by Logan Hunder
“I dunno. Who cares? They can orient themselves however they want. Maybe it’s Australian.”
“Haha! Oh, you jokester! But no, this is suspicious. I think that ship is in trouble.”
In trouble. The words rang through the ears of everyone in the spacefaring living room. Way back in the olden days, citizens couldn’t say the word bomb when they were on an airplane, no matter the context. Things as benign as words could be rendered taboo simply based on the implication of what could follow their utterance. However, the anathema surrounding the words “In trouble” was not universal to space travel. It was, rather, exclusive to the SS Jefferson. So exclusive that only from the mouth of Captain Tim Cox were they cause for alarm. Similar alarm could also be inspired by uses of words and phrases such as “Slight detour” or “It’ll be an adventure.”
“Oh, come on!!” Donald protested. “We’ve never made it back to the depot in time for an early-bird bonus. If we just stay on course, we could do it this time for once!”
“Look down there at that ship, Donny! They’re in distress, man! If we don’t go down and save them, then who will?”
He pressed his face up against the window like a kid at the zoo. A second later he pulled away because he was fogging the glass and couldn’t see.
“Oh really? You wanna ‘save’ them?!” The communications officer pressed, getting his money’s worth on that communications degree of suspect origin. “Kind of like that time you made us drive way off course to ‘save’ Earth from that asteroid that you were sure was gonna hit it?”
“And thanks to us it didn’t!”
“You dumped our cargo to knock it off its collision course that you said you ‘eyeballed!!’”
“You can’t always trust computers! Sometimes you gotta go with your gut. Now get to your station and check if they’re sending any distress signals.”
“They’re not.” Whisper cut in. The petite woman leaned over Donald’s sweat-stained bean bag and visibly winced as she put her hands on his greasy touch screen, clicking away with a frantic urgency. “I just checked this gross computer, and there’s nothing. At all. Not like I’m an expert or anything, but I’m pretty sure they want to be left alone.”
The captain raised his hands toward her as a silent plea. “Not you too! Why are you guys so opposed to a slight detour?!”
Donald and Whisper both winced.
“Uh . . .” The pilot mumbled. “Probably ’cause the last time we did a ‘detour’ was when you thought you discovered a new comet. We chased it it for freakin’ ever; even dumped our cargo so we could keep up. And when we finally caught it we found out it was just a big blob of jettisoned cruise-ship poo!”
“And the Better Business Bureau gave me a great finder’s fee for catching a ship illegally dumping space waste!”
“We spent it all on fuel costs!”
Besought on either side by forces both more combative and riled up than himself, Cox’s normally expressive hands started to lose their eloquence. As he backed back towards his chair they became little more than punctuation for the “er”s and “um”s he offered while trying to form a rebuttal.
“You guys are being crazy! That’s like two things. Everybody’s got some stuff that they’ve messed up before.”
“Dude, you’re famous!” Willy chimed in from the kitchen. He had abandoned trying to work the microwave and instead just stuck a fork in the now semi-frozen block of soup. “I remember seeing you on the news that time you dropped all your space rocks on a radio station because you thought you intercepted coded messages to Mars.”
Captain Cox pursed his lips as he ran a smooth, manicured hand through his hair. He wasn’t embarrassed by reminders of past blunders; he would still make them and others like them without a moment’s hesitation. He was the captain, after all. But while captaincy allowed him to execute such endeavors, it didn’t grant him the ability to make his crew appreciate or even understand the rationale behind them. Maybe he had to be an admiral for that. Or a lion tamer. People probably didn’t question their methods.
He folded his hands and straightened up. Blue eyes flashing, he smiled down at his worried crew with the same smile worn by a stepdad trying to endear himself to some kids that just aren’t having it and addressed them with a tone to match.
“Lemme just say, guys, I am really glad you’re comfortable enough to come to me with your concerns. Making sure that you all feel valued is one of the most important things to me; it’s really a cornerstone of any effective crew.”
