#Alfred and the stars || the first golden retriever in space

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Part Two: Space

Part One: Here. Part Two: You are Here. Part Three: Here.

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson. This is as close to sci-fi as I've ever written and therefore not accurate to the ISS or other actual science because its time travel. Warnings for panic and some goreless action.

International Space Station 400 km above the surface of the Earth. 21st Century

��Careful up there, Jones.” The navigation officer’s voice echoed through the intercom, making Alfred look up, a domed helmet in his hand. He grinned.

“Don’t you worry yourself, darling,” He replied. “I’ve sat on some bison bigger than that panel.”

He could practically hear her eye roll. “Stay in communication and don’t pull another stunt like that backflip.”

“Aww, c’mon. Kids on the live stream went wild for it.”

“Try me, Jones. There won’t be a presidential order on earth that’ll get you back up here again.”

“Laaaaaame.”

The ISS floated serenely 400 kilometres above the earth. Alfred sailed from the equipment locker, pushing off until he reached the airlock. An old hand at this, it was almost as intuitive as horseback riding was when he was younger, but his heart sped up anyway. He clamped his helmet down and checked the comms.

“Eagle Scream, back to baseboys, over. Confirm baseboys.”

He could practically hear an eye roll from the command module. “Eagles don’t even scream. They get that sound from a hawk.”

“That should be a state secret.” Alfred grumbled. There was a whoosh as the airlock was sealed at the inner end. He opened the outer hatch, giving it one final pat for good luck. Hitching his tether, he grabbed the metal rails and took a moment. He never got sick of this part, the void of nothingness with the sheer expanse of the universe before him. The sun was at 40 degrees; the planet was just behind him.

Tossing a look over his shoulder, he could see the little green sweep of Nantucket at the edge of a grey nor’easter. He released one hand to get a better look. He was a handsome bugger from this angle, almost a thousand miles above the earth. He couldn’t quite reach his ass in the suit, but California looked good regardless. When he was done being vain, reverence swept him through the weightless silence. He leaned his helmeted head against his shoulder, watching his pale blue dot. He smiled: home sweet home.

“Move your ass, Jones.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He snapped out of his reverie, grinning in the helmet. After releasing the rails, he sailed gracefully up and behind until the Canadarm appeared. She was preloaded. All he had to do was line it up, fix some wiring and screw it in, and they were golden.

“Jones to command. Jones to command. Come in command. Need you to swing’er over nice and easy.”

The bright white arm twitched on its crane-like elbow joint, and its flexing attachment worked as steel fingers clamped on the panels and kept them in place as Alfred fastened them. It had better joints than Matt, only whirring softly instead of popping and creaking like organic bubble wrap. Alfred positioned himself near the panel that needed replacing, flexing his hands and cracking his knuckles before pulling out his wrench. The arm reached out, perhaps a bit too fast.

“Whoa, easy on the gears! My brother will shit bricks if we fuck up his baby.”

“Sorry.”

Alfred replaced the panels for an hour. The steady guidance of the Canadarm provided the stability he needed to make damn sure the solar panel was securely in place. He stopped, needing an adjustment as the command module chatted with Houston.

Alfred patted the arm and said, "You've got a better grip on that panel than Mattie does on his mental health." She was almost alive, the machinery warm, and she practically purred.

“Captain, we’ve got some funky radiation readings.”

“Almost done, just crank’er up .2 degrees and I can get this finished and come back in for some sweet tea.”

“Houston advises re-entry.”

So? They hadn’t ordered to retreat, and navigation wasn’t panicking. “I just need oh point two degrees and thirty seconds.”

“Noted.”

Canadarm moved a touch. “There you go.” He centred the panel and lined up the screws. He was the last one in when the alarm rang. Emergency lights flashed red and blue. Alfred had never heard them in action before and grew cold. Comms opened again. No. He breathed. He was not panicking.

“Captain, they’re ordering re-entry.”

“Retract the arm. On my way.”

Alfred gripped the rungs and swung his line out of the way. He pushed off hard and scrambled over the top of the rigid cylinder of the can-shaped module. It was dark here, away from his work lights and sliding across the expanse towards the hatch. He caught himself on the handle, keeping his movements controlled.

