Tilt-a-Whirl

CW: Wrestling with mortality.

Flipping a coin in zero gravity is useless. Floating, it will spin until stopped. Classic indecision.

The Commander knew that. No time to waste. Protocols demanded he bring his crew to safety.

No time to think or debate.

Sounding alarms roused us and all hands jumped to. Redundant systems were failing. The station was shutting down. No one knew why. Meteorite damage? Not likely. Systems flashed code-red across the board.

With solutions unavailable, the Commander ordered immediate evacuation.

The escape pod seats six. There were seven of us aboard. One must stay behind. Cramming seven into a pod built for six would be suicidal. An unsecured passenger would endanger everyone.

The Commander had everyone board the pod. He ordered the junior officers, Romero and me to stand down. He raised his fist with two match sticks protruding.

“Draw lots.”

“Sir?”

“One goes. The other stays.”

I stepped back.

“I’ll stay.”

“Captain Scott, I ordered you to draw lots.”

“I respectfully decline, Sir. I’ll stay station-side. Let Romero evacuate.”

Drawing lots? Hiding behind arbitrary outcomes rationalizes indecision. Especially when lives are at stake.

The Commander needed a show to look impartial. And look good.

I won’t place my fate and faith on an inanimate object. And I won’t sacrifice another to secure my safety. Not how it’s done.

Romero locked eyes with me, nodded and entered the hatch. He’s a good man.

What could he say? ‘So long. Take care. Catch you later.’ No time for poetry.

I saluted. Few civilians recognize the nuance of a salute. Seen as perfunctory, irony can be expressed by lingering or adding snap to the wrist. Am I crazy?

Of the many possible gestures, saluting was appropriate. That salute said it all.

Content with my choice, I considered alternate ploys the Commander could have chosen.

A coin flip is absurd. We had no time.

Likewise with dice. Who wants to dodge spotted cubes in zero gravity?

History never took orders from a dice roll. Did Napoleon roll dice at Waterloo? Did their rattle inspire Einstein?

Dice work for the casino. But they are only messengers. Casinos don’t grow into palaces by chance.

The I Ching, the book of changes, changes nothing. It’s applied synchronicity, at best. The questioner casts coins to select an arbitrary ‘interpretation.’ Deciding nothing, the Ching cites the ‘Superior Man’s best course of action.’ Each individual projects meaning to connect the question to the text.

My dorm roommate faithfully consulted it several times daily. It was remarkable how consistently the I Ching directed the ‘Superior Man’ to eat pizza.

Likewise, Tarot cards point at, but don’t impose solutions. Individuals decide their actions.

I would not draw the Fool card.

But it draws me. I step into the abyss when even a barking mongrel knows better. The abyss, the unknown, the insecure and unguided. A world of unguaranteed promise.

That was my problem. My well mapped future wouldn’t change unless I changed it.

I won’t surrender freedom to random chance. Fate plays no part. Destiny? Merely a Romance novel heroine.

These stalling devices only buy time to evade accountability. The pretense of objective guidance allows me cover to do what I want.

Only actions matter.

The Commander returned my salute. He ducked through the hatch and secured it behind him.

We exceeded capacity because his guest stayed over from the last shuttle. She’d planned to leave on the next. Oops. Timing.

He allowed that breach. But now, protocols ruled.

The Commander would, no doubt, receive a severe slap on the wrist on his return to Earth. The station would be salvageable. But not me.

It was the old life-boat test from school. Only this was real. No sharks though.

The Titanic had too few lifeboats. Never intended for use, they offered an illusion of security. No one pretended our space station was unsinkable. Death hovered just beyond that titanium membrane.

Children need limits, security and guardrails. Who favors a self-raised child? The good parent hopes his lessons stick. When the child comes of age, he can stand. The world opens with no absolutes but full of self-generated rules. Pursuing a terrifying freedom, we blithely step into the abyss. Damn the torpedoes…

I stood alone, steward of the most expensive skateboard in history. A dying one. Through flashing alarms, I retired to the command bay. Taking a seat, I surveyed the star filled universe. The Earth glowed. So close. So far.

Awake only for minutes. My life had transformed. I remembered Robin, my wife. I’d received no reply from her. We wrote every night. Communications had shut down. The dying station stopped me from sending her my love.

The escape pod drifted into view. Its jets ignited and it sped away. Gone.

I scanned the control board for some remedy. Alarms continued sounding. Lights strobed. Pegged indicators screamed for attention. Lights blinked out. The station’s last gasp. The glowing instrument panel faded to black. I sat alone in a derelict hulk. Soft light from the Milky Way filled the chamber.

Who would sabotage the station? Not the crew. Systems were redundant to avoid such outcomes. This could only happen by design. Mission Control would eventually detect a programming bug. Gremlins lurk.

My suit and helmet would buy me several hours. Once my oxygen was gone, I’d drift into oblivion. No other options. Sleep would soften my exit. I surrendered to my maker. Gave myself to God.

~

An hour later, the hum of the station rebooting brought me to. Lights flickered on. Fresh ventilation fluttered papers. The control panel appeared normal. One gauge still pegged the red zone. I tapped the glass and the needle fell into normal range. All systems were ‘go.’

Communications were up. A message from Mission Control read, ‘Welcome back! Diagnostics run. Computer ‘glitch’ isolated and repaired. Re-boot successful. Carry on.’

I wrote Robin. ‘Ignore all negative news. Am fine. See you soon! Love, G.’

I went to the galley and brewed fresh coffee. It tasted good.

My fellow crew members were safely back on Earth. Replacements were due in three days. Until then, I had the work of six.

Though in regular contact with Robin, I kept the stark details of my adventure in reserve.

The fresh crew restored routine. Their training prepared them to start immediately. Few mentioned the circumstances of my isolation. I sensed their wonder at my remaining behind.

Our training discourages heartfelt speeches. I didn’t expect, and got no laurels. I did my job.

When this shuttle left for Earth, I was on it, the sole passenger.

~

Capt. Greg Scott pulled into his driveway. He’d made it home after a long, strange trip.

Robin, and Phillip, his son, greeted him in the yard. Phillip clung to him.

He reached for Robin, and she melted into his arms. Tears flowed freely.

“I’m home, Babe. For good.”

She broke the clinch. “I’m told you’re a hero. You big dope.” They laughed.

“That about sums it up.”

“Is this leave? How long you back for?”

“This is it. No one gets two suicide missions. I’m done.”        

Robin held his gaze and softened. She nodded and smiled.

Phillip asked, “When can I be an astronaut, Dad?”

Robin caught Greg’s eye as he knelt.

“You know those rides at the park with the sign saying, ‘You must be this tall to ride’?”

He nodded. Greg stood and held his hand about chin high.

“Well, to be an astronaut, you have to be this big.”

“Oh. Okay! How long can you stay this time?”

He took Robin’s hand and said, “Forever. Time to get real work, where I don’t have to play all day.” She chuckled. “I’ll eat dinner with my beautiful wife and kid. Every night.”

Phillip hugged his legs.

“Maybe I’ll operate a ride at the amusement park. Maybe run the Tilt-a-Whirl…”

Phillip danced around. “Yay!”

Robin lay her head on Greg’s shoulder. Holding each other, they walked into the house.