SpacemanBlues

Old Man Jake was a loner.

He'd be the first to admit it to anyone; he certainly wasn't ashamed of the fact. During
his long, not wholly satisfying existence, he had done most things and visited most
places, so at no time did he feel he was missing out on anything. No, he much
preferred his own company to that of anyone else.

His own company and that of his guitar, of course.

As he stared at the front viewing screen, watching the stars float their way to the edge
and finally disappear, he thought of an old saying. It went: "Money can't buy you love
..." Or was it friends? Whichever it was, he had both; he loved his guitar, and it was
his best friend.

Coming out of his reverie, he refocused on the screen. One planet in the centre
loomed much larger than the rest. He was nearing his goal.

Jake sighed.

He was enjoying his time on the SEEKER 2 spacecraft; the whole of the machinery
and gleaming control panels were fully automatic, except for the communications, so it
gave him plenty of time to indulge himself in his favourite pastime. If truth be known,
he dreaded reaching his destination, because it would mean exploration for life-forms,
and the collection of rock samples.

How boring!

And this was apart from the fact that he would have to leave his beloved behind in the
ship.

Reaching down, he once again lifted the Gibson on to his lap. He handled it with
tender loving care. The highly-polished underside of the body caught the artificial light,
and he was drawn to study himself in the only reflective surface on board the ship.

His long, grey hair fell around his shoulders, and his beard needed trimming. However,
his bright eyes of hazel still gleamed full of life. He remained a fit and healthy man,
despite his ripe old age. Not in too bad nick, he thought. Especially for an antique, he
added dryly. Old antiques alike, and he gave the Gibson a friendly pat. He delved into
a back pocket and used the battered-looking comb which emerged to begin tidying his
tatty grey hair. He preferred to keep a favourable appearance, even though nobody
was around to criticise.

Thought along the line of his age and health brought him to wonder why "The powers
that be" had chosen Jake for this mission. He didn't have to wonder for too long,
though.

Jake had no relatives and no-one he could call friend, and the fact that the mission was
potentially dangerous almost to the point of being suicidal, made Jake an obvious
choice. Of course, he had had to volunteer, but seclusion was all he craved of life.
Plus the fact that this was one of the few things he had missed out on in his life. He
was loving it out here in the middle of nowhere; it was so tranquil, serene. The Anglo-
American authorities who ran the project deemed training and a thorough examination
necessary, so he had reluctantly conceded and decided to accept their plans, hating
every minute of human company and every minute he was deprived contact with his
guitar.

A young planet had been discovered. It had entered a steady orbit around Saturn, so,
strictly speaking it was merely a large natural satellite. Scientists had been tracking its
progress through space, via sophisticated telescopic equipment, for some years.
However, as it had come from the opposite direction to the sun, its prospective
compatibility with man had always been in question. The new arrival had been given
the straightforward label of XIII. Apart from the approximate dimensions, the
authorities knew next to nothing about it. They craved to know more.

Earth was in big trouble these days with the gigantic population explosion. More room
was needed, but none of the known planets in the system were compatible with man.
They needed some eccentric old fool to man their SEEKER 2 spacecraft, and bring
back any information he could get to Earth. Either that, or radio back the information
to them. This was especially important to them as, if there were the slightest chance it
could be colonized, this data could be vital to the welfare of mankind itself.

They would have sent out an unmanned vessel - the machinery was virtually all
automatic after all - but the original SEEKER they had lost contact with two years
previously. Automatic systems malfunction had been attributed the blame, so to send
along Old Man Jake, with the bare minimum knowledge necessary, would hopefully
alleviate the problem should it arise again.

Jake was old, but he certainly was not senile; he realized why they had chosen him. It
basically came down to him being expendable. He didn't mind though; it was an
experience, and it was alternative scenery. But much more than that, it was lonely. Just
the way he liked it.

The old man looked at the communicator, and smiled to himself. It was switched off.
He decided to postpone his update report until later on. Much later on. Right now he
didn't want to interrupt the peace and scenic beauty of the moment.