“Captain?”

“Almost there.”

“Radiations rising!”

Alfred glanced towards the sun, not looking at it. It was brighter now, with dark fire spots. The rings of light jumping up the Corona stretched and flexed like the hoops of the flexible baleen skirts he used to crawl under every now and then before Lemonade Lucy came along and put him on the straight and narrow.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me we were going to get solar flares?”

“The data didn’t show any!”

“Well, that just dills my pickle.” He muttered. He was almost at the hatch. It was brighter now, and he scrambled up the rungs, barely touching one before climbing the next. Alfred swung at the hatch.

Almost there, almost there. Why was he hot? He shouldn’t be hot. His fingers slipped inside his gloves, but he had the lever in his hand. The world fell black before he closed his fingers.

Incident Report Diplomatic Security Service Bureau of Diplomatic Security State Department

On [redacted] and at [redacted], the ISS and ground services at Carnaval facilities reported unusual radiation readings and advised the crew to return inside. See addendum one. Captain [redacted] was in contact with personnel until Captain [redacted]'s suit abruptly transmitted a distress beacon. A thorough search of the ISS was conducted, leading to the discovery of an empty spacesuit, with the helmet still attached. The inner flight suit, including the Snoopy cap and lining, was not recovered. It has been suggested that a replacement may have been made. However, the space suit contained four viable samples of [redacted]'s DNA, leaving no doubt that it belonged to [redacted]. See Addendum Two.

Two simultaneous investigations were conducted by a multidisciplinary team of experts from [redacted] and [redacted]. Interviews were conducted, telemetry data analyzed, and video footage reviewed. The spacesuit Captain [redacted] wore was intact, with no signs of damage or malfunction. Video footage and telemetry data did not reveal any abnormalities or anomalies, except as previously noted. Crew interviews did not provide any significant information regarding the incident. Pushback regarding these results has been seen overseas, significantly [redacted] and [redacted]. It is the recommendation of this body that our counterparts be updated as to the results of this investigation due to the international familial ties of the next of kin and the diplomatic pressure being leveraged.

[gremlins-hotel]

I’ve seen a vision and need to expel it from my mind:

Alfred smooching the surface of Ivan’s space helmet because he thought it would be cute.

Ivan just watching Al squish his face against the glass and slobber all over it.

i am feeling nice today. haven't written anything in a while, nor drawn. i hope it's at least funny if not somewhat entertaining. now i go hang up my laundry,,,

“Dude, I can’t believe you still have that!” exclaimed Alfred, looking his buddy up and down. “And that they were actually willing to make a suit that fits you, Christ. Or let you keep it. How old is it now?”

Ignoring Alfred, Ivan twisted to observe the old spaceflight uniform he wore. It hugged a little too tightly in places but still, he had managed to squeeze the old suit on without it complaining too much. With a blink and a look up, he considered his response. “Trust you me, I am convinced I was only allowed to keep the suit because no one else could dream of wearing it comfortably, not even for training. It is an early Sokol, so the seventies. I, ah…do not remember the exact year.”

“Damn, a pity,” Alfred nodded, ��no spacewalks for you then. Not in that at least.” Unafraid, he walked up to the giant and circled him, observing the hose-like sleeves and mission patches across the body. A red-and-blue Apollo-Soyuz patch stood out against Ivan’s stomach. It earned a laugh from Alfred; he remembered that joint mission well. He also remembered having to shake hands with Ivan. It wasn’t their first and wouldn’t be their last, and at least the two of them had always agreed on one thing: the stars were for the discovery of all mankind, though of course, neither of them was man.

The bear shook his head, following the other Nation’s stare, “No, it is like your Shuttle suits. For the spacecraft only, yes. We had others for spacewalks like the Orlan.”

“Oh yeah, I remember,” came the confident reply.

