Ship of Fools - Chapter 30

Spice Cowboy

[Start at the beginning of the novel: Prologue.]

[Go to the Table of Contents.]

Welcome back to Ship of Fools, my satire about a science journalist trying to make sense of conspiracy theorists, flat-earthers, moon-landing deniers, New Agers, and more.

A bit of housekeeping: I’ll be on vacation for the next couple of weeks, so you won’t see an essay in your inbox (or your app) for the next two Tuesdays. But these novel chapters will appear as usual on Fridays and Sundays.

This is the first chapter in which this novel lives up to its sci-fi genre billing. Rockets! Moon bases! The extra grossness of vomiting in microgravity!

Here’s the non-sarcastic chapter description: Having said goodbye to Shorty back in Salsa Verde, Slim blasts off to the moon, meeting a curious and provocative stranger on the way.

And here’s the obvious song to serve as the soundtrack to this chapter: YouTube | Apple | Spotify

---

AS THE ENGINES beneath the SpaceOut rocket roared to life, Slim felt the g-forces pushing him down into the gel-foam cushions of his seat like an elephant sitting on his chest — well, more like a zebra maybe — and wondered if Shorty hadn’t been right: it was crazy to put yourself, of your own free will, into a tin can sitting on top of a bomb. He raised his head as best he could, what with the extra gravity weighing him down and everything shaky with the vibration of the engines, and looked around at his fellow passengers, all reclining in identical seat-couches arranged in concentric circles around the passenger deck, some with their eyes closed and their lips moving in silent prayer, others gazing in rapt attention at the screens showing their ascent (windows having been omitted in favor of structural integrity), and yet others looking around like he was, but not out of curiosity — more in the bored manner of frequent fliers impatient to pull their laptops and phones out and get back to work or gaming.

One of these latter noticed Slim, his eye going first to the Stetson held in place against one knee, a precaution against crushing Slim now feared was hopeless, and then up to meet his eye with a grin. Slim looked away, unsure what bothered him more, the bumpy ride or the stranger’s amused expression.

After a few minutes it was over. The roar of the engines cut off, providing temporary relief from the crushing weight and provoking aahs from a significant portion of the passengers, as the screens showed the first stage falling away. Then the g-forces returned, less intense now, the ride becoming smoother as the second-stage engines kicked in. The screens switched to forward view and there was the curve of the Earth, just like in all the movies and Space Station feeds. It seemed so real, but there was still something unreal about it, what with the screens rather than actual windows.

The most real thing was the weight bearing down on his chest and making it hard to lift his arm. It seemed crazy to think that this could be faked somehow, but he’d heard that the skeptics in the “conspiracy community” kept trying to figure out how those sensations could be simulated without actually going into orbit — much less the sense of weightlessness that ensued when the secondary thrusters cut out, as they did now. Slim’s arms floated upward of their own accord and he had to clutch at his Stetson before it drifted away.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” came the flight attendant’s voice, “the captain is happy to inform us that we have achieved nominal orbital insertion, successfully completing the first stage of our journey to Luna.” Cheers from enthusiastic first-timers, as the repeat travelers reached for their devices.

“If this is your first time in orbit, let me remind you that you must remain seated until the fasten seat belt sign goes off in your section, and then you should only move about the flight decks to use the restrooms.”

In usual circumstances, Slim wouldn’t have put up with this unaccustomed restriction on his personal freedom, but he supposed this was Mr. Ester’s rodeo, so he called the shots.

“As tempting as it is, out of consideration for the safety of yourself and your fellow passengers, no weightless acrobatics are allowed — no flipping, no tumbling, no corkscrew transits down the elevator shaft. Please keep one hand on the guide rails at all times. In a few hours, once we reach the coasting stage of our trip, the exercise room will be opened for you to do all the tumbling you want, again in designated groups, and the observation deck will be open for your viewing pleasure.”

Slim didn’t know about tumbling, but he’d need to stretch his legs somehow during the three-day flight.

The attendant went on. There sure were a lot of things to keep in mind with this space travel. “If you find yourself in danger of orbital sickness, it is imperative that you use the bags provided in the seat back pocket in front of you — vomit and weightlessness don’t mix.”

The next voice filling the cabin was that of a woman with a South Asian accent. “Welcome, space voyagers, this is your captain speaking. As we line up for our rendezvous with the space station and orbital fueling dock, we’ll be making a few minor course adjustments with the maneuvering thrusters, so remember to keep one hand on that safety rail as you move about the cabin, and keep your harnesses fastened at all times when seated. We’ll arrive at the station in four hours and twenty-three minutes, where we’ll exchange passengers and on-board fuel for our transit to the moon. We’ll be docked at the station no longer than two hours, during which a light meal will be served on the mess deck, and then we’ll be strapping in as we raise our orbit in preparation for the slingshot maneuver that will get us to Luna and Tranquility Base in three days’ time. Once we’re on our transit to the moon, you’ll be able to move about the ship more freely. So for now, sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight.”

Relax! Slim found that a mite difficult, what with all the rules and restrictions and things to watch out for. But he supposed that in such an environment, where so many things could go wrong, everything had to be planned and controlled down to the micron and the nanosecond. But it sure made him miss the freedom of the open range, where he could water a cactus any time he felt the need and where mañana was usually as good as today.

