Lunacy (In Honor of the Race in Space Conference)

I giggle and snicker as I float down the corridor.  I can’t help myself.  I did try, at first, but once one escaped all other efforts were futile.  I can’t control it anymore.  I can’t conceal my pure glee.

The container in my hands is lighter than a feather, though it must weigh several pounds.  The liquid inside roils to the top, straining against the glass to be free.  It is a concoction of my own making, specially engineered out of the basest elements and unknown on Earth—until today.  I will slather it everywhere before I’m done, before this final stage of my greatest achievement.

The hold is quiet save for the faint strains of Bach’s Cello Suite Number 1.  All of my shipmates are asleep, including the two on shift with me.  I am responsible for that; I gave them a little help.  I giggle again.

I float past the port window; I’m in no hurry.  Outside there is only blackness, which is deep and stretches on and on.  A darkness so black that to look into it is to see nothing but my own reflection.  No stars guide me, no moon gives shape and perspective to the endless inky depths.  All that exists is me.   I stare.

The diamond tipped drill glints in my hand.  I will need it for my work.  The liquid I carry is relatively harmless unless it gets beneath the skin. Only then, in contact with flesh and bone, can it dissolve a living being into a sack of pus in minutes. 

We are rotating slowly.  The first faint blue light of earth appears.  Now is the time to begin.  I don’t want the world to miss this.  

They will call it space madness.  Lunacy.  But it’s not.  This was my plan from the start. 

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