The Last Tiki Bar on Mars

It’s hot in the Banana Cave. Welcome to August. Our hero cools off by putting his head in his freezer.

He takes a Hamm’s out of the fridge. Sets it on the table, eyeing the condensation on the can.

He knows he’s not going to just drink that beer, he’s going to drink the fuck out of it.

When you stare into the bear, the bear stares back into you.

You may remember the effort called Mars One: “Mars One was a small private Dutch organization that received money from investors by claiming it would use it to land the first humans on Mars and leave them there to establish a permanent human colony.”

A bold idea, to put a colony on Mars funded as a “reality show”. Started in 2012 it was all over by 2019. The project attracted many dreamers, but not so many dollars. It also attracted significant criticism to the extreme that it boarded on derision for the Mars One vision being so far from reality as to be a scam.

In fact, sitting around thinking about what it would be like for these colonists is what provided the inspiration to write this whole business here.

I recently stumbled across this 2015 article from National Geographic discussing an approach to taking people to Mars and bringing them back. It includes a short video interviewing four regular Earthlings hoping to get the chance to go to Mars and never come back. I get the urge to go, but anyone seriously considering this should lock themselves in their bedroom with three strangers for a week before deciding to climb into the space capsule.

Mars One still maintains a one-page web site and an email address.

In Chapter Fifteen (Space Is The Place) I introduced the idea of The Fling without bothering to explain it, hoping the way the chapter unfolds how it operates will be obvious to the alert reader who knows a wee bit of space travel concepts.

What is the deal with that thing? Well, here’s the problem for your intrepid space explorer. If you’re relying on rocket fuel for go-juice the only place you can really fill up your ship is Earth. Once you’ve left the surface and are in orbit, on the moon or on Mars, better hope you took enough with you. That’s not 100% true, there are plans to make fuel on Mars, but it’s not like you can just fill up the tank when you want to like you can on Earth. So what to do? Avoid using fuel!

“The Fling” is a kinetic launch system that quite literally throws the cargo into the sky. A system based on this concept is close to operation, right here on Earth in 2022. You can read about it here. There is a big difference between what they are using at Bradbury Base in the novel and what SpinLaunch is currently doing. The Fling at Bradbury Base is essentially a very large railgun, using magnetic fields to launch the cargo into space, like firing something from a cannon only without the gunpowder.

Why would this be good? Well, gravity on Mars is less than half of Earth and there’s far less atmosphere to fight. From the fuel perspective, you can get to orbit for free, then use the fuel you’re carrying for other things, like docking with something like Phobos station and eventual re-entry.

Solve the fuel shortage problem, by avoiding using fuel!

Keep in mind this novel is meant for humor, entertainment and social commentary. The “science” parts are like horseshoes and hand-grenades, only expected to be “close enough”. If you’d like to calculate how many joules of energy it would take to throw a cargo into space from the surface of Mars and what the magnets would be like, send me your figures and I’ll put them here.

Back here on Earth Prime, SpaceX is launching a resupply ship to the International Space Station. What does it include? Lots of snacks… Does that sound familiar?

Read more here: https://www.cnn.com/2022/11/26/world/spacex-launch-saturday-iss-dwarf-tomatoes-scn/index.html

Arnold is staring out the window of the rusty green 1978 Chevy double-cab pickup somewhere in Colorado.

He’s got sunglasses on, and he’s smoking.

And he’s a pig.

He’s down to two cigarettes.

That is a problem. This problem cannot stand.

It’s 20 miles into town.

Can he make it?

He’s a pig on a mission. Cigarettes, smokes, coffin nails.

The dry dusty landscape of Colorado rolls by. Arnold’s in the passenger seat, such as it is and he’s looking at the driver. “Can this fucker pull it off?” Arnold knows it’s about a 50/50 chance that there will have to be violence and he plans to be the one who walks away with all his internal organs intact.

He keeps his big yap shut though, as he can’t actually drive a car on his own, being a pig ‘n that. The rig rattles into the parking lot of the gas station at the far end of town where hope goes to die. There’s cheese fries and the droppings of the emotional leavings of the foodstamps of gawd-aweful desperation.

Arnold watches the driver stick a glock down his pants like he thinks he’s some kind of anti-hero in a Tarrantino nightmare vision. He’s got a toothpick stuck in his mouth like it’s making up for his own personal tobacco problems.

“Ok pig, are you ready to make this happen?”

Who is this pig?

Tighty-whities. The Stereotypical definition of stereotypical describes what is known as a wife-beater t-shirt, which he has on but he doesn’t have a wife and would not do violence on her if he did. He’s simply not that kind of guy.

He’s staring at the TV. He knows Time Hog is there. The TV is not turned on. It doesn’t need to be. He knows Time Hog is watching.

Marigold is clearing the bar. The drunks are collapsed in the corners, leaning on things. Marigold pretends to light a cigarette. There are no real cigarettes on Mars because oxygen is not free. And tends to explode if you’re not careful.

The Tiki Bar seems to be accumulating science fiction authors. Marigold slides what looks like a rum and coke to William Gibson. Will looks deep into The Heart of Darkness and sighs.

“The future of yesterday’s past. It’s all in this glass. Cheers.”

As the timekeeper of yesterday’s tomorrow, Marigold has to agree.

You just can’t make this stuff up.

Many years ago I was in Ron Wyden’s office here in PDX. If you didn’t know, he’s doing good work for us all as a Senator. The staff had a thing for celebrating Darcelle, a local drag queen and inspirational story for all of us.

Where did Darcelle the person live? Just two blocks north of me, just walk up the street and there he/she is…

#howweruinedportland

“Lanky, long and lean –  a laundry-folding machine” he mumbles to himself, a bit of his floppy blonde bangs falling over his deep, dark goggle-like glasses. Hands. Feet. Laundry. Fold.

In his apartment bedroom, Dr. Tomorrow looks up and considers himself in the mirror on his dresser. He stares at his reflection for a moment and then three more. The sun is setting through the window behind him.

“Is this all there is?” he mouths to himself. He looks down at the spotless white turtleneck in his hands.

“This is all there is.”

He gets back to folding.