Vignette:In a Faraway Land
In a Faraway Land
- USAF Battery Blue, Henson Crater SW Rim, South Pole, Luna
Guardiamarina Alejandro Navarro, Mexican Navy
June 9th, 2062
he clank of the air condition compressor kicking on jolted Alejandro upright. He'd been stuck in that superposition between sleep and daydream for 3 hours, so the shock of compressor combined the sensations of falling off a building whilst also being hit in the head with a cartridge with rattling nails. The dull amber lights mounted on the four corners of his barracks room flickered into a low hum. Back sore, feet swollen, nose dry, like he was in the midddle of a long-haul flight. Fitting, because Alejandro had done just that.
Three days ago Alejandro and 11 other foreign military servicemembers had set off for Luna from the American Space Terminal Pontiac—last stop on the Great North American Space Elevator (GNASE, pronounced gee-naze). The GNASE was anchored 50 miles north of Detroit, Michigan, a location that the government commercials say was chosen to give ready access to America's Canadian friends. Although it was more realistically selected due to the confluence of cheap and available land, proximity to people and industry, and President-of-the-day Ralla Singh Khatter's former station as Governor of Michigan. Most terminals along GNASE's length were operated by private enterprise or NASA. Pontiac though—the final useable terminal located at geostationary orbit—was publicly inaccessible and operated by the U.S. Army's 10th Terminal Battalion exclusively for military uses. Common applications at Terminal Pontiac included resupply trips to Luna or the asteroid belt, orbital spacecraft factories, and, a classic, the good old militarization of space.
Alejandro's trip was the first. He was part of a biannual rotation of foreign servicemembers to USAF Battery Blue. The battery, called "the bluff" when the officers weren't around, was one of many exoatmospheric defense installations on Luna and in Earth's orbit generally. It was basically an array of missiles and lasers to protect American private interests and military operations. The South Pole ice collection and water production operation was of particular importance.
Given neither Pontiac nor the bluff were considered Ports of Entry, Alejandro was slightly sad that they wouldn't stamp his passport for the trip to Luna. It'd be something to show his abuelo, a wholesome man who missed his chance to go to space when he was military age due to a heart condition, but Alejandro guessed some pictures and a makeshift souvenir[1] would have to suffice.
The foreign servicemembers were part of an exchange program, one of the few that could take them into space. Most of Alejandro's fellow passengers were members of their respective air forces as Battery Blue was an air force installation. However, Alejandro was different. While everyone else wore blue or green, he wore white. His black shoulder boards bore one thin ribbon looping in the center. He was a Guardiamarina or Midshipman in the Mexican Navy, a recent grauate of la Heroica Escuela Naval Militar[2] as a Marine Infantry officer.
Space postings for Marines were rare. The Department of the Navy had lost the fight for a significant space presence to the Air Force guarding its rice bowl almost a century ago. However, because Battery Blue was a common public relations stop for politicians and generals wanting to make a big show of Luna's militarization—and it housed nuclear warheads deep underground—the bluff had a Marine Detachment of about 300. Guarding dignitaries and nuclear weapons was a mission of the U.S. Marine Corps as codified in law, so much to the Air Force's chagrin they'd have to put up with some Marines. While Alejandro would not be let within a mile of a nuke, he would be billeted in the Marine wing of the base, take part in their patrols, receive the less valuable visitors to the base, and get schooled by Marine NCOs. The Marine wing was much more ratty than the Air Force wing—where his fellow passengers would be staying—but beggars can't be choosers. There was no other conceivable way for a Mexican naval officer to get into space and Alejandro won the lottery.
The speaker mounted on his barrack room ceiling squelched and a pathetically faint rendition of reveille, seemingly composed on a synthesizer, began to drone. "No cornetas in space" he thought. Down the hall Alejandro could hear two men slamming their fists on their fists door by door. It was at least 20 doors until they got to Alejandros.
"Everyone front and center for sanitary inspection!" They barked out of sync. "Get up!"
Alejandro scrambled to his feet and out the door, still in his white skivvies. He was stiff as a board, not really sure of what the procedure was. Marines began to saunter out sluggishly in drab skivvy shirts and shower shoes. Eyes were bearly cracked. Most of them were probably hungover. Expectations couldn't be that high.
To his left the double doors at the end of the hall opened hydraulically. A Marine lieutenant, silver bar on his khaki collar, was flanked by two duty Marines with red brassards on their arms and chunky displays in their hands. They stopped at Alejandro, first door on the right.
"We got a squid[3] here?" The Lieutenant mumbled, poking at the green phosphor mini-screen sunken into the wall outside Alejandro's room. "Ah, Midshipman Alejandro Navarro Martin, Mexican Marine Corps. Which one is your last name?"
"Navarro, sir." Alejandro replied.
"Right Nav, you a student?"
"No sir," Alejandro channelled every bit of the USMC slang training he got before flying out to Detroit. "In Mexico, Midshipman is like your Butter Bar[4] or Master Guns[5]. I am the first."
The Lieutenant looked quizzical, but in the most aloof way possible. "Thanks for the tip. Do you have any illness, injury, appointment, or barracks room maintenance issues to report?"
Alejandro paused, not exactly knowing what constituted a reportable "maintenance issue."
"Well sir, the air circulator does not sound healthy and I think my speaker is broke."
"Yeah well you'll get used to that," the Lieutenant sighed. "The HVAC probably hasn't gotten proper maintenance since 2045. Contractors spend all their time in the Air Force wing. But if you get something like an air leak in your outer bulkhead or a Geiger starts clicking you tell the duty NCO."
The two paused in silence for a few seconds as the Lieutenant tapped away at the duty Marine's display. Coughs and sighs were audible down the hall. Obviously the Marines were slightly annoyed that a new arrival was messing with the flow of their morning ritual and keeping them in the hall. Although every moment standing in the hall was another moment not at PT. Alejandro's forehead clammed up with embarassment, but he was honestly more concerned with his flight-induced sciatica and his nose bleed risk from the dry air.
"Alright Nav, if you don't have any reason to go to sickbay, get dressed in whatever PT gear you brought and follow my Marines as they file out. PT is scheduled in the multipurpose hall for 0630. After that, shower, get breakfast, and you'll be with Staff Sergeant Romano for the rest of the day. He's leading today's perimeter patrol detail so you'll get to try on a space suit and draw a weapon. Roger?"
"Yes sir."
The trio moved on. The true streamlining of their whole morning ritual was much more evident down the hall. In most cases, the Lieutenant just pointed at each Marine without even stopping, and they'd recite "No issues, sir." After about 45 seconds of that, everyone shuffled back into their rooms to get changed for PT.