The Coconuts of Mars

By Paul Hutchings

Gilbert Drake, despite his achievements in life, is a stranger amongst men and a laughingstock amongst womenstuck in the darkening confines of modern life, forever ruled by time, and fighting an underlying depression brought on by his obsessive compulsions and strict routines. He is about to embark on a manned mission to Mars.

But when he is mysteriously thrust upon a desert island with nothing but his clothing, a personal transformation takes place. Initially taken hostage by primitive tribesmen, he soon discovers friendship, confidence, freedom, and best of all love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524665258

Paul Hutchings

Paul Hutchings was born in Bishops Stortford in 1979. A lifelong fan in science fiction - Centauria is his first novel.

Book preview

Prologue

It was a night like any other night on Tahooi; a bright full moon filled the evening sky, painting the heavens with its warm milky glow and proudly outshining the thousands of twinkling stars that glittered all the way down to the dark ocean below. A broken line of light danced playfully with the waves as they gently caressed the sandy beaches of the nearby islands.

In the foreground, a palm tree happily sways from left to right in the cool tropical breeze, unaware of its relevance and all the while looking strangely mischievous. Surrounding the tree, six burning bamboo torches outlined a warning perimeter and just outside of that perimeter – a little girl sat cross-legged on the soft white sand. The moonlight shone down upon her long black hair; hopeful eyes were staring intently at the mischievous tree and her mouth remained, as always, tightly closed.

It was indeed a night like any other night, except this night was different.

Part One: Earth & Mars

Chapter One: Good Times on Earth

The joyful sounds of the bowling alley: Heavy balls rolling at speed down creaky wooden lanes, people talking and laughing, glasses being clinked, ice cubes being clunked and the unmistakable clatter of pins being knocked over - except in this case there were no pins being knocked over because Simon Davis had just rolled his last ball straight into the neon-lit gutter, much to the amusement of his fellow players. Damn it! he exclaimed, punching a fist into the air as he turned to walk back to his seat.

Uh oh, the pressure’s too much for him, jeered Leonard, stepping forward to take his turn.

Simon huffed as he sat, keeping his back straight and his head up. Shut up, Leonard. I still won the game didn’t I.

I wouldn’t be so sure about that, said Denver, looks to me like the game is Drake’s to lose.

Leonard retrieved his ball from the hold, locked his eyes onto the pins like an F14 jet fighter, then sped forward without hesitation and cast his circular missile at unimaginable speed down the wooden lane. The pins themselves appeared to whimper and shake with terror as the ball approached, and then sigh with relief as it went flying past - only taking a few fellow pins with it.

Simon raised his eyebrows at Leonard’s attempt and then responded to Denver’s comments. I don’t think that is possible, boy, he said, defiantly, while sitting back down on his seat.

Denver gulped down the last of his beer and reached for his weapon of choice, he decided on a medium sized ball although the holes were too small for his unusually large fingers. All Gilbert needs is a strike and this game has been full of them hasn’t it, he said, following a strict set of moves before releasing his ball.

Gilbert Drake wasn’t paying attention anymore; he had gently picked up his personal bowling ball from the hold, held it lovingly in his hands, and slowly approached the lane. He began twirling the ball with his fingers – three twirls exactly, no more, no less, it had to be three. Now, he whispered sweet nothing’s to the inanimate shiny object and tried to block out the taunting that was continuing behind him.

That really was terrible.

I said shut up, Leonard.

But that was really sh…

The voices were distant now; Gilbert strengthened his posture, squinted his eyes, flexed his fingers, then pounced forward and swung the ball through the air with effortless fluidity. Now a silence dawned upon them all, only the hard rolling sphere could be heard as it thundered down the lane. Gilbert remained paused in his, slightly camp, releasing position; Simon stood up pensively and hoped the ball would miss and Leonard and Denver grinned like Cheshire cats at the possibility of Simon losing.

