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Description
The intercom fizzled in my ear. I tapped the side of my helmet, allowing the message to come through again.
"Ground Control to Major Tom. Commencing countdown, engines on."
I confirmed the engines were in the start-up phase. I triple-checked my restraints as the intercom's tinny voice announced the moments until liftoff.
Ten. It would only be a few more days until I would be able to see my wife again. Nine. After a 3-year mission on the moon, I would finally place my feet on God's green Earth. Eight. Provided, I would probably have to go through a good amount of physical therapy to build up my leg muscles again. Seven. I would probably be quarantined for a few days as well. Six. After 3 years in space, NASA would be biting to run tests on me. Five. Yes, I was the last-ditch effort to keep the space program running. Four. The white-coats wanted a brave and hardy soul to live on the moon for an extended period of time. Three. Sending me up has not only kept the program running, but has increased government funding ten-fold. Two. Not to mention the papers were going crazy. One. Every average Joe in the world wanted to know what kind of shirt I was wearing, and lord knows what else.
Liftoff.
The engines rumbled beneath me, the growling rising to an ear-splitting roar as my little capsule hurtled out of moon orbit. Out of my window I could see the meteor-smashed surface of the moon slowly receding, the base I called home for the past three years shrinking into a speck on the cratered surface.
I turned my head and looked towards my permanent abode, the illuminated blue-orb called Earth. The scientists want to make colonies on the moon and Mars, but they're no replacement for the Earth, even if it is choking on noxious fumes and over-population.
"Ground Control to Major Tom. There seems to be a problem with your trajectory."
I checked the instruments on my dashboard, all readings normal. I read off the readings over the intercom.
"There's a discrepancy between the measurements, Major Tom. The extended period on moon surface seems to have affected the instruments. You're course is taking you away from Earth."
I told Ground Control to get on to fixing the problem, and that I would await instructions.
"You might as well get some sleep, Major. The engineers are working on the issue."
I leaned back in my chair, loosening my straps a bit. I thought about my wife and soon drifted off to sleep.
***
"Ground Control to Major Tom."
The intercom roused me from my dreams. I responded to the message, confirming I was there.
"Major, it looks like the problem can be fixed by manually adjusting the calibration dials on the electronic sextant."
I asked where in the ship I need to go to adjust the dials. Three years makes you forget a lot of the technical details.
"Not in the ship Major. There's a concealed panel on the outside of the ship, to prevent dust build-up."
I grumbled. Of course the egg-heads would put something like that on the outside of the ship. It makes perfect sense when you're not hurtling through space at nearly 15,000 miles per hour.
After adjusting my suit and attaching an oxygen hose, I stepped through the door. Floating through space was rather peculiar after my stay on the moon. At least during the preparation period on Earth I had tests to prepare me for zero-gravity.
Using the handles on the side of my ship, I pulled myself towards the panel labeled "EMERGENCY OVERRIDE CONTROLS. USE ONLY IN EXTREME CIRCUMSTANCES." The label was lengthier than most I encountered on the ship, but this was considered an extreme circumstance, so I slid the panel over and gazed at the controls.
The voice over the intercom told me which dials to adjust, 36° right on dial 1, 256° left on dial 5, press 5-6-9-9-2 on the number pad, 173° on dial 2.
I pulled the panel back into place, locking the sliding into place so no space debris could affect my trip home. I grabbed on the handles and started heading back to the hatch when the intercom buzzed in my head.
"Ground Control to Major Tom. There's something wrong."
Turning myself around, I asked what the problem was, figuring I'd have to go over to the panel because my turning was closer to 255° on dial 5.
"The data corrupted during your mission. The systems controlling trajectory measurements have been switched with another system."
A sense of dread rushed over me, I knew they were hiding something from me. Biting the bullet, I asked what systems I had just adjusted.
"The oxygen supply, Major. The three day supply of oxygen is rushing out of the exhaust ports as we speak. The engineers are trying to fix it remotely, but auxiliary tank's circuit is dead. You have about five minutes."
I slowly exhaled the breath I was holding. Five minutes. Not a whole lot of time to accept death.
Letting go of the handles, I floated away from my ship. I rotated, facing my home.
"Tell my wife I love her very much."
"She knows."
Floating there, I was motionless. Even more than two hundred thousand miles away from my planet, traveling at five thousand miles per hour, I felt a comfort come over me.
"Can you hear me Major Tom? Is there anything else we can do for you."
I sort of chuckled at this. There's nothing I, or any one, can do.
"Can you hear me Major Tom?"
I switched my intercom off. Only the sound of my deliberate breathing and heartbeat could be heard.
I thought about my wife, but knew I wouldn't have to wait too long before seeing her, maybe 50, 60 years, nothing compared to the age of everything around me.
Far above the world, I gazed out at the universe. The moon, a dusty gray against the glowing blue of the Earth. Two inseparable bodies dancing amongst the stars for eternity.
The stars look very different today.

