Falling through the stars mars base notes

This is some raw text from the MSS 'Falling Through the Stars', and is an excerpt from a sequence where characters are filling in backstory for the MSS in a conversation about a lead character's (Corwen Blount) backgrounds. The finished product is a lot better fleshed out than this sample.

“My grandfather got us out after my Dad was killed in the battle of Winchester.”
“That was rough. Didn’t the Europeans slaughter all the English rebels who surrendered? Shot them with anesthetic darts and removed their brains to power those bloody cyborg things of theirs?”
“I was too young to know. Granddad never said. He got my brother and me out on a private flight to Denmark, took the overnight ferry to Oslo, and flew us out via Iceland. That was before the European invasion of Sweden of course. I was only nine at the time, so the details are pretty hazy. I mostly remember the cold.”
“What about your mom?”
“She was the reason Dad went to war, so Granddad said. She was an English monarchist. A dissident. She got arrested, sent to El Hierro, and that was that.”
“Yeah, we all know what went on there.”
“Well no one really did until Dick Windsor escaped.”
“Does anyone know how many people died out there?”
“Several million. That’s the gossip. I heard an intelligence team sent a remote stealth probe to El Hierro. Twenty separate compounds holding five thousand people, each serving a central lab facility. Ten week rotation.”
“Like a twentieth century concentration camp?”
“In spades. Better organised by an order of magnitude.”
“You want to hear the worst of it?”
“Go on.”
“All the remains were used for transplant and food cultures.”
“You mean…”
“When a body was done with, they broke it down into the protein soup used to grow spare transplant parts for the ruling elite. The remainder, rumour has it, was turned into high protein food supplements. Granddad said the Gaian food agency called it Go-Quorn and pretended it was part of a healthy vegetarian diet.”
“I feel sick.”
“Well do it in the lower corridor.”
“How could they? Europe is a civilized culture, all those churches and mosques. All that history.”
“I don’t know. They just did.”
“So why didn’t we just wipe them out? We still had a few nukes.”
“North America wasn’t very strong at the time. The politicians wanted to pretend that it wasn’t happening because no one could afford a war.”
“If we ever make it back to Earth, I’m going to write my Congressman.”
“You do that. We have to get back to Earth first. Hey, here come the search party. Anything to report?”
“No way to the surface. We’ve lost about sixty percent of the base, but the good news is that all the agri-modules are okay, and we’ve got heating, power and water.”
“We’re just trapped.”
“We think we’ve got atmospheric containment, but there’s a slight leak showing up on instruments.”
“How slight?”
“Five litres an hour. We think.”
“We can live with that. For another nine months at least. What’s the state of mental health?”
“We lost half our personnel, so there are some issues with grief and shock. Two cases of genuine confinement disorder under sedation. A few frayed tempers. I think everyone’s got a little cabin fever after this long trapped underground. Tell you the truth, I think we got off lightly.”
“Lightly?”
“Could be a lot worse. The last view we had from the surface indicated that the attackers had been pretty well slaughtered. That was months ago.”
“So Earth either thinks we’re all dead, or the Europeans are.”
“Hope it’s the latter.”
“Hope there’s an Earth left to go back to.”
“How about communications?”
“Still off line. An ECM pulse fried the main comms net and we don’t have any spares.”
“Can we improvise something?”
“Spark transmitter, or we can rig a transmitter dish and booster amplifier for when we’ve dug our way to the surface again.”
“If we can.”
“How is the digging coming along?”
“Slowly. Half the caldera wall came down on the upper levels during the first assault. Millions of tons of rock. Most of our mining equipment is worn out and failing. It just wasn’t designed for this kind of use.”
Corwen was silent for a moment. “We need to think sideways here.”
“Such as?”
“You tell me the upper levels are blocked, and I’m guessing it will take us months to clear a safe path through the overburden.”
“And..?”
“Why don’t we go sideways?” Corwen suggested.
“Explain.”
“We still haven’t explored all the galleries still in Mars atmosphere. Why don’t we just expand the base sideways?”
“Because there are active vents full of toxic fumes. The kind that can even eat through an environment suit in a couple of hours.”
“Do we still have any suit gel? That blue stuff which acts as an emergency sealant in case of puncture?”
“Of course. Ten cases. No one uses it any more.”
“That’s acid resistant isn’t it?”
“Yes of course, it’s an inert compound gel. It can handle ph levels as low as minus point five. Just in case someone is sick inside their suit and vomits gastric acid on the helmet joints.”
“Cover the suits with it. That will extend the working time in any corrosive atmosphere.”
“Be damn slippery.”
“Better that than dead from decompression. We can keep on expanding the base until we find a vent leading surfacewards.”
“I’ll talk to the digging crews. We’ll go back to vent and passage mapping.”
“Bart, Colleen, Lafik. We can do this.”
“I hope so, Corwen. For all our sakes, I hope so.”
”Let’s just do it, and spare me your existential doubts.”
“It’s how we built Arsia Mons base, and I’m pretty sure we’ve got enough expandite foam and partitions. I recall arguing with the construction chief about storage just before the attack.” The ever cautious Lafik put slender brown fingers to his cheek.
“Joanna, how many effective personnel do we have?” Corwen’s head swung like a laser targeting system.
“Technicians and construction, forty. Administration, fifteen including me. Medical, eight, three Doctors and five nurses out of twelve. Food production, nine. Combat, six. Thirty eight Combat in the infirmary, six awaiting discharge. Oh and Professor Merriman and his five merry roving Areologists.” Joanna Lindstrom, a pale Nordic blonde answered crisply.
Corwen Blount drummed his fingers for a moment. “I want everyone put into two hour shifts. One construction technician to lead each shift. Teach two Comms technicians the fine art of pressure sealing and testing the new sections. Two shifts searching passageways at any given time, two putting in partitions and hatches at fifty metre intervals. That way we can give everyone sufficient rest and keep them focussed on getting out of here alive.” Orders, make the judgement call and put it into action, no matter how scared you feel inside went his inner narrative.
“I’m good with that.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
“This means all of us. We lead from the front.” Corwen’s face split into a schoolboy grin. Confidence, Corwen, confidence. Bullshit baffles brains and confounds insuperable odds.
Lafik raised a sceptical eyebrow. “What about the chain of command?” He asked archly.
“We have to be the strong links.” Corwen grinned back at him.

