One Way To Mars

Chapter 8

Foreman had tried to keep active,not thinking about all the things going on. He was also trying tostop thinking about the dope. He was barely holding it together, thatmuch he knew. By nature, he was a strong minded individual, positivein outlook, optimistic and reasonably resourceful. But like many,there was only so much he could take. In a short space of time, hehad flown millions of miles in a cramped spaceship, crashed andsurvived, lost three good colleagues and friends, and discovered thatin his absence, his home planet was once again in self destruct mode.He couldn't even begin to speculate about the fate of his friends andfamily on Earth. That was a bit much for anyone.

He attacked the overgrownmarijuana crop with a machete, clearing the plants to growunencumbered to reach their maximum potential. Monkley got stuck in,carrying the loose stuff away to the compost heap. After a couple ofhours, Foreman was satisfied the dope would be just dandy.

'I could kill for a beer, Pal.But I've been thinking. All this fruit. I should be able to make somekinda booze from it. My old dad used to brew all sorts of rot-gut inhis den at the back of the house. Wine, vodka, beer. If he wasn'tmaking it, he was drinking it. He sold enough off to pay foreverything he drank. Mom always looked down her nose at him, but shecould put it away when she was in a mood to. Time for a smoke, pal.'

Before he went to retrieve hisdried stash of dope, he decided such a momentous occasion wasdeserving of being special. He found two tarpaulin from the toolshed. Cutting lengths of rope, he made hammocks between tree trunks,close to the waterfall. He had learned to work the computerised musicgizmo, so the whole base became filled with sound. Just backgroundnoise.

Satisfied the dope had driedsufficiently, he found a clean storage jar. Poking a hole in the lid,he jammed a short piece of hose into it. Crumbling a handful of drieddope into the jar, he fashioned a spill which he lit and let theflame lick the dope. When it was smouldering, he replaced the lid andtook it to the hammocks. Climbing onto it, he lay back. Following hislead, Monkley did the same.

'Okay. Here goes.' he put the endof the hose in his mouth and drew in the smoke, deep into his lungs.'Damn!' he said with a spluttering coughing fit. 'That is awesome.'

Monkley sniffed the air. He beganclapping his hands and slapping his chest.

'Oh, pal. I really don'tthink...'

Monkley had other ideas. He stoodup on the hammock, swaying precariously, clapping his hands and chestslapping.

'Oh, what the hell. I reckon youdeserve a blast.'

Monkley put the hose in his mouthand breathed in. Slowly, as Foreman had done, he let the smoke out.'Happy.' He took another hit.

'Okay. Pass it over.'

Monkley handed the jar back.Foreman smoked for a couple of minutes, and then let Monkley haveanother blast.

'Haaaaapy.'

Foreman chuckled. 'Okay, pal.Just lay back and chill out.'

Monkley stretched out on hisback, hands behind his head, legs crossed. He had a strangely dreamylook about his face. Foreman smoked for a few more minutes, lettingthe mellow feelings envelop him. As his mind relaxed, he put the jarsafely to one side. A lot of the tension was finally leaving him. Thepair were soon snoring in a deep and peaceful sleep.