The ball seemed to take an eternity to reach its destination as it slowly, and promisingly, began to turn inwards. The sound of the pins, as the ball crashed through them and sent them all flying in their different directions, was louder than ever; but still the players remained frozen in time as the last pin standing rocked slowly from side to side and then finally fell over. Gilbert turned and jumped with a surge of adrenaline and happiness, Leonard and Denver cheered and clapped and Simon had already started his walk to the bar.

It wasn’t that they disliked Simon, far from it in fact, they had the utmost respect for their commander in and out of work. It wasn’t that Simon always won when they played bowling either, he usually came second or third, never last. It was just that it was incredibly funny to see someone immediately burst into a sulking anger; he could potentially be the worst loser that ever existed. During Simon’s childhood he was known for being rather irrational towards the other children, and anyone else he came in contact with for that matter, and this definitely seemed to peak nearing sports day.

Do you think we were too hard on our Commander? Leonard asked, feeling bad as he watched Simon walk away.

No I don’t think so. He is fine. Gilbert finished his beer and placed the glass on a nearby table. Still, give the man a break. He is going through his second divorce.

I do feel bad for him, but he is such an easy target though, said Denver. I mean look at him, walking away and sulking like that. Have you ever noticed he seems to develop a different walk when he is angry, almost a sort of threatening strut.

Gilbert checked his watch and smiled first before actually reading the time. He smiled at the sheer beauty he saw in the expensive object, the quality of the build. The object in question was a Tag Heuer Carrera, Calibre 1887 model, 43mm chronograph. Sophisticated, modern, simple and beautiful with its polished steel case and gold-coloured Arabic numerals - at its heart, the Carrera series was a sports watch, formed around motorsport in particular, and this was another reason why Gilbert had purchased this individual model – for every second, and millisecond, counts in motorsport. Sure it cost a cool couple of thousand, but Gilbert was a very precise man and Time was very important to him – after all, where would we be without Time? What would keep us in check? How would we calculate our comings and goings and who would tell us how old we are getting?

The time was a quarter to eleven.

Simon Davis had already reached the bar by the time his fellow crew members decided to walk after him. Although he was presently sulking, there was not an ounce of shame in his entire body. He could never do wrong; was always good at everything he did and this was his problem – he always wanted more. More of a challenge, more opposition, more power even. Sure he had a short fuse, he was known as a bruiser in his adolescent years and he was currently going through another long-winded and expensive divorce but he was a good guy. He just needed to find his way in life; he just needed to find his path. That’s what he kept telling himself anyway, truth be told he wasn’t doing badly at all, he just didn’t realise it.

He rubbed vigorously at his short black hair and cast his eyes upon the barman who seemed to be doing his best to ignore him.

Unlucky, Simon, Said Gilbert, who was now standing next to his friend, patting him on the back.

Simon did not take his eagle-like stare away from the barman who was beginning to try his patience.

Congratulations, Drake. It’s about time you beat me I guess.

I think you will find we are about even if you total them all together, Gilbert responded, and that’s me being nice, the actual score is…

Hmm, maybe, said Simon, before shouting, Hey!

The bartender looked around in shock, as did several other people that were standing by the bar and waiting their turn.

Am I getting served here or not? Simon shouted.

The bartender approached with a disapproving frown upon his face. Can I help you, Sir?

Simon mocked the man’s voice. Yes, I would like to be served please.

Are you sure you haven’t had enough already? said the bartender, glancing up toward a security guard who had responded to the commotion.

Simon noticeably rolled his eyes. No I am not sure, I mean yes I am sure… just give me a drink, boy!

Gilbert offered the man an apologetic look; the bartender sighed. And what would you like, Sir?

I would like a Black Russian.

Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a black coffee?

Simon took a deep breath, ready to expel the sudden rage that he felt toward this arrogant man, but Gilbert intervened. I think we will just take another four beers please. We are sitting over there, he said, pointing toward an empty table.

