Chapter 4
In the sickbay, Foreman gave small sips of water to Monkley. The GenMop sipped steadily, gradually recovering from his ordeal.
'I've found the food and we've got plenty. Hungry?'
'Hungry.'
'Me, too. Come on.'
Monkley and Foremen walked hand in hand out of the sickbay.
'I gotta hand it to those geeks. They got some things right.'
Taking care of Monkley for the first hour had meant little more than a quick whistle-stop tour of the base. He'd just finished High School when President Wilberforce Williams had announced that under his administration, the adventure with space travel was going up a couple of notches. The Senate had narrowly agreed and although the budget had been trimmed back, manned expeditions to Mars, with a view to establish a base, using international cooperation with any other nation willing to pitch in, got under way. By the time Foreman was in his final year of veterinarian college and Williams had been voted in for his second term, the base was established. That the first manned landing on Mars was timed just prior to the election was merely a coincidence, the White House insisted, fooled nobody. Williams still romped home.
Foreman's father had served in the air force, and his love of all things flying was infectious. Finding himself involved in the GenMop experiment, Foreman was number two in the team coordinating GenMop training for the International Space Federation. By the time the base was at an almost self sustaining stage, it had been agreed the next mission to Mars would be the first real introduction of a GenMop to the base. Professor Alison Cartwright, Foreman's boss, was close to retirement, and of failing health. Unmarried, Foreman was considered the natural candidate for the job of looking after Monkley. They had bonded well and Foreman had trained the animal to an exceptionally high degree of ability. Of all the GenMop's, Monkley seemed the brightest and most verbally gifted.
Foreman had at first declined the offer, and it took a visit from his congressman to persuade him his state would perhaps not look too kindly on him turning down the opportunity to be their first astronaut. Also, that Sam Goldsack was a long time friend of his dad's wasn't to be taken lightly.
'Shit, Andy. All ya gotta do is baby sit a damned monkey. You ain't driving the damned bus, for God's sake.'
'Monkley isn't a monkey, sir. He's a genetically engineered primate from chimpanzee genes.'
'Son. I don't give a shit if he's King Kong's direct descendent. He's going to Mars, and so the hell are you. Get used to it.'
The base, deliberately left unnamed so as not to cause any nation to be snubbed or affronted, was one hundred and fifty feet long, one hundred feet wide and fifty feet high. The structure had been fashioned out of Luxotral, a material conceived and developed for the base because of its incredible strength to weight ratio. Once production was under way, Luxotral was quickly taken up by industry and because it used a fusion of recyclable plastics and common silicon making it relatively inexpensive, it soon found thousands of uses. Complete houses were made from it, and because everybody wanted to live in something used on Mars, a building booming made the entire economy of Earth take off. Everyone was making so much money, people forgot to fight each other. It was a good time to be a human being.
The base sections were constructed on Earth's moon and towed to Mars in three huge containers in a convoy to supply the project. Whole new industries blossomed. It took three more years to construct the base, one year to locate and drill deep enough to find water, which, although too tainted in minerals and far to acidic to drink neat, was at least treatable to be usable.
The base was intended to be one of many more units capable of running semi-automatically, constantly filtering and neutralising the water. As much as possible, the scientists mimicked nature and by powering everything by solar energy, letting carefully selected plants create oxygen and food, paradise was formed. And although there were no shortage of volunteers to people the base, it had been decided that GenMops would be created to maintain the bases long term, with a view to gradually explore the galaxy with the creatures, minimising human risk.
The debates around that went into the far reaches of philosophical discussion, split largely into two camps, one erring on the side of caution, and of the opinion that the GenMops were an acceptable bridge between robots and humans. The more vociferous faction were adamant that humans were adventurous creatures and taking risk was an essential part of the human condition. Many a bar-room brawl was started over an innocent, casual comment regarding the pros and cons of man versus GenMop, usually ending in a draw where the combatants eventually forgot what the hell they were fighting about and got on with the serious business of drinking.
