In a white dome on a deserted mountain slope, the six of us test what life is like in a Martian colony. And here's what I found out for today.
I don't remember exactly what it was like to wake up on Earth. Five months have passed since our "landing on Mars", and each new day in a white dome in the middle of a field of red lava, I begin with the question: will we have enough energy to turn on the heating? Will the weather allow us to put on spacesuits and check the greenhouses? Will my air fans work?
While all these thoughts are spinning in my head, I trudge downstairs for the first cup of something hot. The news awaiting me there will be about watts, millimeters of mercury, percent humidity and degrees Celsius. I will find out what happened overnight in and around our habitat, and how much energy we have left until the end of the day. I will hear the water gurgling in our hydroponics systems, the bright pink plant lights humming softly in our biological laboratory. I will see all the same crew members, the same kitchen and half a meter in diameter, that I see every morning for five months. The view of the jagged rocks outside serves as a constant reminder that our world, in which we decided to live for a year as part of an experiment to test the characteristics of life on Mars, is hostile and extremely mysterious.
Let me explain: an imitation of Mars is strictly speaking our world. The six of us landed on a large island in Hawaii at the end of August 2015. Several days of training passed - how to use the power supply systems, how to properly turn on the water tank, how to put on a spacesuit without breaking or spoiling anything - and the airlock door closed. We found ourselves “off the planet” for a year and one day, having set up camp on the slopes of Mauna Kea. Our “space” crew was specially made very diverse: a space architect, an engineer, three scientists and a doctor (me). By completing our Mars mission on August 28, 2016, we will become veterans, because this will be the longest simulated stay on Mars in NASA's history.
At the beginning, our mission received very modest attention. Then the Martian was shown, and the hell started. Journalists started calling, but all their efforts were in vain, because we could not use the telephone. For a whole year we must live in conditions of a 20-minute communication delay, and in both directions, since this is exactly the aberration time from Earth to Mars, that is, this is how much the signal travels from one planet to another when they are at the maximum distance. For better or worse, we cannot speak on the phone and communicate on Skype. We cannot speak to the media in broadcast mode, we cannot be filmed, photographed or recorded in any way - only we can do all this.
This time delay is an effective filter, but not only. It is also a critical psychological moment that makes us and everyone on Earth act as if we are indeed on Mars. By simulating the time difference created by a vast space of millions of kilometers, researchers can study how communication works, and whether it works if it takes 40 minutes to send a message and receive a response. Imagine how this delay is reflected in the classic film about space: "Houston, we have a problem … and we expect your answer in three quarters of an hour." Spectators, wait …
While this delay saves us some problems, life becomes much more difficult with it. The 20-minute communication lag, albeit artificial, is quite real for us and for the dome in which we live. Take medical emergencies as an example. Unlike in outer space, here I can dial 911. And it will still be hours before we get an answer. What happens in the event of a medical disaster? Everything is on me, on the space doctor. I solve all problems, if possible.
It's the same with engineering problems. We had water leaks in the airlock. As elsewhere in the universe, various devices and gadgets have a habit of failing, and our hydrogen fuel cells never worked as expected. These issues are handled by the chief engineer and the crew, if they can do anything. As for food and water, we get supplies periodically. In between, we feed on what we have, as the Martian crews will eventually do. And we try our best to stay within the limit and eat sparingly.
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This necessary sense of independence from Earth and mutual dependence on each other is a huge plus in helping to forget about the long and dark 20-minute communication delay. And since neither the phone nor the internet distracts us, we can do a lot of work. In addition, in the absence of the usual means of communication, we have a very real feeling that we were left alone on another planet. I must say that it develops quite easily and simply if you live on an empty and devoid of any vegetation slope of a volcano in a dome at an altitude of two and a half kilometers above sea level.
