It’s an odd thing about solutions: when you least expect them or aren’t thinking about them, the answer suddenly appears. It always seems so logical once you realize what it is. And to be honest, I don’t know why it took as long as it did to figure it out. So the problem confronting us was a distortion or warping issue. I don’t know why, but the memory of laying down hardwood floors in a remodel came to mind. If done correctly, the wood flooring needs some time to acclimate to the environment before it gets laid. In other words, and when applied to my current conundrum, we had been trying to fit very recently delivered modules onto ones that had been here for some time. Or, to put it another way, newly arrived modules needing to adjust to the lunar environment were creating the problem. Again, this was a place of extremes.
Once that solution became obvious, I told D. He was all over it; it had to be correct. We soon suited up and then waited in the airlock. We were prepared to see if what I assumed was accurate were true, but especially once we got to work first thing in the morning. Thankfully, it didn’t take more than a few hours to realize my newly found insight was dead-on. We hadn’t moved the last modules delivered fearing that it would be a waste of time. They had been sitting there for weeks. But when D and I used the lift rover to pick up one and then set it up next to the group already assembled, there was no problem; it fit perfectly.
With that newly learned perspective, the problem had been solved. In a way, I was delighted. Now we could get back to work in earnest. No more waiting around; no more questionable morale issues to address with my crew.
CHAPTER FIVE
I’m not a pilot. I’ve flown in any number and manner of aircraft, but I was never at the controls. So why is that important, you might ask? In the last day or so, the ground crew had notified me that the executive director—a man named Clint Lawther—and a group of high-powered investors were “flying in” for a progress review. When I questioned what flying in meant, I was informed that a final version of a new spacecraft was to make its maiden voyage and land on the moon. Right, I thought, and where did the pilot and his crew practice landing in a one-sixth gravity environment? And knowing there was but a hint of an atmosphere, landing on the lunar surface was so different it might as well be what it was: a crazy crapshoot. Were they nuts? It’s one thing to have a test pilot try to land first or even several times, but to do it with an executive director and a bunch of high-rollers onboard seemed insane.
But who was I to tell them about any of this? After all, they were funding this crazy project; they were our employers. Even though I hesitated and had to bite my tongue, I wasn’t entirely confidant that this little review party was going to happen without some sort of incident. But again, I kept my thoughts to myself. But I did inform my team that we had visitors coming; we had to be on our best behavior. Even with that, I had no idea how long our “guests” would be staying. Yes, by then, we had a dozen or more modules connected. They were working to a very limited degree but not enough to be habitable. To be honest, I hoped this little visit would be nothing more than a quick trip and then an equally fast return. I always felt uncomfortable with investors peering over my shoulder or pestering me with a lot of questions that impeded my work and that of my crew.
So the day they tried to land...what could I say? It took three attempts before the pilot had to abort and then retry another approach. As I suggested, there is no atmosphere to somewhat buffer the landing. On the fourth try, the newly designed craft landed, but not without raising a lot of moon dust. I don’t know about you, but I would feel a whole lot safer and more confident if the landing didn’t have a lot of drama attached to it. My crew and I couldn’t help but grin. Dealing with the moon in a commercial sense wasn’t all that easy. It wasn’t like the good old days when a lunar module came down slowly and in a controlled descent with retro-rockets firing the entire way. No, instead, this new craft tried to land similar to old days with the Space Shuttle—but this wasn’t Edward’s Air Force Base. This was a far more hostile and unpredictable environment.
Despite the challenging landing, I knew it would take an hour or more before those on board would be ready to leave the spacecraft. And when they did, I almost anticipated a parade of astonished bystanders. That was to be expected, but especially on first exposure. It was next to impossible not to be awestruck by the view and the sense of otherness about it. Even though most of humanity had already seen the photos shot by the early astronauts, to actually be here and to be confronted by something so exceptional and transformational is beyond description. Regardless of how jaded you are, it couldn’t be otherwise.
