Existence is Futile

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. That may be true, but I hear it within the confines of my helmet, my voice sounding hollow and desperate. Knowing there will be no way out, I soon tire of my pathetic, self pity attitude to this hopeless situation and relax.

Judging by the glimpses of the few stragglers floating around me, amongst the debris, they too are enveloped by their own personal screams. I can not hear them, but I see wide open mouths verbalizing their desperation. A young man floats by, his lips forming the word ‘momma’ over and over until he slowly drifts away. I know him; he brings me coffee every morning or should I say brought... I suspect there will be no coffee tomorrow.

Once I stop my ranting, pleading, and praying, I resolve myself to a peaceful death. For the moment I am transfixed by the beauty around me, odd I know, but space really is beautiful. I am immersed in a waterless ocean, a divine embrace of the unknown. The ethereal glow surrounding me, makes me wonder why it takes dying to appreciate what was always there.

Taking a deep breath, well more of a quick shallow one to conserve oxygen, I take in the carnage around me. The crazy chaos and frantic fighting for our lives a while ago, suddenly transforms into this peace within me. I feel blessed that at least I get to reflect on my life. Others had theirs snuffed out in seconds, no time for last thoughts, regrets or wishes. Most were sucked into the vacuum of space; I hope it was a sudden and painless death.

I don't know if we ever stood a chance of winning this war, at the very least we did not capitulate, and for that I am grateful.

I feel a grip on my arm, the feeling is so unexpected, I shiver. Turning to my right another body floats by, grasping onto me as if I were a life preserver. I am not, but I welcome the feeling. I stare into this beautiful face of someone I do not know but recognize. Her name escapes me, she works in the engineering department. I recognize her because I wanted to ask her out, but the ranking structure frowned upon such things, not illegal but not encouraged. I was a good soldier; I did what was expected of me. So, for over a year all we did was smile at one another in passing.

It appears we will be together at the end, is this what people call ironic?

We move as one, dancing in the dark ballroom of space. We begin talking to each other knowing the other cannot hear. Our microphones do not work, they were linked to the ships communication system and judging from the floating debris, I think it is safe to say we no longer have that ship. It's okay, staring into her green eyes is the next best thing. We manage a smile, knowing we are no longer going to die alone. Wisps of her luscious auburn hair stick out beneath her cap. Her hair was the first thing I remember about her, it caught my attention. A fella could get lost in those curls...I wanted to be that fella.

I should have asked her out.

On impulse I squeeze her hand, feeling only a slight pressure, but even this contact is more than I can have hoped for. Floating together amongst the few survivors, yet we are alone.

Desperately needing to feel closer, I raise my arm to give her an embrace. Suddenly my body is jolted hard, my head flips back and I see nothing but stars. Our hands break apart, I am spinning out of control, I catch a glimpse of her flying away, in a spin of her own. The screams begin again. I realize that we were struck by a large piece of metal from the ship. It passes me, flying deeper into space. I reach out, managing to grasp a cable wrapped around what once was the communication dish.

While she is pushed towards the crowd of survivors , I am alone and helpless.

There is little time for self pity, I feel a loss of pressure from within, instantly recognizing it for what it is. My suit has been punctured and is leaking oxygen. Quickly scanning to spot the tear, my mind goes into survival mode. I glance at my Biomedical gauges. Normally there are two tanks each capable of supplying over eight hundred liters of oxygen. In the spacesuit we breathe pure oxygen and consume about fifty liters per hour, therefore under normal conditions each tank should last over sixteen hours. However, this is not normal circumstances. The emergency escape suits only have one tank. Even with my training I knowingly consume more Oxygen than I should. We have been floating is space for five hours. I watch the gauge slowly lowering. Basic training says I need to make the repair within 5 minutes. Fumbling for the Xi4 repair sealer in my pouch, which is nothing more than duct tape, but ten times the cost. I continue my search for the leak. I find it odd that humans will do everything they can to survive, even with death on their very doorstep. Knowing I am about to die, I should just let it happen, yet I wrestle with this desire to live.

My commander in the academy used to say, 'Existence is futile, yet we fight for every moment of it.'

I see a light mist spraying into the darkness coming from behind my right knee. I quickly rip off a piece of tape and cover the puncture. Almost instantly I feel the pressure returning to normal. Glancing at the dial I do a quick estimate. With the rate it was decreasing, there will be enough oxygen for about sixty minutes, seventy-five if I find a way to hold my breath for fifteen of those minutes. Okay, one hour of life it is.

