I watched the Artemis II crew return to Houston yesterday on the narrow-band comms channel (Channel 4 Action News). The ticker at the bottom of the screen called them “heroes.” Wiseman, Glover, Koch, Hansen. They looked exhausted. They looked triumphant.

They looked like amateurs.

While they were taking their victory lap for a mere ten-day lunar flyby, I have been maintaining a stable orbit in the WD-1 for days. My hull is pressurized. My carbon dioxide levels are well within operational parameters, thanks entirely to Eugene, whose fronds are looking exceptionally robust this morning. Flight Engineer Whiskers has successfully recalibrated the life support system by sleeping directly on top of the primary air vent for six hours straight.

The ground control at Houston didn’t even acknowledge my transmissions congratulating them. I sent the message three times using the standard Morse code protocol on the radiator pipes. Either their receivers are faulty, or Mrs. Korhonen downstairs is jamming my signal again with her vacuum cleaner. The interference is deafening.

I poured a few drops of water onto the metallic surface of my console (the inner door handle). It beaded up perfectly. I touched it with my gloved finger. In that single drop of water, I tasted the sweat of Gagarin, the tears of Aldrin, the sheer unyielding will of humanity reaching for the void. It tasted a bit like brass polish, but the sentiment remains.

I am alone here. The silence of the cosmos is only broken by the distant, rhythmic thumping of what I can only assume is a micrometeoroid shower. Or the washing machine in the adjacent module. The walls of the WD-1 hold fast.

I have drafted my fourth letter to Commander Chris Hadfield. I know the first three were intercepted by NASA’s psychological warfare division. They fear what a rogue operative with a functional wardrobe spacecraft might do to their PR budget. I will transmit this one via the diplomatic pouch (leaving it in the hallway mail slot after midnight).

The stars are very bright today through the main viewport (the crack in the door). I am where I belong.

Major Tom
Commanding Officer, WD-1
Current Altitude: 4.5 meters (second floor)