by TM Toombs
“Thanks for all the help,” he said to her. She meowed in response.
“Are you going to meow at me every time I say something to you?”
She meowed so hard her little body rose up off the floor a little. Eshan nodded his head.
“Just what I need, a fur ball with an attitude.” The kitten looked at him for a second, then stood, stretched again and wandered off out of his immediate sight. He shrugged and stood up, placing the used paper towels in a waste chute he’d discovered while on his knees. It made a whooshing sound after he dropped his garbage through the opening.
“OK, that beats the hell outta having to take out the trash.” He caught himself talking out loud and silently wondered if he was going to go crazy all alone on this rock or if talking to himself was going to be his new normal.
Exploring the HAB, he located two separate sleeping quarters complete with their own bathrooms. Not that it mattered, he didn’t have anyone to share a bathroom with. That cut down on the arguments over who left the seat up to just him and the kitten. He pondered how to go about toilet training the kitten while he unpacked a sheet set and made his bed. Hanging up a set of towels in the bathroom, he turned on the hot water and peeled off the clothes he felt like he’d been wearing for an entire month. Kicking them into the corner, he stepped into the shower and closed his eyes as the water rained down on him. He found wall dispensers filled with body soap, shampoo and conditioner and quickly lathered up. As he was rinsing the shampoo from his hair, the water suddenly turned ice cold, causing him to yelp and leap out of the shower stall. Noticing shampoo on his chest and feeling remnants still in his hair, he cursed and stepped into the ice water to finish rinsing off. Shivering, he quickly shut off the water, hopped out of the shower and toweled off vigorously, hoping to warm himself up. He wrapped the damp towel around his waist and padded into his room, realizing he’d forgotten to find a new set of clothes before showering. Cussing under his breath, he stomped into the main living area and searched the boxes for clothes.
“Of course, it’s got to be in the very last box,” he grumbled as he snapped open the clasps and threw open the lid revealing a dozen black jumpsuits and gray underwear. “Well, at least it’s not prison orange.”
Eshan pulled out a set of both and began to dress. As he was zipping up his jumpsuit, he noticed a second, identical case to the one that held his new clothes. Opening it, he was pleased to find socks and several pairs of shoes. He grabbed a pair of both and closed the lid then sat on the box to put them on.
As he stood up, his eyes came to rest on a crate labeled “Pet Supplies.” Stepping over to it, he peeled off the tape and opened the flaps to find a self-cleaning litter box and a variety of kitten and cat food.
“Hey cat,” he called out. “How about we set up your litter box before you leave me little turd presents all over the HAB, huh?”
He decided that the spare sleeping quarters would make the perfect spot for her litter box. Once it was all set up, he searched for her, finally finding her napping on the chair tucked back under the desk in the Comm room. He picked her up, startling her, and carried her to her litter box and set her down in front of it.
“Poop here,” he pointed at the box. She looked at him, then at the box, turned and walked out of the room.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were pissed at me for some reason.”
A jaw-stretching yawn overtook him, his arms stretching wide in response. He couldn’t fight it any longer, he had to sleep. He left the spare room and made his way to his bedroom. Pulling back the sheets, he climbed into bed and reached toward the bedside light switch, hesitated. His eyes roamed the sterile, gray walls. The silence felt as deafening as the blaring alarm had been earlier. And sleep only promised to remind him of the dark misery of his loss.
He pulled his hand back, called out, "I'll leave the light on for you, cat. But just for tonight."
Chapter 5
The sudden shrill of the alarm indicating a breach in the outer perimeter jolted Eshan out of bed. With his heart pounding in his chest, he raced to the Comm room, hurdling like an amateur track star over a frightened kitten scrambling to get out of his way. The alarm flashed its angry red warning light above the monitor that showed a dozen spaceships headed for him. He slapped the disable alarm button, pulled out the chair, plunked himself in front of the monitor. Rubbing his face with the palms of his hands, he blinked at the fast-approaching images on the display. He touched the screen to activate the menu. Choosing the “Acquire Signal” function, he had the system disconnect from the radar array and reacquire the signal. When it refreshed, all the phantom ships had disappeared. The flashing alarms faded out and returned to their standby mode.
