Luke Marusiak: Lifeboat Moon

The Manufacturing Pod’s threesome came to the front holding a shoebox-sized device. Jerry looked up with a sheepish grin. “This is a rover prototype and every molecule of material in this rover was mined and manufactured right here.” He turned to Gitty who beamed a smile that lit the room.

She pointed to the rover’s front. “This is an electric motor whose insulator comes from processed GGC — glass-glass composites. The windings are ninety-six percent pure aluminum wire and the magnets are made of processed iron.” Gitanjali was pleased with herself. “We have our first working machine.” She smiled and turned to Jim Staid.

Jim grinned but Mark thought his smile far less genuine than Gitty’s. “We have the first lunar produced solar panels,” Jim announced. “We used nanoengineered additive technology to achieve the needed purity of the silicon. It took a few iterations but now we have a scalable manufacturing process.”

Jim crouched, toggled a switch on the prototype, and used a flashlight to illuminate the panels. The prototype rover scooted across the room with a satisfying electric whine. Jerry caught the rover and lifted it high for the assembly to view. The room burst into applause.

“That’s right,” ArmCon Little said at the podium. “We’re on our way.” He grinned. “We also produced, solely from the lunar regolith, our first Moon Base Armstrong set of Innovation Awards. Jerry, Gitty, and Jim — report.” The three Manufacturing Pod engineers were awarded 3D printed glass-glass composite plaques with sparkling raised letters that detailed their names and accomplishments.

“Doctor Ezekiel Ben-Ami, report.” ArmCon Little kept the ceremony going. The doctor came up with two olive-colored tongue and groove shaped bricks. “Doctor Zeke is presented an Innovation Award for his ingenious development of construction bricks. These Lego-like bricks connect well and, when heat is applied, react and bond together to provide an airtight seal.”

Doctor Ezekiel Ben-Ami lifted the bricks for the assembly to see. “This will enable rapid expansion of our CELSS — our controlled ecological life-support system into other parts of Shackleton Crater and the moon.”

“Thank you Doctor Zeke,” the ArmCon said. “Now from the Agriculture Pod: Christina Bennet report.” A young woman with shoulder length blonde hair came to the front holding what looked like an egg carton with green sprouts. “Tina Bennet is presented the Innovation Award for optimizing our hydroponic farming. We’re all going to be vegan, and that’s fine.” As Tina stood and received the award ArmCon Little added, “There’s probably nothing more valuable we produce up here than our own excrement.”

The award ceremony continued with Doctor Zeke getting another award for a small scale lunar produced material separator and Jim Staid was called again for designing a 3D printer also fully manufactured from materials extracted from the regolith. We didn’t get to Kurzweil’s vaunted singularity in computer artificial intelligence , Mark thought as he watched the progression of awards, but we came close enough to give us a chance.

Sally Ride Henderson and Douglas Graham were each given a Sustainability Award for diligent identification and repair of leaks. Thaddeus Rudzinski, Mark’s shift two Quick Response Force Team Leader counterpart, was presented a Water Award for getting a sample pipe into the crater bottom from the Moon Base Armstrong side of Shackleton Crater. Like Japan Station, Thad was able to extract ice particles.

As the award ceremony continued, Mark’s stomach tightened with anxiety overpowering his fatigue. The specter of anonymity in the new Moon Base Armstrong order of things jolted him.

Mark feared the worst as Director Constance Collier came alongside ArmCon Huxley Little at the podium. He felt his cheeks burn as both the director and ArmCon cast their gazes on him. What now?

“Captain Mark Martelli — report,” the director commanded.

Captain Martelli stood at attention before Director Collier and ArmCon Little. He felt exposed to ridicule. He felt exposed to Moon Base Armstrong’s knowledge of his overpowering fear of suffocation.

The director held up antique U.S. Air Force major’s insignia pinned to an index card. “We have the distinct pleasure of promoting Captain Mark Martelli to the rank of major. This will put him third in command of Moon Base Armstrong — the highest rank after the ArmCon and myself.”

Director Collier favored Mark with an uncharacteristic smile. “These insignia are a legacy. They were first worn by Mark’s great great grandfather, Major Leo Martelli, when he became an ace flying a P-51 Mustang over the skies of Europe in World War II. They were then worn by Mark’s great grandfather, Major Gino Martelli when flying an F-4 Phantom in Vietnam. Mark’s grandfather, Major Patrick Martelli, wore these insignia when flying an F-15 Eagle over Iraq in the first Gulf War. As most of you know, Mark’s father was General Michael Martelli who flew an F-16 Fighting Falcon.”

Mark would’ve preferred that the director stop there on the description of his father. His family’s legacy was impressive. All but one detail indicated Mark was a patriotic volunteer and not placed on the moon by his father who called in a favor. But the director added that damning detail. “General Michael Martelli, Mark’s father was my commander as head of the U.S. Air Force Space Command out of Colorado.”

Yes, Mark thought as he stood there trying to keep his face calm, General Martelli was not only your commander, he raised a brood to carry on his legacy. He watched his oldest sons pilot F-22 Raptors while me, his youngest son, piloted drones out of Creech Air Force Base in Nevada. My brothers got promoted to Lieutenant Colonel so fast they never got these major’s oak leaf insignia. I got stuck being a captain and was passed over for promotion to major… until tapped to come to the moon. He wondered if the director and the ArmCon knew the truth. Then Dad pulled strings for me, his embarrassing youngest son hidden up here on the moon, to get promoted to major.

The director turned to Mark and lowered her voice. “The general would be gratified to see you get these insignia.”

No he wouldn’t.

The two leaders flanked Mark and each affixed the antique golden oak leaf major’s insignia to an opposite collar of his U.S. Air Force space jumpsuit. The director and the ArmCon took a step back and both snapped a sharp salute. Mark returned the salute and, as he held it, tried to discern whether ArmCon Little’s expression was one of respect or amusement.

The director extended her hand and gave Mark a firm handshake. “Congratulations Major.”

The assembly applauded.

“Your dad,” the ArmCon echoed, “would’ve been proud to see this.”

“My dad?” The newly minted major was not of the same mind. Major Mark Martelli struggled to feel anything of merit in this promotion. Mark knew that General Martelli had many feelings about his youngest black sheep son. Pride was never one of them.

“Yes,” the ArmCon continued oblivious to Mark’s consternation. He flipped the index card over. “The general wrote a short note I’ll read for the crew.”

Oh God please… no. Mark could only stand in front of the assembly helpless as the torture continued. The effect of his multi-generational legacy shouldn’t have mattered after the gamma ray burst. But it did. The burden of expectation rose to unbearable weight.

“The general wrote this note months ago, right after the major’s board selected Mark for promotion. General Martelli sent the century-old major’s insignia with the last launch.” ArmCon Little cleared his throat with genuine emotion. “I knew General Martelli well and it’s right that his heritage continue here on the moon with his son.”