The prairie spy

I shouted at Lt. S., my first officer, who is in charge of a lot of stuff. “Lt. S!”  “Lt. S!” “What’s wrong with our ship?” (Our ship to which I am referring is The Big Red House Rocket Ship, riding in which we have been making our steady way around the Sun.)

She replied: “What do you think is wrong?” I can tell that she’s worried, too.

Here, I told her,  is the first clue: Our velocity seems okay on Sunday, then it speeds up and I can tell a little  bit that Tuesday is Tuesday, but then without warning, everything goes crazy fast and suddenly it’s Friday. Or Saturday.

Lt. S. said that there is nothing wrong with The Ship, and plus she said that if there was something wrong with The Big Red Ship, it was of course my responsibility, since I was the chief and only Maintenance Officer.

“Our course appears to be steady as she goes, Captain,” stated Lt. S. As she said this, she was looking out the east windows at the many apple trees hanging their red fruit for all to see. “Yup,” she stated, “all looks good.”

I replied that something was wrong. Maybe in the Space-Time Quantum Framus Capacitor. 

For one thing, we must have speeded up. Summer just started a few days ago, and now it’s almost over. Our speed is way too fast. Something is wrong with something. For instance, I told her, here’s the semiannual insurance bill in the mail, which cannot be right.

“Why?” asked Lt. S.

Well, I said, because I just paid this damned bill, like yesterday. She was headed my way to see what I was worked up about when someone knocked on the door. She answered it. I heard her say: “That’s the Chief Maintenance Officer’s job. Go ahead on in.” She pointed at the kitchen, where I sat numbly looking at a bill that is supposed to come twice a year and apparently is coming every week.

I looked up and said hello to The Officer who had just arrived with his Liquid Reclamation Ship. When I seemed confused–even more confused than normal–he said: “Captain, it’s time for your annual Storage Tank pumping.

That’s, well, that’s impossible, I told him. Impossible, I said, because you were just here last month.

Now he seemed kind of confused. (Confusion is contagious, I guess.)

He said: “Well, Captain, I was here a year ago.” He was looking around for Lt. S. for help, but she, being of above average intelligence, had scampered away to another room in The Ship.

I thought long and hard. The only possible solution to this young man’s confusion seemed to be to agree with him, so I said: “Oh, yes, that’s right. Time sure does fly in these rocket ships, doesn’t it!”

He opened his mouth to say something, mumbled a few words, and went back out the door to move his pumper ship down to the tank.

Lt. S came around the corner about then, since the coast was clear. “Captain,” she said, “I have more–(And here she kind of backed up a couple of breaths)–news: It’s time for your six month dental check up.”

What! She knows I dread these checkups. All doctors and dentists and such are in cahoots with one another, because they keep finding things wrong with me. A bad tooth here, a funny pimple on my back that we have to do something about. Here’s an appointment, be sure and don’t eat anything. It won’t hurt, maybe you’ll feel a little pressure blah, blah, blah.

I said to Lt. S.: I know we’re going too fast, because six-month checkups feel like they’re coming every week. But before I could speak, she said yes she knows it was just last week I had a six-month checkup. She went on: Are we accelerating around the sun, how can we slow this Big Red Ship down etc., etc. Hmmm.

Lt. S. has one great attribute, one ever greater than her skill at keeping us pointed the right way and on course: She’s quite patient.

So I am quite patient with her. For example, she fills out a check blank to pay a bill, and when I say that I thought we just paid that bill, she doesn’t say much. I reward her patience with cooperation, and I sign the damned things even though I know we just paid this doctor or dentist or insurance bill yesterday. I grumble and grumble, and then pretty much do what Lt. S. says.

I guess I’m going to have to get my tools and re-examine the Dark Time engine that propels us on our way.

There must be something wrong with it.