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The Putting In Place Of Spaceman Sam

The Putting in Place of Spaceman Sam

1

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 the Government funded laboratory, other scientists were working diligently on the same formula, varying it ever so slightly. Each hand was covered with gloves made from animal membranes. The lambs, initially targeted for condoms, were selected then re-directed to a more sterile facility. Once there, they were fed fresh grass and clover. Then, and only when their bowl movements showed the proper consistency of fluids and solids would the surgeons operate removing only the softest portion of the intestines. The tissues were then sent to Malaysia where accomplished seamstresses would cut, sew, and seal the fabric. Upon paving 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, along with the other three, were marked as the men who had the best chance of success. Each was well aware of their duties. With that being said, so far; months were spent working, but still, the gel laid on glass plates, nothing was proven. The lambs grew restless in their cages.

The year was nineteen sixty-eight, rivers were on fire, skies rained black coal and bombs lit up the sky in Vietnam. A new, stronger, more resilient world would be necessary. A planet was found--- we could start over--- but to do so, a gel was needed. One like no other, one that could 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 was traveling with. Which meant it had to be as tough as Spaceman Sam….

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Spaceman Sam was an outgoing man, at least on earth he was. While waiting for lift off, he would spend his time at gatherings where he would hang with awe-struck General’s, Senator’s, President’s, whomever. “Here’s to Spaceman Sam,” they would shout, holding their crystal champagne glasses as high as they could. Spaceman would smile, show his perfect white teeth, blink his blue eyes, then satisfy his thirst with a bottle of Fanta soda.

The woman would be giddy, dancing around him spinning in a vain attempt for his attention. The men would scream for service, “Get the man some more Fanta!” They would yell. Their left hand raised high in the air, waving while the right was pointing at his empty bottle. “Where the hell’s the server with the Fanta!”

Gerald, back in the lab, took one more look in the microscope, then screamed, “I GOT IT!” Outside--- birds, frightened from the ear piercing scream, took flight from the trees. Dogs that wondered loose howled, cats ran under homes. The other scientists moaned in disappointment; each knowing they failed. The lambs… their eyes grew tired, relaxed…; this night they would sleep. By God, this night they will sleep....

2

In the morning, back at Cape Canaveral, Spaceman Sam walked along the edge of his launch pad, he was counting off steps, “three, six, nine.” Walking behind was a woman named Stacy Workman. Stacy was holding onto his long blonde curly hair like a veil on a wedding dress. If asked, Spaceman would say he liked ponytails, but not the rubber bands that held them. He would say they were constraints made to control what was meant to remain free. “The only people who have a problem with free hanging hair is those who ain’t got none,” he would say. Stacy was sure he was right, those with no hair damn sure didn’t have a beautiful young girl walking behind and holding it. Hell—-they didn’t have a beautiful young girl anywhere around them.

“ I believe this pad will do,” he said, looking at the horizon. The sun had just risen from the East--- Cape Canaveral’s launch pad held a fantastic view of the Atlantic. The Florida weather was warm and had Sam wearing beach attire with flip flops on his feet. As the sun’s rays bounced off the ocean, they took the time to shine on his face. Who or what wouldn’t? Stacy wondered. He’s perfect, she thought and then, there was a tingle in her nether region. She let it be.

His skin was tanned permanently from flying too close to the sun. His body chiseled, as he only ate packaged food that needed no heat. He was short so the capsules could be made smaller. His lungs were pink; virgins to all smoke except burnt rocket fuel. He was built for speed, space travel, danger. His reflexes were that of a cat; his vision, an eagle; his stamina, a cheetah. All loved him, wanted to be him, but who could fill such shoes? Those who’s words were heard would say no one.

“Why don’t you let one of the other astronauts take this mission?” Stacy asked him while on the launch pad.

Spaceman’s eyes remained on the horizon, “They only want to mess with the moon,” he said, his voice low as though he felt sorry for them. “There’s nothing on the moon; moon walking is for pussies and pedophiles. Do I look like either of them?”

