He had passed the interview and now had a job. His mind wondered on the rocket ship as it was speeding through space. His other colleagues weren’t really talking, so he was alone with his thoughts. He was glad to finally find work. Now he could pay his bills and afford school for his daughter.
He was an Interplanetary Lawn Serviceman. Or, that was the job title they had given them. Some wealthier person in her nice home on a distant planet had hired them to cut her lawn and trim her hedges. Why did she need to fly them several millions of kilometers away just to do that? He didn’t really care enough to think about that. He was just glad he was going to get a paycheck.
As they entered the planet’s atmosphere, he was struck by how large its sun was from here. This planet must have had a much closer orbit than his. He had never seen anything like it. It covered the three quarters of the sky in a big radiating ball of yellow.
They landed on the surface and prepared to dock. He immediately felt the heat. Covered in a thick suit, the several thousand degrees only felt like a 100 or 110 F (40s in C), like he was sitting on a tanning bed, but that was still very hot for his body.
In front of him was a large home. It looked like all the others he’d expect from the suburbs of hiis home planet. A large panel house with a garage, and a little street connecting it to the other homes in the small neighborhood. A small patio with a few plants desperately clinging to life sat there. In the back was a nearly impeccable green lawn, an almost perfect square. Kept nicely despite subtle coats of brownish planetary dust.
In the horizon lay a barren hellscape of dust and sand. Some of it had melted in the heat, leading to small streams of molten sand flowing into molten lakes. These had carved out little dunes around them. The shifting sands ended harshly at her lawn, where, except for little sprinklings of dust, formed an impeccable boundary between the planet and this suburb. The suburban town looked like an oasis of order within the oozing planet.
His manager motioned to get to work. His one colleague started mowing the lawn, while another took care of the hedges and plants on the patio to try to keep them alive. He took the special blower he had been given and blew the planetary dust back into the wasteland.
After a few minutes of this meditative work, all the dust he so meticulously blew off her lawn started falling into a lava stream crevice. At the edge of the property he started to feel the same wind that must have swept them up, trying to suck him down the ravine as well.
Out of nowhere a windstorm stood in front of them: a wall of brown dust. His manager was sounding the warning. They were all to get into the rocket ship as soon as possible. He managed to turn around, but he could barely move. He shouted as the ship boarded and took off without him. Unable to take any steps towards it.
Then suddenly the wind flipped in the other direction. The vortex had gotten closer. It launched him straight towards the house. The rocket ship taking off spun out of control in this new current and careened hundreds of kilometers into the horizon. Fate unknown.
He crashed into a big glass window, clearly built to enable the residents to look out at the planet’s beautiful barren landscape even during a fierce storm. He tried knocking on the window, desperate to get their attention, but the wind trapped him. Where were they? He managed to move his hand up to the window. An extra strong blast of wind smashed it into the glass, shattering it. His body forced through the window and landed harshly against the wall on the couch.
His hand was broken, but magically his suit was fine. Any exposure of the elements to his skin would instantly kill him. He climbed against the wind to round the corner of the hallway. Once he entered the hallway, the wind knocked him over and right into the wall in the bedroom.
That’s where he saw her. The owner, lying there dead on the bed. She must have died in her sleep, and judging by the age of the corpse, it must have been a months ago.
Why were they servicing a dead lady’s lawn? He didn’t have much time to think about that, though, as the house collapsed above him. He had punctured its seal against storms like these, and now the wind crumpled its foundations.
The accountant skimmed through her report. There was an unforeseen weather event. The rocket ship and crew and equipment all got destroyed. The potential of this was nothing the company hadn’t already accounted for and insured. The filing for that was pretty routine.
The house had been destroyed, however. This was more complicated. They now had to contact the owner to try to see whether she would like a change in service. After many attempts to reach her, she had not responded. The latest crew was sent to knock on her door and ask her in-person. Her account still had autopay, set up to her bank and brokerage account, so they would supply a service to as long as she continued to pay.
She didn’t know this but wondered even if something happened to the lady, how much interest was accruing from her stock portfolio in this account. The lady probably could fund the considerable money for these lawn service fees in perpetuity.
The accountant noticed a few reports from this planet: it seemed to be getting hotter with more extreme weather. She would log this in the book for her manager to review. She had already done it a few times with the other cases, but she knew he was busy. He would get to it when he could. If the planet gets too close to the sun, their insurance will no longer cover the trips given the increased expense associated with extreme weather, and they will have to withdraw from the service. Usually there is a lag of several months, but eventually their insurance figures that out and demands they pull the service to the planet. That forces her manager to finally act.
Meanwhile, she looked at the rocket ships planning to go out in the coming weeks. Each one for a different lawn. Would they have been more efficient if they pulled into one visit? Probably, but the cost to have them come on their chosen day according to their schedule ultimately goes to the owners of the homes, and they don’t seem to mind. The company not only gets more revenue from single trips like this and can use that to hire more lawn service workers and build more rocket ships. This leads to its stock price going up. She wonders, though, what it would be like to be on one of these ships.
(If you would like to read more short stories, you can browse them here.)
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