RSstory

2503.24 /16 — Work #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera

"I've made new friends," May Ri's little girl said brightly over vid-downlink, waving her favorite, worse-for-wear, pink pony toy. "I'm fine." Dozens of nisei girls and boys bounced and hopped behind her to greet Marisela's mother. The image stuttered. An echo group worked furiously on a maker to build a new sats before they lost them all. Marisela added, in a barely quieter child's whisper, "The other fathers are real mean meanies—"

"Not my Dadie," said a 10 Mars-year-old girl, but otherwise nodded. The kids housed, realizing en masse it was secret stuff.

Marisela finished, whispering, "—the moms keep everyone here so they can watch over us." (In the crèche domes.) Louder, "Momie, tell everyone we're really friends with the Onēsanue? Please!"

"We are," May Ri affirmed, to which the kids cheered.

May Ri felt her gut wrench. When she'd suggested Marisela accompany Randy on assignment, it had been a battle. He wasn't against training the girl, or thought that a girl would be denied a man's job.

No.

Former Director Ezekiel Stan had won election as Dome Manager at South Elysian Township. Elected solely by the men. Women hadn't voted, at all—had been intimidated, everyone figured—despite being 2/3rds of the population thanks to the growing number of widows.

The man who'd tried to rape her eight years ago had recovered his health, and marginal power. She muttered under her breath, "Should've left him in vac."

No wonder Randy kept being assigned to arbitrate disputes at Elysian, especially between spouses! Stan professed to be Decath, and was blessed by the minister on Deimosbase. Hypocrites! It made the remaining Directors waver.

Reportedly, the man didn't remember "the accident." Secretary Īto, Reina's mother, had seen the vids. She'd kept Randy's marriage details and all vid out of the public record. Privacy. He might not know who May Ri was. What Īto didn't know, since Stan's management kept vac-safe control, was how the Elysian nisei and mothers fared, other than the contact Randy was allowed arbitrating between spouses, or interviewing chaperoned women. EM Mars Corp had a Decath charter; protecting propriety was interpreted as Elysian's right.

In the end, it was the ugly face of Mars that Marisela might inherit that made the choice for them. With her father, ten suits, and weeks of training others, Marisela would work "teaching" suit safety to "help" qualify nisei who had the knack at Elysium City.

All near Marisela's age had the knack, and the desire. Management excluded girls, though.

"...I just teach the girls in the crèche domes with the spare suit. No dadies." Marisela tittered evilly.

"...Yesterday, Rufus' twin Raquel went outside."

"...Ran out of boys today. Nobody's checking the visors! Can't men count?"

"...The girls won the boy-girl soccer game."

On day 17, May Ri's call failed at their regular time. Management restricted in-base addresses to the office, which made her call back later. When she got, "Routine Maintenance. Call back tomorrow," she ran shaking to Reina, who spooked worse. Secretary Īto sent a cargoon from Gale crater.

They might never get the full story, and Elysium couldn't (wouldn't?) find the culprit...

Lured outside at dusk, a man in an enviro suit stabbed Randy multiply, then slashed Marisela, ripping her suit before running. Safety drills triumphed over panic as the girl glued herself—wound then suit—then glued Randy's worst injuries as he went unconscious. Leaking too much air, she got him in an emergency balloon, then dragged him unsure he lived, crying, blaming herself having fun, to the dome. A comms-down didn't apply to inter-suit channels, only range. When Raquel, practicing with her brother, answered, the mothers smuggled them through the docks. That she sat on her father to apply pressure had staunched the bleeding. First aid stabilized him, barely. The cargoon arrived late night; with comms down, they walked in, demanding resupply. Suit comm alerted them and they sent a medic. By early morning, the men on the cargoon smuggled 6 women, 21 nisei, and the two out.

Reina jumped ahead of Marisela's mother, grabbing the child, hugging her crying, while the slightly dazed girl (May Ri could tell) comforted the Onēsanue. Other nisei—and the new nisei, one waving a pink pony toy—all piled on, giving their hero support, allowing May Ri to tend to Randy who'd never completely recover.

Stan raged about nobody reporting in for treatment, found no evidence, claimed no witnesses, lied saying it was fabricated, and manipulated.

It felt like a turning point. May Ri saw old power grasping to control women. She vowed to help the nisei change that. #RSMarsNeededWomen 16

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2503.28 /15 — Feather #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera

Today May Ri tested. Things she invented. A daughter she gave birth to.

