Si in Space (2 page)

“MISSION CONTROL,
there’s some kind of strange disturbance in the force,” Commander Noble says.

The force? Is he talking about that kind of force? The
Force
?

“The force of the propulsion fusion blasters is decelerating. We’re somehow getting slower the farther out we go.”

You can feel what he’s talking about. The
DC Enterprise
does seem to be going slower now.

You authorized staying put and finding out who’s flying the other ship. But that’ll sure be a bad decision if you guys, like, explode. Or implode. Or side-splode.

“What’s happening up there?” you ask.

The commander and the pilot keep talking to Mission Control while the spaceship seems to move slower and slower.

“Mission Control, it appears that we’re not the only ones out here,” Commander Noble says.

John Luke looks at you through his space helmet.

Aliens?

“There appears to be a big craft that came out of nowhere, and it’s now starting to
 
—it’s the cause of our deceleration.”

“We’re not showing anything on our system,” Mission Control reports through your headset.

“It’s about the size of Pluto,” Noble says.

“The size of a planet?” you say.

“Pluto hasn’t been a planet for a couple years now, Uncle Si,” John Luke adds.

Noble continues as if he hasn’t even heard you. “This thing has a tractor beam that’s pulling us toward it.”

“Have you tried the cyclone thrusters?”

“Not yet,” the commander tells Mission Control. “I know those are untested.”

“It’s the only way to get out of the ship’s trajectory.”

So there’s really another spaceship behind you? Nobody seems to think that’s a bit strange?

“Can we get Will Smith to blast the aliens to smithereens?” you say.

But the only person who seems to hear you is John Luke.

“I don’t think the crew can hear us,” you tell him. “But we can hear them.”

“You think there are aliens on that ship?” John Luke asks.

“A spaceship the size of a stadium? Haven’t heard about that in the news.”

“Maybe it’s secret. A Russian ship.”

“Hey, man, I saw
Gravatar
,” you say. “We’re gonna get stuck on the side of our shuttle and then have to float to the Russian ship.”

“That’s
Gravity
.”

“No, I think it’s
Gravatar
,” you say. “Sandra Bernhard stars.”

“Did you even see the movie?”

“Sure
 
—in, like, 4-D cinephonic pyrotechnic style.”

The ship begins to jerk and shake. You hold on for a moment.

“We’re going to have to do something soon or we’ll be swallowed whole, Mission Control,” Commander Noble says.

He seems to show such fine personal qualities. What’s the word for that again?

“Commander Noble, do you have enough fuel for the cyclone thrusters?” Mission Control asks.

“I’d have to use them in the next thirty seconds,” he says. “And that will leave us without much fuel for the ride home.”

Then the commander does something unexpected. “Silas,” he calls out to you over the intercom. Hopefully he did something to your mike so he can hear you now. “I need your approval on whether to use the cyclone thrusters or not.”

It’s up to you, Jack!

Do you save fuel and not use the cyclone thrusters?
Go here
.

Do you use the cyclone thrusters?
Go here
.

YOU WAKE UP IN A BIG POT OF GUMBO.
The weird thing is that it’s not piping hot. No. This stuff is cold. Not freezing cold, but cold enough to make it feel gooey and sticky and sickly.

Then you feel something squirming around in the pot.

That ain’t no ingredient, Jack!

The thing is, you can’t just jump up and get out of the pot. It’s so thick and heavy and icky that you can’t move.

You see the rest of your family at the table, laughing and talking and smiling and eating, and you try to call out for them, but all you can do is say,
“Griddle”
in a teeny, tiny voice.

You feel more movement. Whatever’s in this pot of cold gumbo has multiplied and had twins.

It’s not pretty.

You try to scream.

“Griddle.”

So quiet, so sweet.

Good thing you’re about to awaken from this nightmare. Oh, wait, you got like another three months and twenty-nine days left.

Nooooooooooo.

Miss Kay walks over and pours some hot sauce over your head as if you’re not even there!

This can’t be happening. And it’s not.

Do you emerge from cybersleep three months and twenty-nine days later?
Go here
.

Do you wake up with the nagging sense that you’ve been looking for something? Go to “Falling Si” . . . in
Phil & the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca
.

THIS FEELS LIKE
the wildest roller-coaster ride ever known to mankind. And then some.

This is Space Mountain at Disney, except it’s real space and
you could die
.

The shaaaaaakkkkkkkkkkiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnggggggggg doesn’t stop. Back and forth, back and forth. It feels like the spaceship is going to break apart. Or maybe burst into flames. Or perhaps both at the same time.

