Chapter 6
Foreman sat by the small pool, his feet dangling in the cool water. Monkley offered him a banana, which was declined.
'Right now, is when most self respecting human would get totally hammered. That's one thing the brass thought not to send here. Booze. Not a priority. Boy. They got that bit wrong.'
'Andy not happy.'
'Hmm. You got that right, pal.' He sighed. 'What the hell is going on down there? The communications centre is usually manned twenty four seven by teams of eight. We get a cadet, desperate to get out of the damn place. Shit. I hope the kid made it. You know something? For once in my life, I'm in the right place at the right time. We got all we need to live out our lives right here. No rent to pay, no boss on our backs giving us grief. Heck. We don't even have to worry about the damn weather.' He stood up. 'From now on, pal, this our little world. Come on. Lets go exploring. See what the hell we got to work with.'
Together they explored the section of fruit trees. There were three types of apple, two banana trees, three types of citrus, lime, orange and lemon. Two peach trees, and one pineapple. Some of them had produced self setting offspring on the rich soil. Foreman knew as much about horticulture as he did radios. He was pretty sure some thinning would be needed to ensure all maturing trees had sufficient nutrients. In the well stocked food storage area, there was a huge variety of processed foods, all sealed in the biodegradable packaging. By his estimation, enough to last him and Monkley for years.
Clothing would last him forever, but some thought had to be given to laundry chores. Even he had limits on how bad he would allow himself to smell. Toiletries were well stocked. With the toilet serving as a bidet and drier in one, toilet tissue wasn't an issue.
Medical supplies were adequate, and enough in the right hands to deal with most emergencies. He had a terrible vision of Monkley with a scalpel in one hand and a manual in another, with himself writhing in agony with an appendix about to explode. Motto to live by and note to self. Stay healthy.
The base control centre with the controls for the entire base was at least simple to read. Each gauge was clearly identified and as far as he could tell, everything read normal. What the hell he would do if something suddenly wasn't reading normal, he managed to put out of his head. Bridges to cross when they needed crossing. He would try to figure things out before anything went pear shaped, though.
'Now, this could be fun, pal.'
The six wheeled all terrain explorer could seat six people, suited, because it was uncovered. Battery powered and solar charged, it had a top speed of thirty miles per hour and a range of two hundred miles on a full charge. Six huge independently suspended wheels were made of Luxotral, like ninety percent of the vehicle. It was housed in its own bay next to the main airlock. The controls were basic enough that an average eight year old could drive it with minimal instruction.
The hydroponics section was unused, the nutrient dosed water in continuous circulation to keep it fresh. All it needed were the seeds to be added and cultivated. A storage box next to the unit had a huge variety of seeds, hermetically sealed and well labelled. Starting that off would be high on the list. Stay healthy. No Monkley with scalpels.
Basic gardening tools were stored in a small shed. The prolific growth of the trees and bushes meant a large part of his work would involve maintenance to keep some kind of control over it. Already, the perimeters of the “jungle” were overgrown to the extent where it was impossible to move through without a machete to hack with. Just to try out his skills, he picked up the machete and began hacking away. To do a proper job of it, he would have to hack and thin out, collect everything up and pile it on one of the four composting sites. The one creature brought in from Earth was the humble worm. The lushness of the jungle was in no small part to their vigilance. Without predatory bird life, the compost heaps positively heaved with activity.
Clearing a path through to one corner, Foreman stopped in mid hacking. Before him was a site so unexpected, he dropped the machete.
'You beauties.'
Thriving well in a small patch, hidden behind several larger trees, was a miniature plantation of Marijuana plants. Most plants were taller than he was.
'Monkley. I just died and woke up in heaven. I'm guessing this isn't authorised by the I S F, pal.' He caressed one of the spiky five pronged leaves. 'I'm thinking some forward planning wag brought along a few seeds and when nobody was looking, accidentally dropped a few. Remind me to build a small shrine in his honour, pal.'
'Andy Happy.'
'I'll be more than happy, pal. Now. It's a popular misconception that the plants are grown for the leaves. This is what we need. These buds, see?'
'Buds.'
'Right. These are ready for harvesting. A sort of reddish brown. Don't ask how I know about this, by the way. Let's just say I knew some useful people back in my student days. I'll just grab a few of these. Come on, pal.'
Foreman went to his sleeping quarters. 'All I need to do is leave this in here,' he said, opening a small cupboard, 'Say for a day or two, until it's dried right out. Strictly speaking, and for the purists, it should then be cured, which could take a couple of weeks. That improves things, but it isn't essential. Time for that later. This is about stress release, so tomorrow night, I'll be relieving my stress, big time. I now think I have a reasonable chance of hanging on to my sanity. Hungry?'
'Monkley hungry.'
'Okay, pal. You go and eat and I'll grab a snack.'
Monkley ran off to help himself from the jungle, and Foreman raided the food store. Choosing a package of some synthetic protein base, he nuked it in the microwave and ate it with little enthusiasm. All he could think about was the radio call. Explosions in the I S F complex meant big time trouble. And whatever had been going down had stranded him on Mars for the foreseeable future, if not indefinitely. He was pretty sure he could live with that. Although a reasonably personable individual, he was happier when he was on his own, keeping busy, learning and discovering. People he could take or leave. Animals he preferred for company, and Monkely filled that job description. Hell. He could even hold a rudimentary conversation. The limits of the GenMop's ability to learn and reason had never been satisfactorily pushed as much as they should have, he was beginning to suspect. Damn it, Monkley had managed to turn the radio on, when he'd drawn a blank. Perhaps in this new environment, Monkley could learn heaps more stuff.
He'd finished the meal without even realising he had been eating it. His mind was all over the place. There was one thing that as a human being, he just had to do.