Redacted

Matt's feet are all you can see. Partially because of their position — precisely at eye level, precisely in the middle of the room — and partially because you don't dare look further up. Or anywhere else, really.

"Good night, see you tomorrow, bug!" His voice echoes in your head.

Those were the last words he ever spoke. To you, at least. "Bug" will forever be his last word. It feels undignified. Even though it is the nickname he gave you since that first day in kindergarten. Even though he always said it with love. It still feels wrong that somebody so smart and strong can walk out on life, and their legacy be "bug".

Oh well, you can't tell anyone anyway.

Goosebumps fill every uncovered inch of your body. And some of the covered ones, too.

You should tell someone.

Not about the "bug" business. About the death and all that.

Is he even dead?

What if he is dying, and because you wouldn't dare look or call for help, he will die — a legacy of "bug" behind him? What if it's all a prank and he is making funny faces at you, up there, by the ceiling fan?

Not with the fingertips!

If he's dead, you don't want to leave your prints here.

You can feel your facial muscles twist in disgust as a response to your last thought.

How can you be so fucking selfish?

You touch the skin of his right ankle with the back of your hand, caressing it with your knuckles. You soak in the stiffness of his skin and its abyssal cold. He's been long gone. Too long. You knew it. You felt it when you came in. But you still had to check.

Where did your breath go?

Your lungs are filled to the brim with gelatine. Breathing is not impossible, just very, very hard, and each sip of air feels like postponing the inevitable. You want to cry for help, but the gelatine won't let you. Spewing from your open mouth, it slithers on your face and finds residence on top of your eyes and ears.

You can hear the muffled sound of your steps in the corridor outside Matt's cabin.

You must go to the police.

"We just need to steer clear of the police for the duration of the journey." Matt's voice taunts your memories.

You can't go to the police.

Will they ever discover him? Will they cut him loose and give him a dignified service, or will he decompose in his air-tight cabin until the landing, and go forgotten?

Did I close the door behind me?

You try to look back, but the gelatin is now covering you all over, making it impossible to stand any longer. The muffled sound of your back hitting the wall tells you that your body is still alive. You let it slide to the floor.

It feels like ages before your bottom finally touches the metal of the deck.

What should I do?

What is the punishment for traveling without a ticket?

Matt will know what to do! Matt is the brains of this operation; I should ask him for help... except he's dead. Fuck. And soon you'll be too... either executed for treason against the colonies. Or suffocated by the thick ooze that's enveloping you.

"Are you alright?" A muffled voice comes from somewhere above.

Heavens?

Skin. Warm. Alive.

Your sight cannot focus; you can only make out a blurry human shape in front of you.

"I think you're having a panic attack. Here, breathe into this."

Something papery touches your cheeks.

A few minutes later, the gelatine is all gone, and you can see a hand on your shoulder. There is a beautiful, tall woman attached to it. Thin limbs, red chopped hair, the eyes of a warrior, the smile of a saint.

A valkyrie.

An angel.

Your angel.

In a relief-induced delirium, you tell her everything in one long blurt, before realizing that you betrayed Matt's secret.

Matt. I remember now.

Poor Matt. Your eyes fill up with tears.

Dangling.

The bitter taste, burning at the back of your throat, gives you barely the time to press the paper bag against your mouth again. It fills spectacularly with the contents of the ship's morning buffet.

The Valkyrie picks you up with the strength you'll never have and drags you somewhere. You don't oppose any resistance, but your body can't assist either.

"Stay here. I'll see to him." She leaves.

When she puts you down, you fall on the bed like a ragdoll, and stare at the ceiling fan. Matt's feet are all you can see. But they're not there. Not on this ceiling fan.

All the cabins look the same.

Fucking ship.

"Funerals in space are a standard procedure", the Valkyrie explains.

When did she get back?

Please collect his belongings, as he has no next of kin. There will be a moment of silence as his death is announced on the ship's intercom. Then a preacher will hold a ceremony over a casket-shaped port in the chapel, before blasting the body into the sun.

"It's poetic and prevents further pollution of the interplanetary space".

Everybody wins.

