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Playing House
Mar. 31st, 2010 08:00 pmLogs: NASA Oasis Flight 698
Crew:
Jeffrey McAdams — Commander
Ashley Lu — Pilot
Thomas Kent — Engineer
Susan Kovacs — Mission Specialist
Teresa Browning — Mission Specialist
George Perrault — Psychologist
February 10th, 2023 0941 UTC:
Mission Command, this is Thomas Kent, and I am activating protocol DA-991. I hope you get this in time to do something about it.
It was three days ago, Mission Day Thirty, when the cracks began to show.
The beginning was when Jeff, our fearless leader, completely lost it and screamed at Susan for "harming the mission by messing up the soil samples". Even though it would only delay us for a day and he apologized immediately after — probably realizing that we could all hear him from the living quarters — the damage had been done.
Before the outburst, though I wouldn't describe us as happy, we were at least disciplined, doing our jobs as if the confined quarters and lack of communication with any other human beings wasn't seriously affecting our mental health. Afterwards though... well, I think that we would have made it if any of the others were the first to crack, even George, whose job was to keep us sane. But it was Jeff who had never raised his voice, who commanded the utmost respect from all of us for his decades of service. When we heard the sounds of things shattering in the lab, his voice screaming over Susan's apologies and explanation, I think we all came a bit unhinged.
The previous month has gone by without incident; our mission reports have been upbeat, though hindsight makes me wonder if that was simply a defense mechanism. As you know, we touched down on the Red Planet successfully, next to the Hutton Crater, and Ashley brought down the lander just like it was a training sequence. From there, the six of us expanded the brick — the small, rectangular box that was to be our living quarters — and the dome of the science lab in a record thirteen hours. Everyone was in a hurry to take their suits off, and there was some gleeful joy when we shared our first meal down on the surface, even though it was more or less just a MRE. We sent our first signals back to you, and even though it was going to be about fifteen minutes before you responded, we were content at that time, because the first stage had gone as smoothly as possible.
In the next few weeks, we fell into the regular pattern of work that we have been training for, all these years. You can see that there have been no deviations from the plans. We slept in cycles to make sure that someone was awake to monitor everything in case of the dust storms, performed surveys on our surroundings, and ran analysis on growth in one-third Earth gravity. We talked frequently, we ate, we slept — sometimes together, something that George had briefly brought up with us. It was inevitable, he said, and it would help ease the tensions we would no doubt be feeling. It wasn't monogamy, but no one seemed to mind. I don't think it hurt, and would suggest it as protocol for the next mission.
But even with occasional fun romps in bed to take our mind off of our complete isolation, the tension still built. We are, inherently, social creatures — distracting ourselves with books and music from the computers has diminishing returns. And even though George tried to get us to interact whenever possible, there are only so many words that can be said to people that you've been training together for years, only so many observations on the science, or the weather, or the food before it stops being worthwhile.
Our tempers have been getting shorter, but everyone had it under control until Jeff broke down. These last three days have been hell, with whatever interpersonal relationships we had shattering one by one. We have been eating solitarily, sleeping facing the wall, and never trade more than the absolute minimum of words to each other.
Ten minutes ago, Jeff and George got into an altercation. George was left on the ground of the science lab, suffering from a concussion and multiple blunt-force injuries; Jeffrey has left the base, and may breech the holographic barrier.
As per protocol DA-991, I am informing you that this simulation has been a failure and you need to end it immediately. The others will be unhappy that you have misled them, but they may yet be salvageable — with the exception of Mister McAdams, who I fear may not take the news well in his already fragile state. Restraining him may be necessary for his own safety.
Again, this is a request for termination of the procedure, due to Jeffrey McAdams' current instability. Restore atmosphere inside the biodome, drop the holographic projections, and be ready with tranquilizers. I understand that I may be tranquilized as well to keep up with appearances.