Lafik turned his face away and thought he loves this, he truly does. Corwen saw the flicker of doubt and decided to assign his lead technician a less mission critical role. Lafik might crack and run in a real emergency. Highly competent as he was in his speciality, that anxiety streak of his might sabotage a tricky situation. “Get Merriman in here if you can find him.” Corwen ordered. “I need his input on the local geology.”

Excerpt: 1st draft, "Sky full of stars"

Authors note; This is from the first section of the "Sky full of stars" MSS, introducing two of the main characters. It's not the opening of the story, yet sets the general MSS background and lays foundations for one story thread. The MSS itself follows four main story threads, and flips between them in a plot / counterplot manner, rather like a modern episode of CSI. I rather like the effect.

A large screen displayed the speckled blackness of space above a brilliant sunlit arc of Earth’s atmosphere. From up in orbit the view of the enlarged Arctic icecap and associated weather systems were terrifyingly obvious. Through narrow gaps in the extensive cloud cover all the visible high latitudes of Earth glittered. Under those clouds, from the pole to Nome and thence to the Aleutians was a mass of solid pack ice. During the Northern winter, the ice pack often linked Norway to Iceland and thence to Greenland and all points north. Alaska and most of Northern Canada were near uninhabitable; the same for Northern Russia, which had lost all of its Northern ports half a century before. The Southern hemisphere had it just as bad. Another few years of lowered solar output, it was said, and there would be ice all the way from the Cape of Good Hope to Cape Horn.

