Pluto's Ghost- Encounter Edition

by B. C. CHASE

The SPHERES follows him out.

  Minutes after Commander Tomlinson leaves, I hear someone trying to open my hatch. “Jimmy?” Katia calls. Her voice is faint through the metal.

  “I’m here.”

  “I’m not going to let him trap you in here.”

  “It’s okay, Katia. It won’t be for very long.”

  “You were right to say what you did.”

  “I wasn’t respectful.”

  “Neither was he! I won’t stand for it.”

  “Don’t get yourself in trouble on my account.”

  “Can you open it from inside? I can’t from out here.”

  “No. He locked it somehow.”

  “Let me see if Commander Sykes knows how to open it.”

  “Katia, wait!” I say. I don’t trust Commander Tomlinson a lick, and I don’t want her to escalate this or get my crewmates involved unnecessarily. I would rather pay my time like a proper martyr than start an outright insurrection. And the last thing I want is for Katia to get into trouble because I mouthed off to my commanding officer, no matter how much he deserved it.

  But she doesn’t respond. She’s gone already.

  I’m having a jolly good time reading a Zane Grey western when I hear some noise coming from the hatch. Then there is a bang and Commander Sykes says, “Jim?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I can’t open the hatch from here. Not sure what Commander Tomlinson has done to it. But I’ll talk with him about letting you out.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t need to be out. I’m just fine in here.”

  “Don’t have a pity party. We’ll get you out in a bit. But, Jim, he is your commanding officer. Next time, don’t say anything you shouldn’t. Disrespect won’t help our cause.”

  “No problem, there. Already decided next time I’ll just sucker punch him.”

  He chuckles, “Ultimately, if we want to do anything to disrupt his game, we need to keep ours squeaky clean, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yep, I understand.”

  I find myself distracted from my reading by the view out the window. Never was much of a stargazer, but I do recognize the Hunter constellation. The little stars under his “belt” that mark the location of the Orion nebula are distinctly blue and crystalline. Until Katia told me the other day, I had no idea that you could see nebulas through a home telescope. I always thought those images from NASA were super exaggerated and kind of made up, but apparently the beauty of the universe can be gawked at by anyone from the comfort of his own backyard. She also told me that Betelgeuse, the bright orange star at the tip of the constellation, is so big that if it replaced our sun it would extend all the way to Jupiter’s orbit. If I ever get back to Earth, I’ll—

  Commander Sykes’ voice suddenly sounds from outside my hatch. “Jim?”

  “Still here.”

  “Josh is being a pain in the ass about this. He’s not letting you out just yet.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m happy as a lark in here. It’s just…is there some way I can get to the bathroom?”

  “I asked him about that.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He wants you to use a diaper from your locker.” There is a pause, then Commander Sykes says, “I’m sorry, Jim. We’ll get these politics sorted out soon. Josh is learning a lesson about command. He just hasn’t learned it yet.”

  I wake up the next morning to bangs on my hatch and Mozart beating on my ears. “Jimmy?” Katia’s sweet voice says.

  I unzip my sleeping bag and drift over to the door, “Good mornin’, sunshine!” I cheerfully chirp. It feels like morning, but I don’t know what time it is.

  “Jimmy,” she says. “He won’t let you out yet.” She sounds annoyed.

  I’m a little surprised when my heart sinks. I hadn’t realized how much stock I was placing in the notion that I would be released in the morning. “Well,” I utter, my voice sounding more despairing than I want it to, “when does he say I can go?”

  “He says soon.”

  “Okay. That’s good, ‘cause I’m get’n hungry.”

  “Sit tight,” she says. “You’ll be out in no time. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “You relax, sweetheart. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy in here. I have an e-reader full of cowboy books. I’ve got more movies and tv shows than I could possibly watch. I’ve got my guitar. And I’ve got enough diapers to last a week. I’m just fine.”

  “But it isn’t fair. He can’t keep you in here like an animal.”

