred feet of descent.
“Still pretty noisy,” stated Ryan shaking his friend’s hand as he exited the weird looking craft several minutes later.
“Yes, unfortunately not something I have perfected yet,” replied Martin smiling. “I look forward to my new toy being as quiet as my old Teslas one day.”
Martin Brusk’s air/space craft was looking more and more like Ryan’s shuttles in shape, although three times smaller than the smaller shuttles. Its wings were more rounded than the shuttles, and its body looked twice as wide as Jonesy’s Gulfstream stashed away on the island. To Ryan, Martin’s toy looked more like something on test with NASA.
Martin and his co-pilot were taken in for coffee to Hangar One and twenty minutes later Ryan’s Heads of Departments were called in for a meeting.
“Ryan, crew, and scientist of Astermine Co., I finally accept your offer to travel to Mars on your next mission in America Two. My wife, unfortunately has no interest in joining me, and I will be traveling alone. My main interest is to fulfil my dream of one day getting to Mars. I always said that I would never come back once I got there, but with your new mother ship and with Franklin’s new plasma thrusters I am building, and have exclusivity with him, I believe I will be coming home. Also, I hope to travel to Mars with you faster than any man has ever traveled in space before.”
“Our information on flight times and speeds tally with yours I assume Martin?’ Ryan asked smiling.
“I believe yours are more accurate, Ryan, but yes we will top 100,000 knots in space for the first time, and far above it with a 500 ton ship. The 49-day journey my figures show is really exciting.”
“Our figures showed 47 days?” Ryan asked.
“OK. My question to you Ryan, if you use 10 percent less fuel for a 49 day journey, I can’t see why extra 2 days matter?”
“Only on the first flight,” smiled Ryan in return. “Like the Titanic wanting to set records crossing the Atlantic centuries go. One record flight only and then it is least amount of fuel to move freight. We can also load two more days of Rare earth metals.”