The Dope on Mars

  Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  THE DOPE on Mars

  By JACK SHARKEY

  _Somebody had to get the human angle on this trip ... but what was humane about sending me?_

  Illustrated by WOOD

  My agent was the one who got me the job of going along to write up thefirst trip to Mars. He was always getting me things likethat--appearances on TV shows, or mentions in writers' magazines. If hedidn't sell much of my stuff, at least he sold _me_.

  "It'll be the biggest break a writer ever got," he told me, two daysbefore blastoff. "Oh, sure there'll be scientific reports on the trip,but the public doesn't want them; they want the _human_ slant onthings."

  "But, Louie," I said weakly, "I'll probably be locked up for the wholetrip. If there are fights or accidents, they won't tell _me_ aboutthem."

  "Nonsense," said Louie, sipping carefully at a paper cup of scaldingcoffee. "It'll be just like the public going along vicariously. They'll_identify_ with you."

  "But, Louie," I said, wiping the dampness from my palms on the knees ofmy trousers as I sat there, "how'll I go about it? A story? An article?A _you-are-there_ type of report? What?"

  Louie shrugged. "So keep a diary. It'll be more intimate, like."

  "But what if nothing happens?" I insisted hopelessly.

  Louie smiled. "So you fake it."

  I got up from the chair in his office and stepped to the door. "That'sdishonest," I pointed out.

  "Creative is the word," Louie said.

  So I went on the first trip to Mars. And I kept a diary. This is it. Andit is honest. Honest it is.

  * * * * *

  _October 1, 1960_

  They picked the launching date from the March, 1959, New York _Times_,which stated that this was the most likely time for launching. Trip timeis supposed to take 260 days (that's one way), so we're aimed towardwhere Mars will be (had _better_ be, or else).

  There are five of us on board. A pilot, co-pilot, navigator andbiochemist. And, of course, me. I've met all but the pilot (he's verybusy today), and they seem friendly enough.

  Dwight Kroger, the biochemist, is rather old to take the "rigors of thejourney," as he puts it, but the government had a choice between sendinga green scientist who could stand the trip or an accomplished man whowould probably not survive, so they picked Kroger. We've blasted off,though, and he's still with us. He looks a damn sight better than Ifeel. He's kind of balding, and very iron-gray-haired and skinny, buthis skin is tan as an Indian's, and right now he's telling jokes in thewashroom with the co-pilot.

  Jones (that's the co-pilot; I didn't quite catch his first name) isscarlet-faced, barrel-chested and gives the general appearance ofbelonging under the spreading chestnut tree, not in a metal bulletflinging itself out into airless space. Come to think of it, who _does_belong where we are?

  The navigator's name is Lloyd Streeter, but I haven't seen his face yet.He has a little cubicle behind the pilot's compartment, with all kinds ofmaps and rulers and things. He keeps bent low over a welded-to-the-wall(they call it the bulkhead, for some reason or other) table, scratchingaway with a ballpoint pen on the maps, and now and then calling numbersover a microphone to the pilot. His hair is red and curly, and he looksas though he'd be tall if he ever gets to stand up. There are freckleson the backs of his hands, so I think he's probably got them on hisface, too. So far, all he's said is, "Scram, I'm busy."

  Kroger tells me that the pilot's name is Patrick Desmond, but that I cancall him Pat when I get to know him better. So far, he's still CaptainDesmond to me. I haven't the vaguest idea what he looks like. He wasalready on board when I got here, with my typewriter and ream of paper,so we didn't meet.

  My compartment is small but clean. I mean clean now. It wasn't duringblastoff. The inertial gravities didn't bother me so much as thegyroscopic spin they put on the ship so we have a sort of artificialgravity to hold us against the curved floor. It's that constant whirlyfeeling that gets me. I get sick on merry-go-rounds, too.

  They're having pork for dinner today. Not me.

  * * * * *

  _October 2, 1960_

  Feeling much better today. Kroger gave me a box of Dramamine pills. Hesays they'll help my stomach. So far, so good.

  Lloyd came by, also. "You play chess?" he asked.

  "A little," I admitted.

  "How about a game sometime?"

  "Sure," I said. "Do you have a board?"

  He didn't.

  Lloyd went away then, but the interview wasn't wasted. I learned that he_is_ tall and _does_ have a freckled face. Maybe we can build achessboard. With my paper and his ballpoint pen and ruler, it should beeasy. Don't know what we'll use for pieces, though.

  Jones (I still haven't learned his first name) has been up with thepilot all day. He passed my room on the way to the galley (the kitchen)for a cup of dark brown coffee (they like it thick) and told me that wewere almost past the Moon. I asked to look, but he said not yet; theinstrument panel is Top Secret. They'd have to cover it so I could lookout the viewing screen, and they still need it for steering orsomething.

  I still haven't met the pilot.

  * * * * *

  _October 3, 1960_

  Well, I've met the pilot. He is kind of squat, with a vulturish neck andclose-set jet-black eyes that make him look rather mean, but he waspleasant enough, and said I could call him Pat. I still don't knowJones' first name, though Pat spoke to him, and it sounded like Flants.That can't be right.

  Also, I am one of the first five men in the history of the world to seethe opposite side of the Moon, with a bluish blurred crescent beyond itthat Pat said was the Earth. The back of the Moon isn't much differentfrom the front. As to the space in front of the ship, well, it's allblack with white dots in it, and none of the dots move, except in acircle that Pat says is a "torque" result from the gyroscopic spin we'rein. Actually, he explained to me, the screen is supposed to keep theimage of space locked into place no matter how much we spin. But there'ssome kind of a "drag." I told him I hoped it didn't mean we'd land onMars upside down. He just stared at me.

  I can't say I was too impressed with that 16 x 19 view of outer space.It's been done much better in the movies. There's just no awesomeness toit, no sense of depth or immensity. It's as impressive as a piece ofvelvet with salt sprinkled on it.

  Lloyd and I made a chessboard out of a carton. Right now we're usingbuttons for men. He's one of these fast players who don't stop and thinkout their moves. And so far I haven't won a game.

  It looks like a long trip.

  * * * * *

  _October 4, 1960_

  I won a game. Lloyd mistook my queen-button for my bishop-button andleft his king in jeopardy, and I checkmated him next move. He said chesswas a waste of time and he had important work to do and he went away.

  I went to the galley for coffee and had a talk about moss with Kroger.He said there was a good chance of lichen on Mars, and I misunderstoodand said, "A good chance of liking _what_ on Mars?" and Kroger finishedhis coffee and went up front.

  When I got back to my compartment, Lloyd had taken away the chessboardand all his buttons. He told me later he needed it to back up a starmap.

  Pat slept mostly all day in his compartment, and Jones sat and watchedthe screen revolve. There wasn't much to do, so I wrote a poem, sort of.

 
_Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With Martian rime, Venusian slime, And a radioactive hoe._

  I showed it to Kroger. He says it may prove to be environmentallyaccurate, but that I should stick to prose.

  * * * * *

  _October 5, 1960_

  Learned Jones' first name. He wrote something in the ship's log, and Isaw his signature. His name is Fleance, like in "Macbeth." He prefers tobe called Jones. Pat uses his first name as a gag. Some fun.

  And only 255 days to go.

  * * * * *