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The Colonist's

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In the spring of 2145 the United States through NASA opened Mars up for colonization and invited applicants from all over the world to participate. Although the first human landing on the red planet had been made almost 100 years earlier, life on Mars had, up to that point, been reserved for scientists and researchers. Meanwhile life on earth became more controlled, more taxed, more socialist and less free.

Andreas Street sat in his downtown Calgary loft drinking coffee taking turns between watching the snow swirl outside on his patio and typing on his laptop computer. The view outside his window was breathtaking, glass and concrete skyscrapers reached for the sky and past them the foothills of the Rocky Mountains rose in the far distance.

He was a good looking man, he had deep blue eyes and short brown hair cut in the military style he’d become used to during his short military career. He was just five foot ten inches tall but his military bearing led most people to believe he was taller.

Andreas was 32 and had made a great deal of money in real estate, when making a great deal of money had still been possible in Canada. His apartment was a large, clean space, of about 3500 square feet on two levels located in the center of Calgary’s downtown. At a cost of $1300 per square foot he had paid an excessive amount for it, but that extravagance had been the point.

In 2139 Canada had instituted a program called the fair wage law. The fair wage law had already been implemented in Europe some 20 years earlier and had been credited by elite social thinkers with “alleviating the burden of the poor”.

Under the program a man was only permitted to earn a certain amount of disposable income. This amount had been initially set at one million dollars per year, and then reduced to five hundred thousand, then, later three hundred thousand had been deemed “enough” and any amount earned over that was called “excessive wealth”.

The idea behind the law had been that the amount of money a man earned over and above the set amount in the course of a year would be appropriated for charity and the government would take those charitable donations and redistribute them into social programs to alleviate the suffering of “societies most vulnerable” as well as ensuring that every person’s rights to the basic necessities of life such as a free university education upon graduation from the public school system and free broadband service were respected and facilitated by the government.

The intent of the fair wage law had been that socially minded people, seeing the value of such a fair society would continue to work as they had always done, and that society as a whole would reap the benefit of their effort through government control and distribution of the excessive wealth they generated. It didn’t work out that way.

In 2138, the year before the plan had been implemented Andreas Street had made slightly more than 13 million dollars in Calgary’s red hot real estate market. His company Street Level had employed 139 full time staff and provided almost continuous employment for a host of contractors, sub-contractors, designers, structural engineers and architects. Street Level had assets worth in excess of 125 million dollars, mostly commercial and residential rental units, which earned a guaranteed rental income of over $2.5 million clear each and every year.

The fair wage law had been passed in the November of 2138 and was to be implemented by March to coincide with the new tax year. In January 2138 Andreas put all of his income properties up for sale, including his modest 2 bedroom 1200 square foot residence. By March he had sold them all, and bought his current multi-million dollar ultra high end luxury condominium. He had taken an estimated million dollar loss on the last couple of properties in order to simply get them sold. The money he made was deposited in the bank; he used mostly offshore accounts, not trusting the government to abide by their word to not retroactively steal his hard earned money.

In the six years following its implementation, Andreas made a concerted effort to not earn enough money for any of it to be stolen by the Fair Wage Law. Many, but not all businessmen followed this sort of path, from creative productive exuberance to a bare minimum of effort, enough to only turn a small profit without ever “contributing” to the Fair Wage Law. The country’s economy tanked, the stock market went from double digit annual gains to a virtual standstill. With a single piece of legislation the engine of the economy had been turned off as certainly and as swiftly as if a literal key had been turned.

It was the Fair Wage Law more than anything else had led Andreas to apply for the Mars Colonist Program. That desire had been made all the more urgent by the election in the United States of handsome and personable New Democrat Kerry Barger and his election promise to “shut down this wasteful elitist exercise” and to “implement an American solution to the problem of financial inequality” once he took office in January, only 6 weeks away.

