Masa Harina Man
Masa Harina Man
John Albert Robinson
Masa Harina Man
Masa Harina Man
The gods reached down and lifted Miguel Angel Rodriguez from a happy obscurity.
The transformation was not without controversy.
Several months earlier, in the offices of Personnel and Recruitment, Western Hemisphere, Moon Colony Project:
"Why this guy? He's a nobody." The Co-auditor for Recruitment operations, or, as he put it, "The good-looking half of a two-headed monster" brushed non-existent lint off his expensively tailored suit.
The other Co-auditor offered a mild rebuke.
"That attitude would not seem to be consistent with this program."
He was dressed plainly in overalls and considered himself to be "The sympathetic and down-to-earth half of the two-headed monster".
Like Roman consuls, between the two of them they determined the destinies of anyone in the western hemisphere whose ambitions included working for the Moon Colony Project.
Theoretically, they each had veto power over the other but many years of fruitful collaboration had made such contretemps rare.
"Excuse me. I misspoke. What I meant was...." 'Good-looking' began.
"What you perhaps meant was that he doesn't have an advanced degree and did not come up through the usual channels. No?"
"More or less. But advanced degrees prove capacity and determination, qualities the Project certainly demands. As for the usual channels, ahem, they have served us well so far." He nodded in the direction of a wall map showing the rapidly developing colony of Tranquility City. As they watched, the map updated itself: another level in Habitat 4 was nearing completion.
"True," 'Down-to-Earth' continued, "but what is the essence? What are we really after? I would say, people who care deeply about something beyond the mere here and now. We are, after all, building for the future. We have used education and the ability to navigate our bureaucracy as evidence of this quality, but surely there are other...markers, if you will.”
"And you think you have found such ‘markers’ in this man?"
"I believe I have. He does have a degree, in fact, in agronomy. A Bachelor’s degree. That would seem to be relevant."
"Very. Yet why didn’t he go on to higher study?”
“He easily could have, according to my, um, spies. But he got distracted, it seems.”
“By what, exactly?”
"Masa Harina." 'Down-to-earth' pronounced it with careful precision, correctly obliterating the 'H'.
"Excuse me? Was that a sneeze or a hiccup?" 'Good-looking' gestured at the tissue-box.
"Neither. I repeat: Masa Harina. It is an ancient, and in many places, a very well-known substance. Simply put, it is corn flour."
"Then why don't you say 'corn flour'. It would save time."
"Time is not of the essence. Allow me to continue."
"You have the floor."
"Masa Harina is corn flour produced in a particular way. Tortillas are made out of it. Genuine, delicious, Mexican tortillas.'
"And tortillas are needed on the Moon?"
"Food is needed on the Moon and people who care about it. This man has spent a decade of his life tracking down countless ancient varieties of corn and the techniques for turning it into Masa Harina. He is really a species of self-made scholar. A modern Gregor Mendel of corn, if you will."
"Go on. There must be something else. I can feel it."
"You know me too well. If that was all, indeed, I might have put him down as a possible candidate for the future and moved on. But here is the thing: we surreptitiously tested him for emotional stability...."
"You authorized a field test? Rather free with the budget aren't you?"
"I had a hunch. Anyway, it came back that this guy has a natural ability or instinct or what have you for, well, for putting out fires, in a sense."
"What do you mean?"
"We sent in agents to stir up mild conflict among his neighbors. Nothing dangerous. Just the sort of petty infighting that can be the bane of any small community."
"Seems risky. What did you find?"
"We had the cooperation of the local authorities. Well, what we found was that this guy is a natural psychologist! He has a way of talking to this person and talking to that person until everyone involved has calmed down and laughed it off and, well, found their center again."
"Sounds a bit new-agey to me."
"I assure you it is good, pragmatic science. We had observers of the highest quality right there on the ground."
"Which gets us back to expensive. But, I admit, he sounds like a good prospect. So, when does he leave for the Moon?"
"He is already there."
"I thought time was not...."
"Well, sometimes it is. Lunch?”
____________________________________________________________
Miguel was disoriented.
Less than 24 hours earlier he had been happily ensconced in his home-made lab, doing the patient breeding and cross-breeding research that he loved, trying to retrace the steps that his ancient ancestors had taken in developing maize, not to mention the wonderful Masa Harina derived from it.
He had had no worries, and no dreams, beyond eventually reaching those early steps that set the ancients on their way to turning teosinte – tiny, hard, and virtually inedible in its rigid carapace – into the life-giving food that fueled a continent.
And then some charming and soft-spoken man in country-clothing had whispered a few things into his ear and Miguel Angel Rodriguez found himself signing his name to a six month Letter of Intent. Quickly he was issued a "Fastest Available Means" voucher and, 12 hours after lift-off, he was struggling to walk in one-sixth the proper gravity!
He followed the signs to the arrival gate, and was embarrassed to recall the vainglorious images the gently insistent stranger had planted in his mind. He recalled the words once more:
"Just imagine, Miguel - may I call you Miguel? - thousands of years of patient breeding by your ancestors. The pinnacle of Meso-American agricultural genius, taking root and bearing fruit on the same Moon your ancestors worshiped as a god! And you could be the vehicle for this."
Miguel blushed again when he thought of it. This is what I get for having an ego, he thought.
He glanced again at the Letter of Intent. "Revocable at any time by either party."
Well, he thought, this may be a short trip. Miguel sighed and shook his head as he passed through the gate.
A moment later he saw a man approaching him with an out-stretched hand.
“Mr. Rodriquez?”
Miguel thought the man’s smile looked forced.
“Yes, thank you for meeting me here.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I must tell you that we were shocked by your sudden appointment to our unit. We can’t really use you, to be honest. I hope you won’t feel you have made this trip in vain.”
Miguel noticed that the forced smile had disappeared.
“And I have misgivings of my own.”
The man nodded his head. “Well, then...this way.”
The Moon! Miguel thought. What was I thinking?
_______________________________________________________________________
To be continued.