I’m a little late getting the ole newsletter together. The summertime is just the time for ‘getting to things a little late.’ Partly the delay was bringing Impractical Spacesuits in for a landing. I thought I’d have plenty of wattage to put the finishing touches on it, but it turns out There Will Be No Finishing Touches. That said, please enjoy this little romp:
It was work. Yes. And I needed the money. Badly. Money was as tight as the space suit. Speaking of which, when I saw what I'd be wearing on the floor of the Expo, I gave Cliff Pharrr the dirtiest of my dirty looks.
Not that kind of dirty. Sheesh. But I did see plenty of those kinds of looks as I modeled the new Crystal Dome™ Helmet in my silly space-swimsuit.
"It actually is a real spacesuit," Cliff said. I crinkled my nose at him and fanned my hands over my bare thighs. "In the places where there's suit," he added.
"Cliff," I said with the sagacity of annoyance. "I want hazard pay. I swear to Luna, if I get pinched…"
Cliff waved his hands like the false wizard of somewhere odd. "Miri, please, you have my assurance nothing will happen."
"Tell that to my wedgie," I replied while tugging on the knee-high boots.
Before I left, Cliff relented and stipulated a small bonus in the event of physical or mental harm. Enough for a spa day at least.
I smiled politely and passed out the flyers for the Crystal Dome™ Helmet at the 13th annual Tech Expo of Moon Colony II. The convention hub was packed with vendors and spenders, tables laden with all kinds of luxuries and tech. Seeing such bright smiles made living on the moon seem pleasant with perfection merely one purchase away.
"Tube foods!" called one dimple faced vendor. He was as tightly tucked into his clothing as I, the only difference was his suit had four times the fabric. He saw me and siddled over. "I am the inventor, Red Reed, and Tube Foods are fresh, healthy, and pressurized!" he said as he sprayed out a ruffled gel of something bright green onto a cracker. "Pickle foam?"
Shrugging and tapping the Crystal Dome™, I pretended I couldn't hear him.
"How about Baconella?" Deftly he maneuvered another cracker under the tube and sprayed out a dappled line of umber and ochre. "This tube comes with over seventy food options."
I held up the flyers to hide my disgust. He realized I was a vendor and turned his attention to a lady tugging a grubby ten year old boy.
I skirted the floor, trying to keep my backside to the wall for Luna's sake, but was foiled by an Inflatable Airlock™ installation. "What is the point of that?" I said aloud. A man in a green jumpsuit at the cold metal voice piped from the helmet.
He kept his eyes on the installation. "Inflatable airlocks are the next big thing. Perfect for a jaunt from a drop-pod. Why sit inside the whole time when you can inflate an airlock?" He turned and looked me up and down. Twice. "Name's Niles, by the way." Niles slicked back his wavy black hair from his mild brown face.
"Miri," I said and crossed my arms. "Why not just wear a spacesuit? Seems less of a hassle than inflating an airlock too."
Niles looked me up and down a third and fourth time. "Not everyone can wear a spacesuit like you, Ms. Miri."
I pooched my lips at him, but not in a kissy way, but as if I was calculating the damage a Crystal Dome™ Helmet smashed into his face would have… which is what I was doing.
"Or consider it an emergency exit," he said, noting my expression of pre-violence. "The convention hall was not equipped with an emergency exit, but now, thanks to the Inflatable Airlock, voila! A few workmen and my handy product has now provided one!"
I realized that there were workmen in spacesuits outside the glass wall of Moon Colony II. They had sealed the airlock to the outerwall and a workman from inside was now cutting open a portal.
"No offense," I said. "But I think I'm going to step away before the integrity of the building is compromised."
"Perfectly safe," said Niles, then added sarcastically, "Especially if you have on a spacesuit."
His comment reminded me of the cinched in suit with micro-compressed aerator at the small of my back and the heat-cool system accentuating my hips, my bare unprotected legs, and the magno-grip temp-sealed moonboots. I felt ridiculous once again. Then I was pelted in the buttocks with plasteen pellets.
