A Mars day is equivalent to 1,480 Earth minutes. That’s 24 full hours, and an extra 40 minutes
for the non-math people. So that makes it an extra 20 days, six hours, and 40 minutes that I will
have to spend on Mars. And that’s as well as the two years they already tell you about. What does
that mean, you ask. Well, it’s the first lie they told me.
The second was that the Mars mission wouldn’t impact my life, that we would go and come
back and everything would be the same. Only they underestimated how much the first lie had
made me distrust them. All I have to do is Googleplex ‘Asteria Mars Mission 2037’ and all the
information comes spilling from my computer screen.

Dome erected in the Mojave Desert to acclimatize Asteria colonists
www.nytimes.com/Dome_erected_in_the_Mojave_Desert_to_acclimatize_Asteria_colonists/ ‚
««««« Rating: 6.7/10 – 34,562 votes
A flexiglass dome, with a rough diameter of 8,000 miles, was erected last week in the Mojave …

So we spent three weeks crammed together in the heat and the filtered air. Groups of 20
people, in a dome only designed for 18. We had to put on a space suit if we wanted to go outside
the dome, and believe me I wasn’t allowed to do either. We were given roommates. And what can
I say about that? Nothing that Mum wouldn’t wash my mouth out for.
They shoved me in with Amelia, a spoilt only-child who was 1. seven years old, 2. still a
bedwetter, and 3. a know-it-all. Now I have nothing against any of those things, but put them all
together in one small blonde and I might. And to make everything that much worse, they fed us
nothing but canned meats and powdered cheese the whole time.
So gross.

Asteria supplies arrive safely, plans remain for launch on September 21st
www.telegraph.co.uk/Asteria_supplies_arrive_safely/ ‚
««««« Rating: 5.2/10 – 764,002 votes
NASA has received word from Mars that all supply crafts have arrived with no incident …

I was secretly hoping something would go wrong with the supply dispatch. But I knew it never
would. I mean my dad built the landers. And my dad is really smart. He says they jettison supply
capsules onto the surface of Mars, and then the capsules eject a parachute and land softly. We
can then make spare parts of their spare parts. Or something.
So they landed, and, according to the article, dropped off rovers, and robots, and the most
important parts of our living structure.
Yay.

The science of the NASA Asteria mission
www.nasa.com/Journey_to_Mars/ ‚
««««« Rating: 9/10 – 871,144 votes
Our journey to Mars was imagined as far back as 1969, when man first ventured into space. Now …

Science is not my best subject. But I can understand that the air on Mars could kill us.
Literally.
The air can kill us.
Does it bother me?
No.
Yes.
Maybe.
Things can kill us on Earth too, right?
Mars is kinda interesting though, when you really look at it. I do understand the opportunity
I’ve been given. It’s hard not to with everyone shoving it in my face. I just didn’t want it. I mean
sure, if it was Kelly Preston going I’d be happy. I’d be interested. I’d be doing a silent little dance.
She smells like horses, and sits next to me in math. She’s nice. I just don’t like horses.
Anyway, the gravity on Mars will more than halve my general mass. I’ll be the best high
jumper in school. Of course, I won’t be in school anymore so I guess it doesn’t matter so much.
Mum will be pleased though. She says her scale is the devil. She kicks it sometimes.
And Mars has a labyrinth in its canyons (named Noctis Labyrinthus, which means ‘labyrinth of
the night’), and the biggest volcano in the whole solar system.
Mars also has no tectonic plates. That means no earthquakes. And no ozone layer and no
planet core. I wonder if the volcano even erupts then.

Asteria: have we missed the launch window?
www.express.co.uk/asteria/ ▼
««««« Rating: 3/10 – 67,080 votes

Science has been explaining ‘launch windows’ to us laymen for months, but if it’s so precise …
Dad says a launch window is the best time for us to leave. I asked what if we missed it, and he
said that it would just take longer to get there. But a group of scientists with their calculators, and
their diagrams, calendars, and computer programmes set the best possible time to leave. So I
kinda have to trust them.
It’ll still take us nine months to get there.

Debate rages over the looming controversial Asteria launch
www.thelocal.de/debate_controversy_and_inspiration/ ‚
««««« Rating: 6.2/10 – 5,351 votes
Debate is lively on this topic folks. The planned worldwide NASA launch to Mars. Are we ready …

I used to be in the debate team, but I never made speeches like the ones they’ve uploaded
onto BroadCast. Dad says William Dunne, the man in all the videos, is just angry at not being
chosen for the Asteria mission.
I met Will once (he said I can call him ‘Will’, even though we’re not friends), and he seemed
nice. He pulled a coin from behind my ear. I’m pretty sure he’s the one that put it there, but I
acted amazed anyway.
Will says in the videos that the Mars colony mission is ‘fraught with cover-ups and
conspiracies’. Dad says he’s just paranoid. I just thought he needed to brush his hair, and maybe
put on a clean shirt. That’s what Mum always says when Dad spills coffee on himself: go and clean
yourself up Simon, you look like no one owns you. I once told her you’re not allowed to own
people anymore and she laughed. I’m not sure what was funny.

