"What godforsaken planet have we landed on this time?" Patrick moaned.
'If he keeps whining,' I thought, 'I'll leave him here.'
"If you paid attention," Bethany admonished, "you'd know this is Kepler-1708 b-i, an exomoon."
"A moon? It's all gas aaaand bigger than Earth, stoopid." This was Patrick trying to be clever. #Fail
"Patrick," I said, trying to remain objective, "Between planets, how many years have we been cryogenically frozen, having the latest scientific gen streamed into our brains?"
"A thousand?" he shrugged.Beth and I look at each other, incredulous.
"Try 2.3 billion, dickead." Go, Bethany!
"No wonder I'm starving," Patrick said, wandering off deeper into the protective dome that our ship had cast over the exomoon's immediate rocky interior.
"Trish, why didn't we jettison him over Gliese 876d?" Beth asked.
"Hello - it's a dome. Your voice carries in here," came Patrick's echoing whinge from behind whatever craggy outcrop he was now bothering.
"Rules is rules, kid," I answered. "Unless he puts us in mortal danger, he stays. He's the admiral's nephew, after all."
"Privileged posh boy's what he is," she said.
"That, too."
"Guys, look what I've found," panted Patrick, shuffling towards us holding something wriggly between his fingers.
"WTF?" I shouted. "Like, procedure! Don't move!"
I'd been gone two seconds when I heard Beth ask, "Are you going to eat that?"
'Fucking. Idiot.' I thought.
Beth suddenly stammered, "Mm, Trish, don't want to worry you, but…"
I pirouetted to see Patrick holding the wriggly thing over his open mouth. But behind him loomed a colossal wriggly thing, obviously related.
"Mortal danger?" I asked Beth. She nodded like her head was on springs.
Whether the giant wriggly thing or the pressure once we'd retracted the dome got Patrick first, we'll never know. Next stop, freedom!
/end
© Jason Darrell, 2022
Image: ESA/Hubble, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
The Brief:
Thanks for dropping by to read another of my bashes at flash fiction.