What we do today may mean a better future than we have right now, thought Corwen Blount, Mission Commander, barely glancing at the global spectacular on screen. Or maybe not. His stomach was knotted with tension as his crew waited, poised for the go. Visors down and locked. Environmental suits active and in independent mode. Just in case.
Not that we’d survive if it all went wrong. He mused to himself. This was the last gasp of the North American Space programme. It was common knowledge throughout mission control that funding was to be cut for much of the space programme if the experimental faster than light Omega drive did not work this time round. All the funds released would be diverted into the ever more bloated Social budget. Corwen briefly wondered about trying to join the space programmes of other nations if Omega failed, but could not think of a single workable option. China, India, and Russia only funded weather and surveillance satellites now, the global economy too weak to sustain any manned off world presence in the wake of that goddamned stupid internecine Middle Eastern nuclear war. Europe might be doing something, but the Gaian Republic were overtly hostile to North America nowadays, and more of a threat than a career opportunity.
“Omega ground control to Omega, we have you go for launch.” The knot disappeared as everyone smoothly switched into their allotted tasks.

A crew of five occupied a windowless cabin not much larger than the interior of a delivery van. Five seats were rotated into a forward facing pattern with two at the front, two at the rear, and one to the left hand side in the centre. In the roof of the instrument lined cabin was the main access hatch leading to the airlock and docking hatch, directly below was another which led into the crews ‘rest’ section. Above and upon every side above waist level, screens, keyboards and switches dominated the windowless view. At the front were two seats facing a dual set of controls reminiscent of an aircraft cockpit. Five figures, anonymous in near identical dark red Environment suits and near opaque helmets sat attentive to their tasks.
“Roger that, Omega control. Disengaging. Firing local thrusters.” The interior shook briefly, like a dog lightly flicking it’s ears. There was a far off hissing noise. The co-pilot raised a barely seen eyebrow at the pilot who quietly shook his almost opaquely helmeted head to indicate there was nothing untoward.
“We have slight rotation anticlockwise, correcting.” A twist of a control, four short spikes of light from the attitude jets, and the slowly rotating star field steadied.
“Looking good Omega. You have control. Relative outward drift five metres a second.” Another minute and they would be clear to initiate the sub space drive, heretofore only successful in laboratory tests.
“Starting reactors. Field wings deploying.” Outside, four eight metre long pods began to cantilever out from the white coated octagonal fuselage.

