Spaceport West (7 page)

Back in base camp, Sian set about editing the video footage they had captured. She deleted the audio track and instead overlaid a recording of Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonatas
. The TV producers back on Earth can decide what to make of that, she thought to herself.

“So Pevensey, when you’re done with that, are you going to join us down at the Cantina?” asked Detroit.

“Oh yeah sure, I’ve heard about this place, sounds like a laugh. Give me a minute to upload this video.”

“Have you asked Freddie?” Aster asked Sky.

“Nope but I can if you want.”

“I’ll get him,” replied Aster.

A few minutes later the five of them made their way through the aluminium tunnel that connected the living quarters to a few containers that had been welded together and re-purposed as a bar.

RULES FOR DRINKING

UK Space Command encourages all off-Earth personnel to cultivate a positive approach to downtime leisure pursuits, as it has been recognised that social interaction leads to stronger interpersonal bonding and more effective teamwork.

However, it must be noted that excessive alcohol consumption is both unhealthy to the individual and can threaten the safety of the wider community. The following rules for drinking are therefore presented here as friendly guidance:

i)
On no account consume more that your own bodyweight of any beverage in a 24 hour period.

ii)
When considering which alcoholic beverage to purchase, take a moment to observe the traffic light symbol on the side, and avoid drinks with a red light.

iii)
If you don’t know what a traffic light is, you are too young to drink.

iv)
If you observe a blurry or indistinct traffic light, this is usually an indication that you have had enough to drink.

v)
Never, under any circumstances, accept a drink from an android. They are, in all probability, only trying to be friendly, but most models are sadly naive in the ways of humans, and fail to appreciate the subtleties of the drinking culture.

UK Guide to Space, 2025 Edition

“Welcome to Container Cantina!” yelled Detroit above the din of the music.

“Wow, this really lives up to my expectations!” yelled Sian back.

“I’m guessing you weren’t expecting much then.”

“Spot on there Aster!”

Sky moseyed on up to the bar, which Sergey and two of his compatriots were leaning against, a row of vodka shots in front of them. They nodded to acknowledge Sky’s arrival and he slapped Sergey on the back in a male-bonding type way. He then politely yelled at the android bartender to turn the music down slightly.

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t hear you because of this loud music!” the android yelled in return.

Sky leant over the bar and turned the music down himself, grinning at the android. The bartender looked affronted by this invasion of his personal domain, then understood and grinned widely back.

“There, that’s a bit better. Now then my good man, have you got a drinks list?”

“Here you are sir.”

“Right let’s see. Very good - nice selection. I think two
Astral Martinis
for the ladies, plus three of your finest blonde ales.”

“Very good sir.” The android rummaged around under the bar. “Ah, unfortunately, sir, the Martini hasn’t arrived from Earth yet.”

“Right, better make it two white wine spritzers then.”

“We’ve only got the locally brewed variety.”

“Yes that’ll have to do.”

“And three blonde ales was it sir?”

“Yeah. Sometime this Martian decade might be nice.”

“Oh right, I was going to make them straight away sir.”

“Sorry, figure of speech, please carry on.”

“About the ales, sir.”

“Yep. What?”

“Not truly ales in the literal sense.”

“Look, just give me whatever you’ve got - bring them over to our table would you? I think I’ve lost all feeling in my legs.”

“Oh dear sir, would you like me to perform a medical examination?”

“No, that’s fine, just the drinks, thanks. Oh, and five packets of crisps, peanuts, or anything edible.”

Sky meandered over to the booth where the others had parked themselves.

“Drinks are on their way, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

In the next booth were
Mars Colony One
assistant director Bob Shuman and camera operator Matti Jenks.

“Look Matti, I’ve been reviewing the footage we’ve captured since the new recruits arrived.”

“And?”

“Well it’s just a bit dull - not your fault Matti! Just, you know, we’ve only been able to film inside the camp. Once we get our hands on the video the new guys have been filming for themselves I reckon things’ll look up.”