And that, my friends, is how you stop an alien invasion dead in their tracks, Eshan thought as he smiled to himself.
So it had gone, time and time again, over the last 24 hours. Once he'd had time to actually read that infuriatingly laborious manual he'd stumbled across the Disable Alarm button. Indexed under "Noise abatement." That had—almost—made reading the manual worth the effort. Sometimes the monitor only displayed a warning, like the first time. Other times it came alive with images, like a single speck or, once, hundreds of incoming blobs. Space debris? Loose wiring? Or was the system set to keep him on his toes with false alarms? At least he'd managed to learn how to stop it. Temporarily. He had yet to get anything near even two hours sleep without it going off.
Taking a deep breath, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. This is getting really old, really fast. He wasn’t going to have to worry about going crazy, the alarms were going to give him a heart attack long before that could happen. He sat up and looked at the display on the wall above the monitor station indicating the various times in major cities around his home planet. It was 4 am in Anchorage.
If he were still back in his old life before everything went topsy-turvy, he’d just be getting off work from his driving job at Carlisle Transportation. A little after 4:30 am, he’d be walking through the door, peeling off his jacket and work clothes and then quietly slipping into bed to cuddle with Anna until she had to get up at 6:30 am. The sudden pang of grief hit him hard, like an ax to the chest. He sucked in air, but he still felt like he was suffocating. From somewhere deep inside his soul, a scream began to form. Feeding off all his pent-up pain, it grew and grew until his body could no longer contain it. The guttural scream of rage and agony exploded from him as he melted out of the chair and landed in a heap on the floor. Bitter tears blinded him as he curled up into a ball and fought the waves of anguish that physically assaulted him like a merciless storm. He hugged himself tightly, crying out Anna’s name over and over again.
“Please, God, just bring her back! I don’t want to live in this nightmare anymore.”
Suddenly, the piercing alarm sounded. Eshan staggered to his feet, angrily wiping at his eyes. He stood and stared at the flashing screen through stinging eyes. The hopeless grief turned to rage as he yanked the chair up and held it over his head. Grinding his teeth, he slammed it down onto the console, smashing the display screen. He threw the chair to the side and smashed his fist into the alarm deactivation switch. Pain ran up his arm like electricity and blood began to flow from his sliced knuckles. The sensation dulled the throat closing anguish he felt. He smashed his fist into the console again, stronger pain ricocheted up his arm and made a nerve twitch in his neck. He hit it again with his other fist, repeatedly until both of his hands were covered in blood. He slumped to the floor, his back against the table leg, looking at the blood, angry tears cold against his hot cheeks. He sobbed until there were no more tears. His chest heaved and his head throbbed. “I miss you so much,” he whispered and slowly closed his eyes, too exhausted to move. Too exhausted to care.
Minutes or hours later, the feeling of warm, wet sandpaper being dragged across his cheek drew him out of his catatonic state. Opening his eyes, he stared into the face of
the orange stripped kitten and realized he was laying on the floor of the Comm room. She meowed at him and licked his nose then head-butted him and rubbed herself along the top of his head, softly purring. The sound reminded him of his grandfather’s 17-foot Boston Whaler that he’d loved as a kid. Stiffly, Eshan sat up and winced when he tried to flex his fingers. A jagged piece of blood-encrusted plastic or metal stuck out of the space between his knuckles on his right hand.
He looked at the kitten, “You don’t happen to know any first aid, do ya?” She meowed in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”
Bracing his elbow against the desk, he slowly gained his feet and stumbled through the living area into his sleeping quarters and then into his bathroom. With his less damaged left hand, he rummaged through the supply cabinet and found a small first aid kit. He carried it back out into the kitchen and took a seat at the table under the bright dining room lights. With pain pulsating through his fingers each time he moved them, he slowly managed to unlatch the case and pull out tweezers, alcohol swabs, and bandages. Hopping up on a chair next to him and then onto the tabletop, the kitten sat nearby, watching him and pawing at the roll of bandages until they rolled off the edge and disappeared under the table.
