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Marijn’s Map Mporium

1980 · LOOKING AT THE BIG SKY · 2338
Szelena Holdt

Youre rightnow reading this article in Earthling English. Wanna switch to Industrial English?
Working a translation…

Szávay Szelena Holdt (born Kristóf Neil Holdt, 23 April 2021–11 December 2152) was the first person to be born beyond Earth’s atmosphere.

The earliest human colonies off Earth strictly controlled their inhabitants’ sexual intercourse and reproduction; it was thought at the time that the low-gravity environment might cause any children born in space to develop, at best, a weak bone structure and atrophied muscles, or at worst, developmental delays, severe deformities, and an average life expectancy of 2 or 3. Should any woman on the Moon (as they then called it) be found to be pregnant, she was to be given a medical exam and shipped off to Earth to avoid any further damage to the child.

Szelena’s parents — Villum Holdt, a Euroconian botanist, and Szávay Fruzsina, a Hungarian engineer — had every intent to comply with these provisions. They had enjoyed their time on Earth’s eighth continent, but seeing the same people every day breathing stale air in an endless grey expanse gets tiresome day after day, and it was certainly no place to raise a child. Fruzsina would go back to work in her home country’s burgeoning fusion industry; Villum would tend to his crops a few more months, then present his findings to a conference in Copenhagen. That was before the outbreak had spread to the eighth continent.

To this day, noöne is quite sure how orcov-19 hitched a wagon train to Selene; the Americans put the blame on the Russians’ lax medical checks, the Russians said the Europeans missed a spot during cleaning, and the Europeans thought the Americans shouldn’t have launched a shipment from their soil in the first place. But launch they did nevertheless, and from Chang’e to Galileo, Mother Earth’s children found that they weren’t going to visit her any time soon.

One week after Galileo lifted its lockdown, and fifty-two years after Apollo’s arrow first struck the lunar soil, the Holdts welcomed a beautiful baby boy to the world, and for the first time in a thousand million months, welcomed a world to its first beautiful baby boy. The prophecies of rickets and palsy and every disease under the sun fell flat; yes, baby Kiki was lankier and weaker than an Earthling preemie, but it was nothing that couldn’t be remedied with regular exercise and some daily vitamin pills.

The circumstances of Szelena’s birth lent her an unusual childhood, on which she wrote in her memoir, Overview: “My parents had named me after Armstrong, but sans any peers except the invisible boys and girls on the blue dot whither we prayed, i always felt more like a Collins — a Grissom or a Lovell on my bad days.” She performed well academically, netting a bachelors’ degree in European literature from Durham Universitys Lunar Campus, but struggled to connect with others, sometimes contemplating “pricking a hole in my pressure suit and waiting for the inevitable”.

Szelena publicly came out as transgender in 2043. In her young adult years, she wrote marketing copy for firms as disparate as Helion Energy and Agrisol–Diana; she later became a public speaker and activist for Selenean sovereignty in the Lights On Party.

Starting circa 2139, she forwent life extension procedures, preferring “to go when it [was her] time to go”. Szelena died of old age in South Kubrick, to the south-west of Galileo, on the 11th of December, 2152, aged 131. She is one of only seven people to have been interred at the Abbey of Tranquility. Five space stations, two towns, one crater on Persephone, and a species of gengineered bat bear her name.
 
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I wonder what the Earthling English version would look like; I know you've done a whole post on it, but still.
 


Love it. I presume the usage of gendered pronouns despite the article being in 2300s English is thanks to its subject being a historical figure?​
Ah, nah — as indicated in the widget early on, legally distinct future Wikipedia lets you switch to 2000s English for, uh… some reason? Maybe they’re just very completist. 😅
 
Indeed it is — data comes straight from the 2021 census. (Had to do some jiggery-pokery with districts to estimate the results for counties, but i am devoted enough to the cause of Historic Counties Trutherism to include them.)
Be careful, you might get drafted to run in an election by the Yorkshire Party at this rate.
 
Rescued from the writeup for a map project in development hell, here’s how to Get Yoh Ess Tu Mahs in the early days of space travel.

1980 · LOOKING AT THE BIG SKY · 2338
Getting your ass to Mars, 2075
Or, the woes of early interplanetary transport

Martians know better than anyone that packing up your belongings and moving a quarter billion miles away is a hard sell, which is why they have tried their damnedest to make the process of getting there as painless as it can be. If you fancy yourself a future Martian, you have three main options to pick from.

The cheapest and most prevalent is to board an Aldrin cycler. These sleeping giants sail on an orbit that brings them past Earth and Mars once a year; to the red planet one year, the blue the next. Twelve clusters of them spin around the sun, so you shouldn’t have to wait any longer than two months or thereabouts.

To get on, first you’ll head to your closest spaceport. That’ll be Cape Canaveral if you’re in the U.S., Trivandrum if you’re in India, and Kilimnaangaro if you’re in Eastafrica.¹ You’ll be herded into a cramped capsule with a rollercoaster-style seat and blasted into space, where you’ll dock with one of the dozens of orbital ports scattered around the equator.

