Faith

“Call me trash.”

The lock beeped. The green light blinked red, sealing her inside the airlock. Breathing heavily, Faith stared at the outer door as she sealed her helmet in place, engaging her magboots.

The atmosphere in her suit pressurized with a hiss as she took a step forward. Trembling, she reduced the pressure inside the airlock and opened the outer door. She gazed openly into the darkness of space, barely illuminated by the red star, its soft glow clinging to asteroids floating in the distance.

With a deep breath, she checked the O2 meter on her wrist. “I deserve to exist,” Faith whispered, the words inscribed inside her helmet’s visor, and deactivated her magboots.

Grabbing the rail, she swung herself around to the controls embedded in the station's hull, sealing the outer door. She gripped the bar so tightly that the steel’s cold seeped through her gloves before Faith kicked off into the distance.

“No tether, no pack, no way home. What are you doing, Faith?” She whispered, spinning slowly into the distance, the shine of the station fading by the second.

Swallowing hard, she let herself go, opening her limbs to the vacuum. Like an ocean, she drifted with no destination, like the space trash they had called her.

A tear dripped down her cheek as she stared at the red star, embracing its soft red-orange hues, and she smiled. “Are you like our old sun? Your color seems so familiar, so warm. They say there’s a planet just in range. Like Goldilocks. I hope it's nice there.”

She paused as if awaiting a reply and took a shaky breath. “I won’t know. I won’t be there…”

She stopped herself and wiped her visor, trying to get the tears tickling her cheeks, but smudging her view instead. She thrashed in frustration, moving freely for the first time since childhood; it was liberating.

She screamed at the star and the passing asteroids. She thrashed until she was sweaty, panting, and filled with giggles. But mostly, she stopped crying.

Pulling a cloth from her leg pouch, she wiped her visor clean and clapped her hands together, bowing to the star. “It’s not your fault. You’re just a star.”

She looked around for the glow of the station and realized it was no longer within sight. Shrugging it off, Faith folded her arms behind her head and tried to relax, saying. “There’s no way back, I’m finally alone…”

Faith blinked, stunned by the weight of her words. “Oh.”

She checked her O2 meter—79% and took a deep breath while checking her supplies. “Flares, extra O2, glue, tape—more tape, junk, cloth…plenty of time left.”

“Maybe, I could’ve made some better decisions.” Faith chuckled with the star, drifting off in its embrace. “Maybe.”

***

“There’s plenty to go around,” Faith said, age 9, raising her arms in defense.

Garney, 12, shoved her against the wall of the orphanage cafeteria, laughing as she fell to the ground in front of him. “No. There isn’t. I get half or else.”

“Fine…” Faith replied begrudgingly as she tore her nutrient brick in half.

“Remember, Garney gets half. Always. Or you can starve like the trash you are, and I’ll eat for two.”

Faith stared at him with the same intensity she would someday stare at the red star once their trip across space was nearly complete.

***

“Out of my way.” Shoving Faith aside, Garney, now 17, grabbed her nutrient bar and walked away laughing.

Too hungry to fight back, she collapsed to her knees, weakly grasping at the air behind him. It had been this way since Garney found out he had to leave when he became 18. Tears welled in her eyes as she sat there, watching the others quietly get their food and retreat to their tables to eat.

Crawling to the water station, she drank her fill until her stomach sloshed with every movement, and she would feel unwell for hours after. But it always delayed the hunger long enough for her to scrounge something up.

Tonight, it would be rat, boiled in the kitchen under the cover of darkness to avoid detection. Their caretakers truly cared little for what they did unless it could create a lawsuit. For this, she would surely be thrown into solitude for a week.

At least I would be fed in solitude. She thought the idea lingered pleasantly enough until she shook her head back into reality. No, then they would know what I eat. And this would be worse.

Faith sighed as she ate her rat. It was always rat, to be honest. Horrible, even when starving, but it was food.

***

“Garney was found murdered last night.” Officer Mertle said, taking off his sunglasses to get a better look at Faith.

“Is that so?” She replied, now seventeen, at the door of the orphanage.

Two hours later, when the night cycle began and everyone went to sleep, she walked, disappearing into the void.

***

Hours passed as Faith drifted idly through space, enjoying the weightlessness, the faint warmth and light from her friend, the star, when she awoke. “I don’t want to be here.” She gasped. “Where’s the station?!”

Twisting back and forth, Faith frantically searched for the station's beacon, the pulsing yellow lights that ran along the outer edge, as well as the faint red glow of the satellite dish. Nothing.

“Okay—okay.” She breathed heavily, trying to calm herself. “You didn’t bring anything to orient yourself…stupid. Okay. How long have you been out here? No watch…okay. Markers, anything? Oh no, no—no, no. No! Home could be anywhere. God—what did I do? I…wait.”

She checked her personal O2—22%. Pulling her extra canister from the small of her back, attached by Velcro to her suit. Tapping its gauge, she checked it. O2—100%.

“You’ve got enough thrust to get me home. You have to.” Her gaze shifted to the vastness of space, and she whispered in awe and desperation. “But how do I find it?”

The star offered no answer, and every second she drifted, the further she would get from the station. Spinning herself around, she tucked the extra canister tightly into place between her arms and let it rip. It slammed into her and pushed her with increasing speed, taking her wherever she pointed.

She looked to the star once more for guidance before closing her eyes, letting fate guide her.

***

O2—03%.

Faith looked at the station, no more than a few hundred meters away, in envy, clutching her back in pain from where she had sped right into the side of the hull and bounced off. The airlock waited just outside of reach.

Her face became stern, ripe with determination as she ripped her air tank off her back. “One shot, Faith. You can do this.”

She angled the tank to the airlock and tucked it between her arms, this time with the nozzle right at the edge of her elbow, and she flew one last time.