Human Asteroid

The quiet void erupted, sucking me in. I turned over and over in the weightless vacuum, my eyes catching distant sunlight in one instant and then the cold expanse of stars swimming in the dark seas of space. My eyes darted hither and thither in the hopes of catching sight of rescue, for some impossible last minute lasso that would come out of nowhere to save me from my imminent fate. The dual grind of dryness and compression overtook my eyes and flattened them. I could neither breathe nor see, nor hear. My pain throbbed within me and I was now more dead than alive. I could still sense and feel and despite the acrid coldness, there was warmth. Radiation from the nearby star continued to burn and keep my body from crossing death’s finish line. Yet, this was only a fleeting comfort. 

No helmet with a radio to call for home, no voice to call for help, there was only the not so subtle suggestion that I was fast becoming a human asteroid. Then, this human asteroid, bound for the deep and constant gyration that somehow felt both the warmth of light and cold of darkness crashed into the metal frame of a ship, my ship. My rigid arms and hands bent under my will. They scratched and palmed for something to grasp onto and keep me from slipping away. Excitement broke the vacuum’s bond over my bones as my hands slipped around a metal hinge and I pulled myself close to the hull. I knew my ship well, and used my legs to feel where I had landed. My time was short and when my foot found an emergency escape latch I dug the toes of my boot on top of the latch and kicked down hard. The latch gave way and a nearby airlock door opened with a pressurized implosion that reverberated against the aluminum skin of my ship and shook my frostbitten hands. Pain frayed my nerves, the confusion of hypoxia began to settle in, but I felt for and climbed into the open airlock. My lungs swelled from their dying hunger for oxygen and panic overwhelmed me as the last of my power began to wane. My hand found the control panel but I couldn’t remember where I was now, who I was, let alone remember which button would reseal the airlock and save me. I leaned backwards, the zero gravity holding me in its arms like an invisible ghost of a loved one. My oxygen starved brain flickered like lightning in a storm. One moment I was conscious, remembering the control panel, and the next moment I was enveloped in a hallucination where I was being held by my mother, father, and sister. I smelled them despite the air, heard them despite the strict rule of silence that the vacuum imposed, but most of all, I felt them. My mother’s lips on my forehead, my sister’s finger adjusting a loose strand of frozen hair, and my father's hands rubbing my frostbitten limbs  to give them a modicum of comfort through the numbing pain.  

Like a person does while in the throes of a deep sleep, I leaned forward, unaware of what I was doing, only driven by my body’s unconscious desire to stay alive. My fingers grazed over the control panel, reading its meaning from bumps and letters that lay tattooed in indented metal. I found the button and pressed it. The emergency seal closed and my ears percolated with the sound of crashing metal, humming electronics, and the overwhelming moan of a ship on fire. I swallowed air greedily and crumpled to the floor, pressing my cracked lips to the vents and sucking down the stale air that filtered in. The ship’s claxons screamed in unison, speaking of an explosion on the main deck. 

I cried but tears wouldn’t come. My brain, still suffering from the effects of hypoxia, bled in the smells of sandalwood that reminded me of my father’s cologne, the sweet chemical taint of my sister’s acrylic nail polish, and the coconut shampoo my mom used everyday on her hair. I knew they passed away long ago but it seemed like they were all standing right beside me. I breathed in deeply so that my ravaged mind could pull me back to the living world. 

 The ship’s sirens called for me to continue, to prevent the ship from splitting apart but the pain of my raw lungs, broken foot, crushed eyes, and bruised and bitten skin screamed at me to stay still. I called out, my voice hoarse from the lack of water, in the hopes the ship’s computer would hear me. No one responded to my calls. 

I attempted to rise up onto my feet but the pain was unbearable. The fragile skin on my hands broke from the exertion and beads of warm blood pooled and dripped away my precious fragments of life. I didn’t know if I was aimed toward the door that led to the inside of my ship but I knew my time was up and if I blacked out I would soon find myself floating outside once more when the ship broke apart. I gritted my teeth, steeled my body, and launched myself forward with my one good foot. Skin like leather jerked awkwardly and I felt a series of tears throughout my body followed by the telltale warm wetness of blood but it was not for nothing.  The door’s electric sensor clicked and my body careened forward and out of the airlock. Miraculously, I found my feet and clung onto a metallic pole.  

My hands and feet acted as my eyes as I clumsily felt and stumbled forward. The kitchen hummed with tin chatter from the loosely strapped cook wear. The sound centered me, told me where not to go as my hands found and turned on the faucet. Cold, life giving water spilled forth and my parched lips and throat suckled it all down. Pulling away, I felt like a man blessed by all the saints. 

“Computer, report,” I intoned before leaning forward and gulping down another gallon of water. 

“Bow of the ship and command deck are without life support. This has been contained, Captain. However, ship can no longer be guided manually. Clearance code for computer control?” 

I breathed a sigh of relief, the damage was bad but not unsustainable. 

“Clearance code is Red Dwarf, Computer take us to the nearest port.” 

“Yes captain, I sense that you are in need of medical attention. Shall I prep the bay?”

“Yes, please do. And Computer?” 

“Yes, Captain?”

“What caused the explosion? 

“I caused the explosion, Captain. Welcome back on board.”