“And here I was under the insinuation that you didn’t. Not that I would be surprised, you’re like a dog in this regard.” Ivan gave a gruff snap of laughter and lifted a hand to ruffle jokingly at Alfred’s hair like a golden retriever. His hands were quickly smacked away with a roll of the smaller man’s eyes. Black gloves were taken into curious hands and turned over, the ridges of the knuckles poked and prodded. Snatching his hand away, Ivan observed the glove too, “This thing is starting to get hot. Anything else?”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed as he leaned back on his heels, crossing his arms. “Hmm…still got the helmet or no, big guy?”

“Podozhdite,” Ivan rumbled, making a quick face before shuffling to the old box he had dragged the suit from. Always the soft helmet had been his favorite part. When not in use, he could stuff the loose part against the visor and it’d be fine, as long as the visor itself wasn’t getting scratched. Squatting to rummage through the contents before him, he wondered at the helmet’s condition. The edges of blue anodized aluminum, dull with time, met his fingers and Ivan pulled with some relief, brushing the white canvas free of their stubborn fold.

Pulling the helmet over his head proved to be somewhat difficult, and Ivan remembered why he had shaved his beard when he had more regularly worn the equipment. At that the memory of Alfred trying to keep his face trained for their photographed handshake in 1975 was loud. Throughout the experiments, the other Nation hadn’t let him live down how “babyfaced” he appeared without it. Friends or enemies, it was true that they always knew how to dig deep and press each other’s buttons. Ivan had barely kept from slapping Alfred then, to tell him to be serious. But that would’ve been counterintuitive to the joint mission, as satisfying as it likely would’ve been.

Fumbling with the flange, it snapped into place with a satisfying sound. It was slightly uncomfortable without the soft under cap, but he’d be taking the suit off soon enough. Both hands were needed to shove the visor down on its aging hinges. From his crouch, Ivan turned his head and offered a half-assed salute, “Opa!”

Alfred’s form was dark through the visor and his snort muffled through the helmet’s canvas. “Don’t move.”

“What are you planning?” Ivan’s voice bounced back at him from the visor, but he hoped Alfred could still hear. The other Nation approached until only legs were in Ivan’s vision. He recoiled slightly to look up, “If you scratch this helmet I will make sure you regret it, Jones.”

“Don’t bellyache dumbass, I ain’t gonna hurt you. Not right now, at least. Now hold still,” said Alfred above him. Hands grabbed either side of Ivan’s head, pressing the PA6 nylon of the inside against his ears. Trying to jerk away from the contact, Ivan’s hands reached out to push at Alfred’s arms with a hiss. Sibilant air once more echoed back to his own senses. He could see Alfred leaning down toward his head. He frowned.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh come on, you’re like the only asshole I could do this with. It’ll be like a goddamn movie.” Alfred complained.

“No,” Ivan barked, “not unless you plan to die.”

“You’re fucking lame, Red,” Alfred sighed beyond Ivan’s visor. “Consider: I do this, and you can put me in a headlock after you get out of the Spandex.”

And Ivan did consider. “Bold words just to call me fat. It is your death warrant, not mine.”

“Yeah, yeah, so what do you say?”

“Fine.”

Through the dark visor, Ivan watched as Alfred continued to lean down. The hands holding his skull seemed to pull him up and the former cosmonaut jerked his chin higher to see better. Lips folded and approached the polycarbonate screen, pressing to it and crafting the same funny image as a hand plastered to glass. Actually, it was disgusting from inside the helmet.

Ivan could see the lines etched in the other man’s lips in too much detail, and he grimaced at realizing Alfred had purposefully made his kiss very wet. Tiny bubbles smashed against the hard material. It would leave a mark on the visor that Ivan immediately decided he would make the other astronaut clean. An awful kissy sound smacked his eardrums, muffled as it was, and the Nation thrashed his helmeted head away from his friend. Ivan made a retching sound in the back of his throat when his motion caused a slobbery smear across the visor.

