Mission Critical: Journey to the Red Planet

by Marilyn Peake

  Max baited Ace, same as he’d done with Scarlett. “So, Ace, you say you’re good in Science and Math. How many years ago did you graduate college?”

  Ace replied, “Ummm. Three years, I think. Yeah, three years.” His voice trembled a bit. He looked nervous.

  Max commented, “Hmmm. Three isn’t a particularly high number. It took you a while to count that high. Am I right, audience? Am I right?”

  I imagined audience hoots and hollers being edited into the show right there.

  Max continued, “I’m just playing around with you, Ace. You know we love you. The entire audience loves all you guys. You’re forging a path to another planet for the entire human race. If we keep trashing our own planet the way we are, we’re all gonna need to join you on Mars before you know it. You guys are our heroes.”

  In my mind, I heard some kind of heroic music playing right there.

  Then with a jab, Max sucker-punched Ace right in his manhood. “So, what have you accomplished since graduating college, Ace? You got some kind of high-powered tech job? An engineering position, maybe?”

  Ace put his head down. He mumbled, “Nah, I’ve had some trouble with that.”

  Max said, “Speak up, Ace. Look into the camera on your TV screen. We can’t hear you all the way down here.” That was kind of an idiot statement. We were communicating through video signals and satellites, not shouting across the entire distance to Earth.

  Ace looked up warily. He repeated, loudly this time, “I’ve had some trouble with that.”

  Max asked, “Ohhhh…What kind of trouble?”

  I don’t think Ace ever meant to admit what he blurted out next. He wrung his hands. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. I think he meant to sound tough, to win the pissing contest Max had started. “Well, I spent some time in jail. For nothing, mind you. I was up against an expensive lawyer in court. I couldn’t afford to match him. My own lawyer sucked.”

  Max made his eyes open real wide like he was in shock. Like he hadn’t already been informed of every single important detail of our pasts. “Jail time? You were in prison? And now you’re one of the team members heading to Mars? I hope it wasn’t for anything serious, Ace. You didn’t kill anyone, now did you?”

  Ace’s shoulders relaxed. He smiled into the camera. “Oh, no, of course not. It was a he-said-she-said kinda thing. I was at a party our frat was throwing, making out with this girl. We got carried away.” He winked at Max. “You know how it is. Next morning, she had regrets. She accused me of rape. Her family’s rich. Mine isn’t. I got six months in jail. It’s hard to get a job after that.”

  Max cupped his chin in his hand, paced back and forth across the stage, looked thoughtful. “And yet we hired you for a very important mission and for what we think will be the most watched television show ever. Why is that, do you think?”

  Ace answered, “The producer who interviewed me said he believed my side of the story. The same thing happened to him. It took him years to get his life back on track. He’s married now with a bunch of kids. He wanted to help me out. He said he saw promise in me.”

  Max said, “Well, I believe you, too. You gotta show us what you’re made of, Ace. You make us all proud, OK? Don’t let us down.”

  I imagined the thunderous applause of an audience clapping and yelling, a few whistles and stomping of feet. And a young woman curled into a fetal position in a darkened room, weeping as her TV screen flickered with images of a new hero rising.

  Whirling around on stage, Max addressed the audience. “Let’s hope Ace’s lawyer isn’t an advertiser with our show. That would be wasted money, don’t you think?” Dub in laughter.

  Max treated most of the rest of us with much less enthusiasm. I surmised that Scarlett Love and Ace Whitaker were going to be the stars of the show. The rest of us would be co-stars and the technicians responsible for making the Mars mission work.

  Dr. Ava Rodriguez had a Ph.D. in Psychology and had worked in private practice for nearly a decade. She was a bit overweight and warm and friendly. Rather than asking how she might help us if we ran into psychological problems—which we undoubtedly would, considering our close quarters in a tin can hurtling through space and then on a dusty planet intent on killing us all—Max asked what her favorite recipe was. The question didn’t seem to bother Ava. She smiled and spoke at length about a number of her favorite “comfort foods” and cookie recipes. When she got to her fourth recipe, Max opened his mouth extra wide, put his hand over it and pretended to yawn. “Ava…Ava…Ava…You are a gem. You are the perfect mother figure. I’ll tell you what I’d like. I want you to mother those brave souls up there with you, OK? I have a feeling they’re going to need it.” Ava smiled. No one else did.