This was to be the last colonization flight to Mars. The USA had just gone through the most vicious presidential campaign in a long history of such events. During the campaign media bias against the sitting president was palpable. Any slip, the merest whisper of unsubstantiated rumor was enough to start a media feeding frenzy. Even though most of these scandals were quickly proven to be unfounded, if not complete fabrications the damage was done. The American people by in large were only paying peripheral attention to the election, being more concerned with a failing economy and growing shortages as the economies of the rest of the world, that have contributed largely to feeding the American consumer culture for so long dried up drop by precious drop.

Upon loosing the election, the incumbent and driving force behind the institution of the Mars Colonist program President Roger Harriman announced this last flight. In his speech he verbally attacked his replacement for his short sightedness and catering to special interest groups. “This world was built by men who dared to dream, who seeing their lot in life WORKED for a better future. It was not gifted to them, they were not the beneficiaries of some nameless faceless benefactor they were the creators of their own futures! You can not fake prosperity Mr. Barger, you must EARN it!” The media hounded him for his breach of protocol and civility toward the incumbent, making it abundantly clear that the President Elect had been their choice all along.

President Harriman would not call another press conference. He went about his final duties with methodical precision, expertly and dutifully completing them all, but he had aged visibly in the 8 years of his tenure and he looked to all the world like a broken man. His family stood by him stoically through it all. Rumors swirled that Harriman’s son was to be on board the final Mars Colonist flight, to escape a country his father would soon not recognize as his own.

Andreas’ computer beeped, signaling an incoming message, and jarring him out of his thoughts. He sat at a glass and steel desk in the office portion of the upstairs loft bedroom. The room opened up on the great room below and was ringed by a glass and steel railing that gave the 700 square foot bedroom the feeling of a gigantic curved balcony. Beyond the railing the apartment windows, a single sheet of unbroken glasteel rose from the floor of the great room, to the ceiling 25 feet above.

Visitors to his home all remarked on two things, first was the clean uncluttered look of it, made that much more evident by the simple and stylish remakes of old art deco furniture sitting upon the dark hardwood and ceramic floors. Next they invariably commented on his choice of art. It seemed they always expected more stylistic, abstract art to go with the sleek furniture and the neutral coloured walls, but Andreas had collected only a few genuine works of art, and invariably these were realistic, romantic pieces.

His favorite work was by a little known local artist, it depicted an old steam powered freight train rounding a sharp bend in some untouched wilderness. Andreas had always imagined what it must have been like to build something like that railroad, to blast through mountains and cut a path through great boreal forests, to lay the rails through an uncharted wilderness.

The computer beeped again, now it seemed he might find out, the message was from NASA, he clicked to open it and read it without hesitation.

Dear Mr. Street

It is our pleasure to inform you that having achieved an average of 88% on the NASA selection course (98% on Mars Indoctrination Training and 78% on Colonist Suitability Screening) that you have been accepted to NASA’s Mars Colonist program.

Please read the following information carefully, it contains all the information on flight timings, as well as all arrangements that must be made prior to your flight.

Sign and return all forms where highlighted including your acceptance letter within the next 5 days to confirm your flight.

We here at NASA wish to congratulate you on your accomplishment and we look forward to seeing you at Tharsis Station colonist!

Andreas read the message again. Gulping down the last of his now cold coffee he let out a quiet but intense exclamation. “Yes!” in a few short weeks he would be standing on the surface of Mars a free man!

Well, almost free.

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I have created my own. Might be a bit morbid, but it is something that will indeed happen. I don't plan on making all of mine sad, most will show the heroic side of man and his successes, but I don't think it would be fitting to ignore this side of the world.

