The Martian Cat
by Guy Lane
The Martian Cat
by Guy Lane
Copyright © 2017 Guy Lane
All rights reserved. Smashwords Edition.
Titles by Guy Lane.
See details at the end of this book.
The Oil Price
Heart of Bone
The Martian Cat
“It took a long time to get there; but at least it was quick.”
Love is blind; and so is the Martian Cat.
Mars is a waste of good sunshine.
Charlie Darling is my name.
Inter-Planet, my employment.
Mars Resort is my working place.
Outfoxing you, my enjoyment.
Mars is a melanoma-pimple planet, way out in butt-f**k-nowhere,
The Mars Motto: Better dead than immiserated.
I have never been to Mars and I dare say that I probably never will.
After writing this book, I doubt that they’d let me through
customs. But that’s okay, because I don’t want to go to the
stupid planet, anyway. I wrote this book because I don’t want
anyone else to go there, either – not for at least a hundred years,
maybe a thousand years, maybe a million years. It’s not because I’m
misanthropic and want to spoil people’s fun; it’s because the
manned trips to Planet Mars will impose a massive cost on
everyone, just when we need to be focusing our energy elsewhere: on
the rehabilitation of Planet Earth.
Manned missions to Mars will create unprecedented environmental harm,
misallocate vital human capital, and waste trillions of dollars of
public money – your money and mine. The Mars colony will create
great wealth for a handful of corporations, and this will justify
them to lie, bribe and corrupt to protect their racket.
The biggest lie that will be perpetrated is that there is another
home for humans in this solar system. That’s just not true. Humans
are Earthlings. Don’t forget that title – ‘Earth’-ling. We
evolved in 1G gravity. It is our birthright to live in 1G gravity.
Pro-Mars aficionados will likely bitch and moan about this book.
They’ll say nasty things on social media, and I might even get
death threats. That’s to be expected, because anyone who stands
against a paradigm gets that sort of treatment. It’s just part of
the game, I guess.
To my detractors, I say the following: if the manned mission to Mars
is such a great idea, and has ‘real’ public support, then a
satirical novel like this one is not going to make a lickety-split of
difference; this book will be set aside as a the ravings of an angry
crank, and you’ll get your stupid Mars colony. However, if I am
correct, and the manned mission to Mars is shown to be most stupid of
ideas, and has very little broad-scale public support (outside of
sci-fi enthusiasts and respondents to scammy questionnaires); then a
novel like this might have a substantive impact in killing the idea
off. If that’s the case, I’m glad to have been of service to
humanity; and you Mars folk had it all wrong, so admit defeat with
The Martian Cat is satirical science fiction story. It is filled to
the brim with information about Mars, about space technology, the
environmental impacts on Earth of space activity, and the
physiological impacts of humans in the portable-lavatory sized
dwellings they’d be reduced to occupying on the runt-planet.
Some of the information in this book is reasonably accurate. For
example, I describe a Mars rocket as having a three-stage core
fuelled with kerosene and liquid oxygen, and four solid fuel
boosters. That kind-of checks out. But the reference to them swapping
the kerosene with leaded petrol if the price is right; that’s
satire, I made that up.
I don’t underline the fictional bits in this story, nor do I write
it in a different font. Instead, I mix the truth with the fiction –
like they mix monomethyl hydrazine with the nitrogen tetroxide in the
hypergolic rocket fuel.
This mixing of fact and fiction is not without precedent. The
Marsophile (Mars lovers) do it all the time; they obfuscate the
truth, like good Pro-Mars-Propagandists. As an example, the Matt
Damon movie The Martian is roundly applauded for its ‘accuracy’
almost like it were a documentary; despite the glaring errors shared
by all Mars movies. The Martian movie completely fails to acknowledge
that on Mars, the gravity is so light, that you can’t walk or move
the way you do on Earth. They also ignore that Mars is dimly lit,
because it so far out in space. So we are left with the impression
that Mars is like the Simpson desert – bright and 1G gravity –
when in fact, it is more like the Moon at dusk. They pump this
misinformation out, and we swallow their stupid Mars story without
thinking. We just gulp it down like a hungry Martian Cat devouring a
bowl of fresh maggots.
Well, so it goes with The Martian Cat – the novel. I mix the truth
with the lies, too. The maggots with the algae. The plutonium with
the drinking water. The kerosene with the liquid oxygen. The toe-jam
with the spacesuit.
If you want to know the truth about Mars, don’t listen to the
pro-Mars camp, and certainly don’t listen to me. Instead, engage
your critical mind, read, learn and think it through. If you do that,
you’ll be able to discern the truth, and I am sure that you’ll
end up on my side, slinging mud at the rockets, and blowing
raspberries at the wannabe Mars Colonists.
