@fenixWith the passage of time, the omnipresent buzz of the generators - and God knows what else in the bowels of that cathedral of circuits - had become like a second skin. Funny how the white noise coming from the racks was indifferent to him and could, at the same time, launch its messages in the most modulated and subtle of languages, in a perfect symbiosis. After months, Ethan was instantly aware when something in the monotonous chanting cracked, foretelling one of the increasingly frequent system errors. He was developing a third ear in place of a third eye.
He just smiled at the thought, his gaze fixed on the secondary pylons n. 6 and 11, the last still working in the experimental orbital station DDG-31/DD-936 Decatur, renamed "The Decaf".
Silence was a mute vowel screaming inside him. Always. React to the atrophic thinking. Dodge the anguish, sharp like the debris of that day. The slashed modules were like scenic elements for a cheap movie. All the modules except his one. Follow procedures, rituals, checklists. All this to not raise his gaze and stare, right in front of him, the hangover of so much pain.
Castaway. At some point, he had renamed the pylons Romeo & Juliet. For each orbital period, about 90 minutes, the two arms were almost touching each other. A fleeting kiss and again far away. From the beginning of the mission, he had liked to play the game of renaming equipment and modules with funny nicknames. He allowed himself a slow sigh.
The inclination of the station displayed the earth down there. He had promised never to look in that direction again but the mauve colour, so iridescent, so alive, so omnipresent, took him by surprise once again. He thought for a moment that it was.. beautiful.. and the remorse for that thought flooded him soon after. Ethan hid his face between his hands as the tears surfaced and many names knocked on his heart's door once again. Inside him, a spark of curiosity wondered if it was possible to locate one of the 19 towers between the mauve nanoparticles' clouds.
“Ethan, I suggest that you sleep in 30 minutes. I detect slightly high levels of cortisol, are…”
“Thank you. I was going right now, old scrap”. He replied to the metallic yet familiar voice through the speakers.
He suddenly suffocated all those idle musings, it was time to rest. According to Querquobad, tomorrow was going to be the day.
For someone with such a big day ahead, he slept surprisingly well—a deep dreamless sleep that left no traces to dampen the morning.
He lay in bed quietly for a few moments. His arm trailed out to the side, tracing over the warm indentation he’d just rolled away from, and he pretended that it had been left by Brian, who had just gotten up to use the bathroom and would be back momentarily.
The familiar ache began to well up in his chest and he slammed his hand down on the thin mattress to break the spell. Today was his opportunity to actually do something for Brian, for everyone back on their ruined planet, rather than sit and stew in regrets. He got up and hurried to his morning chores, performing them with a vigor he hadn’t felt in a while.
Once re-ensconced in the cockpit he greeted Querquobad and checked the coordinates of the comet even though he could see it burning brightly through the window, finally in range for what he needed. All it would take was one final thrust of the station’s engines and he’d generate enough energy to hopefully fuel an even greater trip. His chance to go back and change what he’d done.
He locked in the coordinates and the speakers crackled to life.
“Ethan, this path is in line with with Comet 277-RS and will lead to a collision.”
“Thank you.” He usually spoke to the ship familiarly, as a friend, but this situation left him without words. It seemed impossible to explain to a machine the need for its destruction to further a higher cause. Instead he performed a final check, running each engine in turn through its paces.
He looked over at Juliet, far from her would-be lover at the moment, hoping to draw strength from her. When she’d woken and found her lover dead, she’d done what she had to with no hesitation.
Of course that had been different. Romeo had killed himself rather than face a life without her. She hadn’t found Romeo in a room with a looped sim of his ex playing on the holographic projector, having killed himself without even a scrawled note, no acknowledgement that he was willfully sentencing Ethan to a life alone on this rotting station.
Had Brian even loved him in the first place? If Ethan hadn’t been responsible for the nanoparticle disaster, would that have changed anything? The awful question stilled Ethan’s hand.
Even if the collision worked and Ethan made it through the portal, he’d have to come into contact with his past self, probably doing irreparable damage to his personal timeline. All this for a small chance he’d create a future where Brian survived, but to what end? So Brian could end up marrying his ex?
“Lunch today is Beef Wellington. Shall I serve it early? Your blood sugar appears low.”
Ethan suddenly felt overwhelmed with guilt. Querquobad was still there for him. God knew he’d do anything to go back and save the Earth, but why should his most faithful friend have to pay.
And now that he thought about it, it struck him how ludicrously shaky the whole plan was. For all he knew he was the only one left to do anything. He couldn’t throw Earth’s only chance away on such a risky premise. He stood up from his seat.
“Thank you,” he said with a slight tremor in his voice, “I think I will have lunch now.”
This story was written for 
Image by 1980supra.
