By Maya
The round steel hatch silently rattled and shook. Thick, black rubber encircling it.
Far below, the tunnel extended, stoic in its embrace and inquisitive in its exploration.
The long-winding passage branched off into several smaller passageways, each traversing the boundaries of their own secluded territories.
The ceiling, the wall and another ceiling - all stacked with provisions. Paper bags, Ziplocs, a cutting board, boxes of candy, fresh toilet paper, a water dispenser and cables. A half-eaten can of baked beans lay patient on white velcro while its contents began to meander. Hundred-and-eighty degrees away, an orange arm reached out for a passing spoon while the other held onto a protruding metal bar, hair nearly sweeping the floor. Or the ceiling.
A circular opening led to a row of narrow cubicles, each curtained off from contact. The first one on the left displayed a navy emblem of responsibility, simultaneously intriguing and daunting.
Foldable furniture stood in one corner, strapped to the white canvas. The neat stack of three Michio Kaku’s rested on the table, as an envious mound of laundry glared back. A maroon Boat headset was propped on a tilted head; pen on paper, book in hand, while squirls of black oozed out of the pen tip and danced their way across the page. Thoughtful eyes twitched and dilated, lost in the comforting intricacy of a Cench riff on loop.
And opposite - on the far wall - hung a small, acrylic square of Bondi beach. Breathing space for the mind; and a window to water four-hundred-and-twenty kilometres below.
Through the parallel corridor, important neon lines of VHDL were visible; fading in and out on an open monitor. Buttons exercised their stubby selves, popping in and out of the grey interface; years of training dormant, until they stopped. Thousands of dials, levers, screens, switches - blue, yellow, red, and white. Lots of white. Layered the walls of the cubicle. All the auditory static non-existent to desensitised ears.
Cold, more white. A rubbery scent stained the air and numbed noses inhaled. Accustomed sight, understimulating sound; monotony grew and discipline persevered. A raised eyebrow, a forced smile. One movement, two perceptions and a hidden sigh. The limited width of the passages allowed month-long tension to reach palpable impatience, bordering irritation, in a matter of seconds.
Nearby, an oblivious hand plucked gently at metal strings, a baritone vocalising to Neil Diamond’s ‘Caroline’. The notes flew and soared happily, making themselves useful in the otherwise hushed chambers.
A solitary blob of water bounced and stretched its way - from surface to counter to edge to soil - likening itself to a jellyfish.
Brown patches occupied precious space on the white counter as shoots of green warily took in their surroundings. White LEDs illuminated the space, blinding object and body alike. Two metres away a determined pen raced on printed squares - dots, dashes and curves jumping into position.
The lowest airlock on the station led to the Cupola.
Behind the seated, orange shoulder a grainy, almost holographic image was visible. Two small faces peered innocently up into the camera, smiles wiping their expressions with pure joy. Two hands pressed against the screen, reaching out to each other, four-twenty kilometres apart. And two tears fell, as the chair swivelled towards the North window, the orange body moving higher for a better view.
Pale blue dot, Blue marble, Gaia, the world, Earth.
Green and brown lay stubborn below. The blue hid, faded, as streaks of white drifted into sight. Brows furrowed and relaxed, cogs turning in contemplation. So much lay below so little, in the vast expanse where all of it was too little to mean much.
A single baked bean rested precariously on the windowsill, as a white metal sheet - the size of a car - shot past outside, tauntingly, shaking consciousness back into the orange suit.
And far. Far above, into the deep, black vacuum; white dots sparkled playfully.
Twinkling in their cosmic glory.
By Maya
Comments