I sit and I watch.

I sip my coffee, I inhale my pastry, I watch. There is a lot to see. A lot to reflect on. I’ve lived so many journeys now. I’m tired. So overwhelmingly tired and there’s still so much life left to live.

The man next to me is Silumko. He’s young and beautiful and talented and stupider than a fucking rock. I want to smack him upside the head. He looks like a deer in headlights constantly, he doesn’t know his own power. It frustrates me deeply and yet it’s really none of my damn business who he’s in love with and what price he pays for it. None of my damned business, I’ll tell you that much. At least not today.

The woman he’s got the long sad eyes for is Sky. Sky is older than he is, yeah, he’s exactly that type. Big painful puppy dog eyes for the wolf mother of the OSR. She’s so much more woman than he can handle it’s pathetic. Single mom, long mysterious romantic past full of heart ache and complications. I mean he doesn’t know that shit. I know it because I’ve been around and I can see it on her. And we talk. Sky is my friend. Frankly I love Sky, am in love with her, but everyone in the OSR is in love with Sky. She’s a special woman. And untouchable. She’s created a safe place for her heart deep behind firewalls that we ain’t reaching into. And good. This world is insane and she’s a mom, she’s got a sweet little boy at home crawling all over the walls that needs every minute of her time and love and attention.

But idiot young Silumko doesn’t know that, he just knows he’s got his own heart ache, he knows that Sky has a magnificent booty that manages to rock your world even through spacesuit and kit, and he knows that she’s talented. Devastating bait for a kid like that. Christ.

Welp, none of my concern. Right now I’m enjoying the show that these… fuck do they call themselves? Volga River Boat Boys. The Volga River Boat Boys are putting on a flamboyant, life affirming show, telling everyone in this rotating can just how unstoppably themselves they are with their tassel shaking va-va-voom whatever this is. I think it’s a dance routine but they are also handing out weird little crafts. Who knows, it’s not exactly a clear artistic statement but they look like they’re having fun. That’s what the square is for, it’s for old grizzled OSR operators to sit in their ozone stinking space kit, pigeons pecking around my helmet. For old grizzled OSR operators to sit and watch young gay cyborgs do backflips and clap to some 100 year old pop song. And for old grizzled OSR operators to think about the immediate dangers that surround us at all times here in the zone.

The zone. No place for kiddos and dancing and life like this. And yet here it is. Right here, happy and oblivious and self absorbed life. God damn, people have been living in space properly for what… 75 years now, and most of them don’t even think about the ‘in space’ bit at all. But I do. That’s my job. My job, and Sky’s job, and Silumko’s job. We worry about vacuum. And collisions. And multi axis tumbling. And hypoxia. And tension pneumothorax. And spacesuit extraction. And rattling tension cables holding solar panels together that at any second want to snap and slice through you and grandma and everyone having a lovely day aboard the Spirit Spacelines shit-flight serenely approaching the overworked dock. And the rocks. The god damn endless rocks, all different, all moving.

My job is to hold this headache in my soul, every day. To get eaten alive planning and anticipating and preparing. It’s a weird spot. I protect normal life, and yes, I mean it, normal freaking life because that’s what people want to have… I protect normal freaking life from inky black zero nothing frigid death that stretches for a billion trillion kilometers in every direction, normal freaking life that keeps trickling out of the big blue ball much much closer relatively speaking. Normal freaking life that builds these gigantic cans and fills them with pigeons and flowers and danishes and dancing gay guys.

And yeah, normal freaking life for the young guys like Silumko, who is sighing heavily at Sky. She knows exactly what’s going on but plays along, because she’s not letting him in. Slaps him on the back.

“Buddy. Come on. Cheer up. You’ll be okay.”

“I know. I know I will. I’m glad you’re my friend.”

Sky is shaking her head, ‘this guy’ her face reads. “Of course I’m your friend. And hey, look. If talking to me makes it worse, we don’t have to talk. That’s okay, we can just work. You know that right?”

Of course he doesn’t know, and she knows he doesn’t know. God damn she’s an amazing woman. How can a person be so breathtakingly amazing. What. The. Fuck. I laugh out loud a little.

“See? Reggie gets it. He knows life goes on.” I do. “He’s got the right idea. Just gotta laugh.” She’s right.

“I know. Yeah. I… need to have a sense of humor.” Oof, SIlumko you’re breaking my heart man. Sky is rolling her eyes, laughing. “Geez louis! My man! Come on!” She’s really slapping his back now, he’s such a wet noodle at the moment. It’s a crying shame what this kid is capable of and what we’re seeing here. That’s always the case though with the naturals, with the deep talents. They are almost always simple critters. Simple hearts. Affected really deeply.

And I love that about OSR. It’s what keeps me in. It attracts the simple hearts, the still deep waters, the unusual people. My favorite kind of people. I’m that kind of people. This is my tribe. My little crew.

Tick of the Clock.

Preflight matches the pace of my heart. Slowly ramps up until we’re all humming. This fucking show is on the road. Lives need saving.

Flip flip flip, click click click.

Pings are coming and going.

Laser is tracking the shit it’s supposed to track.

All the gantry arms and bullshit are out of the way.

Angels: deep in the zone. Commercial inspection vessel. What’s her name? Who’s fucked today?

The Cormorant.

Love it. Stubby winged bird flapping her little feathers helplessly, long neck.

I’m bouncing back and forth slowly inside my harness, I like to keep it loose, gives me a chance to acclimate to microgravity. Always takes me a bit longer.

“OSRS Alligator departing L4 Commercial en route to SOS eight hundred, retrograde, coplanar descent outbound for CSS Cormorant.”

Sky has such a smooth voice, mama ship. Silumko I don’t blame you.

Into the blazing sun. Thrusters firing, bouncing us around. Alligator wades out into the pool. Water’s ice cold.