We have learned how to repair, remodel and adapt things for other purposes in a way that we have never been able to. For months, a blue latex haemostatic tourniquet has been securing the parts of my bike to the electricity-generating dynamo. We realized that an 8-liter plastic drier box is an ideal container for growing certain types of bacteria, as well as filtering water through volcanic rock. In our station, where there is no money, no places to spend it, the value of things, tasks, and even people is determined solely by their utility.
Life on a simulated Mars, like on a real Mars, is simple and elementary. Our main concerns and concerns revolve around the sun, air, water and stone, namely what we can and cannot do with these four fundamentals in the right combination. The sun creates energy for us. We, in turn, convert this energy into artificial light, into the colors of the spectrum that our plants like best. Plants consume water, and we plant them with roots in stones that we collect on the surface. Their stems are drawn towards the light, and our hopes grow with them: green leaves breathe them out, they are born in flowers that will turn into fruits.
All this must take place inside the dome. This is an analogue of the life that might one day arise on Mars. The analog is naturally imperfect. On real Mars, the air is very thin, and it consists mainly of carbon dioxide. Since Mars is not protected by large radiation belts like Earth, its atmosphere is constantly blown away by the Sun. According to data collected by NASA's orbiting MAVEN satellite, the solar wind blows 9.6 tons of the Martian atmosphere per day. To make matters worse, the surface of Mars is irradiated in a way that the earth's surface has probably never been irradiated - at least since the birth of life. Here, at the station, we have much better conditions, since here there is breathable air of comfortable temperature and pressure, which is held by gravity. We have a comfortable natural anti-radiation shield,and robots regularly supply us with food and water. It should be noted that this does not happen often, but we get enough to live and work.
In between robot visits, we make the most of what we can find. Under the right conditions, we can collect water from the ground using small plastic sheds. Future crews on Mars will have to come up with their own methods to find local water sources. We took seeds, soil and a special kind of bacteria with us. Cyanobacteria are blue-green algae. In the jar, they appear thin and luminescent, like the Jello Jelly concentrate before it cures. These adaptable little creatures can convert carbon dioxide into breathable air. They are capable of purifying water. They can feed on what is on the poor Martian diet, using nitrogen from the air and minerals from the soil. They can also consume urine and decompose our waste products. Living, breathing, feeding and sending out natural needs,These bacteria transform the soil, dried and roasted under the pink Martian sky, into a healthy growing environment, and in the process they produce a lot of useful things, from biofuels to proteins. Moreover, they produce them in tons, which is very useful for future Martian colonists.
Wait. Are you saying you eat green bacteria? The answer is still no, but if our French astrobiologist put a plate of such food in front of me, I would try them. When every bite of food from the supply is something instant “just add water”, even bacteria start to appear cute, not only because of the taste, but also because of health. We need to eat animals in order to live on our own. Therefore, we work as a collective of scientific farmers, and each of us grows something, does something: herbs, peas, greens (extremely tasty), tomatoes, bread, yogurt. Without these crops and crops, healthy food would not be available to us, and our lives would be in danger.
Collaboration, common work is one of the key motivations for our Mars project. We must find out what people need to live, work and survive together on other planets, and how to give it to them. In principle, the idea seems very simple, but it is difficult to put it into practice. People need more than food, water and energy to work effectively together. Common purpose is also important, but it is not enough to keep people happy and content for many months. So what else is needed? Faith and hope that there is a recipe that allows the right people, with the right tools, to live together in a small space under stressful circumstances for many years and at the same time work almost to the limit of their capabilities, as astronauts do when in low Earth orbit on the International Space station. Our task is to act in the role of such astronauts and, in conditions of imitation, check the possible components of such a recipe.
This means that life here is diverse, full of experiments and sometimes unpredictable. There are planned tasks, there are unplanned time for leisure and recreation, there are experimental methods of communication, travel in virtual reality to earth's beaches and forests. And then there are lengthy conversations between the crew members. Moving to this house is akin to suddenly having five spouses. You will quickly learn that what you find acceptable, decent, and enjoyable will not necessarily be acceptable, decent, and pleasant to others. Since we are all here for a long time, and it is impossible to leave during space flight, everyone has to adapt in five different directions at once, doing it as quickly as possible, and at the same time, without stopping to work.
