THERE'S nothing I can think of less appealing than a trip to Mars.
I feel ill on the 4A bus.
But imagine rattling through space and time and bumping into God. And God's a big, canny boy from Possil and he just goes, "Telt ye," with a wink.
I'd need that sort of incentive to encase myself in a space suit and be propelled beyond the night sky - guaranteed answers to the biggest questions, a wee chat with the creator, access to the starting point of the universe.
Others are incentivised by the sheer challenge of space travel alone. Some 100 explorers have been chosen to train as astronauts for an expedition that may or may not take off for Mars.
Mars One, a Dutch not-for-profit organisation, aims to send the first humans to Mars in 2024. The group is certain they can make it. What is also certain is those who go will not be coming back.
Imagine volunteering to be trapped on the red planet, to never again step outside and breathe air, or eat cake or swim in the ocean.
There were 200,000 applicants. How many of them truly believe the mission to Mars might succeed, it's impossible to say.
But that's 200,000 people enticed by the notion of no return. MIT, the private research university in Massachusetts, estimates that, at the end of the seven-month journey, those who arrive safely will survive just 68 days from landing.
My rule of thumb for intergalactic travel is that if a planet has no oxygen, it probably doesn't want me on it. Others have fewer qualms.
Difficult would be telling your friends and family that, actually, they're nice and all but not nice enough to keep you on the planet. "I'd rather not be on this earth," is a tough one to sell to your mum.
Putting shod feet on the Land of Arabia or gloved hand on the Amazonian Plain or casting a visored eye around Mariner Valley, these might all be majestic things.
Though what's the worth of exploration if you can't phone everyone to let them know about it? If you might be dead by the time they got the message and you would never know their response?
But then, what's the point of it all? The longer I live the plainer my own insignificance becomes. Maybe it doesn't matter if you die away from your loved ones because they'll die too and it will be for them as though the event never happened. Maybe these hopefuls on the Martian Mayflower are right to leave us all as petty specks on a vast and distant horizon.
One of the intrepid explorers says she hopes to become part of a self-sufficient community based permanently on Mars, another says she hopes to have a statue planted in red dust to honour her achievements, another will leave her children behind. All say they aim for the advancement of humankind.
Billions of dollars, this will take, and yet more billions. We should not limp at the pace of the slowest but we should lend a hand to help those at the back keep up: on this planet there are villages with no clean running water while in labs there are scientists seeking to extract water from the earth of another.
The volunteers, they also in common have a passion for innovation, exploration and improvement. Imagine all that talent and intent harnessed and used, not outwards, to the galaxy, but right here, on our own teeming, temperate soil.
They want, they say, to improve humanity, to make a new, more equitable society, leave our trials and foibles behind.
Mars, eh? It's a long way to travel to look back at yourself.
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