  “Life isn’t fair, darlin’.” I have a moment of déjà vu, and for all the world I feel as if it’s my little girl, Betsy, on the other side of the hatch. She doesn’t understand why life isn’t fair. She doesn’t understand why some people are given a lot and others are given less or why some people are made differently. I say, “If you live your life expecting fairness, all you’ll get is disappointment.” There’s a frog in my throat, but I swallow it before it ribbits.

  It’s now near lunchtime, and my stomach is telling me if I don’t get something to eat soon it’s going to go on strike. My CQ has a savage odor. Being as hungry as I am, concentrating on the western I’m reading is becoming difficult. Katia comes to visit me, and I ask her if Commander Tomlinson asked Shiro about Con Slobodchikoff. She says that he did. “Why did you tell him to ask Shiro about the man who discovered prairie dog communication?”

  “Because Commander Tomlinson underestimates the prairie dog. He assumes they are just dumb animals at the lowest part of the food chain.”

  She says, “Shiro said they have a vocabulary. They can tell the other prairie dogs what predator is coming, how fast it’s approaching, how big it is, and what color it is.”

  “Yep,” I confirm. “The prairie dog is not nearly as dumb as it appears. I’ve also heard they’re socially sophisticated.”

  “Yes, Shiro told us. He said that if they have relatives nearby, they’re more likely to sound the alarm. They’ll allow non-relatives to die to increase their own clan’s power.”

  “Those prairie dogs, as dumb as they look, are actually wily little creatures. Commander Tomlinson needs to be careful when he assumes anybody is dumb. Even the stupidest idiot in the world can have the wisdom of Solomon.”

  As dinner time comes and goes, I get the sickening feeling that I’ll be stuck here for a second night. Sickening feelings are easy with the stench of my feces drifting from my used diapers. Despite double and triple bagging them, I can’t seem to contain the odor.

  At 2:13 a.m., a soft knock awakens me. Katia faintly says, “Jimmy?”

  I float over to the hatch, “Good morning! Aren’t you up a little early?”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Just fine and dandy,” I lie in a rasp. “My mouth is dry as dirt. And I’m a little hungry.” My mouth is so dry, in fact, that my tongue sticks to it.

  “I’m going to free you.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to talk with Commander Sykes about getting rid of you-know-who. He should be in charge, anyway.”

  Alarmed, I say, “You’re talking about mutiny?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mutiny in space? That must be a first.”

  “Nope. It’s happened twice before. Bad leaders are everywhere, even in outer space.”

  “Do you think you have enough support?”

  “Nari will be a problem. She adores Josh.”

  “Nari adores Josh? How do you know that?”

  “I’m a woman. I can see these things.”

  “You know, he will let me out soon. He can’t leave me in here to starve. You don’t have to do anything rash.”

  “He’s left you too long already. It’s inhumane.”

  “Inhumane? In my experience, humans can be the least humane creatures on Earth.” As much as I believe that Commander Tomlinson should be dealt with, and aggressively, I don’t want Katia in any danger. I say, “The time will come, Katia. We should wait for the right moment. I’m sure he’ll let me ou
t today, and then we can work something out.”

  I was wrong. The entire night and day has passed, and I’m still in here. Not only has Commander Tomlinson left me in this tiny room, but he tortured me with more classical music this morning like he has almost every morning. I have a splitting headache and my eyes are starting to get irritated.

  Night and day are, outside the window, one and the same. The stars burn freely in the wide-open yonder without any concern for my confinement. I have felt pretty small and insignificant on planet Earth before, but now it is apparent just how unimportant a collection of oxygen and carbon molecules can be. The universe doesn’t care about me or the fact that I am being imprisoned without food or water. The universe doesn’t care about justice or mercy or what is right or what is wrong. But I do, and so do a lot of other people on this spaceship. Heck, I think even Commander Tomlinson does, even if he only cares about it when he’s the one facing injustice. The fact that our universe is governed by an order and laws that we cannot even see makes me believe that justice will ultimately be served. The thing that causes people to be so uptight is that they want it now and they want it on their terms. But if you have the patience to wait for it, justice has a way of showing up when you least expect it. So I’m not too worried. Not yet.

