Chiaroscuro

It had been twelve weeks since the explosion ruptured Tom Freer’s world and destroyed the major operational systems of the Helios-4, ultimately killing Mission Commander Frank Bohannon. Twelve weeks of utter loneliness and devastating isolation.

Tom watched the glare from the Class A7 star, E Serpentis, wink and then disappear completely behind the rim of the planet Chiaroscuro. The flight deck plunged into total darkness. He switched on his helmet light. The past weeks and months had been difficult, but nighttime was the worst, always the loneliest. Tom spent the long hours of total darkness in quiet contemplation, wondering what he could have done differently.

During the daylight hours, Tom was able to work on the ship repairing damaged systems and components and kept himself occupied. Keeping his brain active was important. It allowed Tom to silence the demons lurking in his head, the instruments of his guilt. He was never able to fully repair the ship’s damaged electrical harness, though, so when there was no starlight from E Serpentis, he had no power. Relentlessly black, the nights seemed endless. The spacecraft orbited the planet, nothing more than a lifeless hulk.

Not completely lifeless of course, not yet, anyway, as long as Tom could hang on.

He was able to salvage some food, enough for about fourteen days, give or take, and his oxygen was stable, so once Tom repaired the Hydrogen Condenser Unit, he had water. The ship’s communications systems were still down. Tom had no real idea how long he would need to make his provisions last. Moreover, without enough power to run even the lights, Tom was left alone through the dark nights with only his thoughts. Growing weaker by the day, he could only sit and wait.

In the first days following the explosion, Tom relived those excruciating moments repeatedly, without relief. He knew it wasn’t his fault; the astronauts had been trained to recognize the symptoms of Survivor’s Guilt, the sense that he should have been able to do something, anything, to save Frank. It was a tortured existence as Tom searched the depths of his memory seeking answers that didn’t exist.

***

It had been a routinely successful mission to Chiaroscuro when Tom and Frank lifted off from the surface of the grey planet to rejoin the orbiting service module above.

The astronauts were all business as they ascended. They had been friends since the Academy and worked well together. A good team. The service module came into view.

“Ten seconds to rendezvous,” Frank recited as the craft approached.

Beep

“All systems go for docking,” replied Tom.

Beep

“Prepare for docking … Five … four … three … two … one … We have rendezvous …Prepare for engage and power-up …”

The lander nestled into the docking port of the service module. “Ready to head home Frank?” Tom asked.

“So ready you wouldn’t believe,” Frank said, “It’s been a long mission this time. I can’t wait to get home.”

The lander completed the regular docking procedures and the astronauts reconnected the utilities. Everything was normal. As the rejoined modules powered up, though, the explosion rocked the craft and threw everything into total blackness, including the two men.

Tom regained consciousness slowly, like waking from a foggy nightmare. The spacecraft’s stabilization systems were non-operational and caused the Helios-4 to pitch and twist wildly. His left hand reached out and found a strut that he used to help him float hand over fist over to the control panel. Finally regaining control of the ship, the astronaut silenced the wailing alarms and took a deep breath. He visually surveyed the flight deck for damage and saw Frank regaining consciousness in the far corner, sitting up, shaking the cobwebs out of his murky brain.

Tom floated over to his partner and helped Frank to his feet. They made their way slowly to the front of the flight deck and collapsed into their seats. Strapping themselves in, the astronauts were able to catch their breaths.

“What do you think happened?” Frank asked. “Everything was going ok.”

Tom checked the pressurization gauges. “It looks like there was an imbalance in the nitrogen oxide levels. When we connected the power that was all it took. BLAM!”

Frank inspected a different gauge. “Shit. That has to be it.”

Per protocol, Frank pulled out the Emergency Checklist and the two men methodically checked each item, one by one, to determine the status of the Helios-4 spacecraft systems. First up were the ship’s communications systems.

“Helios-4 to Base-G6. Come in please.” Tom intoned. “Helios-4 to Base-G6. Do you read me? Over.”

No response.

“Base-G6, come in please. This is Helios-4. We have an emergency. Over.”

Nothing. Not even static.

“Comms systems negative, Frank.”

“Roger.”

Together, they continued down the checklist.

“Environmental subsystems?” Frank asked.

Tom pressed a button and flipped two switches. “Check.” The two men took off their helmets.

 “Power supply and distribution?”

Several more buttons and switches, in sequence, and a pause. “Partial.”

“Propulsion systems?”

“Negative.”

It went on like that, component by component. Some systems worked, others didn’t. When they got to the visual assessment, Tom floated over to the starboard viewport and looked out toward the rear of the craft. He sucked in his breath.

“Geez.”

The explosion had torn a gaping hole the size of a small car in the wall of the service module. Ragged chunks of metal floated in a loose orbit along with the craft. A cloud of neon yellow gas was leaking from inside and trailed out into space. Most of their supplies were in the service module.

Frank came to the viewport and gave a low whistle. “We need to go out and take a look. I’ll go,” he said, donning his helmet and securing it into place. He moved to the airlock and entered. Tom closed the inner airlock hatch behind him.

Tom pressed the electronic outer hatch release button on the control console, but the activation light remained unlit. He pushed the button off and then on again without any results.