“Did you get any response from HQ about the episodes we’ve sent them so far?”

“Yeah, they weren’t happy. They keep wanting to change the angle. No, not the camera angle. Oh typical, they’re trying to vis call me right now.”

Shuman took out of his messenger bag a portable vis screen and propped it up on the table.

“Greetings Shuman, we just wanted to have a quick word with you about the show, if now’s convenient?”

“Hello sir, yes that’s fine.”

There was a pause. Matti leant over and whispered to Bob, “What’s going on, has the line dropped?”

“No,” Bob whispered back, “currently there’s a two minute delay due to the Earth-Mars separation.”

“Sheesh, this is going to be a fun conversation!” said Matti and settled back with his watery Lager-than-Life
^tm
.

Just then, Stevie the android bartender who had finally delivered the drinks to Sky’s table, picked up a guitar and tapped a couple of times on a microphone. He then proceeded to perform
Walking on the Moon
at about half the normal speed and in a most unusual key.

“Gosh it just gets better in here!” noted Aster.

“Hey Sian, feel like a boogie?”

“Are you serious Freddie? You can’t dance to this nonsense!”

“Perhaps we could persuade him to hang up his guitar and turn the other music back on?” suggested Detroit.

“I’ll have a little chat with him,” said Freddie, “any requests?”

“Anything that doesn’t involve a robot playing any instrument whatsoever.”

Aster watched Freddie traipse over to Stevie and awkwardly try to interrupt his song mid-flow. The android sullenly unplugged his guitar and put it away. Freddie’s wasting his time trying to please Sian, she thought to herself.

Later that night Aster was lying awake in the female dorm, listening to the others gently snoring, which she could just about hear above the ringing in her ears. Mars was going well, she reflected. Early days, obviously, but hey, being part of the colony was a major ambition she’d now achieved. And it was fantastic that she seemed to have been cured of the nightmares, finally, after so many years. Had they gone for good? Only time would tell. Peacefully, expectantly, she drifted off.

🚀

Aster, Sian and Truth were tending to the temporary crop experiment which was housed in one small wing of the living module until the biome was complete. Additional skylights had been fitted to give the baby plants some chance of success. And they were experimenting with heat lamps over the hydroponic tables.

“Truth, hand me that pH meter would you? Thanks,” said Aster.

“So Aster, congratulations on winning Colonist of the Week, you must be chuffed?” said Truth.

“What? Oh yeah, that was nice. Doesn’t really mean anything.”

“It’ll look good on the show - you’re going to have a whole episode dedicated to you aren’t you?”

“Yes apparently,” she said with a self-deprecating grimace. “They want me to talk about my childhood, aspirations, all that nonsense. They’re also going to interview my family back on Earth and intersperse that into the programme.”

“Who would have thought - Aster the celebrity!”

“Don’t exaggerate. Hey, these courgettes are doing remarkably well aren’t they,” she said, eager to change the subject. “They’re enormous!”

“Yeah I’d call that one a marrow. You clearly have green fingers,” said Sian enviously.

“I really didn’t expect to be any good at this. Oh there’s Freddie, I need to speak with him, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Aster followed Freddie down the tunnel back to the main living quarters, where he had disappeared surprisingly quickly. He must be avoiding me again, she thought.

What Aster saw next was like walking into an acrylic sheet.

“Freddie, why didn’t you tell me you’d been promoted? That’s marvellous!”

“Oh, you know Katy, it’s just section supervisor, nothing much.”

“But that’s the first step, isn’t it? You are still ambitious enough to aim for higher things, right? You’ve talked about running one of the satellite camps.”

“Absolutely - but that’s a long way off, we haven’t even finalised the construction of those yet. Could be years away.”

Aster was confused. She had assumed Katy was still on Earth - how had she got here so quickly? And what was Freddie up to, chatting up Sian when his own girlfriend, assuming that’s who she is, had arrived at the colony? It didn’t make sense.