Oddly, though, once my crew and I started working here and that was our daily view, it slowly but inevitably became routine. The exceptional became expected; the extraordinary became ordinary. Even with that, we knew enough that we had to be constantly focused on the task at hand. A single distracted moment could easily spell disaster. With that in mind, I felt the need to offer some important guidelines to the new arrivals. We were able to communicate on the same communication channel. I informed them that despite the exhilaration that comes with one-sixth gravity, it was vital that they be careful where they were going at all times. Being vigilant was essential. Most important of all was the warning to stay within the confines of the settlement. Getting lost on the moon wasn’t a good idea—although footprints remain in place and would offer a good idea where they went, but especially if one of them got rambunctious or felt entitled to go wherever the hell they felt like going. But I wasn’t here to baby-sit. It wasn’t my job to watch after a bunch of well-heeled visitors.
Clint Lawther was a well-known and successful business figure. I had read about him and his many business ventures. Clearly, he wouldn’t have gotten this far without a lot of ingenuity and sustained business acumen. But I was never one to be wowed by wealth, prestige, or the illusion that social prominence creates. He, just like the rest of us, was going to have to navigate breathing, going to the bathroom, and any other human function requiring immediate attention. In other words, any sense of hierarchy in this situation was artificially imposed. If something happened, he and the others would turn to us for help and not the other way around. Despite perhaps thinking to the contrary, the newly arrived were in their infancy as far as lunar experience was concerned.
I told my crew to stay focused. Pay no attention to our guests. And whatever you do, don’t get any ideas if women are present. We’ve got to maintain discipline regardless of the possible distractions. After all, as with our work, we were also under inspection or serious scrutiny.
My role soon turned to that of tour guide. As each one of my guests departed the spacecraft airlock, I offered a helping hand. I knew those first few steps and initial moments required some time to become acclimated. Again, there is nothing to compare to the experience. Thankfully, I could see that realization light up in their faces when they became wide-eyed for a moment and then acted like young children next. In my now somewhat jaded perspective, I’d lost that sense of play or wonder that comes with first exposure. But for each of them, that sense of unexpected buoyancy and lightness was a unique and incomparable experience.
With that being said, I let the group be for half an hour or so. The dog and pony show could wait. But while I did, I couldn’t help fighting the sense of aggravation that came with the intrusion. These were tourists in the truest sense of the word. And with that mindset, I sure as hell hoped they didn’t expect my crew or me to act as their servants or be at their beck and call at a moment’s notice. We had work to do. We were busy.
I must say that I was a bit chagrined when Lawther mentioned in passing that champagne had been served on the flight. Are you kidding? Being in one-sixth gravity plays with your mind as it is. And to imagine a bunch of giddy, half-drunk wanderers taking off to who knows where had the potential to become a serious headache—something I had little time let alone inclination to deal with. It was almost like herding a group of loony sheep. “No, you can’t go th
ere, it’s too dangerous. Please don’t step on that, it’s an electrical cord that’s currently in use. No, there isn’t a bathroom immediately available. You will have to go back to the spacecraft once you get out of your spacesuit. And no, you can’t immediately go back outside once you’ve done your business.” You get the picture. This offers a sense of what happens when a bunch of yahoos shows up expecting to be entertained or attended to—something I was rapidly resenting.
I have to say I was taken aback when I happened to offer an offhanded comment about how the crew and I were looking forward to returning on that new spacecraft—you know, when our contract date was up. Lawther, however, dismissed my comment with a grin. “No,” he said, “That ride is only for paying customers.” In other words, we were dependent on the previous version or the typical delivery vehicle that brought us here originally. I guess we weren’t up to expected standards. That comment set me off. For some reason, being treated as a less than didn’t sit well with me. And I had to put up with a handful of well-to-do guests until they’d had their fill or discovered they were hungry—whichever came first.