Cryo sleep: what they haven’t told you
www.sciencenews.org/Cryo_sleep/ ‚
««««« Rating: 9.7/10 – 972,224 votes
Cryogenic sleep: we’ve been dreaming of it for decades. It is a way to travel long distances …

And this is the first way in which the Mars mission will ruin my life.
You see, cryo sleep was invented in 2030 especially for us. And it works. Don’t get me wrong.
It has been fully tested on rats, and monkeys, and dogs, and finally humans. I’m not worried about
getting stuck in an endless cold sleep, though I did have a nightmare about that when we first
went into the selection process for Asteria. During the second shortlisting we were given a scary
demonstration of the cryo chambers.
Hope you’re not claustrophobic. Ha ha.
But whatever.
What really bothers me is the nature of cryo sleep. Here’s how it is: I step into that cryo
chamber at age twelve, I sleep for the nine months it takes to travel from Earth to Mars, and then I
step out of that stupid chamber still twelve years old! And then it takes eleven months to get
home again. And my best friend is already six months older than me. Imagine it when she’s a full
two years and two months older.
It’s rubbish.
But NASA insists on families staying together. In total, seven children have been approved to
accompany their parents on the Asteria mission. And we get no say. Well, except for Taylor (that’s
‘Tay’ to her friends, of which I am not). She’s 19, so she gets to stay. In our house. With my cat.
I guess family isn’t really that important when you’re 19.
And then there’re the photos. NASA likes its photos. And it likes its press. So I smile, and I
wear the dresses Mum lays out for me even though she knows I hate to wear dresses, and when
the microphone is shoved in my face I say I’m so excited. Because I have to lie too.
The studio is cold. It’s Good Morning Miami or Smile! Orlando or something like that. I wasn’t
really listening. I’m wearing frills, which I hate more than the dress itself, and hi-tops. Mum scowls
at my shoes, but they remain my one single victory.
A smiling blonde woman wearing a pink and blue shirt and jeans points a microphone in my
direction.
“Are you excited to be on this expedition with your parents?” she asks.
“Oh yes,” I say. She misses the sarcasm.
“And will you miss your friends?”
“It’s a fabulous opportunity,” Mum talks over me. She knows me too well. And I think ‘for you,
Mum, not for me’.
The blonde woman, I think her name was Louisa or Pollyanna or maybe Primadonna, looks
cautiously at me. She’s clearly trying to work out if I’ll answer question number three. She decides
I will.
“Are you all packed, ready to go?”
“No.” It’s quick. It’s simple. It’s the truth, for once.
“Oh.” She seems surprised. “But you’re leaving in ten days, yes?”
“Sure.” Mum told me to say as few words as possible.
“Cutting it a bit fine aren’t we?” For this she looks at Mum. Mum smiles and lets out the
smallest of fake laughs. Primadonna thinks it’s real. She pulls the microphone from me and chats
to Mum instead. Mum makes better television. I stare at my shoes.
At home Mum is silent. Dad tinkers in the garage. Well, Mum calls it tinkering anyway. Dad
calls it inventing. I’m trying to pretend my little brother isn’t kicking me under the table.
“Ow, Twerp. Stop it!” I fail.
“Michaela! Go and pack your bags.” I struggle with the injustice of being scolded for
something Jackson was doing, but know there’s no point arguing. I never win.
NASA has given us four medium-sized suitcases. They fit together like Legos, and are labelled
on the side with the words CARTER FAMILY (4). Mine is the only one still empty.
Taylor stares at me as I throw clothes into my suitcase. I hate it when she stares at me. I just
know she’s thinking about that one time when I took her make-up and smeared it on the wall. And
she got in so much trouble.
“You know, Midget, they would fit better if you folded them.” She looks amused, like she’s
looking forward to having the house to herself.
“You’ll remember to feed Checkers, won’t you?”
“Of course.” She starts pulling out the clothes I’ve piled into my suitcase and folding them.
She’s right, of course. They fit much better once she’s folded them. But she frowns at what I’ve
collected. “Why are you taking your Little League uniform?”
“I like it,” I say defensively. She’s judging me. I know it. “Besides, Dad says maybe I can play on
Mars…” She’s smiling, like she knows something that I don’t.
“Yeah.” She throws the uniform onto the floor. “That’s never going to happen.”
“Why not?”
“Midget, think.” She sits heavy on my bed. “What if you hit a ball into the dome? What would
happen?”
“It wouldn’t break.”
“Wouldn’t it?” She pats next to her. “Come and sit with me.” When I sit she puts her hand in
my hair. She looks like our mother. All freckles and big blue eyes. I remember when I was little and
she used to read me Dr Seuss and feed me jellybeans one at a time. But that was a long time ago.
“I would come if I could.”
“You could do college at my school instead,” I say.
“It wouldn’t work. Besides, who would look after Checkers if we all went?”
I shrug and she folds my clothes in silence. She makes me sit on the suitcase to make it close.
And she stares at me like she’s sad I’m leaving. Like she actually likes me. And I think about her
hand in my hair, and I wonder if she’ll miss me when I’m gone.