Denver grabbed the intoxicated commander, escorted him to the table that Leonard had found for them, and sat him down. Gilbert placed the fresh glasses of beer around the table and then lifted his own to cheers. Gentleman, to a safe and well planned journey ahead.

Denver lowered his glass. Why do you have to say well-planned, egghead? Of course it’s going to be well planned.

Gilbert dropped his head to the side. I am just saying. I hope it is well planned and well organised, otherwise we won’t get there at all will we.

Denver scowled at Gilbert, somehow the man could ruin any moment. He shook his head and lifted his glass. Where were we?

They all lifted their glasses and said in unison, A safe journey ahead!

Near the centre of the table was an ashtray with a few spent butts inside; beside that ashtray, what continued to attract attention from a certain pair of eyes, was a cigarette butt that had for whatever reason missed its destination and was now laying on the wooden surface.

I can’t believe this day has come, said Denver.

It hasn’t yet, corrected Leonard.

Well, near enough. Just think, in a week’s time what will we be doing?

Gilbert snorted. I should imagine we will be pretty damn bored by that time, he said, eyeing the cigarette butt again, his urges doubled but he tried to resist them. His fingers started to move in a Mexican-wave fashion as his fists began to clench tight.

Maybe, maybe not, added Leonard.

Great input, Leonard, said Denver, laughing at his Asian friend.

Leonard Lu certainly was a man of few words. When he did decide to speak it was direct, short and sweet and usually void of any humour. Denver Reynolds on the other hand was the complete opposite, the joker in the pack although he never received many laughs; the storyteller although no one really seemed to listen to the end. Somehow they had formed a friendship, they all had. It may have been the months of training, of being confined together, of enduring painful physical and mental examinations or maybe they would have been good friends anyway – even if they weren’t forced together. Simon Davis, the Mission Commander, had known and planned for this journey for years. It would be one of, if not the, greatest achievements for a human being to undertake, but would it be enough for him? Would he still want more? To go that little bit further perhaps? And if not, what then? There was a small part of Simon that wondered what would happen knowing that he could never fulfil his own ambitions – he found it very worrying in fact, very worrying indeed. Gilbert Drake was Simon’s first choice for company as his Mission Specialist – a man that was blessed to know more than a little something about everything - and he had worked damn hard to make sure he made the grade. For Gilbert, and for them all, this was the chance of a lifetime - a chance to really cement his name in the history books and if that didn’t get him any luck with the female of the species then what the hell would? He had his quirks, more so than others but Simon saw something in Gilbert that few others did - something that he liked, something that would soon evolve. Leonard Lu was a Field Scientist, born of a Japanese mother and a Chinese father. He had wanted his whole life to prove the existence of Dragons via highly calculated and unquestionable scientific evidence. As a result, he became one of the foremost scientific archaeologists of his time and was quickly selected to take part in this much-coveted planetary study – he immediately accepted. And Denver Reynolds, the ultimate ladies man (his opinion), ex RAF pilot and also the second highest grading mechanic in his year - a grade that could have been much higher had he not been so… active during his educational years. All of them, however, shared a common love - Space - and as such, their paths united.

A few drinks later, amidst the manly banter and occasional laughter, a soft hand gently squeezed Gilbert’s shoulder and he turned to see the most attractive looking woman he had ever cast his eyes upon. The laughter around the table ceased and was replaced with a silence that filled the four, now widely open, mouths. Gilbert’s heart-rate doubled, his mouth instantly dried and his legs went a little weak at the knees.

Hi, she said in a soft heavenly voice that would make angels quiver.

Ello, I… hi, said Gilbert, no longer able to start his words properly.

She bent down closer to Gilbert’s ear, pointed to an empty chair. Is anybody sitting there?

Gilbert vigorously shook his head and outstretched his arm. Obody is itting… there is nobody, so, please take a seat.