The Meadowbrook rickshaw climbed the sandy hill strewn with rocks, the huge hoop wheels and isolated suspension rolling over obstacles with aplomb. She drove the tractor legs with her reins, to minimize jostling the cart, and got to the solar array minutes earlier than by taking the road compressed into the Martian regolith.

Marisela hopped out instantly, rolled upon landing to her feet, and rushed the blue and black panels. Though shy, she had taken to suit-qualification... like a duckling to water—a phrase the 4 Mars-year-old wouldn't understand, but her mother did. She stopped before touching, looked expectantly at her mother, her eyes gleaming in the coming sunset inside her glare-free helmet. May Ri's maker v3.2 made spacesuits, something they'd had to import from Earth—Mars was never meant to be isolated from EM Mars Corp. Bankruptcy changed things, maker manufacturing locks only making it worse.

At May Ri's nod, her daughter climbed the array, giggling, full of energy. Mars-refined metal platforms were simple tech, even gimbaled ones; the array wasn't fragile, only the sweepers and cables. Marisela had trained and given promises.

She was an inspector!

The girl's suit was a first production suit, and the only one sized for a child. Colonial planners hadn't thought through the implications of kids. May Ri patted the emergency balloon as she vaulted out of the tall cart and plopped down on the sand.

"What about this?" Her monkey girl pointed out a bent wire feather wiper over a windblown deposit of red five aisles in. May Ri noted it on the wrist-mounted book plate. The regolith crunched under her shoes. The wind whistled faintly, mixing with the hum of the comm. A massive dust devil spun in the distance, which was why they were here—not for testing the cart, tractor legs, or the pink-striped Mars-green suit her daughter wore.

Danger of a planetary dust storm was no joke. With a doubled population and dome construction, array efficiency was paramount; the anti-static feathers were her idea to replace fans.

Men prospected for Thorium, but aeolian monzonite deposits were rare. Finding the mineral deposits on 16 Psyche proved difficult, but the effort searching for them and the Robinson Crusoe disaster had brought them the dented maker her echo group dissected. At the slow orbital speed required for an asteroid, the ship had flipped and disintegrated, leaving rather gruesome remains of the men and partially intact machinery scattered over kilometers of cratered rusty metallic rock.

May Ri felt proud of her maker derivative. V4.1 had built a compact thorium reactor prototype (another restricted device). In a dust year, a working reactor would prevent starvation.

Mars grit and dust clung to everything, compromising moving parts. Together the two identified five repairables and reattached a cable. In the dusk, illuminated by bluish noctilucent clouds, May Ri drove the cart along the "paved" road. Marisela swayed and hummed happily to herself.

At their dome, May Ri got her chance at exuberance: Randy had returned days early. She jumped into his arms, but knocked him over.

Marisela said surprisingly dryly, "Momie's going to be making funny noises tonight." She quickly hid behind May Li's legs when she stood, peering apprehensively with green eyes as Randy smiled at her. It had been three months since his last visit, a lifetime ago to a kid.

Taking a deep breath, May Ri knelt and and pointed at her daughter. "This is Marisela, a brave little girl who today completed her first Mars surface expedition in a plus-plus fashion, the first suit-qualified girl to do that, helping her mother at the Array."

Randy scooted over. Pointing at him, she said, "This is Randolf, an illustrious Martian arbitrator and HR wunderkind, an all around loving fellow, and your Dadie."

He reached out a hand.

Marisela's reddened face screwed up in an expression May Ri couldn't predict, but when she reached out her little hand to his big one, she burst into wild giggles. They shook in the handshake ritual du jour, laughing, before she warned, "Momie loves you, so you keep her happy."

Martian nisei, besides being hoppy little frogs, were surprisingly open. Precocious. They had no Decath ministers to shame them, girls and boys lived and slept communally most days, and fathers were absent. Nobody bothered—or had time—to teach gender roles, so no nisei acted as either.

May Ri approved. Which meant...!

"Marisela is suit-qualified. Take her on your next assignment to teach her your job." With ever fewer men, Mars needed women doing men's work. #RSMarsNeededWomen 15

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2503.10 — Exploit (Ch/March 13) #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera CW: Fictional violence, women fighting back

Angry to the point of trembling, May Ri gathered in the auditorium with the other women with "non-essential tasks," as ordered over the loud speakers. She, Randy, Reina, and Rod had been waiting for the Deimosbase Decath minister to call to marry them when an emergency in a far off colony separated the men from them. A man past 50—with a gold braid patch on his helmet-less form-fitting Mars-green pressure suit— marched in trailed by his all male goons as May Ri characterized them.

