12
Kasei
Charlie Langlais seemed as intimidated by the crowd of people around him, vacuuming up his vomit, as he was by the weightlessness and the strange conditions. He began to cry again and Clara held onto him tightly but tenderly, trying to comfort him.
“We’re almost there, Charlie,” assured Helmut, who was strapped into the seat next to them. “Come on, lean over and look out the porthole. Do you see the ‘Spirit of Mars’ statue?”
The two-and-a-half year old glanced at his dad, but didn’t look out the porthole. He didn’t even stop his crying. It echoed through the cabin; the other twelve people pretended not to be bothered by it. The little boy had cried most of the way up from Aurorae. It had been a long, fifteen-hour flight.
Helmut looked out. He loved to see the inflated statue, which was even visible to the naked eye from the planet’s surface, though only as a moving star. Near it was Embarcadero Station, a collection of retired Interplanetary Transit Vehicles sprouting spoke-like from a central axis of annexes and docking cubes, the whole thing rotating four times a minute to generate Martian gravity. Several hundred meters past the end of Embarcadero’s axis was the caravel Giovanni Piazzi, their destination. The backdrop for the entire view was their home, Mars, Big Red, the one the peoples of Earth had called by many names: Ares, Tiu, Shalbatana, Nirgal, al-Qahira, Kasei.
Charlie’s crying intensified, distracting Helmut from the view. He looked over; Clara made more effort to comfort him. “He’s hungry,” she said.
“Well, we already tried feeding him. Try the pacifier again.”
“He’s too old for a pacifier; it doesn’t work. The only thing left is sleep, but he’s too upset to sleep.”
“This wasn’t such a good idea.”
“He won’t die,” replied Clara, defensively. “We’re almost there.”
“He’s going to have to get used to weightlessness; he’s going to experience a lot of it.”
“I know.”
Helmut turned back to the window; the crying was getting on his nerves. But they were closing on the Piazzi, and it was exciting to watch it get larger and larger. In another hour they were lined up and heading toward the doughnut-hole in the center of vehicle. Shortly thereafter there was a series of clanks as they docked.
“Welcome to the Giovanni Piazzi,” said Charles Vickers over the intercom. “We are clear to open the hatch.”
Everyone in the cabin relaxed; most people unstrapped themselves while Adam Haddad and Thierry Colmar floated to the hatch to clear the docking apparatus away. Charlie stopped crying, especially when his mom assured him they’d soon be inside and in gravity.
Charles Vickers floated into the cabin from the cockpit and headed to the hatch. He was there when the connection was opened and floated through to the central axis of the ship. He entered a cylinder about three meters in diameter and ten meters long. The wall of the cylinder was set up as a “floor.” The three meters of cylinder wall he floated into was not rotating, but beyond a railing the rest was. The railing had three gaps in it leading to three enclosed elevator shafts.
“Welcome, Commander Vickers, to your vessel!” exclaimed Ernesto Gomes, head of the construction crew. He was pleased to see Vickers and anxious to be hospitable.
“Thank you.” They shook hands. Charles obviously was excited. “We have our first team with us and they’re anxious to come on board.”
“They are welcome; permission to come on board is granted. They should take the red elevator to their quarters in sectors 1 and 2.”
“Thank you. Is there anything new to report?”
“No. We have all of sector 1 set up and half of sector 2. Life support is set up for all six sectors, though it is rudimentary for sectors 3 through 6; air and electricity only, no water.”
“There’s a lot for us to do,” agreed Charles. “But we’ve got plenty of time, here, at Deimos and on our way to Astrea.”
“Everyone should get settled in their rooms, then come to the cafeteria. We’ve got lunch ready for you; you must be hungry. And we can do the official transfer of vehicle to you there.”
“Excellent plan,” agreed Charles, with a smile. He stepped out of the way to let everyone else through the tunnel. His crew began to board the Piazzi, maneuvering luggage as they went. Helmut and Clara came through last with Charlie; it was all Clara could do to hold him while Helmut pulled the luggage along.
Clara maneuvered herself down to the nonrotating floor with some difficulty. The velcro on the bottoms of her shoes gripped the carpeting; she walked carefully. “Come on Charlie, let’s step onto the moving floor.” Clara said.
“But it’s moving!” protested Charlie.
“I know. Here.” Clara reached out and grabbed the railing with her right hand while carrying Charlie in her left arm. She hopped onto the rotating floor, which immediately gave her and Charlie a bit of weight. She walked along the railing to one of the three openings where she could step through, toward the red elevator shaft labeled “Sectors 1-2” above the door. She pulled herself along another railing to the door and pushed the down button. Helmut followed a moment later, wrestling with the luggage in the microgravity.
