To provide spacemen with an abundance of food and oxygen—vital commodities on a cosmic journey—scientists are perfecting a “closed ecological system” : a two-way, life-giving alliance between astronaut and algae. The man will eat the plants and breathe the oxygen they produce; the algae, in turn will thrive on the man’s body wastes and exhaled carbon dioxide. Theoretically, this balanced situation will last as long as needed.
"Alas," I cried. I am but a poor bit of plant life, living in NASA’s stool. But that all changed when I was ejected from the space craft along with all the rest of the human waste and landed on one of the moons of Jupiter. I accidentally breathed and in so doing stayed alive—stranded.
I landed softly on the dusty surface, not realizing that the rings that stretched out before me housed all manner of organic life; amoebas, protozoans, perhaps even a hydra or two. I could’ve done much worse, I thought as I regulate the hose for the concentration of algae in the atmosphere.
I was utterly done for the first time in my life and I was losing it. I set out in search of the Lorae microcolonic uprising (or LMU) and I was not disappointed.
“SssssssssRRtttwooh” someone cried, cried out in the rain.
I didn’t know what to think. I’d only heard that noise once before in my life and the thought made me shudder.
I was small then, amd the space algae throbbed menacingly, its tendrils forced themselves upon me. Thus I have always been of green blood but not pridefully so. It is a shame to lose control of one’s orifices. Thus I was inclined to the Lonely Wanderers mind, and picked up the first freight ship passing by.
I was thick and green enough until I realized the danger I had put myself in.
A blinding light flashed and sent me to my knees. I gripped the rocks beneath me for dear life. When I opened my eyes and the black dots went away and were replaced with a clarity never known before. All of a sudden my vision and my consciousness were clear. Was this the alage, the light, maybe the dots. I missed my mother.
I remembered my mother the last time I saw her, the light of earth on her. Not just any earth, but rural Kentucky and the woods that I came from before I had to leave all that behind and come to this terrible, dirty planet where nobody smiled and made jokes.
--I honestly don’t think you get the point.
--What?
--I’m sorry but that’s what I think?
--What?
--I mean, don’t get me wrong….James what do you think?
“Of coast on
storm or
of the Mexican will bring heavy as it weakens ever, during skirting New- Storm Larry on meander-peak, the frequency of the declining tropical second peak more than 90. In the meantime there was a ten day tornado in Campeche. Foundlands were filled with rope. Focus will turn rainbows to rain parts, the cane Kate east season."
--said James Way
“Capt., some green goo has stuck itself on us!”
cried the asian american young man in the orange velour shirt. Sweatily, the rest of the crew looked toward the large cinemascope video monitors at the front of the hexagonal room.
“It looks like….Marzipan,” said the pudgy irish guy. Three tall thin orientals with bowl hairdos raised one eyebrow apiece.
“Chuckie!” cried the hot afro-american babe in the mini-skirt.
Chuckie, a colorless, very nearly sexless slip of a thing, burst into the room, arriving, as was his custom, mid sentence. “…of course, by then, I’d had enough of that.”
grabbing a handful of the goo, he began slathering himself with the stuff. This gradual greening did not stop his schpeel (or was it sales pitch?)
“Once we realized what really was happening I set down my fork and calmly addressed the head of the head of the organization. “I think your policy is derivative of the Nuleean council.”
The existing energy was whisked away as the group failed to grasp what Chuckie meant.
James Way, still reeling from what apparently was a revelation of a previously unknown truth, could only shake his head, his jowls flopping against his gums loudly, like spawning bass on the lakes of Titan.
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