Seven years? Fourteen years roundtrip? I gotta talk to my travel agent!
Just joshing, I already knew that.
“And you better not trash Columbus, you filthy monkey,” said Greg. “That shuttle is my pride and joy.”
I rolled my eyes. They thought they were real clever naming the spaceship carrying the first pioneer to Europa after some smug European explorer. The same explorer who set sail for India but instead landed on the Bahamas. Yeah, that bodes well for me. Super thrilled to be on that ship.
I went to flip Greg the bird once more for good measure but the video feed cut out before I got the chance. Whatever. Good riddance, those homos are nothing but trouble. Oh don’t get in a tiff you oversensitive ninny, I meant homo sapiens.
Anyway now that the homos were gone, it was just me, Banjo, all alone in outer space. Well not entirely alone. I was able to bring along Mr. Button, my stuffed bunny. That’s him over there, floating by the window with the cute button nose and the partially decapitated head. I must have accidently throttled him pretty good when I woke up mid launch.
Poor little guy, I’ll figure out a way to patch you up, don’t worry.
I looked around the cockpit and breathed a sigh of relief that the spaceship was entirely automated. Blinking buttons and various complex controls to fly the ship occupied every square inch of the cockpit. Ugh, sorry, every square centimeter. Science. Thankfully everything was programmed not to respond to my touch. I may be smart for a bonobo but that doesn’t mean I know how to fly one of these fracking things.
With a pathetic hoot, I unbuckled my harness and floated up off the launch chair. My helmet bonked against the roof of the cockpit. Man, this whole no gravity thing is gonna suck.
I squirmed and pulled and swam my way to the small window in the front of the cockpit and grabbed Mr. Button’s mangled body. I looked out the window and… wow. Earth. It was just floating there, staring back at me. It was quite a sight.
Upon closer inspection I could see it was slowly spinning. Giant, mottled land masses, presumably continents, sat in the middle of what I guessed were oceans. I wasn’t entirely sure, I had never seen a map before. I’m a bonobo, remember? Cut me some slack.
But even though I had no idea what I was looking at, the planet was unbelievably beautiful. I was transfixed, mesmerized thinking of all the different lives going on down there. All the other bonobos, living their bonobo lives, in their bonobo jungles.
Oh well, it’s not like I ever got to enjoy life in the wild so how could I even know what I was missing? Well, I’ve watched enough BBC documentaries to know exactly what I was missing, but still. I was lab bred. Back on earth all I knew were metal cages and concrete floors. I knew how to adapt to human routines rather than follow my instincts or biological rhythms. I ate when they told me to eat. I crapped when they told me to crap. But look at me now! Freedom, sort of. And a several hundred billion dollar spaceship has to be better than a dinky cage, right?
My eyes crossed and lost focus. I saw my dopy reflection in the window staring back at me. Oh man did I look like a dweeb. I was wearing an orange jumpsuit with a bunch of stupid patches stuck to the front and to protect my precious cranium a bulbous, bright white helmet.
The other bonobos from the lab hated when I acted human. If they saw me right then they would have busted my balls so hard, well, if I had balls to bust. I’m neutered. Fear not, for I’ll be bringing up that nugget of Banjo trivia a few times. Look, you’d talk about it a lot too if you woke up one morning with a sedative hangover, no balls, and were left wondering what the hell happened last night?
I took one last longing look at the wild jungles of Earth. Fudge it, nothing I can do about it now. Might as well get naked.
I unbuckled my helmet and let it float around. Then I unzipped my soiled jumpsuit and got down to the fur. They didn’t bother giving me a fancy pressurized launch suit that a real human astronaut would wear. What would be the point? If there was a loss of pressure, they knew I’d be too stupid to fix it.
Being in my birthday suit made me felt better but something was off. I was suddenly aware of all the various sounds coming from the cramped cockpit. The repetitive clicking, that humming in the background, various controls automatically switching on and off, all out of my control. My pelt crawled. Claustrophobia so soon? Not a good way to start my seven year voyage to Europa.
Well, Mr. Button, let’s go check out my new home. Wanna do the MTV Cribs thing?
Mr. Button’s cold, beady eyes stared at me (for his eyes were literally beads). It was a strong no, he was not in the mood for games. Not until I could fix his head. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath of spaceship air. I had to get out of this cockpit.
Fine, whatever. Just trying to have a bit of fun.
