Ms. Halo, Page 3

  "..."

  "Don't you get it?" Sweet Pea asked, "She doesn't want to. It's late. She has other concerns. We should just be happy with what we have. Isn't that right?"

  "..."

  Ms. Halo's ship wobbled into the sky and left the forming crowd.

  "That's right, go!" Sweet Pea yelled. He threw a piece of rubble in her direction before continuing. "We're just your fucking prisoners here! I know! We're your collection! Let us go!"

  "That's enough," Buttercup said. The crowd dispersed. Those that still had a home went there. Those who didn't slept in the meeting hall. The next day they buried Mr. Jenkins.

  ***********************************************************

  They were lucky. The atmosphere outside the barrier was toxic. The storm horrendous. But almost everyone lived. The town was in shambles though, and the repair work was vexing. To the colony, work meant cleaning a couple of hours a week, and they weren't very good at it. Even the food came cooked or easily prepared.

  Construction was well outside their collective skill set.

  Buttercup did careful analysis on the productivity of the town's individual builders. The first day, Kitkat Johnson set out to rebuild a fence, starting with nailing two boards together. He proceeded to break the sixth digit on his right hand (Kitkat had 12 fingers total, yet could only count to 11). Cuddles ended her work-day early, ostensibly to care for the injured worker, but Buttercup learned she just pulled on it a few times and wrapped in a bandage, which took five minutes. Then she napped for another four hours until dinner.

  The fourth day, Poppy Peters attempted to clear some broken debris from a half-standing house. Sweet Pea quickly saw that the mess was actually load-bearing rubble. The council member screamed for her to stop taking away the boards and other wreckage, but Poppy suffered from a hereditary hearing defect. She pulled on a wire, and the rest of the house came down, breaking her foot in the process. Cuddles ended her work-day early to care for the suffering worker - which meant 30 minutes of care followed by sleep for both doctor and patient.

  The eighth day was particularly eventful. Ashes Washington, apparently misunderstood instructions that his group was to raise a large wall (unfortunately, Waffles' exact order was "stand up the wall"). He walked along the ridge of a still standing wall from another destroyed home. His feet had two toes each, making it particularly hard to balance. He fell and landed on another worker. They were both taken to Cuddles' makeshift hospital that was run out of the town's largest still intact building, the meeting auditorium. Cuddles set up a viewscreen inside, but she was the only one allowed to watch it.

  Those incidents were representative of the workers as a whole. Even the ones Buttercup thought were smart enough proved to be unfit for the job.

  The council members were the only ones to make progress. The central question behind Buttercup's research became whether the colonists were destroying the colony more than repairing it. He followed up by asking whether the colonists as a whole could survive more than a month of construction work. When the answers turned out to be exactly what he thought, he stopped the labor.

  He reorganized the people so they could occupy the most livable space. That meant some people would live barely standing mounds.

  He also lobbied Ms. Halo for help, but it only seemed to make her more distant. After enough guilt, Ms. Halo gave up building material, usually in the form of furniture that needed to be broken up and put back together into roughly house form. Patches started delivering food for the colony, which wasn't easy on the hand-pushed hovering cart she had to use.

  Cuddles and Patches spent more time outside now. They said that they were there to help rebuild, and for Patches that was true. But they also refused to be in the same remote-controlled palace as Squid, who showed up more than ever before.

  Waffles was also engaged in his own project - a translation from a viewpad that was forgotten and nearly lost thanks to the storm. He finished the translation the first day after finding the device being chewed on by a loving, mute father of three. He finished the translation the second day too. And on the third. The fourth. He took a week-long break, but translated it two times afterward. Within a month, he was sure what it said.

  "Buttercup," He yelled. The council leader was hard at work as the last remaining construction worker. "Can I have a bit of your time?"

  "A bit, I guess."

  "I have something that you should see."

  "That's disgusting."

  "No, it's not what you think. Actually, that was similar to my reaction upon first..."

