Chapter 5: Zhang Field

Perseverance City, October 11, 2141
Zhang Field

The heavy lift freighter RS Lake Baikal sat ready on the launch platform on Zhang Field. The last two passengers to board the huge, ugly ship were Tammy and Shiela Burnette. Tammy registered and bought the tickets using Ray’s credit card. The big freighter had just delivered 3100 Earth Tons of water to Mars, and is returning to earth with 3100 Earth Tons of high grade iron ore, the life blood of the Martian economy. With iron ore and taconite becoming rare on earth, and water becoming rare on Mars, these Ore/Oar runs were becoming very profitable for both sides of the trade.

A side trade for the freighters was passenger hauling. The larger freighters will have an entire deck of cabins, the older, smaller freighters will have a few cabins (originally, they were storage compartments) and coach seating. The RS Lake Baikal is an old veteran on the Ore/Oar runs and due for retirement. It usually carried 24 coach passengers and six to twelve in the six cabins.

“Coach seats?” demanded Shiela, as they found their way to the small passenger section of the ship. “They don’t have something cheaper? Like steerage?”

“Neither of us has the money for a cabin, and there’s only six passenger cabins on this ship.

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Sheila as she packed her carry-on into the overhead bin. “Will these seats fold back to beds?” she whined.

With a long-suffering sigh Tammy said, “We’ll be weightless, it won’t matter.”

“How many Gs are these seats rated for?” asked Sheila. The guy she was fucking in Perseverance City told her about high-G versus low-G seats. She tried hard to get him to let her move in with him, but his wife didn’t like her at all. (While a ménage à trois is common on male short Luna, on the more cerebral male short society of Mars they’re frowned upon. Woman seeking a man on Mars will often settle for an “arrangement.”)

“Ask the cabin steward,” said her mother.

“Oh garçon! What G level are these seats rated for?”

The cabin steward looked at her and smiled. Garçon means “boy” and mispronounced as badly as Sheila mangled that word. It means “I’m stupid. Fuck with my brain.” The cabin steward bowed and said, “U tebya krasivyye sis’ki.” (You have nice tits.)

“The seats, what G level?” she said, almost shouting.

The cabin steward nodded and smiled. “U tebya bol’shaya zadnitsa.” (You have a big ass.)

“SEATS! Gs!” she shouted. Every Martian knows that the louder you shout something, the easier it is for foreigners to understand.

The cabin steward looked like he suddenly understood her. “Ahh! Otsosi u menya!” (Blow me) and he held up five fingers with a smile, then left.

“Gawd! You have to ask three times to get a straight answer here,” said Sheila as she flounced down in her seat.

Another crew member came through the cabin calmly saying “Pyat’ minut. Pyat’ minut.” (Five minutes) When he was out of sight of the passengers, he sprinted to his cabin to strap in.

His cabin mate leaned over and asked, “Vy skazali im po-angliyski?” (Did you tell them in English?) English and Chinese were the two official languages of Mars, and the one Chinese settlement has been silent for two years.

“Net. Kak vy dumayete, mne stoilo eto sdelat’?” (No, do you think I should have?)

Just then, alarms started going off, and the ship was being raised to the vertical position. Loud, piercing klaxons were blaring. Through their television camera mounted in the passenger bay, they could see panic set in and passengers fought their way into their seats. As the ship neared vertical, a passenger would lose his or her grip and fall to the aft bulkhead.

The two crew members watched the pandemonium, laughing so hard that their faces hurt. A passenger was climbing up to his seat when the engines fired, throwing him back to the aft bulkhead again. Through his tears of laughter, the steward said, “Imenno prostyye veshchi delayut etu rabotu stoyashchey.” (It’s the simple things that make this job worthwhile.)

The ship flashed up into the Martian sky, the passengers and crew pulling eleven Gs. At eleven times the force of gravity, it’s not the seat you need to worry about, it’s your heart.