Orbiters
To the Stars
…“But that’s not what’s worrying me,” says the Wicked Witch as she considers the best way to steal Dorothy’s slippers. “It’s how to do it. These things must be done delicately, or you hurt the spell.”
Seems like pretty good advice for writers too, don’t you think? On to Orbiters…
There were plenty of older crewmembers aboard Spaceship One, some quite elderly. Malthusians never retire. No word exists in their dictionary. You keep working because you enjoy working. If you don’t enjoy working, you keep your mouth shut about it.
Possibly the oldest of the crew was Staff Officer Paul Hussenian, aged ninety-five. He was quite indistinguishable from his compatriots. Wearing the same silver lamé jumpsuit, his step remained vigorous. His speech was strong and his eye clear. His job, coordinating work orders between B and C decks, required more effort than most. But he was dedicated in the old school sense, and after seventy years he knew what he was doing. He often was asked to do extra work, especially on weekends. Hussenian was the victim of that most enduring of workplace absurdities. Those who work hardest are given the most work.
He seldom bothered to take breaks. When he did he simply tipped back in a chair and closed his eyes. This is how Amber Stollwell found him, in C deck’s maintenance room. She carried an armful of work orders, and screamed.
He shot to his feet. “Stollwell! What in the world?”
“I... I thought...”
“Never mind what you thought. Such outbursts are entirely inappropriate.”
Petty Officer Stollwell was, by nature, excitable. She dropped plates when surprised. She jumped at the bang of a door. Hussenian prayed she would never rise to a position of importance. You didn’t want her anywhere near the hair trigger on a planet-busting laser.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Yes. Well, in any case, give me those.”
She handed over files, and scurried off. Hussenian arranged folders by date, then began correcting forms from those who had failed, as usual, to fill them out correctly. Looking out a small viewing bubble, pen in hand, he watched the enticing, never-changing stars on their black canvas. His young shipmate had nothing to get excited about. He wasn’t about to die on duty. Dying on duty was bad form.
Surely, however, death was close. It didn’t bother him. For some years, the C Deck officer had been almost impatient. Why continue? He would never fulfill his destiny, he knew that. And the worst part? He had no idea what his destiny was.
Paul Hussenian imagined his memorial. His crewmates gathered around. “And now,” the chaplain would intone. “He has gone to the stars.” Malthusians believed, upon death, your soul flew away to the cosmos. Then looked down on all things forever and ever in a sort of benevolent reverie.
He threw down his pen. What a crock.
The old officer worked past quitting time, as usual. He had a bowl of lentil soup in the commissary, ate a salad with vinegar dressing, and went to bed. He seldom slept well. Soon, he thought in this dark and quiet room, he would sleep very well. Very well indeed. There was some consolation in this, and he nodded off. At midnight, a ship’s alarm jolted him awake.
Wearing pajamas, he opened the door. Men and women ran past. He hooked a crew member by the arm, spinning him.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
“It’s the Infusion Lab!” The man ran off. In the wrong direction.
Hussenian walked against the tide of fleeing crew members. He paused at the lab entrance. Smoke billowed. Walking in, he spied a bunsen burner laying on its side, the blue flames spreading across a steel table. The garbage container beneath had also caught fire. He grabbed a fire extinguisher.
Thirty seconds later he hung the extinguisher back on the wall and walked out. A gaggle of men and women stood outside. “Get in there and clean that up,” he ordered the nearest mate. “And schedule a mandatory safety meeting. Tomorrow, Oh Nine Hundred. Our Code Red response is nothing short of pathetic.”
“Yes, sir.”
Paul Hussenian returned to quarters, and to bed. He had no idea where your soul went after death. Hopefully not any place with an eternal view of Spaceship One. He didn’t think he could take that.