Alfonso Scaralapagus Astronaut: By Radrook
Oct 23, 2022 20:01:54 GMT -5
Post by Radrook Admin on Oct 23, 2022 20:01:54 GMT -5
The members of the crew of the starship Elegant, the first of the anti-matter driven ships to be produced, had been chosen from an elite core of space-cadets for the long voyage to the planet Alpha Centauri Bb. The journey, as perceived from Earth, would be five years. The journey, as experienced in the ship, would be 2.9999999999999996 years. They had approx. one more year of ship-time remaining to reach their destination without factoring in the time required for gradual deceleration.
They were reasonably young, healthy specimens, three males and two females, with great tolerance for frustration. They had been psychologically evaluated and certified to be sound of mind, socially well-adjusted, and had been chosen from among thousands who had applied for the assignment but who had failed.
In short, they were considered the crème de la crème - as it were, the envy of all the others who had hoped to be chosen. and who were forced to watch them proudly parading past on that eventful date, full of smiles and waving to the crowd who had attended to see them off on such a momentous maiden voyage to the nearest star.
And so it seemed to be for most of the trip. All had gone smoothly, and they had all easily settled into the 24--hour routines that mimicked their former Earthly professional activities. But after two years of beautifully-coordinated cooperation, things had suddenly and unexpectedly taken a turn for the worse. No, the life-support systems were fine, as well as all other crucial non-human factors needed to make the journey a success. Instead, the problem centered around a crewmember named Alfonso Scaralapagus, and no viable solution seemed available.
"What are we going to do?" Marcela Espinosa, a young Mestiza Latina of 30 and the ship's second in command, asked in hushed tones for the one-hundredth time ever since the very serious problem had begun to manifest itself a month before.
Alexander Albertson, the ships commander, a husky, tall, bald Englishman, and at 48, the oldest member of the crew of four, who had been chosen mostly for his extensive experience in previous solar-system missions to the outer planets, gazed tiredly at her with his exhausted, bloodshot, green eyes, and typically dour facial-expression.
"What would you have me do, Espinosa?" he asked, looking down at her from his great height.
“Eject Scaralapagus from the ship via an airlock?" he continued in a tired monotone.
"No! I’m not suggesting such a drastic measure, sir." Marcella responded, blushing at the suggestion, and in an offended tone of voice. Prior to the trip, she had taken great pride in being totally unemotional when under pressure. After all, she had remained that way during space exploration emergencies which had almost killed her during a Kuiper Belt mission when her spacewalk tether had snapped. So finding herself gradually losing control, was disturbing.
“No, nothing that drastic sir!" she responded once more, but as emotionlessly as she could.
They both paused in response to the painful groans and moans of the other two crewmembers who had stashed themselves away in their private cubicles. It was the only way they could avoid the rest of the ship where Alfonso Scaralapagus seemed ever-present.
No, Scaralapagus did not pose a violent threat to any of them. He was totally harmless in that sense. A pacifist actually. A man of deep religious beliefs who spent and inordinately amount of time reading religious literature. No, neither was he visually offensive. Quite to the contrary, he was a dark-complexioned, muscular young man of twenty eight, with thick black wavy hair cropped short in the military fashion of a flattop, poised above a chizzled masculine face. No obese slob either. He was slender, with not an ounce of fat on his frame. He was also exceedingly intelligent. In fact, he was the smartest one there with degrees in astrophysics and a doctorate in geology to boot. He had also been chosen for his outstanding record in space exploration and was considered an asset until.....
"What do you recommend we do?" the captain brought Marcella back to the reality.
"Sir, you know that Scaralapagus has been told repeatedly, but he just doesn’t listen. He still thinks it is a joke of some kind. Sure, at first it was. But now this has gone much too far. I think that a strict quarantine is our only option sir!"
The captain, sighed deeply and began pacing the floor slowly and pensively from bulkhead to bulkhead, head lowered with a deep frown of concern. Of course, he knew she was right. Yet he felt strange having to take such drastic action against this crewmember. Especially one in whom he had trusted so strongly.
But there was even more involved. He recalled how he had recently promised Scaralapagus's parents at his farewell party that he would take care of their son. How his parents had embraced him and Scaralapagus's mother had tenderly kissed his cheek in appreciation. So it wasn't going to be easy.
"How do you suggest we go about it?” the captain finally stopped pacing, lowered his voice into a low whisper and tugged Marcella aside so they would be out of Scaralapagus’s line of sight. True, Scaralapagus was presently going about his business in the far-end of the ship, but sound tended to carry easily in the enclosed space.
