Simbatu

The docking ring bites down hard on the nose of the shuttle. As the ship lurches to a halt, the cabin convulses and moans, creating a sharp pulse that rattles the passengers and sets small debris in motion. Bits of refuse bounce aimlessly off the walls. A loose pen tumbles down the aisle-way like a lazy acrobat. Some passengers mumble and swat at the micro projectiles as though attacked by hungry mosquitoes.

"We're docked."

The flight attendant, now unharnessed and pushing his way out of the deep bolstered seat slips back into the official role lost in the close-quarters, two-day space flight.

"We would like to be the first to welcome you to High Moon City, 300 kilometers from the surface of the Moon. We have enjoyed the time spent with you during this flight and look forward to serving you again on your return to earth."

Bronze Groovers, the man in 4A grins like its Friday afternoon. He watches the flight attendant float out into the main cabin area head first. He propels himself along with his hands against the seat head-rests as he floats aft to the leisure and storage area.

"In a moment we'll be docked and pressurized. You may remove your harnesses at this time and begin preparations for deboarding. Your storage items will be removed and delivered to you within the day. Please continue to wear your 'sticky slippers', velcro side out as we are docked at a zero-G station. Be sure to check your seat compartment for your carry-on luggage."

The attendant rights himself at the back of the seating area. With a scrunch his slippers lock onto the rough flooring.

"Really, everybody. this has been a good trip. Hope your tours go well."

This is the unceremonious end to a crude and hurried space flight from Mexico to the Moon. The craft is a standard Vanguard space shuttle hacked and reworked for personnel and light supply transport. The purpose is a direct flight to High Moon City with a return stop-off at Glenn Station, the earth-orbit research center.

The flight attendant walks into the passenger cabin with the jerky, start-and-stop gait familiar to shuttle travelers. The soft velcro flooring provided by the shuttle operators is a safety device. Bronze hits the large round button on his chest releasing his four-point harness. The freed belts float away from his body like opening drawbridges. He bats them out of the way as they move slowly towards his head.

The nine passengers are on their feet in the center walkway, quiet velcro hissing and creaking as they shuffle about gathering up possessions from seat pockets and overhead storage. Bronze, easily a half foot taller than anyone else in the cabin nails his head on an open compartment door as he turns.

"Aw...damn it!"

Bronze squeezes his eyes shut and reaches carefully for top of his head. He looks disdainfully at the open door through a clump of wavy blond hair. He catches it in his hand and combs it back into place with his fingers. His eyes widen as he looks to the man standing next to him.

"You'd think I wouldn't do that again."

Bronze fully opens the door and carefully reaches for a small box the size of an ice-chest from the open cargo hold above him. He squeezes it between his thick, short-fingered hands and pulls it slowly towards him.

"I hope you're doing better than I am,"

The passengers move out the small door of the shuttle and through the snaking white walkway.

"Damn velcro. Zip, step, crunch. Zip, step, crunch. Geeze."

Bronze laughs and pulls one foot at a time off the gritty floor. He rotates his body in the tube a quarter turn; feet dancing along one handrail, a free hand on the other. Bronze holds the small box against his body with one arm, trying not to jar it as he moves closer to the reception desk.

A few feet from the end of the walkway there a young African man, tethered to the wall beside a small terminal. He chats with each passenger as they enter the facility.

High Moon City is a large ferris wheel in space. It is 350 meters across and is home to some 200 scientists and technicians rotating service in six month or one year tours. This is hub of the wheel; the docking bay. The entire structure spins about this point, creating the illusion of gravity in the labs and living quarters farther out along the edge of the 'wheel'.

Bronze carefully pulls the sealed white box with small slits close to him, tipping his head.

"You haven't been out this afternoon, I know. Almost there."

He rights himself onto the crunchy flooring, waiting patiently for his turn to be processed into the facility.

Grabbing its handle with one hand he carefully reaches into a zippered chest pocket with the other. His tanned arm bulges at the bicep and reddens as it fills the opening of the sleeve-less zippered flight shirt. He holds the small card between his index and middle finger, twisting it back and forth with this pinkie.

The young man drifting at the end of the short tether motions to Bronze.

"How ya doin'? Card?"

He opens his hand and with the other hits the return key a few times as he watches screens on his terminal change.

Bronze unzips a foot from the flooring and gently lets the card go, giving it a little spin as it floats towards towards the man's open hand. Throwing things takes a re-think in space. There is no gravity to pull an object to the ground. Toss something onto a table top in zero-G and it skips off like a flat rock on water. All it takes is a little not-so-common sense.

