Deep Space
one
It feels like we have been floating in this damn tin can for centuries when the first sign of any trouble begins to manifest itself.
Time is difficult to judge in the vast expanses of deeps space. Minutes melt into hours, which melt into days and weeks and months, perhaps even years. Without the familiar rise and fall of the sun, it is almost impossible to take a guess at when one day ends and another begins. It is entirely plausible to believe that I have been drifting round and round for years, slowly growing old in the gravity-controlled expanses of my new home.
Astrid is popping her gum again, the incessant chewing noise one that drives me quite mad. She chews and pops and pops and chews as she works, her legs the only visible part of her body as she crawls further and further into the exposed wall panel. Our stop-clock -- the only viable way of judging how long we have been floating around in this god-forsaken tin can -- has broken, and she has been trying in vain for what seems like an eternity to fix it. Unfortunately, it has been an eternity of popping gum and the occasional colourful curse word as she traps her hand between a panel, or stubs her finger on an unseen sharp edge. For all of her cursing, popping and fixing, she has been unsuccessful in her plight: the gentle red glow of the counter has yet to reappear.
Astrid often suggests that I am too harsh on her, that I have little trust in her due to the combination of her young age and her gender. Perhaps she is right. When things go wrong, I am swift to blame her handiwork as the main culprit. She is yet to prove herself in my eyes, to show her merit as an individual member of this team. She and her cohort are still strangers to me, members of a new and frightening generation who care little for the art of astrology.
Sterling storms into the main cabin, his fists curled and his eyes darting temporarily towards Astrid’s exposed legs. Almost as if on cue, she curses again as she continues to fiddle with screws and knobs and various other highly uninteresting parts in her attempt to give us time again. Disturbed by the gust that Sterling created on his way in, my papers fly from their perch on the end of my desk, floating to the floor as our artificial gravity unit takes hold.
“The GPS has just stopped running, Astrid.”
Silence. I continue focusing my attention on my star plots, carefully mapping out our current location. I have no desire to become involved in the petty arguments of children, nor do I have a desire to start becoming involved with my two immature crewmates. I have as much interest in their personal struggles as I have in the ghastly noise that Sterling likes to call music.
Sterling calls Astrid’s name once more. She ignores him again, instead choosing to loudly crack her gum. I jump at the sound as it echoes through the cabin. Sterling clenches his fists together even more, his knuckles turning white as he draws his lips together.
“Astrid!”
Our mechanic pulls herself out from under the control desk, fire flashing in her eyes. Another thing that I dislike about Astrid -- she is incredibly short-tempered, and seems to believe that the whole of time and space is out to get her. She is rude and arrogant, just like Sterling, and this seems to cause a problem -- they cannot agree on anything, and every time they seem to speak to one another, they do so in short, angry barks.
“I’ll get to it, Sterling. Give me a fucking break, I’ve a list the size of the universe to fix.”
Sterling sighs loudly, throwing his head backwards. He has more control of his temper than Astrid, but he is still incredibly fiery. I am afraid that one day, they will end up killing one another and I will spend the rest of my sorry life floating around with no means or direction.
“Put this on the top of your list. It’s more important than that stupid clock is.”
Astrid merely sticks her middle finger up in the air, pushing herself back under the control desk and back into her mess of cables and bolts. She is a vulgar girl, and I have no time for her petty tricks. Neither, apparently, does Sterling. He throws his hands up in the air and looks directly at me, plastering a smile across his lips.
“We need to remain stationary until our GPS system is back up and running, Professor. Once we are with coordinates once again, we will be on our way and you can continue your work. No need to worry.”
I force my own smile across my lips, no doubt looking incredibly condescending in the process. It doesn’t matter anyway -- I have almost three times the knowledge that this boy could ever dream of acquiring in his entire lifetime.
“Thank you, Sterling, but I am not worried. After all, what could possibly go wrong?”
Time is difficult to judge in the vast expanses of deeps space. Minutes melt into hours, which melt into days and weeks and months, perhaps even years. Without the familiar rise and fall of the sun, it is almost impossible to take a guess at when one day ends and another begins. It is entirely plausible to believe that I have been drifting round and round for years, slowly growing old in the gravity-controlled expanses of my new home.
Astrid is popping her gum again, the incessant chewing noise one that drives me quite mad. She chews and pops and pops and chews as she works, her legs the only visible part of her body as she crawls further and further into the exposed wall panel. Our stop-clock -- the only viable way of judging how long we have been floating around in this god-forsaken tin can -- has broken, and she has been trying in vain for what seems like an eternity to fix it. Unfortunately, it has been an eternity of popping gum and the occasional colourful curse word as she traps her hand between a panel, or stubs her finger on an unseen sharp edge. For all of her cursing, popping and fixing, she has been unsuccessful in her plight: the gentle red glow of the counter has yet to reappear.
Astrid often suggests that I am too harsh on her, that I have little trust in her due to the combination of her young age and her gender. Perhaps she is right. When things go wrong, I am swift to blame her handiwork as the main culprit. She is yet to prove herself in my eyes, to show her merit as an individual member of this team. She and her cohort are still strangers to me, members of a new and frightening generation who care little for the art of astrology.
Sterling storms into the main cabin, his fists curled and his eyes darting temporarily towards Astrid’s exposed legs. Almost as if on cue, she curses again as she continues to fiddle with screws and knobs and various other highly uninteresting parts in her attempt to give us time again. Disturbed by the gust that Sterling created on his way in, my papers fly from their perch on the end of my desk, floating to the floor as our artificial gravity unit takes hold.
“The GPS has just stopped running, Astrid.”
Silence. I continue focusing my attention on my star plots, carefully mapping out our current location. I have no desire to become involved in the petty arguments of children, nor do I have a desire to start becoming involved with my two immature crewmates. I have as much interest in their personal struggles as I have in the ghastly noise that Sterling likes to call music.
Sterling calls Astrid’s name once more. She ignores him again, instead choosing to loudly crack her gum. I jump at the sound as it echoes through the cabin. Sterling clenches his fists together even more, his knuckles turning white as he draws his lips together.
“Astrid!”
Our mechanic pulls herself out from under the control desk, fire flashing in her eyes. Another thing that I dislike about Astrid -- she is incredibly short-tempered, and seems to believe that the whole of time and space is out to get her. She is rude and arrogant, just like Sterling, and this seems to cause a problem -- they cannot agree on anything, and every time they seem to speak to one another, they do so in short, angry barks.
“I’ll get to it, Sterling. Give me a fucking break, I’ve a list the size of the universe to fix.”
Sterling sighs loudly, throwing his head backwards. He has more control of his temper than Astrid, but he is still incredibly fiery. I am afraid that one day, they will end up killing one another and I will spend the rest of my sorry life floating around with no means or direction.
“Put this on the top of your list. It’s more important than that stupid clock is.”
Astrid merely sticks her middle finger up in the air, pushing herself back under the control desk and back into her mess of cables and bolts. She is a vulgar girl, and I have no time for her petty tricks. Neither, apparently, does Sterling. He throws his hands up in the air and looks directly at me, plastering a smile across his lips.
“We need to remain stationary until our GPS system is back up and running, Professor. Once we are with coordinates once again, we will be on our way and you can continue your work. No need to worry.”
I force my own smile across my lips, no doubt looking incredibly condescending in the process. It doesn’t matter anyway -- I have almost three times the knowledge that this boy could ever dream of acquiring in his entire lifetime.
“Thank you, Sterling, but I am not worried. After all, what could possibly go wrong?”