“Does that mean you won’t make us go?” Whisper asked.
Cox squinted at her with his mouth hanging open slightly.
“Welllllllll, no.” He replied, trying to perk up the letdown with a finger gun gesture. “Don’t get me wrong, having a rapport with you guys is important to me, but so is maintaining my captainly authority by making you do stuff you don’t want to. So go draw straws for positions on the away team!”
Whinges and protestations fell upon deaf ears like the smoke alarm in a senior’s home. However, Whisper’s discontent soon gave way, and she begrudgingly set off to cut some straws.
Donald’s defiance wasn’t so easily trumped.
“Get Co-Captain Kim.” He snapped at Willy. “She’s the only one who can talk him outta this now.”
The bulbous bouncer nodded without objection and set off in the approximate direction of the first mate. He was fortunate that the ship’s layout was straightforward, as he was all too willing to charge blindly off in search of her before he’d even had a tour. Neither Cox nor Donald said anything as they watched him go. Maybe after he learned to properly use the microwave he would be able to move on to slightly harder technologies such as the comlink. Donald folded his arms, sank back into his seat, and returned to his game.
Since he was forced to wait for his mate anyway, Cox picked up his coffee cup and studied his disgruntled employee. He was certainly distinguished looking. His unkempt mop of dark hair sat upon his pasty head, making him look like a burnt Q-tip. It was hard to tell if his brow was in a constant state of furl due to his chronic case of the grouchies or if his face just looked like that. But either way, his eyes were undiscernable inky blobs ever cast under its shadow. Far more expressive were his lips— though they only knew the one where they would peel back and reveal a comically large set of teeth eerily reminiscent of those old wind up toys. Was it a grimace? A scowl? A spirited impression of a man riding a particularly fast roller coaster? Whatever way, he was just ambiguous-looking enough that it was unclear whether it would be racist to make fun of his appearance.
“Hey, Donny, are you Italian?” Cox asked.
“Yep.” He replied without looking up.
Wow, got it on the first try. That kind of torpedoed his plan to circle around the subject with small talk. Oh well; guess he’d just have to go for it.
“I don’t get you, buddy.” He shared the unsolicited thought as he took a knee next to him. “Is taking rocks from one place to another really what gets you out of your space bed in the morning?”
“Yes!” Donald exclaimed, hands gesturing erratically as if insulted to have even been asked.
“But don’t you ever want to do more? Don’t you have any dreams you yearn to fulfill? Go somewhere you’ve never been, maybe? Try something new? Maybe even a little dangerous?”
“Nope. That’s what the holodeck is for.”
“Well, what about when you’re at the end of your life and looking back? Are you gonna say, ‘Boy, I sure am glad I didn’t do anything out of my comfort zone that made any sort of impact on this universe besides making somebody else money!’”
Donald grunted and slapped the pause button on his touch screen. “No!” He barked again. He hauled himself upright and turned to face Cox so his words would carry as much weight as he did. “I’m going to say, ‘Boy, I sure am glad I made smart financial and lifestyle decisions that allowed me to live this long and comfortably without getting myself killed or making
anyone else want to kill me.’”
Cox grinned. Donald’s face fell, realizing he had taken the bait.
“Well what about those people down there on the ship, Donny? I bet some of them made all the right decisions in life. They all showed up for work and kissed all the right butts and didn’t stand in fire. But by no fault of their own they could still be in trouble right now. Nothing keeps you totally safe. To paraphrase the old philosopher, Withers: ‘It won’t be long/’til you’re gonna need/somebody to lean on.’”
“What?”
“Let them lean on you, Donny. Even if you don’t think it’s the fun thing to do, it’s the right thing to do.”
By the time he had finished his pep talk, his hand was firmly clamped onto Donald’s doughy deltoid and he was staring deep into his uncomfortable underling’s eyes. Cox probably thought this moment bore much more significance than it actually did.
“We don’t even know if they’re in trouble!”
