VISUAL EFFECTS / CH. 21:UPS AND DOWNS
MESSAGE TO CECILIA, WED, 18TH AUGUST
Dear Cecilia,
Wow! Praise God!
I'll write more when I've time,
love,
Stephanie Winters
p.s. you don't think you're too enthusiastic about Ben? You're not on a rebound or something?
p.p.s. Please call me Stephanie. You're an adult making your own decisions now (not that you weren't making them before...)
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MESSAGE TO STEPHANIE WINTERS, TUESOL 19TH AUGUST
Dear Stephanie,
I don't think I'm on a rebound. I know that I've spent the last month firmly resisting the advances of the purser on the Celestia. OK, the fact that he was 30 helped, but he was kind and charming and rich and all the rest, but I didn't bite one bit. Not a Christian of course, but that didn't figure in my thinking when I first rejected him.
For what it's worth, Alice (you've probably read some of her news articles) says Ben seems to be a nice lad. The only slightly worrying thing is that the first time I heard about him his loving sister was holding him up as an example of people to avoid. But then she hadn't seen him for two years.
Am I just rebelling against her advice?
I did a full day's building work today. The contract says I need to do two hours per day for food and lodging. What they don't say except in the ultra fine print is that that's two hours actually clocked-in labour, minus lunch breaks. When you're available for work but say, the bus they said would be there at 8 and gets to the work place at 8.15 only turns up at 8.30 and goes the long way, so you get there at 9, they only count from 9. That happened yesterday, and it's pretty regular, apparently. If you're not in line at 8 then you don't get a place on the bus. We're entirely at their mercy on that too — only MarsCorp transports are allowed to take us to the MarsCorp workplace. So, it makes sense to do long stretches if you can. If I didn't need to eat gloop, that two hours would drop to one.
Today my 'building work' was putting layers of plastic on what might turn into a new dome eventually, when they've got more of the frame up. Round and round in great big circles. The plastic is mostly to keep the next dust storm out, so people can work inside. Apparently it'll get totally shredded in the process, but my day of wrapping up the biggest ever parcel ought to enable a hundred people to do another day or so inside. So they say. Assuming I did it right. Right now, I'm tired.
Cecilia
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MESSAGE TO CECILIA, FRIDAY 19TH AUGUST
Dear Cecilia,
It's so fascinating hearing about your life there. I was going to ask what all this about Monsol, Tuesol was all about, but I found an article about Martian time keeping by an Alice Findhorn. I thought she was an investigative journalist? Is that your friend Alice? I must read more!
I've realised I'm really surprised about there being anyone coming from Mars to study here. I suppose there must be some births there, but I thought most of the population came from Earth. So do you know how many Martians are born there? It must be a tiny number compared to the emigrants. Or is it immigrants? I'm surprised that MarsCorp make you wait to work for them. It seems really counter-productive. I suppose everyone in charge must be very busy.
love,
Stephanie
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MESSAGE TO STEPHANIE WINTERS, WEDSOL 20TH AUGUST
Dear Stephanie,
I'm reliably informed that there are more births than immigrants on Mars, and that's been the way of things for almost a generation now. So it's quite fitting that the one millionth Martian arrived at the maternity wing, not at the spaceport.
I accidentally read that it was Ralph who committed suicide on Sunsol. I was just reading an article about the new currency changes, and someone wrote that everyone trying to turn their transport credits into Earthling cash was 'just as jit as Ralph Edgars running the wrong way with a leaking breather.' Oops, I've just realised that there's some words there you might not know. 'Jit' roughly means stupid idiotic ignorant / life-risking. A breather is what lets you breathe on the Mars surface. I've been told it's a bit like a re-breather, but it rather than locking the carbon dioxide away chemically, it 'breathes' it out. Anyway, I'm officially a jit (ignoramus) until I've lived here a year, after which I'll be a Martian. I used to be an Earthling. I'm not sure when the transition from Earthling to Jit happened, but I'm quite certain it's in the past.
Apparently Ben is known as Jimmy to his parents, which got me really confused. He wasn't at home on Monsol night, so I told Evangeline and Chris and Alice and Simon instead. I'm not certain, but I think his mother might think I decided to follow God to stay in Ben's good books. I hope that's not why I did. God is good!
