Exploiting Space - Chapter 1 (An Original Story)

Chapter 1

"There are so many benefits to be derived from space exploration and exploitation; why not take what seems to me the only chance of escaping what is otherwise the sure destruction of all that humanity has struggled to achieve for 50,000 years?"

-Isaac Asimov

Jolted from my sleep from a loud BANG, I sprang to my feet, feeling my heart beating out of my chest. Still groggy, a slightly audible question of "What the hell was that!?!" sprang from my lips. I meandered my way over to the window hoping to get an idea of what caused the horrendous sound. It somewhat reminded me of when tornadoes flung huge debris into my corrugated tin roof home back on Earth years ago.

Being the type of person who's uncomfortable not having a grasp on a situation, I felt my inside tighten up when the entire view of my window was a rust colored sandstorm. I had heard wind and some dust storms occurred from time to time on Mars, but nothing could have prepared me for this. The concept of a "red out" wasn't something I was quite ready for. At least there was comfort in being able to assume that the loud thud had come from something being blown into the metallic wall of the nearby reinforced lab. At the same time John realized how closely death was cheated...if his rounded apartment had been hit instead, there would have been no sound except the carefully contained atmosphere being instantaneously sucked out along with his life.

My bosses at the Excon corporation sent all the provisions and tools they thought a small team on Mars could possibly need like food, water, tent like fabrics (yet air tight), etc. It became pretty obvious that a massive sandstorm wasn't something they had accounted for, seeing that my equipment sadly lacked anything resembling a simple push broom to clear the mine of the mounds of red sand.

As usual, the so called experts back on Earth that prepped this excursion sorely lacked real field experience. John sighed and put his hand to his face thinking, "Someday, executives in charge have to realize they don't know everything from reading reports in a cushy office. Real knowledge comes from direct experience. The least they could do is ask for input on their projects from people who have actually been there and had to deal with the constant change of plans."

Between the realization of nearly being killed by flying debris and the frustration at the so-called corporate experts yet again not foreseeing necessary tools, John knew he couldn't comfortably go back to sleep at this time. He quickly got himself cleaned up with the small water ration allotted for the morning and got dressed in his Excon company uniform...which doubled as a spacesuit when working outside the corporate complex.

Still hearing the rush of the winds outside John hastily gathered his helmet and toolbox to head to the lab, both for safety from any further debris as well as to meet up with the other employees. The lab was the only structure that could withstand an impact like that and someone needed to find out what the heck it was! There's no way the storm had picked up a boulder that heavy to make such a sound.

John pushed the number sequence 2...3...4...2 into the pad next to the door followed by a small 'whoosh' sound as the seals were released allowing him access to the connecting tunnel. The first miners found the hard way that a simple button to open the doors eventually led to an accidental venting and death, so the new number sequence systems were installed as a safeguard.

Full spacesuits were necessary for the tunnels, with thin clear plastic walls only there to prevent the fine dust from getting in but it was too expensive to keep them filled with breathable air and atmospheric pressure. Not seeing anybody else in other connection tubes, John hopped to the lab as fast as he could in the light Martian gravity, which was about a third of that on Earth.

Finally getting through the plastic wrapped tunnel, John quickly turned and sealed the lab door behind him. It was strange there was no sound over the helmet radio, but was thrilled to turn around to see the other 22 members of his team safely in this reinforced room. As his helmet can off, he overheard the lead geologist, Mrs. Dao, saying something about the static electricity of the sandstorm interfering with their communication systems. The conversation continued by asking who was the brave soul to go outside and see what had blown into the lab wall, with all eyes on John.

Somewhat annoyed, he thought, "Why did it always have to be me!?! The time the pumps in the mine stopped working, they sent me. The time the drill broke, me again. Every time something goes wrong, I'm the one to stick my neck out there and brave the unknown dangers. There are other engineers here that can share the risk with me."

The others could tell by the look on John's face that he wasn't thrilled to be the 'forced volunteer' yet again. Mrs. Dao preempted John's arguments by stating, "Mr. Trillam was still suffering from his broken ankle, unable to deal with the winds without crutches and the new 23 year old kid Curtis Brachartly wasn't broken in enough to face this investigation alone."

She continued, "You know you're going to have to go out there anyway John, the kid would need your help. So why not just minimize the risk now by just sending you alone? With the communication radios (or comms) not working, there's no way you can talk something through it from in here anyway."

As much as John wanted to argue, he had no logical response and simply sighed a loud, dejected sigh of "Fine! OK. Let's get this over with." All John really wanted was to finish this stupid job assignment and transfer to something way more interesting than digging for iron and small pockets of alkaline metals. He's been waiting for this transfer request for the head engineer job on Callisto, the latest believed hotbed of natural resources around Jupiter.

Concerned about the potential breach of the lab due to damage, the investigation couldn't wait until the storm died down. A somewhat disgruntled John reattached his helmet and double checked his suit for his trek outside, expecting to be blasted with the small particulates. Even a few small grains getting in the wrong spot could be catastrophic, so even the mesh duct tape had to be applied over the seals of the suit.

On the far side of the room, John entered his 2...3...4...2 code to enter the airlock, waiting to hear it reseal, before doing the same to the door to the outside. As soon as the outer doors seals released the whoosh of the wind was deafening and he had to force the door open enough to fit through with the storm demanding it stay shut. He thought, "at least it wasn't blowing the other way which would have probably ripped the door off."

The sound of the wind was nothing compared to the 150 miles per hour of the fine sand pelting his suit. He couldn't even hear himself think, let alone talk....the comms would have been useless even if they had been working.
With each step that sunk slightly into the dusty ground, John just repeated to himself, "Let's get this over with."

Image Sources:
Mars and Earth