Chapter 30• Hallows
*Day 16 of Origenes Crisis*
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"Take a look, I'm not such a stranger.
Here's a face you cokies all ought to know.
You can tell me I'm not wanted, but the joint will still be haunted,
'Cause I'm the ghost of Smokey Joe."
Arlo had been singing what he called "Halloween Anthems", which he would break up by whistling the respective chorus tunes. His voice was surprisingly smooth.
"Remember when I kicked the bucket?
In my mansion up on Strivers' Row.
When they came and took me off in
a zillion dollar coffin,
'Cause I'm the ghost of Smokey Joe…."
Weston interjected, "Is singing about dying really the best thing for us right now?"
"It's Halloween- just thought I'd do something special to mark the occasion", Arlo replied, "Now shhhhhh, you're gonna mess up my tempo."
He continued on singing for a while.
As I had been dreading, the Halloween story trading began between the three of us thereafter.
It made me sad, in all honesty. I had made the decision to 'not count' this Halloween, since I wouldn't be able to go Trick-or-Treating with Ryder and the Pups.
I was missing it. But I was the only one who seemed to hold such a sentiment.
Arlo had claimed that he only participated two consecutive years before he quit "guising", which is what his family had called the action of going door-to-door in a costume and convincing people to gift you sweets.
Apparently, he was taught that you had to tell jokes to earn your candy- which was, in actuality, a very rare stipulation in my experience.
"I wasted weeks of my life leading up to the last day of October just to get laughed at, and not in the way I wanted. When my parents were kids, they said that if an adult didn't like your joke, they didn't have to give you candy unless you came back with a better one. I gave up going from house to house in full after that and told my friends to just bring candy back for us to share. I like the 'spooky' stuff they put on Tv, though", he'd said.
Weston's Halloween stories were basically repeats of themselves.
Every year his parents would split the massive family into quadrants and send them throughout their neighborhood.
Weston would always be put in charge of the younger siblings and would try, in vain, to map out the best possible route for the most diverse candy selection rather than going to every house they saw with their light on.
The younger siblings would accuse him of "ruining the fun", since they often skipped the haunted houses that provided an experience rather than goodies, and would often have to bypass the more elaborately decorated houses for others.
However, Weston's strategy would always pay off when the family would reconvene at home after the sun had gone down.
What Weston called "The Great Candy Trade" would take place every year, with the family sitting in the circle and the kids hurling demands for candy trades as if their lives depended on it while the adults looked on in amusement.
Since Weston had figured out how to get the most variety, whoever had accompanied him often got beyond their share of their favorites by trading candies that others wanted out of pure curiosity.
"Of course, the older kids tried to mimic my method, but no-one could do it like I could. The trading would literally go until midnight if not longer", Weston laughed, "Feelings would remain hurt until Thanksgiving! But there would always be a bunch, usually the youngest, who understood what was going on and tried to reserve my company for the next Halloween so they could win their trades. They'd manage to forget in time and the cycle would repeat itself every year, but I can't deny that the 'Candy stock exchange' is where I had the most fun."
Harper, one of Weston's little sisters who claimed she wanted to become an astronaut like Weston, managed to finesse two King sized Kit-Kat bars off of an older sibling for a single box of "Dots" because they were a limited edition "secret flavor."
"Ewww, those gross gumdrop things?", I asked, my horror overpowering my urge to not offend any Dot fans that may have been listening to us.
We had been tasked with documenting our mission in stages, at least to some degree. Although, it was likely that the footage wouldn't be available to the public without first being meticulously combed through by NASA. Each module got a camera that could record and livestream, and the downtime called for some distractions.
Arlo had suggested we turn it on to document our "Halloween in space." We'd had it rolling for so long that we'd entirely forgotten its presence.
We were told to do so at our leisure, but not to stress if either camera failed to work.
If we needed to shed any weight for any reason, especially once we got to the moon's surface, we were instructed to leave the camera behind first.
But we didn't mind dropping a surprise video every now and then- of course it would be more useful/entertaining once we were on the moon working and after we'd left- to show the things we'd collected.
"I don't like Dots either", Weston confirmed.
Arlo turned the camera off and then asked, "So, how big is your family in total?"
"22, with two on the way", he replied.
Arlo's expression told the whole tale, as did mine.
"HOW?-", Arlo and I said at the same time, cutting each other off without meaning to.
"How, what?", Weston asked.
"How do you not lose track of that many people?", Arlo asked.
Weston chuckled, "Trust me, you wouldn't be able to forget a single one if you met them, but I don't wish that on either of you."
I remembered Weston's words to me when he issued his first "apology."
I recognized our slight inching towards 'friendship' activities, despite the fact that Weston had deemed it unnecessary.
Sure, it could just be boredom?, I thought to myself.
Or is this genuine?
What's the difference?
I internally groaned at the idea that I'd lost the ability to tell whether Weston and Arlo were actually my 'friends' or not.
