I don't really want to leave. I have incredible respect for those brave men and women who forsake our generally comfortable atmosphere to see if they can grow a cactus in zero gravity.
However, CONSIDER THIS:
What if a space mission went TERRIBLY WRONG and some poor astronaut (or cosmonaut) were sent careening into EMPTY SPACE to die in his lonely spacesuit, in his still soiled astrodiaper (cosmodiaper).
As well as there being no one to hear you scream in space, there is nothing to make you decompose. Our poor astronaut (cosmonaut) would float about the vacant ravages of space, becoming a speck of detritus in a vast and lonely universe. That is, until some newly forming asteroid sucks him into it's gravity field and he is BURIED AT THE HEART OF THE ICY SPACE BOULDER.
One day, the icy space boulder rumbles into the Earth's gravitational field and starts its mad descent into the deserts of New Mexico (keep in mind that this asteroid is of a modest size) and LANDS, DRAWING SCIENTISTS LIKE MOTHS TO A FLAME.
The scientists begin to chip away at the space rock, hoarding the bits back to their respective laboratories and jealously guarding them. Some poor scientist, chipping away, UNCOVERS THE HELMET OF THE MAN, EYES OPEN AND STARING, FILLED WITH ALL THE KNOWLEDGE OF THIS UNIVERSE BUT TOO DEAD TO REVEAL THE SECRETS HIS MIND CONTAINS.
"Good news, Mrs. Johnson", a NASA man will say, "we found Harry, and you can have an open casket funeral."
DUN DUN DUN.
I only ask for a modest recompense when you use this plot line for your next book/film/graphic novel. You could pay my tuition.
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