The Best Australian Science Writing 2015 (3 page)

Gravity on Mars is only 38 per cent of that on Earth. What this would mean for the long-term health of Mars colonists is not known. What is known are the potential effects of a vitamin deficiency from lack of sunlight. Vitamin D deficiency can cause loss of muscle and bone density, suppress immune strength and, at its most severe, cause blindness. The latter also goes for the intracranial pressure zero gravity places on the human eyeball.

Sleep patterns are disturbed by space travel, and more than half of astronauts on long haul missions take sedatives to help them rest. Fatigue and lethargy result in impaired cognitive function and an increase in critical errors, which is why astronauts only have 6.5 ‘fit' work hours per day.

A lack of energy can be exacerbated by the limited diet astronauts must subsist on. Once their food supplies ran out, Mars colonists could eat only food they grew themselves – a plant-based diet, augmented by legumes and maybe insects.

Depression, anxiety, listlessness, hallucinations and chronic stress have been reported in live missions and training simulations, as have communication breakdowns and conflict among crews and between mission command.

A well-known effect on astronauts undertaking long missions is the dip at the halfway point, when the excitement has worn off and the return seems unbearably distant. There is no way to know how someone will encounter passing the threshold of no return, when Earth recedes from sight, and the black enormity of space and the impossibility of turning back sinks in.

The four Mars One colonists will arrive on an inhospitable alien world, with only themselves for company for two years, until another flight arrives – if it, too, survives the perilous trip. They will not speak to anyone but each other in real time ever again; the delay in
relaying communications between Mars and Earth is 20 minutes, minimum.

They would be the most isolated human beings in history – a mantle currently held by Michael Collins, who orbited the dark side of the moon in 1969, though he has said of his incredible solo journey that he never felt lonely.

* * * * *

I fly across the country to Perth. As the hours pass, the plane crosses the great expanse of the Nullarbor Plain. Inland are the monoliths of the ancient Petermann Orogeny, Uluru and Kata Tjuta; the Great Sandy Desert; the Pilbara and its billions-year-old rock formations; the Wolfe Creek meteorite crater; the lands of the world's oldest native people, Aboriginal Australians. Finally, Western Australia: the continental shelf it sits on has barely shifted in the past four billion years, making it a portal through which scientists can peer at the earliest incarnations of Earth.

Josh's parents' property is on a narrow road overlooking a lake glinting silver under the sun. Josh lets me in, makes me a coffee, and leaves me to wander the patio while he takes some calls.

Josh is prone to self-deprecation, and punctuates his sentences with a hard cackle. He's wearing an ensemble favoured by many Australian men, even in winter: shorts, sneakers and a hoodie. Right away, the internet handle I've been seeing in our six months of correspondence makes sense: The Mighty Ginge, slang for redhead.

When Mars One announced it had received 200 000 applications, Josh's heart sank. That list was sure to include a ton of fighter pilots, NASA engineers, private space company employees, scientists, geologists, people with PhDs and genius-level IQs. So when he found himself on the shortlist of people ready to
live out their days on the lonely surface of Mars, he was shocked, to put it mildly.

Before he'd applied, Josh had met a girl, Eli, at a festival. He was drawn to her easygoing demeanour, and they fell in love. But a shot at Mars would be life-changing. He didn't wait for the application deadline to break it off.

Josh moved back to his parent's house to dedicate his life to Mars. He was prepared to do whatever it took to make the final selection. He's appeared on television, radio and in the local papers to talk about the mission; he visits schools to speak with kids he hopes will be inspired to follow a path in the sciences. He's writing a book about how colonising Mars would affect humanity. Josh has invested everything – financially, emotionally, romantically, professionally – in Mars One.

In the kitchen, Josh's mother, Shelley, heats up last night's lasagna. I ask her how she feels about her only son wanting to leave Earth forever. ‘I feel incredibly proud that he's suitable and that he's passionate about it,' she says in a quiet, measured tone. ‘When he told me, I thought are you crazy? But now I see the passion. His eyes sparkle when he's talking about it.'

