A rubber ducky tie is a bold choice. Boring men don’t make many bold choices, aside from one: one moment of self expression, one thing to show that, perhaps, they are more complex than meets the eye. For Willow, ties are his bold choice.
The yellow squeakers eye his choice of grey shirt and black trousers, judgement in their beady stare. Willow pretends not to notice. He slings a messenger bag across his shoulders, determined for a good day – a good day being an uneventful one. Getting his work done with enough time to bake his mum a pie, perhaps. A nice day, he thinks, as he steps on the bus. He’ll walk in the park during his lunch hour, salad in hand. “Good day,” he says as he enters the Extra-Terrestrial Travel Patrol Agency, or the Patrol for short.
Today would not be Willow’s good day.
A few notable things are off in the Patrol that morning. Firstly, it’s quiet; not pin-drop silence – that would be impossible – but a heavy quiet, almost emotional. Secondly, the Captain is out of her office, and being a workaholic, she didn’t leave her work for much. But, most unusual was that they were all looking at him, some with curiosity, others pity, and quite a few shocked. He gathers his courage. He sits at the desk.
“Willow,” He jumps in his seat at the Captain’s canorous voice. “Come into my office.” Every bad thing he’s ever done slashes through his thoughts, though one glance at the serious look on Captain’s face pulls him back.
“I have terrible news,” she announces. “The team we sent out yesterday, they – well – they never made it back.” His hands drop from where they were fiddling. His eyes gloss over as he tries to focus his vision. She looks at him with pity. Paperclips on the desk, spilled. Five people were on that team. A painting of a horse lays slightly askew. He fixes it. He knew them all. Grief still swam in his ears when he heard, “…you will be the replacement.”
“No!” He protests, “I can’t- please, no!”
She shakes her head.“You’re the only one qualified and available. Either take the job or get sacked. You’re excused.”
The problem with cowards is that change is never easy for them, much less when the change in question involves taking up a perilous job in space. Willow works in mission control. That means he’s responsible for taking any job in the field when there are no better candidates. Except he doesn’t want to – he really doesn’t want to.
It’s dangerous, and if (heaven forbid) something fatal happens, it would leave his parents with nothing. He could never do that to them. But, on the other hand, he doesn’t want to lose the job he loves: he helps people here. He also needs the money, and field jobs pay far better. He could get his parents a new car. Maybe stop renting and buy a place. Take long weekends to the beach. And so, without realising, Willow’s doubts fly away.
After a day off for grieving, Willow picks out his tie. Little lions for bravery; fitting. He glances, melancholy, out the bus window, wondering if the next window he glances out of will show the vast expanse of space. Despite working at the Patrol, he’s never been off planet, but he always loves to imagine. The nothingness, a sparkling star close enough to catch. He’s grown up hearing their stories, the good and the bad; how weightless you feel as you glide in the space station, and the danger of it all bringing you down, harder than gravity.
He meets his team one by one. Raven, with the leather jacket and megawatt grin; Paris, with his muscles and frequent giggles; and Amelia, the mission control. Willow only knows them briefly. Two dimensional background characters, harsh as it sounds. Now, he’ll see them daily, and even live with them. What will he find lurking beneath the exterior? The Captain strides in and everyone straightens.
“Your first mission: an unlicensed ship is roaming somewhere near the moon. Capture the ship, apprehend the criminal. Easy as pie. Good luck.” She looks him in the eye. “And don’t be nervous, you’ll do fine.”
His hands quake as they take off. They don’t stop as they break through the atmosphere. It gets so bad that Paris notices, and he points out the large windows. Willow hadn’t even looked outside. His breath caught. It’s ethereal. Nothing but darkness, a sliver moon, and the blue haze fading away as they rise, all of it blurry with their speed.
