Jezz’s Daily Story

You can’t see much, from between the galaxies. Distant smears of white light; a few sharp glints from outlying stars, in a pattern vaguely like the curve of a breast – a static wall of pinpoints. A vista that does not budge over the days with any rotation or significant relative movement. There are no colourful explosions of filtered nebulae, or grand ringed planets in aquamarine hues. The most awe inspiring view from the Cobalt II was the painted landscape of an English farm in the recreation room. The Doctor had even managed to grow a potted sunflower just underneath it.
    The crew were halfway to their destination: a star system whose name was printed in an orange envelope, stashed in a drawer in the unmanned bridge. All of the crew had read the briefing notes several times since they had left, but few of them remembered the details. The name of the target planet had as many numbers in its name as letters, and they would not be staying longer than a few brief months in the heavy alien atmosphere before returning to Earth. The journey, the uniformed officer had told them as they were preparing to depart, would be the real work.

It was Sunday. On Sunday, the crew gathered for a communal meal and brought up their concerns. Then the two old men of the ship, Henry and Buddy, would clear the table quickly to begin their weekly game of chess. The five others would move on to the observation room to share a bottle of wine, which they drank from white mugs, and have the only animated conversation of the entire week.
    – But you can’t. You can’t say that. How can you say what’s happened while we’re gone?
    – Well, you know, it’s a guess. We have to guess. We either guess or we sit here and don’t think at all.
    – But you’re bound to be disappointed… It will never be how you think.
    – Oh so what? It never is. When in life – and I mean normal life too, not just out here – when in life do you ever know for certain how things are going to be?
    – It’s not the same, though.
    – Human experience is the same wherever you are. There are never such certainties about how things will work out.
    – I don’t think I agree, I don’t know. Hang on, anyway. Jessica stood up. I’ll be back. Hold that thought.
    Jessica left the conversation and walked back through the glossy rounded corridors to where the two old men were playing chess. They were both hunched over the dining table so that their heads nearly met in the middle, with the plastic chess set shadowed underneath. They were silent as usual. Jessica passed them, opened up a cupboard stuffed with tins and cardboard boxes, and took out a plastic bottle.
    – Can you smell that? asked Buddy.
    Jessica walked back past them.
    – Jess? Can you smell that? Henry can’t smell it.
    – Smell what?
    – I don’t know. Something. He looked up and squinted, then adjusted his glasses.
    – Can’t smell it, said Jess.
    – I can smell it, said Buddy.
    – You’re crazy, said Henry. Come on. Your move.
    When she got back to the observation room Jessica sat back down and listened to the conversation again.
    – Yeah. I miss her a lot, but you need time apart to appreciate each other. Oh, can I have some water, Jess? When you’re done? What were we talking about, anyway.
    Jessica finished her swig of water and handed the bottle to the Doctor.
    – I forget, she said. It was a dumb conversation anyway.

On Monday morning the Doctor went to water his sunflower. It was always wilted, with sad orange petals that curled up and littered the carpet every day; but it survived, as long as the Doctor remembered to bless the black soil with a few drops every now and then. Usually the room was empty, and he could water his plant and sit down and appreciate the English landscape, and the fine brushwork on the stable and the bloom on the horse’s back. But on Monday morning Buddy was standing in the corner, looking at the ceiling.
    – Buddy, said the Doctor.
    – Oh! Doc! Good morning. Sorry, I’ll leave you… Hey, Doc, just quickly – do you think anything could survive? Up here?
    – Well, we’re surviving. That plant’s surviving.
    – No, like, say, in the walls. He looked up, squinted and adjusted his glasses.
    – I find it unlikely. There’s no nutrition. Insects, you mean?
    – No, I was thinking, more like… Only I’ve been smelling something for the last few days, and I figured out what it was last night.
    – Oh?
    – Possum shit.
    – Possum shit? Like, faeces?
    – Shit. Yeah. Can you smell it? It’s strongest in this room.
    – I find it unlikely.
    – You can’t smell anything?
    The doctor looked up, then looked back at Buddy.
    – No, not really. It’s not the soil you’re smelling? The flower?
    – No, no. It’s a distinct smell, I remember it vividly from the old days. There are two things that smell like that – kangaroo shit and possum shit. And there’s sure as hell no bloody kangaroo on here, haha.
    – Let me know if you need anything, Buddy.
    – Right, right. I’ll leave you to it then.