The lady-of-his-dreams stood upright and pulled a puppy-dog face. Oh bless you, honey, I just want the chair. She smiled, pinched his cheek, grabbed the chair and then disappeared as quickly as she had arrived.

A moment passed while everyone held on to the memory of what they had just seen - then Denver said, You are such a loser, Gil. And then the laughter erupted around him.

Gilbert’s face reddened with embarrassment, his cheeks now taking on the appearance of two large tomatoes. He was never good with female interaction of any kind, in fact he had only been with two women before, well one really, and that one had passed out before they had even ventured under the sheets, but still he told people he had been with two women – after all, why let the truth stand in the way of a good lie? He didn’t have time for women anyhow, that’s what he told himself. His life was fast-paced and he was highly-strung, too organised, supremely structured and a little selfish to boot. He worked hard at his career and after hours he kept his trim body in shape at the gym, prepared and cooked a set meal for one depending on which day of the week it was, and then enjoyed the benefits of a nice early night. He had decided a long time ago that there was no time for women in his life, besides he had his own interests to keep him occupied – building model ships and bowling with his local league team. Who needed women anyway, that’s what he thought and he decided to say it too: Who needs women anyway?

Leonard slammed his glass down on the table with unintentional force. We all do, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.

Yes, thank you, Leonard.

Well I know I certainly do, said Denver, stretching his arms out. And I’ve had my share I can tell you. Ladies love an astronaut.

Gilbert was now downtrodden and his compulsions had little defence when his eye once again caught sight of the cigarette butt. It was no use; he reached for it, placed it back inside the ashtray and then dusted off any remaining ash from the table. He hoped his actions had gone unnoticed - they hadn’t, but they were all used to Gilbert’s ways by now.

Simon grumbled, Ladies love seeing men miserable. Women are nothing but trouble, you mark my words. Two divorces in one lifetime, two bloody divorces, they aren’t worth it.

Gilbert held his arms out, palms flat, and said, Let’s not bring us all down with girl talk. We are supposed to be celebrating here. In less than a week we are off to Mars! We are going to be making history!

Denver grabbed his glass and rose from his chair. This is true, let us celebrate the greatness of ourselves, he said holding his glass up high in true macho style.

Leonard stood, held his glass next to Denver’s. To Mars.

Gilbert raised his glass to meet the others and Simon, misplacing his balance, promptly fell off his chair and collapsed on the floor.

Ok, said Gilbert, finishing his drink. I guess it is time to go.

Chapter Two: Rooftops and Stars - Part One

Outside the bowling alley, the air was trying desperately to keep hold of the summer warmth but the cool wind was a chilly reminder that winter was just around the corner. What little clouds remained above them sailed at speed toward the horizon and the stars were now making the most of the empty night sky. The only evidence of the short burst of rain, that had nearly caught Gilbert on his way in to the bowling alley, were the few small puddles that were spread out across the dark tarmac of the car park.

God damn it, where is the taxi? Simon shouted in a slurred fashion.

Gilbert shook his head as he studied his watch. "It will be here, Simon. We still have three minutes before its scheduled arrival."

Don’t you ever let go of your schedules, Gil? Denver asked. It’s like walking around with a living calendar.

Ha, added Leonard.

That doesn’t even make sense, Gilbert responded.

Simon turned away from the conversation and angrily kicked a stone that skimmed across the tarmac and eventually crashed into a collection of metal rubbish bins. The sudden clatter made everybody turn around and what followed made everybody wish they hadn’t.

Which one of ye did ’at? said a scruffy looking character who appeared to model himself upon the classic 80’s cyberpunk stereotype: A straight pink Mohawk which was at least a foot tall, several silver loops dangling from multiple facial areas and dressed entirely in black, silver-studded, leather.

Oh Christ, said Gilbert, desperately looking at his watch, come on, come on.