“Open your eyes, Donny! Their ship isn’t oriented the same way our ship is! How much more proof do you need?!”
“Have you guys tried calling them?” Kim’s voice cut in. She stood over the two bickering manchildren and flashed a tightlipped smile.
“Missus Cox!” Donald exclaimed. “The more level-headed Cox.” He added to his captain. “Can you please tell him this is a stupid idea?”
She crossed her arms.
“I’ll take that as a no. Maybe give that a try before I rule on anything.”
Captain Cox gave a shrug of acquiescence and gestured for the communications officer to do some communicating. Donald tapped his fingers away at his screen and within a few moments Half-Life 3 was safely on mute and he could do his job. After that, he opened up the space phone app.
Ring.
“Do you even know what you’re going to say if anyone picks up?” Donald asked.
Ring.
Cox’s eyelids fluttered at the question.
“Me?! You’re the communications officer! Your job is more than pushing buttons.”
Ring.
“Yeah, but you’re the one who wants to bug them!”
Ring.
“And it’s your job to do it for me!”
Ring.
“I’m not saying anything until you show me that in the job description.”
Ring.
“Fine! Kim, honey, could you go get the employee handbook that I wrote?”
Click.
The viewing window on the bridge changed to a screen of static. Or so it seemed until they noticed the black figure taking up the center of the screen, barely perceptible amidst the buzzing patterns. All three crew members on the bridge stared into the humanoid abyss, every bit as frozen as the shadow gazing back upon them. The moment of silence it was on screen felt like an eternity; but before long it spoke.
“Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system. .”
“THE HMS MILK AND TWO SUGARS”
“ . . . is not available. At the tone, please record your message.”
“They really need to make those less creepy.” Kim observed.
“Are . . . are we leaving a message?” Donald asked.
“When you are finished recording, hang up, or press smiley-face emoji for more options.”
“Should we?” Cox asked. “I mean, then we’d have to set around and wait for them to—”
Beep.
“OH GOD IT’S RECORDING. HANG UP, HANG UP.”
Click.
They sat in silence, processing the preceding events. Kim unfolded her arms and replaced them on her hips while Captain Cox contemplated the moment with a thumb to his mouth. Eventually the calm consideration culminated with an exaggerated sigh.
“Well. That ship now has a recording of me screaming. I think we have to pay them a visit now.”
“This doesn’t prove anything! Tell him, Missus Cox!”
“I hate to break it to you, Donald, but I think there might actually be something wrong over there.”
The presence of now two authority figures looming over him caused the coms officer to sink into his chair. A low, drawn-out grumble emanated from within his dewlap.
“We could get a bonus, though!” He offered as a last-ditch effort. Cox answered it with a headlock-like hug from behind.
“No more excuses, mister! You agreed to listen to her because she’s level headed. So, go find Whisper and Willy and draw straws for—wait, where is Mister Padilla anyway?”
Kim waved the question off.
“Oh, he’ll be up in a minute. He’s just visiting the eye wash station real quick.”
Cox and Donald both cocked their heads at her.
“What? I may have been a bit jumpy when he came to find me and I may have emptied an entire can of pepper spray on him. He’ll be okay. This is what happens when you spring things on me!”
SILHOUETTED AGAINST THE MIGHTY visage of the nearby planet, the SS Jefferson crept closer to its intended boarding target. The HMS Milk and Two Sugars dwarfed the transport vessel in both size and number of flags jutting from its frigate-like frame. Several Saint George’s Crosses stuck out in many different directions, perhaps just in case the name wasn’t enough to convey the ship’s brazen Britishness.
They approached from the rear. Gargantuan stern rockets gaped at them, ready to burn them to a crisp with one flick of a switch. Yet there seemed to be no fear of such things occurring. In fact, as Whisper carefully piloted around the derelict ship, all the space-sea similes became much more apt. With a gentle drift they floated closer, like submarine skippers happening upon a ship previously thought to be forever lost to the deep. And like happening upon a ship lost to the deep, for all they knew, it could contain large tentacled creatures just dying to ruin their day.