  Twenty-seven

  There is a timid knock on my hatch. The time is 3:03 a.m. Shelby’s voice on the other side quietly says, “Jim?”

  “Shelby?” I strain to say. I’m surprised by how scratchy and weak my voice sounds. I feel exhausted, like I have been running a marathon for days. My lips are severely chapped, my tongue is cracked and sore, and I’m dizzy. I feel vaguely conscious, as if I am distant from my surroundings or as if I might drift into a coma at any moment. I can count my blessings, though. I haven’t produced anything for my diaper since a day ago, which, given how odiferous it already is in here, is a good thing. They say a man can’t smell his own stink. That’s a lie from hell.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m all right. Could really use an ice-cold Coke.”

  “You’ll be out soon, and you’ll have water and juice.”

  “When is he letting me out?”

  “He says tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m really hurtin’ in here. Any chance it could be sooner?”

  “I’m not saying you deserve what he’s doing to you. But he is the Commander and he has to maintain order. But, I mean, I told him he needs to let you out right away.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I really shouldn’t talk about it. If he knew I was telling you this, he’d be upset.”

  “You don’t want to upset him? You tell Commander Tomlinson that you’ll talk to whomever, about whatever, and whenever you want to. He’s not the thought police. Shelby, he doesn’t want you to talk because he knows what he is doing is wrong!”

  “He’s following procedure.”

  I cannot believe what I am hearing from Shelby. Where is this coming from? It doesn’t seem like the Shelby I know. It’s as if she’s wearing a mind-control device. “Following procedure? Confining a man without food or water on the space station is procedure?”

  “Yes, he showed us in the manual.”

  “We wouldn’t even do that in Guantanamo Bay!”

  “It’s right there. For a gross insubordination, confinement for six days. These were the new rules formulated for this mission.”

  “It says without food and water?”

  “It says confined to CQ. It doesn’t say anything about food and water.”

  “So, he needs to feed me.”

  “I agree, and I told him that. But he thinks that since it doesn’t say anything about food it means no food. He’s definitely wrong, but that’s what he thinks, and he’s the Commander.”

  “What does Commander Sykes say?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you, because you have enough to worry about.”

  “Tell me what?” I ask, a sense of dread coming over me. Commander Sykes is dead, I think. The only person with the ability to replace Commander Tomlinson is, of course, dead.

  “Commander Sykes is very sick. It started the day after you were confined. Now it’s so bad, he can’t leave his sleeping bag. His eyes are red, he wheezes and coughs almost nonstop, he can’t keep meals down, and he is in excruciating pain. I can’t figure out for the life of me what’s wrong. It is certainly isn’t bacterial or viral.”

  I feel frustrated at Shelby’s apparent naïvité and indifference. Can’t she understand that Commander Tomlinson is getting rid of everyone who stands in his way? One by one, the people who Commander Tomlinson saw as an obstacle to the mission have been removed. While I wasn’t sure before, it is now painfully obvious that Commander Tomlinson is a callous murderer with no concern for human life. Not only that, but he’s abusing the remaining crew into submission. I ask, “What does Shiro say?”

  “Shiro is waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “Waiting to see what happens, I guess. He disagrees with Commander Tomlinson.”

  “What about Tim?”

  “Tim is distracted.”

  “Distracted with what?”

  “He and Nari are having some issue. He won’t tell me what’s going on.”

  I instinctively sense that my condition is growing urgent, and if I don’t get help soon, the end could be near. I want to communicate this fact to her, but delicately. “Shelby?” I say.

  “What?”

  “How long does it take a person to die from lack of water?”

  “Oh…don’t be dramatic. You’re not going to die.”

  “How long?”