I ask Josh how his father feels. ‘Dad is very outwardly supportive. Though he's becoming less supportive as it becomes more of a reality,' Josh says with a laugh. ‘He pulled me up on it a month back and said, “What's this really about?”'

The question hangs in the air a moment, unanswered.

* * * * *

After lunch Josh takes me to the beach. When we get there his dog, Diesel, shoots off across the grass. The beach is miles long in both directions. The coast overlooks the Indian Ocean. Out there are trenches more than 10 000 metres deep, in one of which is thought to lie the wreckage of Flight MH370.

Josh has a book with a hundred-item bucket list, and he's already ticked off 60 or so. Some of the things are kind of dumb (
Take part in a line-up; Get backstage with a rock star
); some are impressive (
Catch a fish with your bare hands; Save someone's life
); some are practically impossible (
Write a bestseller; Capture the moment in an award-winning photograph
). There's one other thing Josh would love to do before he left Earth forever. ‘I'm dying to scuba dive with leopard seals in Antarctica,' he says, watching Diesel. ‘That would be amazing.'

I can't doubt his commitment to the program, but I also can't help thinking of all the things Josh has tried on for size and found wanting. Many items on that list are pursuits he's thrown himself into and then abandoned.

Josh earned a degree in applied physics and joined the army, training as an explosives engineer and then as a diver. But after a time, this work came to bore him. The largest mineral-rich deposits on the continent are in Western Australia, so he went to work in the mines as a blast specialist. After a year, 22-yearold Josh had a not-immodest nest egg. Yet he hated the work so much he'd thought seriously about killing himself. ‘Me blowing big chunks out of the ground, I'm not making the world a better place,' he says. So in 2009 Josh joined the Royal Marine Commandos: a hardened elite force, known for breaking men and rebuilding them as efficient killers. Josh lasted 11 months. He contracted Lyme disease; but he really knew he had to leave when an officer asked a recruit of around 18 if he would shoot a suspected terrorist in the head point-blank: ‘I closed the door, sat down and said, “Who the fuck are these people?”'

Some months later Josh found himself working for British conceptual artist Damien Hirst, who needed an explosives expert for a U2 video he was making. Josh's next job with Hirst was an art installation piece. ‘In & Out of Love' is a white room filled with butterflies that alight on blank canvases, fruit, bowls
of sugar water, and visitors as they walk around. Josh was tasked with rearing the butterflies. He figured out, through making small adjustments in humidity, temperature, and light, how to raise these tiny celebrities from their cocoons to robust fourweek lives. It was a strange but immensely satisfying thing to discover: he was unusually good at the gentle art of butterfly husbandry.

The turnover of staff in Hirst's operation was high, and in 2012 Josh was let go. He was ready to dedicate time to his emerging passion of comedy. Yet soon enough he'd given that up, too, for Mars.

Going one-way into space isn't something you can bail on. But maybe for Josh that's the point: having the options taken away could be the answer he's been looking for all these years.

* * * * *

David Willson is one of the few people inside NASA who cautiously thinks what Mars One is doing is ‘kind of cool'. He's Australian, too; an unabashed nerd who proudly points his webcam around his office to show me his Star Trek posters.

Willson's currently at work on the Icebreaker Life Mars lander mission, seeking funding to send an unmanned craft to explore the planet's northern pole, where it will drill into the ice in search of proof of life. ‘It's a chicken-or-egg proposition. What Mars One is trying to do is to be the egg that attracts chickens,' he tells me. ‘If they create a market for the development of this technology, private companies will be racing to get the costs down to fulfil the demands of the market.'

But the technical challenges of getting people into deep space remain vexing. Then there's the problem of what happens after they arrive on Mars.

‘They're going to be living like moles,' Willson says. ‘I don't
think that the people who volunteered really appreciate that they're going to spend the rest of their lives in a submarine.'

The first colonists would likely spend most of their time repairing their equipment. ‘There would be significant degradation of your lifestyle on Mars,' says Willson. ‘You would probably end up living like we did in the 18th century, with much simpler equipment. It might be a lot like going back in time.

