Within a Lonely Space

A soft alarm rings throughout the pod, waking a lonesome man in his slumber. Blurred vision impedes on the man’s ability to awaken. Limbs stiff, slow and sluggish. He commits little effort to rising from the effort-consuming seat, cushions flat and dissipated from hours of supporting his lazy habits.

           The man finally lifts his eyelids, viewing the deep, star-ridden void of space through the window before him.

           “Beautiful. Majestic.” He says with an unenthusiastic tone.

           In a brief moment of idle reconciliation, his mind immediately jumped to horrid memories. Pushing and shoving through crowds of people, racing to his only salvation. His salvation has formed his fate, a lonely, boring, pod. An insufferable existence; but it’s existence nonetheless, which is much better than the alternative. Still, he is cursed with the memories of wails and cries of his crew, hanging on by their last shred of hope.

           The man snaps from the sights of his mind, and rises from his chair, joints cracking and thoughts slowly fading. His body emits more cracks as he stretches his arms up high. Stretching his legs, he makes his way towards a small cabinet about four small steps away, opening it, his spirits plummets to depths unheard-of. Only four packs of MRE packets consisting of substitute beef-jerky remain.

           He reluctantly takes one, and backpedals back to the control console. He lightly tosses the packet of jerky on the dashboard. He finally acknowledges the soft alarm and pushes the start-up button on the console. A large screen on the console clicks to life. Blue text flashes upon the screen.

           Welcome, Mr. Redall. The man read, numb to his own name due to months of social neglect.

           A touchscreen keyboard appears upon the screen, alongside a space to type. It prompts Mr. Redall for a password. He hastily inputs ‘Whatautopia123’, all characters appearing as black dots. He feels mocked at the very notion of anonymity due to his current predicament, trapped in a vast and echo-less prison.

           Redall stares at the screen, his mind still numb due to adjusting to the waking world. The screen’s loading icon, a bland, incomplete circle spins slowly. Redall’s eyelids start to fall, as does his patience. Just as he was about to drift off once again, the screen changes, a black abyss appears in the screen, making fingerprints and smudges on its visage clearly visible. Within the abyss he sees himself, a husk of a man. A rugged white stubble, overshadowed by pale wrinkly skin and bagged eyes. The perfect image for a coward. As he stares into the abyssal horror, time turns back. His mind takes his vision, he sees corridors flooded with red lights. Just before his past takes him, the screen flickers.

           A portrait is cast upon the screen, bringing the image of a proud and accomplished man. A clean face, proud smile, wide eyes. A corner of Redall’s lips slowly twitch upwards, a weak sense of reminiscence takes over. He has just enough motivation to reap hope.

           Icons, start-ups, and notifications start to appear on the portrait’s visage, distracting Redall from the blinding majesty of the past. One notification stood out to him, however, a provocation of urgency in the form of a red exclamation mark plasters the screen subtitled with capitalized text.

           EMERGENCY BROADCAST DETECTED

           Something rekindles inside of Redall, some kind of fire burns deep within. Is this it?

           He hastily and hazardously slaps the notification.

           “Come on. Come on.” Redall hyperventilates.

           Sweat trickles down his temple as the connection is being established. The screen displays a new window, one with a line, twitching at crackles and noise pollution from the other end. The other person.

           “Hello? This is Anne Lionis of the frigate Terrace Above Heaven, do you read?” The faceless but feminine voice identifies through crackles and static.

           Dumbfounded and halted, Redall stutters.

           “Yeah, I read.” Redall says with astonishment. “This is… Werner Redall of the…” Redall trembles trying to think of his past, pushed into black depths he cannot see the bottom of. “The Iris of Gallantry.” He said with great mental fortitude.

           Curses and omens slithered out of Redall’s mouth when he spoke those words. A name that should have died with its bearer in Redall’s eyes.

           “My ships been scuttled, and I can’t identify your ship by memory, either way, send me your co-ordinates.” The voice suggested.

           A little bit of Redall had died when he heard that line. He realized that this vast void only takes. Perhaps he heard the voice wrong, hope maybe isn’t truly eradicated.

           “Sorry, but did you say ‘scuttled’?” Redall said with a faint shiver.

           “Affirmative, it’s indistinguishable from trash now.” She confirmed.

           Redall fell back and sunk into his chair. His eyes insidiously captivated by the hellish black void behind the glass. Thoughts ran through his head until one sound conclusion finally came to fruition. Hope truly is eradicated.

           “Hello? Do you still read?” The voice requests.