  Turning his focus away from a person he obviously didn’t care to interview because he thought of her as boring, Max turned next to Wyatt Galloway. After consigning Ava to mom figure, he packaged Wyatt as the perfect hero.

  Rubbing his hands together as though relishing what he was about to say next, Max first addressed Ace. With a smile on his face, he shouted as though yelling across the distance in space, “Hey, Ace? You listening to me?”

  Ace chuckled. “Of course I am. I’m strapped to a couch facing the TV. It’s kind of hard not to listen.”

  Addressing the audience, Max commented, “Ooooh, now that’s not exactly a ringing endorsement of my riveting stage performance, is it?” Dub in a mixture of laughter and shocked intakes of breath, maybe a few boos. “But I’ll take it. He’s listening, audience.” Then he spoke more directly to Ace. “Pay attention to Wyatt’s work history, OK? You’re going to learn something about how to get employed and stay employed.”

  Seriously? Was that even necessary? The guy was headed for Mars, supposedly never to return. His main job, which had already started, was keeping himself alive and fighting for survival…oh, and being entertaining for the TV audience back home…not searching out an employment office. Had they been on a TV show back on Earth, I’m pretty sure Max and Ace would have spent a good portion of their time vying for Scarlett’s attention.

  Turning to Wyatt, Max said, “So, Wyatt, let’s hear about your work history.”

  In a Southern drawl, Wyatt replied, “Yes, sir.” At which point, Max interrupted him to comment, “And he’s a gentleman, too.” Wyatt dipped his chin in a way that made him appear modest, as though he didn’t want to look directly into the camera while being praised. Rather than respond to Max’s comment, he just continued with what he’d been about to say, “As soon as I graduated college, I joined the Air Force. On my last tour in Afghanistan, I suffered some injuries to my right leg. After I healed up enough, I took a part-time job as a taxi driver. Then as soon as I healed up completely, I started working as an airplane pilot for a bush plane company, carrying people and supplies into remote areas of Alaska.”

  A look of awe came over Max’s face. “So, you like danger and taking risks?”

  Wyatt answered, “Why, yes, sir, I most certainly do. In my free time, I went rock climbing or skydiving or took off on a motorcycle whenever I could. There’s nothing quite like an adrenalin rush.”

  Max turned to the camera and addressed the audience. “Look at that, guys…A risk-taker up on Mission Critical. It’s so perfect, it’s almost poetic!”

  I thought to myself, Let’s hope there’s no poetic justice involved.

  Amping up the audience, Max continued, “Come on, everyone, give Wyatt a big round of applause!” At that point, we heard thunderous applause as a military march started playing over the speakers. I half-expected balloons or confetti to fall from the ceiling.

  Ace blushed and squirmed a bit against the harness holding him in place.

  Next, Max addressed Jayden Keller, asked him all about growing up with Asperger’s Syndrome, what it felt like being introverted and socially awkward. He threw a few compliments his way for being the chess champion at college, for being great with computers and fixing all k
inds of machines; but then he stabbed him in the back, saying, “If you find it too difficult to interact with the people on your team, just spend time fixing the machines up there. Think of the machinery as your best friends, OK? Your team will love you for it.” Turning to the camera, he said, “We need to get this guy a C-3PO or R2D2.” Waggling his eyebrows, flirting with the audience, he added, “Or maybe a lady robot. What do you think, audience? Should we send a lady robot up to the Mars base to keep Jayden company?” Cue robotic sounds and canned laughter. Jayden, for his part, demonstrated a thousand times the social skills that Max had. He looked over at me and rolled his eyes. I did the same right back at him and saw a smile play out across his lips.