I jumped in surprise more than pain. I turned to find the bratty looking boy of around ten. He wore a safe-suit, a garment that would seal up in the loss of atmosphere. Behind his helmet was the sneer of the culprit. He cut his eyes at me while he reloaded his red ray gun with more ammo.
"Hey, you little twerp, that hurt!" I said, rubbing my tush.
"Why don't you got any pants on?" he asked as he jostled the pellets into their hold.
"Why don't you have any manners?" I responded lamely. I didn't have any siblings, I don't know how to do biting banter.
The mom came to my rescue, sorta. "Mozeus, naughty boy! What have I told you?" She pulled twice on Mozeus's arm, disrupting his equilibrium both times and nearly sending him to the floor.
I stuck my tongue out at him before a third pull finally sent him sprawling. He clattered to the ground and his ray gun went wheeling across the floor. I backed away, keeping my flyers in front of me as protection.
Later I saw the kid stealing magnets from a vendor and tucking them into his pants. He saw me watching and flashed that evil grin. I could see his other hand reaching for his ray gun. I snarled at him, but was distracted by Niles.
"Miri, if you do me a favor and walk through the airlock, I'll buy you lunch." Niles has crept up behind me, emphasis on the creep.
I said "no" with my body knowing he'd hear it louder than if I spoke.
"Come on, Miri. I'll cut you 2% of all sales today." Niles managed to get back to eye-level before wagging his eyebrows. "Just a quick stroll to that comm dish and back."
"Niles, I doubt I'd last five minutes in this suit."
"So walk fast."
I decided to take his advice and turned down another row of vendors. Tanning visors, Zero-G Shower units, Regolith Brushes, every kind of doodad and sci-fiddlefaddle. Just past a table of brochures for the St. Luna Orphanage, I found a lovely woman whose towering yellow hair-do surpassed my Crystal Dome™. The cumulo-blondus was demonstrating something on her table in front of a banner that read E-Z-Sealers™.
"Take any two E-Z-Sealer sheets, press them together, like so," she said in demonstration. "And you can form an air-tight envelope of any size in seconds." She smiled and held up the newly sealed baggie with her business card inside.
"Elle Zippo," I read aloud.
The woman smiled. "That's me. I invented E-Z-Sealers." There was a smattering of claps as if this were a live show.
"But is it really air-tight?" asked someone from the edges of the crowd. A man in a pale green jumpsuit pushed past me and held up a sandwich. "Can it protect my sandwich from the ravages of space?" It was Niles, no doubt seizing a promotional opportunity.
Elle looked unamused. "Completely, I assure you." She dutifully accepted Niles's lunch and set it on the table. From a larger roller, she pulled two sheets of E-Z-Sealer and wrapped the sandwich.
Niles took it from her and held it up. "Lovely." Then turned to the crowd. "Now if everyone will follow me to that stupendous looking Inflatable Airlock we can test it." He led the crowd across the floor.
As he passed me, Niles slanted his eyes and said, "Synergy, Miri. You missed your chance."
Elle joined me in watching the bold little man draw the people away. "Where is he taking my crowd?" she asked.
"I hope he gets stuck in his own airlock," I said.
"For Luna's sake, he's the airlock salesman?" Elle smacked her forehead and her towering hair-do trembled.
This is when the hubbub started.
You can guess what happened. Niles put the sandwich into the airlock and triggered the countdown for dramatic effect when it was noticed that something else was in the airlock. Little bratty Mozeus.
The caterwauling from his mother is what drew Elle and I to the crowd. Niles was furiously trying to disengage the decompression sequence, assuring the crowd that he did NOT forget to install the safety cut off option. Mozeus was trying to open the sandwich, no doubt because he assumed this was what the ruckus was over.
