Dr. Mullen was quietly dozing off, strapped into his cot, listening to a recording of the latest transmissions from Earth. It was news now: a summary of summaries of goings on from around a globe that hardly seemed plausible anymore. At nearly a year into his mission, Earth was simply a pretty picture postcard tacked above his sleeping net. Or like now, sporadic voices in the night. There was video component to it all, but he kept the screens off whenever possible; the images began to haunt his sleep, corrupting his dreams.
He was alone. In fact, today would mark exactly one year of solitude, one year since liftoff.
He had set up a little ceremony to mark the occasion. Instead of the usual processed and reprocessed variations of the carbon theme, he was going to have real food tonight. The gang back at Houston had packed and sealed a small time capsule set to open in roughly three hours and containing, it was hinted, a full, honest-to-god steak and potatoes meal.
A soft chime interrupted news of natural disaster, disturbing his gustatory reverie. He shifted and squinted. On the console, a little blue light flashed meekly. Houston was calling. He unstrapped himself from the bed and swam over to the nearest monitor.
With a couple hours lag time, it was impossible for actual face-to-face communication. What it basically amounted to was sophisticated bottled messages and favorable tides. Joseph clicked on the screen. Already it was filling rapidly with text, recaps of video and audio information that the ship computer automatically downloaded from signal to storage. He scrolled through it blindly. blah blah blah. More newsreels. A few more tests for the nullG scientists. The weekly personality assessment questionnaire for the nullG shrinks. Joseph had become the universal guinea pig in nullG research for anyone who could afford it. He had signed a contract before launch, his wife had handled all the particulars. She must be making a mint. Anyway, he didn't mind. It was something to do. He sighed and decided to look at it all later, after dinner maybe. He checked his watch and grinned; this waiting was going to be painful. Only 2 hours and 47 minutes to go.
The terminal beeped again with more conviction. The computer immediately called up the video and sound. There was a Priority Message notice on-screen. Joseph adjusted the volume, trying to quell his rising anxiety. Worst case scenarios flashed in his head. He tried to remember: Was there something he had forgotten to do? There was a checklist, his whole life abord the ship was scheduled and monitored; surely Houston would have mentioned any problems. Priority Messages were very serious matters.
The screen flickered briefly, then faded to a horribly mangled image of a rather pudgy man before a powder blue backdrop with the NASA logo emblazoned in large letters. He was looking away to someone.
"Now? Is it running?" he said. Joseph had to strain, the static was particularly bad on this transmission. The man on the screen nodded blankly then cleared his throat. He looked directly at Joseph.
"Uh, Hello, Dr. Mullen. My name is Shultz, Dr. Andrew Shultz." He smiled and clasped his hands, appearing to wait for Joseph to respond. Seconds go by... Someone offscreen mumbles something and Shultz blinks rapidly.
"Oh! I see, well, fine...fine. Ah, Dr. Mullen, first let me congratulate you on your extensive contribution and continued success with the Project. You are an inspiration to us all here..."
He then rolled into a wordy monologue obviously written for him with help from the nullG psychology experts. Joseph studied his face, he didn't recognize it. The man's young, harmless features were probably chosen to appeal to something subconscious. He might as well have been a cartoon. Joseph forced himself not to tune out what he was saying, but it was all pep talk; nothing to merit Priority Message status.
Shultz's bright blue eyes glanced away for an instant.
"...I understand that very soon, you will be celebrating your first year in space. Again, you have my heartfelt congratulations on the achievement. Perhaps you already know about the little surprise we had planned for you. Well..."
He trailed off awkwardly.
"I see we are a little pressed for time here, Joseph, so I'll just give it to you plainly. Inside the time capsule are, if you don't already know, the ingredients for your anniversary meal. It was all agreed down here that this would be good for your psyche, and, well, we all really do appreciate the sacrifice you're making out there.
"The thing is, we also saw this as an opportunity to try out a few new ideas about long term food preservation. Among other things, what you'll find inside the capsule is a raw steak. Now our challenge was to figure out a way to preserve it without damaging the, ah, the "steak-ness" of it and other nutritional qualities. Refrigeration was too inefficient and damaging to the tissues and so we had to try other means and, ah... well, we succeeded. Actually better than we had hoped. When the capsule opens, the meat inside might as well have been just carved.
"There might be a small problem, however..."
Shultz gestured vaguely with his hands. He apparently didn't know quite how to put this.