Description
The intercom fizzled in my ear. I tapped the side of my helmet, allowing the message to come through again.
"Ground Control to Major Tom. Commencing countdown, engines on."
I confirmed the engines were in the start-up phase. I triple-checked my restraints as the intercom's tinny voice announced the moments until liftoff.
Ten. It would only be a few more days until I would be able to see my wife again. Nine. After a 3-year mission on the moon, I would finally place my feet on God's green Earth. Eight. Provided, I would probably have to go through a good amount of physical therapy to build up my leg muscles again. Seven. I would probably be quarantined for a few days as well. Six. After 3 years in space, NASA would be biting to run tests on me. Five. Yes, I was the last-ditch effort to keep the space program running. Four. The white-coats wanted a brave and hardy soul to live on the moon for an extended period of time. Three. Sending me up has not only kept the program running, but has increased government funding ten-fold. Two. Not to mention the papers were going crazy. One. Every average Joe in the world wanted to know what kind of shirt I was wearing, and lord knows what else.
Liftoff.
The engines rumbled beneath me, the growling rising to an ear-splitting roar as my little capsule hurtled out of moon orbit. Out of my window I could see the meteor-smashed surface of the moon slowly receding, the base I called home for the past three years shrinking into a speck on the cratered surface.
I turned my head and looked towards my permanent abode, the illuminated blue-orb called Earth. The scientists want to make colonies on the moon and Mars, but they're no replacement for the Earth, even if it is choking on noxious fumes and over-population.
"Ground Control to Major Tom. There seems to be a problem with your trajectory."
I checked the instruments on my dashboard, all readings normal. I read off the readings over the intercom.
"There's a discrepancy between the measurements, Major Tom. The extended period on moon surface seems to have affected the instruments. You're course is taking you away from Earth."
I told Ground Control to get on to fixing the problem, and that I would await instructions.
"You might as well get some sleep, Major. The engineers are working on the issue."
I leaned back in my chair, loosening my straps a bit. I thought about my wife and soon drifted off to sleep.
***
"Ground Control to Major Tom."
The intercom roused me from my dreams. I responded to the message, confirming I was there.
"Major, it looks like the problem can be fixed by manually adjusting the calibration dials on the electronic sextant."
I asked where in the ship I need to go to adjust the dials. Three years makes you forget a lot of the technical details.
"Not in the ship Major. There's a concealed panel on the outside of the ship, to prevent dust build-up."
I grumbled. Of course the egg-heads would put something like that on the outside of the ship. It makes perfect sense when you're not hurtling through space at nearly 15,000 miles per hour.
After adjusting my suit and attaching an oxygen hose, I stepped through the door. Floating through space was rather peculiar after my stay on the moon. At least during the preparation period on Earth I had tests to prepare me for zero-gravity.
Using the handles on the side of my ship, I pulled myself towards the panel labeled "EMERGENCY OVERRIDE CONTROLS. USE ONLY IN EXTREME CIRCUMSTANCES." The label was lengthier than most I encountered on the ship, but this was considered an extreme circumstance, so I slid the panel over and gazed at the controls.
The voice over the intercom told me which dials to adjust, 36° right on dial 1, 256° left on dial 5, press 5-6-9-9-2 on the number pad, 173° on dial 2.
I pulled the panel back into place, locking the sliding into place so no space debris could affect my trip home. I grabbed on the handles and started heading back to the hatch when the intercom buzzed in my head.
"Ground Control to Major Tom. There's something wrong."
Turning myself around, I asked what the problem was, figuring I'd have to go over to the panel because my turning was closer to 255° on dial 5.
"The data corrupted during your mission. The systems controlling trajectory measurements have been switched with another system."
A sense of dread rushed over me, I knew they were hiding something from me. Biting the bullet, I asked what systems I had just adjusted.
"The oxygen supply, Major. The three day supply of oxygen is rushing out of the exhaust ports as we speak. The engineers are trying to fix it remotely, but auxiliary tank's circuit is dead. You have about five minutes."
I slowly exhaled the breath I was holding. Five minutes. Not a whole lot of time to accept death.
Letting go of the handles, I floated away from my ship. I rotated, facing my home.
"Tell my wife I love her very much."
"She knows."
Floating there, I was motionless. Even more than two hundred thousand miles away from my planet, traveling at five thousand miles per hour, I felt a comfort come over me.
"Can you hear me Major Tom? Is there anything else we can do for you."
I sort of chuckled at this. There's nothing I, or any one, can do.
"Can you hear me Major Tom?"
I switched my intercom off. Only the sound of my deliberate breathing and heartbeat could be heard.
I thought about my wife, but knew I wouldn't have to wait too long before seeing her, maybe 50, 60 years, nothing compared to the age of everything around me.
Far above the world, I gazed out at the universe. The moon, a dusty gray against the glowing blue of the Earth. Two inseparable bodies dancing amongst the stars for eternity.
The stars look very different today.