CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories by J. Posthumus (read after txt) 📕

“That wasn’t me.” Bas slid the unit back into place and started tightening. “One of the others on my crew. But there are still loose chickens.”

“About that…”

He pushed himself out from under the door and looked up at her. Her coveralls were clean, and hair tidy, so it couldn’t be too bad. “I can’t help with the chickens.”

She shook her head. “No, that’s up to Husbandry, I know. It’s the core.” She blurted, her lips quivering.

Bas got up from the floor and dusted himself off. “Why does that fill me with doubt and fear? We fixed the doors into the central core.”

“There are chickens in there.” She fidgeted. “I don’t know how.”

“How did you find out about chickens in the core?” Bas put his tools back in the bag, checked the time, and then, hefting the bag, headed for the access.

Gert trotted alongside him.

Bas contemplated her out of the corner of his eye. He had seen her so often recently from a prone position he’d almost forgotten how much shorter she was. She also hadn’t answered his question.

“Gert?” he prompted.

She glanced sideways at him as he led the way through the park. The big green belt of their home, he thought of it. If the core weren’t there, you’d be able to look up overhead and see nothing but a sweeping stretch of green. The core, with its painted clouds on pale blue, and occasional incongruous struts like spindly white legs, was both up, and in, perceptually.

Bas wanted to rub his face, but a glance at his hands told him this was a bad idea. “I can guess. It’s off-limits, but kids love to play in the zero-grav.”

She shook her head. “No, I mean, I don’t know, but that’s not what happened.” She was quiet for a minute. Then she said, “They didn’t take the chickens up there.”

“Not even to see if they could fly in zero gee?” Bas asked, pointing at the closest leg. Inside it was an access ladder. They headed for it, veering off the beaten footpath onto a faint trail marked with a sign warning it was for authorized personnel only.

“Chickens can fly.” Gertrude sounded indignant. She walked behind Bas on the narrow path, so he could only imagine her expression. “They just aren’t very good at it.”

“It’s flapping, with style,” Bas joked. He stopped at the leg and looked at the open door. “Huh. That’s not right.”

Gert came around him to see. “What’s wrong?”

“That door.” Bas pointed at it unnecessarily, as it was the only door in sight. They were surrounded by an open grove of trees, young ones, and grass and weeds over the shallow soil of the park. “Should not be open.”

He set his bag down on the grass and pulled his tablet in its rugged case out of the outer pocket. “Here. The work order for the core doors was closed… four days ago.”

Gert went to the door and put her head in. “Ew,” she said, wrinkling up her nose. “I think I know how the chickens got into the core.”

“They can’t climb ladders on their own,” Bas came over to her. “Can they?”

He could see what she meant about the state of the floor. There were piles of chicken poop under the ladder. Really, all over the once-pristine flooring. Feathers and dust, some dead leaves that had drifted in from the park added to the detritus.

Bas tilted his head back and looked up the smooth white tube into the core. Dust motes sparkled in the light beams. “Oh, sh… er, crap.”

“They can climb ladders.” Gert piped up from her position by his elbow. “We use something like a big ladder for their roosts, remember?”

Bas, still looking upward, saw motion high above them, in the core itself. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing. He could guess, though. He retreated to his bag and got out a pair of heavy work gloves, also stuffing a few things in his pockets.

He turned to Gert. “I haven’t got another pair like this. Some thin disposable ones that might rip, sorry. You’d better stay here.”

Gert glared. “I’ve touched worse. I wash.”

Bas sighed. “I’m just going up to look. Do you know how the air system on the station works?”

She shook her head. “I know how to catch chickens, though.”

“On the ground. Up there?” He pointed up at the careening bird flapping wildly.

“I’ll need to see to learn.” She folded her arms over her chest. Bas tried not to notice the pleasant configuration this created.

“I’ll go up first and try to knock the worst off, at least.” Bas bowed to the inevitable.

The ladder got less disgusting as they went up, at least. At the top, Bas carefully moved out of the way to let Gert emerge into the core. He grabbed her arm as she tried to take a step.

“Hold on,” he ordered. “There’s nothing to keep you from flying away without magnetic boots or a rope.”

“Oh.” Gert got a hold on his arm, put her feet down carefully, and they stood there clasping forearms for stability. Bas kept his grip on the top of the ladder for anchoring.

Bas stared down the length of the core. They were roughly at the halfway point, but it never failed to impress him how big the station was. You didn’t see it from the ground floor—the shell of the vast tube floating through space. Too many walls, or trees, in the park. Up here? It stretched on forever, vast and empty.

Well. It should be empty.

“Chickens are funny floating like that.” Gert said what he was thinking.

There was… Bas could only describe it as a vortex of chickens swirling down the length of the core. Some flapped. Others soared serenely with their wings stretched out. Still others were attempting to simply walk in midair, looking about them in utter confusion. The noise was indescribable. There was no order in the flock. It was Brownian motion come to life, Boyle’s gas law illustrated with feather particles