Disclaimer: I don't own Phil of the Future or this new Stargate: Universe thingy.
The Last Tootsie Roll
If only they had some decent lighting. Dark space cocooning a dark ship. No wonder moral was low by everyone's measure. Cook 2nd Class Richards held the pliable sugary concoction up to what passed for light these "days." Still in its simple wrapper, here, even the wrapper could mean the difference between life and death. Richards giggled, an insane sort, the Robinson Crusoe-type. It wasn't funny. Even this ordinary morsel couldn't be recreated here, not with what they had; not even its wrapper.
"A moment on the lips. A lifetime on the hips." She didn't care. Not that it felt like there was much a future in store for any of them these "days." Carefully, she untwisted the ends of the paper, revealing the shiny glory of the candy industries' genius. It would be delicious and savory and she would enjoy its smell, the feeling on her lips, teeth, tongue and even gums before it was last felt sliding down the back of her throat. Then there was the taste, a taste of home, of Halloween, of summers gobbling these down between holes at the miniature golf course ... it smelled of home like nothing she owned still did.
She looked at the wrapper. How would she explain it when asked? People would look at her and always remember her selfish act. When there were shortages, and on Destiny there were always shortages, she'd be at the bottom of the list for one reason or another.
It was a rousing series of "nights" on Destiny. It wasn't the food. Space potatoes still tasted vile. It was the juggling, magic tricks, slapstick, really horrible singing, line dancing, rapping, story telling -- vaudeville was reborn in a new galaxy. Something else was reborn, or given birth to for the first time. People laughed. Not cruelly, as they sometimes did at the expense of their shipmates, but laughter that came involuntarily and without being laced by innuendo. Just a matter of being happy.
At the end of five nights of fun, there was a vote as to the winner(s) of the gala. There were several prizes, extra shower time, a week to sleep in late, foot massages, but everyone knew what the grand prize was and who volunteered it.
As it turned out, the winner felt much the same as Richards. A technician, stranded with the rest of them, with a gift for particle physics and talent for blowing soap bubble sculptures. His name was Phil and, though he was tempted both to eat the candy, and to share it with her ...
... instead, in the observation room, on the counter, was a tray and on that tray was an empty pill container, its medication long gone, but now taking up residence inside it was the last universal memory in semi-solid form for this gestalt of strangers. Something they all could relate to, find comfort in and take a moment's pleasure in visiting with a turn of the lid to inhale it's chocolately wonder. It was a start, like laughter or walking down a corridor with a smile, even whistling. It was the most valuable human morsel of goodness in the known universe.
