On Board the Twilight

The planet of Oturn was a vast, barren wasteland. Its red, dusty surface, not unlike that of Mars, was plain and, quite frankly, hideous to look at. The only thing that made Oturn worth a damn was its rich supply of a mineral called Magzite. An ounce of Magzite could, when melted, be used to power vehicles, whole buildings, and airplanes; so much power, derived from a small rock.

It was to Oturn that the starship the Twilight and its crew of five were headed. Captain John Milton served as head of the expedition. His crew consisted of Susan Wood, Paul Byron, Melody Hills, and Matthew Reid. With Captain John at the helm, the Twilight set perfectly down on the surface of Oturn, its various gears hissing and shooting steam.

The Twilight’s boarding ramp hissed and opened, whining until it contacted the surface. Dressed in their space suits, making them resemble marshmallows with legs, Susan, Paul, Melody, and Matthew disembarked, and the latter, compass in hand, took the lead, making their way in the direction of the Magzite mines. John, on the other hand, would remain behind on the ship; armed with a plasma rifle, his duty was to make sure the Twilight would still be in working order when the others returned.

Captain John Milton was appointed captain of the Twilight two years ago. He had joined the StarWing Corporation ten years prior, serving under Vice Admirable Trevor Mason, before receiving captaincy of his own starship. Both he and StarWing, in a combined effort, had worked tirelessly to build the Twilight, making sure she was the finest vessel in StarWing’s fleet.

Susan Wood had graduated top of her class at the University of Maine, where she doubled majored in physics and astronomy. After honing her talents, she joined StarWing, who then appointed her to be the Twilight’s star chart navigator. With billions upon billions of stars in an-ever changing galaxy, it was Susan’s job to safely plot the course to and from Oturn.

Paul Byron, upon his graduation from Oxford, had joined StarWing, who had assigned him to the Twilight. Paul, who had studied language, was tasked with being the translator of any extraterrestrial forms the crew encountered. As StarWing had encountered numerous beings throughout their travels, some friendly and others not, Paul was to ensure that, if the crew were to encounter a potential threat, a deal was brokered, and this was made much simpler by understanding the other party’s language.

 Matthew Reid had had a rough childhood and only escaped from his abusive parents when DCFS was called by a worried neighbor. He was shuffled from foster home to foster home, none of which he had truly belonged to. When he turned eighteen, he enlisted in the U.S Army, eager to gain some sort of structure  to his life. By the time his service had ended, he had reached the Sergeant rank. It was this time that StarWing had reached out and recruited him, based on recommendations from several of his superiors.

Melody Hills had both joined the U.S. Army just after high school. By the time she was recruited by StarWing, she had achieved the rank of Corporal. Trained by StarWing in their weaponry, Melody and Matthew were tasked with protecting both the Twilight and her crew.

After half an hour of marching, the miners arrived at the mouth of a large glittering cave, its walls set with bright green gems.

“Don’t touch the gems,” said Matthew, pointing at them. “They’re acidic, and it’ll eat through the suits in just under a minute.”

Paul, who had stuck his hand out to try and free one of the gems, quickly pulled it back, laughing nervously to himself. Matthew shook his head and led the crew into the cave. As they walked, the device Matthew was holding –a combination of both a compass and tracker- began to beep. The deeper they walked into the cave, the more frequently the device beeped. At last, the device began to beep rapidly. Matthew stopped walking and held the device out in front of him, as if trying to stab something invisible with it. He nodded, satisfied, and lowered the device.

“It’s here,” he said. “Prepare your drills.”

Each crew member held in their hands the StarWing Magzite Drill. The drill would act like a jackhammer that, when activated, would pummel Oturn’s surface in search of Magzite. All gathered Magzite would then be taken back to the Twilight and returned to Earth. With a flick of the switch, each drill came to life, filling the cave with the sound of loud grinding as each miner set to work.