Right before the airlock jettisoned poor Mozeus across the lunar surface, his mother swooned. Mr. Reed caught her. The door burst open and Mozeus tumbled and (hilariously imo) rolled, to the nearby comm dish, kicking up a furor of moon dust.
With one of his tubes of food, Mr. Reed daubed a pale scallop beneath the mother's nose. "Peppermint," he said. "To trigger her inhalation reflex."
Mozeus's mom sputtered back into consciousness. "My baby!" The caulk of peppermint clung firm to her lip.
Her baby had come to rest ten feet from the dome. "Don't worry, don't worry," Niles said, tamping down the damage control with his hands. "Kid's got a safe-suit on. It sealed as soon as the atmosphere went. There's oxygen enough to get the maintenance crew back out there and round up the little rascal. See the green light on his helmet? Everything's fine."
The crowd searched for the green light carbuncled to his noggin and sighed in relief when they saw it. Mozeus was just beginning to dust himself off and stand.
"But— but—" his mother blathered. "Mozeus wears it sealed! He's worn it all morning."
"How much air does he have left?" Elle asked.
Mozeus began climbing the ladder of the comm dish. When he turned we saw a red light flashing from his shoulders. The crowd gasped at the sign of the five minute warning. His mother passed out again.
At this point I was already rounding up a few items from people around me and entered the airlock as soon as it had repressurized. "Send me out asap," I said to Niles. He paused his liability calculations and nodded.
I tucked the Tube Food™ —snatched from Mr. Reed— under my arm and sealed a handful of magnets in an E-Z-Sealer™. I had half a mind to seal my bare thighs too, but there was no time. Good heavens. I noticed that Mozeus had managed to climb five feet up the comm dish.
I was about to signal that I was ready when the outer door opened and spewed me out with the atmosphere.
I stumbled, tripped, went sprawling and shot out a ten foot fan of regolith that washed over Mozeus. He'd gotten another couple feet up, but the wave of debris caught his attention. He turned and looked.
I climbed to my feet. I could feel the skin of my thighs pimple. Not from cold, for heat loss would be slow in the void, but from the pressure at the seals of my space suit. The void was sucking gas and moisture from my exposed skin. I'd have one nasty bruise if I survived this.
I didn't have much time. Already my legs were in pain from the swelling. "Mozeus, you bleep! Get down here." Yes, I said 'bleep.' No, I didn't think he'd obey or even hear, because, well, soundwaves don't travel in outer space. I'm not a dummy… I mean, outside of wearing a skimpy spacesuit and running out onto the surface of the moon.
I tried to climb up, but my legs were in excruciating pain. I was afraid to look down, knowing my thighs would be purple and swollen. I slung my E-Z Sealer™ bag of magnets at Mozeus and connected to his rump full of magnets. I could feel the magnets aligning and pinning his bottom to my E-Z Sealers™.
Mozeus was gripping the ladder in fear. He'd finally realized something was wrong, his suit was out of air. I could hardly move and knew that I only had a few more seconds.
In desperation, I threw myself back pulling Mozeus off the ladder. I caught him with one arm and —before hitting the ground— with the other I depressed the trigger of Red Reed's Tube Food™.
On a geyser of pressurized foods we sailed back to the Inflatable Airlock™ and collapsed on its floor. The atmosphere began flooding in and, as I lay there, with Mozeus clawing his helmet off and sucking in deep lungfuls of oxygen, all I could think of was, 'Thank Luna for hazard pay.'
Want More Short Sci-fi?
This brief story by Ray Bradbury could very well be the inspiration of Raymond Chandler’s (hilarious) take-down of sci-fi (which I quote here). Bradbury’s “The Fight of the Good Ship Clarissa” was first published in Futuria Fantasia, Winter 1940. Chandler’s letter appeared in 1953, so it’s possible.
I’m taking aim at the third Friday of the month for my next newsletter. I plan on discussing the Kessler Syndrome, Wall-E, and the secret sequel to Children of Men. Thanks for reading.