Space Station T.U.G. 0023

It had been three years since the accident that sent them into the clutches of space. One mistake was all it took. One mistake and their lives were changed forever.

However, spirits were high on board the T.U.G., space station 0023. Though lost in the perpetual darkness, they were not short on food.

And they never would be, thanks to the cloning facility – the peak of their technology. Whenever a cremate wished to eat, they cloned the food first. That was rule number one (rule made by Abigail).

It was dinner time and the four of them had gathered after the cheerful ding of cloning informed them their food was ready.

Abigail, her chestnut hair tied in a single braid down her back, set the table. She denied anyone else stealing this role. It was her role.

Jake, his build corpulent and lovable, as he likes to say, had already sat down, crumbs spread over his mouth from the first bite.

Anisa, her olive skin shining from the ships lighting, sat adjacent to him, ignoring the mess he made. She yawned as her hand searched for a spoon.

Finally, Ed joined them. His ebullient face a welcome to the table. At least it would be, were it not always accompanied by an unfortunate accident.

“What is it this time?” Abigail asked, placing her fork on the plate.

“Nothing,” Ed said with the complete innocence that would fool an experienced parent.

“Edward, you have a tell when you’re doing something. Your left cheek twitches.”

Ed's hand slapped his face and Abigail laughed.

“I'm only joking,” she told him, suppressing her mirth. “But I think you just inadvertently told me that you are doing something.”

The other two watched them with interest. It was free entertainment while eating and it would have been a shame to let it go to waste.

“Computer!” Abigail yelled. “Tug, where was Edward prior to this room?”

“Hey, that's cheating,” Ed protested. He stood up and went to the computer on the wall by the door. "Don't tell her, Tug. Me and you, yeah? Me and you against all of them.”

“I am sorry, Master Edward Halliwell,” the ship responded. Its voice was pure with a mechanical flair. “Mistress Abigail Bennett outranks you.”

“The hell she does!”

“Every time rank is brought up, you always forget that you're at the bottom,” Anisa said. “You have some mental blockage in your brain . . .” She held up her fingers, leaving a tiny gap between them. “Your small, teeny-weeny brain.”

“Hey!”

“Tug, I must ask again,” Abigail called out. “What was Edward doing before coming here?”

“He was in the plantation room on level 2. As to what actions he was taking, my data is incomplete.”

“Ed?” Abigail questioned, her voice going up an octave.

“Abigail?”

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” There it was again: his childlike innocence. “What were you doing?”

Abigail slammed her hands on the table and rose from her seat. “I guess we have to find out. You two coming?” She looked over to Anisa and Jake and the empty plate in front of him.

He eats fast, she thought. It always amazed her no matter how many times she witnessed it.

“Of course, we are,” Anisa said, joining Abigail in standing.

Jake shrugged and stood up as well.

The three of them passed Edward and exited to the hall. He sighed and followed behind.

The inside of the space station T.U.G., or ‘Tug’ as the crew liked to name it, was pure white. No colour was found in the halls, only the black windows littered showing distant stars offered any change in the walls and ceiling. Certain rooms, however, did have a hue in which to marvel in. Personal rooms, for example. Each one decorated to the owner’s tastes. The Plantation Room was another, though the green stemmed from the foliage rather than an interesting paint choice.

Upon entering, Abigail looked around. Nothing was put of the ordinary, which, in itself, was unusual. She absorbed the scene and coincided it with the image she had in her head. Everything was the same.

“It looks no different,” Anisa noted.

“Nothing?” Abigail whispered to the air.

“See, I told you,” Edward said behind them. “So quick to judge. It’s quite rude.”

“Yet, every time I have, it’s turned out true.” She glared at him for any signs, any gives on his face. Nothing. She looked back to the plantation. The trees still had their fruit, the grape vines were untouched, carrots were still ready to pluck. “What did you do in here?” she asked.

“I like the smell.” He removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. “It reminds me–” he sniffed, “–of home.” A few tears rolled down his cheeks as he sobbed.

Anisa and Jake rested a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Abigail wasn’t buying his façade. If she caved in, it would mean she was wrong . . . and she’s never wrong. Well, she’s more right than Edward would ever be.

Edward wiped away another tear and Abigail rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said. “You can continue bathing in the plants. We have other stuff to do.” She skittered past him, making sure to look him straight in his deceitful eyes before she left.

