Suddenly Astronaut

by Andrew J. Morgan

A flicker of hope glimmered in his chest. Maybe his parents didn't know he'd failed? His dad had spoken to Mrs Deacon and he wasn't angry, so maybe she'd not told him yet? But the report cards were being issued today, so sooner or later they'd find out, and sooner or later he would be told once and for all that he wouldn't be taking the tour. The very thought made his throat tighten. Every part of him yearned to be on the that tug, outside of the station, alone, free.

  He was the only one in his class who had any interest in doing the tour—Bruce had told him he was "a great big gomer for actually wanting to volunteer for a chore"—but that didn't lessen his yearning. He'd never imagined the possibility of not getting to do it, not really, and the reality of it made him feel like he'd never felt before. He wanted to scream. He wanted to do nothing. He wanted to die.

  But then a thought struck him. An idea.

  "Tom, I'm going to get up now," he said, jumping up out of bed. He threw on some clothes, grabbed a nutrient bar for breakfast, eating it as he walked quickly down the corridor.

  "Where are you going?" Tom asked him as he hurried along. "You're supposed to be at home recovering."

  "I needed to stretch my legs," Ben said, listening as he heard someone coming the other way. He ducked into a side corridor, waiting until they had walked past. Once it was clear, he headed to the elevator and down to the stores kiosk.

  "You again?" Carlton Serge said without surprise.

  "Hi, Carlton," Ben said. "I need some more stuff, please."

  Carlton eyeballed Ben for a few seconds, pursing his lips. "What can I get for you?" he said eventually.

  "Shelltape, please."

  Carlton frowned. "Again? Didn't I already give you some Shelltape?"

  Ben nodded, fidgeting. He needed to hurry. "You did, but I ran out. And I had another breakage. Please, I need it soon."

  "How much do you need?"

  "Ten centimetres should be fine, thank you."

  "One minute," Carlton grumbled, keeping eye contact with Ben for as long as possible as he turned to enter the stores.

  While Carlton was gone, Ben kept checking over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming.

  "What are you doing?" Tom said. "It's too late to repair the Hoverclaw now, the exam is over."

  "Don't worry about it," Ben whispered urgently.

  "Have you broken something else that I haven't seen?"

  "No! Please stop asking me questions. Carlton's coming back."

  Tom acknowledged Ben by way of silence as Carlton approached the kiosk.

  "Ten centimetres of Shelltape," he said, handing it to Ben. Ben went to take it, but Carlton didn't let go. "If you need any more, I'll have to get approval first," he warned. "There's not an infinite supply of this stuff, you know."

  "I know," Ben said. Carlton let the tape go. "Thanks," Ben said, then headed back to the elevator as quickly as he could. He wanted to run, but knew Carlton would be watching. Once the elevator doors shut behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Almost there," he wheezed to himself.

  "Almost where?" Tom asked.

  "I thought I told you to keep quiet?"

  Back on the top deck, Ben needed to be extra careful. School would be starting soon, and the snake of children would be winding somewhere around the corridors. He moved from junction to junction, stopping, listening. Somewhere along the station he could hear the sound of young voices, but he couldn't tell which direction it was coming from.

  Then, ahead, he saw them. Mrs Deacon came around the corner, students following.

  "Ben, you should really be at home," Tom said.

  "Shut up!" Ben hissed. "Please!"

  He backed up into a service hatch doorway, crouching down in the shadows. They would be walking past him soon; he hoped they didn't see him. If they all kept looking where they were going, he'd be fine.

  As the line got closer, it got louder, yet it never seemed to actually arrive. The laughter and chatter of the children as they walked, punctuated occasionally by Mrs Deacon telling them to keep quiet, got so loud that Ben thought they were going to walk right over the top of him. Any minute now, he told himself, any minute now.

  And there she was, Mrs Deacon, herding the students along.

  "Come on, now," she said. "Exams may be over, but there's still classes to teach and lessons to learn."

  A groan rippled from the line as it wound by, one student after another flashing past. He could hear Bruce's deep voice approaching at what sounded like the end of the line. Ben held his breath as Bruce went by, talking to Persephone. She seemed disinterested, looking back over her shoulder as he rattled on to her about something or other.