“No,” Stacy quickly said. “You’re an American Hero, you put Russia in their place.” Her words were stumbling.

“That’s right,” Spaceman said, now his voice was robust his eyes remained on the horizon. He looked like a superhero, once again, Stacy felt a tingle.

“When the Russkies tried to break the sound barrier,” he continued, “they found me already on the other side. When they went into orbit, I swerved to miss them. When they sent a monkey into space, I brought it back home. When they went to the moon, I honked and waved as I passed. Saw them planting the flag, saw the dust rise--- nothing on the moon but dust. Saw their golf cart too. Who rides a golf cart on the moon?”

“Pussies and pedophiles?” Stacy answered.

“That’s right.”

Stacy thought a moment. She was sure he was talking about the American space program. She said nothing, she reached up, took hold of his hair, “Let’s get something to drink,” she said.

“Some Fanta?”

“Of course.”

3

General William P. Colton was sitting at a long table that wasn’t very wide. Chairs lined both sides. Seated in the room were a variety of important people, some military, some political, the President was on the speaker phone.

The office was located on the Tenth floor. Out the window, the Cape Canaveral holding building could be seen. A tall, almost sky scrapper looking facility standing alone along the tropical shoreline. Inside would be where the rocket was stored. Heading towards the building at a slow pace was the launch pad that would take the space ship out to where it would leave the ground. Beyond was the Atlantic where it would land and blow to pieces should something fail. There would be spectators. The General could only wonder what would happen should Spaceman Sam be killed in sight of the public. Loss of hope, a future, a life on another planet.

He knew there was more at stake, more than the earthlings to think about. Surely there was life on the new planet. Species that waited for an alien with superior intelligence to land on their world and show them all their doing wrong. He shuddered at the thought of them waiting in vain, then he looked at the wall where a picture of Spaceman Sam was hanging. “God bless you, Spaceman Sam,” he whispered. He looked to see Senator Alfred Wolman. Democrat…? Republican…? He wasn’t sure…, it didn’t matter, all were on the same side on this. The General could see the Senator nodding his head in agreement. For a moment, they did something not often done; they held hands under the table.

The door opened in the secret room that held the secret meeting. The tenth floor of the plush hotel was saved for such occasions. People in regular rooms walked around Kings, leaders, legends, some thought dead. Those who were peasants hadn’t a clue, none was given.

In walked an ugly man, he closed the door behind him. He went to the front of the long narrow table where he cleared his throat. “Gentlemen,” he said then went quiet. He motioned for the lights to be dimmed, he turned on a slide projector. He was dressed in another’s suit, perhaps one purchased for a much larger man. His hair was thin, greasy, uncombed. His eyeglass frames were black, thick plastic, the lenses were greasy. Those in attendance saw this man as all knowing. He must be because he cared so little about how he looked.

The first slide showed the night sky. The speaker with the face of a rat stood, with a pointer until he found the correct white dot--- he tapped the vinyl screen three times. “This,” he said talking with a nozzle voice, “this planet is comparable to ours.”

“How can you be sure?” General Colton asked.

The Rat man clicked to the next picture, “this photo is magnified,” he said once again taking his time until he found what was nothing more than a little bigger white dot. “There it is,” he said, tapped on the screen, “do you see now?”

“See what?” the General asked.

The Rat faced man looked only at the screen, “Through the eyes of the sinner,” he said, “one can’t see God.” He went to the next screen.

“Did you see anything?” the General asked the Senator, releasing his hand.

“No,” he responded. All the same, the man was all knowing. If he said it was, then it was…. The President on the speaker phone said nothing.

“Do any of you know what this is?” The rat-faced man asked as he looked at the slide.

The General raised his hand, but the rat man couldn’t see out the back of his head, so the General took a chance and answered the question. “It looks like an astronaut who put his helmet on backwards.” There was talk, most agreeing.

