The lovely blue planet was home to millions of species of flora and fauna. The people were her children, given the task of taking care of and cultivating her rich soil and waters. She was exulting whenever she saw their meager work yielded a good harvest, trying to ameliorate their lives with all capacity. However, people got smarter. She did not know they would poison her in exchange for more gifts. But she did not mind it. She gave them more while receiving small in return. She was too kind, though too stupid. Despite that, it was all right for her.

One afternoon, she heard the cry of winds and the roar of thunder breaking off afar, waking her. And at that moment of awakening, a catalyst stunned her. She saw strips of waste and destruction everywhere. Ugliness corroded her beauty. She realized that she was too naïve, believing that humans were good. They were greedy and selfish. "Impertinent!" she bellowed, "Curse them!"

The skies wept, flooding the horizon. Volcanoes screamed, erupting molten rocks and shaking the crust. Even though Mother Nature unleashed a deluge and tremors for over a month to punish the earthlings, she forgave and forgot everything and gave them another chance, a motherly love. Dispersing all the heavy gray clouds, she began painting a curved line of different colors in the sky—a rainbow—reminding them that she would never do it again.

———————

"Beautiful," a word suavely escaped from Gale's breath, gazing out the window of the garbage vehicle admiring Earth's stunning view from space.

Gale saw a large solid rocket booster floating on the northernmost edge of Greenland's airspace. "Oh, another junk," he whispered, hitting switches and buttons on the control panel. A glow ignited on the space vehicle's rearmost part. The bluish-white compact laser beams propelled the spaceship smoothly. He grabbed the handwheel, pressed the pedal, maneuvered it rightward, and headed for the dreamy northern lights.

Aurora borealis canopied the Arctic region with its luminous streamers and arches of green and pink lights. The lights danced gracefully like flowing pleated and flared skirts, swaying a lovely waltz. It also looked like long drapes tossed by a gentle breeze waving in complete submission. The gleaming phenomenon of the upper magnetic atmosphere, a party of ribbons of illuminations, was trance-like at first glance. However, its superficiality guiles subtle trickery. Beyond the knowledge of the man busily controlling the space garbage vehicle, underneath the deceptive luscious surreal lumens hid a tragedy.

"Uh-huh, there you are!" Gale interjected, stumbling onto the old giant metal he was looking for. He lifted his foot off the pedal, dimming the laser beam behind. Its two long mechanical arms moved and grabbed the floating metal. The ends of the mechanical arms released the intelligent fingers, and they crawled, similar to a limbless scaled reptile constricting the debris securely. His expert fingers tapped and pressed the dashboard gracefully, like playing a grand piano. With one press of a button, the topside opened, and gently the robotic arms deposited the debris inside the compartment. The boogying of his digits continued, skipping and hopping in rhythm. He was so talented, a real virtuoso in fingering the instrument panel. "Done," he luxuriated at the moment. And then, the space vehicle arched away to the vastness of cosmic space, carrying a massive scrap, parting from the party of colored lights of the North Pole.

Covering a considerable distance from the Earth, Gale knew it was enough to toss away the threatening debris. So, he shifted some gears and pressed a sequence of buttons freeing the metallic rubbish. The old rocket part drifted farther, looking smaller and smaller from his perspective, engulfed by the unfathomable blackness we were eager to unfold further.

Out of the blue, an unpleasant itch formed ripples of creases on his left temple. Gale wished he could scratch the mole on the corner of his eye, but he couldn't with the spacesuit and helmet on. Well, he could remove the helmet, but it was protection from the sun's harmful radiation. He was infuriated by the lack of options to remedy the itch, to end it. This simple skin irritation is one of the battles that I cannot win. Nothing is more irritating than an itch you can't scratch, he thought, heaving a deep sigh.

His left eye caught a glimpse of the collapsed moon, hundreds and thousands of miles from him, through the vehicle's side rhombic window. He cocked his head to one side as his gloved hands stirred the handwheel, turning left. He positioned the vehicle facing the lunar fragments. "Now, that is a good view," he said, reflecting on the subject of beauty, and it somehow helped him to forget the irritating itch.

A charming disconnected affinity flowed in his veins. The destroyed moon is like a shattered plate mingled with the debris of the dark dwarf planet, an abstract canvas of white, gray, and black splotches. While observing the intangible cosmic art, he felt sharp anguish running up his spine. "Sorry I was not there that night," he paused, "I could've saved you, little one."

The utter silence of outer space drowned his hearing. He stretched an arm forward and flattened his palm on the windshield, trying to reach out for the mind-shattering mishap. The boundless emptiness of space felt his hollowness, his emptiness, regrets, and mistakes. He asked himself, "Why didn't I spend most of the time with you?" he swallowed. "I am a terrible father, shirking from my responsibilities."

A boulder from the moon moved. It collided against another chunk of rock, crashing the neighboring astronomic fragments and crushing them into smaller pieces. There was no sound of smashing traveling in a vacuum as the fragments further destroyed each other, gradually declining into disorder and decaying in detail.

