Gus and Jim Face Oblivion
A spaceship in distress. The U.S.S. Bagarre. It screams silently towards Wolf 359. A red dwarf some 7.86 light years from Earth. With a surface temperature of approximately 2,800 Kelvin, the little ship begins to heat up. Entering the chromosphere. Bombarded with radiation.
Yet the rear thrusters burn hot, propelling the small craft and its meager crew towards oblivion.
Near the thrusters, past the fuel cells, in the mechanical bay, an enraged creature wreaks havoc, tearing the ship’s interior to pieces. Slashing wires. Snapping circuits. Breaking one system after another. It destroys with unyielding resolve. A malevolent demon. A space gremlin.
On the other end of the ship, in the cockpit, two astronauts are strapped into their flight chairs. One thin. The other fat. Their hands rush from one control to another. They work mostly from redundant systems, trying to regain control and avoid disaster. Lights flash. Alarms wail. Death approaches at full thrusters.
“It’s taken out the reaction control system. And the positioning system. We’re flying by sight.”
“Good copy. Transferring to stick.”
A series of buttons later and a joystick extends smoothly from a concealed panel. Jim’s slender hand grips his stick, fighting for control of the craft. Gus’s fat fingers continue to push buttons and flip switches as he tries in vain to salvage the dying shuttle.
Gus’s monotone drones through the chaos.
“So you don’t think I should’ve said that?”
“Let’s say I’m surprised.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“We all have our lines in the sand. Our Rubicons, if you will. I guess flushing is yours?”
“You mean not flushing.”
“I stand corrected. Not flushing. Are you willing to risk your marriage over ‘If it’s yellow, let it mellow; if it’s brown, flush it down?’”
“Just because it rhymes, doesn’t make it true.”
“Fine. But it’s sound policy. And it conserves water.”
“Perhaps at night it makes sense. When you don’t want to wake anyone up. But during the day, you’re risking a back-splash for any kind of serious business.”
“That’s a good point. But as with so many mistakes in your life, Gus, it’s not what you said, but how you said it.”
“So what should I do?”
“What can you do? You gotta apologize.”
“Apologize! Why is it always me who has to apologize? Just once, it’d be nice if she apologized!”
“I think we’ve covered this base. Anyway, you can’t make her apologize. It’d disrupt the power dynamic even more.”
“The what dynamic?”
“The power dynamic. You see, women have all the power in a marriage because they control the mood. And mood determines happiness. When you piss them off, you flush the mood. It’s like a clogged toilet.
“A clogged toilet, huh?”
“Yes. And you’re the man. You have to do the plunging and apologize. You can’t expect them to do it. It’s like trying to clear the clog with more sh— ”
A new level of alarm blasts through the cockpit, interrupting. Red lights replace yellow. Dozens of flashing lights multiply to hundreds. Gus reports.
“Air flow is down. Oxygen is untouched. But nothing’s getting through.”
Both men attach oxygen tubes to their helmets. Clean air from an emergency tank housed safely in the cockpit. Gus breathes in, then asks the question on both men’s minds.
“What’s it doing?”
“Dunno. It’s focused though. It’s after something specific.”
“But what?”
“What other systems are in that area?”
“I’ll check.”
Schematics open on Gus’s computer display. He swipes through them one at a time. Looking for answers.
“Why does she get all the power in the first place? Why can’t I have some of the power? Just once, I’d like a little bit of the power!”
“If you had the power, then you’d be the wife. But you’re not the wife. You’re the husband. So you don’t have the power.”
“Wait a minute. I thought that the person who cared the least had the most power in a relationship. We’ve talked about that before. You said that yourself.”
“Certainly. When we were talking about dating. It’s true of dating. It’s not true of marriage. When the man says ‘I do,’ he cedes all power over to the wife. It’s in the vows.”
“That’s crazy! I did no such thing. No such words ever came out of my mouth.”
“It’s in the penumbra, Gus. Like the fine print. You never pay attention to the details. That’s why you pay so much for cable.”
A new alarm blares. Both eyes turn. Gus continues swiping.
“I don’t understand what it’s doing. That’s a nothing system.”
“Keep looking. It’s going after something.”
Gus huffs but continues his search.
“So what’s next? What do I have to do?”
“You have to give the power back. Women need the power. You took it by upsetting the power dynamic. Now you have to give it back.”
“But how?”
“The same way every man’s done it since Adam . . . you grovel.”
“Grovel!”
“Exactly. It’s the reason men have kneecaps.”
“No sir! Gus doesn’t grovel. I’m never going to grovel. Apologize, yes. Cringe, okay. Cry, maybe. But never grovel. It’s the principle!”
“The principle . . .”
“Yeah.”
“Are you willing to die for your principle? You? You still haven’t told her you’re allergic to gluten.”
“Yes. Yes, I am willing to die for my principle!”
Jim’s eyes roll.
“Oh. My. Goodness. You’re willing to die. Congrats. But are you willing to take me with you?”
Gus harrumphs in defeat.
“Fine!”
Gus reaches. He turns on the intercom. Grabs the microphone. Pulls it close to his blistered lips—burned from the increasing radiation.
“Elsa. Elsa honey, are you listening honey? About what I said . . . I’ve been thinking. I’m really sorry baby. I shouldn’t have forced you to flush if you didn’t want to. That was wrong of me. I see that now. No matter what I think. No matter gross it is to let it mellow. How unsanitary. I had no right to tell you what to do. . . . Even if I’m right by all objective standards.”
Jim rolls his eyes again.
“Here we go.”
An angry scream sounds back through the intercom. The gremlin’s curdled voice pierces the cockpit.
“Gross? Gross? You calling me gross? Says the man who has skid marks in every pair of underwear he owns. The man who pees in both the shower AND the bath. The man who needed me to apply hemorrhoid ointment because he couldn’t reach around his spare tire.”
“I was retaining water due to a medical condition!”
“I’ll show you gross!”
A final alarm rings, weaker than the others. But noticed nonetheless. Gus gasps as realization dawns.
“Are you kidding me!”
“What? What is it?”
Oxygen in the cockpit kicks back on. Hissing through the vents. But it’s not just air. It’s a mist. Yellow and sticky.
Gus screams.
“I can’t believe her! Of all the spiteful things!”
“What is it?”
“Urine. . . that’s what she’s been doing the whole time. She’s routed the toilet into the ventilation system. So she can fill the cockpit with liquid waste.”
The ship barrels into Wolf 359. Entering the photosphere. Burning up.
Defeated, Jim lets go of the stick. He turns to Gus.
“You and your principle.”
Copyright © Graham, 2024; All Rights Reserved