Figuring out how to do this is the hardest part of our adventure. On the surface, everything seems simple and straightforward. I am a space doctor. I keep an eye on the health of the crew members as we all go through the physical, psychological and emotional maze erected before us. Sounds like something out of science fiction, but it is to a certain extent. But without a hospital, pharmacy, and medical laboratory, space medicine turns out to be pretty primitive, like in the old days. Medical assistance at the station is reminiscent of the time when doctors learned by doing, with few tools and devices, and made calls to their homes.
Volcanoes Mauna Kea (top) and Mauna Loa (bottom) on the island of Hawaii in the Pacific Ocean
Photo: AFP 2016, NASA
Space medicine in its Martian version will be a journey into the unknown. You cannot bring all the equipment, medicines and appliances with you to the Red Planet, but when six people are accommodated in a space the size of a modest apartment, unorthodox decisions must be made quickly. For example, where to treat people if every centimeter of the area is occupied by scientific instruments or functions as a common workspace? I keep most of my medical supplies in the biolaboratory, but there is no room for examination, since it needs a separate room. Therefore, like my father, a doctor, who received people in his home office, I treat the crew members in my personal living compartment. At least my room has a place to lie down and stretch out, and there is a door to close,to talk freely with the person about his problems, both mental and physical.
By converting my living quarters into a doctor's office, I solved one problem. But there are many others left, which are much more difficult to solve. What worries me most is that I have very limited options for treating people. Again, I look back to apply that experience to the present; I think it can be used instead of pills, powders and compresses. In a place where funds and resources are scarce or lacking, I offer something that I have in abundance: my medical knowledge and thoughts about what patients are experiencing, why, and how to act until the sore heals on its own. This way of doing things sometimes makes me feel professional unfit. And then I remember: even before the birth of civilization, healers and healers used the same methods.
Probably, here, on the edge of civilization, is a very suitable place to sit down according to the old tradition, listen to a person, ask him questions and give explanations. Yes, I cannot write a prescription and send the patient home, where the pills will cure him. But this is not expected of me. I do not have a queue of patients in front of the office doors. I have plenty of time. Yes, I had to leave my planet to find free time. Thus, our Mars station became a kind of a dream come true. But otherwise, it's a daily nightmare - as far as medications, tests and treatments are concerned.
In this white dome on the Red Planet, we are all face to face with what we love, what we lack, what we need to live, and what we fear most. I am a doctor who flies in the sky, travels the worlds and overcomes vast spaces. I have never had big requests or big fears. After graduation, I went to wander around Australia with one backpack. I spent more than a week on the beach, eating beans and whatever else I could find in the bush. And I felt great. Even as a child, I was afraid of only one thing: Jupiter. I had a recurring dream: that I was flying to a gas giant, bypassing the icy surface of Europa and Ganymede. As I approach Io with its volcanic eruptions, I think, Too close, too close! And at this moment awakening comes. I had no other nightmares before entering medical school. In the same place, when I dozed on a bed in some dark corner, my fear of a giant planet was transformed into horror that I might oversleep some important moment in the hospital. I woke up abruptly, confident that I had missed a call to the patient, an urgent operation, or my last chance to say goodbye to a patient.
At our Mars station I am constantly accompanied by fear of a different kind. This time I am afraid that when an urgent call comes in, I will be there, but I will not be able to help. I will have no ventilators, no intensive care unit, no blood transfusion instruments. Thank God, this has not happened yet, and I did not have a chance to find out what would happen in this case. The only operation I performed was to remove the wart. Although I enjoy putting on an operating gown, picking up a syringe with anesthesia and a scalpel, I will be happy if my surgical Martian practice ends with this wart. Therein lies another weirdness of space: what might seem like a boring daily routine on Earth is hugely exciting here. On Earth, heart attacks and strokes are routine and daily work. Here life is so precious, difficult and dangerous that stitching a crew member after falling on a rock is like performing a difficult maneuver.