It's easy to make friends when you're young- I took to Ryder and the pups like a moth to flame- they were my family, just like Reverend Aldine.
I sat with my mental roulette of questions where I would find no end, nor answers.
Deep childhood memories gave way to ice-breaker Smalltalk once again.
….
Arlo's question: "Okay, favorite Ice cream flavor?"
Me: "Cookies and Cream."
Weston: "Mint Chocolate Chip."
Arlo: "Yikes…."
Weston: "Shut up."
Arlo: "Mine's Strawberry."
Weston: "Yeah, okay buddy. You have no room to judge me, when you somehow pick the worst of the boring flavors."
Arlo (with protest): "Strawberry isn't boring."
Me: "Chocolate isn't boring, either."
Weston: "Chocolate kills us, Rocky."
"I mean… yes. But literally everything has a dog-friendly version nowadays", I said, "Just take the theobromine out and Boom!"
I guess Weston wasn't expecting me to know that, because he gave me a look that I couldn't decipher.
"In its purest form- it kills us", Weston retorted.
"Do you, like…...make a habit of straight up biting the Cocoa bean, Weston?", Arlo said with a giggle.
"I'm gonna get sick of you first, Arlo, that's becoming apparent", Weston said though he was still smiling.
Still, I added, "You know what. Call me crazy, but vanilla isn't boring either."
"It's literally a useless blank flavor, unless you add something else to it, I'd say it's the very definition of boring", Weston said.
"I feel like nothing is better than a vanilla cone when you haven't had Ice cream in a while. Is that close enough to a compromise?", I said.
"You know, you might actually have a point when you put it like that!", Arlo said.
Weston grabbed his radio.
"Hey Houston, is Vanilla a boring flavor?", he asked.
Since someone was constantly on call, they knew that not every time we called them would be an emergency.
"Lord above, leave them out of this!", Arlo said with a surprised laugh.
Weston was dead serious.
"What was that?", a member of the White team pressed for clarification.
"I asked, is Vanilla a boring flavor- for Ice cream", Weston reiterated.
There was a slight delay, almost as if a small meeting of those on the White team who were closest to the radio had to take place.
"Boring and popular", came the response.
I laughed.
Weston still looked unsatisfied.
…
Arlo: "So…...Favorite Genre of music?"
Me: "That's way too hard."
Weston: "Yeah, way too big of a range there."
Arlo: "Hmm, I guess I don't have one either, maybe a least favorite though."
Me: "What's your least favorite?"
Arlo: "Well, it's odd but I don't particularly like country music and I can't stand a lot of the 'pop' songs because I can't determine what other people think is popular. But it's those 'popular country' songs that I really don't mind."
Weston: "Mmmm, okay. I guess that makes sense. Anything I can't dance to would be my least favorite."
I smiled at the thought of Weston dancing and how difficult it was to picture, but I had to admit that I was having a good time.
And it wasn't just because we were tackling happy topics either.
Eventually, during our last meal-break of the 'day', we had once again shifted back to the metaphorical elephant in the room.
This time, it was courtesy of Weston.
He had asked for Arlo's notes on the separation/ rendezvous sequences. It was somewhat out of the blue- but not necessarily an irrelevant topic.
Arlo unveiled the packet of papers he'd so painstakingly put together, still holding them as if it were a priceless antique vase.
"Be careful now, I didn't have time to make a copy of those four pages- those are all we've got", he said, "Well, all I've got."
"I'm impressed that you distilled everything down to four pages", Weston remarked.
I leaned over far enough to see that the margins were filled with color-coded notes; paragraphs that were highlighted and had corresponding notes in pen ink of the same color.
Weston only seemed to be interested in these sections.
"I didn't know they even made red highlighters", I said.
Arlo smiled, "Me neither."
"Arlo-", Weston started.
"Hmm?", Arlo turned to him.
"What's this pink section at the bottom? There's one for every page", Weston said.
"Oh that's…...well. We have to be prepared for anything….unfortunately", Arlo said with a tone of discomfort at what sounded like an admission of guilt.
I looked back and forth between the two.
"You aren't seriously thinking that you might have to leave us on the moon, are you?", Weston asked abruptly.
Somehow, it got even quieter than it had been.
"Oh, of course not, we have more than enough technology to rescue stranded astronauts now anyway", Arlo said.
"So…. you are", Weston replied, his face a steely mix of disapproval and concern.
It sounded like an accusation.
"No, everything's going to work fine. I never plan for the worst-case scenario, it's just- well…...there- because it has to be", Arlo replied then added, "I mean, you don't sit down to take an exam and expect to fail, do you?"
Weston didn't really react to the question and handed Arlo back his things.
The mission's inherent danger would, of course, increase exponentially once we separated from the command module.
Regardless of how advanced the tech was- we'd be left to our own expertise once we parted from the parent ship.
In addition to only being able to reach Arlo on radio and having the weaker signal back to Houston between the two halves; in order to do our jobs Weston and I would be exiting and re-entering our lander on the surface- working while it sat empty.