Jessica didn’t recognize the dark figure in the observation room. It was silent and the lights were off, as if a crowd had hushed to gaze out at something in the stars – but there was nothing out there, other than the same distant dots.
    – Who’s that?
    – Shh, said the figure. It’s moved.
    – What’s moved? Buddy?
    – Just, shh. Come here. The possum – it’s above us.
    – What are you talking about? The possum?
    – Can’t you smell it?
    – Buddy? I think you need a rest. Are you feeling alright?
    – Tell me if you can bloody smell it! Ah! Shh.
    Jessica looked up and sniffed.
    – I don’t think so. Buddy, what’s this about a possum?
    – I heard it. It’s gone. Fuck, bloody fuck. Buddy shoved past Jessica and marched out of the observation room. She stood silently for a while, then paced between the walls twice before turning on the lights and taking up a yoga position.

The Doctor was worried about his plant – he hadn’t watered it in three days. He held the bottle of water before his eyes as he walked to the recreation room, tilting it to try to gauge whether there was enough fluid in there to sustain the flower. When he went through the archway into the room he stopped abruptly and spilled the water all over the floor. Buddy was sitting on a stool and pointing a shotgun at him.
    – Hey! Put that down! Ah, the heck are you trying to do?
    – Ha! Almost had you there! G’day, Doc.
    – Good day, Buddy, look – put the gun down, alright?
    – Alright, Doc. Just keep quiet. The possum, he tilted his head backwards, is gonna be out soon. But not if you’re watching. It likes the plant, I think.
    – There’s no – Where did you get that gun, anyway?
    – Brought it on.
    – You didn’t.
    – Alright, I didn’t. I built it, then.
    – You? Ah. There’s no possum, Buddy. Ah, shit. Now I have to go get more water.
    – Already taken care of, Doc.
    The Doctor glanced over Buddy’s shoulder at the plant, which was in the same wilted state it was three days ago.
    – You watered it?
    – Can’t let it die. It’s my bait.
    – You’re not well, buddy.
    – Like hell I’m not. I can smell that possum shit. You guys are the mad ones – can’t let yourselves see something that’s so, hah, unlikely.
    – There is no possum, Buddy.
    – Smell it! Smell the bloody air!
    – There’s no possum. I’m going.

The Doctor had his face in his hands. A plate of steaming vegetables was untouched between his elbows.
    – I’ve been thinking. He’s not a dumb guy, he – I think it could be a tumor. Doc?
    – It’s not a tumor, Jess.
    – I’ve read enough literature in my day, the signs are there – he does seem very certain about the smell. And the conditions, Jess raised her arms, God knows how we aren’t all riddled with disease.
    – It’s not a tumor, look, said Doc. The psychologist said we’d be starting to have some funny reactions at around this point. I’m surprised we haven’t seen any sooner. It just, it just happened a bit more suddenly than I expected.
    There was a loud blast from somewhere else on the ship – then a call, from Buddy – ‘Sorry, Doc.’ Jess stood up.
    – Sit down, Jess.
    – Look, asked one of the others, Has anyone smelled anything? Anything at all, when Buddy’s asked?
    – No, said the Doc. He put his face back in his hands.
    – No, said Jess. Well, not possum shit… maybe just a musty smell, you know? No, I’m sure – it’s a tumor. The guy never eats well, no exercise. Just put it to him, Doc. He’ll listen. There must be some test you can -
    – There’s not. And no, I’m not going to tell a man on a gun rampage searching for an imaginary possum that he has brain cancer.
    – Is there anything else you can do, Doc? asked Henry.
    The doctor put his face in his hands again.
    – There are some things, he mumbled.
    – Pardon?
    He looked up at the rest of the crew, who were quiet and pale-faced and none of them had eaten any food.
    – There’s a thing, he said, and drew a deep breath.