Additionally, Scaralapagus had developed the annoying habit of spying on conversations. They would catch him leering from around corners. Sometimes he would be found silently staring down on them from the bulkhead above before blasting one and making them all scatter. So the caution was justified.
"Drug him with this!" Marcela suddenly unclenched her plump fist and displayed three black capsules in the palm of her small hand!"
The captain flinched.
“No, they are not poison!” Marcela assured him, after noting his nervous reaction.
"Just to put him to sleep. That’s all. Then we seal him in his private quarters for the remainder of the trip! Upon arrival, we set up base, and isolate him there as well until he is more cooperative, or is cured"
"But that's a crime! We really have no right!"
"He is seriously endangering the mission sir! If this continues any longer, none of us will be in any condition to land this ship or set up a base camp as planned”
Noticing that the captain remained reluctant and undecided, she decided to go to the crux of the matter!
“It's either that or having to smell his intestinal gas all the way to Alpha Centauri Bb, sir! Is that what you intend for us to do? Inhale his foul farts for an entire year?" she emphatically swiped at her wide nostrils twice with her forearm. and then briskly with the side of her index finger to emphasize the point.
During the previous six months, Marcela, had never spoken to him that brazenly . Instead, she had abided by strict protocol of allowing him, as the captain, to take the lead. But he wasn’t totally surprised at her transformation. After all, there is a limit to both human endurance and human patience, and Scaralapagus had taken them to the breaking point.
During the last month, the entire ship’s living quarters had become full of the stench of his flatulence. Yes, they had attempted to reason with him. In fact, they had pleaded with him to try various remedies. But he refused to change his diet, or to even accept medication such as Maalox or simethicone, in order to reduce the symptoms.
But far more frustrating was his disrespectful nonchalant attitude. Why, he actually considered it humorous to see the other crewmembers cringe and scatter to the far corners of the ship whenever he loudly and nonchalantly blasted one. They could all hear him chuckling. It sounded like a sadistic, malevolent type of chuckling, which added insult to injury.
"It's the only way!" Marcela repeated softly and solemnly as the captain began nodding his head affirmatively after a prolonged silence.
Well, once Scaralapagus had been subdued and sedated, and locked in his quarters, the rest of the mission went on without a hitch. They placed a small curtain over his door’s small circular window so as not to have to see his accusatory stares and baleful expressions of recriminations as he blasted away in his cubicle to his heart’s content.
They were reasonably young, healthy specimens, three males and two females, with great tolerance for frustration. They had been psychologically evaluated and certified to be sound of mind, socially well-adjusted, and had been chosen from among thousands who had applied for the assignment but who had failed.
In short, they were considered the crème de la crème - as it were, the envy of all the others who had hoped to be chosen. and who were forced to watch them proudly parading past on that eventful date, full of smiles and waving to the crowd who had attended to see them off on such a momentous maiden voyage to the nearest star.
And so it seemed to be for most of the trip. All had gone smoothly, and they had all easily settled into the 24--hour routines that mimicked their former Earthly professional activities. But after two years of beautifully-coordinated cooperation, things had suddenly and unexpectedly taken a turn for the worse. No, the life-support systems were fine, as well as all other crucial non-human factors needed to make the journey a success. Instead, the problem centered around a crewmember named Alfonso Scaralapagus, and no viable solution seemed available.
"What are we going to do?" Marcela Espinosa, a young Mestiza Latina of 30 and the ship's second in command, asked in hushed tones for the one-hundredth time ever since the very serious problem had begun to manifest itself a month before.
Alexander Albertson, the ships commander, a husky, tall, bald Englishman, and at 48, the oldest member of the crew of four, who had been chosen mostly for his extensive experience in previous solar-system missions to the outer planets, gazed tiredly at her with his exhausted, bloodshot, green eyes, and typically dour facial-expression.
"What would you have me do, Espinosa?" he asked, looking down at her from his great height.
“Eject Scaralapagus from the ship via an airlock?" he continued in a tired monotone.
"No! I’m not suggesting such a drastic measure, sir." Marcella responded, blushing at the suggestion, and in an offended tone of voice. Prior to the trip, she had taken great pride in being totally unemotional when under pressure. After all, she had remained that way during space exploration emergencies which had almost killed her during a Kuiper Belt mission when her spacewalk tether had snapped. So finding herself gradually losing control, was disturbing.