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MESSAGE TO STEPHANIE WINTERS, SUNSOL 15TH SEPTEMBER 2270
Quick message while I'm between tears, Stephanie. Please don't mention Benjamin Durrel to me in your letters. Apparently he's got a friend from university who's really good at business stuff. She's (a) single, (b) gorgeous (c) Christian (d) his age. Need I say more? Please don't make me say more. (e) they were deep in conversation before Church today, sharing jokes after church, and then vanished off together. I'm very happy for them. Really. Change the subject quickly. My plants! They're still growing! My little green babies are doing really well actually. I owe Evangeline big time for letting me buy some of her proven compost. And the unmentionable one for the processed regolith of course.
C.
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MESSAGE TO STEPHANIE WINTERS, SUNSOL 30TH SEPTEMBER 2270
Tomorrow university starts. Chemistry and business studies. And a spring in my step too. Apparently gorgeous Yvette was organising a surprise party for her brother, who's in Benjamin's class, and she's not interested in Ben, they're second cousins, apparently. That's the problem, apparently with close-knit groups like the Martians — the born ones — everyone knows everything about everyone, so no one thinks to say. So everyone knew that PhD students started back at Uni two weeks ago, and absent-minded-scientist Ben didn't think I didn't know. And Yvette happened to be at Church today and told me, from Ben, that he's been missing me.
My flabber was distinctly ghasted, but Yvette was really quick on the uptake and took me into a corner to explain all. She's got a great sense of humour. Little green babies are growing well with lots of love and attention. Hopefully they won't suffer too much in the travel. One of the bus drivers had a stroke just while driving past the dome I've been working on. Fortunately the bus was empty and no one else was hurt too badly, but there are big questions about whether the dome can be bent back to the right shape safely, if the bent metalwork can be replaced in-situ, or if the whole thing should be rebuilt from scratch.
C
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MESSAGE TO CECILIA, FRIDAY 16TH SEPTEMBER 2270
Dear Cecilia, I'm so glad to hear you're off to university in a happier mood. I'm now an avid reader of everything Alice writes, and I think most of the people at church are too. She's got an amazing turn of phrase, and it's so nice to read of these everyday experiences on Mars, and to know she's a sister in Christ. Will you run into her at the university?
Stephanie
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ARTICLE FOR EARTH PUBLICATION, DECEMBER 2270
Doesn't time fly when you're having fun? I've been here on Mars for five months and I'm loving every minute of it, from watching my hydroponically grown crops thriving, our heap maturing and deciding how we'll lay out our 'complex' (home and farm domes) once it comes. Time doesn't always move so fast, though, and for some people it seems that existence here is torture. Not everyone here loves this planet, and in my attempt to give an accurate picture of life here I felt it was only right to interview people from all perspectives. I've changed the name of this woman to Wendy, as she wanted her real name not to be known. She's happy with the name, so we were actually using it in the interview.
A: Wendy, thank you so much for agreeing to be interviewed. Could you tell me about how and when you came to Mars?
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W: It was 5 years ago. I came out with my husband. We had grand plans, but it wasn't what we expected at all, not really. We thought we'd be walking all over the mountains, having fun, but it was all work work work. We followed the instructions on looking after our heap, but it didn't work, now I know what we did wrong, like follow the jit instructions, but it's too late now. It seemed there was no privacy in the big dome, and then he hurt his back so he couldn't do very much of the building work they want you to do. The system didn't make any allowances for injuries of one spouse, or any option to do work that didn't make his back worse. If we'd both been sick that would've been different, they'd have helped then, they don't starve people, just make you work if you can. But it felt like there was no one we could talk to, either, just machines logging in our hours, assigning tasks based on I don't know what. It was just... inhuman. So I ended up having to do his part of the labour too, four hours a day, seven days a week. Of course, that's four hours on the building site and often the busses ran late. I tried doing longer shifts, but that left our heap unattended. Mick, my husband, had tried to do some things, but really he couldn't do much physical work at all by then, you see.
A: What happened then?