Twenty minutes later, each drill’s deposit bag was filled to the brim with bright Magzite minerals. Each rock was about the size of a dinner plate and weighed just as much, but their colors were vibrant and unique: mixtures of purple and yellow, orange and blue, green and crimson. The crew shut down their drills, slung them back over their shoulders, their deposit bags clutched in their other hands, and began the trek back to The Twilight.

Upon arriving back at the ship, each miner placed their deposit bags into the Twilight’s storage room, where they would stay for the duration of the journey back to Earth. Meanwhile, Captain John began the launch sequence, flipping switches that caused the Twilight’s engines to roar back to life. The Twilight slowly lifted off the ground, and Captain John navigated her towards the sky, starting to break through the atmosphere, leaving Oturn’s barren surface far behind.

The most dangerous aspect of a mission to Oturn was that it took three Earth years to reach it from Earth: three years to get there, three years to return. During that period, each member of the crew, including the captain (who placed the ship on an auto-navigated course back to Earth), was placed into suspended animation. The crew would wake up an hour before they reached Earth, so they could prepare for the landing sequence.

Because of this suspended animation, the Twilight was not stocked with any food or water. The reason, StarWing argued, was that each crew would only be awake for a total of two hours, an hour each for the landing sequences.

The suspended animation room (or SAR) looked very much like a regular bedroom, except, there were five capsules instead of beds. The capsule resembled a long, clear, medicine pill. Tubes were fixed into the top of each capsule, and it was through these tubes that the saline was pumped into the tube, placing the occupant into the suspended animation.

Matthew opened the clasps on his tube, stepped inside, and pulled the glass shut, closing it with a hissss. Paul, meanwhile, reclasped the side of the tube, sealing Matthew inside. One by one, the remaining crew sealed themselves inside their capsules just as the ground was beginning to shake, signifying the jump to hyperspace. Above him, the tube above Matthew’s head began to hissss as the saline began to pump itself into his capsule, and he suddenly started to feel sleepy. His efforts to stay awake proved fruitless, and he drifted off to sleep, the others following suit moments later. The wall clock read 11:30, December 2, 2365.

***

Matthew awoke with a start, smacking his head into his glass capsule. Groaning in pain, he rubbed his head and looked around, expecting the others to be awake as well. To his surprise, they were still asleep. Then…why was he awake? Had something…gone wrong?

Larger and larger these thoughts grew in his head, until they had overtaken every other thought. He began to breathe faster, his breath fogging a small part of the glass. To his horror, he seemed unable to move, as if his limbs were super-glued to the mat beneath him. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slower, to take deep breaths. Inhale…exhale. Inhale…exhale.

At last, the feelings returned to his arms, and he raised them up , flexing his fingers, feeling the flow of blood slowly return to them. He then looked past his hands, to the glass that was keeping him in place. He had to get out. He raised his hands again, balling them into his fists as he did, and began to punch the glass. He winced and paused for a moment, looking at his hand, already starting to bruise.

He shook his head, clenched his fists again, and resumed punching. With the second punch, a small crack began to form in the glass. With each punch, the crack grew bigger until, at last, the glass shattered, sending fragments across the floor. Panting heavily, Matthew stepped out from the glass, doing his best to avoid the scattered shards, and made his way over to his boots, set neatly next to the door.

As he finished tying the boots, he straightened up and stretched, and it was then that his eyes found the clock, mounted to the wall above his own now-broken capsule. His face fell. The time on the clock read 13:49 pm, December 15, 2365. He had only been asleep for just under two weeks. Two weeks out of a three-year long journey.

Almost immeaditely, his breath, once again, began to quicken as he found he was unable to tear his eyes away from the clock. Panic set in, pure, full-on panic. What was he going to do? The Twilight had no water or food, let alone a galley. How was he awake?

“The saline room,” he thought. The saline room was where the saline for the suspended animation was stored. That sounded like as good a place as any to start. “After that…we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

He set off down the hallway, doing his best to keep himself calm. The door slid open as he reached it. He stepped inside, and the door slid shut behind him as he looked around. There were ten fifteen-gallon canisters, each filled with saline and stacked neatly against the opposite wall. He went over to them and examined the readouts. From what he could tell, everything seemed normal. What had happened then? Was there something wrong with the tubes that fed the saline into his body?

