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I had originally intended to go in more of a Starfleet direction for Day 9’s Octransfur prompt of “Space”. Things quickly took a turn towards The Martian once I got started writing though. Who doesn’t love a good mission log?
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Octransfur Day 9: Space
———
Mission Log: Day 382
“We’ve got some unfortunate news” is something you never want to hear from Mission Control. Particularly when you’ve been stuck orbiting the moon for over a year.
“We’ve been running the numbers, and we don’t think the replacement capsule-“ Technically it was the replacement for the replacement at this point, but who’s counting? “-is going to be ready for another four to five months.”
The commander had our mics on push-to-talk. No one hear me reflexively say, “Well shit.”
“We’ve got the food and fuel. This is just more lab time, right?” Our pilot glanced between us.
If you asked any astronaut what they wanted most in life, you’d get one of two answers: More time in space, or something for the record books. Preferably both. Hi, Specialist Ian McDonald at your service. I’m one of the three astronauts currently holding the record for longest duration of time spent outside of low Earth orbit. And no, jettisoning our return capsule into deep space due to a malfunctioning thruster was not our original plan.
“Shh!” Our commander hissed.
“So… We’d like you to start getting ready to begin the experimental long term space exposure therapy. Talk it over amongst the crew and let us know if you have any questions.” The radio crackled. “Mission Control out.”
“...has anyone ever done that in space before?” The Commander asked quietly.
“Uh- I’m a little fuzzy on this one.” The pilot shot me a worried look. “Remind me how experimental this is again?”
The commander sighed, “Long term exposure to radiation on or around the moon isn’t ideal. A year up here is supposed to be the limit.”
“So… Cancer prevention stuff?” He asked.
I cleared my throat. As the crew’s scientist, I should probably be the one breaking the news. “Partially. There’s a whole host of other problems. Bone density, muscle mass. Your inner ear starts to go a little nuts after a while.”
“So… More gym time?” Our pilot asked.
The commander rubbed the bridge of her nose. “No, we uh-“
“Mission Control wants to turn us into cats,” I said bluntly.
“What?” He stared.
“They always land on their feet! Their bones are better adapted for space, and the fur helps block some radiation.” I explained. “They ran tests dozens of lab animals, and for some reason cats are the most well suited for space. You… never saw the hybrids walking around Houston?”
“I assumed they were IT guys doing it as a fashion statement,” he gave me an incredulous look.
“Oh no, this stuff’s permanent.” I pulled out my medical supplies. “So choose wisely.”
———
Mission Log: Day 384
IV bag logistics were a lot more straightforward when they could just sort of float around beside you. All you had to do was tuck it somewhere near your person while some of the most crazy medical science NASA ever developed got to work completely overriding your DNA.
They had packed twice as many doses as we needed, so the crew got their pick of breed of cat. The commander got to go first, naturally. She went with a breed of house cat. Calicos have a nice fur pattern to them I suppose? It felt a little… plain?
Our flyboy picked a lion. King of the jungle and all that. His pick was more in line with what I was expecting. I had almost grabbed that one to be honest. If you’re going to be a cat for the rest of your life, you might as well go big, right?
Then again… those manes seem really unmanageable. Tiger seemed like the obvious alternative, but did I want to be the obvious choice?
I spent the rest of the day waffling back and forth. I had black hair, maybe a panther would be nice? Did I want all those big fierce instincts? Maybe I should join the commander with a more tame breed. Would an ocelot be a nice in-between?
I tried to picture what sort of cat I’d like to be on Earth. Eventually I settled for the cheetah IV bag. I enjoyed jogging in the morning. Hopefully I’d still like running once I had a coat of fur.
———
Mission Log: Day 385
Did you know cheetahs have spotted skin? I do now! I woke up today looking like I caught the mother of all chickenpox cases. Would leopard rosettes have looked any better? Hmm...
———
Mission Log: Day 387
Our hair’s completely shifted over. Our pilot’s not regretting his choice just yet. Hopefully we packed enough razors. The commander’s tri-color look suits her bob surprisingly well.
I’ve already got the nickname Spots.
———
Mission Log: Day 391
We really should have staggered this by a couple of days. All our tails came in at the same time. I’ve got King and Kat knocked out cold with some serious sleeping medication while our spines adjust and our heads rewires themselves for our new appendages. Someone’s got to stay awake to make sure the space station stays in orbit though. I’m just trying not to think about it.