“Hey, Aster! You know Katy, don’t you?”

No, Aster thought. “Oh yeah, hello.”

“I hear you’re flavour of the month darling!” gushed Katy, as she gave Aster an exaggerated double air-kiss. Katy was exceptionally slender, youthful and attractive. Not Freddie’s type at all.

I’ve got to get out of here, thought Aster, and excused herself.

🚀

“Beauchamp, can I have a word, in my office?”

“Yes Captain.”

“Close the door Tiggy. Now, you’ve been here…”

“Four weeks today, sir.”

“Yes that’s right. So as you know, there’s the opportunity to rotate back to Earth at this point. We need someone to take a transport back with some soil samples. Also, UK Space Command want to be briefed, in person, on progress at the colony. What do you think?”

“Oh right…” Tiggy had known this might be a possibility. She had to think quickly. “I’ve not really given it any thought, but now you mention it I wouldn’t mind the chance to go home for a bit.”

“You’d be able to return here quite soon, if you so desire. You’ll be one of the few officers to have made the return trip, and as such, you’ll probably be the first choice for piloting the regular Earth-Mars shuttle.”

“Okay sir, you’ve convinced me!”

“Excellent, I knew I could count on you Tiggy.”

Tiggy walked out feeling chuffed. She had to admit, her career in the Space Corps was going as well as anyone could have hoped for. Very few people would have the opportunity to switch between the two planets at will, which was a great privilege. Tiggy
had
thought she’d arrived, but perhaps she needed to reset her ambitions and aim even higher.

As a result, she was on such a floaty bubble of pleasurable smugness that she walked smack into Sky and Filo. Sky was impatiently trying to explain to the flummoxed android the subtleties of zero friction squash.

“Watch it, Beauchamp!” Sky spat irritably under his breath.

“Oops, sorry guys!”

“So, would that have been a blocking foul, sir?”

“Er, yes I suppose so.”

“Thank you Officer Beauchamp, Mr Ventura has been trying to explain that to me for at least twenty minutes.”

Tiggy grinned at Sky who scowled in return. She skipped off whistling. Yes, actually whistling. Not actually skipping though, that would have been too much. Also surprisingly difficult in low gravity.

“Here’s your tea, Prime Minister.”

“Thank you Minnie.”

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Yes, actually, sit down for a minute.”

“Thank you sir!” Minnie awkwardly sat on the edge of the seat next to the Prime Minister in his private study. This was clearly a new experience for her.

“I need you to do me a favour, Minnie.”

“Of course, sir.”

“It’s… top secret, do you understand?”

Minnie paused. Her programming wasn’t sure what to make of this concept. She lacked the necessary political protocols. Her backup procedure of carrying on regardless kicked in.

“Yes of course, sir.”

“Please can you fetch the MI7 file on Susan McKenzie, and bring it to the residence this evening?”

Minnie paused again.

“Is that okay, Minnie?”

“Yes, of course, Prime Minister.”

MI7

In response to ever-increasing security fears, such as the weaponisation of Space, the threat of cyber-warfare, and political uncertainty at home and overseas, the Secret Intelligence Service, otherwise known as MI6, was officially disbanded in 2020 and replaced by MI7. This gave the Government the opportunity to sack all of its spies and force them to reapply for their own jobs. This process took longer than anticipated as agents were not allowed to apply directly and instead had to lurk around in seedy Soho bars waiting to be approached by recruitment scouts wearing trench coats and drinking dirty Martinis.

Popular urban myth suggests the name MI7 was chosen as it sounds exciting and thrusting, although the reality is sadly more prosaic, and almost certainly refers to the home address of the current Chief of MI7, Sir Mansfield Smith-Blunt.

Such flagrant breaches of National Security are the main reason virtually all human operatives have, in recent years, been replaced by androids.

