The Orbit of Mercury: Two Stories

By Jared Millet

The Earth is a toxic wasteland, but elsewhere in the solar system humanity struggles on.

“The Orbit of Mercury” – The common cat is almost extinct and their survival may hinge on one sickly member of the species living long enough to breed. But how do you get an ornery, uncooperative feline to take his medicine – in zero g?

“The Transit of Venus” – Growing up on the moon, a young girl named Venera has lived her whole life in the shadow of the loss of her family. She copes by starting a punk band, but on the eve of her proudest accomplishment, will she suffer a tragedy even she can't endure?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jared Millet
• Release date: Apr 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463460900

Jared Millet

Jared Millet spent over twenty years as a librarian before leaving the public sector to write full time. His work has appeared in multiple magazines and anthologies, with even more stories to come. His travel writing, including tales of ten months circumnavigating South America, can be found online at TheEscapeHatch.net.

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The Orbit of Mercury

Two Stories by Jared Millet

The Orbit of Mercury

and

The Transit of Venus

© 2012 Jared Millet

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be copied, reproduced, or transmitted in any form without express written consent except in the case of brief excerpts used for review purposes.

This is a work of fiction. All persons, locales, organizations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.

The Orbit of Mercury

I was eating lunch in the centrifuge when the captain called my name over the intercom.

Mackie!

Captain Leahy didn’t just say it. That would have meant that the ship’s neuroweb was fritzed up, or that our A.I. was threatening to fire all the thrusters just to see what would happen.

No, Helen sang my name. "Maaaackie. That could only mean one thing: Come and get him." I snarled at the com panel and shoved my plate in the cleaner, then climbed to the spin core and kicked my way to the bridge.

The control hub of Ayers Rock was a honeycomb nightmare of holographic monitors and gee-hammocks. Helen’s husband, Jack, had added to the clutter by pulling out the navigation processor for a tune-up before our arrival at Titan. The block of half sentient crystal hung in the air, connected to a hole in the bulkhead by a dozen snaking cables.

Where is he? I tried not to sound bitter. Helen grinned and pointed at the hole. The processor well was half a meter wide and twice as deep. I shone my light inside and a pair of luminous eyes glared back.

Great. A series of thumps answered as the little bastard thwacked his tail against the inner hull. I didn’t think he could do any damage, but I’d send a crawler down later to make sure. The thumping meant something else – he wasn’t going to make this easy.

I clamped the flashlight in the crook of my shoulder and reached into the processor slot. I let our resident space-vermin sniff my fingers, then snatched at the scruff of his neck. I wasn’t fast enough and tiny razors slashed the back of my hand.

I didn’t cry out; I’d learned not to give him the satisfaction. His message was clear. You want me? Come and get me.

I darted my hand down the hole again. Each feint was answered with a swipe, but I didn’t let him score any more hits. The thumping sped up. He was having fun. I grabbed again, this time throwing my shoulder into it. I caught fur and squeezed, and there followed a shriek like scraping glass as my nemesis dug his nails into the neurocrystal walls of his hiding place. I’d have to paint them with repair gel before Helen reset the processor, but at that moment all that mattered was getting that stupid cat out of the ship’s brain.

He erupted from the well and landed feet first on the communication console. Thank God we’d installed cat-proofing software, or every outpost in Saturn’s orbit would have received a transmission reading {p.ol,pl {ksfstd sfdd;lc. Again.

Move it! Get! Scat! Shoo! Claws clicked on monitor glass as the little monster flew like a furry, silver ramjet for the exit. I yanked on a hammock to throw myself in his direction. Back to the ‘fuge, cat. Now.

He didn’t listen. We raced to the spin core, where he bounced off the walls just out of my reach until the hatch on the far end opened. Jennifer, my wife, floated through, letting my quarry dart around her into the cargo bay.

Damn it, I shouted.

Mercury was gone.

~

We had four cats on Ayers Rock. Haulers like ours used to not carry pets at all, but a bunch of us turned our ships into traveling menageries in the years after Earth died. The crew of the Truffle refitted one of their cargo bays into an aviary. Mona Lisa kept a kennel and traded beagle puppies to the outer stations. None of us had facilities to match the Species Preservation