You gotta be tough, Jack. Stam-i-na. Cool astronaut blood running through your veins.

You glance over at John Luke. His face is a really nice shade of purple inside his helmet.

You hear someone over your earphones.

“Just hold on, boys. Gonna be a little bumpy for a few minutes.”

Sounds like Ashley Jones, the science officer.

“I’ll fly this thing if I have to,” you say into the microphone.

You hear a loud explosion that doesn’t sound right.

“What was that?”

“Just relax,” Ashley tells you. “And remember: there’s no problem so bad that you can’t make it worse.”

That sounds perfectly awful.

“Think of it as turbulence,” another voice says. This one must be the pilot, Ben Parkhurst.

But this violent pounding and jerking isn’t bumpy like turbulence in an airplane. It’s different, like the spaceship is actually starting to disintegrate.

There’s another boom. You hear someone shouting right before your radio feed gets turned off.

“How ya doin’, John Luke?” you ask in a minute to see if the radio’s functional again.

He raises his hand and waves, jolting up and down from the violent shuddering.

The seat underneath you and the floor below you seem to be thrashing and flailing. Through the window you see something bright and momentarily blinding.

This is it
 
—the moment of truth. The moment I meet my Maker. That’s the shining light.

“I’m ready, Lord.”

You black out.

When you awaken, you have the sense that you’ve been sleeping for hours. Days, even. You feel older. Your joints have been jammed, and you wonder if a polar bear’s been sleeping on your skull.

At least the bumping and thumping of the spaceship has stopped. Now it just feels like you’re . . .

Weightless.

This is what it’s like.
Good thing you’re strapped in.

You turn to check on John Luke, motionless in his seat. Since he’s wearing his helmet and facing forward, you can’t tell whether his eyes are open or not. But you’re guessing he’s still out.

What’s going on?

You study the view outside the window nearest you. It’s not a big window, but you can still see hundreds and thousands of stars out there. Tiny pinpricks of light all waving at you.

Another question hovers in your mind.

Shouldn’t I be able to see Earth?

But maybe it’s on the other side. Or behind you. Or even in front of you.

“Anybody there?” you speak into your microphone.

But you only hear silence.

It’s pretty cool being up here. This is like sitting in a duck blind, waiting for the ducks to come. Except you’re not
holding a gun. And you’re wearing a space suit and strapped to a chair. So, listen, maybe it’s not exactly like a duck blind, but hey
 
—it’s got the same peaceful feeling.

“Hello, can anybody hear me? Si to Earth. Do you copy? Over and outta sight!”

Nothing.

Nothing but stillness. A big ole blanket of shush.

“John Luke, you awake? Can you hear me? Can you hear me now?”

He doesn’t move.

You decide that since you’re already in space, it’s surely okay to move about the cabin. It’s not like you gotta go use the restroom
 
—that’s an option, but they’ve also given you some really cool high-tech space diapers. They’re form-fitting and everything.

It takes you a couple minutes to figure out how to unbuckle yourself from the seat. Sure enough, you feel yourself rising when you start to stand.

You take a step toward John Luke. His eyes are closed.

You peer out the window on his side. All stars. No Earth. No moon.

I’m no astronomer, but shouldn’t I see one of the two?

You move forward
 
—well, float
 
—through the door and down the narrow walkway. You could get used to this type of walking. As you push through another door in front of you, you notice a blinking light on the ceiling.

Five of the astronauts are in this room
 
—everyone but Parkhurst and Noble. They’re all seated and apparently unconscious. Not a single movement.
You snooze, you lose, Jack.
You get to the first crew member and examine her. It’s Jada Long, the chief engineer.

Eyes closed. You shake her shoulder and call her name, but still no response.

At that moment, an automated voice speaks in your earpiece.

“Warning, auto systems override commencing in thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven . . .”

You whip your head from left to right, frantic, trying to figure out what to do.

Man, it’s go time, and you can’t even find the starting line.

“Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen . . .”

Hey, you know you should’ve looked through the big booklet they gave you in order to prep for this trip. You decided to watch the Star Trek movies instead, but nothing about this reminds you of those films. You have no idea what an “auto systems override” could be. Where’s the teleprompter? Or is it a teleporter?

Focus, Si. Focus.

You try to take in the many buttons and knobs and instruments surrounding you. On the right side
of the room, there’s a screen that shows the numbers counting down to the auto systems override. A red button underneath it is flashing. It bears the words
Auto Systems Stop
.

You have five seconds to decide what to do.

Four.

Three.

Two.

Do you press the button?
Go here
.

Do you leave the button alone?
Go here
.