Pulling away with that obnoxiously jovial laugh he had, Alfred’s face was cracked in mirth. He could see the giant’s contorted mouth, though his eyes were hidden beneath the polarized upper half of the visor. Still he firmly held his friend’s head, laughing the whole time. Ignoring the swearing behind the helm, Alfred threw his head back to snort and laugh harder when he heard a muffled ‘fucking dog’. He was dead the moment Ivan divested himself of the space suit, but half the fun would be kicking his ass.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Considering his experiences and history with the Space Race and NASA, do you ever see Alfred giving lectures on aerospace engineering, mathematics, physics, or any NASA-related STEM field at any universities/colleges?

Not so much teaching or running courses because that's a pretty specific thing that requires a lot of time and forethought. But I do think he'll randomly hijack physics experiments and make them much cooler if he just happens across them in a park or a campus. And he often comes across figures who will be exceptionally important, like Creola Katherine Johnson or Dorothy Vaughan. And I think sometimes he gets a bit existential and ends up on the Air and Space when he needs a boost that coke or coffee isn't giving him and will give an impromptu lecture on the history. He's probably been offered a job on the spot and gotten all misty-eyed before he ducks back into his usual routine. People are, after all, the origin, point and purpose of his interests.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Hi! I love your blog and your take on the nations. Could you please do #5 and/or #8 for Alfred? I love seeing his softer side beneath the bravado he puts on.

5.) What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.) 

Oppy. The man got so goddamn attached to his wee baby rover (yes Opportunity was huge. No Alfred does not care, she was still his baby.) When space travel becomes more common, he's going to bring her back and she's just going to roam around and no I do not care about realism in this instance because she's a good girl goddamn it. He was sad for weeks and had two crying fits behind a closed door because goddamn he got attached to her.

8.) Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)

I think Alfred has a nice mix of antique furniture and modern bedding. I always picture his room as having a giant rosewood bed something like this.

But with NASA sheets, an R2D2 shaped throw pillow, and a very accurate painted ceiling of the night sky with glow in the dark paint. Today its in the National Statuary Hall but fuck it, Alfred owns an original of this 1872 painting by Thomas Moran, The Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. It played a part in President Grant signing the first national park into existence in the same year and Moran painted it while Yellowstone was being surveyed. It marked either one of his few trips east between bailing Matt's ass out during the Fenian raids 1866 and the late 1870s advent of the Gilded age with the rise of the American empire and the organization of labour into unions.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Chapter two and three make me think of Artemis, and aiming back for the moon, and one of the astronauts for the next mission is Canadian. I think of Alfred going to Matthew and Mattie being like "you're going back?" And then Alfred, "yeah. Come with me this time?"

And this time, he does.

Aww. That's really sweet. God, I remember when that was announced and the way all the American news outlets announced the crew had Canadians laughing. First woman, first person of colour and and first Canadian on the moon. One of those things is not like the others. Alfred finally gets to go "ha! not so high and mighty now!" when Matt's guts fail him in space the way Alfred's did on the water before he was a blue water navy. They have to keep so many psychiatry meds on the ISS just sedate him.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Tags

By Character

Aditya || brimful of the wine of truth

Alfred || o beautiful for spacious skies

Alasdair || my heart's in the highlands

Arthur || stone set in the silver sea

Brighid || An Bearna Bhaoil

Egill || Fár bregður hinu betra ef hann veit hið verra.

Eirian || into the nightlands

Erzse || In raptures I embrace

Francois || temperee par des chansons

Gilbert || from this baltic cannonball

Jack || a land of summer skies

Jan || God made Earth the Dutch made Holland

Katya || бо лишало на серці сліди

Kiku || these flowing islands

Leon || A wider view fills Heaven's glass

Ludwig || in deinem Herzchen klein

Magnus || climb the roots of Yggdrasil

Matthew || my country is winter

Maria || lo que viví lo estoy muriendo todavía

Rhys || my word for heaven was not yours

Sigurd || D'er klent Sted som stokk fyre Hamaren

Tolys ||

Yong Soo ||

Zee || ahakoa he iti he pounamu

By Relationship - Platonic

Alasdair and Matt || is mig amharc le dicheall

Alfred and Matt || lonely boys with the longest borders

Alfred and Rhys || Yn fy mhen a’i lond o freuddwydion

Alfred and Zee || freedom and fairness

Arthur and the children || bilge rat and his bouncing baby bilge rats

Britannia and her children || they made a desert and called it peace

Jack and Brighid || bound for Botany Bay

Jack and Zee || pieces of me across the Tasman sea

Jack Zee and Matt || battered bonds once so strong

Matthew and François || Quelques arpents de pièges

By Relationship - Romantic

Alasdair and Francois || an auld and abiding love

Alfred and Ludwig || our shooting stars were supersonic

Alfred and Tolys || with the awe of love realized

Maria and Alfred || De ilusión también se vive.

