“Eh, never mind,” he said, his mouth twisting in a sardonic grin. He’d had a pretty miserable childhood. Craft days in Kindergarten were the happiest memories he had.
Six months ago, when he’d stepped off the transport, Aashi had been the first to call him Sallie. The name didn’t have the same connotation in Mumbai as it did in Riverside, Iowa. When she said it, she had been burying potato pieces in dirt, and her dark brown eyes sparkled. Van Morrison’s ancient classic, Brown Eyed Girl, flooded his brain. It had been as cheesy as a movie scene, weird enough that he’d checked his oxygen saturation levels on his wrist monitor, certain something had malfunctioned. After that, he couldn’t bring himself to object, so the nickname stuck. She didn’t know it, but she was most of the reason he hadn’t requested transfer back to Texas.
Aashi cleared her throat and put her hands on her hips. “Lost in thought?”
“Something like that. How’s your fodder system?”
Aashi dropped her hands and dipped her chin. “The bins are assembled, and I’ve hung the set of grow lights over the last few. I’ll start the barley seeds soaking tonight and put them in the first bin tomorrow. Then, I’ll start another batch soaking and move the first bins down. They’ll get beneath the grow lights on day four. That should hurry their growth along. If everything goes well, in about seven days, we’ll have sprouted grains.”
“A fodder assembly line.”
She laughed. “Something like that.”
“That bit of green and extra protein will make a big difference to the birds’ diet. They’ll appreciate it.”
“Speaking of diet, I’m having curried rice for breakfast. Hungry?”
Sallie stopped to survey his work. The carbon matter covered the floor, still thick in some places. The chickens could do the rest of the work. “Bacon?”
Aashi shot him a look. “Is that a yes?”
“Bring on the curry.” He winked. “I’m going to start the watering cycle.” He followed her out into the hallway tube that led toward the shared living space. He could finish later. Little clouds of dust leapt into the air as he crossed to the cabinet at the back of the room and dropped his tools inside. He turned around.
Aashi flashed an okay sign and continued toward the commons. “See you in a minute.”
Sallie punched the cycle code into the keypad next to the opening. The doors slid closed and sealed with a hiss. It had taken him several weeks to drill all the holes in the bottoms of the latticework of PVC pipes that hung from the ceiling of the modified habitation module. Because hydrogen and oxygen could be volatile, the four-thousand-gallon H2O collection tank was set on one of the two rises about five hundred yards away. Beneath it, permafrost was melted by the RTG—or radio thermal generator. The warmed water was piped through the station for radiant heating. Even with less gravity, liquid flowed downhill. Aashi’s garden and his efforts to grow soil also utilized the gray water from the once-a-week showers and any other function.
After breakfast, he would mix the final compost package in and inoculate the soil. The chickens would need one day of adjustment in their mobile coop before he let them out on the dirt surface of the ag-module and closed the doors behind him. They’d need dry bedding to scratch in, but the mulch matter had to be reconstituted. Such as it was, the Martian atmosphere would suck the moisture out as quickly as possible, leaving a mostly dry surface for the chickens when it was time to let them out to free-range.
Satisfied that the process could continue without him, he made his way to the living space at the center of their colony, his boot heels loud against the hard planking.
The compound was shaped like a wagon wheel with a greenhouse sticking out one side and his ag module sticking out the other. Six hallways led from the exterior storage ring toward the living space they all shared. The circle in the middle was divided into a command post, a triage area and hospital bed, a kitchen/dining room, lounge area, and the ARED room. Four bedrooms branched off of each hallway tunnel. In a state of emergency, the bedrooms doubled as survival capsules, food and water supplies built into the walls. If the need arose, the commons circle could also be closed off from the rest of the compound.
Sallie increased his pace. He could smell the curry already, and his stomach growled. He took a seat on one side of the long table. They rarely ate at the same time, but the table was big enough for their dozen-member crew to eat together.