Throughout this novel is the reference to a cat, the Martian Cat. For
cat-lovers, this story might not be for you; the poor moggie is in a
terrible state, everyone wants to eat it, and progressively bits of
it fall off. It’s got no teeth, and its fur comes falls out in
sticky clumps at every misadventure. In writing about the Martian
Cat, I am not condoning animal abuse; I like cats, particularly
Burmese cats. Instead, the Martian Cat is a metaphor for Planet
Earth, pulled to pieces by the uncaring humans. And that’s what
this story is ultimately about, it’s a commentary about ecological
sustainability – or the dire absence of it.
Besides the fact that going to Mars is helping to kill off the living
systems of planet Earth, we humans simply don’t deserve to go to
Mars. We may have the technology and the will, but we don’t have
the temperament. As a species, we f**k everything up, when we ought
to know better. And while you can’t f**k-up a dead planet, you can
make a right mess of a living one, trying to get there. We will wreck
enormous damage on Earth – environmentally, economically, socially,
and spiritually – in our mad scramble for the dead planet. And the
worse Earth gets, the more alluring Mars will be made to sound by the
propagandists, thus creating a nasty positive-feedback mechanism.
Today, humanity is on a path to extinction due to climate change and
the loss of biosphere integrity – not to mention the spent fuel
ponds of hundreds of nuclear power stations that will start to fall
apart up as soon as there is no modern industrial state to maintain
them. We need to fix the mess that we have left on Earth, before we
go gallivanting off to space. This is a species-level discipline that
we need to learn. And we need to learn it fast.
If we can stabilise our bleeding planet, and bring her back to
health, then maybe by mid-next century, we will have developed a more
balanced and mature outlook on the role of humans in the solar
system. Maybe in a hundred years, if we can get our shit together,
the manned mission to Mars might not be such a bad idea. Until then,
the idea of a Mars colony is stupid, deluded and dangerous, and it
needs to be opposed at every opportunity. I’ve given you some
tools. Get to work.
18 March 2017
A Cat Like That
The Two Tony’s
The Mad Medic,
The Martian Cat
The Fly Factory
Mars Resort in
Life on Mars
Not Dead Yet
The Bite Fight
Nobel Prize in
Cat’s Health Check
Little Kitty Cat?
Salad, Pussy, Cock
Martian Cat Attack
Heavy rain pummels the taxi that pulls up outside the hotel, its
tail-lights making the raindrops glow red. The wipers swat water from
the windscreen with the rasping noise of metal against glass.
Standing under the hotel awning, wearing a blue jumpsuit and holding
an Inter-Planet transit bag, is a young man, Charlie Darling. He
shakes his head, wearily, wondering why taxi drivers always park so
far away, when it rains.
“What is it with f**king cabbies?” he grumbles as he psyches
himself to get wet. He raises the Inter-Planet bag over his head, and
then dashes into the cold rain. As quick as he can, he jumps inside
the back seat of the cab, slamming the door shut behind him. He takes
stock of how much water his blue Inter-planet jumpsuit has taken –
he’s drenched, wet and cold.
A normal person would be cranky at having had to dash so far in the
rain; but not our boy, Charlie, he is one chillaxed dude. He has
boyish looks and long, wavy black hair, that is now plastered over
his face from the deluge.
Charlie Darling is not the sort of person who stands out from the
crowd, but neither is he someone you’d easily forget, should you
meet him. He has an affable manner, and always has something nice to
say, even if he is talking to a complete asshole, or placed in a
Hypothetically, were Charlie were to be set upon by a bad hombre (one
who dug a tunnel under the wall, maybe) and was then tied up, and
dropped into vat of Martian Cat shit, he’d find a positive angle.
He’d say something chirpy like, “Oh, well, at least it’s still
warm” or “At least it’s not bubonic acid.”
Charlie’s cheery demeanour can actually be a bit f**king annoying,
sometimes. He’s also quite bright, and he likes to share his
knowledge, so a lot of people think he’s a smart-ass, when in fact,
he’s just being chatty.
In these respects, Charlie Darling is the exact opposite of the cab
driver. “Damn rain!” the driver curses, peering up through the
windscreen, as if he were intelligent enough to determine anything
more than that it is still raining.
“I’m savouring it,” Charlie wipes his face, and licks the rain
water from his palm.
The driver adjusts the mirror to see his passenger. “Huh?”
“Where I’m going there’s no rain. Not a f**king drop.”
“What are you, a coal miner?” the driver flicks on the indicator,
and checks for oncoming traffic.
“Really? Do I look like a coal miner?”
The cabbie glances at the rear vision mirror to see Charlie’s
jumpsuit and clean shaven face. He sniffs the air. “You don’t
smell like a coal miner. What is that? Perfume?”
“It’s cologne, you brute. I’m going to the Inter-Planet Launch
“Never heard of it.”
“Inter-Planet Launch Pad. Gate Four.”
“Domestic or international?”
“Just drive ahead, dude. I’ll tell you when to turn.”
The driver winds down his window, checks the traffic, then pulls away
from the kerb. He winds up the window, his face and shoulder
drenched. Then he starts moaning, “F**k me! If the planet’s
getting hotter, what’s with the freezing rain?”
“It’s the jet stream,” Charlie tells him, knowingly, from the