  And then she saw him. It was all over in a moment. Her eyes locked with Ben's, and he knew he'd been spotted.

  "What's so much more interesting than me?" Bruce said resentfully, stopping to see what Persephone was looking at.

  Ben shook his head quickly, willing Persephone and Bruce to keep on walking. Persephone's eyes flashed with understanding, and she put an arm around Bruce to stop him from facing Ben.

  "I was just thinking about what you were saying," she said, guiding Bruce along. "Quick, we'd better catch up or Mrs Deacon will notice."

  Bruce did as she asked and carried on. Persephone gave one last quick look over her shoulder, throwing a smile Ben's way, and then she was gone. Ben, his body aching from being so rigid, collapsed onto the floor. His heart felt like it was going to explode right out of his chest.

  "You'd better get home before you get caught," Tom said.

  Ben didn't argue.

  The rest of the journey back was thankfully uneventful. He entered his family's quarters, grabbed the tablet from the dining table and headed for the bathroom.

  "I'm going to get washed," he told Tom as he entered and shut the door behind him. Door locked, he placed the tablet and the Shelltape down and turned on the shower. Although Tom couldn't see or hear him in here, he needed to be quick, or Tom would get even more suspicious than he already was.

  Tablet in hand, Ben first checked the mail. Nothing from Mrs Deacon yet. There was still time. Then, he opened the email preferences. A warning asked him for fingerprint authorisation. He tore a small piece of the Shelltape from the strip, then held up the tablet to the light to catch the reflection.

  There, in the top left—a fingerprint. There were a few, but this one was big and clean, definitely his dad's. He peeled the backing off the Shelltape and pressed it firmly onto the fingerprint, smoothing out any air bubbles. After a minute or so it began to cure, and when it was stiff enough, he peeled it off. He reflected the fresh surface under the light and, sure enough, a fingerprint reflected back. A few minutes more and he could try it.

  Once the Shelltape had cured completely, he pressed the fingerprint onto the screen. The tablet thought about the print for a moment, loading icon spinning. Then, a green light flashed and the preferences opened. Ben put the Shelltape to one side and browsed the preferences, looking for something.

  There it was—rules. He opened the sub-menu and clicked to add a new rule. The rule he created was as follows: if a message was received from Mrs Deacon with the keyword "report" in it—delete it. He set the rule itself to expire after one day. Unless his mum or dad just happened to be browsing their personal message box as the message arrived, which was highly unlikely, they would never get to see it.

  Next, he browsed the station's database, until he found the request form for the tugboat tour. The form "33.1.5B – PERMISSION FORM FOR MINORS BETWEEN THE AGES OF THIRTEEN AND EIGHTEEN TO PARTAKE IN ASSISTED VEHICULAR ACTIVITY" was buried deep and was difficult to find, except that Ben knew exactly where it was because he'd already found it before while researching the tour.

  Opening the form, he completed all the details until he reached the part at the bottom where permission was to be authorised by a parent or guardian. He faltered. Should he be doing this? It felt wrong to break his parent's trust, but he knew this was going to be the only wa
y he'd ever get to fly in the tug. He was already going to be in trouble when his parents eventually got his report—let alone if he got expelled—so this was going to be peanuts in comparison. With a deep, self-assured breath, he placed the Shelltape on the screen once more and signed the permission form. A screen opened quickly then closed again before he could see what it was. His skin crawled as he wondered what could have gone wrong. Perhaps his parents would receive some kind of notification that required additional confirmation? Perhaps they were being asked right now?

  Then, a green light flashed to tell him the form had been approved. A calendar opened, and he booked a slot for early that afternoon, the soonest available. Checking the mail again, he saw that nothing else had come through. He breathed a sigh of relief, then allowed himself a grin. It was happening. He was doing it. That afternoon, he'd be boarding a tug and taking a tour.

  Dipping his head under the shower, he wet his hair a little and ruffled it up to make it seem like he'd showered, then dressed and exited the bathroom, returning the tablet to the dining table.