Do people still dress like that? Leonard asked, squinting in the darkness, any inclinations of fear were now drowned by alcohol.

Denver elbowed his Asian friend. Shut up, Leonard, he whispered.

Simon responded to the man with teasing humour. Shouldn’t you be in some deserted subway station or something?

It wasn’t a good idea; behind the pink-haired man, two more black-clad punks appeared.

Stop talking now, Simon, pleaded Gilbert.

Simon continued, Oh, maybe not so deserted. Where did you guys escape from then, New York or LA?

A flicker of silver appeared in one of the punk’s hand. Ye think yer funny do ye?

Will you please stop talking now, Simon! Gilbert demanded.

Simon stepped forward, brave, fearless, momentarily stupid.

The punks snarled at him.

And suddenly a flash of red and blue lit up the car park, closely followed by a much welcome burst of police siren. The punks turned, pointed the blade angrily at Simon then ran out of sight as the patrol car pulled up beside Gilbert.

What’s going on here? said the officer in the driving seat while his partner exited the vehicle and ran in the direction of the escaping perpetrators.

Gilbert simply pointed his finger and said, Punks.

The officer glanced at them all. We received a report of disturbance, did you call it in?

No.

Everyone ok?

The four of them nodded their heads and the patrol car sped off. Seconds later, the belated taxi pulled up and stopped in the exact spot the patrol car had just vacated.

What’s going on here? said the taxi driver.

Punks, said Gilbert, again.

The driver frowned. I received a call for a pickup, did you call it in?

Ha, déjà vu, said Leonard, opening the back door of the taxi and sliding across.

Denver turned, Yes we did, thanks. Are you two jumping in?

Gilbert wished nothing more than to leave this place as soon as humanly possible but Simon had other ideas. Nah, I’m going to walk back. It’s only a few minutes away.

Gilbert responded immediately, Really? That is a completely stupid idea, Simon? What if they come back?

Simon frowned then stumbled a little. Who?

Those punks! said Gilbert, wide-eyed.

Oh them, no I don’t think we will be seeing them again.

Denver looked compassionately at Gilbert. You have to stay with him, make sure he gets back safely.

He will be fine, said Gilbert.

I’ll be fine, insisted Simon.

Stay with him, egghead Denver repeated before closing the taxi door and instructing the driver to take them home.

Gilbert chased after the hybrid-electric taxi as it sped away with a distinctive sounding whirl. Please take me with you, don’t make me walk!

The taxi veered off and disappeared into the night.

Simon looked at Gilbert and smiled; Gilbert looked at Simon and shook his head. It’s at least a thirty minute walk to your house, Simon.

Nonsense, Drakey-boy shouted Simon, It’s a five minute walk at the most.

*     *     *

Forty-five minutes later, they had arrived at Simon’s house. They had decided, in their drunken state, that it would be a good idea to climb out of the loft conversion window and sit on the roof for one last beer of the night. Gilbert had initially planned to leave immediately but after listening to Simon sob and grovel for several minutes like a small child while he tried to open the door with the wrong key - he decided to have one more drink with his commander.

It’s a perfect night for it, exclaimed Simon, holding his arms out wide and looking up towards the heavens.

Gilbert wiped away some cold residue from a mildly wet tile and carefully balanced himself on the gently sloping rooftop. He made the noise, Hmmm, before sitting down and admiring the view. Up and down the quiet cul-de-sac, the street lights were dimmed for the evening and most of the residents of this ludicrously expensive gated community were turning in for the night. The lack of artificial light, and the departure of the rain clouds, greatly increased the number of visible stars above.

Simon wrapped his lips around the glass beer bottle in his hand and gulped down a third of its contents before exhaling loudly. Look at that, he said, beautiful isn’t it.

What is? asked Gilbert, still admiring the cul-de-sac and wondering why he couldn’t afford to live in a place like this.

Simon pointed toward the sky. The stars, boy. Look at them.

