Yves Giraud - Kahnu

“Sorry, you’ll have to come back on Wednesday. David writes the checks and he’s not here today,” replied Paul, mentioning his business partner.

That was not entirely true. Paul could have given him cash, but he was a bit upset at the moment. He never liked people quitting on him, even if François was far from being one of his best employees. Now he was going to have to rework everyone’s schedule until the found a replacement.

François walked to Christophe’s station and said, “Tu veux sortir une minute?”

The two made their way down to the parking lot where they often sat during their lunch break.

“Alors, c’est vrai cette histoire? Tu vas vraiment le faire? Partir pour Mars, je veux dire…” started Christophe. They rarely used English between themselves unless someone else was around, since both were much more fluent in their native language.

“Ouai! Ça vat ètre genial! J’ai réellement impatience!” replied François.

“Tu pars quand?”

“Je sais pas exactement. La lettre dit juste que j’ai été sélectionné et que quelqu’un me contactera dans les jours qui viennent. Y’a aussi des papiers à signer, trucs legaux. Des formalités, quoi.”

“Cool… That’s cool…” replied Christophe in English, without much enthusiasm.

Both were sitting on a parking block, looking at their feet, quiet and lost in thoughts. As the silence slowly became more obvious, both friends knew what the other was thinking… soon François would leave and probably never see his friend again. The sun was starting to set, and a tint of orange reflected off a car windshield, and onto the wall across from them.

François cracked a smile. In a few years, if all went well, his whole world would be orange.

“Hey, wanna drive up the PCH?”

“Quoi? Maintenant là, desuite?” replied Christophe.

“Yeah! Right now! On se prend une bouteille de Cisco au store du coin et on part faire un tour.”

“Et Paul?”

“Who cares? Come on!”

A big smile came back on Christophe’s face.

“ Sacré Yvon . OK, let’s go!”

Ten minutes later, the two friends were sharing a cheap bottle of Cisco, driving down Santa Monica Boulevard, on their way to the Pacific Coast Highway. François’ old beat up, ’87 Camaro wasn’t the most attractive vehicle on the road, but the two couldn’t have cared less at the moment.

They were drinking, laughing, and checking out girls on the sidewalk, enjoying life. The sun was starting to set over the horizon as they finally reached the coast. Heading north, François soon mentioned how disappointed he was by the famous Malibu Beach. He did whenever he drove through it. François knew his friend Christophe had already heard it countless times, but the Frenchman began his rambling anyway.

“I really don’t see what the big deal is. If I was famous and had a lot of money, this is not the beach I would choose. I mean, you know I’m not big on France, but it’s the people I don’t like there, mainly. I love the topography, and the climate in the south is pretty nice for the most part. It’s beautiful on the French Riviera. So much better than this rocky beach full of gravel and small bushes. It’s just weird looking to me, almost creepy. And the water is cold as fuck most of the year. I’d like to live in Florida instead or on an island. Yeah, an island would be nice. A private one would be even better, with a helicopter pad and a yacht. Oh, and a recording studio with a grand piano, a white one,” he paused. “One day man; one day I’ll have all that. I’ll be famous, and I’ll have enough money to never worry again about anything. And you’ll live there too. We’ll build you a house next to mine. We’ll have girls over all the time, hot ones, of course.”

He cracked a smile. “You’ve got to hear this new demo I’m working on. It’s really good. I think this time—”

“Well, that’s cool but I’m afraid you’re gonna have to put your dreams of fame and your songwriting on hold for a while. I mean, with that Mars training program and all, looks like you’re gonna be pretty busy,” interjected Christophe.

“Yeah, you’re right… hey, I could be the first human to write a song on Mars. Wow! That would be awesome!” suddenly thought François. “I better come up with something good, though.”

“Yeah, I guess you better,” said Christophe unconvinced. “Your training is what? Six years long? Eight? Well, at least you’ve got time.”

They both laughed.

“Plus, you don’t know if you’ll make it do the end of the program, you know. There’s probably a bunch of tests you’re gonna have to pass, first.”

“That’s not a problem. I’ve got this. I can feel it. I’m meant to do this. I’m gonna go to Mars. Wow! Do you realize what that means? I still can’t believe it. It’s gonna be SO awesome!”

Once again, François’ over-confident attitude was taking over his own rational judgment. But strangely, although most would have called him irresponsible, the young Frenchman always seemed to manage the impossible when he set his mind to it, and Christophe knew it.

“Yeah, pretty cool… I’m gonna miss you though, man…” said Christophe in a voice that trailed off under his breath.

François cracked a subtle smile and turned his attention back to the scenery in front of him. Racing west towards the coast, both young men watched in silence the last rays of sun disappear behind the horizon while the road carried them away in the night.

Almost eleven years later, the sun in front of the two men perched on the terrace of the Mars First training complex was also getting low. Dedrick, looking pleasantly entertained by François’ story, was thinking of his own reaction when his dad had told him. Of course, in Dedrick’s case, things had been quite different. For one, he had never applied to be a contestant on the Mars First astronaut recruiting program in the first place. His father had done so without telling Dedrick. That had bothered him more than anything at first.

Dedrick turned to François, “Did I ever tell you I never applied for Mars First?”

“What? What do you mean, you never applied? How did you get here, then?”

“Well, you see, my father—”

Dedrick was brusquely interrupted by the abrupt opening of the door behind him, followed by the loud entrance of Liu and Najib, playing a game of mouse and cat.

“Shit! Oops, sorry, didn’t know someone was here,” she said looking a bit frazzled and tipsy.

“It’s OK, Liu, no harm done,” replied Dedrick.

“Sorry guys,” added Najib with a smile as the two retreated the way they had come, the Pakistani-born Indian pulling the door shut behind them. As peace returned to the terrace, François got up and took one last look at the horizon.

“I think I’m gonna go lay down, buddy. I’ll see you at dinner,” he said before exiting the balcony through the same single door.

“Sure. See you there,” replied the Russian, half under his breath.

Leaning back against the wall behind him, Dedrick aimed his gaze at the small sparkling lights past the dark forest in front of the complex. Thousands of vehicles, small as specs, were rushing along the string-like highways, barely visible in the far distance. He suddenly recalled the footage of a bomb striking a similar looking city on the news the previous night. A new war had just broken out between two Asian countries he could not remember the name of. There was so much unrest in the world. He was going to miss many things about Earth but that, not so much.

It was only after a long phone conversation that Lars was able to convince the other board members to authorize a leave of absence for the crews to go spend some time with their families. He had felt very strongly that the astronauts could benefit greatly from the break. After all, they only had a few months left before the big launch, and it would not be long before the whole complex would be locked down for obvious safety reasons.