Space Brass were equally divided, but, in the end, and to some degree influenced in no small part, by the astronomical sums already spent so far on creating the GenMoPs, “and what the hell would we do with the little buggers if we didn't send them off into space?” GenMoPs won the day.
'Oooh!' said Monkley.
'Kinda neat, yeah?'
'Oooh!'
When Monkley was particularly fascinated by something, “Oooh!” was his usual reaction. The fantastic diversity of plant life in the base was staggering. Mostly tropical and subtropical plants, chosen for fast growth and their oxygen creating abilities; many fruit trees filled one complete side of the base. Foreman counted more than thirty different assorted fruit trees, mostly full of luscious fruit.
'Knock yourself out, pal.'
Monkley, free at last of space suit and undergarments, went into chimp overdrive and raced up the nearest tree. A banana tree. Making himself comfortable in the fork of a branch, Monkley helped himself.
'Hey. How about one for me?' Monkely threw a banana skin down at him hitting him in the face. 'Thanks a bunch, pal.'
Monkley laughed and whooped. Foreman gathered up a selection of fruit and sat on the bank of the reservoir of continuously circulating water. A man-made waterfall, contrived to look like the real thing, splashed continuously into the large deep pool. He knew it had been hotly debated about introducing some bird and aquatic life, but each answer only threw up a dozen more questions. Yes, one day, but lets think it through first, okay? Foreman pictured himself by the side of the pool, pole and line in hand, catching his dinner. Not on this trip.
Separate from the main pool, was a much smaller pool. It too had a small waterfall. Completely surrounded by lush ferns and bushes, it was a perfect hideaway soak pool. 'Oh, yeah!'
Stripping off his one piece undergarment, he tested the water with his big toe. Perfect. He jumped in, letting the purified water cover him. Coming up for air, he lay on his back and floated.
'I really should phone home,' he told himself. 'Hey. Monkley. Get your stinky ass down here. You need a bath, too.' As he expected, it went suddenly quiet. 'Monkley. Unless you want to spend the night in the airlock, you get down here this minute.' A banana hitting him on his head was Monkley's response. 'You got five seconds to get down here, or I mean it. Airlock.'
There was a rustling of the undergrowth and a serious faced Monkley poked his head out.
'It's nice. Come on. It'll do you good.'
'Water.'
'Yeah. Bathwater. Look. Be thankful I'm too tired to go find soap. In. Now.'
Monkley shuffled to the edge of the pool. Foreman reached out for his hand, but Monkley had other ideas, scooping up water and splashing him in the face. Howling with laughter, he jumped up and down, doing a back-flip for good measure.
'Okay, pal. Come on.'
Monkley eased himself into the pool, draping one wet hairy arm around Foreman.
'See? Nice.'
'Nice.'
They lay together in the peaceful oasis, thankful to be alive.
'I never did say thanks, Monkely. You saved my hide out there. Thanks pal.'
'Happy now.'
'You and me both, pal. Look. It's been one hell of a day. Time for bed. I gotta try and call home, so come on, let's get you dried off.'
Hand in hand they went to the quarters at one end of the base. There were six compact single bed units, a bathroom, a kitchen, small communal sitting area, and the communications room. Foreman found a couple of towels and handed Monkley one.
'Do you want your own room?'
'Out,' said Monkley, pointing at the tiny jungle.
'Yeah. Why the hell not? Go for it, pal.'
Foreman watched his hairy friend run out into the trees. He knew there was nothing dangerous out there, apart from possible indigestion from over eating. Finding a clean singlet and briefs, he dressed and went into the radio room. With only the basic understanding of how it worked, he flicked switches and twiddled knobs. Things lit up and strange whistling noises screeched out of the speakers.
'Hi. Hello? Hello? Anybody home?' Nothing. 'Hi. This is Andrew Foreman. If you can hear this, I have to tell you we had something of an incident. The ships gone and all but me and Monkley are...dead. Shit. Okay. I know it could take a few minutes to answer, so I'll just keep talking. No. I need to rest. I'll try again in the morning. Over.'
Leaving the radio on, he shuffled off to find the nearest bed.