Gilbert looked, nodded and said, Yes, they sure are.

And they both enjoyed a moment of silence under the twinkling heavens.

You know, my father sparked my interest in the stars, said Gilbert. He was a Navy man, loved the ships, especially the old ships. Tall ships, now that must have been a sight to behold. Things of beauty they were.

Tall ships? Simon said.

Yes, the ‘big old sailors’ he called them. Like pirate ships, galleons, brigs, sloops, big hunks of creaking wooden planks and flapping sails, sailed by the greats too like Captain Cook, Francis Drake…

Simon quickly interjected, Any relation?

What? No, of course not. Anyway, he taught me all about the stars in case I was ever lost at sea and needed to navigate my way back to shore, astronavigation. ‘You won’t always have a compass, my boy’ he used to tell me.

Simon grinned, willing to immerse himself in another one of Gilbert’s memories. The man seemed to dwell upon the past a lot, but not with regret – although he was sure Gilbert would love to relive his life and maybe do things differently, but then again wouldn’t we all – no, he merely dwelled upon the familiar stories of his hobbies, as if he had no other stories of interest to tell.

That’s a nice story, Drake. Simon eventually said, rubbing at a small scar on his eyebrow.

Gilbert nodded, noticing Simon’s scar for the first time, and took another sip from the warming beer bottle in his hand. Kept me hooked too, I have loved ships and stars ever since.

How come you never joined the Navy, followed in your dad’s footsteps?

Gilbert was lost in a daydream. Can you imagine it, not so much these days but back in those days? The freedom of the seas, the wind in your sails, deserted islands, exploration and adventure, a life at sea.

Simon scrunched his face. Life at sea in those days was scurvy and pestilence, boy. Besides we are modern day adventurers are we not? Explorers of the stars.

Yes I guess we are, said Gilbert, smiling at the reality he had built for himself. From the Age of Sail to the Age of the Stars, we explore still our distant horizons.

They chinked their bottles together in salutation.

So, you didn’t answer my question, said Simon, adjusting his elbow in an effort to gain comfort. How come you never joined the Navy?

Gilbert hung his head for a moment and then said, sheepishly, I get sea sick.

Simon frowned at first then erupted with laughter. Gilbert laughed with him; it did seem rather ridiculous that he couldn’t be on the water for more than thirty minutes, without spilling the contents of his stomach onto the deck, but he could withstand High-G training, orbital re-entry and even seemed immune to space motion sickness.

What about you? Gilbert asked as the laughter calmed down.

Simon shrugged. What about me?

What made you want to become an Astronaut?

Simon let out a lengthy sigh, his demeanour became more serious. Ambition, desire, I wanted to lead, to pioneer. He took another gulp of beer. We’re going to Mars and you know what… I still don’t think that’s enough. What the Hell is wrong with me?

Gilbert tutted. I don’t think anything is wrong with you, Simon, you just…

Simon continued, I think I might try politics when we come back to Earth, you know. Yes, that’s what I will do. Form a party, take some form of ownership and rule my people, what do you think?

Gilbert huffed as he leaned back on the cold tiles. That’s a nice idea, Simon. But if you do ever get into politics then I think I would rather stay on Mars.

Simon laughed a little. Politics, he said, pondering the idea. I think I will do, one day.

One day, Gilbert repeated. Maybe one day I will find myself a nice woman to settle down with. I have never had too much luck in that regard.

Simon chuckled as he expressed his sarcastic wit. No, really? I thought you were spot on with that lass at the bowling alley. She was like putty on your hands.

I’m serious, Simon. I mean, I don’t have time for a companion really and I don’t need one but… that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to have one.

That’s also a nice story, Drake. The first thing you need to do is admit to yourself that you do want a companion instead of hiding behind this front that you have.

Gilbert sighed, You are right, it is a front. I am a damn astronaut and I can’t even attract any attention. That’s a sorry state of affairs.