Aashi pulled two packets from the heating sleeve. Like a tube of toothpaste, she squeezed his onto a dish and then hers. Besides their potato harvest, most of their food came out that way. He wouldn’t bring it up, but that was another reason he was looking forward to chickens: fresh eggs and fresh meat.
“Smells delicious.” She placed the steaming plate in front of him.
“Thanks,” she said. “What’s on your schedule?”
“Making room comfortable for a bunch a pollos locos.” He scooped a big bite onto his plastic spork, blowing on it to cool it down.
Aashi grinned. “Happy chicken?”
“Crazy chickens.” He emphasized the s. Eighteen had boarded at the lunar colony, hatched in a centrifuge as preparation for their trip to Mars. At last count, an even dozen would arrive alive and well.
“How did you talk your way into getting those pets?” She put a bite in her mouth and winced. “Hot.”
Sallie shrugged. “When managed the right way, chickens till the soil, aerate it, and add nitrogen with their manure load. When combined with compost, they can generate topsoil quickly. You,” he pointed at her, “need soil enough to feed twenty-four of us. When we get enough bio organisms in the soil, your crops will double.” He wiped his mouth.
“How long until I can plant?” She shifted in her seat and folded her arms on the table.
Damn song was playing in his head again. He went on, “If we’re careful with the nitrogen load from the manure and keep a close eye on the balance, we could try something hardy in a month or so. The best growing won’t happen for a while yet.”
“Kale,” she said, licking her lips. “I haven’t had fresh greens in…” She stared over Sallie’s shoulder. “My god, it’s been years. We’re going to grow amazing things together, Sallie.” She reached across the table and squeezed his forearm. She kept her nails cut short, but her fingers were long and slender.
“What’s that about fresh food?” John Brown, the Martian Module Pilot, stepped into the commons from the direction of his sleeping quarters, his voice jovial. He seemed more relaxed than he’d been since he received the news of his mother’s unexpected passing. Aashi withdrew her hand.
Cynthia Port, Martian Module Commander, trailed behind him, her shoulder-length blond hair uncharacteristically disheveled, her movements almost languid. “Morning,” she said, her Southern drawl thick. Her eyes darted to John and then down to her toes.
The two took their place at the kitchen counter, sorting through the food options, moving around each other quietly, smiling and making eye contact. Their hips stayed close together.
Sallie tilted his head. If he didn’t know better…
He looked from one to the other, his eyes wide. If he were a betting man, he’d say there were probably enough pheromones to confuse a bee.
There weren’t rules against fraternization, but sex complicated nearly everything. NASA knew it was pointless to send twelve humans to Mars and then pretend they could control everybody’s sex lives. He turned to Aashi and leaned over. “Are they?”
She sipped her tea and studied her food, but she gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
I’ll be damned.
He wouldn’t have guessed any of them even had time to get around to that. None of them had family or relationships back home. It had been a prerequisite for selection. They all had a clean bill of health. Several of the crewman sold houses before leaving home. Any on-going bills had to be placed on autopay.
His gaze flicked to Aashi again. He’d have to ask John later. The mechanics of it all.
In case he needed it. He shoved another bite in his mouth, but almost choked when she lifted her head and winked. Bacteria, he understood. People didn’t make sense to him.
“Eggs,” Cynthia said. “That’s what I miss. The reconstituted snot gruel we get isn’t the same, no matter what the label says.”
John guffawed. “Welcome to space, baby.”
Aashi shuddered. “I never developed a taste for meat. When I was a child, we never ate it.”
Sallie gestured toward Aashi. “You handle the vegetables. I’ll handle the meat, and we’ll have a wonderful festivus feast.”
Cynthia snorted. Her dad must have watched the same old television channel reruns his had. Aashi and John shared confused looks.
“It’s from an old show,” he said. He gestured to the big monitor supported by a giant stand. “I’ll play it for you when it’s my turn to pick the movie for movie night.”
“Fair enough,” John said, raising his water bottle.