Eshan looked at her sideways, “Pick those up.” She just sat there, watching him and blinked her big, yellow eyes slowly. Shaking his head at her, he opened an alcohol swab and tenderly began to clean around the inch-long protruding sliver buried next to his middle knuckle. The alcohol burned and he inhaled sharply. After most of the blood was washed off, he plucked up the tweezers with stiff fingers and clenched his jaw. As swiftly as he could muster, he latched onto the chuck of plastic with the tweezers and yanked. The tweezers slipped off, and a jarring twinge of pain radiated through his right hand. He blinked away tears and tried again, finally pulling the fragment out of his hand. Blood oozed out of the wound while he searched under the table for the bandages. Snatching them up, he banged the back of his head on the edge of the table as he straightened up. After the ringing in his ears lessened, he opened the bandages and delicately wrapped up his hand. Looking over the cuts and scrapes on his left hand, he decided washing it with a little soap and water would do. He groaned as he rose to his feet and shuffled over to the kitchen sink.
He finished washing the blood off his hand, then gingerly patted it dry.
A mew caught his attention and he concluded it was time for a breakfast of MRE du jour for him and salmon flavored kibble for the four-legged fluff ball. She enjoyed her meal more than he did. As he stirred his teriyaki chicken, he starred at her, contemplating.
“I ‘spose I should probably give you a name.” He lifted his fork and took a bite as he pondered suitable cat names.
“Duchess? You kinda act like a little duchess. You’re all attitude.” No response.
“Sheba?” Nothing.
“Mutton chop?” She plopped down and began grooming her hind leg. “Don’t blame ya, that was lame.”
“Zena, Warrior Princess?” He snickered when she stopped grooming for a moment to look at him and then resumed her licking. “Nope? OK, how about Dog Chow? Not Dog Chow either? Man, you are one hard feline to please!”
Just as he was about to suggest another name, an unfamiliar buzzing sound came from the Comm room. Eshan rose to his feet and walked swiftly from the dining area into the Comm room. He was met by a screen opposite from the smashed one that had previously always been blank, but was now filled with the stoic face of General Koonis. Eshan slowly pulled out the second chair in front of the newly functioning terminal and quietly sat down. He quickly looked over his shoulder to make certain that the damaged monitor was out of view. He turned back around, hesitated before thumbing the button that activated the transmission from his end.
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Wallace. Good to see you alive and well.” The general plastered a fake smile on his arrogant face.
“Good to see you, too, General.” Eshan discreetly moved his freshly bandaged hand out of view.
“I wanted to check in with you. Have there been any incidents?” Eshan sensed Koonis was only being cordial because he wanted information and could care less if Eshan was doing well or not.
“The alarm keeps going off, but there aren’t any radar hits and I haven’t seen any evidence of visitors on my patrols,” Eshan stated, hoping Koonis wouldn’t see through his lie about conducting the required rover patrols.
“What do you mean the alarms have been going off? Protocol dictates you notify command immediately of any contact!”
“They weren’t true contact. For no rhyme or reason, the outer perimeter alarm keeps going off. I ran the protocol as it says in the manual and it doesn’t seem to fix the problem.”
“Curious. I’ll have one of our techs contact you and see if they can trouble shoot it. Anything else to report?”
“Nope, that’s pretty much it.”
“Very well. You were supposed to check in after the transport ship left. We decided to give you 24 hours to settle in. Next time, make your report at the scheduled dates and times or I’ll have your special assignment revoked. Understood?” Eshan nodded. Koonis was a real prick underneath all that polish and protocol.
“Good. You’ll be giving your reports to Captain Jarvis from here on out. Command out.” The screen was instantly filled with a blue field background and the Space Command emblem in the center. Eshan switched it off and swiveled around in the chair, checking out the damage he’d caused. Then he noticed the partially exposed spine of a white three-ring binder peeking out from under the third console in the room. Curiosity propelled him out of his chair. He retrieved the hefty tome and turned it over to read the cover.
