On Mars Pathfinder (The Mike Lane Stories Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: Jim Melanson
was working my way through the ESA approved nine step “Sanitary Maintenance Post Evacuation Procedure” (wiping my ass), I noticed an odd smell. I started to turn around and came face to face with something roughly shaped, brown, and very moist. Ewwwww. Space turds …
With the cover not snapping shut, and the lack of negative pressure, everything in the holding tank over the last three days (since the last outboard dump, no pun intended) was slowly floating out of the toilet, and into the small compartment. Yes, I tried to scream in frustration. Tried, being the operative word. IT WAS A BAD CHOICE OF THINGS TO DO IN ZERO-G. When you scream, the first thing you do is make a large inhalation of air. Not wise with “stuff” floating so close to your face in this kind of environment.
The cleanup took two hours. Thankfully there was two small bottles of mouthwash available in the toiletry supplies. At the end of the two hours I had a floating plastic bag full of … well … you know what it was full of . I also had a non-functioning toilet that I had to manually close and permanently secure the lid on. It was a small mercy that this happened at the end of the journey, and not at the start. It was no small mercy, however, that in my disgust and haste to clean things up, I had completely forgotten about the live feed cameras sending images back to Flight Control; and from there, out to the internet. Apparently several million viewers saw me exiting the space toilet with my bare ass hanging out, floating space turds around me, and of course, me, spitting and hacking. Yep. The stuff legends are made of. Even now, eighty-three years later, it’s still considered one of the most hysterically funny videos of the entire Terran space program; especially after some tech head re-cut the feed and added Strauss’ Blue Danube Waltz as the audio track. I still don’t think it’s so funny. There are certain events in a man’s life that he just has to accept he will never live down. It just leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Hell, even the Hybrids had seen it; but that’s another story completely.
While the video I received from Flight Control was a room full of people laughing so hard I thought they were going to suffer renal failure, the image of Hans was different. He had gone from upset, stopped for lunch somewhere around supremely pissed, and was now driving forward at breakneck speed to the town of, “Apoplectic With Rage – Population 001”. His message that I watched after the cleanup indicated that if I was done turning the mission into a Keystone Cops’ routine, and that I might want to get on with the shutdown procedures as I was due to descend in approximately 45 hours. “IF, you don’t MIND,” was his acerbic and cutting closing statement as the vid ended.
Seeing him like that gave me a case of the giggles. The whole absurdity of the situation compounded it, but I knew he was right. Tempus was indeed Fugit-ing, and I was on the clock. I ate some rations quickly, and sipped a lukewarm plastic bag of coffee as I got on with the business of transitioning the MTV to satellite mode.
I had to transfer some supplies and equipment to the Lander. The transit vehicle had brought enough toiletries, food, water, consumables, and medical supplies for a round trip. This was for show. Had I arrived at Mars, and there been a problem with the Hab (Habitat) and other systems on the ground (AtmoGen, Solar Farm, Water Plant, etc), OR there had been a problem with the Lander; then I would need the supplies to do a free-return trajectory shot back to Earth. This step was solely for the happiness of the politicians, government bureaucrats, and the media pundits. Those in the program knew that if we were to do a free-return trajectory on this mission, the position of Mars and Terra at this point meant that the transit vehicle would in fact never reach Terra in time for me to survive. Terra would always be out of reach for the time the
With the cover not snapping shut, and the lack of negative pressure, everything in the holding tank over the last three days (since the last outboard dump, no pun intended) was slowly floating out of the toilet, and into the small compartment. Yes, I tried to scream in frustration. Tried, being the operative word. IT WAS A BAD CHOICE OF THINGS TO DO IN ZERO-G. When you scream, the first thing you do is make a large inhalation of air. Not wise with “stuff” floating so close to your face in this kind of environment.
The cleanup took two hours. Thankfully there was two small bottles of mouthwash available in the toiletry supplies. At the end of the two hours I had a floating plastic bag full of … well … you know what it was full of . I also had a non-functioning toilet that I had to manually close and permanently secure the lid on. It was a small mercy that this happened at the end of the journey, and not at the start. It was no small mercy, however, that in my disgust and haste to clean things up, I had completely forgotten about the live feed cameras sending images back to Flight Control; and from there, out to the internet. Apparently several million viewers saw me exiting the space toilet with my bare ass hanging out, floating space turds around me, and of course, me, spitting and hacking. Yep. The stuff legends are made of. Even now, eighty-three years later, it’s still considered one of the most hysterically funny videos of the entire Terran space program; especially after some tech head re-cut the feed and added Strauss’ Blue Danube Waltz as the audio track. I still don’t think it’s so funny. There are certain events in a man’s life that he just has to accept he will never live down. It just leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Hell, even the Hybrids had seen it; but that’s another story completely.
While the video I received from Flight Control was a room full of people laughing so hard I thought they were going to suffer renal failure, the image of Hans was different. He had gone from upset, stopped for lunch somewhere around supremely pissed, and was now driving forward at breakneck speed to the town of, “Apoplectic With Rage – Population 001”. His message that I watched after the cleanup indicated that if I was done turning the mission into a Keystone Cops’ routine, and that I might want to get on with the shutdown procedures as I was due to descend in approximately 45 hours. “IF, you don’t MIND,” was his acerbic and cutting closing statement as the vid ended.
Seeing him like that gave me a case of the giggles. The whole absurdity of the situation compounded it, but I knew he was right. Tempus was indeed Fugit-ing, and I was on the clock. I ate some rations quickly, and sipped a lukewarm plastic bag of coffee as I got on with the business of transitioning the MTV to satellite mode.
I had to transfer some supplies and equipment to the Lander. The transit vehicle had brought enough toiletries, food, water, consumables, and medical supplies for a round trip. This was for show. Had I arrived at Mars, and there been a problem with the Hab (Habitat) and other systems on the ground (AtmoGen, Solar Farm, Water Plant, etc), OR there had been a problem with the Lander; then I would need the supplies to do a free-return trajectory shot back to Earth. This step was solely for the happiness of the politicians, government bureaucrats, and the media pundits. Those in the program knew that if we were to do a free-return trajectory on this mission, the position of Mars and Terra at this point meant that the transit vehicle would in fact never reach Terra in time for me to survive. Terra would always be out of reach for the time the
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