(Still working on title, by the way... and yes, I copyright all of my works made public :confused:)

This Life

By Nicholas Stanley (Copyright December 2008)

Marcus was sitting across the cell from me, his back leaning against the wall in our dingy, dirty cell. It was dark, the metal floors and walls were cold, and everything smelled stale. He was at least lucky enough to get me as a cellmate, one who he called a friend. All prisoners had a cellmate, and they place the murderers, thieves, drug dealers, tax evaders, illegal protestors, and all other criminals into the same area. Last month, my cousin, John Valley, a famous protestor against the government, was arrested for conspiracy. He was savagely massacred by three prisoners who disagreed with John’s politics.

It was hard to tell if John was actually guilty. He was allegedly organizing a team to plant explosives and destroy the House of Parliament. No one could ever be sure, these days. Argus Panoptes was widely suspected to tamper with evidence and distort the stories. Argus Panoptes was the government intelligence and investigation agency, and was named after the creature who kept watch over Io with its thousand eyes that were all-seeing and never slept. But Marcus knew that he was very guilty of his “crime”. He thought back only two years beforehand, before his imprisonment.

In March of 2138, Marcus Isaacson was a world-renown investor and entrepreneur. He owned a number of businesses, both in and outside of the Western Hemisphere Union. He lived in Canada—one of the few nations in the West to have not joined the WHU—because the WHU had implemented a Fair Wage Law, limiting the income of any individual to $300,000. Marcus’s income far exceeded this number, and was fortunate enough to already living in Canada. If he would have tried to immigrate to Canada from the WHU, he would have been taxed the majority of his wealth.

There were many rumors of the Fair Wage Law being passed by the Canadian government, but nobody really thought it to be true until Parliament announced that it would be voting on just that in July. By November, the law had indeed passed, but was not to go into effect until March of 2139, the last month of the tax year. There was a well-known loophole in the Fair Wage Law that exempted expenses on food and housing from this taxation. Many who made over the $300,000 limit—including Marcus—sold their assets and bought very lavish flats or houses before March came. Marcus’s new flat was very luxurious, and the 1500 square feet was more than enough since he lived alone.

The day the Fair Wage Law went into effect, one would have thought that every problem was suddenly solved. The media had headlines such as “FWL is here!” and “The entire world is now Fair!” And although Marcus had most of his money taken in taxes, he tried to hide as much as he could get away with. He thought he was successful, but will always regret his attempt. Nobody escaped the eyes of Argus Panoptes, the government intelligence agency.

A mere month later, when he was sleeping, a team from Argus broke into his flat. The commotion woke him, and he immediately sat up. But before he could try to hide, they had already destroyed his door and the men had begun to flow through. Before he could scream, a man—dressed completely in black with a face that seemed to be designed for the explicit purpose of striking fear into another man’s eyes—hit Marcus on the back of his head with the butt of his BR-12, and knocked him out cold.

When Marcus had woken up, he was in the cell with me. I recognized him as Marcus Isaacson immediately. Who wouldn’t? His face was one of the biggest. I had been here longer than he had, and arrived the same way, for the same “crime”. It was considered unpatriotic and one of the greatest offenses to the government and society to try and evade taxes. His head was still throbbing, so I told him to lie down on the beaten up mattress we were given; one for the both of us (we solved this by switching out each night). I introduced myself as Michael Valley.

“I was stupid to ever think I could get away with it, wasn’t I?” he softly whispered to me.

“No one ever hides from the eyes of Argus.”

Marcus sighed. A guard tossed two old porcelain plates of slop and two cups of water through the lower of two small holes in our cell door. Marcus quickly ate his, and I gave mine to him. I wasn’t hungry anyway. Not much energy to expend, being in a cell 24 hours a day. The only contact with the outside world is the old guard who gives us our meals. We never saw him, but he pitied us enough to give us news of the outside world.

After two months, all the news we got is that, despite the economy declining faster than ever, the media proclaimed the Fair Wage Law a huge success; and that our guard was retiring. He was getting old, and felt guilty for a reason he could not identify.

“I once thought locking up criminals was justice.”

“It is,” I replied.

“Then why do I feel so damn guilty every morning when I go to work, and when I go home to my wife and kids?”