“No, nothing that drastic sir!" she responded once more, but as emotionlessly as she could.
They both paused in response to the painful groans and moans of the other two crewmembers who had stashed themselves away in their private cubicles. It was the only way they could avoid the rest of the ship where Alfonso Scaralapagus seemed ever-present.
No, Scaralapagus did not pose a violent threat to any of them. He was totally harmless in that sense. A pacifist actually. A man of deep religious beliefs who spent and inordinately amount of time reading religious literature. No, neither was he visually offensive. Quite to the contrary, he was a dark-complexioned, muscular young man of twenty eight, with thick black wavy hair cropped short in the military fashion of a flattop, poised above a chizzled masculine face. No obese slob either. He was slender, with not an ounce of fat on his frame. He was also exceedingly intelligent. In fact, he was the smartest one there with degrees in astrophysics and a doctorate in geology to boot. He had also been chosen for his outstanding record in space exploration and was considered an asset until.....
"What do you recommend we do?" the captain brought Marcella back to the reality.
"Sir, you know that Scaralapagus has been told repeatedly, but he just doesn’t listen. He still thinks it is a joke of some kind. Sure, at first it was. But now this has gone much too far. I think that a strict quarantine is our only option sir!"
The captain, sighed deeply and began pacing the floor slowly and pensively from bulkhead to bulkhead, head lowered with a deep frown of concern. Of course, he knew she was right. Yet he felt strange having to take such drastic action against this crewmember. Especially one in whom he had trusted so strongly.
But there was even more involved. He recalled how he had recently promised Scaralapagus's parents at his farewell party that he would take care of their son. How his parents had embraced him and Scaralapagus's mother had tenderly kissed his cheek in appreciation. So it wasn't going to be easy.
"How do you suggest we go about it?” the captain finally stopped pacing, lowered his voice into a low whisper and tugged Marcella aside so they would be out of Scaralapagus’s line of sight. True, Scaralapagus was presently going about his business in the far-end of the ship, but sound tended to carry easily in the enclosed space.
Additionally, Scaralapagus had developed the annoying habit of spying on conversations. They would catch him leering from around corners. Sometimes he would be found silently staring down on them from the bulkhead above before blasting one and making them all scatter. So the caution was justified.
"Drug him with this!" Marcela suddenly unclenched her plump fist and displayed three black capsules in the palm of her small hand!"
The captain flinched.
“No, they are not poison!” Marcela assured him, after noting his nervous reaction.
"Just to put him to sleep. That’s all. Then we seal him in his private quarters for the remainder of the trip! Upon arrival, we set up base, and isolate him there as well until he is more cooperative, or is cured"
"But that's a crime! We really have no right!"
"He is seriously endangering the mission sir! If this continues any longer, none of us will be in any condition to land this ship or set up a base camp as planned”
Noticing that the captain remained reluctant and undecided, she decided to go to the crux of the matter!
“It's either that or having to smell his intestinal gas all the way to Alpha Centauri Bb, sir! Is that what you intend for us to do? Inhale his foul farts for an entire year?" she emphatically swiped at her wide nostrils twice with her forearm. and then briskly with the side of her index finger to emphasize the point.
During the previous six months, Marcela, had never spoken to him that brazenly . Instead, she had abided by strict protocol of allowing him, as the captain, to take the lead. But he wasn’t totally surprised at her transformation. After all, there is a limit to both human endurance and human patience, and Scaralapagus had taken them to the breaking point.
During the last month, the entire ship’s living quarters had become full of the stench of his flatulence. Yes, they had attempted to reason with him. In fact, they had pleaded with him to try various remedies. But he refused to change his diet, or to even accept medication such as Maalox or simethicone, in order to reduce the symptoms.
But far more frustrating was his disrespectful nonchalant attitude. Why, he actually considered it humorous to see the other crewmembers cringe and scatter to the far corners of the ship whenever he loudly and nonchalantly blasted one. They could all hear him chuckling. It sounded like a sadistic, malevolent type of chuckling, which added insult to injury.
"It's the only way!" Marcela repeated softly and solemnly as the captain began nodding his head affirmatively after a prolonged silence.
Well, once Scaralapagus had been subdued and sedated, and locked in his quarters, the rest of the mission went on without a hitch. They placed a small curtain over his door’s small circular window so as not to have to see his accusatory stares and baleful expressions of recriminations as he blasted away in his cubicle to his heart’s content.