Space Colony or Bust

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Unfortunately, flatulence can be easily heard in the space station.

As I listen to the debrief from the CEO of Space Exploratives, I glare at her with concentrated focus as if I had the power to speed her presentation before any gas escapes my gut.

Just my luck to be in the 0.0001% of the population that develops irritable bowels while on a diet of synthetic food made by hydrogentroph microbes. Technically, young women like me should have even less of a chance of being affected. Too bad I couldn’t beat the odds in romance or winning the space outpost lottery. Nope. It had to be gut gas.

The CEO is in front of multiple holographic projections from the rest of the International Space Conglomerate leaders. She reduces their images. The resulting empty area quickly populates with icons representing numerous space outposts which then change over one-by-one to tiny holographic people from the corresponding teams. “Due to the significance of this new finding on Proxima b, we are broadcasting this normally closed session of the ISC to all space outposts as we announce that Space Exploratives is officially ready to begin to colonize the planet...”

My intestines rumble. The noise is covered by applause, but perspiration builds on my brow while my stomach tenses in dread. Worthless malfunctioning food replicator. Why did it have to run out of my specialized Synfood today?

The CEO continues. “This moment, dreamed about for centuries, is truly historic. While we’ve been able to establish hundreds of space stations outside our original solar system, this marks the first-time humanity will be establishing a colony on a planet around another star...”

I tense my whole derriere and abdomen as pressure builds in me. Why did I have to eat before this meeting?

“Before we proceed with the details of this mission, we need to honor all those who came before us...”

Please don’t have a moment of silence.

Please don’t have a moment of silence.

Please don’t have a moment of silence.

“Let us have a moment of silence...”

Space Junk! My stomach is so bloated I fear that if I so much as blink, a fart would be released that could rival the eruption of Vesuvius. I carefully move my eyes around without moving anything else. I’m too far from any exits. But then I see one way I can escape. It’s through a service port normally only used by our robotic cleaners and I’m a mere few feet away. It is barely a meter and a half tall, but it will do.

While most people have their heads down to show solidarity for space pioneers from the past, I take a deep breath and carefully maneuver myself—still in a somewhat sitting-crouching form—toward the port.

The port door automatically opens, raising quickly, and I stoop across its threshold.

Once it closes, I slowly stand, and my body releases an enormous amount of unstoppable and uncontainable gas. The loud noise reverberates down the service tunnel as if a tuba and French horn are wrestling each other to the death.

As I reach complete upright position, the port opens.

The faces of everyone...and I mean everyone...turn toward me.

I do the only thing I can think of: Dive down the service hall.

Positive note—the port closes quickly as soon as my head no longer triggers it. The landing, ungraceful as humanly possible, does however launch another round of loud gas being expelled from me—especially when I flip onto my back.

Negative note—service hallways are now lines with air vents into the room they serve. In this case, the vents provide ample means for sound transferring directly back to the meeting hall. “Space Junk Junkity Junk!” I slap my hand over my mouth as I stare up from my supine position on the floor. They must have heard everything. At least I cannot smell any bad smells. It’s a small comfort but at this point I’ll take it.

I calm my breathing and push myself up. A quick fart is released. Whatever. At this point, the more the merrier. I decide to wait in this corridor until the event is over and pray no one actually got a good look at me before the port door closed.

The CEO is clearly audible through the hall vents as she clears her throat. “Well, on that note...”

Laughter erupts from the meeting hall.

I slump against the wall as I look for any means possible to escape back to my sleeping pod where I can curl up into a fetal position and hide until everyone gets so old that they no longer remember who they are, let alone my bodily noises.

“As you know, our advance team is crucial to the success of this mission. It is with great pleasure I announce Dr. Ian Wu, Dr. Eileen Carter, Dr. Rosalyn Torress, Dr. Raj Ganesan, and...” The CEO took a pause.

I hold my breath. My dream had been to be on that initial team. It was why I had no social life and had spent my teens and early twenties taking any and all additional duties and trainings I possibly could.

“Dr. Gale Edwards.”

My delight erupts in a squeal that is louder than an accompanying gas release.

“In order to recognize the team, I would like them to...” She paused.

Oh, junkity junk junk junk! She’s going to have us go to the front for the whole space community to see us. My momentary euphoria is replaced with the four horseman of embarrassment: Fear, Awkwardness, Dread, and Anxiety. Sweat again builds on my brow. My face flames with heat as it turns red.

“Please come forward.”

In an instant, I weigh my options. If I don’t step forward, all my work will have been for nothing. On the other hand, if I don’t go up, maybe the CEO will. just recognize the other team members and understand why I did not appear at this moment. I can apologize to her later and explain the situation.

Nonsense. Sure, I may be called, “Dr. Gas Edwards” for a while but I can’t let gas stop me from taking my well-deserved recognition in front of all the whole ISC and space exploration community.

Once in the sensored area, the port door whishes up.

I take a deep breath and duck through its frame.