They had to wait a minute for the elevator to return; then the door opened. They carefully stepped in. “Second floor, right?” asked Helmut. Clara nodded, so he pushed the 2. The door closed and a moment later they started down.
“Wow!” said Charlie, thrilled to feel weight return.
“Do you feel better?” asked Clara.
“Yes, much better!” replied the little boy.
It was a slow elevator; the computer controlling it had to open and close pressure doors between every other floor. They descended four floors of the five, then stopped and the elevator door opened. They stepped into a hallway with “sector 1” to the right and “sector 2” to the left.
“This way,” said Helmut, turning left. They walked down the hall—Charlie walked on his own, now that the gravity felt normal—almost to the end of sector 2. Then they stopped and Helmut opened a door. “Here we are!” They stepped into a room seven meters long and five wide and, except for a big bed, completely empty.
“Pretty bare,” noted Clara. “Bare bones. But then, we’re supposed to finish it.”
“It’ll be our quarters for over four years, so we might as well set it up the way we want it.”
“And what’s this, our closet? Oh, no, it’s Charlie’s room.” Clara stepped into a two by five-meter space. The boy’s bed was already inside the door on the right; the rest of the space was empty.
“My bed?” said Charlie. He looked at it, touched it, then said to Clara “But I want to sleep with you and daddy tonight.”
“No, dear, this is your room.” She looked around. “We have some cute wallpaper for it, remember? It has pictures of your favorite superheroes.”
“We’ll put it up next week,” added Helmut. “We have to put together and install all the storage cabinets under our bed, then put together shelves and closets.”
Actually, I think we put the wallpaper in place first, then the shelves and closet in his room to cover the ragged edges.”
“You’re right.” Helmut stuck his head into the other part of their quarters, a bathroom two meters square. “Well, at least the bathroom is more or less finished.”
“More or less?” Clara stuck her head inside. “No wallpaper.”
“The sink, toilet, and shower are usable, though.” Helmut turned one of the sink’s faucet as a test and out came water.
“Where will we put Charlie’s potty? How about over here.” She pointed to a spot just inside the door and the little boy nodded.
“Won’t this be a nice house?” Helmut asked Charlie, and the little boy nodded.
“For a long time,” added Clara. “Two weeks here, two and a half months on Deimos, then after two months, back on Mars, then a month here to prepare for launch. Time is flying fast.”
“Yes, we’ve got to get some essential things set up for ourselves while we’re at Embarcadero and can rely on its backups; and prepare the launch of supplies to Astraea, of course. It’s a pain, but the more we do ourselves, the more we know about everything.”
“I think I’ll envy future missions in the Piazzi, though; they’ll have quarters set up,
horticulture fully functional, completed scientific labs. . . a lot less work!”
---------------------------------
The Yellow Buddha stood serene yet defiant, gentle yet powerful, his
finger pointing downward at Father Mars. As the ceremony came to an end Will
approached one last time. He closed his eyes, bowed slightly, and said a prayer
to the Lord Buddha, a divine Manifestation according to his own religion. Then
he turned to follow the crowd—about 150 people—across the crater to the
refreshment tables.
His friend
Shinji Nagatani, his wife Michiko, and their two children, an eleven year old
girl and an eight year old boy, strolled behind the crowd, talking in Japanese
about the ceremony. Will caught up to them. Shinji turned to him. “What did you
think?”
“Such
dignity and solemnity; I was very moved.”
“It was
beautiful. And I was impressed that so many people came and seemed to enjoy,
even appreciate, the ceremony.”
“Yes, I
think the Lord Buddha is welcome on Mars. Did you ever think you’d live to see
this, Shinji?”
Shinji
laughed. “No. But then, I never expected to spend twenty years on Mars; I was
planning to stay one columbiad, remember?” The two men laughed together; Shinji
had agreed to stay at the end of Columbus 1 because he worried about Will and
Ethel’s health care when they agreed to stay, then agreed to stay at the end of
Columbus 2 when they discovered they were pregnant with Marshall, then Michiko
arrived on Columbus 4.
“Life can
take some very unexpected turns, can’t it?” observed Will.
“Yes,
indeed.” Shinji looked at his children. “And do you realize, Will, I’ll be sixty next year? It’s hard to believe.”
“It is. I
just turned 55 last month. We both have to consider retirement pretty soon.”
“How long
do you want to stay as Commissioner?”
