A Dessert

Out of The Vacuum

A Short Story
by Cory Kutschker

To the sir or madam who is reading this story, I am quite certain that this may prove unhealthy for you. In fact you likely should stop reading this right this moment. In fact I adjure you to cease for I fear that this may be an unruly wasteful of the hours of your life. But since you are so keen on continuing past this sentence and these very words of which you are reading at this very point, Let us continue further on unabated by delay tactics.
Upon far reaching meditation I have concluded with my life that investigation, the true act of it, only resides within the chest of a man who truly has courage. A man may observe, watch, follow and poke or prod but investigation immediately arrests his heart for taking interest and if taken its due course estranges him from his companions. And it was in such an interest that had illusion stripped as wallpaper from a panel in a bedroom. In fact that bedroom was found to be painted by my niece's 2 year old and had been plastered over and given a wallpaper to enact a sort of salvific effect to a poor fellow happening upon it and there go loony. So then it is in the next while that I must convince you that the story I wish to tell is really, remarkably, wholly, utterly and truly silly.
Now how must I start? Aha Yes! I am first mate Mallory and I am captained over by a truly ridiculous man, Captain Miller. Let it be noted that I view this man as truly ridiculous. Perhaps I need to convince you? Many have engaged in thick gossip regarding Captain Miller's ridiculous behavior. It has been said that he gained captaincy suspiciously in the same year that tricorns were to be found a prize in Cracker Jacks and was rumored that an energy signature was recorded from the ship's expansion module and programmed to the precise specifications of his bulbous cranium. On his suit he has sewn on epaulettes to the shoulders and wears it frequently. His trousers were audacious in their own respect, for lining the seams were yellow lightning bolts reaching down to the cuffs. Therein it was made to look as though he had adorned himself with a child's pajamas. I have not yet told you regarding his constant countenance, but need I? For you already must ask yourself, how does this poor man go on? And yet the rest of the details must further cause your mouth to go agape. On this silly man's lips there is the constant appearance of a sneer. There is also the matter of the right eyebrow ever formed to a perfect arc over his eye. It appears as an underweight caterpillar's midsection perched on the tip of a toothpick.
Miller's crew was hardly any less a farce and I could only give a couple examples without listing all 13 but let me give you two. Mickey, in charge of navigation, has the most amusing turbulence in moods. It is much within seconds that he could shift most feasibly between optimism and pessimism for no less than a count of 5 times. Then there was Gilly, our stuttering android, the science officer. He was considerably fond of greeting in the guise of a radio host. The manual "for care and sound appreciation of [our] android" advised a biannual replacement of parts and components. Albeit, this fleet stuck here, in this sector, could never hope for such opulence.  It is well known the difficulty of obtaining parts and components and it was not as though we had the opulence of the vast machining factories of decades past. In this age there was the Hinnal waste sector, a sprawling pile of rubbish considered by many to be located at the bottom of the known universe.
It is widely disputed as to whether the theories of the past age are accurate or wishful thinking but many are hopeful that they are accurate. It was a bright world, a place of promise and opportunity. There are just as many theories stipulated as to what happened. But many agree that the means was extraordinarily perplexing. Some sort of vast mechanical device that came along to our fair world and tore a swath through the centre of the fair metropolis. It often was absurdly referred to by the preposition "Over." Oh, the over, the over! a terrible name to give to a cause of the end of the age! But in the wake of that... thing, an awful absence was left behind it.  It was clean and bereft of life. There is little left of that good age. All there is now is the waste and the blackness.
I often find myself peering out at the blackness through the port windows and attempting comprehension, wondering at its vast extent.  But no, the furthest my imagination flies is the window and there splats, its face squeaking as it slides down that thick layered window and falling as an insubstantial blob on that really beautiful shiny floor. I have often considered getting that flight problem fixed. Perhaps it fails to engage the reality dampeners? Although, as shoddy as my imagination may be, my courage was not any less and in fact was more resolute. And with that came a long and unhindered desire for exploration and investigation.
At the academy I had studied the Fitzger hole, for endless hours; that phenomena, which was named after the renowned professor Pletga Fitzger, who had discovered it. He was a positively squat fellow who had gone mad by his exploration of the blackness and his subsequent discovery of the hole. In his madness he relayed information regarding a long tunnel and there at the end of it, a light. What was there in this light he did not know and did not have a chance for further exploration as the Pletga turbulence had forced him back into the blackness of sector 12. He had theorized that the turbulence and the hole were somehow related but could not determine to what degree or mode. Now it must be considered here that much of the information that was rendered to the public from the maddened professor Fitzger was relayed by his mother's cousin's nanny's brother's aunt who was twice removed  causing grievous frustration for the family and a series of escalating feuds, but I digress.
I had mentioned the Pletga turbulence hadn't I? Oh dear. I must tell you that for any traveller in the great blackness, the Pletga turbulence is truly bothersome and has been listed by the Blackness Academy as the number one danger to any ship or crew member and must be taken seriously. The other 9 items are as listed:

A malfunctioning android
A psychotic or murderous onboard computer
A truly ridiculous captain
A mysterious egg
A previously alien infected crew member
A weaponized superhuman in cryo-sleep
An extra-dimensional being or intelligence
A generally damaged piece of hardware
A missing sock.