This log isn’t helping. Time to go back to counting my spots.
———
Mission Log: Day 392 (Voice Entry)
Mother couch heir! Paws are like a million times worse! My fingernails are doing all sorts of weird shit! I can literally feel claws popping in and out of my fingertips! Paw pads are growing in too and this feels super weird. Mission Control is on a conference call to discuss whether or not I can take the ambien I decided to swallow 20 minutes ago. They can deal with no one being conscious for the next ten hours or so.
Nyao, did I just say that out loud? Computer, how do I delete voice log entries? End recording!
———
Mission Log: Day 393
Mission Control is mad at me despite agreeing with all my decisions. The commander’s awake now which means I don’t have to be conscious while my muzzle comes in! Score!
———
Mission Log: Day 394
I think the majority of our changes are over? We’re sending back some notes on potential new toothbrush designs. Other than that it’s back to experiments as usual.
———
Mission Log: Day 399
Did I not mention our fur coats came in fully? We finally got permission from Mission Control to adjust the internal thermostat.
———
Mission Log: Day 442
Resupply day! They can’t rush a manned capsule up, but giving us a fresh load of rations wasn’t a problem. CapCom gave a hearty laugh when we asked if they could send more tuna packets up. They did have a bit of an odd request of their own.
They wanted some DNA samples. We just needed to swab a few spots up our muzzles, but we didn’t tell King that at first. We got to spend the better part of the day chasing him across the modules with a pair threatening looking tweezers. He’s become really proud of his mane these last few weeks.
We sent the resupply capsule on its way and got back to work. Me-ow, this sort of logistical hiccup isn’t going to be a one off thing once the moon starts getting properly colonized. I stared out the window for a bit and imagined a permanent colony of cat-people roving the lunar surface. That wouldn’t be the worst career prospect.
———
Mission Log: Day 521
Today’s the day! Our shiny new third-times-the-charm capsule arrived all safe and sound. Cats alive, if I ever come back to space, I’m doing it on a government designed ship. The seats in these private sector ones are nice, but the quality’s a little hair raising. Fur raising? I’ve been trying to update my lexicon these last few months.
Thankfully our space suits are all government issue. They knew we might be coming back to Earth a bit less human then we left, and our new tails were mercifully already accounted for.
Pressing the seal at the base of our suit’s pants was a hoot. A spring loaded hose for our tails shot out. Mine fit like a charm, but King complained about it scuffing up his tassel. The helmets were unfortunately a bit less accommodating for everyone. All our muzzles bumped up against the glass, and the less said about our ears the better.
It feels a little odd to be leaving Lunar One. This station has been our home for the last year and a half. It’s eventually going to be the jumping off point for all sorts of exploration on the moon. We weren’t even her first crew. We’re the third of many more lunar expeditions to come. You try not to get too sentimental about your time aboard a shared station like this, but we couldn’t help ourselves. Before departing, we found a small piece of canvas padding in one of the hallways and scratched in, “LX III” in with our claws. We may have just been up here to install a new generator module, but something tells me we’re going to have at least a paragraph or two on the Lunar One Wikipedia page.
———
Mission Log: Day 531
“Do you think they’ll use our old press photos when we get back, or will PR want to get some new pictures taken ASAP?” Kat finally broke the silence.
Every system had been checked. Our entry corridor looked good. There was nothing left to do but let gravity and the automated systems do their thing. The commander had a bit of an odd style to moments like these. She tried not to dwell on the fact that a fancy piece of metal was about to be the only thing protecting us from the heat of re-entry.
“Me-ow, gentlecats, it’s been an privilege flying with you.” There was King right on cue with the more serious note.
“Tom Hanks, right?” Kat shot back.
“…I think I was trying to channel Jim Lovell more than the actor.” King laughed.
“Come on, we’re heading back home a little scruffy, but this trip’s hardly been a disaster.” Kat purred.
I just sat back in my acceleration couch and started humming softly. Everyone had their re-entry thing. I somehow always had a song get stuck in my head. The two stopped bickering as I got to the chorus. I couldn’t help but wag as they joined in.
“Don’t get lost in heaven,” “Nya!” “They got locks on the gate.” “Hey!” “Don’t go over the edge-“
And then our world was surrounded by fire.
