Urbi et Orbit

Urbi et Orbit                                                                    16^th May 2013

Tristram was having a bad time. No, I don’t mean that he was born to parents who think that calling their first, and last, offspring Tristram was a good idea. I was thinking more of the fact that he had broken another rib, in addition to his left leg, and so was back in one of those surgical hammocks that had recently been developed  to replace the old anti pressure sore air beds.

      He wasn't one to complain, much, so I spent quite a bit of time with him, chatting about the good old days, which trips we had enjoyed most and complaining to each other about some of the rust buckets we had endured. I had it easy really. I was in a wheelchair most of the time and only confined to bed when one of the inevitable bone breaks occurred, usually caused by my own stupidity, trying to walk, or bending down to pick up a dropped pen, for example.

      I was being especially careful this month. I was due for my annual review on the 28^th and I certainly didn’t want to get bumped back down the recovery ladder.

‘Now then Captain Mullinavat, how long have you been with us?’ asked the school boy behind the desk wearing an oversize white coat. As if he didn't have all my details laid out in the file in front of him.

      ‘It’s been three years Doctor,’ I patiently explained.

      ‘And how are we getting on with the calcium therapy, hmmm?’

He sounded like a kindly old doctor from some hick town in the old United States of America, but he looked as if the ink on his practice certificate was still drying.

      ‘Not sure about you Doc, but I'm getting on very well thanks, I've increased my bone density by 37% over the last three years.’

      ‘That’s excellent.’ He rubbed his fingers up and down his plump, corn-fed cheeks. ‘I think we can now increase your calcium and vitamin D dosage a little and up your sun bed time by a third. I’ll have a word with your PT team and get them to increase your exercise intensity a little. We should have you walking in about three years time. You are one of our star retirees you know, Captain.’

      ‘I'm glad you’re glad but taking six years or more to get back on your feet seems quite a price to pay.’

      ‘Yes, but you chose your career Captain and I am sure you wouldn't go back and change that choice now would you? You have seen places and had experiences that us gravity worms can only dream of.’

      ‘Yeah, I guess so.’

I looked across the classroom at the cohort of eager young cadets, bright eyed and eager to get on with their careers. I wonder what they saw when they looked at me, hunched in my wheelchair with a couple of plaster casts still in place? Could they see themselves in my place after all too few years?

      ‘My name is Captain Mullinavat and I am here to answer any of your questions. I served for twenty seven years so I should have a handle on anything you care to ask me.’

      ‘Why did you join the Corps, Captain?’ asked a kid in the front row, a proto teacher’s pet.

I gave the standard answer. ‘I wanted to travel to exotic places, meet new people… and kill them.’

There was the expected ripple of laughter, humouring an old man.

      ‘Has it all been worth it, Captain?’

      ‘Given that I ended up here in a wheel chair for several years you mean?’

      ‘Well, err, yes, I suppose.’

      ‘The answer is a definite yes. If I cooperate with the medics here, I should be walking around after about three years and then it is up to me how much I push my exercise routine. The sky’s the limit really.’ There was another ripple of laughter, a little more forced this time.

A hand went up.

I pointed to the culprit, ‘You have a question cadet?’

      ‘Yes sir. If all it takes is exercise to keep your bones healthy, why does it take pepole retiring from the Corps an average of six years to walk again – and some never do?’

      ‘Have you ever lived in zero G for an extended period, cadet?’

      ‘No sir. I've only done ten training trips in the ‘vomit comet’ so my total time in zero G is about 14 minutes.’

      This time the laughter was genuine, to the discomfort of the questioner.

      ‘Well, I spent twenty two years in an environment where the only G was the delta V from the engines when leaving or reinserting into orbit around some planet. Yes, we all exercised vigorously every day but the exercise was in a very low G and we couldn't do it for very long – we also had work to do. Here at the bottom of a planetary gravity well, your body is working against gravity every second of your life. This means that, in space, everyone loses bone mass, no matter how hard or often they exercise.

      ‘Now if there are no more questions I would like to make a promise to you, the graduating class of cadets from the Space Academy here on Mars.

      The road to the stars that you have chosen is a hard road and the road back after your service is even harder but I can promise you that you will never regret taking the road you have chosen. Good luck with your careers.’

      ‘Ad sidera!’