Will
shrugged. “My second term has four years left to it, at which point I’ll have
done the job eleven years. Maybe that’ll be enough. The Trustees want a
two-term limit.”
“But how
would you retire?”
“Well,
there’s always geology. Once upon a time I was called ‘moonman.’ Roger and I
have a textbook and related website that needs updating. And I suppose I’d
meddle in things.”
“How are
you handling the stress right now?”
“I’m mostly
disgusted. We tried diplomatic efforts, then a media blitz. The latter has
persuaded public opinion; the terrestrial public mostly loves Mars and wishes
us well. But the U.S. administration hasn’t budged. So there will be a vote
next week, they will lose—right now it’s beginning to look like China will even
support devolution, and some countries want to spite the Americans—and the
Americans will cut a billion dollars a year from their support of Mars.”
“Ouch.”
Shinji contemplated. “Well, that’s the way it has to be.”
“I think
so. If they cut their support, we’ll greatly reduce our U.S. operation. We
would move the Mars Commission headquarters to Paris or even to here, with the
Paris office coordinating terrestrial operations. We’re probably at the point
when we can cut back on terrestrial support anyway. And I think a century from
now, history will judge that a turning point was reached and the torch was
passed.”
“That could
be.”
They
approached the crowd again, milling around the tables of hors d’oevres, so they
ended their sensitive conversation. Someone approached Will with a question, so
Shinji and family drifted away. Later Will saw Shinji and Michiko talking to
Yoshi Suzuki, who was Michiko’s third cousin.
After
forty-five minutes, the crowd began to thin. Some headed for the conestogas
pulled up outside to take them to Aurorae; others started down the 800-meter
tunnel recently completed to the Dacha, where they could swim, have a drink,
and relax before catching a conestoga from there to Aurorae. Will went inside
the visitors’ center to get his pressure suit and walk to the Dacha when Yoshi
sent a monk to him. He led Will over to Yoshi.
“My friend,
I had no intention of leaving without saying goodbye,” Will said. “I was very
impressed by the ceremony. It was extremely moving.”
“I saw you
pay homage to the Mars-witnessing Buddha afterward,” said Yoshi. “I think it
went well, also. For us Zen monks, a statue of the Buddha is not of high
priority; what we seek is inside us. But the statue helps others because it
spreads the word. The ceremony was very well received in Japan; even in
Thailand, China, and other countries with large numbers of Buddhists it was
watched by many people. We just received an email from one of our sponsors
giving the statistics.”
“Already?
He’s fast. But I’m sure it’ll be covered by CNN, the BBC, and all the other
news channels. We anticipated the likelihood and made it was the focus of our
publicity efforts as well.”
“I heard
that, and we are grateful. How have the efforts to foster devolution been
going?”
“We’ve had
some success, and encountered some difficulties.”
“So I have
heard.”
“How have
your efforts to expand your facility been going? I haven’t heard in a long
time. I walked here from the Dacha; the tunnel is quite a feat of engineering.”
“Thank you.
It took a team of monks and hired help just about one year to complete. It will
be a great assistance to everyone and may even stimulate more development up
here. And the side tunnel to the escarpment is finished; would you like to
see?” And before Will could answer Yoshi rose. Silently, Will followed him into
the tunnel.
“How are
your personal quarters developing?” he asked, as they walked down the tunnel.
Yoshi
pointed down a side tunnel. “Oh, fairly well, but we have concentrated on the
outside right now; the dome, the crater, the landscaping, the Buddha, the
tunnel to the Dacha. Our personal spaces are just caves hewn from the rock and
sprayed with a concrete sealant, then a plastic coating. Very primitive and
basic. Our goal has been to do something that will take the message of the Buddha
to the world; to two worlds, actually. And we seem to have made good progress.”
“Yes, I
think so.”
They
stopped to open a pressure door, closed it behind them, then ten meters later
passed through another. They started down a fairly simple tunnel three hundred
meters long and two meters wide and high, hewn from rock and then sprayed with
a concrete sealant and a plastic coat. A wire ran overhead, nailed to the rock
periodically, feeding electricity to lights every eight meters; sensors
brightened each light and then dimmed it after one passed.
“How’s the
air loss in here?” asked Will.
“I think
it’s down to two or three kilos per sol. That’s still a tonne per year, but we
can afford it. The leakage rate’s slowing down, too.”
“It should
be; I suppose it’ll halve in the next year or two, as humidity freezes up the
pores in the rock.”
“Unless the
freeze-up creates a pressure increase, which in turn causes a blowout. We may
spray another plastic coat on the tunnel.”
