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Floozman in Space

by Bertrand Cayzac

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A purple emulsion swirls in Fred’s helmet and is sucked into the cracks. His face has suddenly inflated like a carnival balloon. Janatone has been looking into his eyes, but now they are large, inert globes saturated with blood. His cheeks and lips are grotesque as though he were a scarecrow with a cow’s tongue. He is still gripping the widget on the hull of the space station.

The Earth is still spinning and is not going to stop. The spacesuit asks that it be relieved of the corpse. Someone cuts off the sound. Silence descends in the tube. Outside, some men come out of the shuttle.

The stimuli shield speaks to Joe Dasein. “Joe, take him, please. Janatone will pay for his funeral.”

Janatone does not turn around. Life insurance? Hah! Yes, a policy was issued by TermiBank to cover the cost of replacement. The thought is not out of place; decisions have to be made, obviously. And look: the payment is already being made at this very moment on the TermiBank network.

“Offered by Dasein Funerals,” Joe murmurs. A moment later, his eyes gleam. “You’ll go down with him, as soon as possible.” He concentrates on his figures. “In two hours, you’ll inhibit all your indicators, as soon as you approach the dock. You know how to do it, right? He transmits the coordinates of the hangar.

“Yes, indicators off.”

“You’ll have to cross some borders,” Joe continues, “in a coffin and a pressurized container. I’m sure you know that; I just want to be clear about it. Any objections?”

“No objections,” the stimuli shield responds. “She’s ready.”

To be continued...

Copyright © 2015 by Bertrand Cayzac

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