Inside the fusion reactor behind their shielded compartment, multiple toroids of plasma formed within powerful magnetic fields, spun, merged, then intersected with a sudden burst of neutrons into a star hot fusion reaction. Charged grids bled off the sudden glut of energy into hungry batteries and uncharged coils, power greedy drives sucking at the immediate abundance of raw power, ready to push the forty metre long spacecraft into a higher orbit.
“Ten seconds at full burn. Now.” Outside, five reaction jets lit up the rear thrusters in pale violet as the high-energy VASIMIR plasma drive went to full. A tooth shuddering vibration built up and steadied. Particles of dust drifted backwards to the flat walled rear of the control cabin. The rearwards pressure rose sharply with every passing second until it felt like a large man was standing on everyone’s chests, pushing their face muscles backwards like some kind of crude practical joke.
“Reactor output ten Gigawatts and climbing.” Edith Paget, mission technical specialist reported, her voice shaking with the drives vibration.
“Let me know when we get fifty.” Corwen Blount, lead pilot and mission commander called over the loud roaring hum, watching his screen intently.
“Three point five gee acceleration.” Paul Stovek, their ever-cautious co-pilot flicked light hazel eyes across the forward screens, alert for any problems.
“Forty now.”
There was a slight muffled thump that transmitted itself through the hull. “Field wings deployed and locked.” Paul reported.
“Forty nine.”
“Twenty five Gigawatts. Love that Nuclear fusion.” Corwen grinned, enjoying what he considered the greatest funfair ride of all time.
“Fifty five.”
“Primary burn end.” The VASIMIR drives flickered off and the vibration vanished; drifting motes glittered briefly in the beams of internal spotlights.
“Hold it steady there. Everyone ready?” A sensation of weightlessness returned. Corwen checked the onboard scanners. Only the telemetry from Ed Mulholland, the second mission specialist was looking anything like sickly, everyone else seemed to have handled the acceleration changes well. He smiled again.
”Telemetry; green board.” Liam O’Reilly, Navigator, looked up and nodded. “Guidance; ready for course lay in.”
“Life support; Pressure point eight bar. All readings nominal.” Ed reported through gritted teeth.
“Field Generators are at seventy five percent.” Paul spoke with a quick sideways glance and nod of confirmation at Corwen.
“This is Omega to Omega ground control. Ready when you are.” Corwen reported.
“Omega from Omega ground control. Secondary burn and sixty second countdown beginning on my mark. Mark.” The pseudo gravity of acceleration returned at a steady one gravity.
“Omega orbital launch station. Have you on radar at forty-seven kilometres and increasing nine fifty metres per second relative. Velocity stable, reduced to one point zero four G acceleration.”
“Course lay in forty five degrees axial, eighty right.” Liam said.
“Course confirmed.” The star field shifted slowly as the heavily shielded nose of the spacecraft eased round. Targeting sensors on their display flashed green, twice and steadied.
“Fifty five seconds.”
“Charging field wings. Five percent and climbing.”
“Fifty seconds.”
“Reactors at sixty five.”
“Bring the field strength up.”
“Inertial magnetic shielding ten percent.”
“Reactors at seventy three.”
“Fuel flow looking good.”
“Forty seconds.”
“Field strength thirty percent.”
“Reactors at eighty one. Plasma stable.”
“Field wings fifty eight percent charged.”
“Steady on the field strength. Gently now.”
“Omega ground control, we are go for light speed plus.”
“Confirm, Omega. Thirty seconds and you’re looking better than good.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Field strength sixty one percent, stabilising.”

The pull of acceleration suddenly shifted a nausea creating ninety degrees from straight backwards to directly under their seats and the rearward pull ceased. “Life support; we have point six three cabin gravity.” Edith read off her display. Mission control could see all these readings on their siamesed displays back on Earth, but on a proving mission everything had to be confirmed and re confirmed verbally. Just in case.
“Thank you life support. Guidance?”
“Guidance shows on the money.” Liam reported simply.
“Burn ending, now.” Paul made two fine adjustments to the internal gyroscopes, then nodded as the compensation met with his approval.
“Twenty seconds Omega. We’re all praying for you down here.”
“So are we ground control. So are we. No more damp squibs this time, eh?” Corwen glanced at the crew displays and nodded with satisfaction. Here goes nothing. The drive might work, or leave them sitting and looking slightly foolish on a slow climb out of the ecliptic as it had to three other crews before them. He sat for a few moments listening to the verbal reports from his crew.
“Field strength sixty four percent.”
“Field wings are charged. One hundred percent. Make ready.” Environment suit visors were locked down.
“Point seven five cabin gravity.”
“Reactors at ninety seven Gigawatts.”
“Hold reactors at that.”
“Ten seconds, on my mark. Mark.” Paul began their internal countdown.
“All ready.” Liam reported.
“Nine.” Everyone kept their eyes on their individual display screens.
“Eight.” Corwen flipped open the red ‘initiate’ panel.
“Seven.” Chorused Paul and the Orbital Launch Commander.
“Six.” Ed nervously checked the position of his seat harness quick release.
“Five and God speed guys.” Came the voice of the Orbital Launch Commander.
“Four.” Paul did not blink.
“Three.” Everyone seemed to tense.
“Two.” Paul flipped the direct drive power feed on.
“One.” A slight hum began to thrill through Omega as the power levels reached crescendo.
“Initiate.” Corwen said and stabbed down at the switch.
“Ini…………” Paul’s voice began to confirm. The word was truncated by silence and a sudden sensation of lightness. Where Omega had been there was nothing but empty space.