The slide showed a white helmet, a large shield that showed no face, only hair. “This,” the rat man said, “is Spacemen Sam. It was taken during his last trip to Mars…. As you can see, the helmet doesn’t fit tightly on the head. So in zero gravity, his hair is allowed to do as it pleases.” He paused, “Gentlemen,” he said, “there is a face in there!”

Everyone in the room began to panic. The President, who couldn’t see through the phone, participated out of fear, “What can we do…?”He asked the sound distorted. As the speaker had been drenched with the saliva of screaming men. Dried and stained, with the only reason it remained on the table being budget cuts.

“We have men working on it,” said the rat man. “We are aware of Spaceman Sam’s thoughts on hair restraining. With that in mind, our best men have come up with a gel that will last throughout the entire mission.”

“Will he allow it?” The President asked.

“We believe he will.”

“I want Asian women used for testing the gel,” the President said. “They have beautiful hair. I don’t care how many it takes…!”

“Spaceman has asked we test on sheep…, sir. He said their hair is close to his own. Besides, there’s a bunch leftover.”

“Sheep…? Left over from what?” the President asked.

“From the scientist who made the gel…, sir.”

“I’ve heard they make good condoms,” the President said. Everyone in the room agreed. But only that they heard the same rumor, they didn’t know for sure. Once they all calmed, the President said, “Well…, test on a couple Asian’s anyway. We have to be sure on this! If Spaceman Sam doesn’t return as he left, the nation will turn to chaos, especially the Canadians. For some reason, they really love him.”

“Yes, sir.”

The General looked as Senator Wolman, “does the President still think Canada’s a state?”

“I think he does,” replied Wolman.

“It isn’t…., right?”

“Don’t believe it is?”

“You want to hold hands a little longer?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

4

Inside the massive hanger, Spaceman Sam had climbed the scaffold leading to his capsule. Behind him was Stacy; his hair was in her hands. There was a hatch held on by rusted hinges. The pod was ash white at the tip where re-entry had burned off the paint. The rest was gray, the color of rain clouds. Spaceman ran his hands over it. The cast iron bullet had seen multiple layers of paint, now it was sticky to the touch, the way he liked it.

He opened the hatch, climbed in. Behind his seat was a titanium tube, round, the size of a toilet drain pipe. Stacy gently threaded his hair into it; now it was controlled. He sat with his back to the earth in a space only big enough for one. He looked out the three-inch thick plate glass windshield. The opening no more than five inches wide by twelve inches long. The Glass, naturally tempered, heat treated thanks to the sun. The face showed scratches which ran in all directions. Damage caused by satellites and other man-made debris that was destroyed as Spaceman Sam wouldn’t give way to space trash. It was pushed aside like snow in a snow shovel, like a bug on the car windshield, like a cow that stood firm on the train tracks. Now…, it was getting hard to see, but Spaceman didn’t care, there wasn’t much out there to look at anyhow. If asked, he would say space was overrated. That time spent in an underground cave would be time better spent.

“Why do you do it?” Stacy asked Spaceman was sitting there in some kind of trance.

“Do what?” he asked.

“Take such risks.”

Spaceman thought a moment, “Well,” he said, “there is three paid sick days, that’s nice. There’s the holiday pay, gotta love that. Then there’s workman’s comp, which I could do without.”

“Why’s that?”

“After I returned from my last trip to Venus, there was a slight pressure problem in the capsule, I wound up with that divers disease…, what’s It called?”

“The Bends.”

“Yea—-, anyway, I had too much nitrogen in my system and couldn’t pass their drug test so they didn’t pay.”

“But the job was the reason you had the nitrogen in your system? That makes no sense.”

“That’s what I thought, so I contested the insurance companies decision.”

“And.”

“They bugged my phone, had me followed, watched, and videotaped. Then I was called by the President….. He asked if I would let it go, said he owed them and I would be doing him a personal favor.”

“So you did, you let it go, I mean time spent in a decompression chamber is expensive.”

“Yeah…, It cost me around twelve thousand dollars. But the good news is the President now owes me a solid.”