Simon shifted, becoming suddenly aware of the mood change. He had seen Gilbert like this before (looking disheartened and feeling sorry for himself) but he didn’t really know what to say about it – after all, Simon was the polar opposite in most cases: Confident, determined, outgoing, social. Gilbert was always the one that received the brunt of the jokes; always felt inferior despite being loved by those closest to him. He was petty, extremely scheduled, and very much so by-the-book but that’s one of the reasons Simon took a liking to him. He could rely on someone like that. But there was something that seeped to the surface every now and then, depression maybe, fed up with life even after his apparent successes. Although Gilbert remained calm and unaffected on the outside, the calmness and the apparent non-caring of what other people had to say was merely a well-rehearsed front; for deep down, there was an inherent sadness that Gilbert carried around with him. Despite his impressive achievements in life, he hated the life he had, the… way he was. Every time an obsessive compulsion forced him to do something, clean something, arrange something, he felt disappointed in himself for acting out that compulsion. And when people commented on his behaviour, he felt angered that they had even noticed, even if they were merely wishing to help. This of course, he knew, was due to the embarrassment of that particular person noticing. It was this deep cut in his mentality that weakened his social output, held him back. He wished he could talk freely to a woman without being somehow ridiculed, patronised or humiliated – or maybe even all this presumed reciprocal behaviour he thought he experienced was simply all in his own mind.

Simon decided to lift things back up. Are you getting soppy on me now, boy?

Gilbert’s head popped back up like a suddenly alerted meerkat. No, of course not. I was just saying.

Just saying, right, you will get yourself a nice woman one day, Drakey-boy. You mark my words. Simon took his penultimate sip of beer, stood upright and stretched his back. We have to come back first right.

Gilbert stood up and corrected his commander in the order of risk. "We have to get there first."

Do you realise the enormity of what we are doing? I mean, we are going to that little red ball out there! We are off to explore the dusty God of War.

Gilbert’s eyes felt suddenly drained, he was too drunk, too tired, and he needed rest for tomorrow’s briefing. Simon’s reference to Mars’ ancient Roman meaning had gone unnoticed. It’s going to be one hell of a ride, he said.

It sure is, said Simon, holding out his bottle.

Gilbert smiled and returned the gesture. You never got to join us on the ‘cheers to Mars’ at the bowling alley.

No, said Simon, sheepishly, someone pushed me off my chair I think.

Yes, maybe, Gilbert chuckled, held out his bottle and said, To our past adventures and our journeys yet to come.

I’ll drink to that, said Simon, as they both finished their drinks and gazed in wonder at the blackness of space and the twinkling of the stars above.

Chapter Three: Trip to Mars

The Mars-bound Endurance 1 looked like an extended toilet roll with two rather large metal rings continuously circling the hull. Although this toilet roll was one of the most sophisticated and expensive toilet roll’s money could buy and the large circling metal rings were in fact rather critical to sustain the artificial gravity for the crew inside. The first ring was a huge anti-clockwise rotating solar sail and the second, even larger, ring was the clockwise rotating living area.

The ship was only fifty-eight days into its six month journey, from Earth’s orbiting low gravity launch platform, to the surface of Mars and its crew were slowly approaching the tedious boredom of monotony. Tedious, boring, monotony – all three words meant the same thing really, but when you strung them together you really highlighted the supreme state of dullness that Gilbert was feeling. At least that is what he was presently thinking when his commander entered the sleeping quarters and summoned him to the mess room.

Drake, mess room now, was all that Simon said.

Gilbert shook from his trance. Yes, commander, right away, he replied.

Simon left the room as quickly as he had arrived; Gilbert took a moment to collect himself before his exciting walk through the increasingly bland corridors to the all-to-familiar mess room.

Gilbert, Coffee? Leonard asked, holding the handle of a steaming carafe.

No, Leonard, I have just been toilet, said Gilbert, recalling a thought