She knew she was right when he said, "You are Mars' improperly exploited resource. Today we are redistributing that labor." That caused a massive cringe amongst the women amidst a growing roar of desent.

He yelled, "Quiet!" shutting them down.

When a selection criteria was, "Are you married?" a bristling May Ri found herself backing the teenager into a wall, trying to hide her.

"You!" the man motioned Reina to the exit.

May Ri put her arms out. "Not happening!" She glared into blue eyes.

The man—who turned out to be the Head EM Director and an original colonist—backhanded her.

In Mars gravity, she flew against the wall and slumped, seeing stars. He bent over Reina—May Ri's fall had knocked her over—offering a hand. When May Ri's eyesight quit swimming, face burning and tasting blood, she launched herself head-first at his gut. She still had Earth muscle. He deflected her, but her leg hit the big man's hip and they tumbled together. She landed no punches before he wrenched her upright, arms locked behind her.

Chuckling, he said, "I like determination—"

She jerked, stomping at his foot. He shoved her cheek and nose into the wall, pinned her arms, and pushed a hand into small of her back, preventing anything but sputtering.

"Fights back. I value that. Sexy. Are you married?"

"You interrupted our ceremony."

"Ah." He chuckled more. "About Reina—?"

"You know her name!"

"I won't pick the Onēsanue if you calmly come with me."

May Ri found herself swearing and cursing in her head. She spat blood, which dripped down the wall, noticing the other prey had slunk away from the predators. His goons watched silently at a distance. Reina looked pale, shaking, sitting limbs akimbo, hands on the floor. Red hair flew as she shook her head vigorously.

May Ri shouted, "Did you hear that promise?"

Women's murmurs proved they did. Heart ricocheting off her sternum, she said, "Fine."

Minutes later, the man dragged her by her wrist with a long stride she could barely match. Spring doors guarded all the domes against vacuum breach, but the crèche had windows, as did the farms. Women worked in each, some men in the farms. Nobody in the halls. She thought about crying for help, but thought of Reina whilst palpating her bruising face.

Was he simply redistributing her labor to another job?

Equating the, "are you married," question with Decath purity standards, she whispered, probing, "I've been with other men."

"Experience makes you more qualified," he returned.

Could her stomach knot up worse?

Best to seem docile, she thought, to hope for weapons. He was an EM Corp manager, bound by the charter. Theoretically. Was she over-reacting? The corporation had run out of money; all Earth transits with supplies and people, cancelled. The term corporate reorganization came to mind. Was the Martian board of directors reorganizing?

She recognized the docks as she let his pace slide her into a doorframe. She saw the circular glass corridor that surrounded a Martian "tarmac." Rovers and motels, with flatbeds, were parked to the right—three orange dust-coated helios, with multiple stacked blades and lots of hyper-nacelles, sat at priority. Jetways connected to two passenger cargoons and one long distance pinnace. He shoved her through the spring door of the latter, following. It jostled like the flex tube it was, with his massive form clumping behind—bouncing her, she thought, to intentionally panic her.

Rushing, she grabbed the spring door. Stuck! It didn't even rattle.

He plowed into her, flattening her against it. With a snigger, he unlocked it. When it opened, still smooshed, she stumbled flat onto the deck. The spring door snapped back with a bang as he clamored over her. Vac-safe cargo boxes littered the inside. With no preamble, he unzipped his pressure suit.

She sucked in her breath, scrambling bruisingly into a bulkhead.

He had a jumpsuit underneath. Scoffing, he said simply, "Remember Reina. See that bench? Toss the boxes down the cargo chute." He stomped to the loo, shutting it behind himself.

Sweating, heart racing, she thought, Now what?

(Continued) #RSMarsNeededWomen 13

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2503.25 — Echo (Ch/March 12) #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera

May Ri pushed everyone away, to cry, her forehead against the soft shroom wall. Everybody but Marisela, whose fist held the leg of her jumpsuit tightly. When May Ri spent herself, and turned on her tormentors, giving them grief about purposely making her misunderstand that they wanted her to return to Earth when she didn't, the suddenly exceedingly cute toddler waggled a finger up at the adults facing her.

"Yeah, that was my idea," Reina admitted without a hint of trepidation. "You were full of resentment when you arrived, but were so earnest trying everything and anything to be useful I decided to befriend you. Still, you reflexively fight changes."

May Ri proved the point by glaring at the 17-year-old.

"We all worried what we could tell you. Were you resigned to fate, Mars-friendly, or Martian in your heart?"

The others nodded, the elder Īto once again on one of vid feeds on Reina's dome wall, saying, "We all concurred with her."