“He told you that?”

“No…, but ya know, I assume.”

“What about your personal health insurance, they wouldn’t help?”

“No, they said it was a workman’s comp case.”

“That sucks.”

“Well,” Spaceman said, he looked out the windshield as though he was already in space. “You have to look at the whole picture. I’m on salary, twenty-five thousand a year. I have health Insurance that only cost a thousand a month, and only has a ten thousand dollar deductible. Couldn’t afford it without this job, I’ll tell ya that.”

“A thousand a month, why so much?”

“They say I have a high-risk job.”

“I see…, have you ever used it?”

“By the time I get through with the premiums, there’s nothing left to pay the deductible. So no, but I think once I retire I’ll have my 401k money, then it’ll come in handy.”

“I thought you lost that during the recession; you know the bailout.”

“What bail out?”

“When we gave all that cash to the banks.”

“We did?”

“You must have been in flight. Everyone knows about it.”

“Why would we give money to the banks? Was we paying off loans or something?”

“No, they made some mistakes and needed cash.”

“So they put up collateral, maybe their buildings?”

“No, they said they needed it, and wanted us to give it to them. They said they would take it, but only if we promised we wouldn’t ask them what they were doing with it.”

“So what did they do with it?”

“They gave it to the men and woman they fired for getting them in the position to where they had to borrow money.”

“Well, I suppose they have lent us plenty of cash. Would only be right to return the favor. At least I still have the Social Security I paid in.”

“Well…………..” Stacy stopped there, she stuck her head in and looked around, “Spaceman,” she asked, “What are all those marks?”

Among what appeared to be a thousand switches, dials, levers, and gauges, there were red crayon marks.

“Well,” Spaceman said, “you see these here with a circle and a question mark.”

“Yeah.”

“I never figured out what they do. The ones with a circle then an “X,” that means they don’t work no more.”

“Shouldn’t you fix them?”

“I don’t know how.”

Stacy suddenly pulled away, the smell of sewage, vomit and urine was pungent. She turned and gagged, all the while trying to hide her reaction from Spaceman. He didn’t need to see it.

Why wouldn’t it be? She thought. What would the temple of a man of men smell like? Noah’s Ark at the end of the voyage? Christopher Columbus’s ship after it hit the new world? “It would smell like this,” she whispered then put her head back inside the capsule. She breathed, forced the thick air in and out of her lungs until the smell faded.

“So what do you do during flight?” She asked.

“Well I mark these gauges for one,” he held up a red crayon that was placed on the dash.

“But most times, I look out the window, ask myself if I’m there yet. The answers always the same… close. Then I finally land and before I can blink an eye, I’m back in the rocket, heading home…. Sucks. Sometimes I’ll make some stops along the way. Stretch my legs, take a leak. Not often, though.”

She took another breath, “I can tell,” she said.

5

There was a press meeting called. The planet of choice was confirmed, the gel was proven. The launch pad had finally made it back to the Daisy Doughnut which was the faded name still seen on the ships side…. She was ready for takeoff.

Cameras surrounded a small stage, men holding microphones strained as they pushed forward as though a rope held them back. Already on the left side of the stage stood Gerald Stagman, the man who mixed the gel. In the center were three Asian women, each had hair pasted to their scalps. On the right stood General William P. Colton.

The crowd went silent as the moment arrived. The President came into view, walked up on the stage. He looked out among the many who were allowed to attend such an extraordinary moment in time.

“I would like to take this time,” he said, “to remind the American people how lucky they are to live in a country that’s blessed by God…..” The president was cut off as there was screaming coming from the side of the stage. He looked over to see Lenny, his aid running up the stairs then up to him.

“Sir,” he said not realizing the mic was picking up his voice. “You can’t admit there’s a God.”

“But I’m pretty sure there is.”

“Don’t matter, you can’t say it out loud in public.”

“So there isn’t a God?”

“How the hell would I know. I only know what the supreme court says and apparently they aren’t a big fan.”

