The Colonists

by Keith Fenwick

  However, budget overruns meant there was nothing left to fund the science experiments that were the original purpose of the mission. The crew of three was cut first to two, then one: Janice was going to be the sole astronaut.

  At one point, there was a half-baked plan that a badger should fly into space with her, for a reason known only to the governance team. No one else could fathom why a badger was chosen, and nobody was brave enough to ask the grumpy old Admiral who was the project leader what he thought he was playing at.

  In the wake of the fifty-one point something percent of her countrymen and women who bothered to vote in the Brexit referendum, stunning all and sundry with a resounding ‘no' vote, the program was put on hold with indecent haste. Spending was frozen and most of the team were immediately sent on long-term leave. Some of them were in the middle of tricky engineering tasks which couldn’t simply be stopped and re-started. Vital componentry would have to be rebuilt from scratch once the program resumed, but pleas to the higher authority to at least complete these tasks was rejected. Most of the team members could see the writing on the wall and left the program, but Janice wasn’t about to give up without a fight and decided to hold out to the end.

  A short-lived monetary crisis followed the Brexit vote, then life went back to normal for most people. Despite indications that the economy would boom once things settled down, the British Space program was quietly wound down until only a token capability existed. The Admiral and his badger departed for parts unknown.

  Janice believed that the bean counters who had taken over the government in the wake of Brexit believed space exploration was best left to the Americans or private enterprise and took the opportunity to can the program. She was infuriated that the new government was hell bent on beginning a process to dumb down the nation by promoting the underfunding of education (especially higher education and research) and axing projects of real value (like sending her into space). In this they were abetted by the privileged establishment, who saw limiting access to education a sure way to maintain the status quo and their class privileges.

  In her most desperate moments, the project’s sinking lid funding felt like a form of revenge on an increasingly ignorant electorate. If people were stupid enough to vote for Brexit, they deserved all they got. This was Janice’s prejudiced view of the world, one she was careful to keep to herself in case the government came to its senses, fired the program up again, and returned it to its former glory.

  She kicked her heels around the National Space Centre for a few months, furious her chance to get into space had passed her by. Because, as time went by, it looked increasingly certain she was never going to get into space, so eventually she started to look to the future.

  When the MFY marketing campaign was resurrected, Janice had watched with detached amusement, astounded at the gullibility of the people who were pouring into the remote facility in the South Australian desert, vying for the opportunity for a spot on one of the colony missions.

  That part of Australia was a barren, empty, god-forsaken place if ever there was one, Janice knew: she had visited the Woomera complex many times because that was where her own mission would have been launched from.

  She’d watched the first iteration of the MFY program collapse, exposed as an elaborate Ponzi scheme. In its short life, it managed to bilk millions out of the tens of thousands of people on its books.

  Janice knew few of these aspiring astronauts would ever get a sniff of the real thing. Real astronauts had dedicated much of their adult lives to preparing themselves with scientific, military and flight training, just to be considered for the challenging selection processes which preceded admission to the astronaut training schools themselves.

  Even though this second incarnation of the program gave the impression of a much sounder foundation and was building a training facility in South Australia, there was no way she was going to fall victim to the slick sales pitch of the MFY marketing teams.

  Janice couldn’t see where the MFY organisation would get the technology and materials to start building rockets and the end-to-end infrastructure required to send people into space and keep them alive. These missions, by their very complicated nature, had preparation times measured in years - decades in some instances - and the MFY program was proposing much shorter time-lines. This latest version of the MFY project had to be a scam. There was simply no way a reality television show would be able to fund the huge expense involved to bootstrap hundreds of people into space.

  Eventually, the MFY program came calling for her, as Janice suspected it might. The call came within days of the BSA announcing there was no place for her while it transitioned into a more streamlined, agile organisation, one better suited to the current operating environment. The funding had been cut off, conclusive proof in Janice’s view that the inmates were now in charge of the asylum.

  Initially, Janice told the MFY recruitment agency to bugger off, in no uncertain terms. However, they were persistent and generous in their offers. Cooling her heels, at a loose end with no immediate plans, she began to wonder if she was being too hasty in rejecting their overtures without further investigation. A return business class ticket to South Australia with no strings attached finally swayed her to undertake due diligence before rejecting them out of hand.

  Much to her surprise, she discovered a real training program with real astronauts and support staff at the MFY site in South Australia. She’d even met some of them on her previous travels and on training courses at places like the Lyndon B Johnson Space Centre in Houston. She also saw with her own eyes that rockets were regularly and reliably throwing payloads of equipment into space.

  Janice also discovered the strangely elusive MFY senior management team had assembled a team of astronauts who had varying degrees of training and experience and, more importantly, experienced professionals and infrastructure to support them. Janice didn’t care how the MFYers had done it. Once she had been on site for half an hour, she knew she needed to be a part of the team, and start working on the innovative simulators and using the training materials. MFY had tools more sophisticated than anything she had encountered previously.

