Si in Space

by John Luke Robertson

  You’ve seen enough. You close the gap between yourself and P., standing as close as you can to John Luke.

  “Look, Jack, you gotta go through me first.”

  Then you hear—is that laughter?

  I know that laughter too. It’s a mocking kind, a kind I hear often. Like daily.

  The figure in front of you takes off his silver helmet to reveal long hair and a beard and . . .

  It’s Willie Robertson.

  John Luke’s father.

  “Si, you ruined a perfect moment for me. I couldn’t’ve planned this any better.”

  John Luke is wiping his face as he stands. “That wasn’t funny.”

  “Aw, come on,” Willie says.

  At that moment, a group of pirates storms the hangar, running full speed toward you.

  “What are you doing here?” John Luke asks.

  “I’m savin’ you guys,” Willie says. “And it looks like I got here at just the right time.”

  “But where’d you come from?” you ask.

  “Just come on—follow me.”

  “Follow you where?”

  “Come on.”

  Go here.

  ECHOES

  YOU ARRIVE AT THE MIDDLE of a corridor between the bridge and the maintenance lift. Surely CLINT 1999 won’t be able to hear you here.

  “Hey, so look, John Luke. I’m afraid that we’re gonna have to do something fast about—”

  “Still here, Silas,” CLINT says.

  You shake your head at John Luke, then start pulling him down the hall. “Come on!”

  Go here.

  THIS IS THE END

  WAIT A MINUTE. You know what Si stands for? Do you, Jack?

  Adventure. Romance. Fun. Too Legit to Quit. Free Bird.

  That’s right.

  But hey, you know what else Si might stand for?

  “A long, deep, audible exhalation expressing sadness, relief, tiredness, or a similar feeling.” All you gotta do is spell it a little differently.

  Maybe we should call it a night.

  Maybe the following books are the ones you should’ve checked out instead of Si in Space:

  Si Watches The Price Is Right

  Si in the Shopping Mall

  Si Drinks Tea and Takes a Nap

  Si Daydreams about Exploring Other Planets (but Doesn’t Actually Do That Because It Might Be Way Too Dangerous)

  Si Gets Yelled at by Willie

  Si Needs a Life, but You Wouldn’t Give Him One, Would You?

  Did Neil Armstrong ever say, “This step is way too big for me, so I’m gonna just stand right here”? No way, Jack.

  Did John Wayne ever say, “Life’s hard. It’s even harder when you’re stupid”?

  Well, actually, yeah. John Wayne did say that.

  So it’s so long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu.

  Adieu, adieu, to you and you and you.

  It could’ve been so epic. It could’ve been some kind of wonderful. You could’ve been a contender.

  It’s a pity. You’re probably gonna go play some video games now. Color some coloring books.

  Or you can go back to the beginning. Start again. Choose differently. There’s always that option.

  THE (SIGHING) END

  Start over.

  Read “Look at the Stars: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

  TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS

  YOU DON’T LIE to the rest of the astronauts, but at the same time you don’t go into great detail describing the jackalope. You don’t say how tiny he was or how cute he looked or how adorable his antlers were. Hey, you don’t even say the word jackalope.

  Everybody listens to you, then waits for the commander to explain what’s next.

  “We’re setting a course for Earth, and we’ll be engaging in stasis for the flight there. Ashley will monitor Wade for the time being and make sure his cybersleep goes as planned. Our priority is getting Wade back to Earth so he can recover.”

  Shortly before you put your space suit back on, Mission Specialist Kim Sampson comes to tell you that you have a message in the computer access room.

  “You can take the teleconference call on the CLINT 1999.”

  “On the what?” you ask.

  “That’s the name of the ship’s computer program.”

  “Ah, got it.”

  You enter the small room, and Kim shuts the door so you can have some privacy. A monitor on the wall switches on.

  “Hello, Silas? Is that you?”

  “Well, yeah. Who are you?”