"Good toss. Not too hard, not to weak. You been here before."

He catches the rotating card on his fingertip letting it propeller there for a few seconds before stopping it and sliding it into the reader.

The man glances up at Bronze as his picture and stats flash on screen.

"Groovers, Gilmore. CSP 395...hey! You're that botanist from Questor. Hey, man. How you doin'? Welcome to High Moon City. My name's Andrews."

"Glad to meet you. My friends call me 'Bronze'."

Andrews and Bronze clasp hands, careful not to shake and send themselves bobbing about. Andrews pulls the card from the reader and tosses it back to Bronze.

"Heh. THAT fits. You won't get much sun up here, at least the real kind."

Andrews motions with his thumb to the wall behind him.

"Out there it'll fry your ass."

Bronze pushes a little smile onto his square face as he zips the card into his chest pocket. The box hovering there against his hip shakes a little. Bronze lets go of the handle and lets it hover in space near his leg. The box shakes and begins to tumble and Andrews squints at it, looking perplexed at its sudden motion. Bronze casually pushes the white case against his leg with his left arm.

"How are things in the greenhouse, Andrews? Do you know Doctor Simonson?"

Andrews looks like he's caught between a question and an answer. His eyes meet Bronze's.

"I've seen that greenhouse, man. Talked with...ah...Marc once or twice. Nice guy."

The terminal beeps and Andrews quickly types while he talks. He splits his attention between Bronze and the monitor.

"I see you've been Earth-side for...June, July...eight months. Guess you've got some unfinished business here. Ain't no other reason to come back."

Andrews reaches for the bar-code scanner holstered to the side of the terminal. His face widens with mild expectation.

"Bio clearance?"

"Huh?"

Bronze looks to the ceiling above him and the wall behind Andrews.

Andrews freezes, finger on the trigger of the scanner. His face falls.

"You brought something living with you, besides yourself?"

Bronze looks at the box at his left side, grabbing its handle with his right hand. He slowly lifts and twists the container by its handle and raises it to the table.

"Yeah. My carry-on. Non-hazard. Viable. Well, it was last time I checked."

Andrews passes the scanner over the bar-code then hits the tab key a few times on the keyboard.

"Damn, I thought that thing was possessed. OK. The number checks."

Andrews open up a half smile,

"What 'cha packin'. I know we don't have moving plants up here?"

Bronze tips his head to look at the rectangular white container, running a finger of his free hand around his ear.

"You'll know soon enough, no doubt about that."

Andrews is busy typing, his attention at the monitor.

"I can't wait. Quarters are..same place as last time."

"Uh huh. Deck two. Sector...four."

Bronze moves one foot ahead off the velcro flooring. From here on he is in near zero-G until he moves outwards to the labs and living quarters midship on the rotating space station.

He stops and touches the wall with a finger. Extending his arm slightly he rotates himself to the left.

"I hope they cleaned it since I left."

Andrews reaches for the scanner bouncing at the end of its coiled white cord. With quick glances he looks towards Bronze.

"I wouldn't know that, but you can ask this guy here. He's the new janitor for that level."

Bounding down the light green corridor towards the two is Dr. Marc Simonson, a slight man in his late fifties, though the twinkle in his eye and the ever-present smirk hint at something younger.

"Bronze. Christ, you made it!"

Marc, flying headlong at Bronze, drags his hand at the wall above him to slow his approach. The two men easily move past one another as they circle around and clasp hands.

"You made janitor?"

Andrews is processing the next person in line, paying no attention to either Marc or Bronze.

Marc raises a chin to Andrews.

"You told him I made janitor?" Marc flashes that broad crooked smile of his.

"Oh, Bronze, Andrews here don't know nothing. I made it all the way to head janitor."

Andrews looks at the two down the tube and squints.

"Oh, man, I'll see you two later."

Marc crawls across the wall of the corridor, a push with a leg, then an arm, then the other foot. Bronze moves along with more of a run. In one hand he has the bio-box. The other he uses to keep his upper body in pace with his lower. As they move past the green walls and pipes their pace quickens. They stop moving themselves along with their limbs, letting the rotation of the ship pull them down the hall.

"Damn good to see you, Marc. Damn good to be back."

Fifteen meters later the two are at a four way intersection. A black-lettered sign pointing back to where they came reads 'Center-ship: docking'. Across from them the green corridor continues. 'Center-ship: Habitation and 2G.

Bronze stops and stands on the opposite wall.

"They completed 2G?"

"Yeah."

Marc floats to wall on the other side of the open corridor.

