Piece Of Cake

Duncan blew out the candles, closed his eyes and wished the same thing he’d wished the last sixteen birthdays; to see his family.
Not the only wish he’d had all those times. For most of the first fifteen wishes “Mission success!” were the first words that formed in his mind. Why he was up there after all. But that wish came true already.
When NASA first conceived of the mission, unmanned had seemed the way to go. It saved expenses on training, saved weight on body mass and supplies, saved necessary systems on life-support, oxygen and all the other complications biology brought to a mission. Saved a hundred different ways you could speak of and one big one they’d rather not give voice to; nobody could come back dead.
Savings on complications were also investments in success, and that was what NASA wanted to see. A successful mission to Mars. They also wanted a level of data and detail that’d defy potential critics and whatever else shouted their success loudest. This was where the first part of the plan fell down. Nothing captures hearts and minds like putting the first man on Mars and NASA weren’t about to let anyone else claim that accolade. A manned mission it became.
Certain technologies needed a human being to deploy; you could immediately argue the whole mission became a lot more effective once you committed to putting feet on the ground. Old arguments these now, ones won some time ago. The seeds of fruits he was now bearing – First man on Mars. …Piece of cake.
The decision to make it a solo mission had come in for some criticism at the time, but the argument it provided the best way to maximise results and minimise risk was a compelling one. One gave you a lot more than none, and far less than all other numbers. QED.
His role was basically that of a dormant tool. He remained in space-sleep until the mission landed (providing no in-flight complications) and would deploy, collect, supervise and (if necessary) intervene upon arrival. Lots of sleep – with one exception.
“Human beings weren’t mere tools,” many had protested. The humanity of the man had to be considered. NASA’s agreed sop to this was that once, every year, he’d be woken. They’d update him on the world he was missing, condense a year’s events into vidlog and everyone would wish him a celebratory, “Happy Birthday”. “Hip hip humanity!” Then it was good night again.
Seeing his family was the only part of the routine he’d come to care for. Journeying to Mars was awful. A whole fortnight where you wake up a year older every day – how had the PSYCH team okayed that?! Two weeks eating nothing but birthday cake. He was so sick of cake. Now he’d got an even bigger one to celebrate the success. At least the eventual mission broke the days up a bit.
The annual reports became white noise; difficult to care about a world you’d disconnected from. Vidlogs half-full of empty. Smiles and clumsy anecdotes from his loved ones were the only items of relevance.
Now he was on his way back. The cake diet was back on again. He started the first vidlog; Jim, the mission commander, made his usual appearance. The man looked like hell; his last year must have been a long one. What on earth had happened to him?
“Sorry Duncan, but we decided this should play out a bit differently for your return.”
The doors whirred quietly while the vidlog played and a grey-haired sylph stepped through them. Her elegance hadn’t dulled with age. Two adults followed; clasping hands with children squealing harshly for their granddad. He couldn’t make their faces out, as his first tear fell to the icing.