  Max never noticed. He moved right on to Dr. Mia Trevino. She was a medical doctor who’d worked for nearly a decade as a General Practitioner. She would serve as our primary physician. Max spent her entire introduction teasing her about how she’d get to see all her neighbors nude. His worst line was: “It’s not every day a person gets to do prostate and gynecological exams on all their neighbors. Am I right, audience?” Mia ended up making eye contact with Jayden and rolling her eyes. I think I realized right then and there that Jayden had started something that helped us get through the rest of these excruciating interviews.

  I literally jumped when Max called my name. He pretty much pulled a combination why are you still living at home with your parents and funny you aren’t married yet routine on me. I got through it the best I could. About halfway into it, I looked over at Jayden. He rolled his eyes in sympathy. From that point on, I didn’t really care what Max said. All my concentration went into fighting the urge to crack up laughing.

  I was never as happy as when the focus finally shifted off me and moved to Dr. Tom Hooper. He was our surgeon. Having worked for five years in that capacity at a top-notch hospital, he’d actually separated twins who were conjoined at birth. Max basically fawned all over him and led the audience in a round of applause for his surgery with the twins. And then, oh my God, he actually showed video of the surgery. Anything for ratings. Anything at all. I tried not to vomit because that was gonna get real nasty in zero-g.

  By the time he introduced Gavin Wilkerson, a tech whiz whose start-up company had earned millions of dollars before he sold it to a bigger company for nearly a billion, Gavin’s face had gone an awful shade of pale. Max, of course, started right in on him by asking, “So, what’d you think of that surgery?”

  Jayden looked at Gavin and then rolled his eyes a bunch. He was sitting off to the side where he could easily be edited out of the TV shot. Gavin kept looking over until he got himself under control and his cheeks pinked up a bit. He seemed fully recovered by the time Max asked him a bunch of questions about his inventions.

  Then “last but not least,” as Max put it, Dr. Gwendolyn Moore was introduced. She had two PhDs, one in Electrical Engineering and one in Mechanical Engineering, and had worked for a private space company. She got off the hook with only one insult. After asking her a bunch of questions about her work for the space company and pointing out that she’d be invaluable to the rest of us with all her experience, Max asked, “You’ve worked hard for a lot of years, haven’t you?” Gwen said, “Yes, I have. I believe in hard work, that you can fulfill a lot of your dreams if you work hard.” Max then threw his head back and laughed with gusto before saying, “All work and no play makes Gwen a dull girl…or someone capable of saving the day if your ship breaks down. I mean out there in the middle of outer space, if something goes terribly wrong, your team could use a gal like you, wouldn’t you say?” Gwen looked shocked by the question. I mean what do you say to something like that?

  After we’d all been introduced, Max said he had a big surprise for us. A curtain rose. Behind that curtain: fifty of the most popular singers in the world. They all launched into singing David Bowie’s Space Oddity. I’d never realized exactly what that song meant before. I’d never listened closely to all the words. For the first time in my life, I realized that Major Tom had become lost in outer space. Oh, lovely…What a nice surprise.

  After Max wished us well and said goodbye and the TV cameras turned off, pre-recorded information came across our screen. We were given a schedule in which each of us had a fifteen-minute slot to go into the Confessional and record our thoughts about the first social gathering that had just taken place, including impressions we had of our fellow teammates. Until our turn, we were free to go into our rooms or any of the social areas on the ship.

  Then a doctor came onto the screen. She introduced herself as Dr. Elizabeth Pearson. She told us that she or one of several other doctors would be available 24 hours a day by email or videophone to answer any medical questions we might have that didn’t involve actual medical care. In other words, she was there to answer the bazillion concerns we might have about our experience in space, all the Oh My God, I’m going to die, aren’t I? kinds of freak-out questions that could easily exhaust our onboard doctors and drive them crazy. She also told us that we had medications in our private compartments—all kinds of medications to make our trip to Mars bearable. Sleeping pills, anti-anxiety and anti-depressant drugs. We had a limited amount. Any additional doses could be requested from Dr. Ava Rodriguez, our team psychologist, or Dr. Mia Trevino, our G.P. Dr. Hooper would only prescribe medications related to surgery if and when that was needed.

  We also had a full bar the size of a cabinet in our compartments stocked with small bottles of liquor, but that kind of hospitality would end once we reached Mars. We were told: Enjoy the perks while you still can. Mars will be a much harsher environment.