Nothing I've done before (not even the night shifts in the intensive care unit) made me think so intensely about the fragility of the human body, like the spacesuit you were wearing. At our Martian station, according to the rules, a spacesuit must be put on every time you go outside, as people will do when they get to Mars. A space suit is a whole ecosystem that watches over you, nourishes, washes and warms you. The spacesuit clearly shows what kind of gentle creatures we are from a quiet and calm world. You are swaddled, wrapped and protected to such an extent that you can visit places where our life form cannot exist - visit, and then return from there safe and sound.
Five months have passed since the beginning of the expedition, and we very much miss the earthly environment that we took for granted. Living in Martian conditions means not feeling direct sunlight and wind blowing on your face for a whole year. And no rain. Even the Southern California natives in our crew saw rain from time to time. And on Mars, water did not fall from the sky (you can't even call it sky!) For hundreds of millions of years. In the future that we are trying to build, we will have to learn how not to be afraid of various deprivations. We will have to learn to boldly face them, starting with our own and very real human shortcomings and limitations.
It is an axiom that the success of the future Martian colony will depend on the development of the necessary technologies. However, a very important lesson to be learned from our time in the dome is that technology is the simplest factor. Mechanical solutions that allow the crew to be brought back and forth alive will surely appear over time if money is available. But what cannot be invented and constructed are people. Physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually we are black boxes from a white dome heading for the Red Planet.
Physiology is difficult to outsmart, although we are making progress. With artificial gravity and good radiation protection, we can prevent the worst that can happen to the human body in space. In this case, what remains to be done in order to overcome the remaining distance and achieve the set goal, becoming an interplanetary species? And it will be necessary to overcome the very forces that determine our behavior on Earth: our individual psychology and group dynamics. How we get along with each other (and with ourselves) determines the success and failure of our research missions. Unlike temperature, humidity, and energy delivery, mental health cannot be considered in advance. Or is it possible? But what if there is some secret of life in harmony, which we will be able to discover by practicing ahead of time at our pseudo-Martian station?
For this, our six came here: to learn how to get along with each other, and in the process to help humanity go beyond gravity into the universe. To bring closer the day when people step on the Martian surface and begin to look for signs of past and present life there. Meanwhile, while on this desolate hillside, we find something important and fundamental in our nature. Yes, when we get into the wilderness, we are faced with the limits of our own self-sufficiency and begin to depend more on others. I must also say that for most of us, the maximum stress is limited to a camping trip with an overnight stay in a tent, where it is quite possible to get lost, since then you will still return to civilization - or it will go looking for you. On Mars and beyond, this experience is being taken to new heights. Think about it:how will your worldview change if every person you see over the years is vital to your survival? This is life under our dome, and this is how it will be on the real Mars. Distant, unfriendly, inhabited by people without whom you cannot live, and who cannot live without you.
Thinking about going to Mars, I imagined a lot. I trained for a long time, preparing for the Mars journey. It turns out Mars is just a place on the surface of which a dome is placed. The dome itself is an ordinary box of wonders. When the hatch is closed, the world shrinks not to 111 square meters of storage facilities, rooms with scientific equipment and medicines, but to six human bodies. We form a single whole, not amenable to an exact description, but quite cognizable. We have a powerful collective mind and a complex past. We have different beliefs, preferences and desires. This is the content of this world - ourselves.
When I wake up tomorrow, the whole world will be within earshot. I have never experienced this before. And wherever I go on Earth in the future, I won't experience that either.
Shayna Gifford is a medical scientist and journalist for the terrestrial counterpart of NASA's Mars station in Hawaii. She writes for StarTalk Radio.