Deep Space Nein

“HOW ABOUT YOU SHUT UP, KARL!”

Bert had had it.  Too much time in the vacuum of space, too much time in close quarters.  Too much cleaning and sauerkraut. Seriously, who eats that stuff?

“HOW ABOUT YOU MAKE ME, BERT, YOU AMERICAN PIG!”

Karl was done, too.  The American was arrogant, prideful and sloppy.  Then he was a clutz, too. That’s why they were here now, in space, with the gravitational controls out of function, floating.  

Not just the capsule.  

Them.  

Floating.  

In the capsule.  

“FINE- HERE IT COMES!”

Bert pulled back his fist for an epic haymaker, and Karl prepared his fist for an equally devastating uppercut.  Both men threw their hardest punch at each other and--

Well, they are floating weightless in space, so, since they were about five feet apart when this started, it will take a minute for the punches to drift together.  So. Let’s take a look at how we got here.

Bert and Karl both signed up for a new International Space Hub mission to the dark side of the moon.  It was a chance for these two brilliant scientists- who on paper were a perfect fit for each other to do important scientific work for the betterment of humanity.

Or something like that.

It was a photo-op for the newly minted International Space Hub to show it was A) actually international despite being headquartered in Florida and B) capable of actually getting into space.  

Their first seven rockets had not gotten so far as the atmosphere- one had literally just fallen off the launchpad.  Turns out the boosters were uneven.

While we are at it- Karl and Bert were not so much brilliant scientists as they were looking for a way out of a bad relationship and harboring a mild death wish, respectively.  And ISH needed warm, preferably semi-intelligent bodies.

They did match up on paper, though, and when ISH held the press conference it was all smiles, handshakes and bro-hugs.  The men laughed and joked about old US and German rivalries and what constituted real football. We should have seen it then, though.  There were cracks. Like when Bert made the comment about “only animals eat wet, soggy grass like Germans eat sauerkraut,” and Karl gave the sidest-eye of all side eyes. Or when Karl explained how he hated people- like, all of them- so the loneliness wouldn’t be a factor.

But hey, that’s just cultural differences?

Right?

ISH finally got a rocket to work, and the men went up into space. Bert was silently disappointed they survived, and really, so was Karl’s ex.  Now the mission was for a full year, and by the end of day two, there were issues.

In day one, Karl had baked traditional German streusel- and Bert LOVED it.  But in day two, Karl walked in to find a situation not at all to his liking.

“Um, Bert.  You, you haff left your dirty deeshes out.  If you vant me to make you some more streusel, you are going to haff to be more tidy!”

Bert slowly turned his head and cocked his eyebrow.  “Say what now? I am a grown man, don’t talk to me like a child.  And I may not want anymore of your dry and tasteless streusel,” he said as he secretly stuffed the wrapped up leftovers in his jumpsuit pocket.

Karl made a clicking noise with his tongue.  “Ah, you haff misunderstood. I am not saying you are like a child.  I am implying zat you are a child. And vun zat does not haff the capacity to appreciate fine German foods.”

“Is this about the sauerkraut line?”

“Maybe….”

The next day, the slippery slope continued.  

Literally.

Bert walked in on Karl’ reorganizing the chemical locker.  “What are you doing?”

“I am reorganizing the cabinet so zat it makes sense to me.”

“No, you are messing up a good system.”

“You would not know a good system unless it vas named Playstation or Xbox.”

“Ohh!  Somebody knows some American cultu-u-ur-ooooo!” Bert’s feet flew out from under him and he crashed down on his back on the sterile, white floor.  “Karl, WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FREAK DID YOU DO?!?!”

“I cleaned up a spill I found from your beverage last night.”

“Ugh...did you think to put a “wet floor” sign up?”

“Hmmm.  Zat would be a good idea for next time.  Ooooor, you could clean it up as soon as you make the mess, no?”

Before we go further, let’s check back on our epic throwdown.

Well, they are about a foot closer, mostly due to Bert paddling his other hand in a dog paddle fashion.  So, we have more time.

Back and forths on cleaning aside, they managed to get work done.  But a peculiar habit of Karl’s emerged.

Talking in his sleep.

