The Putting In Place Of Spaceman Sam

by C.L. Bunnell

and because he feared his God—he forced himself to think past the earthlings he had spent his life serving. He had to think of those who were waiting. Strange life on some strange, Godless planet. Heathens who needed no more than a little guidance, and who better to lead them to the path of righteousness? Who better to show them all they were doing wrong?

  Surely there was none better than a pure-blooded-American-white-man! A higher, more intelligent species—that’s what they’re waiting for—and he shuddered at the thought of them waiting in vain.

  He looked at the wall where a picture of Spaceman Dan was hanging. “God bless you, Spaceman Dan,” he whispered.

  He noticed the man sitting next to him was watching him. A Senator, who went by the name: Alfred Wolman. And he couldn’t remember if the Senator was a Democrat or a Republican…? Was he a friend or enemy? If he was a Democrat—that meant he was a baby-killer! And if he was he a Republican—that meant he wanted to stop killing the babies, while at the same time stop the welfare that fed them!

  The General’s face turned red, but only for a moment, then he calmed down … It didn’t matter—not on this—all were on the same side on this. And the General could see the Senator’s lips were tight, and he was slowly nodding his head in agreement.

  For a moment, they did something not often done, and it wasn’t one making a move over the other. There were no power plays—it just happened—and it was beautiful ….

  They held hands under the table.

  Just then—the door opened that led to this secret room, and this room was located on the thirteenth floor of a plush hotel, and they say there are no thirteenth floors in hotels. But that’s only because there aren’t as far as the public’s concerned. So this floor was Government owned, and the peasants who slept in regular rooms walked with Kings, leaders, legends, even some thought dead …. And those who were peasants hadn’t a clue what, or who was around them—and none was given.

  So in this secret room on the thirteenth floor, an ugly man walked in and wasted no time closing the door behind him. He went to the front of the long narrow table where he cleared his throat. “Gentlemen,” he said then went quiet. He motioned for the lights to be dimmed, he turned on a computer and went straight to power point. Now, there was white, square light that showed on the white screen behind him. But no one was looking at the screen, they were all focused on the ugly man, and they wondered why he was in the room. And why he was running the meeting.

  They took note of his suit, which didn’t fit. Perhaps this suit was purchased for a much larger man. Or this man had lost a lot of weight. If that was the case, all around wanted to know his secret.

  His hair was thin, balding on top and there were random strands that were greased down that flowed over his crown, and he did have a crown. A dome, almost cone-shaped that made keeping a straight face difficult. Those snickering weren’t helping matters.

  He wore glasses with thick, black, plastic frames. And the lenses were smudged, but not so much his eyes couldn’t be seen. And those eyes were huge and magnified. The man couldn’t see, and that probably explained the way he looked. One could only imagine what those eyes picked up when they saw a mirror.

  But this man was there, which meant he was someone, or he knew someone. Either case, he would be heard so they listened. And he pushed a button on a battery operated remote control device that rested in his hand, and the white screen flipped and now showed a sky. A night sky with stars and the moon.

  The speaker—this man with the face of a rat—looked at the screen. With his back to the crowd, he stared and then adjusted his glasses. He turned and with his free hand, he picked up a pointer and then, and only when he was certain, he tapped the vinyl screen three times. His reference was nothing more than a white dot or star.

  “This,” he said with a nozzle voice, “this planet is comparable to ours!”

  “How can you be sure?” Someone asked, and it was a good question because the sky was lit up with stars.

  The rat-faced-man clicked to the next picture, “this photo is magnified,” he said, and once again and taking his time, he searched until he found what was still nothing more than a little bigger white dot. “There it is,” he said and tapped on the screen three times. “Do you see now?”

  “See what?” the General asked.

  The rat-faced-man didn’t look at the crowd, only his back was seen. Once again, he tapped the screen and said: “Through the eyes of the sinner, God can’t be seen!”

  “He has a point,” someone said, and the General could feel the blood run to his cheeks. He turned to the Senator.

