Salut mon cheri,
Ça va? We're all going a bit mad here. Yesterday was unusually warm and we were allowed up on the Surface with O2 tanks. To feel the sun again! Though we couldn't stay up too long without fully protective suits—the UV rays are a lot stronger here, as you know. To you it would have been chilly, but for us it's been a heat wave.
Now we're back down, running underneath the once marvelous red like moles, back to our O2, our limited heat, our fake luminescence. Cheri, you would hate it here. But I suppose that's why I'm here and you're there. I do enjoy it; life is never dull here, and there's always something new and exciting t do, but I do miss the glorious, embracing sea, the freedom to stand in the sun with out a mask and tank, the unmatchable pleasure of taking root in the soft soil, dirt in between your toes (that stuff on the surface isn't even dirt—Martian dust; not the most cheery and moist of things), and not a red rock in sight (oh it's beautiful in the pictures but after a few weeks, it doesn't steal the breath in a pleasant way; more in a "give me blue and green, skies and trees sort of way). The only green we have here is in the greenhouses to provide food and see if we can sustain life on the Surface.
They're talking about building a dome on top so we can live in natural light, but the ever-present threat of UVs deadens enthusiasm for it. I suppose if we could mimic our own atmosphere, but we'd need heat generators, and we can't very well take up all the space here. I wouldn't; some think we should—no life here, who would object? But it's Mars, not a colony to be settled, and we can do our work underground just fine. Although can you imagine if we did make colonies up here? It would have to be like Earth, and then it wouldn't be Mars, would it? An interesting idea, all the same, hey?
Still, without the sunlight, we've adjusted, but seeing it yesterday whet our senses and now we crave it, living in mild anguish, remembering what we're missing. You should see Francis' corner—he's got pictures of the sun tacked to every available centimetre of wall, and Mae's working on a post-it mosaic of that bright ball of light. We're all getting a bit restless, and some get irritated for no reason other than a longing for Earth. I know you don't take it for granted, but so many people do—we should be so much more thankful of the astoundingly blue, hospitable planet on which we live. It's the most beautiful thing out there, I think. So the atmosphere's a bit abrasive, but I think we'll pull through. As strong as we may act sometimes, I think that everyone of us would fall to the ground and try to absorb it if we visited home, and that casts a shadow of worry; the idea that we're part of something so totally revolutionary will only carry us so far. We may be more intelligent, but we're basically the same as plants—we've got these basic needs that we need to fulfill or else we'll whither.
As busy as I'm kept, as fascinating as simply living here is, cheri, at nights I miss you. I wish you were here, but I think you would wilt more easily than we would away from the sun, stars, clouds, and magnificently green plants. Maybe I'll be able to visit you, hitch a ride on the water ship when it returns. But then it would take forever to get back, and I'd have to go through the whole sterilisation process (do you know how tedious that is? And if you sneeze, you have to do it all over again!). Write soon, cheri. Bring me some Earth in your letters, be my lifeline.
-xoxo