“Take us down to the landing pad, Miss Wang.” Captain Cox ordered as he affixed his Glad Press n’ Seal Space Helmet™.
“Are you for real?” Whisper responded. “You need gravity to even have a ‘down;’ and it would be toward Mars right now.”
Her scowl deepened at her captain’s chuckling reponse.
“Look at this little Einstein over here! Alright, ya got me. Whatever direction the landing pad is in, then. Let’s go there!”
His attention turned to Kim when she tapped on the glass helmet. “Tim, Just be careful. You’re only going in to have a look, okay? You’re a brave man with an adventurous spirit, and I love you, but you’re useless in a fight and make terrible decisions under pressure.”
“I love you too, honey.” He replied with a smile. They blew a kiss to each other from the different sides of the faceguard. “I’ll see you after I’m done being a hero. Mister Padilla and Miss Wang, I’ll see ya outside!”
Kim couldn’t help but smile as she watched her husband proudly march to the airlock like a naïve soldier headed off to war. Whisper, however, was less enthused. With a squeaky grunt of disapproval, she press-n’-sealed her head into a terrarium of its own and got out of her seat to follow suit.
“Why are you even with him!?” She whined as she double checked all her seals. “He sucks. His jokes are dumb and he screws up everything.”
“Shut up, Whisper.” The first mate snapped back. “If you have to ask, then you wouldn’t understand anyway.”
Taken aback by the uncharacteristic aggression, Whisper looked at the first mate for a moment, then trotted away without another word. Willy must have been surprised as well; he stared at his superior long enough that she caught him in the act and raised an eyebrow.
“Nope.” He responded to the unasked question before popping the fishbowl on his head and taking off too.
With wildly varying enthusiasm, the three members of the away team departed the safety of their space home and took the first steps of their suicide mission investigative outing. The steps of this outing were, of course, figurative. Due to the weightlessness of space, it made more sense to travel using the much less strenuous method of floating. Cox found it
very relaxing to drift along, drinking in the sight of the monolithic marble that was Mars. Being out untethered and seeing it was somehow so different than looking through the viewport. Like a daring voyager staring into the eye of a legendary beast. A sobering reminder of where he sat on the scale of space.
“Never gets old, huh?” His voice crackled over their suit’s communicator.
“Nope.” Willy responded, drinking it in himself.
“It kinda makes you wanna—”
“I swear to god, if you start singing that ‘boom de yada’ song again . . .” Whisper groaned.
“Hey guys, did you feel that?” Kim’s voice interrupted into their ears.
“Yeah.” The captain whispered back in awe, still transfixed. “Wow . . . It’s so beautiful.”
“Tim, I love you, shut up. I meant I think we hit something. The ship was within thirty feet of the landing pad and the scanners weren’t picking up anything between us, but then the whole ship started shuddering.”
“Any damage?” Cox replied, briefly suspending his whimsy.
“I don’t think so. If we did hit something, it was much smaller than us so I think we pretty much pancaked it.”
“Well alright then! You heard the lady, guys. Let’s go have a look.”
Now with a purpose to drive them, they pulled their way along the length of their ship until they reached the junction. The magnetic connectors had firmly clamped the Jefferson onto the landing pad, much as the flattened mass of metal in between them tried to prevent it. Clinched together between the larger vessels, shrouded in a veil of suspended glass and debris, was a gnarled scrap heap that would need a good bit of TLC if it were to ever function again.
“Whoa.”
“Tim?” Kim’s voice spoke into his ear again. “You can’t just say ‘whoa’ and then not elaborate.”
“It’s hard to say exactly what I’m looking at here.” His voice buzzed back. “It’s . . . something! And, now I’m not an expert or anything, but I think whatever it was . . . it isn’t anymore.”
“Dude, it’s a ship!” Willy’s voice cut in. “We parked on top of it.”