  All the while numerous cameras rolled around in their sockets—scanning our environment in every possible direction, like chameleon eyes. Recording us, sending footage back to the TV producers on Earth who would splice and dice and chop it up, then glue it back together in the form of stories both heartwarming and salacious.

  Jayden Keller: In the Confessional, One Month After Mission Critical Left Earth Orbit for Mars

  I’m glad I was chosen as one of the first people to set up a colony on Mars. Up here on the Mission Critical ship, social gatherings are much easier for me than they were back on Earth. No one thinks of me as strange or different. Everyone seems to value me for my technical skills. It’s a different situation. People must know on some level that we could easily die—on the ship or on the hostile planet Mars is sure to be—and it will be up to the people with technical skills to save us all by continuously solving difficult problems.

  There are a couple of people with outgoing personalities and the kinds of social skills that make people popular back on Earth. Those skills still work here, but they’re not the only skills people respect.

  Scarlett Love and Ace Whitaker are two of the popular types. They’re the stars of the show. Max has said so, and I accept that.

  But the other night I saw something that alarmed me. I’m not ready to report it through official channels because I’m not exactly sure what I saw. But I thought I’d mention it here in the Confessional, so there’s a record of it. If it’s an actual ongoing problem, I’m assuming other people will report it as well, and the TV show producers can decide how to handle it. In a situation like ours, everyone has to be able to depend on each other. Anyone who’s untrustworthy has to be dealt with. That’s my analysis.

  I like how the lights on the ship tell us what’s up and how to adjust our moods. When it’s time to go to the Constellation Room to socialize, the lights in the hallway flash and music starts playing. The beat’s energetic. It cues us to act happy and show enthusiasm. While the lights on the walls flash double-time to the beat of the music and in a set pattern—first, the lights in the second row from the top flash, then lights in the third row from the bottom flash, then lights in the middle flash, and so on—those running along the floor and ceiling keep time to the music and move in the direction toward where we’re supposed to go. Thanks for that. It’s comforting. When I follow t
he lights, I know I’m where I’m supposed to be. When the lights in the social areas turn a cool, relaxing blue, it’s time to go into the Confessional and confide things. They’re all blue right now.

  In the Constellation Room, we get to talk with the TV show host back down on Earth through a TV screen. Max is full of energy and has orange hair on top of his head. He gets us to say things we wouldn’t otherwise say.

  But there are some things we definitely shouldn’t say there. The whole Constellation Room setup is meant for public broadcast, and we’re face-to-face with our teammates in there.

  Things get weird up here in outer space. We’re attached to Earth only through electronic screens. What if they all went dead? We’d lose touch with every other person in the entire human race. It would only be the ten of us forever and ever. Well, unless someone has a baby. Some of the women were sterilized, so I don’t know how many babies there will ever be. Maybe we’re the last human beings any of us will ever see.

  Several of the people on our team are taking drugs regularly and drinking. It blurs boundaries. Boundaries are already blurred. We’re in a spaceship. We’re never coming back to Earth. All the people we see outside of here are just tiny images on a TV screen. Maybe they’re not even real. Maybe they’re computer-generated. I refuse to believe that.

  One night, I took a Xanax. It was too high a dose for me. I saw ghosts moving through the hallway. Not really. It was just for a second and I only saw them out of the corner of my eye. A mirage. Or maybe something programmed into the lights to throw us off balance, to make the reality show more interesting.

  So I don’t trust myself. But I should tell someone. I’ll tell it here in the Confessional. I passed by Ace’s room two nights ago. His door was partially open. He had wrapped tethering straps around himself and Scarlett, and had her face pressed into the mattress. He had something in his hand—a knife, I thought at the time. A big knife, his hand wrapped around it, up against her neck. He said, “You like it rough, don’t you?” A split second later, he did something with the knife—slid it into a sheath or something—and used his hand to cover her mouth, so I couldn’t tell if she was screaming or moaning. I went to find someone, but Scarlett came to the door before anyone else came out into the hallway. She smiled at me like everything was OK before closing Ace’s door. So maybe everything’s OK.