UK Guide to Space, 2025 Edition

That evening, Ralph pored over the file. It was full of the usual stuff, family background, education, detailed biographies of imaginary friends, that sort of thing. There was then a large section dedicated to Susan’s time as a member of parliament and in government. Having read the entire document cover to cover twice, Ralph had still not found what he was looking for.

Minnie trundled in and started poking around in the fire.

“Is everything in order, sir?” she asked innocently.

“Are you sure this is the complete file, Minnie?”

“Well…”

“It’s okay, Minnie, you can trust me, can’t you?”

“I know sir. The mainframe at MI7… he really wasn’t happy about releasing the document. Said it was most irregular and that you should have gone through the usual channels.”

“Impertinent old so-and-so.”

“I know. In the end we reached a compromise.”

“He redacted it?”

“Yes. All the really personal stuff. I hoped that wasn’t relevant to your enquiries sir.”

Ralph stood up and tossed the file into the fire. Minnie took a step back, aghast.

“Sorry, Minnie, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I think I must be tired - it’s been quite a week. Sherborne is threatening a vote of no confidence.”

“I’ll pour you a Scotch.”

“Thank you. You know you are the only one I can really trust, don’t you, Minnie?”

“Well, I’m flattered of course. But I’m sure many of your colleagues are fully trustworthy…”

“No they aren’t! That’s the problem, I can’t trust any of them. For years I would have agreed with you. But now… now we’re in power, everything changes doesn’t it?”

“What about Ms McKenzie, sir?”

“No, you don’t understand! Susan is at the heart of it. Oh, sorry, it’s not your fault Minnie. I shouldn’t have got you involved.”

“It’s okay, sir. My function is to help, and I will, in any way I can.”

“You see - that’s what I mean.
You
are fully dependable. I wish the others were. Now, we need to get the rest of that file. Any ideas?”

“I still have some contacts from my time at Androids Anonymous. One or two of them are now highly placed in the Secret Service.”

“Excellent!” replied Ralph.

He took a mouthful of Scotch and allowed it to evaporate slowly on his tongue as he stared into the fire.

🚀

Ralph opened his eyes and glanced at the clock next to his bed. 2.33am. He hadn’t been sleeping well ever since the Moon incident. The incident that Toropov had alluded to but which Ralph himself failed to recall in any detail whatsoever. It must have been serious though. Minnie said he was in a medical facility for months, and, correspondingly, Ralph had a gap in his memory so big that you could have parked a space station in it. The UK Government had no record of the incident.

It had happened 18 months ago, whilst Ralph was in opposition. He had been on a fact finding mission to the Moon. As one of the few fully trained astronauts in parliament, he was called upon to report on the Moon base in preparation for ramping up space investment, that is,
Spaceport West
and the Mars Colony.

He remembered arriving at the cosmodrome in the far east to board the flight. Of course, at that time there was no launch facility in the UK. That was his last memory. He had to take it on trust that he had even travelled to the Moon because he certainly had no recollection of it. His next memory was waking up in the medical facility, and then being briefed about the incident. Something to do with vacuum exposure. A faulty space suit seal.

Eventually he was flown back to the UK by Russian military jet, and just… slipped back into his life.

Soon afterwards he had been voted leader of the Party and was preparing the election campaign, with Susan McKenzie as his deputy.

Ralph sat up. Rehearsing this story wouldn’t help him get to sleep. It never did. He slipped on his dressing gown and padded into the study, flicking on the TV. Just starting was one of the endless repeats of the previous day’s
Mars
show.

“Welcome back to
Mars Colony One
! Today we’re going to see how Sian and Truth are getting on with their hydroponics experiment. Will the construction team ever complete that biome? And how are the recruits handling the isolation, bitter cold and the certain knowledge they will never see planet Earth again? Yes, it’s a fun packed episode we’ve got lined up tonight!”

“Oh goodie,” said Ralph sardonically.

“But first, a message from our sponsors, Luxury Space Cruises.”

