Joe Haldeman: Marsbound

“Hey,” said a voice behind me, “that’s where we met?” It was the pilot, of course, Paul Collins, crouching down so he could see what was on my screen. Was that impolite?

“Yeah, where you nailed that iguana with a rock. Or am I imagining things?”

“No, your memory is perfect. I wondered if you wanted to play some cards. We’re getting a game together before anyone else claims the table upstairs.”

I was flattered and a little nervous that he had come down to find me. “Sure, if I know the game.”

“Poker. Just for pennies.”

“Okay. I could do that.” The kids in high school had stopped playing poker with me because I always won, and they couldn’t figure out how I was cheating. I wouldn’t tell them my secret, which was no secret: fold unless you have something good. Most of the other kids just stayed in the game, trusting their luck, hoping to improve their hands at the last minute. That’s idiotic, my uncle Bert taught me; only one person is going to win. Make it be you, or be gone.

I got my purse out of the little suitcase and glanced at Card. He was wrapped up in a game or something, virtual headset on. Mental note: that way nobody can sneak up behind you and see what you’re doing.

Upstairs, there were five people at the table, including Dad. “Uh-oh,” he said. “Might as well just give her the money.”

“Come on, Dad. I don’t always win.”

He laughed. “Just when I’m in the game.” He actually was a pretty bad poker player, not too logical for an engineer. But he played for fun, not money.

We spent a pleasant couple of hours playing Texas Hold-’em and seven-card stud. I dealt five-card stud a couple of times, the purest game, but that wasn’t enough action for most of them.

Dad was way ahead when I left, which was both satisfying and annoying. I learned that pilot Paul plays pretty much like me, close to the chest. If he stayed in, he had something—or he bluffed so well no one found out.

I went in with ten dollars and left with twenty. That’s another thing Uncle Bert taught me: decide before you sit down how much you’re going to win or lose, and stop playing at that point, no matter how long you’ve been in the game. You may not make any friends if you win the first two hands and leave. But poker’s not about making friends, he said.

The gravity was down to 0.95 when I went back to my chair, and I could almost tell the difference. It was a funny feeling, like “Where did I leave my purse?”

I could just see North America coming up over the edge of the world. Zoomed in on Mexico City, a huge sprawl of places you probably wouldn’t like to visit without an armed guard.

Card was still in virtual, doing something with aliens or busty blondes. I put on the helmet myself and chinned through some of the menu. Nothing that really fascinated me. Curious, I spent a few minutes in “Roman Games: Caligula,” but it was loud and gory beyond belief. Settled into “midnight warm ocean calm,” and set the timer for six, then watched the southern sky, the beautiful Cross and Magellanic Clouds, roll left and right as the small boat bobbed in the current. I fell asleep for what seemed like about one second, and the chime went off.

I unlocked the helmet and instantly wished I was back on the calm sea. Someone had heard the dinner bell and puked. They couldn’t wait for zero gee? There went my appetite.

After a few minutes there was a double chime from the monitor and a little food icon, a plate with wavy lines of steam, started blinking in the corner. I went upstairs to get it, hoping I could eat up there.

I was the second person up the ladder, and there was a short line forming behind me. They said they would call ten people at a time for dinner, I guess at random.

There were ten white plastic boxes on the galley table, with our seat numbers. I grabbed mine and snagged a place at the center table, across from the rich kid, Barry.

He had the same thing I did, a plate with depressions for beef stew with a hard biscuit, a stack of small cooked carrots, and a pile of peas, all under plastic. Everything was hot in the middle and cool on the outside.

“I guess we can say good-bye to normal food,” he said, and I wondered what dinner normally was to him. Linen and crystal, sumptuous gourmet food dished out by servants? “Water boils at 170 degrees, at this pressure,” he continued. “It doesn’t get hot enough to cook things properly.”

“Yeah, I read about coffee and tea.” All instant and tepid. The stew was kind of chewy and dry. The carrots glowed radioactively, and the peas were a lurid bright green and tasted half-raw.

Funny, the peas started to roll around on their own. A couple jumped off the plate. There was a low moan that seemed to come from everywhere.

“What the hell?” Barry said, and started to stand up.

“Please remain seated,” Dr. Porter shouted over the sound. The floor and walls were vibrating. “If you’re not in your assigned seat, don’t return to it until the climber stops.”

“Stops?” he said. “What are we stopping for?”

“Probably not to pick up new passengers,” I said, but my voice cracked with fear.

Dr. Porter was standing with her feet in stirrup-like restraints, her head inside a VR helmet, her hands on controls.

“There isn’t any danger,” her muffled voice said. “The climber will stop for a short time while the ribbon-repair vehicle separates to repair a micrometeorite hole.” That was the squat machine on top of the climber. It separated with a clang and a lurch; we swayed a little.

I swallowed hard. So we were stuck here until that thing stitched up the hole in the tape. If it broke, we’d shortly become a meteorite ourselves. Or a meteor, technically, if we burned up before we hit the ground.

“I heard it happens about every third or fourth flight,” Barry said.

I’d read that, too, but it hadn’t occurred to me that it would be scary. Stop, repair the track, move on. I swallowed again and shook my head hard. Two children were crying, and someone was retching.

“Are you all right?” Barry asked, a quaver in his voice.

“Will be,” I said through clenched teeth.

“How about them Gators?”

“What? Are you insane?”

“You said you live in Gainesville,” he said defensively.

“Don’t follow football.” An admission that could get me burned at the stake in some quarters.

“Me, neither.” He paused. “You win at poker?”

“A thousand,” I said. “I mean ten bucks. A thousand pennies.”

“Might as well be dollars. Nothing to spend it on.”

Interesting thing for him to say. “You could buy stuff when we stop at the Hilton.”

“Yeah, but you couldn’t carry it with you. Unless you have less than ten kilograms.”

Maybe I should’ve saved a few ounces, bring back an Orbit Hilton tee shirt. Be the only one on the block.

The pilot Collins sat down next to Barry. “Thrills and chills,” he said.

“Routine stuff, right?” Barry said.

He paused a moment, and said, “Sure.”

“You’ve seen this happen before?” I said.

“In fact, no. But I haven’t ridden the elevator that many times.” He looked past me, to where Dr. Porter was doing mysterious things with the controls.

“Paul… you’re more scared than I am.”

He settled back into the chair, as if trying to look relaxed. “I’m just not used to not being in control. This is routine,” he said to Barry. “It’s just not my routine. I’m sure Porter has everything under control.”

His face said that he wasn’t sure.

“You’re free to walk around now,” Dr. Porter said, her head still hidden. (I suppose pilots can walk around all they want.) “We’ll be done here in less than an hour. You should be in your seats when we start up again.”