  Like everyone introduced to the program, she had been seduced by what she saw, and was so excited about being involved, she didn’t read the finer terms and conditions of the contract she signed. Being named as a crew member of the first manned mission a few weeks later was the final icing on the cake.

  One of the key tasks of the settlers would be to expand the settlements in anticipation of housing more MFYers and, subsequently, other astronauts from all the other main players in space. Overseeing the expansion of the settlement was going to be Janice’s primary role and responsibility.

  The habitation units they were going to use on Mars were just what she expected. In the beginning, they would be crowded and noisy and would take some getting used to. But she would be on Mars, waiting for the international space agencies to launch their own missions to join them on the surface of the planet. Despite her previous misgivings, she was thrilled by the prospect of being one of the pioneers of space exploration.

  She also accepted the fact if the mission was successful, most likely she would never walk on the earth's surface again.

  Janice was prepared for this potentially lonely and short-lived opportunity given the brutal and unforgiving nature of the Martian environment. One error of judgement, one equipment failure too many, was all that stood between survival and annihilation for the new colonists. But if she succeeded, she would be remembered for eternity as one of the first brave adventurers to set foot on the planet and establish an ongoing human presence on Mars. Her sacrifice would be worth it.

  There were other attractions. One of the more pleasant experiences was finding the love of her life at the MFY facility. It never crossed her mind, or that of new lover Robert Cameron, himself a victim of cost-cutting of NASA programs, that their relationship was encouraged by some subtle tinkering by an AI who wanted to ensu
re the members of these missions were compatible in every respect.

  Then, with almost unseemly haste, the highly anticipated launch date was upon them. Janice had a high degree of confidence in the success of the mission, but even at this late stage there were still some aspects of the MFY undertaking she found a little confusing.

  Janice thought that by now, the MFYers who had missed out on a seat on one of the missions to the new lunar or Martian settlements would be starting to leave. However, thousands of people still inhabited the vast hotel-like dormitories which had sprung up in the desert to house the influx of prospective space-farers, enjoying an extended break at this luxury resort. Most of them apparently still thought they were in line for a moon or Mars shot, even though they were not involved in any form of training to prepare them for a trip into space and the demands of staying alive on the surface of an inhospitable planet.

  This perplexed Janice and she kept her thoughts to herself, not even sharing them with her new boyfriend.

  There was a clear differentiation between MFYers like Janice who were involved in the real training programs - those who had access to rockets and launch sites and were assisting in putting together and quality checking the payloads - and the rest of the population, who basically had nothing to do. Maybe this was why so few people left.

  This made it even more unsettling when key team members vanished without notice, which nobody else commented on, maybe only she noticed. One of her training group, Morris Thwaites, had literally been there one second, and was gone the next. Nobody knew what had happened to him. No one other than Janice remembered he had been part of the team. The other team members quickly developed a selective form of group amnesia regarding people who vanished, so sometimes Janice thought she was imagining things. But she knew deep down she wasn’t.

  Eventually, she set her concerns aside. The other astronauts and specialists were far too excited about their imminent missions to think about, let alone worry about, the thousands of MFYers who had not made the cut and the people who were unceremoniously dumped from the program. In the end she decided none of her colleagues wanted to do or say anything to jeopardise their chances of a shot into space, so she kept quiet.

  As the date of their mission grew closer and the tempo of the launches hurling the components of their new colony into space increased, Janice, Robert, and the others who were going to Mars grew so anxious and excited that they were all being fed mild sedatives, to prevent them from burning out before the flight.

  They watched eagerly while the pre-fabricated sections of the settlements were moved into place on Mars by sophisticated robots. Once this process was complete, automated systems came online to prepare for the first human inhabitants, who would complete the construction process. Accommodation habs were unpacked, hydroponic farms established, and mining of the regolith got underway to provide raw materials for the manufacturing processes which would enable the colony to become self-sufficient over time.

  One of the rumours doing the rounds was that they were going to mine gold. The story was that it would be cheaper to mine and process on Mars than Earth and so gold would be a viable export commodity. Janice thought various rare earths were a more likely prospect. One of the things they were not planning to do was produce propellant for return missions.

  Once the accommodation habitations were completed, the first manned missions would depart.

  In all the excitement, still nobody thought to ask how the MFY program could develop the infrastructure to support colonisation missions in such a short space of time, and whether such untested technology could and should be trusted. There was a complete news and information blackout regarding the day to day activities at the space port, except when rocket launches were scheduled. The MFY project made sure the media was well informed about the launches and the ongoing success of the missions.