“Not all of us are criminals. Is it criminal to want to keep your money?”

“I… I don’t know. I have heard that a long time ago from an old friend of mine, a former protestor who suddenly… disappeared.”

After another week, Marcus could not take it anymore. I woke up one morning, and looked at him. He was sitting on his mattress; he looked more serious than I had ever seen him. When our breakfast came, he immediately took his plate and smashed it against the wall, breaking it to many shards. The guard loudly laughed as Marcus pulled one of the shards up to his neck.

“So what now? You’re going to take your life, are you?” The guard was laughing hysterically.

Marcus slowly replied, “This is not life” and forcefully thrust the shard into his trachea.

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Andreas stepped out of the aircraft onto Jarvis Island and immediately caught sight of the Skyhook rising out of the center of the 4.5 kilometer square atoll.

The Skyhook consisted of three main parts, a tethered object in a geostationary orbit, the tether and the terrestrial terminus. NASA called the whole thing the Geostationary, Orbital Mechanical Elevator and Terminus, or by its acronym GOMET.

Jarvis Island had been selected for the Terminus due to its geographic location very near the equator and its isolated position in the Pacific Ocean. The island was also ideal in that it lay outside of the Pacific storm belt.

Originally used as a guano mining island, Jarvis had been uninhabited since the late 1800’s. The island had spent most of its recorded history as an ecological preserve until NASA proposed it as the site for GOMET. The meager grass and low shrubs that had been present on the sandy atoll were gone now; the island was now almost completely developed. Any land not covered by the huge terminus had either been taken over by the nuclear power plant that supplied GOMET’s enormous power needs, the airport on the western side of the island, the man made deep water port and storage yard to the east or as barracks, shops and offices for the thousands of support staff.

Construction of the terminus had begun with the port facilities in 2125, by ’30 the work on the terminus proper had begun and a Brigade group of Marines had been stationed to guard the island from land, sea and air. The entire mega-project was fully operational fifteen years and 30 billion dollars later. The initial cost projection for GOMET had been as low as 16.2 billion, but government efficiency had put an end to that rather quickly.

Andreas and his fellow travelers walked from the aircraft across a short distance to the terminal where each of them showed their identification, again. It seemed to Andreas that he had shown his ID almost once an hour since the journey had begun almost 48 hours ago. Initially he’d traveled from Calgary to Colorado Springs, where he and the other 125 colonists had been processed at the home of the US military’s Space Command, Peterson Air Force Base. From there they had boarded another flight which took them to Honolulu Hawaii and from there to Jarvis Island.

Andreas had shared a seat on the last two legs of the journey with a man from Georgia named Terrance Rogers. ‘Terry’ was six foot four with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was friendly enough but had a habit of speaking in a rather loud voice, as if anything he had to say was worth everyone’s hearing of it. Terry was an electrician by trade, a city of Atlanta electrical inspector, and a self avowed “union man”. He bragged at length to Andreas that he had always worked for the city.

“I could have gone it on my own,” he said at one point “But I realized early on that if I got in with the right people in the city and in the union that I could write my own ticket. You know what they say” he said jostling Andreas’ elbow, “it’s not what you know it’s who.”

Andreas bit his tongue and smiled. Andreas was glad that Terry slept so much during the flights, and that he was not overly talkative. He’d met many such inspectors in the course of his career and to a man, he would characterize them as overly officious self aggrandizing hacks. He’d even asked his own tradesmen about individual inspectors who they knew. The reply was usually a smirk and some one line quip about “those that can’t do…” For his part Andreas busied himself gathering more knowledge on Mars, Tharsis Station and the young colony it supported.

Once the Colonist’s identities had been verified and they had collected their baggage they were each issued a room for the night and briefed on the events to come.