———
October 9th, 2142
It was odd being under the influence of gravity after our long absence. Our doctors poked, prodded, and gave our tails a good yank before clearing us for some R&R. The press corps of course wanted to get a word in first. The NASA PR rep had mercifully brought someone with him who knew how to make spacesuit-matted fur look presentable enough.
And… That was it. We were back on Earth. As a trio of cats. We were a little listless. What were we supposed to do now exactly?
“Well, we do have the most experience on Lunar One, and bodies resilient enough for long stay in space.” Kat wagged her tail pensively. “Want to go to the moon? I’m sure they could make better helmets for us the second time around.”
“Not until we’re building our own capsules again,” I laughed. “Nah, right now… I kind of just want to run.”
King’s tassel flickered back and forth, “I think I know a nice empty hallway.”
I made a mental note to ask our pilot how an astronaut ended up wandering around this random sub-basement. True to his word though, there was a nice few hundred yards stretched out in front of me. I bounced on my paws a bit.
“Alright… Here goes nothing.” I took a deep breath and started sprinting down the hall.
There was always some adjustment when getting back on Earth. You had to remind yourself that pens weren’t just going to hover nearby if you dropped them. This was something else entirely. My body moved with an effortless grace as a strode through the building.
I could feel my tail flicker to keep my balance. My paws only needed a fraction of a moment to gain traction and push off again. At some point I reflexively dropped onto all fours and started a proper sprint down the hall. It was exhilarating. I still don’t know if I can put into words how nice it felt. Before I could think about it for too long, my newfound speed brought me to the end of the building.
I ran muzzle first straight into a wall. Not a nice collapsible piece of drywall either. A real sturdy exterior wall.
Kat and King ran over to check up on me. I was already back up on my feet. Whatever black eye or bruised nose I had was in the back of my mind. I wanted to do that again!
“That was incredible!” I meowed loudly. “We’ve gotta get me to a real track!”
“Holy shit Spots are you okay!?!” King scooped me up off the ground. I had forgotten how much bigger the lion was than me now that we could stand head-to-shoulder.
He carried me back off to the elevator. I mewed something about being fine, but crew mates knew look how for each other. Back to the doctors it was.
The three of us rode back up the elevator and resumed our normal banter. I didn’t know what my future would hold at the moment. All I knew was that I had picked the right cat.
<- Previous | Next ->
Octransfur Day 9: Space
———
Mission Log: Day 382
“We’ve got some unfortunate news” is something you never want to hear from Mission Control. Particularly when you’ve been stuck orbiting the moon for over a year.
“We’ve been running the numbers, and we don’t think the replacement capsule-“ Technically it was the replacement for the replacement at this point, but who’s counting? “-is going to be ready for another four to five months.”
The commander had our mics on push-to-talk. No one hear me reflexively say, “Well shit.”
“We’ve got the food and fuel. This is just more lab time, right?” Our pilot glanced between us.
If you asked any astronaut what they wanted most in life, you’d get one of two answers: More time in space, or something for the record books. Preferably both. Hi, Specialist Ian McDonald at your service. I’m one of the three astronauts currently holding the record for longest duration of time spent outside of low Earth orbit. And no, jettisoning our return capsule into deep space due to a malfunctioning thruster was not our original plan.
“Shh!” Our commander hissed.
“So… We’d like you to start getting ready to begin the experimental long term space exposure therapy. Talk it over amongst the crew and let us know if you have any questions.” The radio crackled. “Mission Control out.”
“...has anyone ever done that in space before?” The Commander asked quietly.
“Uh- I’m a little fuzzy on this one.” The pilot shot me a worried look. “Remind me how experimental this is again?”
The commander sighed, “Long term exposure to radiation on or around the moon isn’t ideal. A year up here is supposed to be the limit.”
“So… Cancer prevention stuff?” He asked.
I cleared my throat. As the crew’s scientist, I should probably be the one breaking the news. “Partially. There’s a whole host of other problems. Bone density, muscle mass. Your inner ear starts to go a little nuts after a while.”
“So… More gym time?” Our pilot asked.
The commander rubbed the bridge of her nose. “No, we uh-“
“Mission Control wants to turn us into cats,” I said bluntly.
“What?” He stared.
“They always land on their feet! Their bones are better adapted for space, and the fur helps block some radiation.” I explained. “They ran tests dozens of lab animals, and for some reason cats are the most well suited for space. You… never saw the hybrids walking around Houston?”