If it seems more than obvious that my tolerance for this sort of thing—but especially on an active job site—was very limited, you would be correct. I kept wondering why Lawther didn’t herd his flock to some location where they could really take in the view—and get out of my hair...or what remained of it. But he didn’t. No, instead, he wanted a firsthand tour of the assembled modules. Despite my protests that they were not outfitted properly for presentation, he pushed back and said it didn’t matter. He had paying guests that wanted to see the future accommodations. All right, I said, but do keep in mind that this is a work in progress and that the finishes needing to be completed had yet to be done. With that in mind, I became the official tour guide. I warned the interested parties to be mindful of the various cables and construction elements standing in their way. I kept looking back hoping to hell that none of them tripped and fell. The last thing I needed was some sort of unforced error happening on my watch. In a way, I felt like a kindergarten teacher with a group of naïve, easily distracted schoolchildren. I kept reaching out and carefully guiding each one past obstacles they might not see—what with the limited vision that comes with wearing a space helmet.
As we approached the first module, I asked that everyone stop. I noted that there was a door leading to an airlock. That airlock then led to a set of enclosed stairs that would then lead up to each of the subsequent module floors. At intervals, there would be additional airlocks that would maintain the airtight environment. As it currently stood, and until water ice harvesting began, the modules would not have a sustainable oxygen supply. That meant that even though they might look habitable, they weren’t ready for business. But at least they offered a sense of what was to come once they were completed. With that said, I hesitated to take them past this point. Lawther, however, wanted to see more. He wanted to step inside one of the modules to “get a feel for things.” All right, have it your way. Once again, I had to remind him and the others that what they would be seeing was incomplete and was maybe ninety percent of the way there.
I unlocked the airlock door and then pulled it open. The inside was unlit. From first appearances, it was like dark tunnel. I mentioned that there were lights on the sides of everyone’s helmet. They could turn them on with the toggle switch on the left side of their helmets. Keep in mind that these are intense work lights. The last thing you would want would be to shine them in someone else’s eyes—which, of course, happened. Then, it took a few minutes before the offended party could see again. After that, and after a carefully worded reminder that safety was first and foremost, I suggested that one person enter the module at a time. The others could wait their turn. You know...like good kindergarten students.
I went in first and opened the module door. I intentionally stood next to it to keep anyone from wandering beyond that point. I tried to use words like cozy, compact, or intimate to describe the interior. It wasn’t spacious like a pricey hotel room. No, this was a hexagonal room that had bunk beds for two, a bathroom on the smaller side (but not quite as small as that of a commercial jet), and a spectacular, million-dollar view of space. When I was asked if it had a shower, I had to remind them that water was so scarce that even urine was captured, reprocessed, and then purified. Not a drop could go to waste. It wasn’t like being on earth. And considering its weight, it wasn’t worth considering having water delivered by space shuttle. If we couldn’t get by with what the moon could provide, this entire enterprise would soon prove pointless.
That blunt comment didn’t go over well with Lawther. He countered it by saying that “if there is a will, there is a way and that any limitation would be overcome by innovation and as yet to be applied new methods.” In other words, my truthful explanation didn’t fit the sales narrative being promoted. In fact, Lawther took me aside and warned me to keep my comments on the positive and rosy side. These were his paying clients. He didn’t want to scare them off...even if what I said was true.
It took the better part of an hour for everyone to take a look around. For the most part, the only positive I heard was about the spectacular view. It was more than obvious that such a demanding groups’ expectations were not being met. But that wasn’t my problem. I didn’t design this facility or its individual parts. This is, after all, outer space, people; it’s not some high-end, tropical, beachside resort. I could see the disappointment in their eyes. Lawther did mention that, “the living modules were only meant for sleeping. The living and activity area would all take place under the domed roof.” You know, as the artist’s online rendering had portrayed it. There would tennis courts, swimming pools, and spas to rival anything on earth—at least that was the sales pitch being promoted. But I had to question the idea of swimming pools—but especially when water was as valuable as gold or even more so. But that was on them. I just wanted to get this damned thing done and then get back to something resembling a normal life.
