EVE Fiction

Alabath barely managed to fly the pod a kilometer before she was crushed into her chair by the force of the explosion. While she had remembered to buckle in, the force of it pushed her to the very edge of consciousness; she recalled a time a few months prior, when she had reviewed the specs of the escape pods. “What’s this,” she had spat, “A soda can? N.T. can afford to spend a few thousand more on reinforced walls.”

Debris from the station collided with the escape pod, leaving Alabath’s ears ringing with the sound of metal ripping. Screens flashed red, and she bet- if her ears were working- she would have heard alarms. In the initial jolt of the explosion, she fought to stay awake.

The force of the explosion subsided. She shook her head clear and waited for the black spots to clear out of her eyes. The flashing lights of the monitors on the wall across from her seat caught her attention. After a few minutes of squinting intently at the big capital lettered words on the monitors, she deduced that the hull was severely damaged. It took nothing less than an expert to piece that together from the words “HULL SEVERELY DAMAGED” on the screen.

She unbuckled and addressed those screens that demanded her attention. A sigh of relief escaped her lips at the discovery that none of the essential life support systems had been affected; an impassioned curse tore through her mouth when she saw the navigation systems were too damaged to function. The distress beacon didn't appear to be attached to the pod anymore, either. Without the necessary repair equipment, there was little she could do. She placed her hand on the side of her throbbing skull. She couldn't determine her coordinates, if a rescue and recovery crew was sent out in a timely manner. She wasn't dead in the pod, but she knew her long term outlook was grim.

The communications system had suffered minor damage. She could send communications, but she could not receive. Her stomach dropped, and she wondered how wise switching on the microphone would be. She had made sure Charles was the first to escape, as per her responsibilities as head of their department. She might be in range of other pods for a few minutes. Should she try to let him know she was alive, or should she avoid giving him false hope?

Little was more than none. She flipped on the communications system. “Hello?”

Silence. She didn’t know what she expected when the receiver was nonfunctional. “Well.” She pushed through the weight in her chest. “If you’re hearing this, I’m hoping you’re Charles. If not, I hope you’ll pass this message along.”

“I got caught in the blast. My pod was damaged. The life support systems are fine, but my nav is, uh. Not.” She prodded and pressed the screen, checking out the status of the pod’s other systems. “I should be able to last a month before there’s serious trouble.”

“It’s a little sad this happened a week before we got our capsuleer implants, eh?” She chuckled, which sounded a little less amused than she had hoped. “When we get back to the academy, we’ll have to get that done as soon as possible. No waiting patiently for appointments, we’ll barge in and demand to be handled now.” For her own sake, she raised a mock-angry fist.
“I’m going to be bored waiting for you, you know. The engineers always forget to include proper entertainment in pods. I have only myself to blame – I did look at those damn plans and approve them.” She cursed herself for being responsible rather than picking the fun option.

She continued checking the pod information on the screens. “Oh, I see. These pods have Quafe stocked. You’re going to have yourself a party in your pod, you piece of ****. I hate you.”

“Not- I don’t hate you, you know that. Goodness. I hope those aren’t the last words you hear.” Water threatened to flood her eyes. She rubbed it away with mild annoyance. “I love you. I do. I know it was smothering at times, and I know you had much more of me than you could stand, but I need to say it for myself, as much as I need to say it for you.” Agitated fingers tugged at her hair. “And I’m not going to say I’m sorry for kissing you and hugging you and needing you. I’m not sorry, even when it made you distant. Even when it made you cold.”

“I hope, while I’m gone, you’ll remember how much I ******* loved you. I hope it’ll keep you warm and happy for the rest of your immortal capsuleer life. And don’t you refuse to become a capsuleer on my account. The second you return to civilization, you get that operation. Do it because you deserve to live forever.”

Her words caught in her throat, and water streamed down her cheeks as she coughed. “When you’re immortal, come look for me. Don’t forget me when you’re a god.”

She was mute for a few minutes. The words that rushed out had left her empty. There was no unwarranted optimism. She couldn't muster her wit into cracking a joke. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. It forced her to stop playing with the screens. The acidic taste of bile rose in her throat. “I’m not ready to die, Charles,” she whispered. She had nothing else she could offer the quiet pod, so with a flick of her finger, she turned off the comms.

Alabath stared at the ceiling. Exhaustion overtook her.

She surrendered to it.