Alpha Control

My alarm sounds different this morning.

I blink my eyes in the darkness that is always present in deep space and feel around for my digital watch that was a parting gift from my wife, Gina. My fumbling knocks the watch free from its tether and it spins in front of me in dizzying circles until I snatch it, lifting myself to a seated position as I stare in confusion at the time displayed in little red numbers.

3:00. My morning alarm isn’t supposed to go off until 6:00. I shake the sleepiness from my head and the realization that the alarm isn’t coming from my watch at all has me ripping at the buckles of my sleep harness. My stomach lurches as I float weightlessly through the sleep chamber, until I get a grasp on the rope system overhead and use it to pull myself towards the source of the sound. The alarm is louder in the hall and the red flash of emergency lights causes my stomach to flip flop again. In any line of work, it’s bad when things go wrong. But when you’re the only man on an abandoned space station 400 km outside of Earth’s atmosphere...it’s really bad when things go wrong.

Why did I volunteer to come up here and make repairs? I wish that I could kick myself as I enter the command center and float over to the computers to try and shut off the alarm. Every day up here has been miserable. But deep down I know that I would do it again. Gina’s medical bills were crushing the family after her cancer diagnosis. She was still in critical condition and no money meant no surgery. When the sergeant had first approached me with the insane, practically suicidal task of a two month, one-man station repair job I had laughed. No one is crazy enough to do that. But then he told me the pay. Two million dollars. That kind of money could make Gina whole again.

My eyes locate the source of the alarm, a warning light blinking in a sea of lights that make up the main computer panel. I connect my tether to the silver hook beside the computer before sliding my arm over the dusty screen to try and find the cause of the problem. I blink, wondering if my eyes are deceiving me as the image from one of the external cameras comes into view. The space station is on fire. Almost instantly, I can smell the acrid burn of smoke in my nostrils. I leap into action, my thirty years of training kicking in as one hand slams onto the communications button and the other tells the station to close all doors between here and the blaze. Containment is key if I’m going to survive this.

“Come in, Alpha Control, come in!” I bark into the microphone but the only answer is static. I curse and check the footage again to confirm my suspicion. Yep, the antenna that could have carried a message back to Earth has been destroyed by the flames. Sweat leaves my forehead in little drops that hover in front of my eyes. This is not good. In the corner of the screen I catch today’s date, June 22nd. How ironic that I’m going to be burnt to a crisp in outer space on my birthday. With a sigh, I pull up the station’s remaining operational systems, searching for some good news. I don’t find any.

My return shuttle isn’t due for another four days, and even if I could get a message back to base...I do the math in my head. The odds of them being able to mount a rescue before the fire consumes the rest of the station are next to none. I know this entire compound like the back of my hand. I’ve spent the last two months fixing it. It’s more flammable than a candle on a birthday cake.

Birthday cake. The thought makes me smile. Gina’s excitement had been palpable when she presented me with the shiny silver package she’d ordered on Amazon. The idea of freeze-dried cake absolutely fascinated her. “For your birthday!” She had announced, trying to hide her sadness that we wouldn’t be spending this one together. With a sigh, I unclip my harness from the computer and push myself over to the break room where I had stored the gift. After a few moments of digging, I have the spongy package in my hand. I turn it over and over again, admiring the shiny silver casing with a smiling birthday cake on the front. I peer at the description looking for a flavor. Chocolate. The harsh smell of burning chemicals is growing stronger as I get a fork from the kitchenette and guide myself towards my favorite part of the ship, the massive window to the left of the station’s command center. The bird’s nest, it was affectionately called back when the station was in full service, and I understand why. It has the best view of Earth in the galaxy. The best view of home.

I pull myself onto one of the egg shaped chairs and buckle into the harness before turning my gaze to the spectacular sight in front of me. A sense of calm washes over me as I gaze at the familiar blue sphere, and for a moment, I forget about the blaring sound of the alarms and about the roaring fire that will soon suck all of the oxygen out of the space station. Instead, I think about what it felt like to dip my toes into one of those great big oceans, and the memory becomes so vivid that I can almost smell the salt in my nose. My honeymoon with Gina had been my first time to ever see so much water. And now, looking down, I can see more water than anyone else on earth. It’s a privilege if you think about it.

I remember when I was a child that I believed in something called a birthday wish, and if there was ever a birthday that I could use a wish, it would be today. I retrieve the package of chocolate cake and rip it open with my teeth, watching in fascination as a few loose crumbs float to the ceiling. My mouth waters as I dig my fork into the light brown square, bringing it to my mouth with curious timidity. A flavor fairly close to chocolate explodes on my tongue and I chew with satisfaction, my attention returning once more to the window. It’s so beautiful. Although, the beauty goes much further than the brilliant shade of blue and the bountiful curvatures of green. No, the true beauty can only be seen from the surface. It’s in the people and things that make it truly great. As I take another bite of the cake, I list off all of the things I will miss about Earth. Fishing, sunsets, ice cream. At first my list is lighthearted, but when I hear the creak of melting beams just outside of the command center my chest begins to tighten.

Gina, my love, of course, is at the top of my list. Gina, who thought she lost her beauty when she lost her hair, and who deserves to be reminded of how much I admire her for every waking moment for the rest of her life. She’s my hero. She’s always been. I try to think about what she would say, if she were here now. Practical things like, take slower breaths Tom, you’re using up all of your oxygen. I appreciate the reminder. I suck in a slower breath, and it makes my lungs burn. My eyes are beginning to water, whether from the smoke or from emotion, I can’t tell. Probably a little of both. What else would she say? I stare at home, rehearsing a goodbye speech that I’ll never get to deliver. Thank you for our years together, for three beautiful children. For the laughter, the anniversaries, the birthdays. I’m reminded of the cake. There’s still one more bite left. I train my eyes on the magnificent blue orb, speckled with swirling clouds of white as I bring one last bite to my mouth. Tears snake down my cheeks, combining their salt with the taste of chocolate on my tongue. I flinch as the door to command flies off its hinges and pillars of flame climb inside the room, and I take a final shaky breath, never looking away from the beauty of Earth, so resolute, so lush and teeming with life. I love you my darling, I always have, and I always will. Though I cannot say the words I hope that they reach her somehow. My eyes are growing heavy and just before they blink closed I watch as my fork spins in the air above me, still speckled with flakes of chocolate.

Thank you for the cake.