2503.16 18/—Cook #Writever #Mars #SpaceOpera

It was Randolf's birthday. His third since the attack. He was disabled.

Could Randy have returned to Earth soon enough, he'd not have been paralyzed. The knifing cut nerves. Marisela's gluing had prevented bleeding, but interstitial blood applied pressure, killed tissues. Delayed surgery and first aid affected recovery. This was Mars. Men died disproportionately. Only men were doctors.

The nisei, when not thwarted by Elysium, worked to change that.

May Ri used her engineering design skills to make him feel more able bodied. Today—after letting him sleep in—that meant hanging pulls, mattress handholds, and a bed wedge. Kind of selfish of her because nothing would convince her to be sex-deprived without a fight. Making him confident ensured her satisfaction (well, more than just satisfied as it happened), which in turn worked for him, causing him to drift off into a happy sleep afterwards.

Most days they ate at the Commons, but today she cooked vegetable soup. Raquel, who worked the farms, insisted if she wanted fresh, she had to pick fresh. They roamed the acres and acres of green fields set to specific Earth months and climes. She cut Napa cabbage, pulled parsnips, carrots, and leeks, shucked corn, snipped basil and herbs. The 14-year-old even "dressed" a chicken for her, but didn't make her watch or listen. She splashed it into a pot to boil for hours.

Reina, Carlos, and Adrian brought fresh-baked bread, the yeast fragrance melding with the spicy meaty soup aroma in the humid kitchen alcove. When Marisela (who went by Mari now!) arrived with her pod mates, Rufus and Raquel, carrot cake, sparkle candles, and her little sister—who walked holding her hand—the 4-year-old immediately promised to behave herself to join "the adults."

May Ri didn't understand the nisei term pod, other than it was a very nisei-type friendship that was likely more, but she had decided her daughter deserved being trusted amongst other Martians. Nobody had trusted her when little, so she was going to trust now. The mothers in the crèche watched the twins. Mari had hit her growth spurt, and though three years younger than her friends, she was their height.

And excited.

When her Dadie returned, on a crutch, she was pointing with a thumb that he'd missed the big box behind the sofa, bouncing, which he noticed and ruffled her hair. With Secretary Īto and her onigiri meal joining via vid-downlink, May Li served bowls and Randy tore bread. They celebrated.

Chewing, behind a hand he said, "Your spinlaunch maker build-test completed successfully today."

May Li stood reflexively, splashing soup. "Really?"

That meant machinery and supplies spin-thrown along the projected monorail line retroing safely, then building track-makers that became a length of track that in turn built the next segment, ad infinitum. The problem of transporting from the factory and steel mill, solved.

"Next year we ride to Isidis Township!"

Not to closer Elysium. Nobody wanted to encourage the ridiculously religious domes. The nisei, now the majority of the population with more teenagers than imported men, had vetoed Elysium—not that they had actual power, but the board of directors absent mandates from Earth wasn't disputing them.

Spinlaunchers, one of her projects, already orbited refined metals for Deimosbase, and orbited parcels from 16 Psyche. V3.0 would be powerful enough the throw 16 Psyche's ore into high eccentricity Mars orbit. A better version that could throw to Earth-Moon orbit wouldn't go over well, May Ri thought. She broke out the berry wine and tumblers. Though Randy didn't drink, they all toasted. Mari dutifully diluted hers 1:4 and let Manette sip.

Presents were an Earth thing, not a Mars thing. Martians lived communally. Nisei always said Your presence is all the presents allowed. Today was special, though. Mari, giggling, forgetting she was grown up, skipped to the box and rolled it to her Dadie.

Confused, he asked, "What's this?"

The girl returned, as precocious as ever, or maybe she was making a Nisei-centric point: "You always make Momie happy, so she made this to make you happy."

Everybody said, "Awww." May Ri felt her face warm.

He opened it, revealing a bunch of blue denim-covered flex-shroom pipes and harnesses. May Ri punched the control, and it unpacked itself with a soft hum. They'd revived a century old idea of exoskeletons for mining and heavy construction, which women wore to replace missing men in open jobs. It made for safer work for women, and men.

This one was lightweight and stylish, designed for inside wear. She had a pressure suit version in the works, but would surprise him with that tomorrow.

#RSMarsNeededWomen 18

[Author retains copyright (c)2025 R.S.]

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