“Aaaaand touchdown!”
Cheering burst forth from the Nimitz landing module. 12 minutes later mission control erupted in celebration. The 20th manned trip to Mars arrived safely to its destination. It’d be a minor note on the news today since the novelty had worn off a bit compared to the first five. Life in 21xx turned the 24 hour news cycle into the 24 minute news cycle due to the utter glut of information out there.
But it was okay. The people who cared knew, and the people who knew cared.
“Well now folks, give yourself some time before unstrapping from your seats,” Jamshid relayed over the comms. “7 months with no gravity catches up with you.”
“Yes Captain!”
“Incoming cargo rover, Captain!”
Grinning, he opened the comms. “Welcome wagon already, Gina?”
“That’s Captain Sutton to you, Kashi!” was laughed back. “We want you unloaded ASAP, including that new ‘morale’ drive. We’ve binge watched and played everything we’ve got twice over now.”
Crews met in the cargo bay giving quick introductions and pleasantries before getting to work. Cargo containers were filled with computer equipment, 3d printer and CNC modules, supplies, and other things the Mars bases needed but was too delicate to survive a crash landing via drop-pod from orbit.
“Careful with the biological containers there,” groused one of the crew. “They’re kind of awkwardly weighted.”
“Roger that.”
Brown eyes surveyed the bay, periodically checking the tablet in Jamshid’s hands. Not his first rodeo, but all the more reason to be methodical. The Iranian-American astronaut caught his counterpart doing the same thing as she checked off her side of the cargo manifest.
“How are the tardigrades doing?”
“Still tasting awful as always,” she muttered. “I get why we have them, but some of the boys and I want to find the bottom-feeding contractor who came up with tardigrade and algae hydroponics when we get back home. Let them eat the stuff for 24 months.”
“Well, hopefully they’ll only be for emergencies and supplementation after this. Its not like it was ever meant for us, anyhow.”
A smile. “Yep, I see them right there. No more water-bear and pond-scum nutri-paste.”
Hours turned into days with the Nimitz fully unloaded then reloaded up with crew returning home, heavy equipment that couldn’t be repaired there, and tons of samples with accompanying data. When it took off the freshly arrived astronauts settled in, getting ready to get into the swing of the Martian daily routine.
Jamshid started early, checking up on the various departmental reports before handing out assignments. Instant coffee was breakfast enough as he looked through the environmental control inventory. They had gone through several tons of building materials in the past six months finishing a large, subterranean silo. And, as expected, the tardigrades and algae were doing well in the hydroponic farm at the very bottom. The fourth farm so far with overall production of biomass from all of them marginally exceeding above expectations.
Looks like it was time for the next step.
“I still can’t believe someone thought of freeze-drying these things,” disbelief in Sutton’s voice. “I had a couple of these as a kid. This is really creepy.”
“Someone thought of it, and someone did,” Jamshid replied, holding up a plastic container. “Mission Control sent 1200 freeze-dried fluffies on this trip.”
“I assume this,” a hand gestured to a filing cabinet sized machine. “ is for re-hydrating them?”
“Yep. Takes about 24-hours.”
“You know, it only takes about 5 minutes to re-hydrate that ‘lasagna’ they keep sending us.”
Chuckling, Jamshid pulled out a tray from the machine, sliding the contain into it. “Well, this is probably better than the lasagna. Definitely better than the burgers. Lets load it up. I’d like to have 4 of these reading tomorrow.”
“How’s the temperature?”
“23 Celsius. That’s about 73 Fahrenheit for you Yanks.”
“How’s the biomass?”
“Good! We added in the biologicals from this past shipment along with minerals from here.”
The environmental team was visibly excited. The subterranean silo represented years of work on Mars, and decades of planning back on Earth. Partly a step for self-sufficiency for food and oxygen, partly an experiment to see if they could even consider one part of the most science-fiction of dreams: terraforming Mars.
“Well, come on Captain!”
“Bring them out!”
“The suspense is killing me!”
Jamshid laughed. Astronauts were supposed to be the best and brightest, and the Mars projects were supposed to be the best of an already elite group. But given the right reasons they were all kids somewhere deep in their hearts, living a dream borne from watching Star Trek and reading Spaceman Spiff at some impressionable age. The area looked like it was a kid’s playroom. And there were indeed Star Trek posters on the brightly painted walls, along with Star Wars, Avengers, and other perennial geek favorites.
The re-hydrator stood about 5 feet tall, each of its four compartments sealed with green-lights shining brightly. Electrocardiogram readings were steady. An olive thumb pressed against the biometic lock which then audibly unlatched. One smooth motion opened the tray, another removing the container from within. The group stared down at the wriggling form within Jamshid unsealed it.
A green Earthie stumbled awkwardly, trying to stand. It shook itself, starting from head to body then legs and finally tail.
“Wawa bad for fwuffy.”
Coos and laughs went around the room as Jamshid was handed a towel to dry off the fluffy.
“What’s your name, little guy?”
“No am stawwion! Am mawe!” it said, slightly indignat. “Namsie iz Gee-Eee Fouw Zee!”
“Well, I’m sorry to get that wrong, GE-4-Z!” apologized one of the astronauts in the back.
“Nyu fwends?” GE-4-Z asked, looking at Jamshid.
“Yes, GE-4-Z, new friends. Do you remember me?”
“Yesh cap-tin!” The mare moved a hoof to its head, a rough approximation of a salute. “Gee-Eee Fouw Zee weaddy tu wowk!”
“Good to hear!” he smiled. “Your first job, then, is to get something to eat. Go to the dispenser. After that I’ll show you where to make good poopies.”
“Yay! T’ank yu cap-tin!” The fluffy bounded to the biomass unit and pressed down on a small pedal. A portion of goop came out; gelatinous, green-hued with red splotches. The crew watched in amusement as it dug into its meal. “Gud nummies!”
The remaining three containers were unloaded to produce a yellow stallion, a blue mare, and a brown stallion. Each one was greeted, then shown where to eat. The Environmental team tested their cognition after the freeze-drying process with simple game and questions, but after it was clear they were in good health they kept going.
“Just to be extra sure,” they explained. “The Watney breed is pretty new, all things considered. Never been a fluffy with tardigrade DNA before… Better safe than sorry.”
“And this is where you’ll make good poopies.” Jamshid pointed to a small hole in the ground. “Do you remember how to use it?”
“Yesh cap-tin! Make gud poopies den pwess gween button!”
“And do you remember why its important to make good poopies?”
“Becawse da mach-ine wiww take dem an make nummies fow pwants!”
“An’ pwants make da aiw smeww pwetty!”
“Den make nummies for hoomins!”
“And if you have sicky poopies?”
“Pwess wed button!”
“And why do you do that?”
“So sicky poopies no make pwants sicky!”
“Good, good!” Jamshid beamed. “Now go make good poopies and we’ll get you four to work!”
“Yesh cap-tin!” they sang, off-key but in unison.
“Dismissed!”
Jamshid turned to leave, but paused remembering the sign he brought. As he exited the room he put up a small but brightly colored sign on the door, right below “Environmental Department.”
It simply said, in a crayon-esque font, “Morale Room.”
