by Read, John
I looked back to the screen. We were traveling at twenty-eight thousand kilometers per hour. Our altitude was four hundred kilometers above sea level. The statistics disappeared and the acronym MECO showed up on the screen.
Main engine cut off. We were in orbit (or “on” orbit as they said in the industry). I let my arm float up from the armrest, turning my palm toward my face. As I stared at my hand, I let the realization kick in. I was in space!
Looking out the window, I could see the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Islands where Columbus had set up his first colony in Santa Domingo. The two others in my row leaned over, trying to get a glimpse out the window, too. It was a big window, but I leaned back to let them have a look. For a few minutes, it was silent. I guess space has that effect on people.
There was a ding and the seatbelt sign switched off.
The nausea patches didn’t work for everyone, and I heard a few people losing their breakfasts. I held it in.
The shuttle had five bathrooms and I needed to go. Posted on the bathroom’s wall were three sets of instructions: male number one, female number one, and universal number two. Despite the technological advances, space toilets don’t allow for number one and number two at the same time. I followed the instructions for “Male number one.”
Back at my seat, the two folks from my row floated together, pointing at the Earth below. They noticed me and pushed back from the wall, introducing themselves. They were married, both research scientists from the European Union and experts on in-situ resource utilization. Apparently, Red Planet Mining was pushing to make Mars completely self-sufficient.
For the next hour, more and more people introduced themselves. I hadn’t thought about it before, but I was about to spend the next six months with these people on our way to Mars.
Like me, many didn’t know their Martian job assignments. But based on our backgrounds we could make an educated guess. Half the people seemed to have mining backgrounds, everything from strip mining to fracking. Some were scientists, but there were also meteorologists, communication technicians, and mechanical engineers.
The shuttle’s display instructed us to collapse the seats into the floor, though many of the passengers had done this already. This left a lot more room to float around inside the spacecraft.
I spent my time on the shuttle staring down at the Earth. It surprised me that we spent most of our time over oceans. The Earth is seventy percent covered by water, but you don’t think about that when you imagine looking down from space.
We had gone one full orbit when we got our first look at the Martian transport. Wow, I thought, my eyes widening, enjoying the view from a window. The cruiser looked like a large nuclear submarine, except white and covered in portholes. A blue accent stripe circled the hull. Near the bow, the name Mayflower interrupted the stripe. Solar arrays the size of football fields jutted out from the sides like wings.
Steel trusses extended from the rear of the spacecraft. Attached to this were the engines and the orange fuel tanks. Each tank was larger than our shuttle.
The Mayflower contained just enough fuel to complete a Hohmann transfer orbit, named for the German scientist Walter Hohmann. The trip to Mars requires two engine burns. The first burn drags the spacecraft out of Earth’s gravity well and into a solar orbit. The second slows the spacecraft once it reaches Mars.
Our shuttle neared the Mayflower’s bow, and I could see the docking ring with its probe assembly ready to latch on to our shuttle. Green lights blinked as we drew closer and closer. Silence returned to our spacecraft, only broken by the occasional hiss from the shuttle’s thrusters. The cruiser engulfed us in shadow and our cabin went dark except for the LEDs along the ceiling.
Made primarily of a titanium alloy, the Mayflower had been printed in a manufacturing facility outside Atlanta. When it came out of the printer, it had all its wiring, all its plumbing and all its hatches. The spacecraft was painted and upholstery added before engineers loaded it onto a BFR (Big Freaking Rocket) and launched it into space.
The shuttle groaned and creaked as the Mayflower pulled it in. This was followed by a series of loud clicks. Docking port, I thought. There were some hissing sounds and my ears popped.
There was a knock at the hatch. The door opened and a man floated in.
He opened an access panel and retrieved a microphone.
“Good afternoon!” he said with a smile. “My name is Jason. I’d like to welcome you to the Mayflower! How is everyone doing today?”
The crowd groaned a mixture of “good” and “okay.” Oh God, I thought. I hope we’re not stuck with this guy for six months.
“I said, how is everyone doing today!” he repeated, somehow even more enthusiastically.
“Good,” we all spoke in unison, louder this time.
Then someone yelled “Shut up!” in a slow and sarcastic tone. This elicited a chuckle from several of the folks onboard, myself included.
“Well,” he said, “you’ll be happy to know that I won’t be joining you on your journey.”
“Woo hoo!” came the voice from the rear of the shuttle, followed by more chuckles.
Jason continued undeterred. “I’ll be going back to Earth on the shuttle. I have, however, prepared the Mayflower for her journey and will be here for the next hour to answer questions. In the meantime, let’s go over some housekeeping items.”
Jason held up a tablet and started reading a checklist. “Please collect all your belongings before you exit the shuttle, as it will be returning to Earth this afternoon. For those with checked bags, you will find your luggage on level one.”
“For the first week of your journey, you may access real-time Earth communication from your room’s computer system. However, this system will be turned off after a week, as real time communication will become impractical due to the communication lag.”
“As you probably know, the Mayflower is controlled from Earth, and the ship’s crews are just mechanics. If anything breaks, tell them. If you are too lazy to make your own breakfast, call a drone.”