Fred Graham and Susan Mikhailov wandered out of the command room. They’d drawn the night shift for the week. The compound mostly operated on its own, but two crewman were always awake in the monitoring station. Without saying anything, they waved and stumbled down separate corridors, toward their respective bedrooms.
“It’s about that time,” Sallie said, stretching.
Aashi and Cynthia were chatting with their heads close together. They’d be engrossed for an hour.
John nodded and stood. “Have a good meeting.” He and Cynthia shared a look. John headed toward the command room, and Cynthia went back to her conversation with Aashi.
Sallie checked his wrist monitor. The misting cycle should be completed, and he had just enough time to inoculate the dirt before the morning meeting at 0900. He jogged back to the ag module.
Twenty minutes later, Aashi was back. “Need any help?”
“Sol waits for no man, and I’m hoping I can catch a dirt devil for the feed before my meeting with the transport for the chicken update.”
“Good idea. I don’t think anyone’s caught a dusty vortex yet.” She grabbed the other pitchfork from the small shed and rammed it into the mound beside him.
He lifted a scoop, turned it, and then flipped the pitchfork over to spread it. While he spread his portion, she selected her own. They settled into a companionable rhythm.
“I think I need to work harder on the ARED.” She leaned on her implement, her chest moving up and down the way his had that morning.
He laughed. “Me, too.”
“What do you call this again?” She waved her hand around the room. “I mean with the chickens.”
“It’s called permaculture,” he said, swiping a canister from the table in the middle. He took a swig and then offered it to her. She took a drink. “The regenerative method was co-invented in the 1970’s by a man named Bill Mollison, but the concepts have been around for much longer. In 1978, Mollison wrote about the idea with David Holmgren in Permaculture One.”
“So there’s more to it than this?” Aashi handed the bottle back to him. “I never came across it in my botany studies. They don’t teach it often.”
“More than they used to. It’s management-heavy old-tech in a new-tech hungry world. It’s out there. You just have to know where to look. There’s a whole design system we could use someday.” Sallie stared at the nearest section of wall.
Instead of the beige panel, he imagined a terraforming movement that worked its way across Mars, impacting a yard at a time. With enough plants absorbing carbon dioxide, they could even sequester all the carbon dioxide in the atmosphere and replace it with oxygen. Small components used over and over again… They had the ability to completely change the planet.
He glanced back at Aashi. “Big dreams don’t happen in an instant. That’s hundreds of years off. First, we have to figure out if chickens can even survive here.”
“Chickens on Mars…” She shook her head.
“It’s amazing what can be accomplished with a little intentional design.” Sallie bent over the pile, surprised to see it was almost gone. His scoop was the last one.
Aashi crossed to the shed to deposit her pitchfork. “I had a talk with Cynthia,” Aashi said. She sounded breathy, almost nervous. Strange. For her.
“That’s good.” Sallie let the sentence trail out, focused on the task at hand. He wasn’t sure where the conversation was going, and he had a job to finish.
“She said sex on Mars is about like sex on Earth. Good as the two people participating.” Her words came out in a flood, like a damn burst forth, bumping into one another in a vocal, trembling rush. “If you ever wanted to try, I’m open to experiment.”
Sallie froze. Wait. What had she just said?
Her offer broke through his tunnel vision and his eyes widened. The idea punched him in the gut… and then other places followed. He turned away from her and crossed to the shed to deposit his pitchfork. It had been a long time since…
“Uh, I, well, I,” he stammered. He stayed with his back toward her, his throat working up and down as he collected his thoughts, focusing on anything but Aashi’s… He stared at the ceiling.
Poultry… Roosters… Cocks. No. Not that one.
Shit glitter, cold showers, baseball, and grandmas.
In keeping with the long-term mission handbook, she’d expressed interest in a no-nonsense way. He’d just gotten around to thinking she might be an option. He never figured she’d beat him to the asking. In her head, she was an awkward AU ahead of him. Finally, he said, “That’s an intriguing idea.”
Noncommittal was the best he could manage and not give himself away. He turned around slowly. Shit glitter, cold showers…
Her gaze narrowed. “Good interesting or bad interesting?” She crossed her arms.