He looked towards the pipes, which snaked their way up into the overhead vents and out of sight. His face fell lower. There was no way he’d be able to fit into that tiny hole. What next, then? Should he pull the tubes back towards him, out of the vents, and check them that way? No, that…

BANG! BANG!

Matthew’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang and what sounded like a scrape, like a fork sliding across a ceramic dinner plate. He was then thrust forward, off his feet, as the Twilight came to an abrupt halt.

“What the…?” he said, getting back to his feet. He ran to the bridge, where the transmission hub and steering controls were, and hurried over to a set of screens; it was to these screens the security cameras sent their feed. He turned one on and began to cycle through the footage until he found the source of the Twilight’s sudden stop.

From his position on the observation tower, he could see another ship, twenty feet long and forty feet tall. It was a plain grey color and, if not for the large view window in the center, could be mistaken for a large asteroid. Along its hull were large cannons, five on each side for a total of ten. The five on the port side of the ship were each aimed at the Twilight but had yet to fire.

Matthew hurried to the communications station; this station was used to communicate with StarWing Communications Center…as well as any other external beings. As he suspected, the red light was flashing. Matthew pressed the button, and the hologram of a Zaron came up. Zarons tended to be pirates, stealing goods from others and basking in the profit those goods brought them once sold. This Zaron’s face looked like it was made of a dark black stone, and his eyes were yellow, like a cat’s, making them seem like fire behind the stonelike face.

“Human,” said the Zaron. “My name is Carn, and this is your only warning. My ship, The Falling Sun, is currently prepared to decimate your ship apart and allow you and your crew to die.”

He paused, as if daring Matthew to respond. He did not.

“However,” continued Carn, “that is not what I want to do. Surrender your Magzite, and I shall leave your ship in peace. Fail to do so, and my voice shall be the last you ever hear. You have one hour.”

The hologram winked out; Carn had ended the transmission. Matthew looked at the ship’s clock: 14:00. His mind racing, he hurried back to the SAR, where his crewmates still slumbered peacefully. Along the wall, there was a red lever, used to manually wake those from suspended animation. Matthew hurried over to the lever, placed his hand on the lever, and paused. Like his own re-awakening, this action was a one-way street. There was no other way to re-enter suspended animation.

With a mighty heave, he grasped the lever and pulled. Above him, a red light began flashing, and there was a sudden series of beeps. Matthew turned and watched the other pods. One by one, the pods began to open, and their passengers sat up, looking around.

“What happened?” asked John, noticing Matthew. “Why are we awake? Are we there?”

Matthew shook his head and quickly relayed Carn’s threat.

“How do you know of the threat?” asked Susan.

“Something went wrong with my pod,” said Matthew, “and I was woken up early.”

“We’ll figure that out later,” said John. “Now, we need to figure out how we’re going to defend the ship.”

He turned to Melody.

“Take us to the weapons room,” he said, and Melody nodded. She led them out of the SAR, down the hallway to the armory. Inside, hung along the wall, was a group of plasma rifles, each with a magazine of fifty rounds of ammunition. Each crew member grabbed a rifle and followed John towards the loading bay.

“Take aim at the door!” John shouted, and each crew member obeyed, aiming their rifles at the entrance door. A moment later, the door’s metal turned hot with heat, and chunks of door fell to the ground with a loud bang. Seconds later, a Zaron poked its head through the door, its ugly face curling into a sneer at the sight of the Twilight’s crew.

“Fire!” John shouted, and a rain of shots soared towards the Zaron’s head, which quickly retreated behind the door. A group of shots returned fire from the other side of the door, and the crew members ducked out of the way to avoid them. A group of Zarons poured into the loading bay, snarling and letting out roars that sounded like that of a gorilla.