“Take your time,” Anisa said and left.

Jake patted him on the shoulder again before leaving Edward all alone.

Edward gave it a few minutes, checked the corridor to see if anyone was nearby, and rolled up his sleeves. He strutted over to the computer adjacent to a glass canister. “Thanks, Tug,” he whispered to the computer. “I knew I could count on you.”

“It is no problem, Master Edward Halliwell. However, it was true when I claimed I had little data on the situation.”

“You still held back what you did have. And for that, I thank you. Now, come on, release it.”

The wall opened at his command. A square hole appeared in the white wall under the computer screen and a small plant plopped out into Edward’s hands. He marvelled at the little growing seed in a pot. But it would soon need something bigger.

Rule number two on the ship: do not use the Accelerated-Growth Machine for personal purposes and especially not on yourself (rule made by Anisa).

Edward liked rules. They were fun.

He placed the plant inside the glass canister and fiddled with the connected command screen.

“May I ask the purpose of your actions, Master Edward Halliwell?” Tug said. His voice was strangely curious for a machine.

“I wish to grow a pear tree. I haven’t had a pear in years. And I love pears.”

“I see. Perhaps the others could help you.”

“I’ve already asked them. Abigail said she’s allergic, can you believe that? Sounds like a lie to me.” His hands worked fast as he spoke. “Alright, that should just about do it. Engage the Accelerated-growing-whatchamacallit.”

Tug obeyed and the artificial lights shined on the potted plant. Nothing happened, at first. But then it all happened.

The pot cracked and shattered followed shortly by the glass casing.

“Um, Tug,” Edward said, stepping back. “Do you think I may have mistyped the instructions?”

“No, Master Edward Halliwell. You did just fine.”

Sarcasm from a machine, Edward thought. How original.

The pear tree rose, its roots extending over the floor forcing Edward to hop around as though he were stepping on lava. The leaves bristled out as it hit the ceiling and extended further still. The trunk was thicker than any tree Edward had ever seen and he couldn’t help admiring it.

“System error,” Tug called out in its mechanical voice. “Gravity failing. Nature clogging basic functions. Edward, you idiot.”

Edward was about to object but his body lifted off the ground and made him think better about it. “People aren’t going to like this,” he noted while floating upside down.

Abigail was reading at her desk in her room relishing in a moment of quiet. Books made for a good escape from reality and that’s just what she needed. If Edward was right and he had done nothing, she would need to apologise. Having strained relationships when you’re trapped, or lost, is a recipe for disaster. Abigail refused to be the core of said disaster. But apologising was always hard.

She sighed. Edward wasn’t so bad. He did a few stupid things here and there but nobody had the right to brag about perfection. Even Abigail knew that she wasn’t perfect (although she was closest when it came to those aboard this station). She did enjoy acting perfect, though. It helped her through the day.

A strange feeling washed through her. Something wasn’t right. Her eyes were attracted to the pen floating above the jar and she soon realised that the pen was not alone. Her whole body left the seat she was sitting on and she released her book in panic, allowing the pages to flutter in the zero gravity.

“Edward,” she grumbled, coming to the obvious conclusion.

She swam in the air, clawing at nothing, until she reached the hall where protruding levers had been installed to carry you around from one room to another should something unfortunate happen to the gravity. Or an idiot should happen, thought Abigail.

She released one handle and took another. The anger on her face was not controlled, nor did she think it would be pleasant to look at. But the bespectacled fool always aggravated her. For three years, she’s had to put up with him. She really hoped a medal was waiting for her when they returned home.

Upon entering the plantation room, her anger dropped to shock as she gazed up at the humongous pears that dangled from the ceiling. The tree was enormous and its branches spiraled out in thick waves of brown. Even the leaves were bigger than her.

“It’s okay,” Edward called out from underneath a pile of jumbo roots. All Abigail could see was his outstretched hand with the thumb sticking up. “I’ve managed to stop it from growing.”

“You’ve managed to stop it from growing,” Abigail recited the words and sighed.

“Look on the bright side.” Edward’s head popped out like balloon coming out of water. “We have some massive pears to eat.” A broad smile spread over his face.

A broad frown appeared over Abigail’s as she raised her hands to the sky. “Why me?” she cried out to the world.

Rule three on board the T.U.G. 0023 (made by Edward): have fun!