“I assumed they were IT guys doing it as a fashion statement,” he gave me an incredulous look.
“Oh no, this stuff’s permanent.” I pulled out my medical supplies. “So choose wisely.”
———
Mission Log: Day 384
IV bag logistics were a lot more straightforward when they could just sort of float around beside you. All you had to do was tuck it somewhere near your person while some of the most crazy medical science NASA ever developed got to work completely overriding your DNA.
They had packed twice as many doses as we needed, so the crew got their pick of breed of cat. The commander got to go first, naturally. She went with a breed of house cat. Calicos have a nice fur pattern to them I suppose? It felt a little… plain?
Our flyboy picked a lion. King of the jungle and all that. His pick was more in line with what I was expecting. I had almost grabbed that one to be honest. If you’re going to be a cat for the rest of your life, you might as well go big, right?
Then again… those manes seem really unmanageable. Tiger seemed like the obvious alternative, but did I want to be the obvious choice?
I spent the rest of the day waffling back and forth. I had black hair, maybe a panther would be nice? Did I want all those big fierce instincts? Maybe I should join the commander with a more tame breed. Would an ocelot be a nice in-between?
I tried to picture what sort of cat I’d like to be on Earth. Eventually I settled for the cheetah IV bag. I enjoyed jogging in the morning. Hopefully I’d still like running once I had a coat of fur.
———
Mission Log: Day 385
Did you know cheetahs have spotted skin? I do now! I woke up today looking like I caught the mother of all chickenpox cases. Would leopard rosettes have looked any better? Hmm...
———
Mission Log: Day 387
Our hair’s completely shifted over. Our pilot’s not regretting his choice just yet. Hopefully we packed enough razors. The commander’s tri-color look suits her bob surprisingly well.
I’ve already got the nickname Spots.
———
Mission Log: Day 391
We really should have staggered this by a couple of days. All our tails came in at the same time. I’ve got King and Kat knocked out cold with some serious sleeping medication while our spines adjust and our heads rewires themselves for our new appendages. Someone’s got to stay awake to make sure the space station stays in orbit though. I’m just trying not to think about it.
This log isn’t helping. Time to go back to counting my spots.
———
Mission Log: Day 392 (Voice Entry)
Mother couch heir! Paws are like a million times worse! My fingernails are doing all sorts of weird shit! I can literally feel claws popping in and out of my fingertips! Paw pads are growing in too and this feels super weird. Mission Control is on a conference call to discuss whether or not I can take the ambien I decided to swallow 20 minutes ago. They can deal with no one being conscious for the next ten hours or so.
Nyao, did I just say that out loud? Computer, how do I delete voice log entries? End recording!
———
Mission Log: Day 393
Mission Control is mad at me despite agreeing with all my decisions. The commander’s awake now which means I don’t have to be conscious while my muzzle comes in! Score!
———
Mission Log: Day 394
I think the majority of our changes are over? We’re sending back some notes on potential new toothbrush designs. Other than that it’s back to experiments as usual.
———
Mission Log: Day 399
Did I not mention our fur coats came in fully? We finally got permission from Mission Control to adjust the internal thermostat.
———
Mission Log: Day 442
Resupply day! They can’t rush a manned capsule up, but giving us a fresh load of rations wasn’t a problem. CapCom gave a hearty laugh when we asked if they could send more tuna packets up. They did have a bit of an odd request of their own.
They wanted some DNA samples. We just needed to swab a few spots up our muzzles, but we didn’t tell King that at first. We got to spend the better part of the day chasing him across the modules with a pair threatening looking tweezers. He’s become really proud of his mane these last few weeks.
We sent the resupply capsule on its way and got back to work. Me-ow, this sort of logistical hiccup isn’t going to be a one off thing once the moon starts getting properly colonized. I stared out the window for a bit and imagined a permanent colony of cat-people roving the lunar surface. That wouldn’t be the worst career prospect.
———
Mission Log: Day 521
Today’s the day! Our shiny new third-times-the-charm capsule arrived all safe and sound. Cats alive, if I ever come back to space, I’m doing it on a government designed ship. The seats in these private sector ones are nice, but the quality’s a little hair raising. Fur raising? I’ve been trying to update my lexicon these last few months.
Thankfully our space suits are all government issue. They knew we might be coming back to Earth a bit less human then we left, and our new tails were mercifully already accounted for.