W: He was a graphics designer, we both were, and he tried to sell some paintings, and people loved them. That worked really well, we swapped his paintings for fresh fruit and vegetables, he painted, I worked on the building site and our heap was just starting to turn good, too, with the offcuts of the vegetables. Then, something happened which hit us both badly. I'd rather not say what. That, on top of his back injuries and all the other disappointments, and him feeling he wasn't pulling his weight even though he was he just didn't feel it. He just... started going for walks. I thought, well, that's good therapy, the movement might strengthen his back, so I encouraged him. Sometimes I went with him too, which was so nice. But it wasn't good therapy. I found his diary, afterwards. He thought he was a failure and he thought I didn't need him, and he thought he was a burden. All rubbish, but he thought it. He was just... waiting to have an accident, I think.
A: So it wasn't that he actually killed himself, then.
W: What would you call it when someone leaves his screamer and tent at home? He got caught in a radiation storm and just kept on walking until his life support failed.
A: But you don't actually know it was deliberate?
W: Not really. It might have just been stupid and depressed and careless of his life.
A: And now you're on your own.
W: Yes. Mars killed him, and every day it feels like its killing me, too. I want to go home.
A: I've heard the term 'wanna'.
W: Yes, that's me. Wendy the wanna. There's nothing here for me now.
A: You don't have friends?
W: Some. But it's not the same.
A: Do you think it'll be the same back on Earth?
W: No. But I still want to go back. This place is killing me, the system.
A: I know it's a really taboo question, will you forgive me for asking about your heap?
W: It's there, it's OK. I grow enough that I don't need to eat gloop these days.
A: But you're still in the big dome.
W: Yes, of course.
A: Have you thought about moving out?
W: No. I did with Mick, but we couldn't afford it. Now? What's the point?
A: Well, you'd have more time to grow stuff, more freedom.
W: I like the building work. It's steady, it's not too tiring, I see outside, which is nice too. I'd be alone in my own dome. Bored and alone, and poorer. I'm saving up to go home, see.
A: You haven't thought of selling food to spacemen, then? I've heard that's a very good way of earning money.
W: No. I'm probably not a good enough farmer to make that pay, not quickly. It would work if I wanted to stay, of course, but I wouldn't earn fast enough to recoup the investment. It'd take too long. I do get some money from spacemen, sometimes, helping them shop, or find somewhere to stay, you know?
A: So you work on the building site for your lodging, help spacemen sometimes, and otherwise you work in a factory and you're saving from that?
W: Yes.
A: And you're giving me an interview, too, which'll be read by something like five million people, according to our readership numbers. Only they don't give grams though, because they're on Earth, you know what it's like.
W: Yeah, the skinflints. If only two percent gave a measly gram, I'd be on my way home, wouldn't I?
A: So the Earth system and Mars system treat people badly in different ways, would you agree?
W: Yeah.
A: So, would I be right in saying that you now know how to make a decent living here, but it's too late?
W: Yes.
A: So if Mick had held on, it would have been a much happier story?
W: Absolutely. He should have stuck it out, we'd have got through. He gave up too easily.
A: You don't think you've given up too easily, too? I mean, you're still an attractive woman, you're still fit and healthy, you've got the knowledge and understanding to live here well, there are a lot of lonely men out there, widowers who'd know what you've been through. You could try and find one you got on with, give life and love here another chance.
W: I wanna go home. I'm not interested in falling in love again, I just wanna go home.
A: What are you going to do when you get there?
W: Scatter Mick's ashes near the sea where we met. Otherwise, I don't know.
A: Could you get a job in graphics design, do you think?
W: I don't know, probably not.
A: Do you have a savings fund or anything that would support you when you get there?
W: What? No. I don't really care about that, I just wanna go home.
A: Sorry, I'm just trying to help our readers understand, Wendy. You seem to have dedicated your life to abandoning somewhere you have all the knowledge you need to build a life, with or without someone else being part of it, where there's a safety net which won't let anyone starve, because we're all in this together, and it's part of the social contract that Martians do take care of the sick and elderly and infirm. And in exchange, you're going back to unfriendly Earth where you seem to be expecting to be jobless and friendless.
W: Yeah. I know, it doesn't make much sense does it? I guess I'm sick, got wanna-itis or something. I'm a wanna, what more can I say?
A: How many wannas are there, do you know?
W: I don't know. Maybe a few hundred. It's not like we have cry-togethers.
A: Would it help if you did?
W: Maybe. But it would take time, and time is money, and money is going home.
