Darkness.
“He’s a sick fuck!”
Pelops regains consciousness, wrapped in a web of pain. No, it’s the copper wire. He’s propped upright inside one of the defunct pods. In the corridor Harmon stands arguing with another man. The inhabitant of the last pod, the ship’s captain (Tyler, Capt. H.). A sinking feeling as he realizes that Harmon has revived Tyler far too early. He tries to move his arms and legs, but he’s securely bound. He listens to their conversation, watching them in the corner of his eye.
“I know how you feel, soldier,” says Captain Tyler, still wiping frost from his flight suit, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “But Pelops is the only one who knows how to set up those UV converter domes and get them operational. We can’t just execute him.”
“Execute? Who said anything about an execution? You don’t execute a mad dog, captain. You put it down. And that’s what we have here. He fuckin’ ate them! Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard you, son.” A weary sigh.
“Come on,” says Harmon. “Let me show you the nice little present he built for us on the bridge. Once you see that I’m sure you’ll agree to shoving him out the airlock at the least.”
The sound of their boots tramping down the corridor.
Pelops waits.
Prays.
Mutters poems to his bone god.
Eventually the voices return, growing in volume, punctuated by the sounds of boots on metal.
“… even if we do this, we’re still going to starve. There’s no food left on board and we can’t enter Cryo again. This is the end of the line for us.”
“Then it doesn’t matter, does it? Let me kill him. One last good thing before we die. Then we’ll set the auto-destruct… go out in a blaze of glory. Better than starving to death.”
Captain Tyler has no response to that.
The two men stand before the open CryoPod now, looking at Pelops.
“Captain…” Pelops says, “you know as well as I do—”
“Shut up, freak!” Sgt. Harmon’s fist slams into his gut. The air rushes from his lungs, along with the words he failed to utter.
Harmon lifts a service pistol to Pelops’ chin, the barrel digging into his jawbone.
“All of us may have to die,” Harmon tells him, “but you’re going first you cannibal fu—”
Thud.
A flash of silver above his head, a meaty sound, and Harmon goes down. Captain Tyler stands over him with the wrench in his hand. Its round end drips dark blood like syrup, and a clot of hair and skin hangs there.
Tyler drops the wrench and peels the coils of wire away from Pelops’ wrists and ankles.
The captain is silent for awhile as Pelops rubs his limbs to get the circulation flowing again. Tyler stares at his fallen officer, leans against the wall. Tired. Ready to accept his fate.
“You did the right thing doctor,” says Tyler. His sunken eyes turn toward Pelops. They are as black and glittering as the void. “The famine on Dantus could kill tens of thousands. This mission has to succeed.”
Pelops nods. His stomach growls. He is ravenous.
“Can you still make it work?” asks Tyler.
Pelops stares down at the unconscious soldier. Makes a few mental calculations. Rubs his sore temple.
“Yes,” he says. “With your help, the mission will still succeed.”
Tyler helps Pelops carry Harmon into the infirmary.
Pelops carefully rations out pieces of Harmon over the next few weeks. Tyler holds out for sixteen days but eventually joins him for a slight meal. Pelops insists.
“It’s imperative to this mission that you stay alive captain,” he says. “Just a little while longer.”
Tyler won’t go near the infirmary. The blow to Harmon’s head inflicted some kind of brain damage, so he remains comatose as he’s carved to bits day after day. Just as well. No screams to deal with, but still Tyler takes it hard. He sits on the bridge in his chair most days… staring at the red star growing ever brighter directly ahead.
Pelops thought the captain would dismantle the bone god… but Tyler doesn’t seem to mind it. Or perhaps he’s frightened of it. Too frightened of its power to risk desecrating it. He must know that it, not him, now rules the Goya.
Harmon would have lasted longer if Pelops did not share him with Tyler. However, Tyler ate so very little… only enough to keep himself alive for another month. Finally, when the last of Harmon has been consumed and his bones have been added to the god’s intricate frame, Tyler comes to Pelops. A broken man, emaciated, begging to be put out of his misery.
“It’s all my fault,” Tyler tells him, weeping. Pelops listens. “It was my responsibility to make sure we had extra emergency kits. I didn’t do it.”
Pelops leads him into the infirmary.
Tyler babbles, weeping. “Trying to maximize profits… cut corners… it should have been a simple trip. I did it to save money, Pelops. I killed us all for money… ”
“Not all of us, Captain,” says Pelops.
Tyler nods, wipes his swollen eyes. He must be thinking of those starving families on Dantus now.
“I am sorry there is no more anesthetic for this Captain.”
“Just do it,” says Tyler. He unholsters his pistol, lays it on a nearby counter. “Get it over with. Kill me. For Dantus… for all those children. Kill me now… ”
“If you wouldn’t mind lying on the table first,” says Pelops. Tyler complies.
Pelops straps him down securely and prepares the laser scalpel.
“What are you doing?” asks Tyler. “One shot between the eyes will do it. Make it quick, Pelops.”
Pelops hesitates.
It seems the captain has misunderstood his role here.
“We’ve still got over a month of travel time, sir…” Pelops explains. “If I kill you now, I’m afraid you’ll spoil before we reach Dantus.”
Tyler’s shock registers as a moment of silence. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, you can eat for two or three weeks, and the last few days you can go without. You’ll be fine… as soon as you touch down you’ll have food on Dantus. You don’t need me to last that long, Pelops!”
“I’m sorry, Captain,” says Pelops. “But I don’t like to go hungry.”
He ignores the captain’s screaming and writhing as he puts the gag on him. Same old reaction. Pulling against the restraints, wearing the throat raw with grunts and smothered screams.
“It’s for the mission,” Pelops reminds him.
He starts with the legs, as usual.
Tyler, once a strong and vital man, lasts nearly three weeks on the table.
In the end, with the last few scraps of Tyler gone, Pelops still has six days left to starve.
The red star swells brighter than ever among the starfields in the viewport.
Pelops sits in the captain’s chair and stares into the shimmering void.
Everything from plants to mammals is fueled by the light of stars. Sunlight fuels photosynthesis, which feeds the plants that in turn feed the animals we eat on earth. Photons and atoms being constantly recycled and reinvented, a molecular dance of destruction and creation that never ends. Everything consumes and is consumed.
We are all made of starlight.
Brilliant starlight, pulsing bright as blood inside us.
It’s all energy… and energy is neither created nor destroyed.
His stomach growls.
In the glow of a red sun, the Goya touches down atop a broad plateau littered with wrecked vehicles and rusting machines. Pelops stumbles from the open hatch into the ruddy glow. He walks with a single crutch made of bones. His right leg is missing below the knee, a fresh tourniquet wrapped tight about the stump.