  "All right, so what is it then?"

  "Well, this is an ad for a kind of medical..."

  "Is it bad news?"

  "Umm.. Yeah."

  "OK, we can't handle any more bad news. Will it kill us all immediately?"

  "No."

  "Then it can wait a while."

  "I just think that we should discuss..."

  “Thank you Waffles, we'll talk it over soon."

  Cuddles wasn't busy. Not really. He decided that she was the next best person to ask. After saying she was grossed out by the picture, she also said this wasn't the time for bad news. Patches agreed.

  "Change is coming," Sweet Pea told the old man, "I mean I'm not happy about it, but at least we're all starting to wake up, you know."

  "Not particularly," Waffles said coming back from a disappointing meeting with Patches. Sweet Pea wasn't on his meeting itinerary.

  "It's the tipping point; soon we'll be free."

  "How do you suppose we'll achieve that lofty goal?"

  "You know."

  Sweet Pea got closer to the old man.

  "So you've been around a lot recently. Why?"

  "The viewpad."

  "Oh, that's right. What did it say?"

  "It's not that important."

  "Is it bad news for us?"

  "No."

  "Nothing that will kill us immediately?"

  "Certainly not."

  "Nothing that will dwindle us to extinction?"

  "..."

  "Well, I trust you old man. And I don't trust easily."

  "I know, I'll be going now."

  Waffles always agreed with Sweet Pea, he just didn't say it or like Sweet Pea's tone.

  The old man went to his cave. The gas generator was already running. The lights were on, including the spotlights in the main chamber. They were lighting a chrome bird of prey the size of two department stores.

  "You're doing a great job polishing, another couple of months and you'll be done. Of course, then it will be time to start again."

  "Huh?" Mittens was sitting by the landing gears. "Thanks. I don't know why I have to do it, though. It's not like we'll ever use this thing."

  "You might find yourself surprised."

  ***********************************************************

  Four of the colony's council members found themselves sitting on stage in the meeting hall, staring silently at representatives of all the remaining neighborhoods. The leaders were irritated.

  Two days prior, Waffles went to every home and home-like pile of debris and nailed, to whatever was sturdy enough, an announcement. Unlike most of the literate colony, which learned to read and write from replicated fashion magazines, Waffles learned from dense scientific texts and bureaucratically created instruction manuals.

  Dear Colony Resident,

 

  It's with a heavy heart and other emotions, that I, Waffles, the longest serving member of the council, announce a colony-wide, mandatory meeting for all neighborhood representatives and council leaders. Considering new information, which will be presented at the meeting, but also considering recent events, which have left much of our colony in an undesirable state, it has been decided that a discussion needs to occur about our collective future.

 

  Transparency is considered of vital importance to the success of all our endeavors, and therefore, there shall not be any p
re-meetings, submeetings, or side-meetings prior to the official meeting.

 

  I, council member Waffles, welcome your input at appropriate venues and in a respectful manner.

 

  My many thanks,

  Waffles

  "What the fuck is this?" Cuddles whispered at Waffles as he came on stage.

  "All in good time," he said while sitting down.

  The council of five had a policy about meetings, more specifically meeting prevention. Whenever something needed discussion, they'd talk it over with each other, then make a declaration. It was always enough. Now they sat cringing in front of about 40 people and their murmurs.

  To make matters worse, it was Waffles.

  The 74-year-old studied everything he could about his village of 184 people and their caretaker. He was the only one who could read Ms. Halo's language, an ability that never failed to get him laid - when he was younger, at least. His gifts translated into an authority his voice didn't match.

  "A viewing device was discovered approximately 60 days ago, some time before the storm. It had troubling images on it and text that merited translation. I have completed the translation. It's an advertisement," He explained in a raspy voice, "For a doctor. This particular offer is for... well... neutering services."

  The auditorium went silent.

  "Moreover, the viewpad's owner, believed to be Ms. Halo, checked the ad numerous times. Clearly showing an interest."