Still, I didn't truly understand why Weston seemed so surprised- it wasn't Arlo's fault that Weston wanted to read his notes.
Arlo sighed, "It's just a precautionary note, sometimes my brain just jumps to the extreme and I write it down. Sorry."
I tried to re-lighten things and offer Arlo some reassurance.
"We understand", I chimed in. "If you had to leave us behind, we'd understand."
I knew I was speaking for Weston, which I probably shouldn't have done, but I was being honest. He knew as well as I did, which was likely the reason he didn't say anything in protest.
Arlo would have to leave us behind if we couldn't get off of the moon, whether we got the telescope off-surface or not.
He couldn't save us no matter how desperately he'd want to; He can't de-orbit himself from the moon and land because the command module has nothing to land with.
I thought of the launch-ready rocket back on Earth. The notion that they'd send the backup crew to save us didn't make me feel any better though.
Thankfully, I got a break from my thoughts when an alarm sounded some five feet behind us- one steady tone, no louder than an alarm clock. Weston and Arlo snapped into action before I could process exactly what exactly was causing it.
Eyes narrowed, cold, calculated, and deliberate- They moved so quickly you would have forgotten we were in zero-gravity.
Of course, the second I heard it, I assumed it was a catastrophic failure.
Goodbye world, goodbye everyone. I love you all, I lived a good life. We were all but condemned by whatever cruel bit of machinery decided not to work, the thoughts wracked my brain like crazy.
But no silent goodbyes had to be issued.
It was nothing. The cold storage had been set to alarm whenever a 5-degree change was present- very sensitive settings. Weston changed it to ten-degree range, and it was back to business as usual.
In a mere minute and a half, my fears were brought to the surface and subsequently brushed away.
Still, not one of us felt particularly talkative after that.
Arlo and Weston stayed in "crisis-mode" the entire time, even as they reported back to Houston what had happened.
"Wow, well I'm sure that gave you all a good fright, didn't it? Guess you can't escape Halloween even if you leave the planet!", was all they said.
I assumed they saw the temperature dip on their end but didn't think we'd have the system set to alert us about it.
"Wow, I'm proud of you. Sorry if it's not my place to say this, but you were pretty cool and collected there", Arlo remarked to me.
I guess I'm better at hiding my feelings than I thought.
Within ten minutes, Weston had gone to sleep.
I despised what I saw in the mirror- not myself, but the fact that I did appear entirely unfazed. My face didn't indicate just how distraught I actually was.
Arlo went back to the cockpit and sat.
"Well, that was a scare for sure- nothing like the real deal to remind you just how much the simulators are lacking", Arlo said semi-triumphantly.
"Yeah….", I managed.
"You can go back. You know me, I'm not tired yet, probably won't be for a couple more hours", he said.
"Okay", I said weakly.
"You alright?", Arlo asked.
"I- I don't know, I'm just…. gonna go rest my eyes for a minute", I said.
"Take a deep breath, we're fine. I'll do a quick system's sweep just in case- you sleep", he instructed.
I nodded and obeyed.
Whether I fainted into my compartment or not, I couldn't tell.
I suppose that, by the time I actually managed to "fall" asleep, my ears twitched wildly for anything else that could even closely mirror an alarm.
Losing consciousness so quickly was somewhat pleasant actually- putting the overthinking aside.
As I drifted into another odd space dream, my anxieties faded into sleepiness.
Still, a few followed me into my dreams.
How would working on the moon go, actually?
I mean- simulations did what they could, but they could only do so much.
That was evident in every single step of our spaceflight up to that point, so I naturally looked forward to the moon-segment of the mission. The part where I'd be on the spot.
If there was anywhere where we really couldn't make a mistake, it was there.
What if an alarm- a REAL alarm- sounded while we were out working?
What if our tech doesn't alert us right away?
Technology fails all the time.
It was then that I once again got the abstract sense that I wasn't awake- but not the awareness to rouse me from sleep.
I didn't want to wake up, I just wanted to float in the weird darkness that enveloped me.
Then I looked down.
I was holding a galaxy in my paws. I wasn't actually touching it; it was hovering above my paws as if its own gravity kept it a fixed distance from me.
How odd, I thought.
Somehow, I could tell it was delicate, like glass.
It seemed to quiver and spread from its center, like the petals of a pearlescent flower- appearing to steadily inhale and exhale as I did.
It was the only light in the darkness of the dream.
What does this mean?, I thought.
Eventually I'd be awakened from my dream, back on the spacecraft I was beginning to grow sick of.
Well, guess I'll never know, I thought.
Inching ever closer to what I hesitated to call my "destiny."
Just the thought made my heart skip a beat. November 1st had arrived. I knew it and closed my eyes again.
If I was going to look History in the face, I couldn't do it without more sleep.
Still, everything that happened before the alarm went off was nice.
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***End of Ch. 30***