The President looked confused as Lenny walked off the stage, he turned back to the crowd who was silent and waiting. “Well then,” he said, “I would like our enemies to see that no matter what falls upon the American people, our flag will fly high!” Once again, there was screaming from the side, Lenny ran up, both hands in the air, “Sir,” he said. “You have to say the American flag, you can’t just say flag, as there are people who will think you are speaking about the Confederate flag.”

Baffled, the President once again watched as Lenny left the stage. He turned and with a face that was red as a beet, he went on. “From the shores of Daytona Beach, Florida, to the clear waters of Great Bear Lake, Canada. Let this be a lesson to our enemies who think they can do whatever they want. That they can’t just throw words around like God. That they can’t just fly whatever flag they want. This is the land of the free…, damn it…! God Bless you all.” Both his hands went up in the air, held high like that of a victorious warrior. He stood there waiting for applause, there was none. He walked off the stage, passed Spaceman Sam, shook his hand, some words were said, he went on.

Now, as Spaceman walked on the stage, the electricity was pinging in the air, bouncing off the crowd, each shock making them edgier. There were so many questions that needed to be answered. Where are you going? How long will it take? What are the chances of survival? Why did you name the rocket “Daisy Doughnut?” All waited patiently. Spaceman Sam tested the mic. Stacy was behind him, holding his hair. The camera’s were flashing their bulbs, newsmen were running video. “First Question?” Spaceman said, then pointed to a man in the back of the crowd, “You…, go ahead.”

The man cleared his throat, “Is it true,” he asked, “that you are not American?”

Spaceman stood tall, “I’m American…, yes.”

“Isn’t it true you were born in Libya?” Now the crowd started rumbling.

“I was yes, but my parents were there on vacation.”

“No one goes to Libya on vacation.”

“Was that a question?”

“Isn’t it true your name isn’t Spaceman Sam, it’s really Baby Karri?”

“My parents called me that when I was young.” Now the crowd froze; their mouths open. No more questions were asked. No one cared where he was going. How long it will take or his chance of survival. Now…, the only thing that mattered was his facial expressions. The cameras flashed nonstop, catching a sequence that would be on the front page of every newspaper in America.

Spaceman tried to explain, he looked for the President…, he was gone. He turned to the right, Gerald was gone, the Asian ladies, gone, the General…., gone. Then, he felt his hair fall. First down his back, then around his shoulders, within a moment, his face was covered.

“SPACEMAN SAM IS A LESBIAN!” The front page read, “HIS REAL NAME IS Baby Karri!” From there it got worse. They talked about his hair, how now they knew why it was so important. His American name, Sam, was short for Samantha. His skin, face, height, it all made sense now.

Suddenly, there was talk of how she walked around with nothing covering her breasts. The children’s eyes had been violated. Politicians wanted to know if she voted; if so, did it count? Should they have a re-count? A Senate team was appointed to seek out answers. Witnesses were called from all around the country, from Daytona Florida to Great Bear Lake Canada. The President wanted answers.

History books were pulled from schools, burned. Pictures removed from walls, burned. Each long haired man ran to barbers to have it cut short. The woman talked to their children, men watched the news as the stock market plummeted. All was lost with the last pictures shown of Spaceman Sam being escorted by armed guards onto a plane, deported. One of the guards pistol whipped him right before the jet door closed. It was all on television, everyone cheered. The plane was scheduled to leave at six in the evening. That way everyone could watch live as Baby Karri left the country. A party broke out in the streets. Men were in bars watching, “drinks all around!” Was screamed out. This went on for two days, slowing until the news wore it down to what it was.