Now for all purposes of description, the Pletga turbulence is simply just that, turbulence. It is not understood why it happens or even when it will happen. That being said, there has been some development regarding timing, as there have been noted predictable intervals, albeit there is also odd and completely random occurrences that would make one doubt any such theory. But a captain or first mate certainly does their best to anticipate the next occurrence. It is also extremely valuable if one has a very good set of stabilizers on the ship. And luckily when I was perusing the Blackness Academy catalogue I came across a considerably good pair and had Mickey install them to the ignorance of Captain Miller.
It was after sleep and had walked onto the command deck that I had expected such an occurrence.
"G-g-g-g-g-gooood M-m-m-m-m-mooooorning First mate Mallory! Temperature is holding at a balmy 25 degrees and the overhead lights are shining! Let's hear from Mickey wh-wh-who shall give us the report on navigation."
"We're all going to die"
"Mickey! set stabilizers!"
"Aye Mallory!"
"Isn't this just marvelous?"
"What is happening Mallory?!" Yelled, the captain as he walked onto the command deck and struck a pose remarkably akin to a highly popular spiced rum television commercial.
"Sir! The Pletga turbulence!
"This is our doom."
"Stuff it, Mickey!"
"S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-sir! Anomaly located at 15 degrees from our port side and 12 degrees from our belly!"
"I-I-I-I-I believe it is the Fitzger hole."
In a moment, a great white sheet, illuminated by our lights, thrusted upon the ship and completely obstructed our view...I suppose of nothing.
"Solutions?" Queried Miller.
"Exterior exploration sir!" I answered.
"Explain."
"I can take one of the shuttles and go about an attempt of removing the sheet."
"Brilliant! Proceed Mallory!"
We have a vast docking bay. And within there are three shuttles for short term exploration. Travel in the blackness can be difficult our methods are more based on connected coordinates rather than sight albeit that is hardly revelatory for anything aside from a walk in a lighted ship. I have a recollection of a bizarre rescue operation where our sensors picked up a life form in the blackness. The mission was quite difficult and required combined data feeds to isolate a precise location. The poor man! He was delirious and was minutes away from a depletion of air in his suit. In his delirium he constantly critiqued a choice of vocabulary to describe the act of free movement in a vacuum. He went on repeatedly, "I am floating... no, no, that is not quite right. I am in stasis. That will not do either. No, floating has a regard for being in substance that bears you buoyant. Hmmm, stasis won't do either as that would require something to hold me in place. No, stasis won't do at all. No it is far too still, far too... motionless. Suspension... in suspense. Yes that will do. I am in suspense. awaiting activity and yet I am here, waiting. Yet I should think not even suspense would do here. <sigh> How long has it been? minutes? Yes, yes that is a good approximation. Hmmm, no, no minutes here are void. No, curse that word. Curse time, it is a damnable word. It is terrible and cruel here. What is here? Does this "here" even hold, locale? Yes, yes surely, scientifically, I can be convinced that here holds a dimensional locale. Some sort of coordinates perhaps?" He has long since gone from our ship but knew of the outside world. At this he was greatly queried for long hours. Albeit this was far too much exposure and he recoiled with great duress, ran out of the room and jettisoned himself out of the ship. It was later that he consulted our manual entitled "So you picked up a drifter eh?" From this we of course learned of our error and resolved a better course for the future.
As I piloted the shuttle, it was quickly discovered that the sheet was irremovable as parts were caught in corners and not a single amount of exertion by the extendable arms nor the feeble attempts of the engine could dislodge the fabric. This was of course until the brilliant idea was offered to cut it away. Not all was done away but did afford a greater extent of movement by the ship. And while I was due back at the ship, there came that urge, investigation. I opened the communications.

"Captain?"
"Go ahead, Mallory"
"Sir a realization has hit that the ship may be too large to fit through the hole."
"Gilly, size approximation."
"S-s-s-s-s-s-sixty-nine units sir!"
"And we are?"
"S-s-s-s-s-seventy-eight sir!"
"My ship is tooo big!"
"Go ahead Mallory!"
"Aye sir!"
I proceeded to the communicated coordinates and switched on the lights and proceeded to the gap into the hole. It came upon me that I should switch on my lights. What was illuminated I recognized as something that was chronicled in Pletga Fitzger's journal's of his travels through the ill famed hole. Along the walls was a ribbed or rippled sort of substance there running along a sort of tunnel. It was a matter of a couple of hours as my ship lights were not adding light and in fact was lit on its own, informing me that I was nearing the end and further than the professor. I suppose now it shall be considerably difficult to describe a world that for ages has not been described but light there flooded my sight. I travelled into an absurd world of gargantuan objects that held little significance to me, a man that has lived in darkness for a lifetime. I turned the ship around to observe the exit of the tunnel and saw that surrounding the hole was an oblong structure. There connected to it was a black, ribbed tube proceeding from the oblong structure to a tall silo like structure and printed across were these figures, HOOVER VACUUM 1X7. A loud utterance proceeded from the aft of the ship. I righted the shuttle for observation and beheld a bipedal creature seated at what I supposed a table. I supposed it enacting some sort of examination of what was in front of it, a screen that was like those in my ship there long forgotten in the blackness and the vacuum. There between the glow and brilliance of a world of opportunity and serenity and the broken From all I care to share anymore is this last noise of recognizable speech from the creature. It growled, "THIS STORY SUCKS!"