He watched for the horizon from the portal as he did everyday knowing that there would be none, there was no horizon out here, there was no end to this dark sea. The warning beep sounded, his ship's AI, if it was truly intelligent he hadn’t seen any evidence, sounded every ten minutes during his meditation hour, a single hour of unregimented time. He had gotten used to it and yet it still irked him, perhaps that was the point, the fly in his ointment that would keep him sane in a place that may have been made to create insanity.
He reminded himself that he was watching for the horizon, that he did so everyday knowing the impossibility of it, perhaps his sanity was no longer really a question that he should be asking. His hand, thin fingered, touched the thick, hard membrane that separated him from the vacuum, it was the only true porthole on the ship, all of the others were projections. If he turned his head just right he could see his reflection in the ghost of his palm, could look into the only human eyes that he had seen in a decade. His sanity had never really been in question, no sane person would have ever volunteered for this, he had told them that during his psych profile. The panel of “Mental Health Professionals”, white coats with no faces, had passed him immediately.
“A ship on the horizon,” he whispered to his reflection and smiled at himself smiling at himself, “everyday Grandfather, everyday.”
His Grandfather had been the true explorer, had pushed himself to limits that no other person had thought achievable and had surpassed even those in time. In part it was the stories told late into the night when he should have been asleep that had influenced his decision. He closed his eyes and listened to that gravely voice resound across the years, felt the weight of the man beside him, the roughness of him.
“My first voyage,” Grandfather said, “a tiny boat not much bigger than this bed and my ridiculous idea of circumnavigating the world in it. Not a week out on the blue, nothing but waves and sky and the voices in my mind when the sky turned dark across the horizon. It wasn’t storm season, there weren’t supposed to be any big ones so I didn’t think much of it,” Grandfather had laughed at himself, a soft almost sad chuckle, “I was old enough to know better, old enough to know that Mother Earth has never cared for our hubris. Never much cared for us at all.
Within the hour the wind howled through the rigging, even with two reefs in, it snapped my sail back and forth so hard I thought the force of it would break my mast in two. Waves so tall I had to look up at the clouds to see the top of them, towered over me, the water was so strong it took everything I had to hang onto the tiller. I had it tied up tight too but it didn’t matter, my arms ached even after the first few minutes and I was soaked through to my core. Salt water ran in rivers through my beard so thick I was scared I might drown in it even more so than I was scared of the waves that threatened to drive me to the very bottom.
It wasn’t long before my sail tore loose and flew away on the wind like some twisted and awful bird, my hope flying away with it. My boat was so small, that was the point you see, to be the first to circumnavigate the world on such a small boat, that if a wave had washed over me it would have shattered it to pieces. All I could do was hang on and try to surf them, try to stay ahead of the crest and I did, I was able to.”
Grandfather would grow quiet, his eyes haunted by the memory but his lips behind his thick grey beard turned up into a smile, “I held onto her for ten long hours, ten hours of black skies and blacker seas and I made it. I made it all through that night to watch the sunrise on blue skies. I remember thinking that I might be dead. That maybe I had found the afterlife or my mind was just drawing out the last few seconds of time so that I wouldn’t feel any pain and that in truth I had been washed overboard and my lungs were filled with water. It wasn’t until that morning and I saw the other ship far off on the horizon that I truly believed that I was still alive.”
“Were you happy?” he had asked, a child’s question born half out of fear and half from wonder.
His Grandfather had turned to him and his great beard had split apart with a smile, “yes,” he had said, “but never as happy as I am to see you.” and had kissed him on the forehead and tucked the covers in tight around him.
The beep sounded again pulling him back through time but didn’t set him on edge. A tear gently ran down his cheek and through his silver specked beard to leave the taste of salt on his lips. He scrubbed at the wet mark with the heel of his hand and leaned his forehead against the porthole feeling the heat of himself there.
“I keep looking Grandfather,” he said, “but my skies are still black and there is no ship on the horizon.”
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