They
reached a point in the tunnel where it turned sharply to the right; the Dacha
was five hundred meters in that direction and there was another pair of
pressure doors. But just before the right turn there was another pressure door
to the left marked in English and Japanese “Construction Area: Do Not Enter.”
Yoshi punched in a code, then turned the handle and they passed through another
pair of pressure doors, then started down a short, fifty-meter tunnel that was
still unfinished.
Light
streamed in from the end. As they approached, Will could see a view of the
Aurorae Valley spreading out before him. They reached the end of the tunnel and
stepped onto a ledge that was enclosed by a bubble about twenty meters wide and
ten meters high, its top soaring up and almost touching the rock overhang above
them.
“Wow,” said
Will. “The view’s spectacular, but the rock overhang makes it even better!”
“Yes, this
natural overhang is an incredible spot. We’ll cover the floor with a rock
garden that will complement the view. We’ll use this for meditation. Maybe we’ll
open it to visitors when it isn’t used by us.”
“Very
special. Thank you for showing me.”
“I am happy
to do so.” They turned and walked back down the tunnel. After they entered the
main tunnel, Yoshi pointed in a certain direction. “There’s a ninety-meter
crater about two hundred meters from here. It’d make the nice focal center of a
housing development.”
“Really?
Interesting idea.”
“I mention
it because our patron is very pleased with the results of this effort; this
‘investment,’ as it were. It has been good for Buddhism around the world; but
it has also been good for Japanese culture, and more broadly for East Asian
culture. For him—and for me, I must admit—that is just about as important as
promoting Buddhism. So our patron has been organizing a group of Japanese
industrialists to endow a Japanese community here; ultimately they want at
least one hundred Japanese people here.”
“Really? We
would welcome the effort, of course. Mars is an idea that can embrace everyone.
In fact, it must embrace all cultures and peoples.”
“We want to
make sure Mars, if it really does grow to the size and importance it can,
embraces Japanese culture. We don’t want it dominated by the United States and
Europe. We’d prefer a balance, if not an East Asian focus.”
“Of course,
I understand; and I will support the inclusion of everyone and the dominant
role of anyone, so long as the latter doesn’t preclude the former. Every
culture on the Earth is capable of serving as a template for Marsian culture,
though I suspect Marsian culture will be different from any of them.”
“I am sure
you are right about that; Mars already has its own distinctive culture. But we
want to make sure Japan makes an important, if not central, contribution, and
the Kasei Project, as they are calling it, will do that. They already have
commitments for a billion United States dollars over seven years; 1.6 billion
redbacks, and they’ve still been raising the money privately and quietly. Their
goal is to triple that in private monies and arrange a Japanese governmental
contribution of 2.1 billion American dollars over seven years. Everyone thinks
that’s possible, in spite of the demographic crisis Japan is going through
right now.”
Will
stopped walking. “Yoshi, I’ve never heard about this before.”
“I know,
I’m telling you right now! So the total should be about six billion dollars
over seven years; not equal to the U.S. contribution, but close.”
“It may
very well equal the amount they cut from their contribution to Mars, though.”
“Good. They
can have less influence over the culture here, if they choose; and Japan can
have more.”
“Marvelous!
You are welcome!”
“So we are
interested in building a Japanese village up here on the escarpment. Or perhaps
I should say a village; Japanese can live down in Aurorae if they want, and
non-Japanese people can live up here if they want. It’ll be a village within
the borough of Aurorae. The Kasei Project has already started identifying the
skills we want to import. Japan has some incredible industrial artisans, very
capable engineers, and remarkable cultural resources. We’ll import an interior
designer to give the village a Japanese-Mars design. I have the permission of
our patron to talk to you about this.”
“He should
call me when he is ready.”
“I’ll tell
him. I think he will be ready in a week or two. Perhaps he’ll wait until after
the vote, so as not to look like his effort is political.”
They came
through the last set of pressure doors and down the last thirty meters of
tunnel. The bright sunlight of the crater was a bit blinding at first, after
the dim light of the tunnel. Will looked around the crater, with its perfectly
manicured lawns, beds of flowers, shaped trees, and artfully arranged rocks,
all dominated by the Mars-witnessing Buddha at the far end. The beauty was
striking. “We need more of this, Yoshi,” he said, looking around.
“Mars is
not just efficiency, technology, scientific discovery, and material production.
Nor is just a happy family, supported by good schools and generous
psychological counseling. It is also beauty, serenity, inner peace, self
discovery; suffering and the cessation of suffering.”
“It is nirvana,” agreed Will.