  "Are you not going to put on some clean clothes?" Tom asked.

  As Ben had hoped, Tom hadn't asked him about the form. It was beyond Tom's authorisation to question such a thing. "These were clean on this morning, they'll be fine," Ben replied.

  The rest of the morning really dragged. Ben tried to kill time by watching shows and playing games, but he just couldn't focus. His attention was being pulled in two directions: one way with the excitement of being so close to getting what he'd always wanted, and the other way by the swelling guilt over what he'd done to get it. It was making him feel quite sick.

  Lunchtime came and went, and he picked at a lasagne without really eating any of it. Tom tried to chat with him, but he couldn't really find the words to reply, so he mainly sat in silence. When he looked at the clock and saw there was half an hour to go before the tour, his stomach lurched. His parents would be home soon as promised, so he needed to leave now if he wasn't going to get caught.

  But, somehow, he couldn't get up. Was he having second thoughts? Should he stay here like he was supposed to and forget the whole morning ever happened? If his parents returned now, he wouldn't be able to go. That's what he decided: he'd wait until the last minute, so his parents would come back first and he wouldn't be able to go. That would stop the guilt.

  Another ten minutes went by without his parents appearing, and then another. In five more minutes, he'd have to leave. Where were they? They'd promised to be there that afternoon, but they weren't. The last five minutes went by. He had to go. There was no sign of his mum or dad.

  That was it. He was going. He'd given them the chance to make things right with him, and they hadn't. They owed him the tugboat tour. He was going to do it because they owed him.

  "Where are you going?" Tom said for the second time that day as Ben strode quickly down the corridor.

  "I've got a tugboat tour booked at one o'clock."

  "Oh—yes, I see that. You've been looking forward to this for a long time."

  "Yes."

  "Is there anything in particular you're looking forward to?"

  "All of it."

  Ben arrived at the dock, where he found a man with his back to him working on an exposed panel, the covering propped up beside him.

  "Excuse me," Ben said quietly.

  The man jumped, then turned to face Ben. Ben felt sure he recognised the man from the group of parents the day before. He seemed annoyed at being disturbed.

  "Yes?" the man said, wiping his hands on his overalls.

  "I have a tug tour booked for one o'clock," Ben said, trying not to sound nervous.

  The man frowned. "At your age?"

  Ben nodded. "Yes sir. I'm thirteen. It's allowed. I have permission."

  Looking a little taken aback, the man said, "Can I take your name?"

  "Benjamin. Benjamin Forrest."

  A humorous smile lit the man's face. "Of course! The station directors' boy. I knew I recognised you. I saw your presentation yesterday. That … that was quite something."

  Ben nodded. The man tapped at a screen. This was were Ben was going to get caught, he knew it …

  "I understand you got an injury punching that thing clean out of the air," the man said as he tapped. Was he grinning to himself about it?

  "I'm okay now," Ben said quietly.

  "That was quite something," the man said again. "Well, as it's you, I see no reason why you can't enjoy a tour of the station. You can go on and board tug number two. It'll be commanded by Tom, are you okay with that?"

  "Yes, that's fine."

  "Well, okay," the man said. "Just making sure. It's a good day for it after all. You're in for a treat."

  "Treat?"

  "We've got a resupply barge docking today, you'll see. Follow me and I'll get you on board."

  Ben followed as the man led him into a semi-circular room with evenly spaced doors around its edge. All but one were shut, solid-looking doors keeping the vacuum outside sealed out. Door number two was open, inside which Ben could see the interior of the tug. His heart skipped a beat. It looked dark and cramped, but he couldn't care less.

  "After you," the man said, with an exaggerated bow.

  Ben climbed aboard, stooping through the doorway, his hands shaking, his fingers numb. It was finally happening. Everything from this morning, everything from yesterday—it was all gone. There was only now, that moment.

  "Take a seat."

  Ben sat in the single seat at the front of the craft. Beyond it was the instrument panel, and beyond that, thick windows that looked out into the blackness of space. The man buckled Ben into some thick harnesses and gave him some instructions.

