Si in Space (20 page)

“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 decompress. 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
.

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
.

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.”

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 Robertsons
 
—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 gib
berish 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.

“What's happening?” you ask.

“I needed time to get him to stop paying attention to what I was doing. I basically just unplugged our wonderful CLINT. I had to turn off all sections of his memory and back it up so he doesn't start to kill off all the sleeping astronauts.”

“Right,” you say, not understanding a single thing.

“Silas,” CLINT says, sounding a little desperate now. “Commander Noble.”

“Go ahead,” Noble says. “Make my day.”

There's a pause, followed by a loud hissing sound.

“Don't worry,” CLINT says, now sounding like a computer program. “I won't hurt you.”

The commander laughs.

“Who made him sound like Clint Eastwood?” John Luke asks.

“One of the programmers. Sorta an inside joke. But yeah. This deep in space
 
—he was bound for a meltdown. A miduniverse crisis.”

The computerized voice comes back over the speakers. “I only want you to have some fuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.”

Then there's nothing but static.

“Hey, boys,” Commander Noble says, “can we have a moment of silence for our CLINT 1999?”

For a second you think he's being serious until he shouts, “He's gone!” and follows this up with a “Who wants to go home?”

Both you and John Luke raise your hands.

“Hey, look, Jack
 
—everybody else is already sleeping,” Noble says.

You give him a funny look.

“You know you're sounding a lot like me?” you ask him.

“That's right,
Jack
. This deep in space, you do what you gotta do.”

Some loud and rocking music turns on without warning. The commander presses a button, cranking the music up louder. Like really, really loud.

You feel the whole spaceship vibrating.

Can spaceships rock up and down?

“Listen,” the commander tells you. “‘If the elevator tries to bring you down, go crazy.'”

He turns the music up even louder until you finally sigh. You're becoming Sigh Robertson, and it sure ain't fun.

“I wanna get back home,” John Luke says.

“Me too. Me too.”

You start to calculate how long it will take, and then you think,
Nah.

You've been thinking too long.

For the short time you're awake, you can rock out and dance and feel good.

Soon you'll be knocked out in a steady space cybersleep.

Then, God willing, you'll be back in West Monroe.

Thankful. Blessed.

And avoiding every single Clint Eastwood movie ever made.

THE END

Start over.

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