It would work.
He cut each letter diligently from the page, picking out full words at times, piecing them together in a spray of syllables. There were five moons. The moon was easy to find. Gears were harder. It looked fine. He squinted and looked down at the page once more, surveying for missing pieces. A lever. A spring?
You know what, fuck it.
It wasn’t his fault that years of funding had led to so little. It wasn’t his fault that the world was more interested in cell phone satellites than traveling to places unknown, distances unreached. He had done his duty, patiently funding space sciences and haphazardly gluing models of spaceships together since he was a boy. He had a fund. He went to space camp. He’d eaten military MREs for two years straight in preparation. He hung himself upside down from the ceiling to make sure he could handle something like weightlessness.
And yeah, he could. He was training.
It was once an Airstream trailer, now equipped with engines, thrusters, fans, computers, and a couple video cameras because there was no way he was coming back without the possibility of a documentary. It wasn’t big, but he was only one guy and he had enough room to stretch. He had his MP3 player loaded with a bunch of Radiolab podcasts. It’d never get boring.
His yellow Haz-Mat suit was hung up by the door. It was probably close enough to go to space. He’d tried taking it into the local pool and it didn’t leak, plus it helped him practice for what space feels like. Turns out, kinda stifling.
The glue was getting stuck to his fingers, accumulating bits and scraps of discarded magazine snips. Almost done. It didn’t need a message, it was all there in the emphasis, in the poetry. Moon, space, frontier, stars, the works. They’d get the picture. They’d forgotten what it meant so long ago, when the space race became about wifi, when the world forgot about jetpacks and adventure.
He promised his kids he would go to the moon.
Well he was going.
He’d worry about the having kids thing later.
T-minus 7 days until liftoff.
Wait until freakin’ NASA hears about this.
The jealous bastards.