Maria and Matt || Al mal tiempo buena cara

Arthur and Gabriel || leagues of sincere affection

Arthur and Francois || our most dear enemy

Brighid and Romano || each our unlikely other half

Katya and Matt || the soil of our souls

Jan and Kiku || my favourite hello and hardest goodbye

Jan and Matt || the bells of liberation echo into eternity

Gilbert and Erzse || heart of iron beat for me

Gilbert and Arthur || heart of iron and heart of oak

By Topic

working pages

the great windmill debacle of 1994

the great incineration of 2023

Alfred and the stars || the first golden retriever in space

fairybait || baby alfred being chunky and cursed

Matt and Ferality || 80% uninhabited 100% uninhibited

meatsack mechanics || the sociology and biology of nations

Art History and Aesthetics || our eyes across the ages

WW1 || half the planet having daddy issues in a trench

archives || sing o muse the voices of the dead

By Type

the ask box || probis pateo

queued posts || Between the devil and the deep queue sea

the shitpost pile || forgive me my shitty sense of humour

my writing || cacoethes scribendi

research || sauntering through the stacks

Ideas || i should write this someday

ask box games || chaos coming soon to an inbox near you

moaning || personal/business posts

Character Sheets || bodies and flesh of borders and fences

[shadow294]

The NASA retriever in the stars and he is about to get a flash from a past he will never expect. I love how it starts with Alfred in space, the great unknown and mysterious that so long ago would have been the woods or the sea. The parallel ❤️

The Danegeld Axe

Part Two: Space

Part One: Here. Part Two: You are Here.

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson. This is as close to sci-fi as I've ever written and therefore not accurate to the ISS or other actual science because its time travel. Warnings for panic and some goreless action.

International Space Station 400 km above the surface of the Earth. 21st Century

“Careful up there, Jones.” The navigation officer’s voice echoed through the intercom, making Alfred look up, a domed helmet in his hand. He grinned.

“Don’t you worry yourself, darling,” He replied. “I’ve sat on some bison bigger than that panel.”

He could practically hear her eye roll. “Stay in communication and don’t pull another stunt like that backflip.”

“Aww, c’mon. Kids on the live stream went wild for it.”

“Try me, Jones. There won’t be a presidential order on earth that’ll get you back up here again.”

“Laaaaaame.”

The ISS floated serenely 400 kilometres above the earth. Alfred sailed from the equipment locker, pushing off until he reached the airlock. An old hand at this, it was almost as intuitive as horseback riding was when he was younger, but his heart sped up anyway. He clamped his helmet down and checked the comms.

“Eagle Scream, back to baseboys, over. Confirm baseboys.”

He could practically hear an eye roll from the command module. “Eagles don’t even scream. They get that sound from a hawk.”

“That should be a state secret.” Alfred grumbled. There was a whoosh as the airlock was sealed at the inner end. He opened the outer hatch, giving it one final pat for good luck. Hitching his tether, he grabbed the metal rails and took a moment. He never got sick of this part, the void of nothingness with the sheer expanse of the universe before him. The sun was at 40 degrees; the planet was just behind him.

Tossing a look over his shoulder, he could see the little green sweep of Nantucket at the edge of a grey nor’easter. He released one hand to get a better look. He was a handsome bugger from this angle, almost a thousand miles above the earth. He couldn’t quite reach his ass in the suit, but California looked good regardless. When he was done being vain, reverence swept him through the weightless silence. He leaned his helmeted head against his shoulder, watching his pale blue dot. He smiled: home sweet home.