"Sorry," Randolf said, "Even me." Right. He'd been a women's rights advocate on Earth. An HR rep and arbitrator on Mars.

Īto added, "Your engineering design qualification lets you accept jobs from management, and I have special jobs for you. If you were leaving, it wouldn't do to have you saying things on Earth you shouldn't know."

"I shouldn't? What? Know what?"

Silence. Circumspect, but still... May Ri began to seethe, until her daughter began to growl.

Everyone laughed, then Īto asked, "Are you Martian?"

On Earth she'd been an a-theist in a Decath nation, female, a nobody even if a man deigned to marry her to bear his sons. Hopeless. Martian as in a patriot? Maybe not there yet, but, "This is my home, full stop."

"That's a Yes?"

"Absolutely, yes."

Reina embraced her and danced May Ri around. She had to untangle herself, peeling off hands, pushing at her chest.

"Okay! Okay!" Freed, she asked, "What jobs?"

Īto answered, "The creditors' agent on the Faerie King wants two of our remaining makers, and we lost two on the Robinson Crusoe. And other things we can't make on Mars, even with makers. The other directors and I aren't sure which nation is angling to take over the infrastructure we built. The Russian Supremacy is too pat, but who knows? Did you know makers can't make makers? Or NTPU parts? Dozens of other patented things. Weapons?"

"I can understand weapons, but—" May Ri froze where she stood. ... saying things on Earth you shouldn't know. "You want me to make a maker? Th—th—that's crazy. It'll turn all the corporations against me... Us!"

"As if they aren't already against us? EM's bankruptcy may have been forced. It's blood in the water. Reina, that's a shark reference from Earth."

Her daughter looked thoughtful, then nodded. May Ri blinked, breath hitching up. "Can't make a maker."

"Maybe not you, but I like your tenacity. We can, together. We have to!" The other vid feeds lit up. Dozens. Maybe a hundred. All women. Every earthly ethnicity. A handful of nisei, two of which waved at Reina who waved back. All Martian; you could tell by how they moved on screen, how they held their heads against gravity. Three were on Deimosbase based on how they floated. "Meet your peers, May Ri."

The room filled with "Hi" and "Hola" and a few "Bonjours," beside others, dispelling a lingering sense of loneliness her grilling to discover whether she was a Martian had fomented. Some announced their dome locale. Most waved.

I'm not alone, she thought.

Reina said, "This is our echo group. You're our newest participant in engineering, along with me, Telsi, Julie, Saniya, and Rosa." They waved. "Okasan is sensei for that one. The rest in the community listen in to help or discuss the topic we're learning or the problem we're solving. Don't worry, there's some boys, too, some cute like Carlos, but not in engineering!"

Īto added, "There's over a thousand. It's our Martian upper educational system, and with the Faerie King arriving, it became critical that we included you. You see, you have an affinity for..."

#RSMarsNeededWomen 12

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2503.22 — Manifest (Ch/March 11) #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera

May Ri's ire flared. She disliked people controlling her; she'd be in the master's program at Northeastern Illinois and child-free if not shanghaied to Mars. "It's a setup?"

The elder Īto said, "Consider it a graduation present. Your design wasn't entirely innovative, but well engineered. You earned Pass-Plus. You'd get job requests, but you're listed with a return berth in the manifest of the Russian Supremacy Faerie King, arriving in 33 sols. You're the only woman of five forcibly colonized before the bankruptcy. You're a cause célèbre on Earth—"

"The daily outrage," May Ri corrected.

"—The ship's purpose is to repossess EM equipment. We'll fight that. Your berth adjudicates an Earther issue, and our accountability."

Silence descended. Nothing comparable to back home. Loneliness had this sound, the ringing in her ears was her sense of place crumbling. Back home? she thought, breathing hard, heart thumping. Wasn't here home?

"Carlos! Get down!" Īto said.

Grasping Marisela tighter, May Ri looked up as a lanky nisei frog-hopped from a perch on the wall. Reina intercepted and they tumbled together, her laughing. Native Martians wore tight pajama silk that was especially revealing on a man. Back home— Raised in a Decath nation, she looked up reflexively.

"My new husband," Reina said, rubbing noses.

"Rodriquez?" May Ri asked.

Randy sighed, "He died 71 sols ago on the Robinson Crusoe." Men died disproportionately often on Mars.

Carlos asked, "33 sols? Makes you happy, right?"

She shivered. Silence descended. Standing before Randy, she strapped Manette's carry pouch, strapping it on herself. She walked toward the door, nobody saying anything before she realized: A berth. A single berth, as in only one not three. Her babies were Randy's. He was a man, of course, her husband. He had that thing between his legs that Carlos' silk outlined; she didn't.