"Last time you were here the living quarters and labs were all around the outside of this ferris wheel. They built it out some so the edges of this spinning space station get 2G."

Marc dives down the green tube towards the habitation sector. Bronze steps off the wall, slowly falling feet first down the corridor after Marc.

Forty meters along the way Marc slows himself by palming the ducts and boxes criss-crossing the walls of the tube. Bronze keeps the bio-box out away from his body, tapping at the walls with his feet to slow his decent to match Marc's.

"Wouldn't want to be out there. What are they doing with it, anyways?"

"Not much yet, guy. Kind of a 'work in progress'."

Marc hangs above a steel ladder jutting from the green wall a few seconds. As they continue to move down the hall the leisurely tumble increasingly becomes something more like a free-fall.

Bronze follows Marc down the ladder to 1-G.

"So, Marc. 'Mister Janitor'...have you been keeping my greenhouse clean?"

Marc stops his climb down and raises his head.

"Your greenhouse? Who set up that laboratory? Who made the legumefors sexual?"

Bronze looks down between his feet at Marc.

"Who came up with the idea and sold it to Questor?"

Marc tosses his hand and bulges his eyes.

"Well..."

Bronze swings out a leg from the ladder.

"It was a good thing I went Earth-side. Right place, right time. But, hey, they knew they shouldn't keep me away from here."

Marc starts moving quickly down the ladder. He is only a few meters from 1-G. He pauses briefly as he plants a finger on his own chest.

"...to help ME."

"...to keep an eye on you," Bronze smirks as he descends two rungs at a time to keep pace with Marc.

Both men are now at 1-G. They leave the ladder and begin walking through the white corridor that runs completely around the ship. It has a noticeable upward curve to it. Most people run the "half-mile ring" as it is known for exercise.

Bronze staggers a little and puts the white box on the ground.

"Gravity, man."

Marc bends over and puts a hand on Bronze's shoulder.

"That's right, it's been a couple of days. You got it?"

"Yeah, Marc. I got it."

Marc is on his feet and heading away from Bronze.

"Oh, Man, I'm glad you're back. Shit. We're gonna scram through the project, now. First Simba died, then you got sick. I wasn't sure what would happen to the project. But you're back, you look great, so I guess everything's OK again."

Bronze takes a few little jumps in place a few times, testing his balance. Bio-box still in his hand.

"About as good as things can be."

Marc and Bronze walk off towards Sky Control. Marc comes in closer to Bronze and without looking at him whispers,

"Space-onset leukocytosis?"

Bronze returns the negative gaze.

"It's not a problem now."

He puts down the box just outside the door to Sky Control room for High Moon City. He takes off his jacket. His large, well-muscled rib-cage stretches the sleeve-less white shirt to its limits.

"Then this time, Bronze, maybe you'll stick around for a while. Holy shit! You grew again. Look at that tan! What is it with you California boys?"

Bronze playfully pumps his swollen right bicep.

"The bigger the better." He half winks, then relaxes his arm and leans in close to Marc, his smile fading to sheepish ambiguity.

"Hey, a...Sal's here, right? She know I'm back"

"Yeah, she knows. Everybody knows...that you're back, that is."

Marc rubs his side with his open hand. He looks down at the bio-box against Bronze's side.

"Oh, I almost forgot."

Marc's eyes widen as he points at the container.

"Is it you, again?"

Bronze nods his head emphatically.

"Yeah. Just like before. Took a little longer to grow, though."

Marc flashes his trademark smirk at Bronze.

"Sky Control ain't gonna wait all day. You up to meeting a few old friends?"

Bronze turns his head to look at the door to Sky Control. He waivers a little and crosses his eyes comically.

"Urp. Oh, man, it's just like the first time I got here all over again. I hate rotating spaceships."

Marc pushes at Bronze's arm, directing him to stand clear of the doors.

"Wait here a moment."

Marc steps in front of the door. It opens and he moves inside.

Bronze crouches down next to the small white box and talks a hushed tone.

"Don't have my space-legs yet. Hell, you probably feel like barfing. I know I do. You'll be out soon, though."

The door slides open and Marc is blocking the door, back to the hallway. Bronze rises to his feet, pushes back a clump of blonde hair and pulls the box to his left side.

Marc steps away from the door and extends his arm towards a grinning Bronze.

"Hey, everybody. Look what they found in the cargo bay."

A young man quickly typing at a keyboard turns in his chair.

"Hey, Bronze."

A woman with short auburn hair peering into a monitor twists her head towards the door.

"Groovers."