The crew held firm, though, and the Zarons began to fall. When the last Zaron was dead, John led the way through the melted door, onto the enemy ship, searching for survivors. Satisfied there wasn’t any, John gathered the crew at the corridor that bridged the two ships.

“We need to detach the Zaron ship from the Twilight,” he said. “Before we do that, though, I want each of you to check every inch of this ship for anything useful. Weapons, supplies, ammunition, I want anything and everything brought over here. Understood?”

The crew nodded and set to work, thoroughly scouring the Zaron ship. Matthew found a half dozen plasma rifles and transported them over. Meanwhile, Paul had successfully raided the galley. He brought over two crates of supplies and transported them to the Twilight’s own galley. When they were done, John oversaw each Zaron’s body being reloaded onto their ship.

When the last body had been taken back over, John turned to Melody, who rushed to the detachment controls.

“And…detach,” shouted John, and Melody activated the controls. The door slid shut, sealing off the Twilight from the Zaron ship. A second later, the Zaron ship detached from the Twilight, and it drifted listlessly away, deep into space.

***

As the Zaron ship disappeared, John’s words brought the crew to reality.

“I’m want everyone in the SAR immediately,” he said, and he walked off. The rest of the crew exchanged glances and followed him. When they had all gathered in the room, John turned and faced them, surveying each of them with his grey eyes.

“Something has obviously malfunctioned,” he said at last. “I want each of you to conduct a thorough examination of your pod. We might be able to find what went wrong and get it fixed. If not…”

His voice trailed off, and the crew began their examination. As they finished their inspections, each of them reported that everything was perfectly functional, that nothing was out of place.

“Dammit,” said John, and he began to pace the room, deep in thought. When he spoke again, there was a small twinge of hesitation in his voice.

“We’re not supplied for the return trip to Earth,” he said. “We’ve, maybe, a few days’ worth of supplies but not enough for the entire trip. I propose we locate the nearest habited planet, sell off the Magzite, and live out the rest of our lives for as long as we can.”

There was a murmur of agreement amongst everyone else, but something didn’t sit right with Matthew.

“What about StarWing?” he asked, looking at everyone. “Can we send them a transmission? They might be able to send someone to pick us up.”

“We’re three hundred light years from Earth,” said Susan. “No one StarWing sends would get here in time.”

“But if the ship doesn’t come back,” said Matthew, “wouldn’t they start searching for us, try to figure out what’s going on?”

“There’s countless inhabitable planets,” said Susan. “Yes, they’ll want the Magzite and probably the Twilight, but they won’t want to devote the labor or the time to searching each of them. Besides, it’s space. Shit happens.”

The agreement murmurs swept through the rest of the crew again, and Matthew looked at each of them in turn. Without speaking, he turned on his heel and left the SAR, heading towards the bridge. As he walked, he expected someone to call after him, but all was quiet.

He reached the bridge and hurried over to the transponder, clicking the buttons to fire it up. There was a whirring sound, and a female voice spoke.

“Identify yourself.”

“Matthew Dell,” he said. “Quartermaster for the Twilight, part of StarWing’s Oturn fleet.”

“Identity accepted,” the female voice said. “Please begin your recording.”

“This is Matthew Reid of the Twilight,” he said. “Something has malfunctioned on our ship, causing my team’s suspended animation to be interrupted. Our captain wants to find a planet and live our lives there after we’ve sold the Magzite we’ve mined. Requesting advice on how to proceed.”

After he had finished, he clicked the button to end the recording.

“Thank you,” said the female voice. “Your transmission is important to us. Please wait while your transmission is sent to StarWing Communications Center.”

Five minutes later, a red light above the transponder began to flash, indicating an incoming transmission. Matthew clicked a button, and a hologram of a man appeared. The man was thin and wore round glasses beneath what looked to be greasy, unkempt hair.

