Post-series, after Thrill of the Chase but before His Own Funeral. And here I go bringing the real world into fanfiction again...
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In 2004 the X-Prize was awarded as a privately-funded venture successfully put a man in space and brought him back. It was announced that the new company, Virgin Galactic, would be flying commercial suborbital flights within three years.
Deposits came rolling in, calling dibs on the first scheduled flights. Some people on these flights were rather vocal about it. Some shyly admitted it. Some merely said "I've always wanted to go to space."
Three years passed. Testing was still ongoing. Interest in space grew exponentially along with interest in paranormal phenomena after the wake of the Disasteroid incident, giving Virgin Galactic a chance to unveil their first operational suborbital, the VSS Enterprise.
And quietly, discretely, one eager passenger pulled his name from the list. Perhaps not so discretely...
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Tucker Foley, mayoral intern, carried an armful of mail through the corridors of city hall. Perhaps he should have borrowed the mail cart but then he'd have to admit to the mail room guys that he needed it. Maybe if he'd snuck down when they weren't looking...
Tucker kicked the door to the mayor's office, his hands too full to knock. When there was no answer he tried again. He knew Vlad was here, he could hear the fruitloop's weird-ass music.
Vlad tore the door open, an annoyed scowl on his face. That scowl faded to an amused smirk as he saw the pile of mail standing at his door. He pointed to a letter that had fallen on the floor. "You left a trail," he warned. "Go pick it up."
Tucker groaned. But first he shoved the pile he held at Vlad, letting the lot of them flutter to the floor. He ran off before Vlad could hit him for it.
Vlad sighed. He summoned his ghost powers, lifting the pages, letters, packages onto Tucker's desk so his intern could do the sorting.
Tucker came back with a much smaller stack, mostly letters. He shifted through them, always eager to snoop on his boss's mail. "Virgin Galactic?" he asked, reading the return address. "Since when do you get mail from these guys?"
Vlad snatched the letter out of Tucker's hands. He opened it, slightly confused. He'd already canceled his reservations, why the continued contact?
Mr. Masters,
We were sorry to hear you were canceling your reservation on the first, second, and fifth commercial flights of the VSS Enterprise. In the interest of our product and to enhance customer service in future dealings we politely inquire what led to your decision?
Sincerely,
Richard Branson, founder
Vlad sat back in his chair. A faraway look clouded his one blue eye as he remembered...
He grabbed a sheet of paper and scrawled out a quick reply.
I've already been. I do not think I should ever want to go through that again.
Vlad didn't even sign it, merely folded it up and handed it to Tucker. "Send this," he said, his voice subdued, almost painful.
Space had been terrible enough the first time. He didn't need to experience it again. Not without reason.