“God,” he said, his voice strangled. He put up his hands. He’d been ambushed. “Good. It’s good. That’s what I meant. Aashi,” he rubbed his forehead, “you sure know how to sneak up on a guy.”
A smile broke her scowl, and she uncrossed her arms. She kicked her hips to the side. “It’s been six months, Sallie. I wasn’t sure you were going to get around to it.” Without waiting for his response, she left.
Sallie stared long after she’d disappeared.
The next morning, Sallie squinted into the heavy haze and rolled to a stop on a rise that overlooked the circular compound. Some days, the view through the windshield of the Rover was spectacular. That day’s wind made the dust too thick to see Harmony. It almost obscured Sol.
Smaller than it was on Earth, Sol shined as bright as it could through the dusty atmosphere. It always reminded him of the moon through midnight clouds from the roof of his house in Riverside, Iowa. Funny how he compared everything with “back home.” He’d been highly motivated to leave it, and he couldn’t get much farther from it. Maybe he could have saved himself thirty-four million miles if he’d tried Mumbai before trying Mars.
He was out on his customary morning spin. He needed time to himself. Aashi’s words had kept him pacing in his quarters all night, so he’d climbed into his exosuit—or exo for short—and went out first thing. He wasn’t sure what to do next. They had agreed to live together for another two years. NASA depended on them to keep their word. If the relationship went poorly…
A red light flashed on the dashboard. The first battery cell was almost depleted. Time to head back.
He had to check the gray water tank and the water collection unit. After that, he’d head back in. He tapped the shifter on the console to his right and eased the yoke to the left, guiding the Rover down over the edge of the hill he’d been on for the last fifteen. He decided to work outward from Harmony Settlement.
First, he checked the gray water tank. Closest to the compound and about half the size of the water collection tank, it held their wastewater until Aashi could use it in her greenhouse or he could use it in the ag module. Long, flexible tubes were buried in a shallow trench and connected to the sprinkler system.
He checked the tank for leaks or anything else that might indicate a malfunction. It would be a huge loss if they couldn’t reuse their gray water. Large solar panels collected energy and fed it into backup battery packs. Cynthia would clean them that afternoon.
He circled the water collection tank, checking the hoses. The rear of the tank was set several feet higher than the front. Inside the water tanks, hydrogen and oxygen were separated out of the melted permafrost to later be used as fuel for the transport. The tanks were primed to maximum.
As the two elements separated, they were kept under pressure in adjacent tanks for the arrival of the transport. Once the transport re-fueled for its return trip, the tanks would be empty. It was always most dangerous right before the arrival of a transport. Water for heating of the station moved downward and collected at the front of the tank where it was stored until it was called for inside the station.
That can’t be good.
Oxidization had built up around the polymer relief valve. Rust circled it. NASA tried to use plastics any time they could. It must have a metal fastener of some kind on the inside. The ground wasn’t wet, but small circles resembling the aftermath of raindrops covered the ground. In the event of an emergency, the relief valve was meant to slowly leach the gasses into the atmosphere, in an effort to save the large tank. Replacement tanks of hydrogen and oxygen were stored inside. They also had a whole section of storage filled with backup water, but the preservation of the water collection tank would be critical to the continuation of their long-term mission.
“Salvador to Control Center.” A light flashed inside his helmet, in the lower right corner of the HUD, indicating that the suit transmitted his words. He was close enough to Harmony that he didn’t bother relaying through the Rover.
“I read you, Sal. What’s up?” John’s voice came in loud over the earbud speaker.
“I’ve got some oxidation on the relief valve on the water collection unit. Looking like it’s leaking, too. We should probably check that.”
“That’s sooner than the bigwigs projected. I’ll note it in the records and let Mission Control know.” The line clicked. John wouldn’t schedule a repair walk until he had the go-ahead from Houston. Until then, he could wait inside. He had to get ready for the latest arrivals.
CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories Page 2
