It’s strange, the things you come to miss while out here…

The slow methodic drip of a faucet, or being bathed in the orange glow of the late afternoon sun, the singing of birds, or the sound of the wind rustling leaves across an old growth park. Echoes of children’s laughter bouncing off of brick and concrete. There is none of that here. At first, that made me very happy, I could finally knuckle down and focus on the laundry list of experiments I was tasked with performing by the very savvy tech guys at The Company. But now, up here, alone and isolated in the cool blue glow of phosphorescent lighting, beige cloth walls with all that sound proofing and accident protection, it’s driving me crazy. What I wouldn’t give to turn back towards earth, and hear my little girls squabble endlessly over dolls, crayons or whose turn it is to pick the next television show. The observation deck, a small bubble of a room, comprised mostly of a glass like dome where all of my technical equipment is housed. Can be quite chill, although sometimes tiny rivulets of condensation from my breath will gather on its concave surface, and gather in small pools along the outermost edges where it meets the soft padding of the bulkhead. I keep tiny polaroids of my girls taped up in there. Reminding me, constantly why I do what I do. All alone, adrift in space.

I’m currently the lowest ranking member of The Company to captain his own ship. It wasn’t always this way. When I started out this mission I had three other senior members of this crew. Three very brilliant, but problematic men. Part of an old school fraternity, a brotherhood of sociopaths and sexual deviants. I can almost imagine a large crowded meeting room down on earth at The Company HQ, where the last long amber rays of the afternoon sun would filter through some rustling leaves, and cast long deep shadows across some corporate types face. Slat shaped shadows from the tall Venetian blinds, creating a regular pattern of amber and darkness hiding portions of their faces. Phones ringing haphazardly, reams of papers all over the room, binders full of details and full ash trays and lit cigarettes with whirling eddies of smoke littering the rooms, and through it all, partial globs of conversations. “They came very highly recommended…best in their fields… brilliant minds… oh no, not too many people choose to work with them a second time… troubling attitudes, but gifted. Yes the three men achieve great results… no, no, no one would step forward… yes, suicide, found by the wife. Yeah, twins on the way… do not envy the fourth man on that next mission. Hope he knows how to comport himself during periods of high stress… can he take a joke?” There would be chuckles, and giggles or guffaw, but in the end those three bastards would get cleared to fly with me. Nine hundred million miles between us and earth. There would be no second chances to make a first impression.

Now yes, it’s true. I killed all three of my crew. I did not set out to do so. But I did it none the less. No, I will not go into it, suffice it to say that few things will test your resolve like suturing a tear to your own anus via a mirror and a needle and thread. I am not a weak man. I did not cow to them. But I exacted my revenge over the course of twenty four hours after they made their final play on my person. I’ve known military life. I can take an awful, awful lot of shit from my superiors, but not someone’s misplaced sense of desire to dominate a subordinate. No, to the man who held me down, he lost an arm at the elbow to the pneumatic press I was operating. Turns out I’m not as fast on a tourniquet as I tested on earth during med protocols. Whoops. To the gentleman who tricked me into the tightest spot on the ship, a technical corridor that houses all of the larger caliber electrical cabling, he got a sprinkle of fines from the Oort cloud in the rim of his helmet and gloves. Brilliant scientists, all of them. But bro’s don’t clean and inspect their gear to the same degree a lowly generalist grunt like me does. Failure to secure a one hundred percent connection during a space walk left him dead instantaneously at the opening of the air lock. The same airlock I fired the acting commander out of by purposefully failing to reach equilibrium with the vacuum outside our vessel when he had to go out for some last minute repairs. Launched him off the craft at nearly two hundred kilometers per second per second, from a cold stand still. Didn’t even damage the doors as his body was sucked through before it had opened more than a few millimeters. Like I said, I didn’t start this, but I fucking well ended it on my terms.

Truth is, we were way too far out for The Company to do anything about it. You don’t send out the cops for triple homicide when the guy who did it confesses, but can still produce the same money making results, and will likely never return to earth, or come into contact with another living soul. I guess space madness runs in the family. My uncle was the engineer that built the now famous capsule the Non Sequitur. This vessel is a variation of that design.

“Computer put a dozen new washers on the to build list, for when I’m in the machine shop next ok…” I’m currently shirtless in the dry, cool air of the Give More capsule. Also known more affectionately by the design staff as a mark five, or Mk.V . “Bzzrt… sorry inquiry invalid… please write down on the control pad, items to add to the official parts build list… verbal dictation function not supported… dictation function not supported… dictation function not supported…” a red blinking light is flashing rapidly in case I missed the memo. “Useless, you know that Roger, you’re absolutely useless… ableist too. What if I lose a hand or both arms huh, how you expect me to write this shit out then?” Crawling over some cabling, I find a wrist pad and write out the reminder. “Bzzrt… inquiry invalid. Roger is not my identifier. Also, crew shortage klaxon will sound off in twelve hours. We are understaffed for this mission. Crew levels are mission critical.” The beaten up yellow box is present on every surface of the ship. Wired up nodes that criss-cross all systems and manned spaces, initially designed as part of the medical monitoring system, but evolved to speak and communicate with the ships hardware and software for ease of experimental program integration. Like the ships brain, but less exciting. I’m a pretty great science generalist, and a damn great machinist, but a programmer I am not. Fuck. Why’d Danny have to go and do me like that, before he could upgrade Roger to be able to take verbal commands, or at least hold a conversation that didn’t pertain to ships diagnostics. Been a real dull thirty seven hundred days of this mission so far. Fuck him, fuck those goofs. Bastards, the lot of them. “How many times do I have to turn off that crew levels alarm… must you remind me twice a day, every god damn day, what I’ve done. You, sir. Are a terrible, terrible friend. Fuck face.”

Returning from the observation deck to the crew quarters I think, better go attune the sensor and radio antenna array some time soon. Gotta tight beam all this data back to earth. God I miss my wife and kids. What I’d give to hear a faucet drip. Nothing here, but the cool empty chill of space, adrift in the void. Would be very easy to go insane up here. Gotta find Roger a suitable communications package, or patch, or something. Maybe medical systems has a psychiatrist plug in I could tap into to get some rousing conversation going. “Hey Roger, make a note that I should check and see if you’ve got a psychiatrist plug in for conversation!”. The yellow box in the crew pod chimes in. “Bzzrt… dictation function not supported for official programming inquiries. Incorrect inquiry format, message not recognized. Roger is not my identifier…” rolling to my side, as I zip myself into my bed chamber. “Thanks Roger. Fuck you too.” A heartbeat later a chime in reply can be heard. The lights grow dim as my resting heart rate shows me drifting off to sleep. It is currently two am ship time aboard the Give More capsule. Outside the vessel it is black and empty. Breakfast will be at oh nine hundred, same as the thirty seven hundred other days gone by.

 

PART IV