"See, back when we packed the meat to send with you, we also set up an identical capsule to keep down here. This is the first time we've done this, so we wanted a control. We used meat from the same source, and tried to simulate the environment your capsule has been subjected to: temperature, pressure, radiation... that sort of thing. This was all a last minute idea, or we would have done the preliminary studies months in advance. Of course we couldn't recreate zero gravity, and that might actually work in your favor, we don't know... but, anyway, our capsule was set to open late last night, giving us enough time to run a few tests and make sure everything would go smoothly for you."
He gave a weak smile. Joseph wanted to reach in and throttle the man, get to the point!
"And well, the point is... We decided that it would be best if perhaps you just didn't open the capsule after all."
Having finally said it, he appeared obviously relieved. Joseph floated in puzzled silence for a moment, then grinned. This was a joke. It had to be... Houston was getting him back for that phony monolith sighting he reported when passing through the Jovian lunar system. This Shultz was probably some summer intern. He chuckled at the crudity of the ruse. The chubby man was talking again, his hands visibly less excited, but still flailing about.
"-ccommend that you isolate it in storage, or barring that, simply eject the whole container. I realize this might be a little hard to swallow, but please understand that we have thought this out with your best interest in mind. You might be dissapointed, and I wouldn't blame you. However, we have determined the capsule to be a possible danger to yourself and to the mission. Also, try not to irradiate it unnecessarily. This means no x-rays, and if you do eject it... leave it alone afterwards. We fear that the current level of ambient radiation on board might already be excessive.
"You're going to have to trust us on this, Joe. We'll let you know more as we find out ourselves. Good luck, and Happy Anniversary."
He beamed pleasantly at the camera for several seconds then looked off screen, a worried expression on his face.
"Is that it? Was that oka-"
The video ended in an abrupt wash of static and white noise.
Joseph had to admit, in some ways it was classic. He wanted to go open the capsule right now, betting himself that if he did, he'd find nothing inside but a note with "SUCKER" scrawled on it. When he first discovered that someone had stashed it on board, there was a pool on how long he would hold out before cracking it open. He had simply forgotten about it. What started out as a gag bet was probably big money by now. It seemed the likeliest theory. He looked at his watch. Down to two and a half hours, now. Well, he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. He pushed away from the console and kicked back to his sleeping net. There was just enough time for a decent nap.
He woke an hour later after a vividly disturbing dream. In it, he was still aboard the ship, in the cargo hold. There was normal gravity there and big wooden crates were stacked up all around as in a warehouse. He wandered about in the dark until he came to a large oak table with a huge chandelier hanging above it. It was set lavishly for a private banquet; silver utensils, goblets, trays heaped with fresh fruit and sweetmeats. There was only one chair and one place setting. He sat down, intensely hungry. The candles above trembled in a sudden gust of cool wind and a headless butler arrived pushing a cart with a large covered platter. Violins and the roar of a small fire sounded dimly in the distance, seemingly just behind the crates. The cart glided to a stop next to the table and the butler set the platter in front of Joseph. He waited for Joseph to indicate the cover to be removed and stood, arm extended, hand poised inches above the elaborate silver handle. The taut moment stretched to maddening infinity when abruptly, the large lid jumped and was quiet. It clattered again, leaping several inches from the table, then began rattling about in earnest. Wisps of steam escaped from beneath the cover in writhing tentacles. Something clearly alive and quite agitated was under there. The clanging violence increased louder and louder as whatever it was tried to free itself. Joseph felt his sanity fleeing and shoved the grotesque servant away to hold down the lid himself. The metal was white hot, searing his flesh with a hissing sizzle. Clutching his ruined fingers, he staggered back, knocking down the chair and upsetting the platter onto the floor. Cacophony erupted over shattered china and a widening puddle of cooling blood. Two hands, boiled and swollen, flopped helplessly around his ankles. Their wet, awkward motions seemed strangely comic. They were gesturing, trying to convey the inexplicable with desperate twitches. One landed against his foot and he awoke screaming, tangled in his net.
He didn't think the joke was very funny anymore after that. He was embarrassed at being so easily spooked and angry for being embarrassed and embarrassed for being angry and...
Arg, he was going to put an end to this right now.
The cargo bay did little to bolster his self-esteem. It was harshly well lit and actually rather devoid of anything but a few bubblewrapped pieces of scientific equipment. He would have felt better if at least a rat had skittered by or something suitably gothic. The steady, rational hum of the nearby generators didn't help either. He fumbled a stick of bubblegum into his mouth nervously; the crumpled wrapper spun off, unnoticed.
The capsule was stashed between a high speed centrifuge and the back wall, held there by loops of velcro. He freed it and, shepherding its momentum, guided it out into the ship's main quarter. Joseph tagged it to the bulkhead with the gum and drifted back to look at it.