They weren't saying anything!

A sense of betrayal grew as sweat cooled her skin. She stood frozen, starting to freeze. Marisela squirmed silently to be put down. Her daughters were nisei.

They were Martians.

She was not. Not a Martian.

Secretary Īto added, "Unified home schooling laws let us confer a baccalaureate and credit toward a masters."

"Momie!" Marisela cried.

She held her too tightly. Sitting on a bench, energy zapped, May Ri sat her down; her look made the 3-year-old shrink behind her.

The latent horror of Reverend Peters damning her to a life as a worthless housewife surfaced, with her dream of EM Mars self-agency shattering. Back home? Would her remarried father take in a divorcée? EM had promised her money, college—but were now bankrupt.

Home?

She blinked. A lot. She didn't do crying. But—

Carlos stood centimeters away, in her face, hazel eyes considering her.

May Li jerked back, Marisela fled, and Manette woke—sniveling ramping toward a tantrum. With fine facial features and muscles that showed he took weight training seriously, she approved Reina's choice in the baby-making sense.

"What?"

He asked, "Is she Earther? Or? Is she Martian?"

May Ri kicked; Carlos jumped away. A concerned-looking Randy hovered. Angrily, she unstrapped Manette, shoving the crying infant into his arms, eyeing the door.

May Ri answered. "She's nothing. Worse... she's unwanted."

"Are you accepting the berth?" Īto asked.

"Do I have a choice?" Manifestly, she did not. May Ri moaned, blinking, eyes burning, reaching for the spring door pull.

Reina intercepted, unwonted worry causing her freckles to collide. She shoved a book plate in front of her showing her mother, nose into the camera, grey hair agitated, asking "Who said you don't?"

"I'm a woman. That's synonymous with not choosing. Always will be."

"No it won't. Am I male? Reina?"

Reina said jokingly, "I chose Carlos, Rod, Randy—though you poached him—and Roger!"

A tear ran down May Ri cheeks.

Īto said, "Choose."

May Ri whispered, "I always lose. Women always lose. You'll get your accountability adjudicated! I'll accept the berth... but if I could choose, I'd choose Mars."

Somebody batted her hand from the door pull, causing her to look up. Carlos. He stood to her right, grinning. Īto's smile grew on the book plate, mirroring her daughter's ready one. The teenage man, a year younger than his new wife, declared, "She's a Martian!"

When Randy embraced her from behind, with Manette's pouch pressing the noisy squirming infant into her, May Ri broke. Reality ceased to make sense. Her daughter, her shiny shy nisei, even hugged her leg to comfort her mother.

May Ri didn't do crying, but turned into a spring shower, nonetheless.

(Continued) #RSMarsNeededWomen 11

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2503.21 (Ch 10/March 10) — Empower #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera

"I'd like to talk to you about your mine car design," Reina's voice said in her ear after a ping, near bedtime for the girls. May Ri's stomach tightened, she even sweated, as if Mr. Cummerbund in high school had called her to his desk. Except the Onēsanue tutor was only 17, eight years younger than her—and brilliant.

Randy gave her a look.

"Tonight?"

"Bring the girls, hubby-doo, too. My private dome."

The first born nisei got her way more so than other women, was open about sex and TMI matters that would make any stuck-up Decath shudder, but visiting her home?

Never.

It interested Randy enough that he walked Marisela over, even strapped Manette in the cradle pouch over his chest. When the double spring-doors unlocked, they walked into sculpted fairyland space that displayed Reina's Martian aesthetics. Shroom blocks acted as cabinets, low tables with sunken chairs, multi-level perches upon which a true Martian could squat, pulsating hidden rainbow lighting, piles of artful epoxied regolith, and shelves of real books that May Ri rushed towards.

The exuberant teenager frog-hopped into May Ri's arms, embracing her with arms and legs. She whispered loudly into her ear, "I just learned you graduated!"

"Graduated?" Randy asked, "That's great!" Marisela hugged his leg, turning shy.

"Get off!" May Ri growled, but ended up walking where the clingy teenager pointed, supporting her bottom like a child. On Earth, impossible. On Mars, an exercise in managing inertia.

What looked like a pile of giant children's blocks proved to be mounts for randomly placed vid feeds. An old woman swam into view. Her flexed arms and the languid motion of her long grey hair said low grav.

"Secretary Itō," Randy said instantly, bowing and holding Manette at the same time. The satellite link delay let May Ri deduce she was at Deimosbase, and that the moon was on the opposite side of the planet.