“Move your ass, Jones.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He snapped out of his reverie, grinning in the helmet. After releasing the rails, he sailed gracefully up and behind until the Canadarm appeared. She was preloaded. All he had to do was line it up, fix some wiring and screw it in, and they were golden.

“Jones to command. Jones to command. Come in command. Need you to swing’er over nice and easy.”

The bright white arm twitched on its crane-like elbow joint, and its flexing attachment worked as steel fingers clamped on the panels and kept them in place as Alfred fastened them. It had better joints than Matt, only whirring softly instead of popping and creaking like organic bubble wrap. Alfred positioned himself near the panel that needed replacing, flexing his hands and cracking his knuckles before pulling out his wrench. The arm reached out, perhaps a bit too fast.

“Whoa, easy on the gears! My brother will shit bricks if we fuck up his baby.”

“Sorry.”

Alfred replaced the panels for an hour. The steady guidance of the Canadarm provided the stability he needed to make damn sure the solar panel was securely in place. He stopped, needing an adjustment as the command module chatted with Houston.

Alfred patted the arm and said, "You've got a better grip on that panel than Mattie does on his mental health." She was almost alive, the machinery warm, and she practically purred.

“Captain, we’ve got some funky radiation readings.”

“Almost done, just crank’er up .2 degrees and I can get this finished and come back in for some sweet tea.”

“Houston advises re-entry.”

So? They hadn’t ordered to retreat, and navigation wasn’t panicking. “I just need oh point two degrees and thirty seconds.”

“Noted.”

Canadarm moved a touch. “There you go.” He centred the panel and lined up the screws. He was the last one in when the alarm rang. Emergency lights flashed red and blue. Alfred had never heard them in action before and grew cold. Comms opened again. No. He breathed. He was not panicking.

“Captain, they’re ordering re-entry.”

“Retract the arm. On my way.”

Alfred gripped the rungs and swung his line out of the way. He pushed off hard and scrambled over the top of the rigid cylinder of the can-shaped module. It was dark here, away from his work lights and sliding across the expanse towards the hatch. He caught himself on the handle, keeping his movements controlled.

“Captain?”

“Almost there.”

“Radiations rising!”

Alfred glanced towards the sun, not looking at it. It was brighter now, with dark fire spots. The rings of light jumping up the Corona stretched and flexed like the hoops of the flexible baleen skirts he used to crawl under every now and then before Lemonade Lucy came along and put him on the straight and narrow.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me we were going to get solar flares?”

“The data didn’t show any!”

“Well, that just dills my pickle.” He muttered. He was almost at the hatch. It was brighter now, and he scrambled up the rungs, barely touching one before climbing the next. Alfred swung at the hatch.

Almost there, almost there. Why was he hot? He shouldn’t be hot. His fingers slipped inside his gloves, but he had the lever in his hand. The world fell black before he closed his fingers.

Incident Report Diplomatic Security Service Bureau of Diplomatic Security State Department

On [redacted] and at [redacted], the ISS and ground services at Carnaval facilities reported unusual radiation readings and advised the crew to return inside. See addendum one. Captain [redacted] was in contact with personnel until Captain [redacted]'s suit abruptly transmitted a distress beacon. A thorough search of the ISS was conducted, leading to the discovery of an empty spacesuit, with the helmet still attached. The inner flight suit, including the Snoopy cap and lining, was not recovered. It has been suggested that a replacement may have been made. However, the space suit contained four viable samples of [redacted]'s DNA, leaving no doubt that it belonged to [redacted]. See Addendum Two.

Two simultaneous investigations were conducted by a multidisciplinary team of experts from [redacted] and [redacted]. Interviews were conducted, telemetry data analyzed, and video footage reviewed. The spacesuit Captain [redacted] wore was intact, with no signs of damage or malfunction. Video footage and telemetry data did not reveal any abnormalities or anomalies, except as previously noted. Crew interviews did not provide any significant information regarding the incident. Pushback regarding these results has been seen overseas, significantly [redacted] and [redacted]. It is the recommendation of this body that our counterparts be updated as to the results of this investigation due to the international familial ties of the next of kin and the diplomatic pressure being leveraged.