Bronze is now through the door and standing tall. His grin washes over into a broad smile as he makes his way towards the assembling group of people. Marc cups his hands around his mouth and assumes his best talk-show voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen of High Moon City Sky Control, Dr. Gilmore 'Bronze' Groovers."

The man at the keyboard is on his feet, arm extended. Bronze meets his with the comfortable two-handed clasp of a long lost friend.

"Hey, Bronze, you made it back. Last time I saw you you were green and...Shit, man. You grew again."

Bronze's face turns a delicate shade of pink. He half grins and lowers his head.

"Gonzo Parkes. How are you, man?"

Gonzo opens his stance and crosses his arms. His face beams confidence. He is younger than most of the personnel here, but conveys a calm maturity that belies his youthful enthusiasm.

"Good way, Bronze. Been busy as shit here 'n moon-side. How 'bow you?"

"Done splitting moon-rocks?"

"Yeah. You gonna' be plantin' beans again?"

Gonzo glances to his right and left at the people near him. Bronze extends an hand and places it on Gonzo's shoulder.

"Only 'cause it pays more than playing in the dirt, Gonzo."

Sarah Allen, Director of Operations at High Moon City has snuck out of her small office at the corner of Sky Control. A tall woman, she gracefully serpentines between the scattered desks and tables to join the group from behind Bronze. Her medium blond hair is pulled into her trademark woven pony-tail. She crosses her arms, juts out her hip and gives Bronze a deliberate look up and down from behind for the amusement of the rest of the group. Gonzo and Marc chuckle, sending Bronze into minor confusion. He looks to his right and left.

"Oh, Sal. Oh, shit. Sal, how are you? Are you still in charge of this wheel? I figured you moved on, already."

Sal drops her head to the side, "Well, if you uplinked once or twice you'd know that I signed on for another year."

Marc covers his mouth with his hand and drops his head to the right.

"Big Guy."

Sal's face fades to red.

"OK, OK. I missed you...we all missed you. Are you staying the full rotation?"

Bronze looks dead on into Sal's eyes.

"You never lost me."

He then raises his head.

"Heh. You twirlers got me riding with you for the whole year."

Marc widens his eyes at Gonzo and discretely shakes a pointed thumb at the box in Bronze's hand.

"After that accident, I thought you were out for the long count. Say, Bronze. you ever get another..."

Sal crosses her arms and looks at Gonzo.

"Gonzo..."

Bronze feigns surprise.

"It's OK Sal. I got one right with me, man."

He places the box on the ground, crouches down and reaches into the open box. He pulls out a small cat with wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Bronze carefully coops up his cat in his large hands and brings it close to his chest. The cat slams its body against Bronze and closes its eyes and purrs.

Bronze strokes its long blond hair with one hand, pausing to scratch the cat's neck under the small radio collar.

"Simbatu. Here you are, guy. Your new home. Friends, this is Simbatu."

Sal reaches for the contented cat, stroking its back.

"The feline continues, right?"

"Just like the original, Sal"

Marc props his head up on his fist.

"Simba two?"

"One word, Marc. Simbatu. Second clone like him."

Bronze strokes the underside of Simbatu's chin, sending his head up, his eyes closed and his back arched.

"Still has my hair, too. A genetic match. There is still alot of me in him."

Gonzo reaches for Simbatu. Bronze opens his arms and the cat climbs onto Gonzo's, sniffing and licking his fingers.

"Hey, now we're all back on station. You doin' more 'a your crazy E.V.A. space walks, Bronze?"

"Yeah, Gonzo." Bronze nods and smiles at him and Marc. "Once my head clears, later... yeah. I want to get out there."

Gonzo tips his head and looks at Bronze from the corner of his eye,

"He go out, too? I mean, he is part Grooovers."

"I don't think so, Gonzo. He's got to get used to zero-g first. maybe after some zero-G midship."

Sal extends her arms towards the little cat in Gonzo's arms. Simbatu reaches his front paws towards Sal, touching her hands with his little protective slippers.

"I don't see why not. Linda Aramov is the new therapist. I'll have her set up a time for you two...when?"

"Tomorrow, Sal."

Bronze squints and rubs at the side of his head.

"Well people, I'd like to continue, but I'm enjoying a bitch of a headache right now."

Gonzo crossed his arms.

"Later. Maybe at dinner, if you packed your appetite."

"You know we did, Gonzo"

Bronze a little hissing noise, like a whistle. Simbatu leaps abruptly from Gonzo's arms towards Bronze. He cradles his feline friend in one arm and gathers up the empty box in the other. Marc leads the way through the door and the three move down the upwardly-curving corridor towards their quarters.

...