The lack of predictability gave a chance to a single rock to race toward him. His bright eyes met an excellent vantage point of the incoming danger. He grabbed the wheels and veered off the vehicle downward. The debris the size of his fist passed over the vehicle's topside avoiding the impending risk. His head cocked to the left, trying to keep track of the little menace.

He bit his lip, "My dream, my selfish dream is the reason why I was not around," he paused, "To build the impossible, to create the impossible. That is why I am up here for that selfish delusion."

The small debris kissed the Earth's atmosphere and began to ablaze, disintegrating into ashes. "Gravity," he whispered, "That is my dream... to create artificial gravity. I spent time and effort contributing to technological advancement for the future of humanity. I built an artificial gravity generator, and it worked! It was unbelievable and remarkable. However, I felt unfilled and unfulfilled."

He released his tensed grip from the wheel, balled his hands into a fist, and placed it over his chest. "I want to tell you that I never left you. You still linger here," he inhaled, "Here, in my heart."

Gale directed his irises back to the shattered moon, weepy, sorrily. The inspiration for the gravity generator is you. Because for me, it is a machine that binds the broken pieces together so that I can see you again, he thought. A teardrop wandered off from the corner of his eye, splatting against the helmet's transparent visor. "It was my goal. It was meant for you."

He shut his eyes, trying to stop his lacrimal glands from producing some tears, but he did not triumph. "I hope you liked it! I hope—you forgive me—departed, little one," he sucked in a ragged breath. He looked tired, and his heart was heavy. Then he sobbed himself to sleep.

———————

Vishesh had been acting odd when he woke up late this morning. His long eyelashes blossomed wide when he discovered his best mate was not tethered in his sleeping bag. He recalled the events last night, extracting every piece of information and connecting them to conclude why Gale didn't wake him. His weirdness continued starting with his odd behavior like a jealous wife. Well, they were inseparable since college, and they were board mates. Wherever Gale went, he'd follow—a clingy gumshoe. And that would explain his grumpy morning.

He even skipped his breakfast just to see his best friend. He started to look for him in places that he was unfamiliar with, gliding dashingly in his low-cut tank top and boxer shorts. Vishesh found himself a bit lost, wedging through and through the Columbus, Destiny, and Kibō laboratories. "Where is he?" his deep voice sounded impatient. Maybe you are in your favorite place, the Cupola, clouded with thoughts about the gravity generator's success, he thought. His hands grasped every tube, wrapped wirings, and instrument attached to the wall, gliding until he reached the seven-window observatory. He was disappointed with his search because Gale was not there. He stumbled up and down in the Leonardo and the inflatable Bigelow to find him. "Where are you!" he shouted at the same time, yawning, smelling his morning breath. He just recalled that he forgot to brush his teeth.

In the station's permanent habitation, Zvezda, Vishesh heard the three Chinese's indistinct chatter. He approached and asked them if they knew where Gale was.

"Gale?" said Gao while busily fingering the keyboards of two computers and simultaneously tuning the radio communications equipment. "I do not know," he shrugged his shoulders.

Vishesh looked at the other Chinese and waited for a reply. Qiao widened his small eyes. His fingers froze from Vishesh's intimidating presence. "Veneracion," he said and sounded like Gao, "No idea," he shrugged too and pressed a key running some program on a laptop.

A printer on a corner gloated, printing a graphic with thumbnails of pictures. He didn't expect a good answer from the third Chinese astronaut. Zhao met his black eyes squarely. "Mr. Gale Veneracion?" Vishesh said with the same rising intonation.

"Better ask Commander Song." Zhao smiled and attached the printed thumbnails of faces on a dartboard with sticky tape.

Vishesh massaged his temples as if he had a migraine after the senseless conversation. He didn't even understand the purpose of the dartboard on the wall. He released a strong push against a fixed metal bar away from the three; his buttocks bent backward, and his arms dangled to the fore.

Commander Song, with a spacesuit on, was carrying a laptop. Her eyes were locked at a command prompt. She pressed a button running some codes. She shifted her gaze absentmindedly to the three Chinese men as Vishesh's bubble rear collided against her side purely by accident. The laptop threw forward, spinning in the air. She was pinned on the floor, her ponytailed hair turned into a mess, and her arms were caught by some wiring switching her channels open. Vishesh quickly dove in the direction of the distraught damsel. "Hold my hand, Emma," he sorrily said, floating over her.

Emma blushed and shyly gripped his hand, lifting her.

They helped each other orient themselves upright, struggling against the lack of gravity.

"Thanks," she uttered, lowering her sight. Her face hued redder when she discovered that Vishesh was wearing nothing but his tank top and boxer shorts. "Oh—" she looked away from his maroon underwear.

Vishesh reached for the spinning laptop and put it before his half-nakedness, concealing his modesty. "Um—" he showed his white teeth, "Sorry about that."

Emma shook her head.

To tune the discord between them, Vishesh threw the same question he had asked Gao, Qiao, and Zhao. "About Gale, did you know his whereabouts?"

