The Final Expedition

Day Twenty-Six

“How’s the food Chuck?” I asked Flynn as I entered Zvezda. It was coming up to lunchtime and it was just the two of us. Flynn hadn’t been any less withdrawn the last few days, but after what Morrison had said, I had decided to try and make more of an effort with the surly American. He glanced up from the galley table and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

“Awful.” He replied finally.

“I know what you mean.” I agreed, opening the storage locker above the galley table and pulling out a packet for myself. “Kind of like having a microwave dinner every time, but in awkward packaging.”

“Not the quality of food you might expect from ‘the most expensive and exclusive holiday money can buy’?” Flynn replied. I winced, recognising the quote. Some tabloid hack had misquoted me when I had first announced that I was to travel up to the station. The article had been most uncomplimentary, painting a picture of me as a spoilt playboy with nothing better to spend my millions on than my own fleeting flights of fancy. I studied the American. Flynn had obviously read the article and made his own mind up long before we had met.

“I remember reading that article.” I smiled wryly, sitting down opposite Flynn. “The press and that paper in particular have always taken a dim view of my enjoyment of my fortune, criticising me for spending so much money for my own gratification. Strangely there’s never any mention of the millions I donated to charity every year. Even the money I spent to come here went towards the cost of the International Space Station programme, which saved the tax payer millions. I guess what I’m trying to say, Chuck, is don’t believe everything you read.” Flynn shrugged his shoulders, snorted derisively and discarded his lunch packaging before pulling himself past me and out of the hatch connecting Zvezda to the next module.

“Well, I tried.” I muttered to myself before continuing with my own lunch.