“And finally, please, be respectful. It is a small ship and you need to get along, at least until you get to Mars. Any questions?”
There was a dull murmur but no one spoke up.
The agent turned, gesturing to the hatch. “Welcome aboard.”
The hatch opened into the forward section, which appeared to be the main common area. I floated in, and paused to look around. People floated past me on all sides like a school of fish.
The area looked like a movie theater. But where you would expect the holoscreen, there were windows. Fifty windows across and twenty windows tall, each pane the size of a car’s windshield. Also like a movie theater, there were rows of seats, except these seats had seatbelts.
A schedule of the day’s events was posted on holovisions around the ship. The trans Mars injection engine burn was set for four p.m. ship time. At a quarter to, the ship’s PA ordered everyone to the theater.
I grabbed a seat near the back, hoping no one would sit near me, but the Mayflower had one seat per passenger, and not a seat more. I’d soon have a neighbor.
Holovisions beside the windows showed us how to use the seatbelts. Above the windows, a countdown ticked down to the engine burn. I fastened the seatbelt and looked out into space. The Earth occupied the bottom third of my field of view. I could see the terminator between night and day approaching as we traveled east over the planet. A minute later, the room went dark as the spacecraft passed into the Earth’s shadow. I kept staring, letting my eyes adjust to the dark until I could see the stars.
I zoned out. It was a thing I had been doing a lot lately. When the things you didn’t want to think about took up most of your thoughts, zoning out was the only answer.
A brawny man in his mid-twenties floated near me. Jaw-length dirty blond hair twisted in space as he shifted his orientation. He had a confident look, a half grin on his face. He floated effortlessly towards his seat, grabbing a handrail
on his way down. Doing a zero gravity chin-up, he sent himself on a flightpath that forced his hair towards the ceiling, but landed him in his seat. It looked like he had done this before.
“Drink, mate?” he asked, holding out a flask in my direction.
For a moment, I just looked at it.
“I’ve got more,” he added, his accent clearly Australian. I nodded and took the flask.
“You know, alcohol and space can mix in interesting ways,” I said.
“That’s the point. There’s wine in the galley. But the computer limits each person to one glass a day. They don’t want us hit’n the turps, if you know what I mean.” The man took another swig, floating now about six inches above his seat.
The countdown showed sixty seconds.
“You better buckle up,” I said.
“Ro-ight!” He said, pulling himself back down, grabbing his seatbelt. He held out a hand. “Leeth.”
“John Orville.” He grasped my hand in a firm grip.
Alarms blared, as thirty seconds remained on the clock.
A loud announcement came over the PA: “Trans Mars Injection in thirty seconds. Please check your seatbelts and put your head on the headrest.”
“Another?” Leeth asked, leaning out of his chair.
“Sure,” I said. I drank again, but mostly to be polite.
I handed the flask back as the countdown ended.
The Mayflower buffeted as it roared out of Earth’s orbit, pressing us into our chairs. Another countdown appeared, indicating the seven minutes remaining in the engine burn.
For the duration of the burn we remained in the Earth’s shadow. It was dark in the theater and we could see stars through the windows. The spacecraft began pitching up and away from the planet and more stars appeared.
Everything shook making it hard to maintain focus. I saw something in front of my eyes. For a moment, I couldn’t tell what it was. I was focusing on the windows, and it bounced up and down in the foreground.
It was the flask. Leeth was holding it out for me again. I reached out and grabbed it. The flask was bound by a strip of brown leather. Kangaroo hide, I thought.
I looked at Leeth. A big grin spread across his face. It felt like he was trying to heal me, trying to lift me from my funk. I watched the Earth getting further away every second and took another drink.
With the engine burn complete, we were traveling at fifty thousand miles per hour. It didn’t feel like it though, since we were weightless again. The engines would not ignite again until orbital insertion, when we reached Mars.
The Mayflower’s holovisions displayed a looping slide show of useful information. The spaceship’s clock used twenty-four hour days, but when we arrived, our schedules would switch to twenty-five hour sols. There were directions on everything from how to recycle our meal packets, to how the day/night lighting cycles worked on the spacecraft.
The galley, located at the top of the theater, allocated each person three meals a day. There were also stations around the transport that would dispense snacks and energy bars.
Leeth unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to face me. “Hey mate, I have a really important question to ask you,” he said, his half smile never leaving his face. “Do you play tennis?” With Leeth’s accent, Tennis sounded like Tea-nis
“Tennis?” I asked.
“Yeah, tennis!” he said. “I read up on the Mayflower. The tennis simulator is first rate. I used to play tennis every day back in Melbourne.”
“You’re kidding,” I said.
“I’m not spending two hours a day on a treadmill.”
“I hear the Tour de France simulator is very convincing.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not French,” Leeth joked. “C’mon then, change your clothes and meet me in the gym.”
Leeth didn’t wait for an answer. He pulled himself into the port-side passageway, grabbed a handrail and catapulted himself towards the staterooms.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and rose out of my seat. Most people had moved to the windows to watch the Earth sink away. I grabbed a handhold and pulled myself into the open space above the chairs. After floating in place for a moment, I pushed off the rail with my feet, feeling like a superhero as I flew across the room.