Much later, the SEEKER 2 entered the atmosphere and finally touched down. Luckily
enough, the ship managed to cope alone, which suited Jake just fine. Apart from a
bruised leg, from a heavier landing than he would have liked, all went according to
plan.

But this was the point that Jake was dreading. In the corner, seeming to stand of its
own accord, was his environmental spacesuit. How he hated the thing! It was
extremely heavy, hot inside and very slow to move in. He ate a lunch of plastic-tasting
food - because there was nothing else - whilst staring intently at the suit, as if daring a
gaping hole to suddenly appear in the fabric and thereby save him a task. Finally he
made the decision to step out straight away, to get it over with.

He glanced at a control panel, which informed him of the basic elements; in short,
oxygen deficient. The gravity was minutely heavier than that on Earth, but not enough
to notice a great deal of difference. He checked that the information was being
recorded as well as displayed.

A quick look at the front viewing screen produced a bored sigh. After donning his
suit, he grabbed a small pure oxygen canister, released the pressurized door and
forced it open.

Then he stepped outside.

Jake found it difficult to stifle a yawn; the landscape was not exactly what he would
call impressive.

As far as the eye could see stretched a flat gravel-sand surface. At irregular intervals,
variable-sized rocks lay gnarled and twisted, as if once unimaginable monsters that had
long since been turned to stone. His suit analyser registered an inhospitable climate,
but the barren landscape, with the sand and well-spaced rocks, presented all the
makings of a desert. For confirmation he started to carefully remove a heavily-
protective glove. The moment he released the pressure from one of the two separate
wrist sections of his suit, the icy air assaulted his hand, rendering it completely numb.
Hastily, the section was secured again, and gradually the feeling returned to his fingers.
Why had he felt a need to substantiate the suit's verdict? He was thankful for the
awkward and heavy but warm and protective environment of the spacesuit. A desert
does not necessarily mean hot sands, he realized.

Heading in a random direction he walked two kilometres until, when the scenery
remained unchanged, he was forced to return to the ship before he lost his bearings.
He sat down long enough to catch his breath with the aid of the pure oxygen. It
crossed his mind to climb straight back in to the SEEKER 2 and blast off again for
Earth - at least he would have a lengthy time in which to play his guitar on the return
journey - but he knew that the Anglo-American authorities would be absolutely livid if
he omitted checking in the other directions.

He stood, facing another way, and squinted into the distance.

Nothing.

Another direction.

Nothing.

Yet other direction.

Noth ...

Something caught Jake's eye. Far in the distance, a minute shape, completely
unrecognizable, set his heart racing. Another rock? Somehow he didn't think so.

He set off at a slow pace, which gradually quickened in excitement despite his
exhaustion. The shape grew steadily larger. The resemblance to an Earth tree shocked
him, but he knew he must be mistaken as a tree would have not the slightest chance of
survival in this atmosphere.

As he neared the object though, he had to stop in his tracks and stare, open-mouthed.

It was a tree!

Not one but many trees stood together, as if jostling for position for the best attention.
Jake closed his eyes tight. Perhaps it's one of those desert mirages, even though it's far
from being hot, he guessed. But on opening his eyes again, he found the mirage
remained. This was madness!

What was keeping them alive?

Hardly even daring to believe his luck, he rushed through the nearest clump of trees to
see what was beyond.

A lush field lay open and free. A field of corn backed on to it, alive with huge and ripe
corn-on-the-cob. There was nothing to indicate how it had come to be there. Adjacent
to the two fields, water ran fresh and clean from high, moss-covered rocks into several
small streamlets. Looking back at the trees, he noticed for the first time the abundance
in variety of fruits growing from them. Almost every type that Jake could remember
lined the various trees and bushes.

The suit analyser immediately bleeped its assurance of a breathable atmosphere. Jake
carefully removed his helmet. He took a small gulp of the surrounding gases and then,
when he found it to be perfectly safe, took in a couple of lungs full. The old man
jumped for joy. He clapped his hands, and danced round in tight circles. Then he
laughed aloud, although there was nobody to hear him.

