Signing off

It’s kinda ironic really. When I was a kid, my grandpa played me this record. Honestly. He had a turn table and records. He’d inherited them from his grandpa. Nobody now knows what that looks like, but I remember. I think the guys’ name who sang the song was David somebody. The song was about a major Tom, who ended up lost in space. “Floating in a tin can.” I remember that line.

No, don’t worry. I won’t sing it for you, whoever you are.

Throat clearing

This is Argot 3442. Approximate mission date 2231.

Yesterday, the cargo ship Argot 3442 was hit by an asteroid shower. Various panels and vital equipment was destroyed. I calculated that I had 30 hours of oxygen left, give or take an hour. I have no way of knowing whether I’m still on course, but either way I won’t be alive wherever I crash.

I have made this trip so many times, I can do it in my sleep, as long as the ship is functioning. Not having anything but emergency lights and residual oxygen at my disposal, I’m now floating in a tin can.

That was another thing my grandpa had, tin cans. His grandpa had a fallout shelter, just outside the kitchen door. Woefully inadequate for any nuclear attack, and with barely enough food and water to last 30 days, it was laughable really. But my grandfather showed me what a tin can was. Not much different from an aluminum can, but heavier. Much heavier than our food packages and nothing like our crafts that are made of reinforced mylar these days. Though now that I’ve been hit by those rocks, I wish this were a tin can, not this mylar balloon.

Grandpa was a funny guy, eccentric, really. He’d scoff at anything new. Kept saying ‘it won’t hold water’ He drove a red F150 truck. Had two in the barn, a blue and a black one, He’d cannibalize them for parts. Many times, he told me that Grandma Mariah loved the red truck. So, he kept it going for as long as he could. He cried when he pushed it to grandma’s grave and apologized profusely to her when the world ran out of gasoline.

He stopped smiling after that. Never left the farm again. Even when I came to visit. Wouldn’t go nowhere. I moved back in with him just to make sure he’d eat; he was not pleased about me being there.

'Lemme go.' He’d shout at me. 'Just lemme be. The world is no fun no more. We messed it up. Look at them.' He’d point at the skinny long horns waiting at the gate to be fed. 'Even they can’t find enough food to be beef cattle. What am I still doing here?' Night after night he’d rage and grumble.

One night, after he got me drunk on my ass off the last of his shine, he walked out into the field and used his shot gun. A man’s gotta be damn determined to use a shotgun to kill hisself. Grandpa was determined.

I sold his miserable patch of dry land to his neighbor and went to the enlistment office.

That was thirty-two years ago.

Been mostly on my own. Had a few co-pilots, but they opted to fly with someone else after one trip with me. None ever flew twice with me. Except ….

Never mind…

You get a reputation, you know ...

And yeah, I’m a miserable cuss. I know it. I’m arrogant, won’t listen to anyone, always know better. And I do, at least I know how to run this balloon. I know what it needs. I got so fed up with Jason’s monotone voice telling me what to do, I disabled him, ‘cause I know better. I just do, Okay? Yeah, sure maybe if I had Jason right now, I might know where I was, but I’d be dead, just the same.

Pause, deep breathing

I’ll not make the colony. I’ll not make the way station. I have an hour of oxygen left. Maybe less. Doesn’t matter ...

I could take the pill, but why bother. I’ll tell you what suffocation feels like ...

Deep breath, silence.

I’ve always wanted kids. Well, not the kids so much, but the grandkids. I'd have made brilliant grandparent, entertained them for years with my stories, about my grandpa and his before him, about my trips and all the things that went wrong ...

Silence, drinking water.

Like the time this fungus grew on the mylar. Nothing is supposed to grow on our hull. But this stuff loved it. So, I did an EVA.

Years ago, grandpa had given me this can. Fluorocarbons up the wazoo! Here, he had said. When you go out in the field, use this. I never had to use it out on the ranch. Besides, there had been a ban on the stuff for at least a century. But I put it in my duffle. Nobody checked. So, I had the stuff, right?

Panting, coughing. swallowing

So, when the strange stuff started growing on the outside of my balloon, I went out there and used this stuff, Hell! It was called Off! Figured that’s what I wanted, right? For the stuff to be off my balloon.

Coughing.

It worked. Hah!

Coughing, sigh, gasp. Drinking water.

Silence.

Sorry, must have dozed off …

Gasping.

I wish Mark were here. He was the only one who’d put up with me. …

Pause.

He was a good-looking specimen. Could have stepped right out of one of those old Nazi movies. All sharp angles, yellow hair, blue eyes. A smile that could just as easily be sweet as cruel ...

Yeah, he had a sadistic streak in him … but then I must be a masochist. I’m here, ain’t I?

Coughing.

I know, I know …

Gasping, cough, retching, coughing.

He knew my buttons and could make my knees weak with just a look. Man …

Coughing, retching, coughing.

man…

Coughing, gasp.

I just … say I’m sorry … …

Panting

to everyone I’ve …

coughing.

offended ...

Gasp, whisper

My grandpa called me Mariah …

Cough.

but my papers say M. Thomas. ….

Pause

ironic………… Major Tom….. 

Gasp.

Silence.