"No, no, none of that, child."

"Okāsan," Reina said, waving.

May Ri summarily dropped the teenager, looking from her to her husband. "What? Am I missing something?"

"My mother," Reina explained. When May Ri asked the reflexive question, she got, "I've many fathers," which meant Itō was a matronym, which left her mother in a precarious situation, especially on Deimos were a Decath minister was in residence.

Her husband of two years Mars looked to the woman, who nodded.

He sighed. "The Itō family sponsored me because I won a woman's rights essay contest when I was 9. I studied relevant law and became a feminist organizer with their financial support out of college, before the North American Block fomented a reactionary backlash, which helped the Decath Republic Party win squeaker elections. I've written lots of articles—"

"He now writes under the byline Dispatches from Mars," the woman put in.

"I got death threats. My wife succumbed to pressure and converted to Decatholicism when we moved to Britain—"

"Wife?" She walked over and snatched up Marisela who looked ready to cry. An excuse. Patting her, she realized she didn't know him well. She felt cold.

"I divorced Cantata when she threw out her contraceptives for religious reasons—not that we'd gotten along well; we hadn't. The recession that followed the Brexit III vote led me to accept Secretary Itō's suggestion that I could help empowering women by going to Mars." Taking a deep breath, he pointed at the teenager. "I was supposed to marry Reina, but it turns out I like aggressive women who know what they want, who I thought wanted me... and I'd not have had to be abstinent for five years." He grinned as Manette woke and yawned widely, but never opened her eyes. She smacked her lips a few times as everyone held their breath for an outburst that never came.

Reina pouted. "I wouldn't have made you wait."

"Why am I hearing about this now?" May Ri asked.

"You never asked?" he tried. "I mean, for those handful of weeks directorate assignments let us spend together yearly, you're very focused on your studies and having fun together?" he asked tentatively.

She averted her gaze, admitting, if only to herself, he was right. He was fun in bed. It also explained why he treated her as an equal. Reina's family had trained him. In her chest, her heart felt like it was growing. She wasn't going to admit anything like love. Her first relationship with Raymond had burnt that to dust, but still... When she looked at him, an aura glowed around him.

That was the rainbow lighting.

"We're going to talk about all your history, and why you were going to marry Reina."

"As well you should," stated Secretary Itō. "Which brings you to why we're here."

(Continued) #RSMarsNeededWomen 10

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2503.15 — Freely (Ch/March 9) #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera, Fictional #journalism

Dispatches from Mars: 16 Psyche Disaster a Software Lock Problem?

When critical mechanical parts on the Robinson Crusoe's NTPU (Nuclear Thermal Propulsion Unit) broke, a crew of 73 that included machinists, metallurgists, mining specialists, three maker specialists, and one mechanical engineer should have been able to fix it.

Not having achieved circular orbit yet, the men of the fourth Martian mission to the massive asteroid had five days to prevent an intercept on the ambitious orbital plan that would prove too trusting of equipment thirty years in service. The intrepid self-reliant men, later tarred as stupid and arrogant by the Green Tractors Corporation, felt they didn't need to contact the Earth for assistance. Following safety regulations and allowing a proper cooldown period, they proceeded with disassembly and isolation of a part for which GTC has never provided schematics, and allegedly didn't even provide the emergency repairability cache required by most national laws. That search despite high radioactivity for the presumably misplaced cache ate up six hours of the crew's time. When their maker machines refused to make the scanned parts, or parts that could be refined in time by lathe work or manual labor to necessary tolerances, the ship's engineer reported it through approved channels.

The lunar deep space network promptly experienced an outage.

Let's unpack what looks like a conspiracy and a subsequent cover-up...

...Because corporations still design without repairability in mind for "cost" reasons, and even make it impossible to fix bugs in logic, or add enhancement that could have served as a lifesaving workaround in the Robinson Crusoe's case, disaster can and will happen. Not being able to freely use and repair equipment that the now bankrupt EM Mars Colonizations Corporation purchased, is a travesty of ethics. For a corporation that resides in a deeply Decath nation, it's a moral failure.

And, for what? Profit from costly maintenance and repair services only available in Earth Space? Are the 7,983 Martians, now less 73, not human? Does is their ability to only pay upon achieving profitability in a future decade strip them of their humanity? Why isn't there at least one tech available for Mars Space?