“Shit. This worked a minute ago!”

Finally, Tom pounded his fist on the console.

“That did it,” he said, satisfied, as the button illuminated bright green and the hatch slid open.

Frank floated through the outer hatch and out into the black void. Tom secured the hatch behind his partner and moved to the viewport. As Tom watched Frank work his way aft toward the service module, a knot formed in the pit of Tom’s stomach. He had a sick feeling.

Frank moved out of view and Tom returned to his seat to observe the excursion on camera. It was hard to keep the ship steady; the explosion had knocked out most of the stabilization controls. Tom felt the concussive tension. Tom put on his helmet so he could talk to Frank.

“Can you hear me, Frank?”

“Copy.”

Tom breathed a huge sigh of relief. The helmet comms were still working, even if the spacecraft comms systems weren’t functional.

Frank reached the hole in the side of the service module and reported.

“There’s a breach two to three meters wide and four to five meters long in the hull. I’m going inside.”

The radiation inside the service module must have knocked out Frank’s helmet comms because Tom lost him and the channel turned to static. After several agonizing minutes, Frank reemerged from the service module.

“The explosion destroyed everything inside, Tom. No supplies, no food. No nothing.”

“Come on back in.”

Frank made his way back to the air lock to reenter the lander. Tom activated the release for the outer hatch. Nothing. He tried it again. Tom pounded on the control console as he had done earlier. Still no response. The knot in Tom’s stomach returned painfully and was making its way up into his throat.

“Hey! Let me in. I’m getting low on oxygen.”

“Working on it! The release is dead.”

Tom tripped the manual override. “Frank, try opening the hatch manually.”

Frank tried, “It won’t budge.”

“Try using the torsion strut as a crowbar.”

“Negative. It won’t budge.”

Tom went through all the procedures looking for a work-around solution. He attempted to override the circuit to pop the hatch. He rewired the control harness to see if that would solve the problem. Nothing worked. He went over to the viewport where his partner floated, trapped in the open expanse of outer space.

“Tom, let me in.” Frank’s eyes were serious.

“I can’t get it Frank. Hold on.”

Tom worked feverishly to open the hatch, but it was too late. He watched helplessly as the light in his friend’s eyes flickered out. The only sound in Tom’s helmet was the anguished exhalation of his partner’s last breaths. Slowly, Frank’s hand released the hand-hold by the side of the hatch and drifted away from the Helios-4 into the sea of darkness. The only thing Tom could do was peer into Frank’s staring eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

***

Tom relived those hours every single night, debating with himself over what he did and didn’t do, what he could and couldn’t do, to save his friend.

During the long nights, Tom thought about his wife, Mary, and their beloved daughter, Elena. He hadn’t seen them in over a year on this tour of duty and, as time passed, he was more and more convinced that he would never see them again. He punished himself over reenlisting for this tour in space.

“This will be the last time,” he promised Mary on their last night together at home on Tero Du.

“Don’t go, Daddy!” Elena begged him as he tucked her into bed that night. “Pleeaase?”

Tom wasn’t really a religious man, but he still spent hours bargaining with God for one more day, one more night, so he might see his family again.

In time, Tom made also peace with the demons over the devastating loss of his partner Frank. He accepted that he had done everything within his power and simply failed. The explosion, he was sure, was not anyone’s fault. It was just a terrible accident resulting in an outcome that the astronauts had willingly signed up for: the possibility of death. Tom promised God that if He would spare his life, he would visit Frank’s family to set things right.

***

Tom marked off the days since the accident, recording them as tick marks in grease pencil on the bulkhead over the control console. He knew if he didn't he would lose all track of time, along with his sanity. As he ticked off day number sixteen, it hit home that had eaten the last of the food. He had stretched the rations as far as he could and from then on it would be water alone. His hope was slipping away along with his strength.

By day forty, Tom was having difficulty even marking off the days. His hand was so weak he could barely make a straight line. As he began to accept the inevitable, Tom came to the realization that he had found a fragile peace within himself. His mind's eye could see Mary's love shine in her face as she accepted his marriage proposal under a blanket of stars.

“I love you,” they said and meant it.

And his sweet Elena, old enough that she would remember him, and the fun they had together as they played for hours in the meadow by the lake on Tero Du. She had such a wonderful life ahead of her.

And Frank, his best friend for these past thirty years, exploring the reaches of space together.

Whatever happens, they will understand he did his best.

Now, after what would be the longest night of his life, Tom felt his vitality withering away as he watched through the viewports of the flight deck and waited. There was nothing left to do. His gaze fixed on the grease marks on the bulkhead.

In the distance, E Serpentis poked its head around the black rim of Chiaroscuro and revealed itself to Tom, illuminating the flight deck in startling white light. Tom stared straight ahead at the star and breathed deeply. He had made it through another night.

What is that thing? Tom squinted as he pulled himself up in his seat. A second star appeared in the distance, closer than E Serpentis.

The second star was rapidly approaching Helios-4.

That’s not a star.

A smile burst across Tom’s face as he recognized the familiar eagle insignia on the hull. He sat back down in the warm bright starlight. He was going home.