When the seat belt sign went off in Slim’s section, he was more than ready to use the head. He donned his Stetson, having to jam it on a little more tightly than usual to keep it from floating away, unbuckled his waist and shoulder straps, then tried to remember the tips about weightless maneuvering they’d all been given in the preflight orientation back in Salsa Verde. “Small touches yield big results” was the main advice. He still managed to bump his head on the ceiling as he pushed away from his seat with too much force. So much for not crushing his Stetson.

He got a better hang for the motion as he guided himself between the seats toward the central elevator shaft. The ship’s layout was nothing like those sci-fi movies Shorty sometimes dragged him to, more like a circular office building with seven floors stacked one on top of the other, all connected by a central shaft containing a platform lift. Except no one usually used the lift, saving it for those times when the ship was subject to gravity on the good old terra firma of Earth, or the artificial gravity created by thrust. In the near-weightlessness of free-fall, passengers moved around by pulling themselves along the railings lining the central shaft to reach the various decks: a gym and activity room on the lowest, then a mess hall, a toilet and shower deck, two identical passenger decks, and, one floor below the cockpit, the observation deck with the ship’s one large viewing window.

He proceeded through the elevator shaft feet-first, the better to keep his sense of “up” and “down,” as they’d all been instructed in training. But without the visual cue of a floor and a ceiling, he soon lost his orientation and began to feel like he was traveling along a horizontal shaft. His stomach gave a lurch. Fortunately, he came to the toilet deck, where everyone was either standing or floating in an upright orientation to the floor, some bracing on poles installed for the purpose. He felt better as down began to feel like down again.

He found himself in the bathroom line behind the man who’d been grinning at him, and who turned around now, eyebrows raised. The fella looked like a city slicker, a week’s growth of beard on his cheeks, and his brown hair with blond highlights kept at collar length — or it would have been, if it hadn’t been floating out sideways in the zero-g.

“What do they call you, mate?” the man asked in a down-under accent. “No, wait, let me guess, they call you the Space Cowboy.” Accustomed to broad American As, Slim heard it as “Spice Cowboy.”

“Some people might, I reckon. And some people call me Mo-reese, but I don’t pay them no mind neither.” Was this how it was going to be? He had to admit, even in his freshest pair of denims from the Levi-Strauss Co., a clean chamois shirt, a fresh bandanna round his neck, and his boots polished to a mirror shine, he still stood out on board this rocket like a pig at a cocktail party. The empty holster at his hip probably didn’t help. “You can call me Slim.”

Another slight grin. “Of course, what else? What brings you to space, Slim?”

“I’ll be workin’ security at Tranquility Base on Luna.”

“Luna — what hubris.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s not your fault, it’s Ester’s, of course. Calling it Luna instead of just the Moon — to distinguish it from all the other moons where Ester thinks we’ll eventually have bases — Titan, Ganymede, Callisto, on and on.”

“You don’t reckon we’ll ever have those?”

“Just seems a tad premature. Like, it’s not even a sure thing that we can build the space colonies or the Mars bases these techno-fundamentalists are all dreaming about — or that we should.” That latter said under his breath, almost as an afterthought.

“So what brings you up here?”

“Me? I’m on one of those moon tours. Thought I’d see for myself what the moon base is all about. Ester’s gotta fund his dreams of space expansion somehow.”

So a bored rich fella, in other words. Slim had to say he sided with Mr. Ester, who was actually doing something with his brains and his money, not just sitting back criticizing and makin’ jokes about other people.

Speaking of which, the guy was eying his empty holster now. “I see your six-shooter’s gone walkabout.”

“Nope, just want to avoid puncturin’ any walls in a pressurized environment.”

“So why the holster?”

Boredom must make this guy especially inquisitive. “They say they’ll have a flechette pistol for me up there. Less risk to station integrity. Should fit in the holster perfect.”

The fella’s eyebrows went up a tad, but his smile remained. “And what about your horse?”

“Battery-powered ATV for patrols outside the station.” That was the hardest part of all this, not just leavin’ Tess behind, but havin’ to ride one of those infernal machines. ATVs had just about ruined cowboyin’ in most parts of the US and other rangelands of the world, the gauchos of Argentina being a notable exception.

“I guess that’ll make for some lonely nights for you, out on the range — and no campfire either.”

Slim was searching for a witty comeback, when the occupied light on the restroom in front of them went off, the door opened and a tall, serious-looking woman came out. She stopped when she saw them standing together, her eyebrows going up, then knitting into a frown. She walked away, leaving Slim wondering what he or the talkative Aussie had done to offend her.

Before the Aussie closed the restroom door on him, Slim said, “Say, fella, I didn’t catch your name.”

The man turned back to him, the slight grin returning. “You can call me Billy — Billy the Kid.” He feigned shooting Slim with his finger, then closed the door.

---

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please give it a like, a share, a restack, or a comment. And if you really enjoyed it, I hope you’ll buy me a coffee or upgrade to a paid subscription.

How do you think Slim will adapt to life on the moon?

Next up: Chapter 31, “One Good Thing,” in which the Earth-bound Shorty finds the trouble Slim warned him to avoid.