“The ship’s just been spotted on the North-Eastern quarter,” Amelia voice rings through the headphones. Raven steers. They could’ve spent minutes or hours circling the moon, but Willow didn’t care. He waves at every tourist, his eyes feasting on the silvery glow, curves, and craters. The inspiration to poetry, art, music, so big compared to the speck of light seen from earth, yet every bit as beautiful.
He spots the ship, battered and bruised – home`made. They near it from behind, and Raven slows, closing in on their culprit. They’re almost at the ship when it shoots out at breakneck speed, tossing them all back in their chairs as Raven slams the accelerator. Loud chuckling emerges from her as Willow spills the contents of his stomach into a paper bag. Their ship weaves from planet to planet, stumbling right past Jupiter before doubling up and darting the other way. Raven shines with bright glee, enjoying every spin and turn of the chase. Between two moons, they almost catch it, close enough to touch, but Willow spots something,
“Yellow liquid, coming from the hood.” Paris gives him a tense look.
“Oh no.” Amelia mutters. “Get away from there now!”
Raven moans. “But we’ve almost caught it-”
“Get away!” Screams Amelia. With a sigh, she spins the ship back around.
“What was that for, Lia?”
Amelia sputters, “That ship is faulty, it’s going to explode.”
“So what are we going to do?” Paris asks. They sat around in a small cafe on Earth’s Moon.
Raven put her mug down, “Better question is, how much time do we have?” They all pause for Amelia’s response.
“Maybe two hours at most. The liquid was still yellow, right, Willow?”
“Yes.” He answers, sweat practically dripping from his palms.
“So what’s the plan?” Paris repeats.
“I guess the best thing you can do is wait for the ship to land.”
Raven groans but agrees to wait. Three empty coffee mugs later and still no ship, though. Raven paces as Amelia tries to calm her, and Willow removes his earpiece. He buries his head in his arms. It was supposed to be a simple mission. No possible deaths, just capture the convict and leave. Now, everything is muddled with danger, like standing at the brink of a cliff; his heart pounds with adrenaline.
“It’s been too long, Lia, it’s not going to land.” Willow overhears Raven, and he puts in his earpiece. “Okay, okay. I have an idea, but it’s going to be dangerous,” Amelia responds. “Really dangerous.”
Now he can’t breathe. If he was standing at the brink before, this is free-falling. He can see the rocks at the bottom, begging to impale him. Paris opens the airlock and pushes Willow inside. He straps on an oxygen tank. The air tingles around him.
“Wait! Shouldn’t Paris do this? He’s fitter, more used to this,” he begs.
He hears Raven’s exasperated sigh through the earpiece. “You are the one who knows most about ships. You have to go.” The outer door opens, and he nears it, peering over the edge. Nothing. Darkness as far as the eye can see. He floats out. It’s suddenly all too much. He grabs desperately at air. His hands fall on the door handle. Pulling himself back into the airlock, he locks the outer door. “I can’t do it!”
“Are you happy now?” Raven’s voice slaps salt on the open wound of shame as he cradles his guilt. Paris took his place, now risking his life out there. The small white blob comes into view. The ship was within their sights, and all Paris had to do was siphon the fuel so it couldn’t explode. Trouble is, the fuel hatch is next to the engine. One wrong move and he’s gone. That could’ve been Willow, and behind all the guilt and shame, he’s a little relieved. The blob floats closer. Raven turns the ship slightly as they narrowly miss some space debris, but it’s too late.
Paris is thrown much further off, leaving him on the path to the engine.
He grabs at the ship, legs kicking. He pulls on the rope, Willow reaches out to pull him back, but Paris latches on to a handlebar. He plugs the fuel siphon into the hatch and a cool wash of relief floods Willow’s body.
The homemade ship was towed to earth by theirs. The criminal was in jail to await his sentence. For Willow, the mission had a bitter aftertaste. Fear had held him back; it paralyzed him. If Paris hadn’t been around, they’d never had made it. Raven gave him a dirty look, a promise of an unfinished conversation.
That night, as he took off his tie, Willow wished he’d had a better day.