Past the two fields he walked, and further still. Suddenly he was breathless; in fact he
was straining for air. But there was none. He backtracked a few steps before he found
he could breath again.

This was strange!

Jake peered through this other clump of trees, to be confronted with the boring and
barren land he had known prior to encountering this veritable paradise. He groaned.
Still, even if this Eden is only approximately a kilometre square, it was suitably
adequate for him.

Adequate? He couldn't have wished for better had he tried.

Where did the water come from? How did things grow within the square kilometre,
when nothing grew outside? Why was the air fresh? Why did the sun shine warm and
the sky appear blue, when nothing stirred outside?

Jake knew the answers to none of these questions, but discovered that it didn't bother
him in the least. The truth was they were there. That was good enough for him.
Perhaps it was an artificially created environment; if that was true, it certainly wasn't of
human construction. They didn't possess the technology, otherwise they would have
long since utilized the concept on the many incompatible planets in the system. Maybe
an alien race had constructed their own Eden, only to be confronted by the realization
that their creation had commenced contracting in on itself until it could no longer
contain the populace, and they were obliged to transport to a new location. Jake could
only surmise the reasons for its presence.

Feeling excited and young again, Jake hurried to fetch his things from the spacecraft,
nearly forgetting, in his haste, to don the helmet again. He rummaged around in every
corner of the cabin, until he finally emerged struggling under a heavy and awkward
burden of supplies. The bundle included clothes, tools, and even the plastic-tasting
food which he sincerely hoped he would never have the need to taste again.

The nearest tree of the oasis grew almost imperceptibly larger as he staggered on.
When he reached the green field he dumped the supplies. He paused only
momentarily, to recover from his exertion in bearing the suit as well as the supplies,
before rushing back to collect his guitar and amplifier. He took one last look at the
SEEKER 2, kicked the hull and walked away.

Jake sat on a low, flat-topped rock, tuning his guitar. His guitar and power-pack
battery amplifier could have made him rich beyond all dreams; especially the 1955
Gibson Les Paul Junior electric guitar. It was now sixty years old, a museum piece.
But Jake had no wish to become rich. There was no duplicating the genuine Gibson
sound. No, he would rather enjoy the sounds he created when he played.

He plugged the jack-lead into the small Marshall amplifier and plucked a couple of
strings experimentally.

Something didn't sound right.

Fingers twiddled with controls before Jake realized that it was the fault of the power-
pack. It had been charged up quite a while before the start of the mission, and he had
been en route for some time.

What would he do now?

Of course, he could drain some from the spacecraft, but that would surely leave it
under-powered; these modern batteries could hold a phenomenal charge. The only
other alternative would be to drain a small amount. How long would that last for
though, before he had to return for more?

Irritable and undecided, he once again donned his suit and helmet to return to the ship.
When he arrived he stood outside for a long time, thinking.

This world is obviously unsuitable for colonization by Earth; it would be ridiculous
even trying. How many people could live in a space one kilometre square, before it
became over-populated and they were faced with an identical problem? Besides,
without knowing it, this is what Jake had been looking for most of his life; he wasn't
about to let Earth's minions come and take it away from him.

Perhaps he should attempt a last communication with them, he thought. He frowned. If
he spoke to them now, what would he say? "Hello Earth. Just to let you know I won't
be coming back. I've found a lovely home for myself here." No, he would be handing
his paradise over to them on a plate. This world is large enough for only two, he
decided: myself and my guitar.

Jake decided, after some serious thinking, that it would be better for him if he did not
communicate at all. If the Earth authorities heard nothing from him, they would
naturally assume that trouble had befallen the SEEKER 2, and, because the original
SEEKER had been lost without a trace, they would most likely have to list the planet
as perilous, unfit for human use. Even if they did decide to send a third ship, it would
take them, maybe, a couple of years to design and build it, and even longer to get it
here. Jake wasn't a young man anymore; he merely wanted to live out his remaining
years in peace and tranquillity, interrupted only by the singing of his best friend.

