misc.

Interstellar Spirit

*A short story that never saw the light of day*

Even in space, things can go bump in the night

NASA told Doctor Diego Flores there was nothing aboard the International Space Station-Delta he couldn't handle. For the most part, he believed them.

But he didn't think any of the scientists with sympathetic hands on his shoulder knew what was lingering in the orbiting habitat. He had an eerie inkling clawing under his skin while he packed his desk.

"They cleared it all away," Doctor Flores assured his aunts that night as they licked their palms and flattened the thick, black cowlick over his left brow. "The Chinese recovery team cleared it all away. I'm going to be fine. The mess wasn't bad."

His aunts, two hunched women with stone-gray hair and long, wrinkled faces clicked their tongues in disapproval while tugging out the wrinkles of his shirt sleeves. They didn't say much more, but they didn't need to. Doctor Flores had years of their carping to help him fill in the blanks.

He didn't tell the aunts he had watched the recovery team snatch floating blood balls in the cupola on his Twitter feed. Off-screen, he imagined the drops collide against machines, careen away and collect into new blobs to float and smack against titanium decks and deteriorating carcasses in the zero-gravity graveyard.

On the feed, he watched with clenched jaw and tight fist against his chin as the Chinese removed the bodies and their debris. Leaves of peeled skin from the freeze-dried, cracked faces of the Helios II team joined the sanguine bubbles in the air.

"I bet they'll scrub that station shinier than mylar," said Colonel Wesaski next to him. She gave him a shallow smile while she picked the edges of the beer bottle's label.

"It looks like my cousin's fish tank," said Liu Liwei through the computer monitor. "It feels like I am swimming in mud. I push through rotting food, blood, feces, and guts everywhere. We should push ISS-Delta away. No more problems. Let other species from the future clean it up."

Doctor Flores asked one more time. "But how do you know Martin's remains weren't there?"

"Trust me. There is no wa—" The somber Chinese astronaut's image flickered and stalled. "I am sorry, Diego."

There should be no evidence anything horrific had ever happened on the ISS-Delta, Doctor Flores reminded himself on the march toward the shuttle. In the countdown to launch, Houston bid the minted heroes of Helios III God's Speed on their voyage to the abandoned station.

When their pod mated with the station hatch, Doctor Flores hoisted himself through the microgravity to peer down the deserted passageways of the ISS-Delta. He pulled his rigid body from node to node in the same way a rabbit moves when aware of a wolf.

Colonel Gina Wesaski followed at his heels. He could see the pilot's fire-red hair in his peripherals.

"So far, so good," he comforted himself, gripping the hatch with both hands. He flung his body toward the next opening where, just beyond, everything had gone to hell.

"Any ghosts?" The smirk was evident in her bite.

"Funny, Wise-Asski."

"Play nice, kids. Houston's listening," came the firm reprimand from the shuttle.

She struck a mock salute only Doctor Flores could see. "Roger that, mon Cap-ee-tan."

He ignored her and moved on, Wesaski making noises of the comically dead at his tail.