“Thank you for holding,” the man said. “After reviewing your transmission, StarWing has authorized you to take command of your craft by any means necessary. After you have done so, you are to beam a message to StarWing Communications Center, confirming you have done so. We’ll be along to collect the ship, the Magzite, and follow the funeral procedures as outlined in your employment contract.”

The man looked at Matthew.

“Have I relayed these instructions to you in a clear and concise manner?” he asked, and Matthew nodded. “Very well. Your case number is T-111292. Please reference this case number when you send your second transmission.”

The transmission ended, and the hologram disappeared. Matthew closed his eyes and repeated the case number until he memorized it. He then opened his eyes and sighed.

“By any means necessary,” he said. “What to do, what to do.”

He sat down in a nearby chair and ran his fingers through his hair. John and the others weren’t going to be willing to surrender control of the ship. He’d already tried explaining alternative situations if they failed to report in. The brig was the best option, the only option. He didn’t want to think about what would need to happen if they refused to cooperate.

***

When he returned to the SAR, everyone was still there, waiting for him. He waved nervously at them.

“Matthew where were you?” asked John, in a clear attempt to appear sympathetic.

“I just took a walk,” said Matthew, and he hesitated. “To the bridge.”

“I see,” said John, and he nodded to Paul and Melody. “Matthew, I’d like you to accompany Paul and Melody to the brig.”

As instructed, Melody and Paul moved towards Matthew, and it was then that he realized they were each holding plasma rifles.

“While in the brig,” John continued, “you will spend the duration of the time it takes to find a habitable planet. Upon landing, I will conduct a search for the buyer of the Magzite. When a buyer has been found, you shall be released and given your portion of the profits. With those credits, you’ll be free to do what you choose.”

Matthew looked from Melody and Paul to John. He reluctantly nodded, and Melody stepped forward.

“Hold out your arms,” she said, and Matthew saw she had pulled out a set of armbinders. Matthew looked at John, unable to hide his surprise.

“An extra bit of precaution,” said John. “On my honor, no harm will come to you.”

Matthew scowled at him but allowed Melody to place the binders on his arms. The binders snapped shut, covering his hands and lower arms in metal. Paul then gave him a small shove forward, and Matthew led them out of the SAR.

Down the corridor they marched, the only sound being their footsteps. Matthew’s mind raced as they marched, trying to think of the best way to make them see reason.

“You both know that John is wrong,” said Matthew. “The Magzite belongs to StarWing.”

“Shut up,” said Paul, shoving Matthew again. They reached the brig, and the door slid open. In the room were six cells, each five feet by five feet. A small cot was bolted to the wall, and a metal toilet was attached to the floor. Melody and Paul led Matthew to a cell, and Melody pushed a button, and the cell door slid open.

“In you go,” she said, turning to Matthew, who acted fast. He smashed the ends of the binders into Melody’s face. She crumpled to the ground as Paul raised his rifle. Before he could fire, though, Matthew swiped at him with the binders, knocking him off balance. His grip on the rifle loosened, and Matthew dived: he smashed the binders into Paul’s hand, and he could hear the bones break. Paul began to scream, clutching his broken hand.

Matthew looked down at Melody and saw the remote for the binders had slipped out of her pocket and onto the floor. With a mighty thrust, he brought the binders down onto the remote, which shattered. The binders sprang open, freeing his hands. As quickly as he could, Matthew snatched up Melody’s rifle and aimed it at Paul, whose wails reduced to mere whimpers of pain.

“Get into the cell,” Matthew said calmly. Paul shuffled, on his knees, into the cell. Keeping the rifle aimed at Paul, Matthew grabbed Melody’s wrists and dragged her to the cell. At the door, he stopped and flung her arms towards Paul.

“Drag her the rest of the way in,” he said. Paul did as he was told; words seemed to have failed him. When Melody had been pulled into the cell, Matthew sealed the door, lowered the rifle, and sighed. His mind began to race again, trying to think of a plan. His heart skipped a beat, though, when words found Paul again.

“Mayday, mayday!” he said, his voice shaking. “Matthew’s taken us hostage, send reinforcements!”