  “In these conditions, it could be six days. Probably more.

  “This is day four, and I’m already feeling like I’m at the end of my rope.”

  There is silence. I think Shelby knows that I wouldn’t complain unless things were truly dire. She says, “I’m sorry, Jim. I’ve let this go on too long. I should have stood up to Commander Tomlinson on day one. I’ve never been good at standing up to bullies. I’m going to get you out.”

  “Thank you. Be careful.”

  There is no reply. I think she’s gone already.

  As I fall asleep, I see Shelby and Commander Tomlinson smiling at me with gaunt faces and large, dark eyes. A nightmare, I realize as I wake up with my heart pounding in my chest. I drift off again.

  When I awake to a noise at the hatch, it a mere forty minutes have passed. The hatch swings open. My vision is blurry and my eyes feel like hot coals, but I can make out Shelby pulling herself through the hatch, “Jim! You’re coming out! You’ll be okay.” She looks down over me, and my condition must be downright grisly, because she covers her mouth with her hand and her voice cracks with emotion as she says, “I’m so sorry, Jim.” She pushes me through the hatch into the living area where Katia and Tim receive me. Shiro is nearby, and Commander Tomlinson stares on with a look of death. I don’t see Nari. Katia takes one look at me and starts crying.

  “Let’s get him to the lab,” Shelby says. “I need to get some fluids in him.”

  When they maneuver me into the European Lab, I am surprised to see Commander Sykes already there. His eyes are closed and he is strapped horizontally to a wall. Shelby pulls a table down from the same wall, settles me onto it, and secures me with Velcro bands.

  Commander Sykes’ bald head is right near mine. “Sykes,” I rasp, reaching for him. I’m not really conscious of what I’m doing or why I am doing it, so clouded are my faculties.

  “He’ll be okay,” Shelby assures me. “Ammonia was back-flowing into his CQ. It was poisoning him while he slept. Tim fixed it.” I feel a sharp pain in my arm as she pricks me with a needle.

  “Confound it,” I hiss, “that hurts!”

  Shelby smiles. She knows I’ll be okay.

  Commander Tomlinson eases up to me, “I was going to leave you in there one more day, old timer. But my medical officer convinced me otherwise. Procedure calls for six day
s confinement. You got off easy. Do you think it was enough to learn your lesson?”

  Katia seethes, “Leave him alone! He could have died!”

  “He’s almost killed me with all that classical music,” I croak.

  “What classical music?” Commander Tomlinson says.

  “All the classical music you’ve been torturing us with every morning,” I say.

  Commander Tomlinson frowns, “I haven’t been playing the music.”

  “Then who has?” I demand.

  “I assumed it was a preset playlist that NASA sent us with. It plays automatically.”

  We’re on a mission as Earth’s galactic ambassadors and NASA sent us with the universe’s worst playlist. Figures. How are we going to show the aliens how to boogie if all we have is Beethoven and Brahms?

  ∆v∆v∆v∆v∆

  It has been seven days since I was freed. Commander Sykes and I have perked back up nicely thanks to Shelby’s attentive care. Commander Tomlinson has wasted no time in recommissioning me for duties. Right now I’m in the habitation module scrubbing the walls of the galley. Almost every time we open a packet of food, chop a tomato, or mix a beverage (and I don’t mean adult beverage—we don’t have those here), a little bit of something squirts out and lands somewhere like a micrometeorite, leaving a sticky pockmark. I am proud of the job I have done keeping the place clean, but it has required a lot of elbow grease. And scrubbing a surface in zero-g is no simple task because I have to secure my feet to something in order to get the leverage I need to combat the grime. Sometimes I feel a little like a monkey as I float from place to place in the station, wedging my feet under the handlebars with learned dexterity. Pity I don’t have a tail—especially since I still can’t use one of my arms.

  Commander Sykes drifts into the galley, followed by a SPHERES. He says, “Get ready for some headaches. One of the darned CDRAs is broken, again.”