           Numbness dissipates in Redall, but still an overarching sense of fear dominating his psyche.

           “Yeah, I still read.” He says whilst regaining posture on his chair. “I actually have terrible news. I’m also a castaway.” He finished with a gulp.

           A couple seconds of radio silence is broken by a brief swear cloaked in white noise. The hopelessness contagion claims another’s mind. Redall rubs his face in a futile effort to force himself to relax.

           “The fire’s dying out then?” The voice says with a drastic change in tone, all sense of professionalism being cast to the wind.

           “For you maybe. I’ve been doused months ago.” Redall admits.

           “Months? Like, in Earth time? How long have you been out here?”

           “I don’t know. I’ve been quite busy lately; I’ve never bothered to check the time.” Redall responds with a small chuckle, hopelessness blinding him to the predicament. “I could give you a specific answer, I have all the time in the universe. Just let me find out real quick.” He says, minimizing the broadcast window on the console.

           He sifts through different options and various tabs on his desktop, searching for the beginning. Feeling a terrible sense of awkwardness, he fills the broadcast with noise.

           “Do you know how long you’ve been stranded off the top of your head?” Redall asks.

           “I actually have the timer displayed right here. Two months, one week, four days.”

           Redall twitches a bit, having a conniption about the voice and her persistence. It really makes the cosmos seem less lonely then what he made them out to be. He wasn’t distracted from his personal directive to find out his survival time however, as his fingers still sifted through the touchscreen. He finally finds the exact time, without approximations. Reading the time, he isn’t surprised, but still left feeling accursed.

           “Eleven months, one week, five days. Guess the anniversary is coming soon.” He says, tone growing weaker.

           Another quiet swear vaguely slips through the static.

           “Have you been broadcasting a signal this whole time?” The voice wonders.

           “Yeah. Must’ve drifted far out.”

           A quiet moment of recollection occurs in both of them.

           “What was your name again? Almost lost myself in thought.” Redall asks, starting over.

           “Anne. Anne Lionis.” She responds.

           “Ah, mine’s Redall in case you forgot.”

          The conversation grows quiet. An overwhelming sense of awkwardness is in the air. It’s weird to finally be human again Redall thought. Redall had an entire endgame in mind when he saw the emergency broadcast plaster his console, but the newfound revelations washed it all away. What is there to look forward to? What’s even the point? It all ended up being fruitless. Anne begins clicking on her keyboard, adding more noise to the constant crackles and echoes coming from the transmission.

           “So… what’s your story?” Anne shatters the silence further.

           A crushing feeling ignites in Redall’s chest. He never thought he would have to recount the events out-loud, where all his demons can hear them loud and clear.

           “I… uh.” Redall stutters. “It’s a bit fuzzy. Ship exploded, I managed to take the last pod out.” He says with apprehensive stutters.

           The typing from the other side stops abruptly.

           “We have all the time in the universe, go into some details. You have to remember it right?” She exclaims. “It’s probably been the most eventful thing to happen to you in a year, right? You couldn’t have forgot.” She pushes.

           Each push brings more and more pain to the broken Redall. What was only emotion pain has now evolved and seeped into the physical realm. The cursed feeling in his chest has grown into an intense pain akin to being crushed by a hydraulic press. Visions of fire and ashes wash his fragile mind. Mental feebleness and encumbrance casts over Redall. What could be the cure?

           “I ran from my dying crew. I was an engineer aboard the Iris of Gallantry. I was responsible for things like regularly assessing the reactor or checking for general damages to said reactor.” He suddenly blurted.

           He paused, short of breath. He gasps for one breath of air.

           “I was replacing… vital components, to put it simply, for the reactor.” He continues, voice slowly cracking. “My hands must’ve grown clammy at the time, because I dropped the replacement parts. It combusted. A chain reaction begun; the fire reached the actual reactor. It caused a meltdown.” He finished.

           Salty waves of tears slowly streamed down the self-scorned man’s face. He promised to himself to never crawl down to those depths of his mind again, and here he is. On this star-ridden day, he lies broken and regretful.

           “I ran like a coward.” Redall admits. “Even took the very last pod. Probably took it from someone who deserved it.” He adds, emphasizing his shame.

           The transmission that listened, now talks.

           “I’m sorry.” Anne mourned.

           The suffering stagnates within Redall. Shouldn’t he be held accountable and punished for his actions? He realizes that the peak has been past, and the pain is subsiding.

           “I killed hundreds of people. I should be sorry, not you.” Redall responds.

