Diary of a Space Psychotic, 2nd entry

Hi … Jerry Witherspoon here!

Catch up on my diary, if you haven’t been following along. The idiot that runs this web site puts the latest posts first. Kinda like printing a book in reverse. Stupid git… sigh.

Anyway, here’s what’s come before… I guess I’ll have to add to this list every bloody time I update my diary:

An Astronauts Perfect Day

Diary of Space Psychotic, 1st entry

Caught up? Excellent… here we go:

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Very narrow air-ducts chaff, but a little baby powder does wonders.

Except when the ducts are so small a mouse would need a ton of olive oil to squeeze in. If there were mice on Mars, that is.

Of course Jerry thinks that was my plan to spring us from that stupid cell and fly the funny farm (insert eye roll). By the way, where’d “Funny Farm” come from? There’s nothing funny about it, except the food’s good here. On Mars it starts off powdered, so kudos to the chef. Worth hanging out for a little while. And this isn’t really a prison or a padded room, anyway, just an empty store room, I think. Smelled bad. Time to go.

Obviously I came up with another plan. In the military we learned how to go into this catatonic state with a pulse sooooo faint you turn a little blue, so when they brought us food they thought they’d delivered it to corpses. I was impressed, Jerry plays dead better than I do.

After they carted us away, we were in like flint. The toe tag tickled when they put it on. Thankfully I stifled a giggle and didn’t flinch, though things changed when they tried to put me in a body bag. Jerry kept out of the fray. This place isn’t staffed to handle a psychotic with combat training. Knocked out a couple of folks and ran like hell to a door that looks like an ordinary hallway panel. Only my fingerprints will open it. We sprinted down a long flight of stairs and into the tunnels. Most don’t even know exist, if anyone. Jerry certainly didn’t. Idiot. We seem to be arguing more, especially when he tells me where to go (and with rather rude and undeserved invective).

The corridors we crept through have a dark, dank feeling like that ancient game Doom, minus the creepy crawlies. The metal catwalks reminded me of the catacombs beneath the blasted cities in Europe. Minus the traps and the hand to hand combat. The shadows of the demons dogged us, their little faces loping in and out of the feeble lamplight, their spidery forms on the wall everywhere we passed. Jerry was scared and kept stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow. I was a little concerned too, especially since they stopped when we did.

That’s when things get interesting. Got interesting. Whatever. Future, past – all the same. We found and crawled through a narrow service conduit (that’s what got me thinking of baby powder, by the by, it would’ve been nice). We silently slipped out of a duct into a hanger on the outskirts of the city. Score! We came to be in the hanger I wanted to get to! Jerry grudgingly complimented me.

We tippy-toed behind some metal crates, close to the transport where Janet was preparing for our mission. One of the techs we brought from Earth was poking through some equipment near us. I knew what he wanted, so I grabbed it and backed into a corner of the room.

Moron kept coming our way, and then into a shadowy corner where we lurked. You see, Jerry and I can change our appearance, another useful trick of genetic modifications. Made us strong and fast too. Jerry stayed sane because I took all the mental punishment when the injected us with god knows how many serums. So, I’m good and nuts and can take the pain when the face transforms. Jerry just whimpers. Luckily this guy was about our height. We left him alive, uncomfortably stuffed in a crate. Maybe a tad worse for the wear. He might have a hard time breathing, actually. But, the mission is more important. Janet most certainly is.

That’s when I got angry. One of my little fits. I kept it to myself, and brought the cargo back near the transport, and pulled out a power pack. It was a rear unit. I opened a panel just above a rear wheel. Heh! I also cranked up the current and gingerly removed the ground wire.

As I was leaving, I nodded silently to Janet, then stopped short when Dick Pullerman walked into the hanger. His limp was dissatisfyingly small. He had a cocky smile on his face and puffed out his chest when he saw Janet. I monkeyed with the power cell to simply fry the transport when they started it, but I had a feeling this might get really interesting. Maybe he had come to inspect the ship? I got lucky.

I pulled down my cap, shushed Jerry, and headed for the exit. I heard Jerry talking to Janet so, before I left, I got real interested in a crate. He cursed and headed for the power cell sticking out of the hull. I thought I’d stuffed it all the way in, but pulling the ground wire meant I couldn’t seal it all the way. How fortunate!

