#SciFriday

Challenge 18 - Old hand

I lean back in the armchair and contemplate my drink. At the bar a couple of rookies start bragging, voices raising in relation to the level of their alcohol intoxication. Against better judgment I spare them a glance. Two boys, fresh from the well. Quickly I turn my eyes down again, hiding my misplaced interest. To be so young and innocent again! In a rare sentimental mood I allow myself to remember my own beginnings.
To leave the well was the most exiting thing I could imagine as a child. I grew up near the Cape and spent hours watching the ships take off, powerful rockets allowing the shuttles to make orbit. Dreaming up myself leaving earth was my favourite pastime.
I was only nineteen when I took the hop as stewardess-to-be on a shuttle that brought the wealthy up to earth station for vacation. I don't think that I did a particularly good job on that first trip. I was far too exited and absorbed with dreaming up my spacefaring future. I must have done something right, though. The patron actually offered me the job. Little did I care. My mind wasn't set on well-lifting tourists. Having finally fled the gravity of earth I felt like a bird discovering her wings. I longed for deep space. My plan was to hitch a ride on a scout ship. I wasn't picky, couldn't afford myself to be. But even then it was not easy for a newbie to find a berth. Soon my meagre funds were running low. I decided to change plans and tried for the looks of an old hand. There were enough of them hanging around earth station. I traded in my new stewardess uniform for a used overall with some obscure planet stickers. I cut off my hair and eyebrows and taught myself to slur the words like an experienced spacer. Of course I didn't fool anyone. But I was already far outside the asteroid belt when I got aware of my youthful mistake. By then it was too late, we were ready for the first jump and I wasn't going to leave that mining ship anytime soon.

I empty my glass, signalling the bartender for another one. My eyes linger one more time on the boys. They must be around twenty, ready for the big adventure. Little do they know what live out there really is like. I know. I know more than I want to know. I've been to nine planets in 12 years and it's starting to show. No one will take me for a well dweller anymore. I turn thirty one next week and I look and feel like fifty or sixty. Actually I only know about the twelve years and my birthday because I checked the date and did some calculations when we arrived on station. It's easy to lose track, especially with the jumps. They take a lot out of a body. It's the drugs, they say. Most of us old hands develop an addiction. But jumping without a shot is worse. People go mad, end up lost in terrible nightmares. I travelled with a psychologist a while ago. His theory was that this was solely a matter of mental determination. He was ready to test his hypothesis on himself. He took the first jump okay. After the second he seemed a bit shaken. We had to restrain him after the third, not even halfway to our destination. He never regained enough composure to explain what kind of demons were hurting him. I prefer the drugs, thank you.

Almost time to head back to the ship, vacation is over. I finish my drink and consider leaving before I get sentimental. But when will be the next time I get to taste the real thing? I order another of the fruity drinks - real fruit, not the synthetic approximations we get on the ship - and ask for another bowl of olives. They are my favourites, grown on a tree somewhere in a grove under the blue sky and blazing sun. The image I paint in my mind is so realistic that I can almost feel the sun kissing my skin. It's twelve years since I felt the warmth of the sun, watched the clouds at sunset or touched a tree. Meanwhile I know that I will never again walk earth or any other planet worth visiting. My body is adapted to space, for better or worse. The closest I'll get to earth is this station and the same goes for all inhabitable planets. Like all longtime spacers I'm virtuous at moving in low or zero g. But my muscles wouldn't be able to support my frame in real gravity anymore. Sure, there are workout programs and medications to prevent the atrophy. But who has the time or money for this kind of treatment? Nowadays they keep part of earth station at 0.3 g max. This allows people like me to visit once in a while a decent bar, get decently drunk on real fruit drinks and feel almost human for a short time. It's an illusion, but easier and certainly cheaper to create than to maintain earth g on a mining ship.

I'm almost through with my last drink when Dany enters the bar. He picks up a beer and another bowl of olives and joins me at my corner table, saying something unintelligible to the rookies in passing. It seems to sober them up quite a bit. They follow him with their eyes as he takes a seat opposite me. I grin at him. He has this effect on me. After seven joint runs Dany is one of the most stable things in my life. He is predictable, something I cherish. For example, he will always stick with synthetic beer. He says that it's not worth tasting the real thing on vacation when you know you will miss it for the whole of the next run.
"Dany. Ready for the next haul?"
"Sure am. So's the ship, almost good as new."
I nod, although I'm still worried. That last passage of the asteroid belt was hell. The old kettle took more damage than I thought it possibly could survive. But survive it did, and most of the crew as well. This brings back the memory of the two we lost in the incident. Greg, our youngster. It's was his first trip, looking for the big money. Aren't they all? He suffocated in his quarters when the automatic seal cut off this part of the ship. We only got him out when we docked at station and were able to repair the fist sized hole in the outer hull. The other commodity was my friend Sam. We met on that first run I took, a lifetime ago. She was already a veteran then, had lost all her hair and several teeth due to the drugs, malnutrition and radiation on one of her previous trips. She was thin as a stick, with sparkling blue eyes and an infectious laugh. Sam showed me the ropes of the mining business. Without her I'd never have lasted. Now she is gone, killed by a short circuit while trying to keep the ship running after the hit. Such a small rock leaves such a big hole in my life. I sigh. Dany seems to know where my thoughts dwell.
"Come on, Hannah, let's go. We have to leave dock at 0756 exactly. Don't want to pay another fine."
"Sure. Did you find replacements for Greg and Sam?"
"Yeah, want to meet them?"
I shrug, I'm not ecstatic. Nobody can replace Sam. She was not only my friend but the best mechanic on the mining run. I don't know how we will get by without her. Dany seems oblivious to my feelings. He calls out to the two rookies.
"May I present you Fred and Hiro? Fred has an advanced degree in mechanics and Hiro is a programmer."
I groan inwardly. Dany must be joking. What do we want with two green plants that obviously never set foot on a ship before? Dany grins, reading my thoughts.
"Boys, this is Hannah, the most successful mining captain on the outer run. You might have heard of her."
I try to make a friendly face. But it isn't even necessary. I can read admiration in the boy's eyes. Hiro swallows and seems about as insecure as a kid the first day in school.
"M'am, you're legend. We're proud to join your crew."
I suppress a sigh. So young and innocent. But I know better than to send them away. First, we need them. Second, they want to do this at least as badly as I did, all those years ago.
"Okay boys, time to go. Hell awaits out there."