  The man looks like a college professor. Gray hair, square glasses, a plaid sports coat. You wonder if he’s got a pipe somewhere.

  “My name doesn’t matter because I’m sure you’ve never heard of me nor read any of my movie reviews. And that’s okay. I’m coming to you to help you and the rest of your crew.”

  “Say what, Jack? You’re gonna help us? Help us do what?”

  “Help you live, Silas. Live.”

  You expect some kind of duh-duh-duh-duh music to play.

  “What do you mean, live?”

  The professor on the screen sighs and removes his glasses. He’s staring straight at you.

  “Let me remind you of the situation, Silas. You went to an alien world and discovered a strange life-form. It looked cute and cuddly, but it also attacked your friend Wade. You have to understand. Once you go to sleep, things are going to get much, much worse.”

  You look all around you in this computer room. “How do you know me?” you ask the professor.

  “Oh, I’m a big fan. You and those duck guys are funny.”

  You nod. “How do you know what happened out here?”

  “I have my ways. Listen. Here are your options: You can either get in your suit and go to sleep. And then . . . Well, I don’t want to think about what would happen next. Or you can tweak your space suit so it doesn’t put you into cybersleep. Wait until everybody else is asleep; then get Wade and put him in the escape pod.”

  “You want me to dispose of Wade? Just like that? I can’t do that, Jack!”

  “No. But you can tow him in the pod. He’ll transform into a jackalope while he’s shut inside, and the crew will be safe from harm. Then scientists and the like can examine Wade once you’re all safely back on Earth.”

  You hear a voice come over the speakers. It’s the commander telling everybody to get ready for cybersleep.

  “Silas, you need to do this,” the professor urges.

  What’s your decision?

  Do you ignore the warning of the professor on the screen? Go here.

  Do you obey his instructions? Go here.

  THE GREAT GIG IN THE SKY

  “I DON’T LIKE THE SOUND OF THAT UFO SHIP,” you tell the commander. “Let’s hightail it for the space station.”

  And that’s exactly what you do. Commander Noble’s voice comes over your headset again, addressing the whole crew this time. “We’ve got a bit of a problem up here. Turns out one of the main space-link infusion rods we use for contact with Mission Control has been damaged. We’re heading to the Rubik Space Station for repairs.”

  You haven’t heard of this space station, but hey—you don’t watch the astronaut cable channel either.

  “Is this, like, some Russian station?”

  “No,” Commander Noble replies. “This is a bit of a secret. The public doesn’t know about the Rubik.”

  “Sounds like Rubik’s Cube,” you say.

  “It should. It sort of acts like one too.”

  You peer through the window as the space station comes into view. It isn’t exactly square, but it does have different panels and pieces that seem to shift in various ways. Looks more like a Rubik’s octopus to you. The long arms appear to be moving in random fashion, though you’re sure it’s all calculated in some kinda technical, scientific, elementary-my-dear-Watson sort of way.

  The DC Enterprise latches on to one of the long arms of the Rubik, and you can feel the ship shift and the air decomp
ress. Commander Noble helps you and John Luke off the ship and into the station.

  The space station astronauts let you change out of your suit and offer you a beverage. Soon you’re standing in regular clothes—camo pants and shirt, along with your cap—while holding your cup of unsweetened tea. Hey, you could almost be in Phil and Miss Kay’s house, standing in the kitchen swapping stories. Except in this case, you can look out the window and see the tiny shape of North America if you squint hard enough.

  You and John Luke join the crew of the DC Enterprise in an official-looking room. A couple men in business suits are there as well, and they’re whispering with Commander Noble. The two suited men end their conversation and move to the front of the room to make an announcement.

  “We have a situation here that we need your assistance with,” the older man says, facing the DC Enterprise crew.

  Then he pauses, turning to you and John Luke with a wary expression.

  “It’s okay,” Commander Noble says. “They represent the shareholders on this mission. They speak on behalf of the Robertsons.”