‘Just the landing on Mars, if it hasn't been done before, is going to be a big, big thing. But if you're going there to establish a base, that's just one tiny step on the longer journey. And each step is going to be breaking new ground.

‘Another hurdle is dust, which is quite fine on Mars, and it would not be good if that got into your lungs. There are also chlorates, about half a per cent in the dust, and chlorates shut down your thyroid gland. Then there's the radiation.

‘We don't know what else will happen. We don't know what their medical condition will be after five years. A person might not be able to return to Earth after five years. They might have to undergo acclimatisation in a rotating space station for several years before they could come back. We don't know.'

Imagine never again feeling fresh air on your face, never being warmed by the sun, never hearing an orchestra play, never feeling whisky sink into your chest. No more walking on grass in bare feet, inhaling the scent of the air after a storm. No leisure time. No loved ones. No hope of release. No freedom to roam. No variation in a practically tasteless diet. No sex with the person you love. Cramped quarters. Darkness. Isolation. An ineffective sleep schedule. Constant fear, stress and hyper-vigilance. The ever-present threat of death.

It occurs to me that the best analogy for a one-way trip to Mars is not a simulation in the Arctic or on an isolated Hawaiian island; it's not 500 days in a frozen desert underground or at the bottom of the sea, knowing that eventually you'll be back on terra
firma with the people you love. What it would really be like is being sentenced to death row.

* * * * *

One night I have a nightmare so vivid I still feel panicked to recall it all these months later. I'd gone to meet Josh at a huge hangar that housed the Mars One craft, and he was very excited to give me a tour of the ship. I followed him dutifully on board and took vague notice of three people in space suits. Hours seemed to pass in involved conversation until eventually I looked out the tiny porthole and saw, horrifyingly, that we were in the depths of space. ‘Oh, yeah,' Josh said. ‘I meant to tell you that take-off was today! Sorry. So you're here with us now.' Panic crushed my windpipe.

I woke up gulping a lungful of air. For months, a bird with a skull no bigger than a walnut had taken up residence outside the window, and it filled every morning with unfathomably loud song. Sometimes I could hear the bird three rooms away while music played in the house. Yet at that moment it was the sweetest sound I might have heard. I opened the window and inhaled the air, and looked at the sky where the crescent moon was faintly visible, and, just to be certain, reached out and touched the rough bark of the tree's sturdy trunk.

I am in no way made of the right stuff.

* * * * *

Eventually I get to speak with the public face of Mars One, CEO Bas Lansdorp.

Lansdorp's background is in wind energy, but he now bills his professional areas of expertise as ‘entrepreneurship, public speaking, start-ups'. I ask why Mars One's mission is so important
to him, even though he has said many times that he personally would not want to go to the planet.

‘For the world at the moment, a mission to Mars is exactly what we need,' he says. ‘I think it can give us a common goal, something to aspire to together, something to work on together, something to unite us. Getting kids excited about space exploration, having astronauts as heroes instead of pop stars. But I think the bigger picture of having a common goal, a dot on the horizon, that's the most important thing.'

Global unity is the goal? I ask.

‘To be honest, for me it's not an important part of the program. For me it's just about the goal of getting this done,' he says, confusingly. ‘For me personally, it's really about building the next base for humans to go to. For me it's more the technology challenge and the building challenge than the actual big picture.'

I ask how he sees Mars One being able to launch for such a comparatively small budget.

‘That's a question I get a lot. One reason is that the space agencies have become too risk-averse. It's not at all allowed for anything to go wrong, which takes a lot of paperwork to ensure. While we think having a little bit higher risk with the mission is very acceptable and will reduce costs significantly.'

This makes Mars One sound like some kind of intergalactic Uber. If checks and balances are too expensive, do away with them. If people might die in the course of your mission, have them sign a waiver. NASA, the European Space Agency, the Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency or any other government body can't afford the same laxity, and they certainly can't send their citizens one-way into space with no way to retrieve them.