As you know from other coverage, the Robinson Crusoe went down in Panthia crater, hitting 100 meters below the rim ridge. In the end, despite applying boosts from both their landing vehicles and jury-rigged satellite boosters, all their sims had to tell them an hour before that it was hopeless. Worse, even with the cobbled-together low-bandwidth network the Martians got up, none of the all male crew got to send their families a proper goodbye.

All 73 sailors went down with their ship. They leave behind 73 wives on Mars, together with their 125 first generation (Nisei) Martian children, 24 boys and 101 girls, none over 17 Earth years of age.

#RSMarsNeededWomen 09

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Image credit: By NASA/JPL-Caltech/ASU - https://www.nasa.gov/feature/jpl/how-nasa-s-psyche-mission-will-explore-an-unexplored-world, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=117564734

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2503.19 (March 8) — Mental Load #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera

[To prevent front-loading huge plot points, I'm writing prompts out of order.—R.S.]

On the occasions when first-wave male colonists, or too many husbands, took up residence in the connected domes usually reserved for women, May Ri worked (hid) in the crèche. Her cheek still burned with the memory of a slap-down two Mars years ago; her subconscious still feared retaliation for the revenge she'd exacted on the Director. Her "vacation" didn't mean she was excused from her design review, which was also a final engineering exam.

Her book plate bounced on her chest on a lanyard. She'd steal any unwary moment that presented itself. "Steal," being the keyword.

Marisela was 1½ Mars. May Ri's eldest nisei was keenly aware when her mother was Dome-Ma. The little one not only tagged around her mother—a little fist in the belt of her mother's hip huggers, nearly pulling down what May Ri would have called underwear, and had on arrival on Mars—but the savvy girl marshaled the other nisei toddlers (7 girls and 1 boy) such that they—and their shroom-blocks, communal red ride-on tunnel digger, flex sheets colored with charcoal and said charcoals, and pastel pony dolls (a new yet ancient girl-toy craze)—seemingly mag-levved around the room, always within May Ri's reach.

Good and bad points to that. Not being able to steal a moment. Bad. Being able to grab and catch an errant frog hopper. Good. With Mars-gravity-tuned tendons, squatting Nisei did hop like frogs.

Fahad, the boy, knocked over his sipper bottle, causing the lid to pop off. May Ri sighed and let go of her book plate. She stood as the boy started sniffing as a girl pointed. "He spilled!"

Carla, one Mars year older than May Ri, gave her a sympathetic smile. The tiny woman in the corral cared for May Ri's recently weened Manette; also her own crawling daughter, and four infants. May Ri was glad to avoid communal wet nurse duties. Not as glad while mopping up the spill, then judging fidgeters for rapid response loo visits or inspecting bottoms in case she missed an indicator. She did like sneak-hugging the two squabbling youngsters on the floor, getting squeals, and having Marisela join hugging her shoulders.

"What if the axles were shorter," she said to herself, a brainwave hitting. As little ones piled on, the best she could do was repeat "Axles" to remember her idea. Tapping her ear, calling it in, would disrupt the workstations as well as the crèche, and she wasn't sure yet it was a good idea—

"I have such a cute daughter!"

"Randy?"

"She really wants to help Mama, doesn't she?" Her husband finished, swinging their squealing daughter through the air. Too soon she quieted, making him set her down. Their little nisei, with toasty skin like her father and dark hair like her mother, swiftly hid in the crowd of children. "What's your schedule?"

Randolf visited, as did all the men, on honeymoons. May Ri doubted Marisela really knew her father as more than a recurring scary stranger. In an Earther sense, he was one to May Ri, too. She mentally scheduled that talk between the three of them.

"Can you help me?" May Ri asked.

"I don't know how to take care of kids."

"You say that a lot," she said, handing off a pony toy, three hands grabbing for it, to which she said, "Play nice," at them, then at him, "You do fine when we're alone."

It was hard to get a sitter when all other women were enjoying their husbands being local and real time. Him managing the girls well meant fun time later. They had lots of fun.

"Do I?" he asked, stepping away from the toy melée. "I've got what I'm good at. You've got yours. Never received the instruction manual for Marisela."

A joke?

The one thing she'd learned running the crèche, other than the extreme sport of multitasking, was anger had its place; here wasn't it.

"I'll send you the book," she joked back darkly, standing. She held out her hand. His eyes went to her chest, larger now than when they met. It had been three months. When he took her hand, she directed him closer as she would a little boy. Instead of kissing, she applied downward pressure. "Sit!"

He sat. Unlike many men, he was good natured even when contradicted. She liked that.

Little hands and little hugs mobbed him; he got peppered with giggling requests to play. She added, "Learning by doing works."