  "In an assisted flight you won't be obliged to use any of the controls. In fact they will be locked off from you and control given to Tom. I would still ask that you keep your hands on your lap anyway, so you don't touch anything. If you need to come back or talk to anyone on the station, just ask Tom. I'll be busy, so it'll look after you during your flight."

  "Thanks," Ben said, only partially listening. He was mostly looking around, taking the sights, sounds and smells in. It wasn't a pleasant environment—in fact it was confined, uncomfortable and smelled of oil—but Ben didn’t care. He was thrilled.

  "Okay then, you enjoy yourself," the man said lazily. "I'll have finished my shift when you're done so someone else will let you out. I've got to go to see some teacher about my son—apparently the little gomer's in trouble again."

  It was then that Ben realised who this man was. He could see it now in the posture, the build, the depth of his voice; this was Bruce Wenzig's dad. This was Mr Wenzig.

  As Mr Wenzig left, he said, "The door seals on both sides. I'll lock it from the outside. Don't get up, don't touch it. Do you understand?"

  "What do I do when I get back?"

  Mr Wenzig, who was swinging the hatch shut, said, "Whoever's here will let you out."

  Then he pushed the hatch to. It clunked solidly, with additional lighter clanks following as it locked.

  "Are you ready to fly?" Tom asked.

  Ben had been ready for this all his life. "Yes," he said. "I'm ready."

  Chapter 7

  Ben hadn’t realised his heart was going to beat as fast as it was. Another clunk, deeper this time, then a groan, signalled the imminent separation of the tug from the station. The station had been his entire life; he'd never been apart from it before. These were his first steps into the universe.

  "Docking clamps released," the intercom hissed with the voice of Mr Wenzig. "Cleared for departure."

  The ship vibrated with a deep pulse of the engines. It moved forward, first rigidly, then, with a small step, it felt loose, free. There was nothing between them and the station, only vacuum. Up ahead, stars twinkled with an unfamiliar brightness. The only view out of the station was the observation deck, and that was brightness controlled. The view of Jupiter from there was of course amazing, but Ben k
new that this was going to be something else altogether.

  The tug drifted forward for a while. Ben couldn't tell from the abundant display of instruments how far exactly, but he knew they were slowly creeping away.

  "Entering the pattern," Mr Wenzig said. "Cleared for flight path six-zero-zero. Resupply barge two-oh-seven entering the pattern in zero-eight minutes. Be on the lookout."

  "This will be interesting," Tom told Ben. "The ship with refit materials is arriving today. You'll be able to watch the docking procedure from out here."

  Ben was excited, but he'd lost his words. It was all going by so fast, he could feel it, even though they'd only just begun.

  With another low rumble, the tug twisted, and a third propelled them gently forward in a new direction. Visibility wasn't great from the cockpit of the tug, but Ben could just see the trailing edge of the Jove station slipping from view as they ran alongside it. The glow of Jupiter, which they couldn't yet see, flared on the screen.

  "I never really knew how big it all was," Ben said quietly, finally finding his voice.

  "How big what is?" Tom replied.

  "Space. I mean … look at it."

  True, it was vast. It stretched on forever, studded with stars, each one further away than he could ever possibly imagine. Even the sun, burning brighter than the other stars, seemed a mere speck on an infinite horizon.

  "I wonder where Earth is," he said, searching the dots. This was a view he was unfamiliar with, except in books.

  "If you follow left from the sun, not too far, you should see a pale blue dot, slightly larger than the stars surrounding it."

  Ben frowned. It was hard to pick obvious details out from these tiny pinpricks of light. He scanned the spot over a few times without luck.

  "Can you see it?"

  "No …"

  Then, he saw it. Pale blue, just like Tom had said. That was the colour of the vast, water-based oceans covering three-quarters of the planet on which eight-and-a-half billion people lived. Ben couldn't even begin to comprehend seeing that much water, that many people. Something inside him longed to see a horizon filled with water, or with people, or with grass or clouds or anything. On the station, the view of Jupiter that engulfed the observation deck gave him no sense of distance. Out here, with no reference against the wall of black, distance was still abstract. On Earth, he could be grounded, feel what it was like to know his place in existence.