A: Objectively, what would be the best for you?
W: Objectively? Get a grip on reality, I guess. But subjective rules, girl, and like I say....
A: You wanna go home.
W: Yeah.
A: Did you know about wannas when Mick was still alive?
W: Yes. I thought they were crazy, that life here wasn't so bad, and so on.
A: But now you're one.
W: Never say never.
A: You're saying that it's not predictable.
W: Yes.
A: Have you ever talked religion with other wannas?
W: Yeah. Earth is our mum and we want to run to mummy, our promised land where there's milk and honey.
A: You mean being a wanna is like a religion?
W: umm, yes, I suppose so.
A: Might that be why it doesn't respond to logic? Because you're harking back to a time when you were young and happy and had a future, and the sky was blue, and somehow you've associated everything that's gone wrong since with leaving there?
W: Probably.
A: You feel that salvation is only on Earth?
W: Yeah, that's it.
A: One last question. Where's your religion going to leave you, if you do manage to get back to Earth?
W: Worse off than here, probably. Pretty disappointed. But I still wanna go home.
A: Thank you, Wendy. Oh, one more question. Are your parents still alive?
W: No, they've died.
A: I don't think you're going to find home, even if you do get to Earth, Wendy.
W: I know.
A: Somehow I don't think I need to tell you not to spend your interview fee all at once, do I?
W: I'm going to save it. And then, maybe next year if I can earn enough, spend it on a ticket.
Wendy isn't the only woman in her condition, not by a long shot. A survey carried out by psychologists at the Mars University says that more than ninety percent of wannas are women, and has found a number of common factors that increase the chances of falling into the destructive cycle of thinking. Loss of a husband or lover is certainly a key risk factor, as are having or developing a role that entirely depends on him. Lack of religious affiliation is also a key factor. Very few wannas have children, and those that do had lost contact with them as a result of divorce or marital breakdown.
Recent changes that now allow the Martian currency to be traded for transport have changed the situation of wannas dramatically; previously they had to pay for the trip in Earthling money, and although they might have been rich in Martian terms that didn't help them at all. The MarsCorp factories pay in kilos, not in Earthling money, which makes me doubt some of Wendy's claims. How was she saving up Earthling money before the sudden change in the rules? Were her shopping trips for spacemen a way of informal currency exchange? That's not illegal at all, but I also wonder how effective it was, since while bartering for produce is common, buying food for kilos is always at a steep mark-up. Or were those 'shopping trips' something less innocent?
Clearly though, Wendy is one of the better off wannas, with a healthy heap and able to grow her own food. The extreme desire for convertible currency in the past has resulted in some wannas effectively making themselves destitute in Martian terms. Early wannas sold their claims before the Mars Council enacted legislation to stop it, but that hasn't stopped them from selling their possessions and clothes even, while concentrating on activities that would give them some hope of gaining currency, descending into various forms of vice or even the sale of organs (concluded in some illegal surgery on arrival on Earth).
The religion or illness of being a wanna is somehow understandable, a hearkening back to an earlier, happier time of life, an ultimate expression of the grass being greener. But it is without doubt a cancerous illness, which degrades values and flies in the face of reason. Even with all her hopes and dreams pinned on catching a ship back to Earth, she has no illusions that she'll be considerably worse off when she arrives, destitute. But it doesn't put Wendy or those like her off. When I first heard of wannas, I thought, surely it wouldn't be too hard for MarsCorp to put aside a very small portion of their transport income to send them home. But studies have shown that the wanna syndrome is cyclical and intensely destructive. The suicide rate among returned wannas is extremely high; of those who don't commit suicide, many continue in the vices which earned them their ticket 'home' and die in messy, lonely, violent circumstances; those who escape either of these two 'futures' seem to do so either through a religious conversion or alternatively dream of the day when somehow they will scrape together the money to return to Mars. I have not found any evidence that any have succeeded. I shared the statistics behind this summary with Wendy, and told her her religion was false and deadly. She smiled wanly and calmly told me that she knew, she'd read the statistics before. Then, in what I believe to be a moment of sanity, she quietly returned her interview fee.
Helping a wanna travel is destroying their dream of a false paradise. Wendy knows it's a false dream, but it's the only dream she has room for in her mind.