Matthew whirled around and saw Paul had a finger pressed to one ear. A closer look saw that he had a small radio there, and he was, no doubt, speaking to those back in the SAR. Matthew raised the rifle.

“Give me the radio!” he said, but Paul shook his head. What happened next happened so fast Matthew could barely process it. The rifle emitted a single bolt and struck Paul square in the chest. Paul looked down at the wound and then back at Matthew before collapsing next to Melody. A second bolt struck Melody in the head, and the smell of burned hair assaulted Matthew’s nose.

He looked down at the rifle in shock and dropped it as though it had burned him. He pressed the button, and the cell door opened again. He quickly grabbed Paul’s radio and stuffed it in his own ear. He then returned to the rifle, snatched it up, and hurried out of the room.

***

John and Susan arrived at the brig three minutes later, each of them panting heavily. The door slid open, and John’s nose was, instantly, attacked by the smell of burned hair. He saw, to his horror, Melody and Paul lying next to each other in the cell, where a small steam of smoke issued from their head and chest, respectively. He felt his legs give way, and he sank to his knees, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrible sight before him. Around him, he could hear Susan’s gasp of horror and shock.

After a moment, John pulled himself to his feet.

“We need to find him,” he said at last, wiping away a tear. “We need to find him, and we need to do it as soon as possible.”

“What are we going to do when we do?” asked Susan through stifled sobs. John looked at her and placed an arm on her shoulder.

“He won’t have the chance to hurt us,” he said. “I promise you.”

“Where do you suggest we start looking?” asked Susan. “He could be anywhere on the ship by now.”

“We go to the bridge,” said John. “We revoke his access to the ships and its controls, its functions, everything. We limit where he can go, and we’ll corner him and do what needs done.”

Susan nodded and tightened her grip on her rifle.

“Lead the way, captain.”

***

When he was a safe distance from the brig, Matthew slowed and leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. He hadn’t wanted to kill Paul and Melody, but they’d left him no choice! Now, John and Susan had, no doubt, discovered what had happened and now wanted to kill him. Take command by any means necessary.

He took a deep breath, exhaled, and set off down the corridor again, checking the number of rounds in the rifle again: two shots fired, forty-eight shots left. That should be plenty for to do what needs done. There was a crackle in his ear, and he heard John’s voice.

“Susan, what’s the status at the bridge?”

Susan was at the bridge, m revoking his access to the ship. She and John must’ve split up. He’d take care of Susan first then John. He began to run, his footsteps echoing off the metal walls.

****

Susan siphoned through the bridge’s computer system, eliminating Matthew’s access one piece at a time. Her rifle was lying in the chair next to her, but her eyes were glued to the screen, deep in concentration. However, when the bridge door slid open, she sat up straight, one hand diving for the rifle. She snatched it up and aimed it at the door, trying to keep her breath steady. Matthew stood in the doorway, his rifle aimed at her chest.

“I don’t want to have to kill you,” said Matthew. “Not if I don’t have to. Please, Susan.”

“You killed Melody and Paul,” said Susan, “and you’re trying to negotiate with me? I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“She’s right,” said John, and he walked out from his hiding place, behind the navigational chart table. His rifle was aimed at Matthew’s head, and he had seemed to have aged ten years in the brief time since Matthew had last seen him: his hair seemed lighter in color, near white, and his eyes were bloodshot, and the skin beneath his eyes seemed to have greyed.

“You’re not going to kill anyone else!” said John. “I won’t allow it!”

“Won’t allow it?” Matthew repeated. “You won’t allow me to kill, but you’ll allow the abandonment of your duties in favor of profit?”              

“I don’t know how else to explain this to you!” John shouted. “If there was a small chance that we’d be able to get back to Earth alive, I’m all for it, but there’s not! StarWing has made a lot of enemies in their pursuit of Magzite, so not a lot of individuals off Earth know how to fix their ships. I’m simply doing what’s best for my crew, and that had included you.”

