He lives in the shadows of his mind. Flickering phantasms brought to life by his smallest thought. Fragments of memory shoot past like comets, trailing glory in their wake. He navigates effortlessly through the void, the unused parts of himself, and touches down where he will. There are none to gainsay him here.
Yet, like every universe, there are laws. A center. A dark, forbidding place, which draws him in time and time again, despite his best efforts to stay in the light. It always starts the same way. A snatch of a tune that he simply has to follow. One time when his will matters not. And the tune spreads its strands everywhere, like a patient spider laying in wait.
He is currently in a summers day. June 21, 2009, if he is not mistaken. Walking through the park, enjoying the sun's heat on his shoulders and the smell of new mown grass in the air. Children playing, couples lazing. Just another day in paradise. Head towards the icecream cart. Really fancy a cone - coffee and chocolate, today. It just fits with the perfect day.
A snatch of song. He tenses, then relaxes. It is OK, it is not the song. Just somebody's boombox playing over by the trees. Buy the icecream and walk on. All is right with the world. Everything is perfect. In the distance, he sees her walking towards him. Speeds up slightly, as does she. They will meet by the big Chestnut tree. Their tree.
Her smile is like the sun after the rain. He drops the remains of his icecream and sprints the last 30 feet to her. Picks her up effortlessly and spins her, while kissing her like he'll never stop. All is right with the world, and his joy overflows. A beat. Then that never to be sufficiently damned bassline starts. The one that tears him away once again, drawing him towards the dark vortex at the core of his mind.
That night. May 17th, 2022. Hell night.
Sure, in his line there are always risks. It goes with the job, as the saying goes. Thousands of very smart people work very hard indeed to minimise them. But they can't be totally eliminated. Accidents happen in a hostile universe.
Glance across the control cabin. She looks strange without most of her hair. Her crowning glory, he used to call it, so long she could, and frequently did, sit on it. To her usual disgust and his laughter. But fanned out across the pillow, it was like a magnet. Totally attractive. Totally irresistable. Gone now, thanks to the mission requirements. Oddly enough, the sacrifice of her hair had only bonded them deeper. Give her a half humorous salute and descend one level to the garden ring. He is the farmer this shift. Pick up an air mask and head through the airlock. The CO2 levels are kept high here, to increase oxygen production. Microfibre filters allow the oxgen out to the rest of the craft, while keeping the CO2 in the farm. Monitors overhead, showing the various parts of the Aries. A click and his favorite song start to play as he checks the nutrient levels of the hydroponics.
Will the world end with a bang, or a whimper. Neither. His world ended with a ping. Not a normal noise. He glances around wildly for a second, as a gentle wind start to blow amongst the plants, the subsides as the ventilator grills slam shut with a slam more felt than heard. He looks up to the monitors.
She is there on screen. What is left of her, anyway. Explosive decompression does not leave a good looking corpse. Throw up, and look away. The others, also dead. Floating shadows in the emergency lights. Just him left. Trapped in the farm ring with no suit. No way to get out. The computers will tuck us safely into Mars orbit in 100 days. He has maybe 10 days worth of food and water here.
Bolted down on every deck is a long coffin. A cryochamber. Still experimental, but included, despite the weight, as a last ditch attempt at saving lives in an ultimate emergency. He gives a wry grin. This probably counts as one.
Open it and settle in. Read the instructions carefully, three times. Not hard to do, they simply say "Lay down and hit the red button." He does so. As the lid swings shut, he sees her eyes in the monitor. The blood seepage makes it look like she is crying. Then a hiss of liquid helium from the reactor, and he starts to dream.
* * *
"Base, this is Aries 2, copy? We have successfully docked with Aries 1. We have 5 confirmed dead. One in cryonic suspension, presumed living."
The captain wearily wipes his hand over his face. It was not good.
"Cap? That guy in the freezer is still alive?"
"Yeah, Alvarez, he is still alive."
"Why does he look like he is screaming?"