It was a dark grey cylinder, about the size of a fire hydrant. There was a narrow panel covered by a smoked black plastic lid. Through this lid, he could plainly see a bright green LED timer, counting down. He looked at his watch and tapped it. The capsule's timer was about 10 minutes faster. He thought for a moment, then adjusted his watch to match the timer.
Here, with the thing actually in front of him, ticking away, it was increasingly harder to think of this as a joke. It was a Priority Message, after all. Those transmissions are supposed to be logged. No one would risk getting caught over a silly practical joke. Right? Joseph kicked back to the console and called up the message again. This time, he skipped over the feel good stuff and tried to eke some sense from the warning. He ran through it a third time. Each time, the chubby little man seemed less humorous. His body language wasn't that of someone trying to keep a straight face; it was worried, uncertain. Shultz didn't believe a word he was saying. Joseph was struck by the amateurishness of the whole delivery. Even the transmission quality seemed overly poor.
"They don't know what they're doing." he said aloud, stunned by the realization. As he said it, he knew it was the truth. But why? Why would Houston leave an important message to incompetents? Shultz kept saying "we", but he looked about as ignorant as to what was in the capsule as Joseph. Where were these "we" people and why weren't they the ones in front of the camera? He glanced over at the capsule, swaying side to side, cradle-like.
The timer showed 52 minutes and 13 seconds.
Somewhere inside him, panic started slowly thrashing to the surface. He could hear it coming a mile away. And panic is what gets you killed; that was the first thing they teach you.
"Okay. Okay." Joseph was muttering to himself, thinking aloud, keeping his mind busy. He began pacing the small chamber in short, spinning tumbles.
"First, you get a garbled message saying don't open it. Don't irradiate it. Lock it up if you can. Throw it away if you have to. Alright, fine. Okay.
"Second, what's inside it? I don't know. Supposed to be meat. The kind you eat, right? Right. Dead meat. Just a cow."
He was moving back and forth faster now, tuning out sounds of the autopilot's efforts to compensate for the sudden shifts in momentum. His mind was racing, extrapolating to thoughts he didn't want to consider.
"What do you know about the meat? Nothing. No, not quite. It's been sitting around for a year now and is still fit to eat. You don't know that; it's an experiment. Well, it's been doing something for the past year, right? Okay, what? I don't know, it's dead. What does dead meat do? It rots. But if it rots, it won't be fit to eat. Okay, so it doesn't rot. But if it's dead, it has to, right? Maybe it's not dead. Maybe it is, and doesn't act like it."
Joseph glided to a stop in front of the capsule and said quietly:
"Which is worse?"
On the timer: 40 minutes, 8 seconds.
* * *
By the time he had finally maneuvered one of the ship's waldos in the airlock to where he could fling the capsule out into space, the timer read 23 minutes, 11 seconds. He floated on the other side of a thick window, working the arm's controls with calm, detached motions. The outer portal irised open and there were a few creaks as the pressures stabilized. He twisted the handles sharply and the waldo swung out, opening its claw. The capsule wobbled a bit, seemingly eager to sail out into the void, but...
Nothing happened. Joseph uttered a confused grunt and wiggled the controls. The waldo whined and whirred in response, moving back and forth in quick jerks. Nothing. He tried to pry it off against the walls, but the arm's range of motion did not allow it to bang into the ship. He would have to go in himself and free it. But that would take time to repressurize the chamber. The capsule was stuck.
"Shit!" Joseph pulled back, bringing the waldo in close to the window. He rotated the claw - there, a flash of pink. He squinted, peering, then sighed and let his head drop against the glass. A thick wad of bubblegum had anchored the capsule to one of the serrated fingers. He closed his eyes to the fog blooming around his face. The timer, only inches away, displayed 15 minutes exactly.
Now it showed 14 minutes, 59 seconds.
* * *
Joseph had cleaned up as much as possible. Candles were unthinkable on board, but he dimmed the lighting to an appropriate level. The computer screen displayed a continuous slow zoom of the Mandelbrot set in warm autumn colors. There was music, certainly music; soft and distant and slightly tinny through the ship's speakers. He drifted quietly, eyes closed, waiting for dinner. The ship lurched suddenly, straining itself. His official uniform was spotless and ruffled loosely about him. Joseph heard the first tinkling snaps as the airlock window cracked open and disintegrated. It had covered the glass like a large snail in an aquarium. Hundreds of thin tendrils breached the ship, carving the air in graceful spiral paths. Joseph smiled as the first strands silently rounded the corner and bore down upon him.
"At last," he said warmly, "I was beginning to think you'd never show."