The Putting In Place Of Spaceman Sam Read online



  The Putting in Place of Spaceman Dan

  By Chris Bunnell

  Copyright 2015 Chris Bunnell

  Scientist Gerald Stagman took the gel that was on a square glass plate. Slowly, he slid it under a microscope. His eyes now looked down as his hands rotated the knob …. First clockwise, then counterclockwise—stopping only when he was sure the sample was as clear as it could get. He pulled away, thought a moment; then took another look.

  On the other side of this Government funded laboratory, and that’s exactly what this was—other scientists could be found, and they were working diligently on the same formula, varying it ever so slightly. And this was done for no other reason than to achieve perfection. And perfection is what it would take ….

  Spaceman Dan would accept nothing less, and since flawlessness came so easy to him, he really believed less was due to laziness. That those who failed were failures and would get no ribbon’s, no trophies. They would get no satisfaction. And they would have to live with death … oh yes, they would have blood on their hands—and not only his—but the blood of all those sheep who gave their lives so that gloves could be made …. The same gloves that now covered the hands of those who scrambled on polished, concrete floors, with eyes that were agitated and red. With sweat, that dripped from their brows.

  To say the pressure was on, would be a gross understatement.

  These lambs … these glove girdles if you will … were initially targeted for condoms. But some would prove to be too good for such a thing. These few were pulled from the herd—then redirected to a sterile facility. Once there, they were fed fresh, chemical grass and clover. Honey and oat’s that came straight from the farms and were guaranteed to be arsenic free. These lambs were given no flea treatments, nor did they receive anything for heartworm. No … there was some bugs in the grass, a few worms, but the sheep didn’t mind. And then—and once the sheep became healthy—their bowl movements were monitored, and this was done until they began to show the proper consistency of fluids to solids ratio ....

  It was only when the time was right—would the surgeons operate removing the choicest, the softest portion of the intestines. These tissues were examined and then placed in a cooler; a red cooler made to carry beer, and probably did at some point. But now—it was iced down and sent to Malaysia where accomplished seamstresses would cut, sew, and seal the fabric.

  As for the Lambs and their recovery …? “Well … Some gave all!” that’s what Spaceman would say, and no one would suggest otherwise. At least not to his face.

  So, upon passing numerous inspections, the gloves would return to the States where they now covered the fingers of the world’s greatest scientific brains. A sacrifice to be proud of, one given by only the most loyal of lambs.

  Gerald Stagman, along with the other three were now wearing these gloves. They were marked as the men who had the best chance of success and make no mistake: each was well aware of their duties and the price that was already paid. How could they forget with PETA always picketing outside their front window.

  Sure, other gloves could have been used. Perhaps maybe even been better. But the landfills are full of plastics and latex products. The oceans are covered with oil slicks and dead fish. And there is no easy answer because everything can only be used in moderation and moderation is no longer enough. Because everything we were warned would happen, has happened, and there’s little time to act, and there’s no fish that has the membranes needed to make the gloves. So the gloves showed up one day, and Gerald and his crew put them on. The next day PETA followed, and they don’t want Gerald and his crew to wear the gloves. But Gerald and the others are confused—they don’t know how not wearing the gloves will help the sheep? They believe that if PETA really wanted to help the sheep, they would leave the scientist alone so they could finish their job. Then … the sheep can go back to making condoms as God apparently intended.

  But that’s not going to happen, so they have no choice but to wear the gloves. So they do, and they can hear the people outside the glass, and they’re chanting all day. But no one can make out the words, only the sounds—but it is distracting, and they’ve been working for months now—and still—the gel remains on the glass plates.

  Nothing has been proven, and this makes the lambs grow restless in their cages. But what does that matter … PETA members are sure they won’t lose their life, and the scientist's feel the same way. Only the lambs and Spaceman Dan have something to lose. So the chanting continues and fresh gloves are pulled from plastic packages. And the real enemy, which is time—well, it ticks on, as it's been known to do, and if something isn’t done soon. PETA and the Scientist will discover they were both wrong, and the world will end. And they will learn the sheep don’t really care much about picketing or what happens to the humans. The truth is, they’ll figure they're getting what they deserve, and they’re probably right.

  And these humans, they’ll look to the sky, and they will raise their hands as high as they will go. They will scream out for their God to come down and save them. After all, he does love them … right? But their God, it turns out he’s thinking along the same line as the sheep. After all, the year is twenty-twenty, and there're rivers on fire and skies that rain black coal. There are bombs that kill any, and all living things and this God … their God—well—he made all those living organisms, and he’s a little pissed at what the humans have done with it.

  But not to fear as it turns out there is hope. A new, stronger, more resilient world would be necessary, this is true. But the good news is:

  A planet has been found!

  We can start over!

  But to do so, a gel is needed. One like no other. One that can withstand heat, the wind, rain and possibly snow. It would have to hold up under the cruelest of conditions. This gel would have to be every bit as tough as the man it will travel with. This means it will have to be as tough as Spaceman Dan ….

  Now Gerald had met Spaceman Dan in the past and would describe him as an outgoing man. He had charisma as they say and all wanted to be near him because there was no future in being him, or being like him. Spaceman (as he liked to be called)—he lived life like he really didn’t care much for it and that’s something you don’t see often. I mean—there are some who talk a good game, but few actually play it. And there’s plenty of footage stored in back rooms of the news stations that would prove this to be a fact.

  No …! Spaceman Dan was a real American hero! Tried and true—pure red, white, and blue! And there wasn’t a mission he took where he was expected to return. But each time he would, and each time, his legacy grew, and now he was thought to be unstoppable and perhaps he was. Perhaps he was special, or insane. Perhaps there were higher powers that looked over him. Or perhaps one doesn’t die simply because they should.

  Whatever the reason, it had made this man a legend among men and with what was now going on, his worth had tripled as it should. And he looked more handsome, and more women wanted him, and he spent his time at gatherings where he hung out with awe-struck General’s, Senator’s, President’s, and those who owned the Presidents. And surrounded by such power, one would think Spaceman would be humbled. But it was the opposite of that:

  “Here’s to Spaceman Dan …!” they would shout while holding their crystal champagne glasses as high as they could. All would join in, and eyes would tear up as they paid tribute to this man. This special man. And Spaceman would smile, show his perfect white teeth, blink his blue eyes, then satisfy his thirst with a bottle of Fanta soda. It was always Fanta because it was an underrated drink and Spaceman didn’t follow trends, he made them.


  This gesture, seeing the soda bottle raised in the air, (and Spaceman only drank from the bottle) looked like something from a television commercial. It was perfect, The way the top touched his lips, the way his head bent back, the way he drank like a man fresh from the desert …. It was beautiful—it was in slow motion, and it was elegant which made the woman in attendance giddy.

  They danced around him, spinning in a vain attempt for his attention. Their skirts flared out and up like a cheerleaders attire, and their feet were every bit as light. And it made no difference if they were with someone or not. Not to them, nor the man they were with. For the privilege that would come from success, would serve both parties. The woman would get to sleep with Spaceman, and the man—well he was now sleeping with a woman who slept with Spaceman. It was truly win-win, and there're so few things that are these days.

  “Get the man some more Fanta!” The men yelled. Their left hand raised high in the air, waving while the right was pointing at Spaceman’s empty bottle. “Where the hell’s the server with the Fanta!”

  Gerald