-
Addendum: February 10th, 2023 0943 UTC:
(Warning: Not transmitted)
Oh my god, restore it now, he's cutting open the —
End Addendum
Crew:
Jeffrey McAdams — Commander
Ashley Lu — Pilot
Thomas Kent — Engineer
Susan Kovacs — Mission Specialist
Teresa Browning — Mission Specialist
George Perrault — Psychologist
February 10th, 2023 0941 UTC:
Mission Command, this is Thomas Kent, and I am activating protocol DA-991. I hope you get this in time to do something about it.
It was three days ago, Mission Day Thirty, when the cracks began to show.
The beginning was when Jeff, our fearless leader, completely lost it and screamed at Susan for "harming the mission by messing up the soil samples". Even though it would only delay us for a day and he apologized immediately after — probably realizing that we could all hear him from the living quarters — the damage had been done.
Before the outburst, though I wouldn't describe us as happy, we were at least disciplined, doing our jobs as if the confined quarters and lack of communication with any other human beings wasn't seriously affecting our mental health. Afterwards though... well, I think that we would have made it if any of the others were the first to crack, even George, whose job was to keep us sane. But it was Jeff who had never raised his voice, who commanded the utmost respect from all of us for his decades of service. When we heard the sounds of things shattering in the lab, his voice screaming over Susan's apologies and explanation, I think we all came a bit unhinged.
The previous month has gone by without incident; our mission reports have been upbeat, though hindsight makes me wonder if that was simply a defense mechanism. As you know, we touched down on the Red Planet successfully, next to the Hutton Crater, and Ashley brought down the lander just like it was a training sequence. From there, the six of us expanded the brick — the small, rectangular box that was to be our living quarters — and the dome of the science lab in a record thirteen hours. Everyone was in a hurry to take their suits off, and there was some gleeful joy when we shared our first meal down on the surface, even though it was more or less just a MRE. We sent our first signals back to you, and even though it was going to be about fifteen minutes before you responded, we were content at that time, because the first stage had gone as smoothly as possible.
In the next few weeks, we fell into the regular pattern of work that we have been training for, all these years. You can see that there have been no deviations from the plans. We slept in cycles to make sure that someone was awake to monitor everything in case of the dust storms, performed surveys on our surroundings, and ran analysis on growth in one-third Earth gravity. We talked frequently, we ate, we slept — sometimes together, something that George had briefly brought up with us. It was inevitable, he said, and it would help ease the tensions we would no doubt be feeling. It wasn't monogamy, but no one seemed to mind. I don't think it hurt, and would suggest it as protocol for the next mission.
But even with occasional fun romps in bed to take our mind off of our complete isolation, the tension still built. We are, inherently, social creatures — distracting ourselves with books and music from the computers has diminishing returns. And even though George tried to get us to interact whenever possible, there are only so many words that can be said to people that you've been training together for years, only so many observations on the science, or the weather, or the food before it stops being worthwhile.
Our tempers have been getting shorter, but everyone had it under control until Jeff broke down. These last three days have been hell, with whatever interpersonal relationships we had shattering one by one. We have been eating solitarily, sleeping facing the wall, and never trade more than the absolute minimum of words to each other.
Ten minutes ago, Jeff and George got into an altercation. George was left on the ground of the science lab, suffering from a concussion and multiple blunt-force injuries; Jeffrey has left the base, and may breech the holographic barrier.
As per protocol DA-991, I am informing you that this simulation has been a failure and you need to end it immediately. The others will be unhappy that you have misled them, but they may yet be salvageable — with the exception of Mister McAdams, who I fear may not take the news well in his already fragile state. Restraining him may be necessary for his own safety.
Again, this is a request for termination of the procedure, due to Jeffrey McAdams' current instability. Restore atmosphere inside the biodome, drop the holographic projections, and be ready with tranquilizers. I understand that I may be tranquilized as well to keep up with appearances.
-
Addendum: February 10th, 2023 0943 UTC:
(Warning: Not transmitted)
Oh my god, restore it now, he's cutting open the —
End Addendum
