Ground Control To Major Tom (Part 1)

It would prove to be a fitting start to the worst day of my life. It began when I woke up by hitting my head off the ceiling of my bedroom, though up here it was hard to tell what was up and what was down. This meant two things, first, that I would have a massive bump on my head all day and second, it meant that the gravity similar was on the fritz again and it would take anything from a few hours to a few months for it to fix itself again.

After 3 years up here you would think I’d have learned to fix it, but I just can’t make head nor tails of the instruction manual, makes me wish sometimes I was an engineer instead of a scientist, but that kind of thinking doesn’t do anyone a lick of good. I have a billion stars up here to wish on and not once have any of wishes come true.

Even if I had a wish, I wouldn’t waste it on something so stupid; I wish to be back down on the ground with my wife and beautiful daughter. She was only a baby when I left; I wonder if she even remembers what I look like?

But I can’t be thinking like that, got to focus on the job, only a few weeks now until I go home and see them again, and this time no amount of money in the world will get me to go back up here. Last time I was thinking this grimly I got drunk on what little alcohol they gave me up here and almost opened the airlock and stepped out into space in my pyjamas. I’ve got to keep to routine and hang in there just a few more weeks.

I kicked off the wall, aiming toward the door, and soon I was drifting down the hallway towards the medical bay, just to make sure I hadn’t done any serious damage to my head. I looked over my shoulder and saw a few drops of blood glisten like rubies in the cold light of the fluorescents as they bobbed away from my head.

Dammit, why didn’t I strap myself in to the bed last night? I drifted on through the cafeteria and living area, and was pleased to find I was finally becoming used to the corpse of Smith slumped face down in a plate of food. Command told me not to move the body, and that they would collect it and do a post mortem and all that when they stopped to take me home and leave the next poor soul up here.

I think they were suspicious, but they had no proof. I hoped the poison wouldn’t show up in the autopsy. Smith just chewed so damn loud, how can I live with that for over 3 years? No jury would convict me.

I reached the medical bay, and as I drifted through the door the sensors turned on the lights in the room and turned off those in the room behind me. I hated the way it did that, it was like being Michael Jackson in that Billy Jean video from a hundred years ago, every time you moved from one place to another lights went on and off. Through the small viewing shutter, I could see the black expanse of space through 6 inches of indestructible glass.

“Good morning Mr. Mason, what brings you to the medical bay?” I nearly jumped out my skin, but since I was floating I just did a sort of weird jerk in mid air. The station's AI was as dumb as a bag of rocks and had a knack for scaring the shit clean out of me at every opportunity.

This was supposed to stop me and Smith from feeling lonely up here, but I’ve seen Kubrick’s 2001, even if it seems like it was a thousand life times ago, and this robot just frightens me. I think it knows it too, and I think it likes it. But I’m probably just being paranoid again, just like with Smith. Smith always said I was paranoid.

“What’s so good about it?” I muttered.
“I don’t understand.”
“What’s so good about – Jesus Christ, never mind.”
“My name is not Jesus Christ Mr. Mason, you silly goose. It’s Betty!” Followed by a giddy half human laugh that sound like kittens wailing in a washing machine or something.

“Uh-huh, I’m here because I hit my head this morning and it’s bleeding.” I looked behind me, and saw small drops of blood drifting out of the room behind me and into the dark corridor like a breadcrumb trail.
“I’m bleeding quite a lot actually, maybe I’ll die. That would be just my luck.”
“Scans indicate that there is no major damage Mr. Mason, don’t worry!” Gratingly cheerful. This was worse than loud chewing, it’s a shame I can’t kill a machine.

“May I recommend you clean the wound, followed by…”
“I know how to treat something this basic; don’t tell me what to do.”
“I wasn’t telling you Mr. Mason, I was merely recommending…”
“Well don’t!” I shouted, it echoed through the room and the empty station. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples, I was getting a blinder of a headache and the day had only just started.
“Oh… okay, I’m sorry.” Betty replied, sounding genuinely hurt, which was surely impossible. I suddenly felt like such an ass.
“Betty, I didn’t mean to shout, I’m sorry.” Apologising to a machine, maybe I really had gone off the deep end, and with only a few weeks to go too, damn.

“It’s okay Mr. Mason, brain scans show you’re getting a migraine headache and are experiencing high levels of stress. May I suggest you return to your medication again?”
“I’m fine, I don’t need my medication, I just need to patch myself up and I’ll be alright.” She fell silent, I felt like I should say something else. The silence felt awkward, I couldn’t believe it.

Awkward silence with a machine, feeling bad for shouting at a machine, I think I was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
“But… thank you for your concern Betty.”
“No problem Mr. Mason, I’m here to help you.” The voice sounded less mechanical somehow. It almost sounded like my wife, Rachel, was surprised I could even remember her voice. I shuddered and suddenly became aware that I was living in a square mile of an empty shell, floating millions of miles from home, with nothing for company but a stupid machine trying very hard to become human, and the ghost of a bastard that chewed too loud.

I took a few more painkillers than the bottle recommended after I bandaged up my head.

***
I completed most of the rest of my morning routine without much incidence. Repairing bits and bobs, checking the new samples that the rover gathered from nearby planets for mineral composition and possibly life, though I think we’d all given up hope by now of every finding any life in this endless darkness up here. Funny how I still thought of it as ‘up’ even though I was so far from earth I could be under it for all I knew.

The second disaster happened shortly after lunch, when I drifted into the recreational area (gravity still not fixed) to relax for a while before getting back to work. I never did get used to weightlessness, but I had gotten used to completing all my tasks while weightless, but my stomach was lurching and my muscles aching. If the gravity wasn’t back on soon I would end up vomiting and it would just drift around like a stinking storm cloud.

As I entered the room, as usual the lights came on, and in this room some ‘relaxing’ music always accompanied. There was such a massive collection of classical music on the system that I’d never heard all of it, and today it came on with some guy singing about ground control and Major Tom. I checked the jukebox screen and saw it was David Bowie. I think I remember hearing my great-grandfather talk about him once. The song was pretty good, I closed my eyes and drifted, listening to it, and I started to relax a bit.

It finished, and then it started again. I looked at the jukebox, it had malfunctioned and queued that one song to play 10,000 times, and no amount of pushing buttons or smashing my fist off the panel would fix it. It just played over and over again.

“Betty!” I screamed, exasperated.
“There is no need to shout Mr. Mason, I am right here, I am everywhere… even when you shower!” She giggled flirtatiously. My jaw dropped. She’d never done that before.
“What do you need Mr. Mason?”
“Uh… the jukebox is broke.” I muttered.
“Oh dear, oh well, I’m sure it will fix itself.” She said pleasantly.
I don’t even know why I bothered, that was always her reaction. She was pretty useless at ship maintenance and just about everything else come to think of it.

After I was done ‘relaxing’ it was time for the part of my day that kept me going despite everything else, it was the time of day that I heard from command and then got to talk to my wife and daughter. There wasn’t a video feed, because apparently that would make things too hard on the occupants of the ship, but we could talk, if only briefly.

I drifted over to the monitor bank in the main computer lab and strapped myself into the chair with some difficulty. I turned on the console and connected to command back home. I got onto the channel and began to speak.

“Good afternoon command, Charlie Mason here, ready to give a status report.” I waited for a response; there was nothing, dead silence.
“Hello? Anyone there?” Not even static. A few trickles of sweat ran down the back of my neck.
“Command? Do you read?”