Smiling faces bounced. Cheerful, and young, too. There couldn't be a single one of the dozen in their 30s. They were still wearing their fancy, uselessly thin, trimmed and treated stage show jumpsuits, and likely for the last time. Six women and six men, of course.
O'Ryan moved behind the stage, listening to the din of playful, self-promoting banter. He noted the time, another ten minutes to go. He was hoping to see his coworker Lyra before her performance. Every year, twelve more for the Mars mission. Every year, a public performance, and every year he developed a discomfort for the whole thing. He couldn't place it the first year, or the second, but by the third he knew, and his discomfort had grown into contempt by the fourth, and now he worries that it has grown into loathing, and the accompanying unhealthy rise of stress. He took a long survey of the group, and made mock applause in his mind. There was a perfect gradation of skin tone, and not a repeat feature on any face. There was an ethnic duo last year. The public relations team have really outdone themselves. But he couldn't blame them, with so many people on earth to choose from and every nation salivating at the mouth for representation. The banner of progress, teamwork, and survival, connecting individuals, groups, and nations, from every angle, with a massive dose of purpose and just a dash of prestige and superiority. A perfect chord to march by and not a single ignoble attribute on display. He shook his head.
"What's your problem?" Lyra leaned over next to him, looking at the crowd. O'ryan opened his mouth to speak, but Lyra kept talking, so he closed it.
"Oh, wait-a-minute, I already know! Public relations is fake, the space movement is fake, and... Oh yes, having a sense of purpose is evil. Right?"
O'ryan opened his mouth to speak, again, but Lyra kept talking, again.
"Look, I have to hear it every weekend but right now I have to be your made up abstract enemy for these kind, hopeful people." Lyra's face held a mild grimace as she looked over the twelve astronauts, the doctors, and the television crew. "I hate public speaking."
O'ryan elected to look at Lyra, in case she ignored him again. She had the same sort of face the Mar's mob had. She was pristine, or rather had blemishes that can be hidden within makeup. Actor like, movie star. Blue eyes, thin eyebrows, long blonde hair and longer legs. All modern branded astronauts were like that, somehow. 'They have a lot to choose from' he recalled. He remembered the day that he looked in the mirror and noticed something, every 'behind-the-scenes' astronaut was not an actor. He had a fine black hairline, but a rather wide nose and a very gaunt face. He paid attention to his colleagues that day, and he felt there was something to this theory. His career fared better than any other, so it did not amount to success here, but he wondered to what degree the complexion chose the station. Moreover he wondered to what degree it was intentional or unconscious, for he knew the reasonable and powerful people in charge of vetting candidates, it was not only the public relations' influence.
"You could swap with me next year." He opted to say.
Lyra looked at him briefly, and then back at the crowd. "Tempting! but then I'd have to do your job. A few minutes of speaking against hours of tours? I think not."
The lights dimmed, it was time. Lyra breathed in and out, shook her hands in preparation, then put on the customer service smile and walked to the podium in mock solemnity wearing an equally impractical and stylized blue jumpsuit.
The spotlight focused on Lyra and she spoke in a higher pitch, with drawn out stage cadence.
"Welcome, new astronauts, to the second stage of our international 5th generation Mars mission.You are nearing your goal in pushing forward the posterity of the human race through our inhabitation of Mars. There are challenging times ahead, and your training has prepared you thus far, but there is much to do to turn an earth born human into a thriving interplanetary being. Here on Luna Prime, you will be put through the most mentally, physically, and psychologically strenuous tests to guarantee your suitability for our species most dire missions. You have been chosen by your nations for your daring, intelligence, and strength of will, and every ounce of it will be necessary in the coming months."
The fabric separating the theater sized screen from the stage began to part. O'ryan almost forgot, he scrambled to keep pace with it so as to not be seen. The screen lit up, and carefully selected 'space music' began to drone, along with smooth transition sounds. The screen displayed in stunning resolution and a helping share of filters and effects, the most glamorous angle of everything she mentioned, perfectly timed to the beat of her voice.
"The Luna Prime Preparation program has been rapidly evolving year after year to keep up with the frontier of new challenges that our settlers face on Mars. Now, I will orient you and the eager students back home to the recently selected changes you will encounter in the program."
O'ryan started to blank. He remembered everything he would have to do today in providing tours. Lyra mentioned gravity assist elevators and magnetosphere technical training now being taught before arrival to Mars, instead of after. Largely useless swap, he thought, they won't need it for the trip over. But Luna Prime preferred to deflect all possible blame for situations arising on Mars. Mars was not nice, and not very fun, if you aren't a scientist. Anybody that did this for their parents, or their nation, or adventure, or fame, quickly became a mess of a human. That accounted for over half of them. He wondered again if the vetting process would be able to parse such motivations out. Maybe they did know? He reasoned against it. They couldn't, there were too many head problems for the people on Mars. It's not the radiation or the air or the closed quarters, it's the people there, and not their interactions between each other. It's all in their heads, alone, set up from birth and never worked out till it has to be. Astronauts were often poster heroes, even in the past, why now? Too many people, he thought. Too many to choose from, perhaps the marketing has backfired. Now it's national interest and private interest, maybe it brings in too many of the wrong sort. They go and they can't back out, for the shame, and the cost. It's a prison sentence for them. Lyra spoke of the whips being utilized for their chosen course, this was another wasted effort, it always changes. Always.
O'ryan waited and wondered about asteroid miners, as he often does, a huge career change, and a massive slap in the face to Luna Prime for someone as veteran as he. By now, he didn't care for the place, or the company, or his country. He liked the work, though, and the people. What if it didn't go so well? Could he be rejected? Are there that many people as technically specialized as he is? He didn't like to worry, perhaps that's what kept him here. He focused on planning his tour schedule.
Lyra ended with a brief on the medical examinations they would be going through immediately after the orientation, and why the health and well being of the chosen ones were so important to Luna Prime. O'ryan knew, however, the astronauts would first be interviewed to share their individual impressions and experiences and expectations thus far. It was as if they were on a reality television show, which by now might be considered as such minus the name, given the size of the audience and the correspondingly low effort, boring, everyday space trivia that any enthusiast would know of, but every entertained watcher would not. Makes them look smart for the public, and they are smart, or at least incredibly educated and trained, but the public viewers wouldn't know either. They only want to believe that using the latest ultra-intuitive technology and knowing the latest space drama makes them kin to their internet stars.
Lyra came down from the stage and undid her ponytail, and removed her earrings. "How did I do?" she asked, seriously.
"Perfectly scripted as ever." he said, flatly. She smiled, and laughed. At least she understood his natural opinion and humor of things. But it is forcibly shaped this way, it always is if you're around a person for a long enough time. As he knew she would again change her state of mind in a few seconds, ready for the next event, which was…
"My stadium time!" she gasped. "Betcha wish you went with me when the slots opened, huh? It's backed up for a month now, you know." She teased.
O'ryan did wish so, and he did know. He was never one for sports, so he did not think a zero gravity dedicated sports stadium would be as much fun as it was. The industry's new approach to funding was sports, now that they had talent and television stars. The next natural step to things. It was in its infancy, and all employees had to be up to date on its maintenance, so he got to experience it during the early tests. But it was so popular, the testing and maintenance is now on a volunteer basis, and not on cycle.
"Gotta go!." Lyra was walking past him away, briskly, her smile gone. New attention, new focus, dump the rest, he had figured that was her way.