           “It’s a touchy conundrum. You should be held accountable, but you shouldn’t let it haunt you till death. Besides, I'm probably all you have out here, I wouldn't just meet you, and immediately kick you down further.” She declares softly. “Now, what are you’re coordinates?” She abruptly says with the same gentle tone.

           Redall blindly publicizes his current co-ordinates through sheer muscle memory on his console. The streams of tears dried out on his face, leaving itchy nuisances on his face. He softly scratches his face as Anne types away on her keyboard the moment she receives the coordinates on her own end.

           The emotion baggage cursed upon Redall feels lightly lifted. It’s almost refreshing to face them. He couldn’t have done it with only himself. He notices the forgotten MRE of jerky on the dashboard, feeling peckish after such a moment of reincarnation, he grabs the packet and lightly tears it open. He softly bites into the jerky. It’s the most delicious meal he has had in months.

           He’s interrupted by a loud bang emanating from the top of his pod’s hull, followed by Anne’s voice crackling through the transmission.

           “Can you accept the dock?” She requests.

           He realizes what she’s doing he quickly sets the unfinished jerky on the dashboard, and he orders the autopilot to accept the docking request. Sharp shrieks emit from a hatch at the top of the pod as the airlock is being established. Air emits from the pressurized connection, and the hatch opens. A ladder speedily descends from the opening, clanking against the floor of the pod. A woman with blonde, long messy hair soon slides down the ladder. Landing on the floor of the pod with a quiet thump.

           “It’s more claustrophobic than I thought.” She says, with a voice clear of radio static.

           “After a while, you start to adapt.” Redall responds with a slight smile.

           Redall feels rekindled. A newfound friendship has reminded him how it feels to be human. Anne looks around the pod before sitting down on an emergency brace chair.

           “So, what’s your story?” Redall slightly harps.

           “Not as bombastic as yours. We just simply ran amok in an asteroid field. Catastrophic damages occurred after some inevitable impacts to the hull and suddenly we’re being funneled into the escape pods. Lousy captain and his crew didn’t even feel qualified to operate the flying can in the first place.” She finishes with a hint of spite in her voice.

           “Well, guess accidents are more universal than I thought.” Redall responds with slight regretful relation.

           Anne chuckles a bit before looking down at the floor with a change in demeanor. She cups her hands together tightly.

           “Yesterday I reviewed my survivability, and I think it’d apply to you to.” She says with a drop in glee. “It’s going to take us near a hundred years to return to any type of civilization judging by how far out we are.” She says metaphorically ripping off the band-aid.

           Redall’s expression shifts, reflecting Anne’s.

           “So, this is it? The fire really is snuffed out.” Redall quietly proclaims.

           “I never said we couldn’t make it.” Anne lifts herself up.

           “Well, we’ll make it back, just as dehydrated corpses.” Redall drops himself.

           “My pod is equipped with cryostasis pods, for these exact situations.” Anne informs.

           Redall rises, going back on his recent statement with skeptic thoughts and a little hope. He really has no other way to escape this infinite void besides succumbing to his own lack of survivability.

           “I guess we can get to know each other more back in civilization?” Redall concludes.

           Anne rises from the chair, and begins to climb the latter. Just before she reaches the apex of the climb, she points at Redall.

           “See you in about a century.” She says with a grin.

           Redall follows suit, and climbs up the ladder. As he reaches the other side, he surveys the area. It’s not very different from his own pod, aside from being slightly more spacious to accommodate the large cryostasis pods. He sees Anne climb into a cryo-pod, laying at a slight angle against the back of its interior. Redall follows suit, climbing into another cryo-pod opposite from Anne’s own pod. He looks up to see a control panel with five buttons, four of them being numbered from one to four, with one large red one.

           “Press the big red one, then press the buttons in numerical order, then the red one again. It’ll start the cryostasis.” She says whilst inputting the formula into her own pod.

           A windowed canopy begins to slowly descend to cover the open space of Anne’s pod. She gives a short thumbs-up before the canopy completely closes. She closes her eyes and grows motionless.

           Redall felt a shiver witnessing it. Not because of the cold storage methods, but because once she was preserved, he felt how he was before this day began. Feeling all alone, with no buffer between him and his own horrible mental fabrications.

           Revelation and hope slowly regained ground upon Redall. He begun the cryostasis sequence and felt ironically warm as the canopy begun to close. Once he was sealed within, he closed his eyes.

           Even if his hope is misplaced, and they truly are doomed to be victim to the all-consuming void of deep-space, at least he wouldn’t succumb in absolute regret. Or in lonesome.