Mission Log: Day 8 — The Bureaucracy of the Stars

Telemetry is erratic. Flight Engineer Whiskers has fallen asleep on the main console (the auxiliary folding table), which has caused a critical dip in the cabin’s morale. I spent the morning recalibrating the CO2 scrubbers—Eugene is looking a bit pale, perhaps a sign of cosmic radiation or just a draft from the bedroom door.

News reached the WD-1 today via the subspace relay (the kitchen radio). NASA has announced the crew for Artemis III. Andre Douglas, Luca Parmitano, Randy Bresnik, Frank Rubio. I recognize the names. Competent men. But there is a void where my name should be.

I had submitted my credentials through the proper channels—which is to say, I left a very detailed letter in a padded envelope marked URGENT on the porch of the local post office. I was the logical choice for the secret backup role. My experience in high-G maneuvers (the dizzying spin of the office chair) is unparalleled. But the rejection was swift and cold. Apparently, the WD-1 fails to meet NASA’s “luxury standards” for long-term lunar habitation. They want pressurized titanium; I offer a high-grade mahogany wardrobe with reinforced duct tape. The lack of vision at the agency is staggering.

I paused for a moment. A single drop of condensation had formed on the inner wall of the capsule, right next to the emergency ration of instant noodles. I watched it tremble, a perfect, shivering sphere of water. In that tiny globe, I saw the entire Orion capsule, the lunar south pole, and the faces of the pioneers who didn’t care about luxury. Gagarin didn’t have a mahogany wardrobe, but he had the courage to leave the ground. I have the same courage; I simply have a better interior.

The roar of a Saturn V just shook the hull. Or perhaps the neighbor is just using his lawnmower again. It is hard to tell the difference when the universe is screaming.

Major Tom
Commanding Officer, WD-1
Current Altitude: 2.1 meters