  Sweet Pea stood up in victory.

  "I've been saying it for over a decade, and I will say it again tonight - we must escape! Food and space are becoming scarce, and now, now are we all going to lose our reproductive rights?"

  "Just having an advertisement doesn't mean she would do something like that," Patches said, "I'm sure there are worse ads in her viewpad stories, but she would never act on them. She loves us."

  "She's taken a major interest in this particular ad," Waffles explained.

  "That's not proof," Buttercup said, "Patches, have you seen any indication Ms. Halo is considering this procedure for us?"

  "I have not."

  "What about you Cuddles?"

  She couldn't stop remembering that day with Squid, seeing Patches being loaded up. She didn't understand what was happening, just that it was bad.

  "There is something..." Cuddles confessed, "Her son has been coming more often. He brought a viewpad, like the one in question, to her one day."

  Like most people, Cuddles could not understand Grandma's language or even pronounce her name. She wished Waffles would be the insider, but that would mean leaving Patches. Plus, Waffles could never go inside the alien's home. He had space lice.

  "That's the son," Patches yelled to silence a few anxious murmurs, "He doesn't control things."

  "Ms. Halo will die someday." Sweet Pea said, "Then who will be in charge? Should we just wait around to find out?"

  "Grandma will die, but not anytime soon," Buttercup replied, "Finding a graphic picture or two does not constitute proof of a nefarious plot to dwindle us to extinction. Does anyone have solid evidence that Ms. Halo is planning this procedure to harm us?"

  The room returned to its silence.

  "Then I see no reason to act," Buttercup declared.

  The leader was about to end the meeting, when Kiwi Stuart squeaked, "I have something."

  Kiwi was the most appropriately named human in the colony. His head was round, and he suffered from fruit-pattern baldness, having hair only on the very top of his head but otherwise being smooth. He looked like a pale kiwi, and if any colonist knew what a kiwi was, they'd find the coincidence fascinating.

  He stood up and said, "She did it to me," as the audience intermittently gasped.

  "What?!?"

  "She did it to me. Grandma said it was because I had five children already, that was enough. She apologized over and over."

  "Why didn't you say anything!?" Sweet Pea yelled.

  "I thought, I don't know, maybe she was right - I should be... neutered," Kiwi confessed, being comforted by his wife, "I love Grandma."

  The room went silent.

  "What about now?" Sweet Pea demanded.

  Buttercup suspected the village's future in Ms. Halo's backyard could not be permanent. Many people did. Change was inevitable. He was ashamed to admit it, but he had hoped to pass the problem to the next village leader.

  "I'm open to suggestions," Buttercup said.

  "Through Ms. Halo's home?" One audience member suggested.

  "No one can open that tricky backdoor," Buttercup explained.

  "We could work something out for the door," Sweet Pea reasoned.

  "Even if we did, there's a second one to go through on the other side," Patches explained, "I've looked out windows in the front. It doesn't look... hospitable, out there."

  The room returned to its gloom.

  "If escape is the solution, then there's only one direction - up," Waffles declared. "Even if we ran on foot, the other side of the barrier is a deadly environment of toxic gases, acid lakes, and extreme temperatures. They characterize the world we are on, and we know that. But it's not a dome of barriers; it's a wall. The sky remains unshielded."

  "What are you suggesting?" Buttercup asked, knowing exactly what he was suggesting.

  "We use the ancient sky-ship."

  "Are there any other suggestions?"

  The sky-ship was the most well-known secret in the colony, although the details were vague. What they knew for sure was the sky-ship was dangerous, and mentioning it usually involved losing friends.

  "We'll talk," Patches said, "We'll explain that this treatment is unacceptable, and it will stop."

  "Ch," Sweet Pea clicked, "I'm glad I have no children. I know, it sounds insane, but maybe we should consider the sky-ship."