Carla snorted. When May Ri looked, she got an A-ok gesture.

Marisela belatedly realized her status change. Two parents, not one! Plowing through her competition for affection, she squealed, "Daddy!"

May Ri got time to make the axle revision before the next kid-tastrophe. #RSMarsNeededWomen 08

[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]

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2503.07 — Consent #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera

"I'm going to choose," May Ri told herself, building her courage, to get it over with. Her heart beat too fast; she hyperventilated. Her hands felt damp.

Anticipation.

Anticipation of disappointment!

Having lived four months on Mars, if May Ri knew anything, she knew that people lived differently here than on Earth. Today was no exception. Since the cut-off of transits (supplies and new colonists) from Earth, situations like men doing only the dangerous space work polarized male-female interactions further.

As for women...

May Ri knew when signing up that the underlying reason she was here was to expand the gene pool, thus the auditorium she entered. Chicago held similar expectations for her: Under the Decath regime, what was a housewife? Here, she worked to expand the habitat, farmed, and trained in Mars machinery design while living segregated in the women's connected domes. Men visited during scheduled Honeymoons. The contract she'd signed detailed her responsibilities: She'd consented to marry within a (Mars) year.

That Reina called today's meet and greet the "Meat Market" drew recollections of pre-penthouse level Zocalo butcher shops only the most wealthy could visit back home—her previous home. May Ri's body kept its own count of time, way more than the 73 day transit and 120 days on Mars—Men looked really good, today. Within the year time limit, she got to choose a husband, not her parents or a Decath minister.

But...

Considering her bad luck at barely 22—no, 11 Mars—deeper worries stopped her with a hand on the doorframe at the entrance. Her hand shook.

The door monitor said, "Show some confidence, girl, or he'll say No."

May Ri had completely missed the older woman. She rushed in...

Auditorium was too grandiose a word. Seven men in greenish EM Mars jumpsuits stood on a raised stage of epoxied regolith inside a small up-lit shroom dome of pastel greens, reds, and black dusting. Since most Martians squatted or sat crosslegged, the younger women congregated together on square pillows, talking lowly and pointing. Six men talked quietly between themselves.

The seventh...

May Ri inhaled sharply, holding it, walking slowly, scanning the meat for sale. She'd seen few men during the last months; only in intradome meetings or by vid.

She needed to focus.

Look at each.

But, she looked at the seventh again. Stopping when she barked her shins on the knee-high stage.

The seventh had coffee-color skin diluted with a lot of oat milk. Long fingers poked furiously at his book plate. While the others seemed preoccupied by their audience, the sandy-haired guy with cowlicks poked, then touched his ear implant, turning away to talk lowly in a pleasant voice.

That was a magnetic sight.

She warned herself it might be her abstinence, so she judged the rest of the exterior, up and down, and his smile and happy nod when he finished. A glance at the other women confirmed they'd noticed, too.

May Ri said loudly, "I choose him," pointing.

One of the other women jumped to her feet, bowling over five others. In the chatter, May Ri heard, "Can she do that?"

A hand on May Ri's shoulder made her glance back to see red hair and freckles. Her half-pouting teenage tutor, Reina said, "I was going to choose him, too."

"I—" May Ri sputtered.

Reina shook her, giggling. "Take him."

"Wait, Roger? You're married. Via Vid-downlink!"

Does that mean... Two...? Wait, what?

Reina directed her grey eyes at the other group of men. She whispered, "Roger died a month ago in an airlock accident. Didn't want to depress you. I get to choose again." The men heard it and looked worried when she pointed. "I'm choosing Rodriguez." A short swarthy man with short-cropped black hair stood bolt upright.

A shadow made her look up. Her gaze met deep brown eyes and an apprehensive smile. "I'm Randolf," he said in a West European Conglomerate accent. He offered a hand. Professional, doubtless. Not a day under 30 Earth, maybe 35. "What's your name?"

She blinked, hand rising, but didn't turn away; forced herself. She couldn't interpret his nod. She forced herself to think Lust at first sight.

And failed. What came instead was the hope of someone who might treat her as an equal.

Stupid.

Reina cut in. "May Ri's training as an engineer. She never gives up. She's fun, too."

"Fun?" May Ri thought, scoffing, looking at Reina. Then Randolf took her hand. They locked gazes again.

Reina whispered into her ear, mischievously, "I hacked the showers and Rodriguez's cabin cam. His nickname, The Rod, is well deserved. As for Randolf, he's—"

"Randy?"

Reina laughed. Randy answered, "Yes?" looking confused. #RSMarsNeededWomen 07

[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]

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