At first, it was an irritant.  They shared a sleeping quarters, so there was no escaping the noise.  Bert would be angry and irritable at breakfast, and invariably, Karl would announce- “I slept like I vas a baby!  How did you sleep, Bert?”

Bert would grumble an inappropriate word or two and the day would go on.  

Then it got weird.

One night, Bert was already awake from the incoherent mumbling when Karl sat bolt upright in bed and screamed:  “GIVE HER ALL ZE CAPITALIST PIGS!” Then he slumped back down and went to bed.

Bert feared bringing it up at breakfast, but after completing a series of tests that morning involving highly combustible (and potentially deadly) chemicals, Bert felt a need to clear the air.

“So, about the sleep talking.  Now, I don’t mind, mostly, but last night you screamed ‘GIVE HER ALL ZE CAPITALIST PIGS!’ and I gotta ask- what the ever-loving heck is up with that?”

“I screamed “GIVE HER ALL ZE CAPITALIST PIGS!’ last night?  In my sleep?”

“Yes, you screamed, “GIVE HER ALL ZE CAPITALIST PIGS!’ in your sleep.”  Last night. Next to my bed. At three in the morning. In the dark.”

“It must haff been a movie I saw vonce.  I don’t have any other reason why I-- VAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“What?  I’m making a freeze dried hot dog.”

“Nein.  You are ruining a freeze dried hot dog vith zat, zat, disgusting processed cheese from a can!”

The squelch of the yellow substance leaving the can continued for a second as Bert stared at Karl with dead eyes.  “Really? Sauerkraut is delicious but good old American cheese from a can is disgusting?”

“Again, I am sorry.  I misspoke. That, that...stuff...is inedible.  You are disgusting.”

“Oh yeah! Well how about you tell me to my face?”

This lovely interaction was interrupted by a screeching alarm indicating an evasive maneuver was needed to avoid space trash.  They did not speak that day, and went to bed in silence.

Bert woke in the middle of the night to see Karl standing beside his bed staring at him, sleepwalking.

“KAAAARLLL!”

Karl twitched and slurred, “Huh?”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Karl seemed to become aware of his location.  “Oh, sorry.” Then he climbed back in bed. That instigated the decision to stagger sleeping schedules.

Time to check back in on the punch- yep.  Almost there. Karl is kicking his feet like he’s running in place- should get there soon.

That brings us to the latest- and last inciting incident. 

Bert was a slob.  This was true in the truest sense of the word.  He left clothes everywhere, and he left a trail of crumbs and spills wherever he went.  Karl continued to warn him about spilling on the expensive and vital equipment. Bert continued to speak in sign language that engaged one finger.

During one of the shift changes, Karl noticed a dark liquid was covering some of the gravitational control switches. The things that gave them gravity inside the capsule.  He began to berate Bert for his messiness and his carelessness when it came to the critical technology they needed to survive.

“I didn’t do it!  I swear! You’re the one who insists on beer everyday- not me!”

“Ah, but I am careful to clean up any mess I make.  You? You think zat is vat I am here for!”

A small spark shot up behind Karl from the board.

“Well, yeah I leave it for you.  It’s the only thing seem capable of doing that we both agree on! So, why don’t you clean it up now!”

“I am done being your maid!  And you know what- zat thing I said in my sleep- it vas not from a movie- it was my fantasy of getting rid of you!”

There was a bigger spark.

“Bad news broski- we are stuck together for the rest of the trip!”

“Vat is this ‘broski?’ I am not Russian.  I am German you arrogant American!”

“I’m arrogant?  I’m arrogant? You self righteous--”

There was a loud pop, a small flame and suddenly they were floating in zero gravity.  

“LOOK VAT YOU HAFF DONE, YOU CLUTZ!” screamed a defiant Karl.

And that brings us to the start of the story.  Now is as good of a time as any to explain that ISH had really messed up.  The black liquid was oil that had seeped up and shorted out the control. In addition, they had pre-programmed the capsule to fly in a certain pattern, but had not actually bothered to confirm that their calculations were correct.

They were not.

In truth, the capsule was well off course, and headed directly for the sun.

Now, that epic punch should be about to happ- Oh!

Yeah, they missed and are trying to turn around to attack again.  Maybe you should check back in a month or two.  

Maybe they will have it together by then.