Now, they showed footage of when the plane landed in Libya. The people cheering. A beautiful young woman waiting on the tarmac to hold his hair. He walked away, never looking at the camera. The people in America were stunned, he wasn’t a lesbian--- he was from Libya. They wondered why the press didn’t make that clear? They began to think it may have been a little drastic to burn all the school books. The mothers once again talked to their children, the stock market continued its descent. Men with short hair stood hours in front of mirrors thinking of what was. The Daisy Doughnut sat alone in the hanger. The President was lost in thought over whether there was a God. If not, would that mean all the holy men would be arrested for falsely leading the public? He wondered. What will we do with all the church? What about all the money that was collected and given to God…, who got it? All the questions that once had an answer were once again placed on the table. And he hadn’t even started thinking about the flag issue.

6

Major Donald S. Brenan was sitting in front of General Colton. He looked down at his shaking hands. He could feel the sweat building on his brow. The General had just told him what his duty was. The President, who was on speaker phone, had thanked him for his service to the States. Major Brenan really wished it was the other way around, that he was thanking the President for taking over where Spaceman Sam had left off.

“I think this mission is suicide,” Brenan said his voice shaking.

“It may be,” the General replied. “Thing is, there’s a lot of money riding on whether this trip can be done or not. Vegas has been on the phone, they have already burned a hole in the Presidents ear. They want action and are willing to pay good money for it. The cable company has sold billions in pay per view so the public can stay informed. Not to mention, there’s now ten thousand stickers planted on the Daisy Doughnut advertising everything from Cigarettes to bottled water. You know, in case there are aliens on the planet. They may be interested in doing business.”

“If we go to their planet, won’t we be the aliens?” Brenan asked.

“I’ll let the Native Americans explain that one to ya.”

“All this sounds great, but at what cost are they willing to pay?”

“Beyond you life…, I would say billions…. Not sure what you want me to say.”

“Why me?”

“You’re the only one who stands a chance of fitting in the capsule.”

“Why not get Spaceman Sam back?”

“You mean Baby Karri?”

“Whatever, you found out he was a citizen after all. He’s the best man for the job.”

“We don’t admit to mistakes…, Major Brenan. You would be wise to remember that. Besides, that’s nothing more than rumor, one put out by conspiracy theorist… probably Lesbians.”

“Are you threatening me? You’re sending me to my death, what more you gonna do?”

“Did I hear an accent in that voice…? Maybe broken English? So you want to be the next lesbian?”

“No.”

“Then go out a hero like a real man.”

“What about you, aren’t you a hero? A real man?”

“I’m alive ain’t I?”

“Yea.”

“Then you have your answer.”

7

People showed up by the thousands to watch the liftoff. The President sat in the Oval office, he was upset as he learned he couldn’t keep his Confederate flag. He learned the Holy men wouldn’t be prosecuted. That no money would be refunded. He learned that although it was legal to marry his aid Lenny, he couldn’t do so in Kentucky because the bitch clerk refused to do her job. Now he wasn’t sure why he wanted to marry Lenny, wasn’t really that attracted to him. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to marry in Kentucky, although it was pretty in the mountain. And he never had a Confederate flag, he had a Florida State flag that sort of similar so Lenny said it had to go.

General Colton was with Major Brenan, they were on the scaffold, at the entry of the capsule. Brenan had opened the hatch the smell took his breath away. He waited then looked around. “There’s not enough room,” he said.

“There is.” General Colton confidently replied.

Brenan was wearing full gear so as the General helped him get in, the sound of fabric being pushed around was evident. He settled down into the seat, his knees were pressed up against his chest.

“I told you there was room,” the General said.

“I can’t breathe,” Brenan mumbled.

“Yeah,” said the General, “There’s a lot of humidity in the air, finding it hard to breathe myself. Almost envy you. The air beyond will be clean, refreshing.” He closed the hatch, latched it. He turned to walk away when there was a jolt like he was falling to the side.

He could hear the crowd screaming in the distance. The rocket was leaning, falling off to the side. He grabbed hold of the rail, knowing he was well over five hundred feet in the air. He thought it safer inside the capsule and there was no way he would ever have guessed that. Then—-the scaffold and jet stopped, now they were at a slight angle.

“What the hell’s going on?” The President yelled watching his pay per view.