“Had included me?” asked Matthew, his eyes narrowing; anger was boiling inside him. “You’re expelling me from the crew?”

“You’ve gave me no choice,” said John, and he fired. Matthew leaped to the floor, narrowly missing the shot; he could feel the heat as the bolt soared overhead, where it impacted on the wall behind him. He quickly darted to the nearby control panel and began to return fire. As he did, he felt a tear roll down his left cheek.

After he had fired half a dozen rounds, Matthew began to crawl across the floor, heading to where Susan had been positioned. He reached the end of the panel and peered around the corner. In the middle of the row, he saw Susan, beads of sweat dripping down her face, and she, too, looked close to tears. Matthew took careful aim.

“Susan,” he said, and she turned in the direction of his voice. He pulled the trigger, striking her in the shoulder. She yelped in pain but was silenced by the second shot. At the same time, Matthew felt a searing pain in his own shoulder. He turned and saw John standing at the end of the row, his rifle’s muzzle lightly smoking.

“You animal!” roared John, and he threw the rifle aside. He charged at Matthew, knocked the rifle out of his hands, and began hitting every inch of him he could reach. Desperately, Matthew grappled for the rifle, but the world was growing darker and fuzzier with each landing blow. At last, he grasped the rifle and brought it whooshing through the air, towards John’s head.

The rifle smashed into John’s right temple, knocking him off balance. Matthew gave a roar like a lion and rolled so that John was on the floor, and he was now on top. He roared again and brought the rifle butt down against John’s head, repeatedly, blood splattering everywhere. Smash. Smash. Smash. Smash. He paid no attention to the blood that splattered against his own face.

He lost count of how many times he battered John’s head. When he stopped, it looked like a squashed tomato with broken teeth. He rolled off John and leaned against the panel, breathing heavily as though he’d just run a marathon. Before he knew it, he could barely keep his eyes open as sleep overtook him.

When he awoke an hour later, the first thing he saw was the broken remnants of what had been John’s head. He forced his eyes away and climbed to his feet, leaving the rifle behind. He staggered to the bathroom, where he turned on the sink and splashed cold water on his face, cleaning away the blood. When he was done, he dried his face and returned to the bridge, where he sat down in the captain’s chair, looking out at the deepness and vastness of space.

He sat there, simply stargazing, for an unknown length of time; it didn’t matter to him. He looked down at John and Susan and began to cry, fat tear drops sliding down his face.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” he said between sobs, his breath heavy. “Please…for-forgive….me. I’m so sorry.”

He held his face in his hands and continued to cry. At last, he wiped his eyes and shook his head. He stood and went to his rifle, still lying next to John’s mutilated body. He bent down, picked it up, and returned to the captain’s chair. He sat down and aimed the rifle at his own head.

***

January 19, 2368

In the SAR, the alarm began to flash as each pod began to open as their inhabitants began to come out of suspended animation. John stretched, rubbed his eyes, and scanned the room, checking his crew. His eyes landed on…Matthew’s open pod.

“Matthew?” he shouted, scrambling out of his pod and rushing over to Matthew’s. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Has anyone seen Matthew?” asked John, panic starting to grow within him. The other crew members shook their heads.

“I thought he’d wake up the same time as us,” said Melody. “Unless…something’s gone wrong.”

John’s face paled at this.

“He might’ve gone to the bridge,” he said, more to himself. “Yeah. Gone there to watch us re-enter Earth’s atmosphere.”

He hurried out of the SAR, the other crew members following quickly behind him. The bridge’s door slid open as he neared, and he hurried inside, his head swiveling around like a bobblehead in a frantic search for any sign of Matthew. It was then that he realized: something was sitting in the captain’s chair.

While the others watched, John grasped the chair and began to turn it. What they saw caused each of them to gasp; Susan fainted, but Paul managed to catch her. Sitting in the chair was a skeleton, and around its neck was a dog tag: Matthew Reid, StarWing Corp.