Whirling my arms like an idiot, I grabbed Mr. Button, managed to turn around, and pulled us to the pneumatic door leading out of the cockpit. I pressed a button and the door hissed open. Like a graceful… crow… I soared through a short tunnel, entered the common room, looked around, and… yep. It was an exact replica of my training module back on Earth. I suppose it’s more likely my module was a replica of the ship. Either way the science nerds said this was important for training porpoises. I mean, I know dolphins are smart and everything but I don’t know what those horny bastards have to do with this mission. I’m a bonobo, not a fracking porpoise.
I scanned the common room for any damage from the launch but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Off to the side was a small dinner table with another video monitor directly above it. Bolted down in the center of the room was a couch and a TV. The health screening terminal sat stoically in one corner of the room and at the opposite side was a series of life support monitors embedded within the white, sterile walls. I floated over and gave them the ol’ Banjo once over to make sure I still had oxygen and stuff. Everything was fine.
Now I know what you’re thinking: Banjo, you silly goose. What’s with the couch and dinner table? You have no gravity, remember?
Good question, human.
Columbus was designed with the assumption I’ll survive the flight to Europa, earning back some precious gravity. This ship is one of a kind. Humans share many similarities with the common ant, most notably the need to colonize. And if they’re to colonize some space rock it can’t be just astronauts. They need regular Joes to boss around. That’s why Greg’s goal was to create a self-sufficient, fully automated ship that could act as a long term home. A ship that any idiot, including myself, could hop into and fly off to wherever they please. Kind of like a spaceship Winnebago. And I get to test it out!
Isn’t this fun, Mr. Button? It’s like an RV, we’re basically camping!
I looked down at Mr. Button’s mangled body. His head was hanging on by a few threads and the stuffing was bulging out of his gaping neck hole like a bloated corpse. I gently stroked his ear.
Poor little guy, what have I gotten us into?
I let go of his body and watched it drift past the airlock chamber. I went to one of the several small port windows embedded within the walls and looked down at Earth. I’m not sure how long I stayed there, looking down at the planet that rejected me, but a way too cheerful ringtone from the cockpit snapped me out of my trance.
What now?
I floated into the cockpit and looked at the monitor to see Penny’s smiling profile picture. Instinctively I brought up my finger to accept the incoming call but thought better of it and pressed decline.
The brief moment of satisfaction I felt quickly faded. I knew I shouldn’t be mad at her, she was only the grizzly bear of bad news, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk to any humans. Not even Penny.
My stomach grumbled as I went back into the common room. Like a chemotactic cartoon character floating towards the aromas of a freshly baked pie, I drifted towards the food dispensary attached to the health screening terminal. I looked longingly at the impenetrable chassis and then at a nearby clock. Four hours until my first health screening. No food for now.
With nothing else to do, I strapped into the couch for some much deserved screen time. I removed the remote from its holster knowing deep down I’d never be motivated enough to strap it back in, and fired up the tube. The bright, warm glow instantly put me at ease.
Thank frack the TV was still working. It would have been a very long trip without a working TV. This bad boy was a state of the art, 62 inch (not centimeter), 8K 3D HDTV. I had the 3D glasses and everything. It came preloaded with tens of thousands of hours of entertainment. Nobody else has a TV like this one, I promise you. And I also promise you, the tax payer, that this TV cost you a pretty penny but hey, that was my price for this bullshitaki of a mission.
I fired up season 1 episode 1 of Seinfeld (I’m a sucker for sitcoms). But about halfway through the episode I realized my heart simply wasn’t in it. My mind kept going back to what happened down on Earth. Right before launch.
I was terrified, strapped tightly into the launch chair. My eyes darted back and forth, I whimpered as I clutched my harness. Penny came over, which initially put me slightly at ease, however I’m an observant bonobo and noticed she was crying. She handed me Mr. Button, a gift she gave me years ago.
“I convinced General Estebrook to let you take Mr. Button with you to space,” she said.
I held Mr. Button tight with one hand and with the other I wiped a tear from her face.
“Why sad?” I signed.
“No reason. I’m going to miss you.”
“I miss you. I like you.”
One of her assistants came over and handed her a syringe.
“Hold still. I need to inject you with the sedative. Help you sleep during launch.”
She cried harder and stifled a sob as she stuck me with the needle. I closed my eyes to accept my fate, however as the drug began to kick in, Penny leaned over and whispered something in my ear. Nice and close so Mr. Button couldn’t hear. Something I’ll never forget. But before I could respond the sedative kicked in and it was lights out for Banjo.
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