Now begins the wait. Don’t call it a quarantine — think of it as a place to breathe, relax, and take one last look at that lovely lush world you’re abandoning for a sterile quarry! For fourteen days, you’ll be given a place to sleep, exercise, and adjust to the low-gravity environment as best you can. (You’d better hope that’s “very well”, because you’ll be spending the rest of your life in it.)

After two weeks in space, you will, God willing, get a slip under your door from the doctors giving you the final all-clear. It’s time to board. You go through the same rigamarole with the capsules and the seats — though without aerodynamics to worry about, you’re not constantly bumping your head on the sloped sides — and might even catch a glimpse of the cycler’s lumbering wheels and spokes.

The Andromeda Pearl² is a great, hulking beast. It has to be: you and ten thousand other people will have nothing else for 145 days. There are no refills, no phone calls home six of seven days of the week, and noöne to bury you if you don’t make it all the way. Everything is provided for, just enough: luxurious, gourmet, twelve-hundred-calorie meals; pool tables with balls that almost float away; perfectly-fitting earbuds to block out your neighbours across the millimetre-thick wall; and films enough to watch for two years straight (on the flattest flat-screen TV aurei can buy).

Just you wait — in half a year’s time, when gourmet gives way to tinned to hydrated, and next door is too bored to have anything to argue about, and you’re on your sixth marathon of a seventy-year-old sitcom, you’ll walk onto the Martian surface, and into your brand new beautiful home.

That’s one way to do it, at least. Let’s say you’re impatient. Impulsive. You’ve made your mind up — you’re going to Mars, and you’re going now, and preferably without ten thousand churls who don’t even speak Kirundi. Might i suggest a charter flight?

Charter flights are rare and expensive, with only two companies willing to provide them, and for good reason: where the cyclers coast by on nothing but their own gravity, a charter scramjet needs fuel. Lots of it. Expensive, expensive fuel. And you’re paying for it. Expect prices from the high hundred thousands up to millions of dollars, and pray for a pilot with the patience of a saint. The trip can take anywhere from ninety days to over a year, depending on how the stars align when you set out — but you’ll be safe in the knowledge that it’s your trip, on your terms.

God — ninety days‽ What are you going to do for that long? It’d drive anyone mad! Imagine if you could just close your eyes in Earth orbit, and wake up on Mars, like nothing had happened at all… well, you’re in luck. If you’re willing to be a guinea pig (a very dextrous guinea pig who can sign a lot of waivers), you can try your hand at a sleeper ship.

Sleeper ships, usually found tailing behind in the shadow of an Aldrin cycler, do just what they say on the tin: place the passengers in an artificially induced coma for most of the trip. They advertise themselves with promises of “the future of transport” and sleek photoshoots of attendants in nineteen-sixties jumpsuits. What they don’t show is the passengers.

Being in a coma sucks. This is an immutable truth which even the most conniving ad man in the world cannot do anything about. Coma patients have tubes sticking out of them, and they shit themselves, and even under Earth’s suffocating gravitational hold their muscles will waste away and turn from tenderloin to jerky. It is much the same on board a sleeper ship, and that is why, if you look at the small print on the advert, you will find a tiny little asterisk next to the words “SLEEPER SHIP”. Here is what it says: “Although we do try very hard to keep your muscles in decent shape by electrically shocking them and hoping for the best, we will, once every month, wake you from your lovely comfy sleep and make you run on a treadmill with the wires still on like a monkey in a laboratory.”

Sleeper ship passengers often need intense physiotherapy upon arrival. Two per cent will die in transit. But ask the other ninety-eight, and they wouldn’t have come any other way.

1 If you’re European, the choice is yours: Guiana will give you less visa trouble, Zhaslyk will save you money in exchange for some bloody testy staff, and Timbuktu will be easier to get to.

2 Among the cycler fleet’s other ships: Ægis Nova, Phalanx, Lucy in the Sky, and, tempting fate, Messenger.
 
As much as you’re trying to make it sound unappealing, based on how COVID went for me I think I could manage the cylinder life, provided I had an OU course about let’s say number theory and a couple of decent board games.
 
My new year’s resolution was to get back into the swing of things and make a map every month, and i juuust about managed to slip under the deadline with…

1980 · LOOKING AT THE BIG SKY · 2338
Polities of Earth, 2338
A simplified locator map

2338locator-min.png

This was my first try at mapping using vector graphics¹ and GIS tools, so i deliberately kept it quite simple to better be able to learn the ropes — it’s less a “proper” standalone map and more something you might see crammed in the back of an encyclopædia. (My greatest regret here is not being properly able to indicate all the little intricacies of the Kurufaba, that big thing in West Africa, which is less a “country” and more a continuum of overlapping authorities that all happen to use the same currency.)

1 I did once try vector mapping a long, long time ago, but it was so frustrating that i swore it off after finishing. Thankfully, Inkscape seems to have revamped its UI sometime in between then and now…
 
What projection is this in?

My own, naturally. :devilish:

It’s the Sledgehammer projection, an equal-area compromise between Hammer and Peters i concocted because i liked the æsthetics of curving parallels but hated how distorted Winkel Tripel made things in size. (I did have to do some serious Javascript wrangling to get this to come out… turns out Qgis doesn’t like you rolling your own projection you made up five minutes ago!)
 
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