The starboard side corridor formed a half hexagon, with staterooms on the three shorter sides. It ran from the theater to the gym at the rear of the spacecraft. I floated to the entrance, stopping myself from crashing into the wall by grabbing a support beam.
I pulled hard on two support beams, propelling myself down the hall. I floated quickly at first, until the air resistance slowed me down. I passed a hatch marked “Sun room.” I looked inside and saw what looked like a holographic beach, complete with wind, sand and seagulls. The room used a large picture window to bring in natural sunlight. A sign on the door read: “Don’t worry about cancer, we can cure that.” I rolled my eyes.
About seventy-five feet down the hall, I arrived at my stateroom. A sensor on the door scanned my eyes and the door clicked open. I grabbed a handrail, tucked my legs in, and spun in place before opening the door and going inside.
My stateroom was about the size of a bedroom closet. It had a single porthole the size of an airplane window with a shade pulled halfway down. A cozy sleep-sack was attached to the floor and the ceiling. Across from the sleep-sack, taking up half the wall, was an interactive display for connecting to SpaceNet.
Almost every surface of the room contained a storage unit. There were drawers for shoes, drawers for clean clothes, and drawers for dirty clothes. Most of the room was covered in Velcro.
I found the Oculus headset tucked away in a slot. The room also contained resistor arms as part of the room’s VR system. This was interesting, but I’d figure all that out later.
My bags floated freely in the room. Using a clip, I strapped one bag to the inside wall and opened it. As I reached in, clumsily grabbing a shirt, the rest of the clothing floated out, spreading around the room.
“Dammit!” I said, but laughing at myself. I opened a drawer, picking clothes out of the air and throwing them in. When it was just my gym clothes left floating in the air, I put them on.
Even getting dressed was awkward. I wanted to lean down to pull up my shorts, but nothing happened. Leaning “down” made no sense. I pulled my legs toward me instead and started to spin. By the time I had made two revolutions, I had my shorts on.
With my personal belongings stashed away, I left the room and headed for the gym.
At the end of the hall, I got my first look at the exercise facilities. A sign posted by the entrance read: “Two hours a day keeps the doctor away! Follow your exercise program for optimum health.”
A man in blue track shorts whooshed past me. I followed him with my eyes as he ran up the wall, along the ceiling and back again. The track rotated, giving him even more speed. He was probably doing at least half a G.
The gym was larger than the theater and had just as many windows. I could see the Earth, the whole Earth, over thirty thousand miles away.
I looked “up,” noticing a “ceiling” covered in cycles. Five of the cycles were already occupied, and everyone wore VR headsets.
The sports simulators reminded me of a car factory, a cluster of mechanical arms. These were located in the back of the gym. I found Leeth in this area programming something into a terminal.
“Glad you could make it! Took you long enough,” Leeth said.
“Ah, yeah,” I said, not wanting to explain my suitcase debacle.
“Anyway, does Wimbledon work for you?” Leeth asked.
“Sure.”
“Crowd?”
“No crowd.”
“Smile.”
“What?”
“Smile,” Leeth repeated. “I’m making your avatar.”
I smiled and Leeth hit a button, scanning my profile into the computer.
“This is terminal fifteen,” he said, pointing to four mechanical arms in a mesh cage. “You can take any terminal on
this level. I’ll meet you in the game.”
The terminals were designated by numbers stamped into the scaffolding. The mesh prevented people from hitting each other with rackets, or hockey sticks, or whatever other sports gear they were using.
“This one will do fine,” I said, pointing to number sixteen nearby. Leeth strapped his running shoes into the resister arms. He connected a harness around his waist and over his shoulders. Once this was in place, he reached down grabbed a VR headset, resistance gloves, and tennis racket from a cubby in the floor.
I did the same in my terminal. Once I pulled the virtual reality set over my eyes, my entire perspective changed. The English sky was bright blue, accented by a few wispy clouds. As requested, the stands were empty, and I could see Leeth stretching on the other side of the tennis court.
“Ball,” Leeth said as a white ASIMO robot jogged across the court. “Ball!” Leeth repeated, throwing up his hands. The robot shrugged, it must not have understood his accent. Leeth scrunched up his face and said, “Ball, please,” in his best American accent. The robot tossed him a ball. Leeth grabbed the ball out of the air and wacked it against the ground with his racket.
I took my first step in virtual reality, orienting myself on the tennis court. When I picked my foot up, the resistance went away until I set it down again. This was strange at first. My eyes told me I was moving, but my inner ear told me that I was standing still.
Leeth served the ball. I lunged and missed. “We better rally for a while,” I said.
“Good idea,” he said in a positive tone, but I could tell he was about to get serious.
“Ball,” I called. The robot tossed me a ball. I put out my hand to catch it, and the ball steered itself into my palm. In my glove, I could feel its shape. I bounced the virtual ball off the court, the cork popping sound rendering perfectly in my ear. I tossed the ball up, serving it over to Leeth, who returned it to the left box.
Without thinking, I jogged the four paces to meet the ball, lobbing it to the back of the court. After five minutes of rallying, we were ready for a game.