“Supper will be served from 17:30 to 19:30, in the mess hall.” Their guide intoned. He was a balding man in his mid forties, he wore the dark blue coveralls of the ground based support staff, had thinning hair and a large pot belly. “After that the night is yours. There are some shops and a couple of fully stocked canteens on the island, but please do not overindulge. Breakfast is from oh five hundred to six, after that everyone will gather in the main terminus for the ascension at zero nine hundred. Oh and remember folks, your limited to 200 pounds of baggage, not an ounce more.

Andreas smiled looking down at his single piece of luggage, much less than even 100 pounds. Between that bag, which was filled mostly with clothing and what he was wearing he carried everything he now owned. Andreas had sold everything else and had transferred almost all of his cash to the Lloyds First Bank, the only international bank with a branch at Tharsis Station. His total wealth had totaled one hundred fifty million dollars, 100 million of which now sat in deposits with Lloyds, the rest, remained in secured accounts in Switzerland or a few of the more secure Caribbean banks.

Andreas had also ensured that while on Mars he would be able to conduct unlimited and immediate transfers and purchases. After some negotiation with Lloyds First Bank president Gunter Mann he had succeeded, and though he would pay a considerable access fee for the service he would not have to wait the standard 2 Martian working days to get his cash or complete a transaction over the $1000 daily limit as required by Lloyds Mars branch. In addition to this assurance Andreas also carried almost ten pounds of gold, with him. He’d had it forged into common items, to mislead casual observers, there was an electric razor, two belt buckles and some other odds and ends including a couple of pieces of rather gaudy and very ‘cheap looking’ jewelry. He would have preferred for all of his earnings to be in gold but that was not practical or, for this voyage even possible.

Andreas cleared into his room, and after a much needed shower he headed to the mess hall for supper. He got into the “main steam line” behind a young Marine Sergeant.

“Hey,” the Marine said noticing Andreas’ civilian clothes “You a colonist?”

“Yes.” Andreas replied

“Man, that’s some hard core shit. I’ve been requesting a transfer to Fort Lousma ever since I got back from Iran.” The Marine said as his food was served.

“Fort Lousma Gunny? Andreas said addressing the Marine by his rank.

“Yeah, Fort Lousma, Tharsis Station. We’ve been there from the beginning, Lousma is named after Jack Robert Lousma, the Marine astronaut that commanded STS-3 back in the day.”

“I didn’t know there were Marines on Mars.” Andreas said

By this time they had worked their way through the long line. Moving into the dining hall proper Andreas sat at the first available table and motioned for the Gunny to join him, which he did.

“Thanks. Yeah we’ve got Marines on Mars, only a platoon though.” The Marine said already digging into his food “Hey, you military or something?” he said around half a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“I was,” Andreas replied “I did 6 years in the Canadian Army, 2 years as line infantry and 4 years in the Canadian Special Operations Regiment.”

“See Sore?” The young Marine asked pronouncing the units Acronym as two separate words. “Cool, I worked with some of y’all Canadians in Tehran. You got your shit wired tight.”

Andreas laughed. “Thanks, that was 1 Battalion. I went to Iran in ‘34, but with 3rd Battalion up north working with the Kurds.”

“East Azerbaijan?” the Gunnery Sergeant asked?

“No, Ardabil.”

The Marine exhaled loudly “Ardabil, that place was a mess!

“Yeah, it was. The whole country was. That’s what you get when you don’t have a separation between church and state.” Andreas remarked.

The Marine nodded “Iran’s doin’ ok now though.”

“So I hear.” Andreas said extending his hand “By the way, I’m Andreas Street. Pleased to meet you Gunny.”

“Gunnery Sergeant Kim Mahoney, my friends call me Sue.”

Andreas smiled “Sue?”

“Yeah, when I joined my first platoon Sergeant was a dinosaur named Kitching. Unfortunately for me First Sergeant Kitching, aside from being one mean son-of-a-bitch was also a fan of some country singer from the dark ages called Johnny Cash. Johnny Cash sang a song called “A Boy Named Sue” about a boy whose daddy named him Sue, and since First Sergeant Kitching thought Kim was a girls name he started calling me Sue, just for fun and it just stuck.”

