And besides that, they had been my friends. And Devon’s friends.
After a short time, I punched a few buttons and sent the next compacted data streams toward Earth. “Telemetry on the ship’s status being fed now.”
At least they would know exactly what happened and why.
I gave them everything, downloaded it all, to show everyone back at Houston Control just how screwed I was. That way they wouldn’t go off half-cocked trying to come up with some harebrained scheme for me to fix this mess.
There was just nothing to fix.
I might die at any moment from some stray rock. Or some weakness in this cabin’s walls caused by the two crashes. Or I might live until my food and air ran out. I was betting on a stray rock taking me out very shortly.
“Give us a few moments to look over all this,” Devon said, his voice barely holding back the emotion I could see in his eyes.
Then he cut the link and I was alone again.
“Hope I’m still here,” I said into the silence of the big control room.
At least some of the cameras and sensory equipment were still working on the outside of the ship. That way I could see what was going to kill me. I think someone once called that a cold comfort.
I tested the main computer and it seemed to be up and running as well, so I worked to plot my course as best I could in relationship to the big rocks we had charted. Banging off two different rocks like a bad game of billiards could send a ship going in some very strange directions, and the Klondike had been no exception.
After about ten minutes, I had figured out that at least I wasn’t going to go head first into any of the bigger asteroids for at least a few months. In fact, the last impact had sent the Klondike upwards and slightly out of the main debris field. So it was going to have to be a small piece of rock that finally took me out. And there were far, far too many of them just in my neighborhood for even our best computers to try to track.
I might see it coming. Maybe two, three seconds ahead was all.
The connection to Houston remained blank, so I stood and moved around, stretching my muscles as best I could in the zero gravity. My magnetic boots held me to the deck, so, as I had learned over the years, I used that force to work against doing my exercises.
I wasn’t sure why I was doing that. Just force of habit, I suppose.
What else could I do while waiting to die?
Poor Tammie. I could see her long, brown hair, her big eyes, her small but wonderful smile. I had been gone almost more than I was home over the last two decades. From what I could tell, she had lived the life perfectly, keeping her own interests in teaching, sharing in mine when I was there, saying goodnight to me every night, no matter how deep into space I was, or what she was busy with.
A perfect astronaut’s spouse.
She never really mentioned, and we never really talked about, the fact that I might not come home. It was just understood, part of my job.
I suppose I took her for granted far too much. The job of exploring space had always come first for me. The adventure was what I loved. I had to admit I had let the marriage just coast along. When I got home after this trip, I had planned on making up for that.
Too late.
I finally sat back down and stared out the forward viewport, watching the shadows of the dark rocks turning slowly, blocking out the background stars as they moved around and past me.
It was like a bunch of ghosts moving through a very dark night. Only these ghosts were real hard. And real deadly.
May 23, 2008. This would be a day that would be remembered as a footnote in the history of space exploration. All six of our names would be put up on the big golden obelisk sitting on the mall beside the United Nations building. It was a fantastic way to remember the dead. It was over thirty stories tall, yet no more than seventy feet across at the base. Standing back on the UN Plaza, staring up at it, the entire thing seemed to be reaching up for the stars. On its sides near the base, in large block letters, it held all the engraved names of those who had given their lives in the adventure of space.
Unless someone else died while I was sitting out here waiting, I would be the three hundred and twenty-sixth name on the memorial.
I knew exactly where my name would be. I had stood under those names many, many times, remembering all my friends who were on that memorial.
I had no doubt Tammie would stand there as well. I always felt it was too bad we had never had children. Now I was glad. I would never want to put a son or daughter through what Tammie was going to have to go through.
It took Houston a good twenty minutes before they got back to me. Guess when there was no hope, time suddenly lost its importance.
“Ben,” Devon said. My friend’s face looked drawn and older, far older than he had looked just a half hour before. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sure you know the situation.”
“Yeah, I know it,” I said. “Got any friendly neighborhood aliens with spaceships to stop by and pick me up? I could use a lift.”
After the few seconds’ timelag, Devon would smile at my corny joke, since we had both loved that story, published when we were kids, of an alien rescuing a stranded astronaut. Where was a good alien when you needed one?
“We’re seeing what we can do,” Devon said. “And don’t give up hope just yet. We’re still working on this.”
“Sure,” I said. “Has it got out to the press yet?”
“No,” Devon said. “We’ve kept a lid on this for the moment, and no one’s paying any attention. It was just a regular day for you guys out there.”
“Yeah, real regular,” I said. “After you guys finally figure out that my goose is cooked, I’d like to talk to Tammie.”
“Copy that,” Devon said, nodding, as if my request didn’t just go in. “We’ll be back in a half hour.”
With that, the screen again went dead.
“He sure trusts that I’m still going to be here,” I said out loud. My voice echoed in the empty control room.
I sat back and stared out the front port at all the twisting shadows cutting out the stars and then blinking them back on as they moved past, a slow-motion light show.
I glanced at the clock that told me what time it was in Phoenix where Tammie and I lived. Five in the morning. She would still be asleep. What horrible news to wake up to.
We had built a wonderful home on top of a rock ledge overlooking the green fairways of a private golf course that wound through the rocks and cactus in the valley below us. Actually, Tammie had built it while I was on one of my Mars runs. And I didn’t play golf, but that scene was so beautiful, I had decided I liked the place.
I commuted to Houston, being home on most weekends when I could and when I was on the ground.
Last time I was home, Tammie said she had learned how to play golf, had been taking lessons. She said she really loved it. I had planned on joining her on the links after this mission, although, to be honest, I just couldn’t see myself being happy doing nothing but that. I wanted to move into test piloting some of the new suborbital planes being developed.
I stared out the viewport. I just hoped all the drifting shadows out there gave me enough time to at least say goodbye.
Suddenly, a very large shadow seemed to block out all of the stars in front of the viewport. I could see nothing in the pitch black, and the brains back at Mission Control had just never thought that headlights on these ships were worth the expense.
Looks like I wasn’t going to get to say goodbye to anyone.
I braced myself and held my breath.
Nothing happened.
The shadow remained in front of me, covering every star as if someone had just put them all out like candles on a cake.
Then there was a slight tingling in my arms and legs, and the next moment I found myself standing, facing my best friend.