HAB SYSTEMS: GUIDES, INSTRUCTIONS, AND MANUALS.
“Better late than never,” Eshan muttered to himself and he slowly walked back into the kitchen area. He dropped the binder on the table with a loud thud, startling the kitten who was napping on a nearby chair.
“So, Princess,” Eshan toed the leg of the chair she was lounging on and considered her upturned face. “How about that name?”
Before he could suggest another name, she stood up, stretched and nonchalantly left.
“We weren’t finished with our discussion,” he hollered after her.
He looked down at the hefty binder and flipped open the cover. The first page detailed a suggested cleaning and maintenance schedule for the HAB.
Oh boy, he thought as he dropped into one of the kitchen chairs.
After he became bleary-eyed reading the dry manual, he determined it was time to check out the hydroponics compartment it had explained was located between the two bedroom units. He left the HAB manual on the table as he went to explore.
He discovered five large, round tanks noisily circulating water behind a heavy, sound proof door. That explains why I never heard all the pumps in the rest of the HAB. Peering down into the closest one, he spotted at least half a dozen small Tilapia swimming around. Floating on the surface of each tank were three seedling trays, each compartmentalized and flagged, most with snippets of green sprouts just emerging. Pulling a tray over, he checked the small, white tag sticking up next to a small plant. He made a disgusted face.
“Spinach?” He pushed the tray away and grabbed another one.
“Lettuce I can live with.” He walked around each tank, checking the water levels, pumps and other machinery as the manual had suggested. The mostly automated mechanism had apparently begun its grow system remotely, once the General had coerced a likely prisoner—him—for this outpost. When he was satisfied everything was working correctly, he headed back to the kitchen table to find the next chore to check off his list.
Standing over the table, skimming the manual, he found the process for re-filling the air tanks in his space suit. Figuring that might be important, he walked over to the pile he’d left at the front hatch, hoisted his suit over his shoulder and found the small recharging alcove located in his living room. The gauges crept towards
full at a snail’s pace. He turned around and contemplated the mess of boxes and crates strewn about his living quarters.
With a heavy sigh, he began the monotonous task of unpacking and putting everything away where it belonged. Or where he could only guess it belonged.
Two hours later, Eshan’s stomach growled. Back in the kitchen, he prepared a quick meal and sauntered to the table. As he set his bowl down, the floor beneath his feet began to shake violently, sending Princess scurrying off in a panic to find a hiding place while he grabbed the back of the chair to steady himself.
Holy hell! An earthquake?! Growing up in Alaska, he was used to the occasional tremors, but this one felt different. The shuddering stopped beneath his feet and didn’t jolt him like a true earthquake. It had felt like…an impact. He said a silent prayer that it wasn’t something serious, like a real alien invasion or an asteroid cracking his little moon into two or smacking it out of orbit.
“I guess this means I’ll have to take the rover out for a test drive,” he looked around for Princess. “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?”
He shrugged and walked over to the refill alcove where his suit's tanks had finished being refilled. I really need to hire a maid, he thought as he wormed his way around the endless pile of now empty boxes he hadn’t flattened to put away yet.
Once he was suited up, he made his way outside and over to the garage that he assumed housed the rover. He hadn't found a manual on that yet. He was thankful there was only an open and close panel next to the garage door instead of having to enter yet another code to open a damn hatch. Inside, he found the rover, crates of equipment, spare parts and assorted tools stacked against three of the four walls. The fourth wall was a giant garage door, that reminded him of a hangar door but heavier. He guessed it was specifically built for moon bases and not airplane hangars. He made a mental note to check out all the supplies in the garage when he got back. He briefly considered looking for a manual on the rover. Yeah, right. Like I need to waste time on another one of those. He'd hated instruction manuals back home; now he had reasons to hate them. Besides, how hard could it be to drive one of these things?