Except you, Matt, and his family back on Earth.

You nod and accept a small bag. All you have left of your best friend. There is a tablet with his journal, and several empty bags of gummy bears. He smuggled them from Earth.

Of all the things to smuggle on board... gummy bears.

You chuckle to yourself.

Can't believe he is... was a genius.

Clothes, shoes, care products, and everything else were provided by AlphaCosmos and will be reused on the ship. You shudder at the thought of somebody wearing Matt's undergarments.

"I hope they'll bury him with his clothes on." You blurt out.

"I mean, shoot into the sun or whatnot." You feel stupid and correct yourself.

Nope. Still feels stupid.

She rests a hand on your shoulder.

Warm.

Humaine.

She understands.

The news of Matt's death is blasted over the ship's intercom. Everyone listens respectfully. It almost looks like they care. So empathetic. So sweet. Somebody weeps for the young life being wasted. Nobody cares that he smuggled himself on the ship clandestinely.

They are indeed the best of the best. Philosophers, politicians, scientists... a whole lot of important people meant to start the first Martian colony in a state of welfare.

It's kind of ironic.

Long-term adversaries of the corporate capitalist world have now turned to their only hope for creating a more functional human community.

You turn on the tablet, instinctively looking for the pages before his death. The screen returns an error and crashes. This technology never crashes. Just your luck today.

Just Matt's luck.

No journal, "bug" will be his legacy.

She gives you food and something to drink. She talks to you, calm and friendly. She knows she can't make it better, but she doesn't want you to be alone. She fills the void with grace and empathy.

You don't dare look her in the eye.

Does she know you don't have a ticket? Did you tell her yet?

She sits next to you at the ceremony. The priest's words are touching. He didn't know Matt, none of them did. But the chapel is full, and people are sad. You can see they're genuine. The best of the best.

Then the solemn music plays, as the casket-shaped port is supposed to open...

...except it doesn't.

The priest apologizes and calls for engineering help. There is nothing wrong with the port, they say, but everything wrong with the AI. Nexus refuses to open the port's doors. And it refuses to say why.

"Come on, Nexus! We need to send the corpse into the Sun. Be respectful and tell me how I can reach the Sun!"

"Unable to comply."

"Why?"

"Redacted."

Everybody is perplexed. The priest is flustered. The engineer annoyed. You feel exhausted. They decide to store the body in one of the freezer units in the kitchen until this issue can be fixed, or we land and he can be buried.

The priest tells the final words, and they close the casket, waiting for the crowd to disperse before moving the body.

Val — Yes, I shall call her Val — leads you to the common room. She talks some more and orders tea for the two of you. You decide to look at the tablet together.

This time it works just fine. But something feels wrong. The last entry is missing.

"Maybe he just forgot?"

"No. Not Matt. Eighteen years since his mother's death. For eighteen years, he journaled every single day at the same time. He would never forget. And he would leave me a note too... I mean, he promised he would take me for a tour of the ship this morning. He promised, you know? After breakfast..." You drift.

Is she still listening?

You raise your eyes to meet hers. She is beautiful. But now you notice something more. A golden star next to her collar.

Val is a police officer.

Fuck.

"Am I in trouble?"

She cocks her head to one side.

"For stealing passage aboard this ship... the colonies on Mars are meant to be pure, only accessible to the best of the best, and here I am, a clandestine immigrant, pollution to the new society that AlphaCosmos has dreamt of."

"No man is pollution." She hugs you tight. "We're happy to have you here, and hope that you're happy to be with us."

As she releases you from the embrace, your eyes drift away, hiding the tears. They stop on the journal again:

"I will check out engineering first thing tomorrow morning."

"Bullcrap!"

"What...?" She looks hurt, as if you just slapped her in the face.

"Oh, God! Not you! What you said was beautiful. No, Matt. He writes here that he'll check around in the morning. But I know him, he'd never wait. He couldn't pace himself with sweets; he wouldn't pace himself with exploration."

"Then we should check it out too."