  “Did you see anything?” He asked. The Senator said nothing Didn’t even look at the General—but under the table … he released the Military man’s hand.

  The rat-faced-man, went to the next slide: “Do any of you know what this is?”

  The General raised his hand in hopes of some redemption, but the rat-man couldn’t see out the back of his head, so the General took a chance and answered the question. “It looks like an astronaut who put his helmet on backward.” The room erupted in talk, most agreeing.

  The slide showed a white helmet. The front had a clear shield but showed no face, only hair.

  “This,” the rat man said, “is Spacemen Dan—and was taken during his last trip to Mars….

  As you can see, the helmet doesn’t fit tightly on the head. As a matter-of-fact, it supposes to be rather loose so air can circulate …. This is the way it’s designed, and usually, there’s no problem.

  “But—and it should be mentioned—this only applies to Spaceman Dan who has long hair. In zero gravity, his hair is allowed to do as it pleases.” He paused, “Gentlemen—there’s a face in there!”

  Instantly—there was an energy that fanned out over the room. Like a wave of desperation and it didn’t take much to invite panic as this mission couldn’t fail …. It couldn’t!

  There was mumbling among the masses as everyone spoke amongst themselves. The President, who couldn’t see through the phone, participated for no other reason than fear.

  “What can we do…?” He shouted—but the dramatic effect was diluted down as the speakers in this phone had been wet at some time. Maybe multiple times and they no longer carried sound very well. And the phone should have been replaced and could have been for $46.95, but due to budget cuts, the president had to make a decision. So instead of buying a new phone, he took a vacation down to Richmond Virginia to see a Civil War reenactment. And who wouldn’t? But this road trip would cost $6,982,051.00, and there was only $6,982,000.00, left in the Social-Security-fund.

  So the Phone was put on hold, while the South was once again put in their place!

  “We have men working on it,” shouted the rat-faced-man. “We’re aware of Spaceman Dan’s thoughts on hair restraining. So with that in mind, our best men have come up with a gel that will last throughout the entire mission.”

  Finally … breaths were taken, and the room went silent.

  “Will he allow it?” The President asked.

  “We believe he will.”

  “I want Asian women used for testing the gel,” the President said. “They have beautiful hair. I don’t care how many it takes…!”

  “Spaceman has asked we test on sheep—sir. He said their hair is close to his own. Besides, now we have a bunch left over.”

  “Sheep…? Left over from what?”

  “From the scientist who made the gel—sir.”

  “I’ve heard they make good condoms,” the President said. Everyone in the room agreed. But only that they heard the same rumor, they didn’t know for sure.

  “Sounds sick,” someone said, and all agreed.

  Once they all calmed, the President went on: “Well…” he said, “test on a couple Asian’s anyway. We have to be sure on this! If Spaceman Dan doesn’t return as he left, the nation will turn to chaos, especially the Canadians …. For some reason, they really love him.”
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  “Yes, sir!”

  The General looked as Senator Wolman. “Does the President still think Canada’s a state?”

  “I believe he does,” replied Wolman.

  “It isn’t … right?”

  “Not that I'm aware of, but most times I'm not there when the voting’s done. So who the hell knows?”

  “You want to hold hands a little longer?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

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  Across the street, in that massive hanger that housed the rocket, or spaceship that would take Spaceman to our new planet, there was scaffolding set up. And this scaffold led from the floor of this hanger all the way up to the tip of the rocket where the pilot would sit …. Where Spaceman Dan sat.

  Now this tip was in the shape of a bullet, and by most rocket-capsule-standards—it wasn’t that much bigger. Meaning it was built for Spaceman Dan, and it fit around his body like the black, leather pants, Elvis wore in his comeback special which was aired in the great year of nineteen-sixty-nine.

  Spaceman walked up the scaffold and to this capsule, and as expected—Stacy followed close behind, and his hair was in her hands. Delicately cradled and she could smell the Prell shampoo, and it was soft to the touch and tickled the palms of her hands. She giggled on occasions, but Spaceman said nothing.

  There was a hatch held on by rusted hinges and this hatch allowed access to the interior