  All anyone outside the facility knew for sure was that nobody was being held against their will, very few people wanted to leave for any reason, and the program was successfully throwing rockets into the sky at an ever-increasing tempo, with a zero-failure rate. This was a feat unheard of in the history of human space travel. The Martian Reality Show was the main source of information and the viewing public could be forgiven if they thought they were watching a soap opera, rather than a reality show chronicling the lives of the future colonists.

  What also helped to keep the MFY program out of the international consciousness were other major global events. Not least the infant Presidency of Ronald Chump who, in complete contrast to expectations based on his pre-election behaviour, was behaving in a remarkably Presidential manner. Other distractions included the slow disintegration of the European Union triggered by Brexit. This was followed in close succession by Itxit, the breakup of Spain, and the staggering burden placed on all Western European nations by the tide of refugees, intent on entering the continent in the hope of a better life.

  Then, at last, it was launch day. Janice would be atop the first rocket to launch, in the first wave of Martian colonists, and number two to set foot on the Martian surface. There was no going back now.

  The first colonisation wave consisted of forty people and would be dispatched on multiple missions. Twenty women and twenty men, most of whom were already in stable relationships. Those who weren’t found their options were becoming more limited day by day.

  The initial crew was the smallest: there were only the four of them perched atop the first rocket. Their voyage would be the fastest and potentially the most dangerous because they were testing new propulsion systems and fuels aimed at reducing the travel time to Mars. If their mission was successful, subsequent missions would use the same advanced propellants and motors.

  Their penultimate day on Earth passed in something of a blur while the small team had their last meals, said farewell via the internet to their loved ones, and underwent final preparations for the flight.

  Before they knew it, the crew were in a cage heading towards the top of the gantry supporting the rocket, where one by one they were strapped into their acceleration couches in the module, their home for the trip to Mars.

  Listening to the final countdown, Janice belatedly realised none of them had been designated to pilot the module or lander. She wondered who was in command of the module and who was going to be at the controls of the lander once they were in Mars orbit and headed for the surface of the planet.

  Something was wrong. She struggled against the straps holding her in place, quickly discovering she couldn’t release them, and lost contact with mission control while the countdown continued in her ears. As the digital readout on the panel above her head spiralled down to single numbers, she felt, rather than heard, the rumbling of pumps starting, and streams of chemicals igniting far below. Then, they were lifting off and the entire vehicle shuddered and vibrated, and Janice was shoved hard into her couch, as if by a giant fist.

  Janice began to panic. From the way the other members of the crew were struggling against their restraints, she guessed they also thought something had gone badly wrong. They were overwhelmed by a thunderous roar and subjected to an incredible buffeting, and the module felt as if it was going to fall to pieces around them. Loose tubes and wires bounced out of their restraining clips and dangled over their heads. Janice could see the desert receding below her through the porthole by her head, and she knew this must be the end.

  Four

  Morris hadn’t gone far when he saw a small truck approaching. Sensing he was being followed, he had peered over his shoulder, and heaved a huge sigh of relief when he spied the vehicle bouncing across the landscape towards him.

  His imagination was starting to get the better of him while he cycled through his recent experiences, none of which made any sense to him. The sheer normality of the sight of the approaching vehicle was reassuring. When it drew alongside, and he recognised the ubiquitous Toyota badge on the grill, he felt even happier, though there was something about the situation he found baffling.
How could he be standing in this empty, green space when a few minutes ago he had been assimilating a training session at the MFY facility in the middle of the Australian outback?

  “Here’s another one of those muppets,” Trevor Todd muttered to himself, driving toward the forlorn figure of Morris Thwaites. In the past few weeks, Trev had run into a handful of men who had been spat out of a wormhole and were wandering aimlessly, close to the small Skidian settlement he had temporarily made his home.

  The settlement had been established some distance from a vast, now mostly empty Skidian city. These waifs and strays reminded him of the lonely, often bewildered drunks he had on occasion to counsel or boot out of his bar back in Portland. Sad cases, mostly men, who were dealing with some form of crisis in their lives. Often, they had lost a job or a business, or a partner had booted them out. Sometimes they were simply unhappy with their lot and were looking for a sympathetic ear, which he happily dispensed, along with a beer. They were rarely angry, resentful, or dangerously violent, but you could never be too careful, especially in an environment awash with firearms and anxious people who thought it was within their rights to shoot first and ask questions later.

  Trev had enforced a no ‘open carry’ policy in the bar, but he knew many of his patrons carried concealed weapons. He knew this because despite his policy, regulars often pulled out their weapons of choice to better discuss their merits and flaws with their drinking buddies. He counted himself lucky none of the stupid buggers had shot themselves.

  The only thing these newcomers had in common was their shared experience of immersion in the MFY program at a technical level. The freeloaders who made up the majority of the members of the MFY program were not represented in this group at all, as far as Trev could tell.