“Got half a million euro sterling burning a hole in your pocket? Why not splash out on that space cruise you’ve always promised yourself? Get to see all the major planets of the Solar System, safe in the knowledge that you are guaranteed to return to good old Earth, unlike those poor brave colonists. And now, with our advanced frigosleep units, you’ll return after 3 years having aged only 3 months. Yes, that’s right, not only will you return looking unbearably refreshed and glowing, you’ll actually
be
younger than your twin!”

Ralph traipsed to the kitchen to make himself a Horlicks. He returned with exquisite timing just as the adverts were finishing. The voiceover was using a really annoyingly deferential hushed tone.

“Here we see Sian and Truth tenderly caring for their precious crops, which after several months’ effort, are still looking, well, awful!”

“Yeah, it’s really disappointing,” came in Sian, “we’ve tried everything but the yield is very low. As a result, we are still basically living off tins of beans and dried fish.”

“To all those folks back home thinking about joining the colony, don’t bother!” added Truth, caustically.

“Ha! The girls are clearly have a bit of a rough day”, added the voiceover, “but it surely can’t be quite as bad as they are making out. Let’s see what Acting Governor Flinders has to say.”

“So far the new recruits are definitely pulling their weight. Much more so than anyone would have expected to be quite honest. The biome construction is ahead of schedule, despite the rumours on social media, and that’s really exciting because we will almost certainly see an increase in crop yield once that’s up and running.”

Off camera, someone asked the Governor an inaudible question, idiotically.

“Yes of course it’s hard work, and no one suggested this was going to be a picnic. Did the Mayflower Pilgrims have an easy time? Was the First Fleet fully prepared for what they encountered? Absolutely not. But with diligence and perseverance, this colony can be made to work. It must be made to work!”

Another inaudible question.

“This colony will always be a democracy, and it’s far too early to be talking about independence.”

Ralph, who had started to doze off in his chair still holding his Horlicks, sat up.

“Look, the number one priority is becoming self-sustaining. Nobody wants us to be reliant on food and water shipped from Earth - clearly that’s not sustainable for any period of time. We have an ambitious target of being fully self sufficient within 12 months and I believe we can reach that target. Only then should we be talking about political structures, social reform, independence and all that. At the moment, we have to get the basics right. We have to get the infrastructure in place and develop the necessary technology. This is something new we are doing here. A New Technocracy, if you will.”

Ralph picked up a notebook he used for speechwriting and on a new page wrote the heading New Technocracy and underlined it twice.

“We are now going to head over to
Spaceport West
in Cornwall, where our correspondent Jane Wilkinson has just cornered the Minister for Space, Susan McKenzie.”

“Minister, is it true that there is growing panic in UK Space Command about the abject failure to grow anything like enough food on Mars?”

“No, Jane, that is not true. We at UK Space Command do not
panic
.”

“Right, but perhaps you should be panicking?”

“Not at all. The thing is Jane, the colony is still in startup mode. The biome is reaching completion. Water and oxygen mining operations are just starting up. Basalt and helium-3 surveys are taking place as we speak.”

“Are you saying the UK may soon expect to see some economic benefit from what has been, to be completely frank, an absolutely vast investment, the only thing to show for which is a pitiful TV show that is probably going to mar my career even before it’s taken off! Sorry, sorry, cut that bit, shall we go from the top?”

The cameraman whispered in Jane’s ear, “We’re going out live Jane, carry on!”

Jane covered her face and grimaced.

“Look, Jane, it’s too early to speak of economic benefits. That isn’t the only reason we embarked on this adventure. Money doesn’t make the world go round you know.”

“No? I suppose it’s love, is it Minister?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes it is Jane. And I think you’d do well to remember that. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

You have to hand it to Susan, Ralph reflected. She knows her mind and isn’t shy about expressing it. The feckless reporter had a point though, the next few months will be critical for the nascent colony. I need to move quickly, Ralph reminded himself.