The battery power-pack for his amplifier could hold a substantial charge; what Jake
had to think seriously about was whether he would later need that charge in relation to
the spacecraft. He knew that if he drained what would only be a small fraction of the
ship's power resources, the chances were he would never, if fate demanded, get it off
the ground.

It wasn't a difficult decision, really.

He had all he required in life: air, food, water, warmth and his Gibson. If, somehow, he
lived long enough for the initial charge to run down, then he had plenty more in
reserve. On reflection, Jake wondered if there really was sufficient power remaining in
the rocket boosters to lift it from the ground; after all, the authorities had selected an
old man for the mission, and they probably didn't expect to see him back on Earth. Of
course, they had neglected to inform Jake of the fact. No wonder they had stressed
the importance of Jake keeping in communications contact with them. He realized now
just how expendable to them he was. But, not surprisingly, the revelation mattered little
to him now.

The power-pack emerged and Jake went through the relatively simple process of
tapping a small percentage of the power from the SEEKER 2. When that was
complete, Jake picked up the amplifier and, collecting the remaining couple of oxygen
canisters should he need to make the return journey, struggled back to paradise. Even
though he had come across no other life-forms, he was beginning to get anxious about
the safety of his guitar.

It was safe and sound where he had left it.

Jake was the happiest man in the world - er, galaxy. He had made his final decision
and knew he would not regret it. Really, there was no contest.

He feasted on various fruits from the many trees and drank fresh, running water from
one of the streamlets. Thus, having satisfied his stomach, he returned to the guitar to
take up where he had left off. He lifted the highly-polished Gibson on to his lap while
he shoved the jack into the amplifier. Boney, almost skeletal, fingers picked out
incidental lines over the pick ups.

Blues.

Old Man Jake liked playing the blues most of all; there was so much you could do
with them. He began with a slow blues in E, and then gradually moved up-tempo,
changing the key regularly as he did so.

The sound which emanated from the Marshall was exquisite. They can keep all this so
called modern music, he thought. He wouldn't trade in his Gibson for all the latest
computer assisted technology in the world. In fact, he wasn't all that sure it could be
classed as music. The electronic chips and memories seemed to do all the work. It
was mostly preprogrammed and played back for live purposes. But was this really
live? The computer music needed no skill to be played, except, maybe, the original
programming. There was no feeling in that kind of music, either; Jake liked to feel the
emotion behind every note he played.

And now he did, as he played some of the immortal guitar work of Muddy Waters
(the creator of electricity!), Peter Green, and B.B.King. Jake really admired B.B. He
had played actively to a ripe old age before dying doing what he enjoyed most in life.

Jake had just moved on to the mostly up-tempo blues feel of Led Zeppelin, when ...

Thud!

The old man gasped in disbelief as he looked down at the guitar. The body had
slipped from his knee, striking the ground heavily, and producing a protesting
resonance which emanated from the amplifier. But the body was sturdy and suffered
little damage. However, the fret board swung down and struck the edge of the rock
upon which he sat, causing irreparable damage. The guitar was old and fragile, and the
knock had opened a lengthy crack. Under normal circumstances Jake would not have
worried unduly - for he possessed all that was necessary for a competent repair job -
but the equipment was bulky, and the authorities had refused to allow it space on the
ship. It could no longer be played; the tension along the fret was lost. To all intents
and purposes he had brought about his friend's demise.

Jake giggled hysterically. He was instantly a nervous wreck, and his heart pounded
loudly in his ears as well as his chest. He jumped up and then abruptly sat again. In an
instant he had become totally lost.

Then he cried. And he cried, and he cried and cried...

That night, as he tried to sleep he felt the first twinge. He knew it was a sign of things
to come.

Old Man Jake held the Gibson close to him and smiled. Contented, he waited for the
inevitable.

END

Spaceman Blues first appeared in the fiction periodical Auguries.

It was my first published short story. I had just started learning to play the guitar, and
so decided to place an old bluesman in a science fiction setting. The technology is not
supposed to be accurate - far from it; it's an exploration of the character. I suppose
the moral should be: Everyone should have a second string to their bow. But Jake is
old and doesn't react the way most people would. I would like to think I've learned a
lot since writing this story.