The Aurora

The stars twinkle at Ellie, and, for the first time in a long time, she smiles. Over the years, they have become her friends. In the window the embossed letters on her uniform are reflected back at her - The Aurora. It was one of the many things she was excited about the ship before she boarded, meaning new dawn. Staring out into the galaxy, she still believes that to be an apt name, that there are endless possibilities lying ahead of her, all bright and exciting. Particularly tonight.

Ahead of this anniversary, she has been reminiscing frequently. It has been 30 years since she left Earth, and in that time she’s watched her home planet shrivel and dry, the previously green splotches of land turning brown as the temperature rose and rose. It had become uninhabitable over a decade ago, and she wonders if her parents pictured her out here in space in their final moments. The temperature increase of the planet had become irreversible, set on track by years of burning fossil fuels by her predecessors, so no matter how green and conservative they became, no matter how little energy they used, leaving the planet to find a new one had become the only way of survival.

Her job, guiding The Aurora and its cargo to a new destination 32 years away, was supposed to be an honour. She had been selected out of hundred of thousands of applicants, been through countless interviews and personality tests, and had every decision she had ever made scrutinised by panels of psychologists. Her parents had been delighted. Their only daughter, selected to guide thousands of people to a new life. She is glad they will never know that sometimes she wishes it hadn’t been her.

Her cargo is all below deck, frozen in glass tubes. All passengers are under the age of 35, with the rest deemed to be too old to justify taking a valued place onboard. Anyone older had been left behind to live out their final days on the dying planet, trapped inside huge air-conditioned cities until the sun burnt through their defences. The end must have been horrendous. Ellie tries not to think about it, tries to picture only the happy memories of her childhood.

The faint hum of machines accompany her evening stargazing. Despite all of her training in mechanics, she has never needed to use any of it: The Aurora runs itself. There had been several ships launched, all to different destinations, and in the early days she’d tried to reach out and see if any of the other Captains wanted to connect. But she never heard a thing back. It is a mystery she hasn’t been able to solve, and means she is all alone up here. Just her and The Aurora. Painfully lonely.

Sometimes Ellie walks among the frozen tubes, looking at all the name badges and memorising the passenger’s faces. Sometimes, she tells them about her day. She’ll be the oldest by a long way when they arrive at their new home, and so spends her time studying anything and everything that could possibly be useful. Extreme survival books, the history of ancient civilisations, sustainable energy guides - she has read them all. Twice. Today had been pandemic accounts: the Spanish Flu in 1918, COVID-19 in 2020, and B15RT in 2079. Ellie will be expected to help advise the new colony on managing of any disasters such as this. The responsibility makes her feel dizzy. She used to be fearless, but she knows that the lack of stimulation over the years has lowered her stress tolerance levels, an oversight by the experts planning the voyage.

Tonight she is sitting in the viewing room, curled right up against the window. A rounded dome forms the peak of the ship, made of several layers of reinforced glass that protect her from the sky, an endless night since they left the Milky Way. Below her are modest living quarters for a small crew, followed by an extensive maze of engines and machinery, and then taking up most of the ship is a huge system of metal walkways that snake alongside the Frozen. Up here, the viewing room is an escape. She has every inch of The Aurora seared into her brain, but the sky looks different every night.

Ellie spoons off a tiny sliver of the chocolate cake at her feet. It is the last slice onboard. Her Mum had sent it with Ellie as a parting gift and she’d frozen it her first week as Captain, frustrated that she had taken up some of the precious space dedicated to personal belongings with something perishable. Still, her Mum had baked it with love and as time went on it had become a precious reminder of that, with Ellie thawing out a piece at a time for special occasions - her birthday, Christmas, anniversaries. As the cake shrank these treats became less frequent and it has been years since the last one. Her eyes water at the taste. It is heaven in her mouth, utter bliss after the bland, vacuum packed space food. It marks a milestone, because tonight, two years out from landing, she will finally have company.

It is time to unfreeze a crew member, to help refamiliarise them with The Aurora’s controls before they come into their destination planet’s gravitational field. Ellie can’t tell if she is excited or nervous. Eating the chocolate cake is her last activity as the single living inhabitant of The Aurora.