“It looks like the launch pad is too small for the rocket, Sir,” Lenny said he was sitting while knitting. Only looking up when necessary.

“Who the hell measured it?”

“Spaceman Sam did, sir.”

“Was someone holding his hair?”

“I couldn’t say, sir.”

The General was on the ground driving away. Some would say he made considerable time distancing himself from danger. The kind of time that can only be achieved by a coward. After all, it wasn’t as though the man was in shape. Soon, he was standing in the ground control office. They were counting down.

Inside the capsule, Brenan had some time. He pulled a map from a fish net holder, one of many located on the walls of the capsule, he unrolled it. There was a picture of the night sky, arrows drawn by a magic marker were pointing to the star he was supposed to fly to. He could barely see, the lens on his helmet was fogging as he breathed.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, he could hear through the radio. He closed his eyes, then there was a jolt, loud explosion. He was leaving the ground, his eyes remained closed. Slowly, he picked up speed. The vibration was mind numbing. He could hear ground control talking. Everything was going well. A little off to the side but the Daisy Doughnut was correcting herself. He could hear someone say they were shocked at the fact that Brenan had never been inside the capsule. How he was a natural, that he was born with it, he had a gift.

The crowd could see a flag streaming from the tail of the ship. Massive in size, waving, although straight enough to see. It was black with a white stick man holding the hand of a white stick woman. The song, God Bless America echoed from the crowd. But they removed God and added Pod, which was more appropriate.

Some stood saluting, hats covered hearts. Tears flowed down cheeks. Women screamed out as they held their hands in the air as though they could touch the Daisy Doughnut. “Fly Superman,” they chanted, “Fly like the man of steel.” All were there, all were Americans, but none were lesbians. The clerk from Kentucky had her hair in a stiff bun, some would say too tight. She reached up showing hands that were ink stained and calloused from signing marriage certificates. She knew that like her, the Daisy Doughnut was on a mission, one handed down by Pod himself.

Suddenly, Brenan’s world went black, now he could only see stars. Still the rocket went on. He looked around, trying to find what dot he was supposed to head to, but there were no black arrows to be seen, they were on the map, but not in space. He pulled out the chart, they were there, arrows bright as day. He looked back at the sky…, nothing.

He heard ground control speaking, Major Brenan, are you all right? Please, Major, this is ground control.”

“He looked around, there was a mic., “This is Major Brenan, all is well.” He waited, no answer. He tried again, no answer. He looked down at the knob that said Radio on the dash panel. There was a round circle, made with a red crayon that had an “X” in the center. “Wonder what that means?” he whispered, he looked around, there were quite a few of them.

He looked off to the side, there was a plaque that read:

Designed in Venezuela

Built in North Korea

Parts from Russia.

Given to the U.S. Government.

Brenan shook his head, “If I didn’t’ know better, I would think they wanted us gone from the planet as much as we want to leave,” He said. He passed the moon at warp speed. The Daisy Doughnut was new world bound.


The Putting In Place Of Spaceman Sam

Spaceman Sam is the type of male every man wants to be. His skin is tan, his hair is long, curly and blonde. All the woman want him and the political leaders want to be seen with him. Why...? He's truly an American hero. He is known for flying solo and always uses the same space ship. He only accepts the missions the other Astronauts fear and since there's a new world that's been found. Sam would seem to be the likely candidate to take us there. But this mission is different, this mission life may already be in the new world.... If so, does Spaceman Sam possess the political correctness to gain us access? Can he negotiate with the alien life? Is he capable of being the modern day, Columbus? Will there be a day set aside? A holiday? A Spaceman Sam Day? As time passes and lift off closes in and even though he's the only one who can get there, the public begins to turn on Spaceman Sam. Now there's a race to get Spaceman off the ground before they insist on sending another, less competent pilot.

  • Author: Chris Bunnell
  • Published: 2015-12-10 16:20:06
  • Words: 5731
The Putting In Place Of Spaceman Sam The Putting In Place Of Spaceman Sam