I smiled at Janet, who cocked her head a little when I tipped my cap. Jerry almost gave us away. He wanted to talk to her so bad. But I clapped my hand over his mouth and, though I didn’t want to, slipped through the door and closed it. As it shut Dick’s screams echoed down the metal hallway. He had attempted to put the power pack back in correctly, I guess. I started to whistle “If only I had a heart”, which drew me up short. Damn if that didn’t take away from the moment. Jerry seemed upset. I shrugged my shoulders and ambled along.

Diary of Space Psychotic, 1st Entry

This is the continuing saga of Jerry Whiterspoon from An Astronaut’s Perfect Day

Check back every week to find out how he’s doing!

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An Astronaut’s perfect day; Diary of A Madman Space Psychotic

— by Jerry Witherspoon (Not me, mind you, it’s the chronicles of the other guy in the cell, or is that guy me too… I get confused, anyway this is our story (but I’m writing it, not him))

Pilot Jerry WItherspoon’s “space psychosis” has been re-assessed by a so called “professional”, and his impaired judgment and paranoid delusions are considered the worst they’ve ever seen. Idiots. He’s perfectly fine.. I may not be, but that’s totally beside the point. I’m just writing about our adventures, because the only thing I have is this little book, this little “diary of a madman”. No, that’s probably copyrighted, I can’t call it that… Here’s the diary of a space psychotic! Ha! (and that’s me, not Jerry, he’s the sane one of course… geesh!)

Co-pilot Peter Pullermann has been promoted to captain, and put in charge of a mission. My mission. After his groin injury heals a little more, that is. Or so I suspect. 🙂

And here I sit in the loony bin. The Martian version.

Shadows everywhere, even in the day time, shards of deep space, painted in little splinters on the wall, black ghosts between little holes that look out onto the rusty, barren surface of Mars. Like the silhouette of a demon with red eyes. These fiends mock me (not Jerry, they leave him alone). If I stare back at them, we see the slopes of Olympus Mons jutting high into the pink sky. Or is it blue? I think I’m color blind, but I digress.

The point is that it’s dangerous out there. Though the atmosphere grows, it’s still too thin, too dangerous.

Too dangerous for her. For Janet, lovely Ms. Gunderson.

It’s cold in here, cold and colorless. I have only one thought, one thought, one thought; to go on that mission. I want to see Janet, though I think she’s been by to see me. I can feel her eyes on me, looking in through the portal in the door, or was it through the shadows? Jerry knows and the jerk won’t tell me (that’s been our only fight thus far. I mean it’s a small cell, there’s bound to be friction).

Anyway, I’m going on that mission, and I will help her, keep her safe. Peter knows what’s out there. It’s a secret, and he knows, but I know too. Mr. Dick Pullerman look out! You don’t know everything. Not like I do. Not like me. I’ll tell Jerry once we bust out of here. Peter thinks he can pull off this mission, do it better, but he can’t. He can’t protect her, not like I can.

Get some sleep.

I can’t sleep, I need to protect you too, don’t you see the demon.

Are you sure you’re not bi-polar? I mean, you look manic.

Maybe I’m both? Ya, sure, whatever.

Listen to me Jerry, listen. I’ll tell you how to get out, then we can sleep; just give me your hand (let go of the pen you dolt, and we’ll fly this coop).

Lyrics for the day: RUSH’S “Vital Signs”

Unstable condition
A symptom of life
In mental and environmental change
Atmospheric disturbance
The feverish flux
Of human interface and interchange

The impulse is pure
Sometimes our circuits get shorted
By external interference
Signals get crossed
And the balance distorted
By internal incoherence

A tired mind become a shape-shifter
Everybody need a mood lifter
Everybody need reverse polarity
Everybody got mixed feelings
About the function and the form
Everybody got to deviate from the norm

An ounce of perception
A pound of obscure
Process information at half speed
Pause, rewind, replay
Warm memory chip
Random sample, hold the one you need

Leave out the fiction
The fact is, this friction
Will only be worn by persistence
Leave out conditions
Courageous convictions
Will drag the dream into existence

A tired mind become a shape-shifter
Everybody need a soft filter
Everybody need reverse polarity
Everybody got mixed feelings
About the function and the form
Everybody got to elevate from the norm…