Emma cleared her throat, "The laptop," she pursed her lips, "The answer is in the laptop. Open it."

He opened the lid and saw a blue sticky note, not a virtual one. He read his cursive handwriting. I hopped into the garbage vehicle alone. Don't worry. I'm a good pilot.

"So, he has gone out without me," he groaned.

"Well, he's good without you. I mean, he's indeed a good pilot, and he actually stated it through writing. I trust him," she said, teasing him.

"Really?"

The smile on her face turned into a frown. "Gao, any radio signals?"

"None, Commander," Gao's immediate reply. "I will try harder."

"Qiao, how's the internet connection?

"Buffering, Commander," Qiao answered.

"Zhao, help the two to find out what our problem is. And, if we cannot debug it from here, maybe we need to go outside and find out," her voice was solemn. She snatched the gliding ponytail holder, pulled her hair back, and banded it, wearing her usual hairstyle.

"Yes, ma'am!" The trio responded in chorus.

Vishesh scratched his stubble, unaware of what was going on. "Emma, is there anything you want to share with me? I was at a loss as to what was happening," he crossed his arms.

"Oh, we lost our communications to Mission Control... even the internet connection is not working," she paused, "I need to check emails. We have no news or updates from them. It's like a massive blackout, and it happened in a snap eight hours ago while we were resting."

Vishesh drew nearer to the communications equipment, then suddenly, Qiao stood up, grabbed a dart beside a computer, and threw it on the dartboard.

"No!" Qiao exclaimed, releasing anger as he witnessed the dart thrust into the dartboard. He sighed and sat back in his seat, continuing his expert fingers running new codes.

Zhao cursed the laptop in Mandarin, stood up, and threw another dart. "That's for you!" he thundered.

Vishesh couldn't grasp any reason why they were doing it. He approached Emma as Gao did some acrobatics before throwing his dart. "What are they doing, Emma?" he queried.

"Oh, that," she smiled and glided to the hanging dartboard with a paper fastened upon it, "This is—I think—some kind of stress reliever. It's strange, yes, but it's working for them."

"Stress reliever?"

"Gao, Qiao, and Zhao were rivals back in college. They like to compete with each other in everything, including, of course, programming and dart-throwing."

Vishesh drew closer to the dartboard and saw the familiar faces on it. Without notice, a dart plunged into the paper, giving him quite a jolt. "You just killed a prime minister!" he bawled.

Emma followed him and butted in. "You're right! That's a prime minister, and those are the one hundred and ninety-five nation's leaders of the world."

In a blink of an eye, Gale sprouted behind Commander Song. He unceremoniously thrust himself with his suit into the assembly. "I heard that we lost our contact with Earth. Is that right?" he asked.

"Yes," she paused, "But how did you know that?"

He pointed to her arm's gadget glowing with blue and orange lights. "I honed into your channel."

"Wait, has anyone checked the television?" she asked, gliding to a far corner of the crew station. She switched on the screen. The six crew members were arrested with the moment waiting for some working broadcast. But the series of channels and networks displayed despairing glitches of anisotropic noises and bands of colors. "No signal," she said.

One of the Chinese threw a dart.

"You've just poked another president's head," Vishesh grimaced.

Gale drew closer to the dartboard and saw punctured faces. "What's this?"

"It's a fun game. Their stress reliever," she responded.

Vishesh mouthed, "The fox-eyed triplets did that."

"Oh, this is crazy," Gale whispered, stroking the murdered paper, "Forgive them, even if they aren't sorry. Wait!" he squinted his eyes, "The problem is not us." He took a long slow breath.

"What do you mean?" asked Emma.

"Our suit's signal and telemetry are working, so there is nothing wrong in the ISS," he said.

Gao, Qiao, and Zhao stopped hitting the keys.

"So you're saying Mission Control crashed," Vishesh said.

Emma looked at the television, "Not just Mission Control but the whole Earth. Radio, television, and the internet are not working. You see?" she sniffed. "The only thing we can do now is to wait for the signal to return. And then, we can talk to them about what happened."

Vishesh shifted his eyes through the window and saw the collapsed moon. "Sustained heat waves and earthquakes frequented the world when the moon was destroyed," he gulped, "We underestimate perhaps the significance of the moon. Most scientists said life on Earth would flourish even if the moon were destroyed."

Emma spun her head to the window. "Moon, a natural satellite that circled the Earth millions of years ago," she murmured, marveling at the scattered debris of the celestial object through the window. "A primordial sister of Earth," she added.

"Maybe you are right. We judged her importance," Gale bit his lip, "When we removed a single character, perhaps a bracket at the end of a function, and entered it into a calculator. It'll give a syntax error."

Some kind of weight inside dragged their spirits down. Their lungs were breathing shallowly, and an arrhythmic pulse muddled their sanity. The buzzing noise of worries had entered their ears, and they opted to hide inside, bothering them. Qualms veiled the whole ISS as the six astronauts floated in weightlessness, disconnected from other human beings.

They hung up.