I stare at the group of people gathering in the distance around what used to be the fight deck; they are massing as one unit before the end. I will not be part of the group. Without warning a rift appears above them, a dark circle wavering into existence. From the circle of dark a brilliant light appears, and a ship slowly emerges, larger than any we have encountered so far. I watch helplessly as my crewmates point to this strange object. They do not know what it is they only know it isn’t one of ours. But, I know what it is. This alien vessel is a living organism genetically modified and created into a battleship. A secret weapon we only heard about in whispered rumors.

It is the reason I am on this mission.

A bright light pierces the blackness, scanning the survivors like a lighthouse beacon from long ago. Only this is no rescue mission, they are searching for one specific individual.

Me.

I tuck myself into the curve of the satellite dish and watch as the massive beast approaches the frightened group. In slow motion a front portion of the ship opens, within the wide dark chasm several tentacles emerge, stretching forth, doing a hypnotic dance as they snake forward.

The survivors frantically flay their limbs in a hopeless attempt to escape the slithering beasts. Narrow beams of light shoot out into the void, it appears a few of our people maintained their weapons. I see a green mist explode outward, telling me something was hit.

But there are too many to stop, they converge upon the doomed souls. Black mouth like slits from the tentacles open, a stringy substance shoots forth and wraps itself around the stranded crewmates. Drawing them into the ship, one at a time they are consumed like insects caught in a web. The door closes and I am truly alone.

Sensing the large vessel hovering over me, I meld my body closer to the metal, it slowly drifts past. I watch it slip away into the dark beyond, lights still scanning.

I then witness an act of horror. From the back of this living ship my comrades are excreted into the vacuum of space, their lifeless bodies floating aimlessly. I know they are dead because they no longer have their helmets on. Two bodies drift towards me, not close enough to touch but near enough for me to see the hollowed-out sockets where their eyes once were. I don’t know if they were alive before they were thrust into space but from the frozen look on their faces, the last moments of life were not pleasant.

I can't move. ‘Why did they take their eyes?’

A bump from behind jars me from my thoughts, turning around I see her. My heart stops. Auburn hair frozen in waves, like a body forced under water, framing her once beautiful face. Those serene green eyes are no more, only blackened slits, barren of life stare back at me. I watch as she sails away into the forever night.

‘Annalee, her name is Annalee.’

A vibration pounds into me, I turn and am blinded by a light, the search beam has found me. I watch as the cumbersome beast turns around and heads toward me. The sides of the ship concaving in and expanding out, as if it were breathing. Slithering like a worm caught in the rain. I watch as tentacles are released, wriggling toward me.

I have a choice, being taken prisoner isn’t one of them. They need me, they want to know what I know.

Calmly I reach up and unlock my helmet, releasing the clasps I grip the sphere and turn it. Expecting to hear a sharp hiss as air rushes out, then hopefully only peace. Nothing happens, my helmet will not come off. The crash earlier with the debris has jammed it in place.

Creeping in on me are the snake like arms. Without thought I grasp the tape covering the hole and tear it off. Frozen mist forms immediately as my life air leaks into the depths of nothingness. Tentacles wind ever closer. A moment of panic sets in as I watch the tiny vent open in front of me. A liquid slime gathers in the tip of the hideous mouth waiting to spew forth.

My oxygen gauge continues to fall, the pressure subsides. Tentacles weave amongst the scattered remains of the ship, closing in on me. Instinctively I reach for my side arm, but only find an empty holster. The lipless mouth opens wider and spits out the sticky substance which envelopes me. My head snaps back as I am thrust forward. The needle settles in the red, an alarm goes off. I gasp for air as stars form in front of my eyes, I don’t know if they are real, or the last moments before I welcome the sweetness of death. I feel myself dragged forward, the ships opening awaits me, racing to draw me into its dark embrace. I frantically grab at the pieces of our ship that pass me by, but the webbing is binding, and I have no strength. Alarms continue to echo in my helmet warning me of the depletion of oxygen. Lungs instinctively try to suck in air that is no longer there. As my body goes limp the last thought I have is, 'It’s going to be close'.

Thanks to my lovely sister in law, Carol, who created the art for the stories cover.

I would also like to thank you for reading my story. If you liked it, please click on the little heart, and subscribe as a reader. (There is no junk mail attached when you subscribe).

Jason