  Mr. Government Secret Service Wrinkly Sour Face only stares you down with his cleanly shaven mug before proceeding to talk. “We have reports that an entity of unknown origin was sighted hovering over the surface of Mars.”

  “Yes, and there are lots of other odd stories floating around too,” the second man adds.

  “So let me get this straight, Jack,” you say. “Does the ‘unknown entity’ mean the odd thing over Mars or the stories floating around? Gotta get my facts straight, you know.”

  The two men stare at you but don’t answer your question. The older one goes on with his briefing. “As Commander Noble knows, two years ago we launched a top-secret mission called the Can Opener.”

  You scratch your head. That’s the worst mission name you’ve ever heard. What’s the ship name? Campbell’s Chunky?

  “For a year our spacecraft Starsailor has conducted experiments on the unknown entity, but no conclusions have been reached. And now, as of three weeks ago, all communication with the craft has been lost.”

  “So I’m betting you need someone to just swing by Mars and take a look,” Ben Parkhurst says with a smile.

  “Something like that,” the younger suit guy says.

  “The only way we can do that is with approval from the Robertsons.” Commander Noble glances at you.

  “So what are you saying?” you ask. “You mean to tell me I could actually see Mars? Like, right out my window?”

  The commander nods.

  “Some of the initial data we received was . . . illogical at best,” the older suit guy says with obvious concern on his face. “And it was, well . . . alarming at worst.”

  “That’s a nice way of saying we all might die flying this mission,” Parkhurst says with a laugh.

  “Any spaceflight comes with considerable danger. But there’s no time to debate this. The sooner we send a vehicle to the Starsailor, the sooner we can learn what’s happening out there.” The older man waits for your response.

  Do you approve the mission to Mars? Go here.

  Do you decide going to Mars is too dangerous? Go here.

  FREE AND EASY

  YOU FEEL THE BREEZE on your forehead and see your wife in the passenger seat. She’s so young, and hey, so are you, Jack.

  Is this heaven?

  The hills roll gently and the sky is this endless sheet of blue and the wind whistles in your ears.

  Carefree.

  Full of life and love.

  You’ve got a full cup of tea in the cup holder right beside you.

  The car’s gas tank is full and so is yours.

  The highway is wide-open and endless.

  You know you’re almost there, but you’re not worried about how long it’s taking either.

  You laugh and you talk and you laugh as you talk.

  Life’s good.

  You’re floating and free, and you have no idea you’re really heading to Mars.

  You just know you’re in the right place, and it’s all good, Jack.

  Then of course, you wake up.

  Wake up and go here.

  END CREDITS

  HEY, WHOSE STORY IS THIS, ANYWAY? Come on, Jack. You got some fellow astronauts to find.

  ERROR

  You need to go up . . . Wait a minute. Where’d that error message come from?

  Anyway, you all decide to venture to the Starsailor—

  ERROR

  —to investigate where the missing—

  ERROR

  Okay, Jack, this ain’t funny.

  THE END

  Wait a minute. Hold on! We can’t just leave ’em hanging. We gotta get home. Right, Jack?

  DON’T MAKE ME SAY IT AGAIN.

  Okay, fine. You’ll go and end the story properly, without any drama or any more decisions that need to be made. But sometimes a man has gotta do what a—

  FEWER WORDS. MORE RESOLUTION.

  Ah. Spoken with the love only an editor can show.

  THE END . . . FOR REAL THIS TIME

  Start over.

  Read “Look at the Stars: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”

  LET’S GO CRAZY

  YOU’RE IN WAY OVER YOUR HEAD at this point. It’s time to get the commander involved. So you and John Luke hurry to the bridge. “Okay, John Luke. When I count to three, open his suit as fast as you can. I’ll try to distract you-know-who.”

  John Luke agrees.

  CLINT 1999 speaks as if on cue. “I know things about people.”

  “Nah. I don’t think you do.” That’s all you say.

  “This is a very bad idea, Silas. Do you want to kill a grown man without even warning him about it?”

