Once Upon A Time There Was A Space-ship.

Once upon a time there was a space-ship.

I believe it was the most dreadfully old-fashioned space-ship you could get at the time---an Onion-model—and no one had flown it in years. It was at the moment sitting in the launch center somewhere in the Third Empire on Dry Earth, with a pleasant view of the Great Sea and surrounding mountainous territory. It was positioned among several larger space-ships and atop a very old rocket-booster that had not been used because of suspected leaks.

At that time space-travel was very uncommon indeed; there was no way to reuse the rocket-boosters, and it was extremely dangerous besides— there being only two ways to land at one's destination: an uncontrolled descent into a large body of water, or a long docking process at a flimsy and usually overcrowded satellite sending people down to the planet below in rockets. (There was also the method of securing an attachable rocket-booster beforehand at the satellite, so that the space-ship could be put down in a gentler manner, but I am afraid you would have to be very rich to afford this treatment.) So it was understood that nobody normal traveled very much; it was expensive, tedious, uncertain, dangerous—not a thing most people wanted to do! Space-ship travel in that age was also limited: if you were on Dry Earth, you went to Lakia, and if you were on Lakia, you went to Dry Earth. No other planets existed. It was therefore common knowledge that whichever planet you were born on, there you were most likely to stay.  

Launch centers were small and isolated things, located in deserts and mountains far from comfortable civilization in the attempt to preserve the environment from the heat and smoke of take off. This one in particular was nothing special: a cluster of stone buildings inhabited mainly by rocket-builders, several rocket-boosters in various stages of completion, and one or two space-ships standing up like burnished metal towers. The Onion-model was short and rusty, but it still cast an impressive shadow over the hard ground as the sun set. Two people were standing at the base of it and talking; and one of them (the one currently speaking) was the oldest and greyest person I have ever imagined, holding a wooden cane for support.

“I can't say it's a good idea, Marley. You know I don't hold with legends. . .”

The second old man, slightly less old and grey but still rather old and grey, looked annoyed.

“Its not a legend, Nick. Call it intuition.”

Nick frowned. “Whichever it's called, both terms amount to the same thing: uncertainty. The idea is the same. I just wonder if what you're doing is Practicle.”

Marley thought for a moment, then burst into a wrinkled grin.

“Its not practicle. Not in the short run, at least. We will see if it pays off. Now I'd better be going.”

“But Marley, you haven't even heard my objections yet.”

“Objections? Other than the Practicality of the thing?”

“Have you considered that you need at least two other people willing to accompany you to competently work the space-ship, Onion-model though it be—”

“Yes, of course. My two great-granddaughters are waiting in the control room!”

“Oh, well then.” Nick seemed at a slight loss, as though he had expected to win the argument with that observation. “Then consider this: what about food supplies?”

“Accounted for!” Said the Marley confidently.

Nick sighed. “Is your family aware of your departure?”

“Yes, and they support my endeavors wholeheartedly, thank you very much! Any other objections? It is about time to leave.”

Nick fiddled with the end of his stick. “IF there are Other Planets, which I do not believe there are. . .”

“Perhaps there are, perhaps there are not! You know we are all taught that we float in a space of stars, (except for Lakia, of course) but who knows in reality.”

“Alright, so I don't know one way or the other. Logic deems it unlikely, however. Anyway IF there are More, and IF you find them, how will you know if they're safe?”

Marley's eyes lit up as though recalling something pleasant.

“Easily. My youngest great-granddaughter is an accomplished archeologist: she will gladly predict whether an area contained hostile creatures.”

Unconvinced, Nick gazed at the mossy base of the rocket that was to carry the aged Onion beyond the atmosphere. (“Is it smoking already?” He thought.)

Sure enough, a small but consistent trickle of smoke had begun to issue from the engine. Marley gave it a reproachful look. “Bother: I instructed Martha to wait until we were done talking—I suppose she forgot. I'd better be going. Good-bye!”

Nick followed Marley up several flights of stairs to the Onion-model's front door. Marley opened it with effort; and with much banging and scraping of old metal. Nick then made to follow him inside, but Marley gave him an odd look. “Where are you going?”

“Great heavens, do you think I'd let you off on a hare-brained expedition as this by yourself?” Said the old man.

“What about Martha and Madelyn—I’m not by myself!”

“They're barely thirty. Only children, Marley.”

“Nonesense—they're archeologists.”

The two ancient men gave each other equally determined looks; then Nick seemed to make a decision, and walked past Marley into the space-ship, stick thumping loudly on the floor.

“This will throw off our food calculations!” Objected Marley, still staring at Nick.  

“Not by much. I eat very little. I am sure my help will be worth it.”

“I suppose so,” muttered Marley in an awed tone. “Are you sure. . .”

“Yes!”

“Very well; I never thought. . .” Marley trailed off and followed Nick into the onion-model. The door shut crookedly before being coaxed into place from behind with a great clanging and banging of reluctance. A rumbling sound started somewhere deep in the engine.

Minutes later, smoke billowed up, covering the onion model and the surrounding landscape in a rolling cloud. Flames shot out like volcanoes and the ground shook. Slowly there rose out of the middle a stubby looking space-ship, trailing a blue hydrogen-flame, and leaving the world of Dry Earth far behind it.