The international space station orbits the earth at a great enough height to catch the best views in the house. That night, as Cpt. Nema watched from inside the station, she couldn’t help falling in love with the view of the earth all over again. Everyday, the earth reminded her how lonely the human species truly is. At this point, the ISS was somewhere over Africa and she could clearly see a storm system brewing in cycles over the Atlantic. She could see the African continent glistening in the light of the sun and the waters of the ocean surrounding it, sparkling like blue velvet made for royalty.
There were only two people left on the space station; Cpt. Nema and Lt. Col. Markov. The rest of them had left for earth the previous day. The ISS would soon be decommissioned and Nema and Markov were there to make sure everything was in order and that nothing crucial was being left behind in the last minute hurry. She would surely miss the grand views and the deathly silence of space.
Reminding herself that they had a lot of work left, she swung her body around from the window and turned to face, right in the eye, the dead body of Cpt Markov floating towards her in zero gravity. He was clearly dead. His mouth wide open as if he had been trying to shout when his life was snuffed out of him. His eyes, frozen in terror. His throat had been clearly slit open and there were stab wounds on his chest. Blood droplets floated along in perfect spheres, hugging his body like how the moon hugs the earth. Somebody had murdered him.
Despite all her strength and training, fear started gripping her. There were no protocols in place for this contingency. She wasn’t trained for this. Nobody was trained to handle a murder on the International Space Station and certainly nobody had been trained to catch a murderer on the loose in zero gravity. What would she do next? What would you?
‘Houston, we have a problem’ She said almost instinctively into her radio, her voice trembling.
No response.
She tried again. No response.
Then, in the deafening silence of space, her radio crackled and materialized a voice.
’What’s the problem, honey?’ A sick voice spoke steadily.
She knew the voice wasn’t from earth. God, how she wished it had been.
Then, loud laughter, it was coming from the radio but also from behind her. She turned to see Markov, alive and well, laughing his ass off. It was all a prank!
But, Cpt. Nema, asked herself, why is that laughter so sick and why is he now holding a knife in his hand?