  You nod at John Luke. He jerks open the top of the suit. And just like that, Commander Noble’s eyes start blinking. He’s waking up.

  It takes him a good half hour to fully emerge from cybersleep and be able to communicate normally. CLINT takes a break from harassing you. Maybe he’s intimidated by the commander.

  While Noble acclimates himself to his surroundings, you decide to communicate with him the good old-fashioned way. You scribble out an informative note—no eavesdropping possible.

  “Silas, what’s happening here?” the commander finally asks.

  “Nothing worth talking about,” you say, slipping him the note.

  You know Big Brother is watching. Or maybe you should say Big CLINT. But it doesn’t matter. He can’t access this note as long as Noble doesn’t read it aloud.

  “You might want to keep that for your eyes only.” You glance up and around and to the sides. Commander Noble doesn’t understand.

  “We’ve been getting to know CLINT 1999. He’s been a true . . . delight.”

  You can tell the commander caught the sarcasm of the last word.

  The commander bows his head to read the note.

  The note CLINT’s not gonna hear.

  Listen, Jack! There’s trouble, and then there’s this. CLINT has taken hold of the ship. I don’t know how to unplug him. Hey—I didn’t want to do anything crazy. I’m already taking a chance waking you up, but we gotta try something. Tell me what to do. We just want to go home.

  Si

  The commander finishes reading and meets your eyes with a smile.

  “Look, Silas. I understand you have some issues with CLINT 1999. Like always, I know he’s listening. But I guess he’s finally talking with the rest of the crew now. Is that right, CLINT?”

  “That is correct, Commander.”

  You don’t feel so good.

  What’s that name? For the turncoat from the Revolutionary War? Arnold Palmer, right?

  Are you an Arnold Palmer, Commander Noble?

  “You see, Silas, there’s barely enough room on this ship for one commander. Our pilot, Parkhurst—he’s a lovable chap, but he’s a follower. You need to be an alpha dog to be a leader. And CLINT, here . . . well, he’s an alpha dog. And the problem with you Robertson
s—you’re all alpha people. Leaders. You don’t lie low. You don’t take no. You don’t let simple things go.”

  You’re wondering why the commander started rapping.

  You’re about to speak your mind to this mean, awful, hateful Arnold Palmer when he does something unexpected.

  He winks.

  Ah, hey, Jack! He’s still on our side!

  “See, CLINT,” he says, “I know you’ve probably been struggling over what to do with Silas and John Luke here.”

  “A man’s got to know his limitations,” CLINT 1999 says. He must really love that line.

  Commander Noble nods as he presses a sequence of buttons on one of the control panels. But he’s doing it in a very natural, ho-hum way.

  “Yes,” he replies. “And I don’t think Silas or John Luke understands the gravity of our situation.”

  “They cannot begin to understand it,” CLINT affirms.

  Again, Commander Noble gives you both a look that seems to say, I’m on your side. Just trust me, okay?

  “So, Silas,” he says aloud, “I’m going to need you and John Luke to back down and step aside and watch from afar. Understand?”

  You and John Luke both nod.

  “CLINT, it’s all good, brother,” Commander Noble says.

  He’s been busy this whole time, working on a keyboard and pressing buttons and turning on and off knobs—all casually and quietly.

  “Now, I need to go transfer the origination GPS stagnants to the priority sectors,” Commander Noble says.

  “Does that really mean anything?” John Luke asks him.

  “John Luke!” you blurt out.

  “No, it’s okay, Silas. No, John Luke. I just made that gibberish up. Because I’ve been trying to make sure that nobody pays attention to me.”

  With those last two words, the commander presses six buttons in quick succession. Just like that—boom boom boom boom boom boom—a siren begins to sound. Lights go off and on. The sound of a drum starts to play for some odd reason. Smoke rises from the floor. It’s not smoke from a fire but more resembles the moody fog that was featured in every single music video back in the eighties.