Andreas laughed. The two men talked some more about Iran, telling stories about the war and their parts in it. Referring places to names and events so fully that were another person to listen it would sound as if two history professors were conducting a dissertation on that violent war and its outcome.

“I’m going to get a coffee,” Andreas said, “Would you like one?”

“Nah, unfortunately I’ve got to jet Andreas, I’m supervising mids tonight at the Terminus.” He said referring to his scheduled graveyard shift.

“Alright then,” Andreas said extending his hand once more. “Nice meeting you ‘Sue’”

“You too man,” ‘Sue’ said shaking his hand warmly. As he turned to leave he commented “and hey,” he said “if I ever get to Fort Lousma I’ll look you up and you can show me the sights.”

“It’s a deal Gunny.” Andreas said waving goodbye.

After having his coffee Andreas spent some time walking around the Island. Everywhere he went the Terminus towered over him, the tether stretching up into invisibility, like there was some giant up there holding the string of a gigantic yo-yo that was the earth.

Andreas returned to the barracks and found his way to a small canteen on the third floor. He ordered a draught beer and seated himself at a table in the far corner facing the large windows. Once again the terminus dominated the landscape, beyond that there was only the deep blue of the Pacific.

From this angle looking down on the terminus’ platform only 100 meters away Andreas could see both the tether and the climber better. The tether was graphite grey and composed of a multitude of relatively small cables counter twisted into a rope like structure about 30 meters wide. At the end of the tether, Andreas knew, was a huge hexagonal block of concrete reinforced with carbon fiber and steel called the head. The head was buried out of sight from the Terminus platform in a chamber called the socket. The socket was a receptacle with a tube protruding from its center for the tether. It was buried below 150 meters of reinforced concrete and was designed to allow the Head to move slightly to compensate for the stresses placed on the cable by the climbers as well as external forces such as wind and earthquake.

The Climber itself was a ring like device with an interior diameter over 100 meters across. It was 30 meters wide and 20 meters high and could carry 9000 metric tons to the Orbital Terminus in three days.

The Climber moved up the Tether by means of eight articulated tracked arms which pushed against the tether and acted on it to pull the Climber up. As the tether was over three times as wide at its center than it was at its terminus ends, as the climber ascended the track arms retracted.

The cargo carrying portion of the climber had three separate levels inside. The bottom two were for regular cargo and were designed to allow normal sea-borne shipping containers to be used. The top one was set aside for personnel and was broken into small two person cabins, a dining area and two lounge areas.

“Do you mind if we join you?” a man’s voice asked startling Andreas out of his reverie. He looked up; standing beside his table was a man and two women, whom Andreas recognized from the long flight.

“Sure.” Andreas answered standing and motioning for the group to be seated.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” said the younger of the women as she took the chair next to his..

“Yes it is.” He admitted.

Edited by Zip
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The guard seems to have undergone a bit of a personality change towards the end. Maybe you should state that the first guard (who seemed to be having doubts about the regime) got replaced without explanation?

that our guard was retiring. He was getting old, and felt guilty for a reason he could not identify.

I did. :wub:

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Whoops. I guess you did. Sort of. It wasn't obvious that he was retiring *that day*. (The last guy who retired where I work at took about a year from starting to talk about it, to actually doing so.) If you had referred to the second guy as the *new* guard, then perhaps.

After another week, Marcus could not take it anymore. I woke up one morning, and looked at him. He was sitting on his mattress; he looked more serious than I had ever seen him. When our breakfast came, he immediately took his plate and smashed it against the wall, breaking it to many shards. The new guard loudly laughed as Marcus pulled one of the shards up to his neck.

(my addition in bold) (edit: fixed formatting tags)

Edited by Steve D'Ippolito
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