Pressing the seal at the base of our suit’s pants was a hoot. A spring loaded hose for our tails shot out. Mine fit like a charm, but King complained about it scuffing up his tassel. The helmets were unfortunately a bit less accommodating for everyone. All our muzzles bumped up against the glass, and the less said about our ears the better.
It feels a little odd to be leaving Lunar One. This station has been our home for the last year and a half. It’s eventually going to be the jumping off point for all sorts of exploration on the moon. We weren’t even her first crew. We’re the third of many more lunar expeditions to come. You try not to get too sentimental about your time aboard a shared station like this, but we couldn’t help ourselves. Before departing, we found a small piece of canvas padding in one of the hallways and scratched in, “LX III” in with our claws. We may have just been up here to install a new generator module, but something tells me we’re going to have at least a paragraph or two on the Lunar One Wikipedia page.
———
Mission Log: Day 531
“Do you think they’ll use our old press photos when we get back, or will PR want to get some new pictures taken ASAP?” Kat finally broke the silence.
Every system had been checked. Our entry corridor looked good. There was nothing left to do but let gravity and the automated systems do their thing. The commander had a bit of an odd style to moments like these. She tried not to dwell on the fact that a fancy piece of metal was about to be the only thing protecting us from the heat of re-entry.
“Me-ow, gentlecats, it’s been an privilege flying with you.” There was King right on cue with the more serious note.
“Tom Hanks, right?” Kat shot back.
“…I think I was trying to channel Jim Lovell more than the actor.” King laughed.
“Come on, we’re heading back home a little scruffy, but this trip’s hardly been a disaster.” Kat purred.
I just sat back in my acceleration couch and started humming softly. Everyone had their re-entry thing. I somehow always had a song get stuck in my head. The two stopped bickering as I got to the chorus. I couldn’t help but wag as they joined in.
“Don’t get lost in heaven,” “Nya!” “They got locks on the gate.” “Hey!” “Don’t go over the edge-“
And then our world was surrounded by fire.
———
October 9th, 2142
It was odd being under the influence of gravity after our long absence. Our doctors poked, prodded, and gave our tails a good yank before clearing us for some R&R. The press corps of course wanted to get a word in first. The NASA PR rep had mercifully brought someone with him who knew how to make spacesuit-matted fur look presentable enough.
And… That was it. We were back on Earth. As a trio of cats. We were a little listless. What were we supposed to do now exactly?
“Well, we do have the most experience on Lunar One, and bodies resilient enough for long stay in space.” Kat wagged her tail pensively. “Want to go to the moon? I’m sure they could make better helmets for us the second time around.”
“Not until we’re building our own capsules again,” I laughed. “Nah, right now… I kind of just want to run.”
King’s tassel flickered back and forth, “I think I know a nice empty hallway.”
I made a mental note to ask our pilot how an astronaut ended up wandering around this random sub-basement. True to his word though, there was a nice few hundred yards stretched out in front of me. I bounced on my paws a bit.
“Alright… Here goes nothing.” I took a deep breath and started sprinting down the hall.
There was always some adjustment when getting back on Earth. You had to remind yourself that pens weren’t just going to hover nearby if you dropped them. This was something else entirely. My body moved with an effortless grace as a strode through the building.
I could feel my tail flicker to keep my balance. My paws only needed a fraction of a moment to gain traction and push off again. At some point I reflexively dropped onto all fours and started a proper sprint down the hall. It was exhilarating. I still don’t know if I can put into words how nice it felt. Before I could think about it for too long, my newfound speed brought me to the end of the building.
I ran muzzle first straight into a wall. Not a nice collapsible piece of drywall either. A real sturdy exterior wall.
Kat and King ran over to check up on me. I was already back up on my feet. Whatever black eye or bruised nose I had was in the back of my mind. I wanted to do that again!
“That was incredible!” I meowed loudly. “We’ve gotta get me to a real track!”
“Holy shit Spots are you okay!?!” King scooped me up off the ground. I had forgotten how much bigger the lion was than me now that we could stand head-to-shoulder.
He carried me back off to the elevator. I mewed something about being fine, but crew mates knew look how for each other. Back to the doctors it was.
The three of us rode back up the elevator and resumed our normal banter. I didn’t know what my future would hold at the moment. All I knew was that I had picked the right cat.
Category Story / Transformation
Species Cheetah
Size 120 x 120px
File Size 50.6 kB
Comments