  "That's not realistic. Where even is the sky-ship? How would we fly it?" Buttercup reasoned, "It was destroyed long, long ago. Cuddles, Patches, I think this task is best left to you. Please consult with Ms. Halo."

  Buttercup was compromising, but not that day. His new found resolve disrupted Waffles' pitch, and the audience was against the sky-ship idea judging by the tone of certain mutterings. Waffles decided to throw away several hours-worth of rehearsal. He remained silent.

  ***********************************************************

  Weeks passed. Buttercup was enjoying a shallow sleep after an uneventful work-day when a scream woke him.

  He ran out into the green moonlight to find a woman crying.

  "He's gone," she said.

  Cuddles and Patches had talked to Ms. Halo about the colonists' disapproval of being neutered. Or they didn't. Buttercup had no real idea being excluded from house privileges.

  "What happened?"

  "My husband was next to me in bed one moment; then I went to sleep. The next, he was gone."

  It was the Wilkersons. Buttercup looked behind the woman to see the couple's four children standing silently near their home, too confused to cry.

  Another teary-eyed woman approached the scene carrying one child, pulling another by the arm, and leading two others. It was Mrs. Parkens, and she was angry.

  "Where are those two, they were supposed to put an end this," she said.

  "Calm down, I'm sure they talked to Ms. Halo," Buttercup assured her.

  Before long, Buttercup was trying to calm a mob. He gestured to Waffles. The old man, still half asleep, inspected the trees. The hidden gas vents were used.

  "Let's not jump to conclusions..." Buttercup was cut off by a third woman. This time, the family had only three children.

  "So now three children will earn you a date with a pair of scissors," Sweet Pea yelled.

  "This is hard enough as it is," Waffles said.

  "No, he's right," Buttercup admitted. "We have to get answers."

  This was all new to the shaken colony. They didn't know about angry mobs carrying pitchforks and torches, the kinds that got together to handle Fra
nkenstein's monster. They still attempted to make do and prepare themselves. They carried glow sticks and sparklers instead of torches. No pitch fork existed, but they did bring picnic mats and chairs. It was a mass uprising of people whose only similar experience was a theatrical presentation of an ancient "Friends" episode in the park. Despite the disappearance of their neighbors, many were secretly enjoying themselves.

  "Grandma! Ms. Halo! We need to talk," Buttercup yelled, then looked back to the audience for affirmation.

  They sat in silence for a minute.

  "Cuddles! Patches! What is going on?!" He yelled trying not to lose the momentum.

  After a couple more minutes, the door opened. The three missing men came out and reunited with their families, limping. Patches followed. Cuddles tried to grab her from the doorway and pull her back to safety, but it was too late. The tall brunette pretended to follow on her own volition.

  "We tried to talk to Grandma," Patches said. "It didn't work."

  "I guess we'll have to take your word for it," Sweet Pea said.

  "Where is she now?" Buttercup asked.

  "Gone. The store I think," Cuddles replied.

  "Did it umm... happen again?" Sweet Pea asked the three men. Each nodded in an embarrassed affirmation.

  Sweet Pea looked to Buttercup, but he had nothing to say. No one did, except Waffles.

  "I know where the sky-ship is. It works. I've been maintaining it, like many others did before me," he said standing in front of the crowd.

  Buttercup looked to Patches, whose face negotiated as best it could.

  "How do we use it?" Buttercup asked.

  "That will be the tricky part."

  ***********************************************************

  Space is cold, very cold, so the natural assumption is that a human tossed into the vacuum would freeze to death. That is not the case.

  Heat is transferred through particles, and since space doesn't have many of those, the vacuum itself shouldn't feel any particular temperature. But there are other concerns, like the human body swelling to twice its normal size. Tears, saliva and any other external fluids then boil from the pressure differentiation. The eyeballs become distended, causing blurriness. That problem is compounded by boiling tears.

  The roughly 9 to 11 seconds a person can remain conscious in space is agonizing, death follows a minute later. Then there's the flatulence.