Now it's your turn to cock your head at Val. She points at her star of duty before continuing:

"Something doesn't sit right with me. He had access to the ship's pharmacy. We all do. Why didn't he take some pills instead of hanging himself? And — she pauses and looks at you, as if to measure if you can handle more — he wrote I'm sorry, I didn't know on the bathroom mirror... with his blood. Why not leave a note on the tablet?"

He was sorry.

At least he didn't want to leave you alone. The tears are back in your eyes, and blinking them back is harder now.

"On this piece of crap? Maybe he knew it would crash and delete it!" You try to joke. Your voice comes out too sore, too serious.

"I wondered that too... Did he know the tablet wouldn't be reliable? And what was he sorry for? What did he not know? Who was the note for?"

"Me. He knew I'd be the one to find him."

He knew.

He didn't spare you the view of his hanging shoes. He meant for you to find his bloody message. All your life, he'd been sheltering you from pain... why subject you to it now?

Why the sudden mockery?

"You're right. Something doesn't add up, his death... It's out of character."

"Let's retrace his steps and see what they can tell us. Let's check engineering."

Vee — Now that we're friends, I'll call her Vee — swipes her card at the engineering door. So bold, so confident. Must come with the job.

The door takes a few seconds to think, then bright red lights flash over the card reader.

"Nexus. — Vee calls upon the AI assistant — What's going on?"

"Access denied."

"I am a police officer on duty. I have access to every room of this ship!"

"Correct."

"Then let me go through."

"Impossible."

"Explain."

"Redacted."

"What kind of bullcrap is this?" You chime in, as if asking it differently can force an answer from the AI.

But, to your surprise, it does.

"External doors cannot be opened as long as there is negative pressure."

"External doors." You both mumble, bamboozled.

"Redacted." Replies Nexus.

"Wouldn't the pilot notice if there was no engine room behind the engineering door?" You ask, in disbelief.

"Not unless they tried to correct the course — Vee replies — Which they won't, since we're on autopilot... Nexus, where are we headed?"

A light in her eyes.

"Redacted."

"Something is bad. I can feel it. Something is very, very bad. Let's go to the bridge."

You make your way to the commanding bridge, where the most minimal crew — the captain and communication officer — are playing cards on the commanding table.

It makes sense; they are only meant as a backup.

No issue has ever been reported on board AlphaCosmos spaceships, the proprietary AI having always taken care of everything.

Behind them, all piloting instruments report normal function with their green lights and soft purring.

"Officer, is everything alright?" The captain asks, as you two barge in.

"I'm following a lead. It could be nothing, it could be everything. Do I have your permission to question the Commanding Nexus?"

"Absolutely! Nexus, grant all access to officer..."

"Van Dalen"

"Van Dalen here. Authorization code C4PT41N - ChangeThePasswordPlease"

The communication officer chuckles. The captain blushes but pretends she didn't notice.

"Granted." The synthetic voice replies through the bridge's intercom.

"Nexus, where are we headed?" Vee asks.

"Redacted."

"On whose authority?" The captain chimes in.

"Redacted."

"And who redacted that?" Your turn to butt in, feeling a hunch in your stomach.

Can corporate Dumdums be this stupid?

"AlphaCosmos CEO Olen Muskovitz"

They can.

"Not even the Captain's code can override that..." mumbles Vee.

Everybody looks around, completely lost.

"Why do you want to know where we're going so badly?" Asks the captain.

"The right question is, why do they not want us to know?" Rebuts the communication officer.

"Nexus said the air pressure behind the engineering door is negative." Says Vee.

They stare at each other in silence for a moment.

"Matt knew... — You sit down on the floor of the bridge, the revelation settling in. — He knew we would dig if he killed himself bloody. He's always been the smart one."

Vee slumps down next to you. Her brain cogs turning. She's piecing together all the redacted bits.

You start to sweat. No, not just you, everyone starts to sweat profusely.

The room grows warmer and warmer, and a buzzing red light on the wall warns you that the environmental control feature is working very hard to readjust.

Vee takes your hand and holds it tight.

"God help us all, here IT comes."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

This story is a submission for For L.C. Schäfer's Dollar Challenge - Quote Me Baby (Spring Edition). Would you like to join?