Pushing herself to her feet, Ellie brushes herself down and takes her time descending the ladder to where the tubes are kept. She taps down the metal walkway, her footsteps echoing. She has made this walk hundreds of time over the years, taken these very same steps, but today she is wobbly. Her palms sweat. She has been waiting for this moment for 30 years. She comes to a stop about a third of the way along, facing one of the tubes. She doesn’t need to read the nameplate, but she does anyway: ‘Martin Pinzon, First Mate, 000002AU’. Below that is a small book full of memorabilia - the Frozen often have trouble remembering who they are for the first few hours. Her heart beats in her throat as she stares into the face of Martin, who hasn’t changed since they trained together all those years ago. She has memorised every line, every colour, every strand of hair that can be seen through the front of the tube. It will be strange to see it move again. Suddenly, she doesn’t feel ready for the cage of loneliness to drop away. Will she remember how to talk? Having sustained her for three decades, her sense of duty overrides her anxiety and Ellie stabs at the controls, entering in her own ID - 000001AU. She places her clammy hand on the scanner and it gives her the green light. Ellie has gripped this release lever numerous times, imagining what it would feel like for it to move. Now, it will happen. She sucks in a breath and pulls. Huge pools of steam emerge from the tube door as the front panel lifts off and to the side. Martin’s pale face is unmoving, his body still rigid. Ellie stares.

Finally, she reaches out and touches his cheek - not cold anymore, but room temperature. Not warm enough for a living, breathing body. Disappointed tears swim in her eyes, welling up like the anger and frustration that has pushed aside her adrenaline. Occasionally, people don’t live through the unfreezing process. It’s relatively uncommon, about 1 in 10,000, but not completely unheard of. She knew there would be several onboard who wouldn’t make it, but it seems astonishing that it’s Martin. Both because it’s someone she knows and because the vision she’s had of this moment has been unfairly disrupted.

Regardless, there is protocol for this. Ellie collects herself and closes Martin’s tube again, before slowly walking to the next one.

‘Shanice Johnson, Second Mate, 000003AU’

Shanice isn’t supposed to be awoken until 6 months out from landing, but without Martin, the schedule must be moved forward. She goes through the motions again, this time without hesitating. Taking hold of the lever, she pushes her shoulders back and prepares herself to give a big smile to welcome Shanice.

The steam clears, and once again, there is no movement. Ellie is confused. This can’t be possible. Two in a row? Has the system failed? A kernel of fear starts to form in her stomach but she pushes it down and stands straighter. Her body falls into a mechanical trance, falling back on all of her training. She has prepared for worse scenarios than this. The ship can land without Martin and Shanice. Breathe.

She marches to the next tube. The intermission is agonising. Again, a bloodless face stares back at her, and Ellie’s mask of indifference finally slips as a horrifying possibility becomes more real. She struggles to catch her breath, gripping onto the metal railing as she begins to feel lightheaded. The sound of her pulse is rushing through her ears and a grim horror tightens around her throat, her tongue now sandpaper against the roof of her mouth.

In a panicked haze she unlocks two more crew members, not waiting for the first to finish before moving on to the next. Neither of them stir. In her increasing fear, it doesn’t take long before all twelve crew tubes are open and unlocked. And still. Ellie stares blindly around the huge room, surrounded by lifeless bodies on all sides. It doesn’t make sense. Taking off in a staggering run, she desperately crosses through the layers of tubes, her adrenaline propelling her forward.

She comes to an abrupt stop outside number 295387AU. Ellie places her palms against the glass and stares into the face of her best friend. Tears drip down her chin as she punches in her code, and she catches some with her sleeve as she waits for the palm scan to complete. Praying to a god she doesn’t believe in, Ellie pulls the lever. The steam coming out now seems ridiculous, an unnecessary facade to hide the ship’s failings. Once again the body does not awaken. She is well and truly alone.

Ellie slumps defeated against the railings, her puffy face still drying. Everything she has been working towards has been a waste. She will never land The Aurora, never help the colony grow, never speak to a living person again. The pain in her chest is excruciating, filling the hole where her future used to be. She tries to breathe deeply, tries to overcome the waves of feeling, but soon she is sobbing uncontrollably, the tears tumbling out as her shoulders shake with grief.

An hour must have passed before, exhausted, Ellie finally stands in a trance, a total numbness taking over. Putting one foot in front of the other takes all of her concentration, and she barely notices her surroundings as she climbs back up to the engine room.

She approaches the external maintenance door, unlocking the first barrier. She steps through and locks it behind her. Then the next one, and then the next one. Finally, she is stood in front of the last sheet of metal between her and the sky. She should be wearing her space suit, but instead she is still in her Captain’s whites, the formal uniform she put on to welcome Martin. It offers little protection from the lack of pressure outside of the ship, and without it her body will stretch out like an inflated balloon, her cells expanding in every direction until her skin pops and her insides spill out to join the stars. There is no need for an oxygen tank, it will take seconds.

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and opens the door.

Back below deck, Martin Pinzon blinks, and then blinks again. He doesn’t know where he is.