Fortunately, and with the promised meal in space almost ready onboard the spacecraft, this dreaded tour came to a welcome conclusion. Oddly, it did feel different to have another group of people to interact with. I did notice the celebrity couple in the group. But all in all, I was glad to watch them take off and then head back to a place where even moment-to-moment living wasn’t such a constant challenge.
CHAPTER SIX
The following week, I was called to an online meeting. Lawther was there along with the development team. It didn’t take long before I received a severe reproof for my failure to promote the facility in the expected manner. I was about to defend myself by saying that my job was about construction and not sales, but I wasn’t provided the opportunity to speak my mind. No, instead, I was going to be replaced by someone better suited for the position. It had already been decided. But when I asked when I would be returning, I was told that I was staying but that this new individual would oversee my crew and me. As soon as he was available, I was to report to him rather than being the lead on this project. When I protested that that wasn’t part of the agreement and was a breach of contract, they did remind me that the return trip would be based upon their discretion—or, in other words, I was essentially stuck here unless I acted or behaved in the way they expected.
I sat and listened to any number of ignorant comments that had little to no bearing on what was actually going on up here. The pace of work couldn’t move any faster even though this unenlightened group of executives seemed to think it could. My team was working at their limits as it was. To push them beyond that were unthinkable, let alone heartless. Oh, and by the way, did I mention that being so remote was beginning to create psychological issues—and that members of my crew were naturally missing their families? Didn’t we deserve a much-needed break? But the development team had no way of relating. They could go home at night to their plush homes and waiting families. They could lead normal lives while we slaved away and lived in what was proving
to be far more prison-like than humanly reasonable. And did I mention how we celebrated the holidays that came and went with next to nothing to share let alone find enjoyable? For the most part, we ignored such things. We pressed on as if things to celebrate no longer existed.
When the meeting was over, my only thought was about escape. How could I possibly get the hell out of here when I was essentially a prisoner? Even contemplating the idea of being a stowaway on the delivery vehicle was impossible. Unless you were in the cockpit, it wasn’t going to happen. Even if I found a way to get on board, the most my spacesuit could provide was eight to ten hours of oxygen. That was it. And getting back to earth took easily twice that long on a good day—and that was only if the landing site wasn’t socked in with poor weather conditions. Otherwise, there would be a delay out in space until conditions improved.
I knew my crew would hate the idea of being under an inexperienced overseer. And when I told them his background seemed to be more about sales and management and not construction, they were prepared for mutiny. Even though I cautioned them that such thinking would prove disastrous, some of them said they would rather spend ten years in prison on earth rather than a day longer stuck at this god-forsaken lunar outpost. I understood. I felt the same way.
So with all of that in mind—and with the sudden appearance of a new man’s face on online meetings—I was dreading the anticipated change. Even with limited exposure, this new guy—a man in his late thirties named Ted—was annoyingly optimistic. He had no idea what he was talking about. He had no idea what awaited him. All he could say was how excited he was to join the team and “to whip us into shape.” Seriously? Our new overseer using that sort of terminology—who was he kidding? This wasn’t a football team. This was a highly skilled crew attempting something close to impossible. When I tried to impart that message in the most polite manner possible, he pushed back and said that he would be the one to determine that. When I asked if he had any construction experience, he hemmed and hawed. He then said something about having once been on a job site. When I pressed further, he said it was the custom home his parents were having built. But that was years ago and when he was in his teens. I wanted to shake him; I wanted to grab him by the collar and tell him he was so under-qualified that he would have no idea what we were doing let alone would know what was realistic as opposed to a fantasy-imposed ideal. This was working under the absolute worst conditions. But it was pointless. Unless a man is living in your shoes, his naïve perception is nothing more than an inexperienced projection. All Ted could envision was this fantasy of his and what it was going to feel like to be living like an astronaut. But if that were the case, maybe he should hang out on the International Space Station and leave us workingmen alone? He was coming regardless. He would be on his way within the next few weeks but only once he’d completed rudimentary training.
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