The Life and Voyage of Issac Landon Hughes

"Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say... Aye, that is true, but listen to me, lad. You can still feel them. When there are other souls around you, and they are in pain, you’ll know.”

As if submerged in a dark ocean, the words of an old sailor began to take shape in my mind. A murky tide rolled back across my consciousness, revealing something forgotten. The words of Old Keely kept on.

"You can feel the fear in the lads next to you, the shakin', the twitchin': the hollerin' and the wailin'. The last bursts of life tryin' so hard to get out. You can feel the gaspin'. And the crushin' weight o' the blackness, that great terrifyin’ curtain that mutes all noise, no matter how mighty. Aye, I found them screams more terrible than any o'er. After all, to scream in space is the most desperate action a man can take. It serves no purpose, no one can hear you, and it wastes what precious strength you might still have. So, if you remember anything before you get on that boat, lad, remember these words….” What came next was clear and sharp like glass.

Man wasn't meant for space,

Your body will betray you,

And you will scream…where nothing can hear

This thought echoed for a while but was broken by a shrill noise resonating in my skull; I realized it was coming from me. When my eyes opened, it was quiet. The cabin of an empty life vessel produced a low-frequency monotone hum, and the lights were dim. Outside, there was only the familiar nothingness of space. Sweat tickled my scalp, my chest slowly pushed in and out, and my shoulders went up and down. I had just been through hell and could still feel its heat.

Moreover, those old words still clung to my mind like a shabby knotted rope; they gave me a headache. Beeping noises began to go off, a welcome amplification to the discomfort. The beeps told me my water was low; rations were too, just like those stories old Keely used to tell. More like warnings now.

The screams…that was also a warning, and now I knew with a cruel certainty exactly what old Keely meant. An entire harvest fleet was gone in an instant. That’s ten thousand people. Well, some survived, sure, such as me. But I should have died; I knew that much. Some people would have lived if I had held my ground, but I definitely would have been obliterated. That was what was supposed to happen. The chain of command, the prerogative, and the flow of capital all demanded that I should have died there. And there would be consequences for these actions. But that wasn’t what hit me first.

“I traded those lives for my own….” I said aloud, noticing what felt like the burden of murder. The faces I saw, expanding and convulsing in horror, were the faces of the people who were supposed to live—the ones I practically killed. But the casual might of all that destruction was worse; it was unfathomable. The losses would shock the company too, but not in the same way. A sick joke about the wonders of seizing opportunity probably made me both smirk and wince. I saw my chance and took it. After all, I was born near the golden star of opportunity, the Stem of commerce. Where great fortunes and the rhetoric of wealth ruled as king. The shareholders…

“Those men all made their own luck,” Old Keely’s words once again played back in my head.

So, I opened my journal; the date and log name were already recorded for me in advance:

“October 29th, 2702, 09:32, SSID: Capilano-157-LV-229, PID: 115-0122280 Isaac Landon Hughes, CCS: D-8”

I pushed out a shaky breath and spoke:

“For the record, I’m only keeping a log so old Keely can have a good laugh when I’m dead. Make sure this gets to him. As for my post, I don’t plan on returning, and I don’t want to. This choice will be my last, one of the few important ones I can decide for myself. It will already be evident that I abandoned my post, and yes, some people probably died because of that.” My teeth gritted on this notion, only for a moment, “But many more died because of the decisions that I had nothing to do with. Thousands are dead.” I exhaled a morbid breath and gripped my arm. “I know if I return, I will be judged with impunity. A court-marshal, a work sentence, and I’ll spend the next great chunk of my life repaying this debt to society.” I thought for a moment before continuing. “Sure, in 10 or 15 years, I’ll be a free man, but what comes after is only more of the same. A work sentence of my choosing, a home I’ll never get to enjoy, loved ones I’ll hardly ever see, and passions that fade as I age into something I hate. It’s better this way. I don’t want to remember what happened, never again.” I recoiled in pain and disgust. The futility was simply too much, and I would not torture myself with those recent and painful memories; they needed to be put away.

I waited for the biting ache of fresh trauma to leave; it was followed by grief and thoughts of home: my childhood, my grandfather, and a small handful of people who had shown me some warmth. Most of them didn’t even talk to me anymore. I wondered if I should say something to them. I puzzled on this for some time while the log continued to run silently.

“I-I’m sorry I can’t do it the way the rest of you can…it was probably always going to end up like this. I’m sorry.” I exhaled and then quickly closed the log.

“That was shit,” I thought to myself, “Dramatic and pointless; better to just shut up and get it over with. Oh well…” I unbuckled myself and moved up the cabin. All the fuel needed for a return trip was ready to go. I had idled in this location for a few days, but I figured now was the time. The pre-programmed coordinates were unmodifiable; they would only return the vessel to the company outpost at Crescentshire. An intentional design to discourage desertion.

“At least this way, they won’t have to wonder what became of me, it’s the least I can do for The Shareholders.” I scoffed at my own sarcasm and cued up the timer. Departure in five minutes should be enough time. I got dressed into the outing gear and had the last bite of a dry biscuit before exiting the cabin. I looked out into the murky dark sea of space that awaited me; I was eons from the warmth of any star. Thus, light was scarce here, as was any form of life. I paused for a moment and pondered the void in front of me; it still scared me. It always had; old Keely made sure of it. But a dread had taken over, reminding me of what now frightened me more, so I stepped into the blackness knowingly.

I was light and at peace for a moment, floating in the empty ocean. Worries went away; a calmness washed over me. While drifting, I noticed my vessel; any minute now, it would depart, and then it would be inevitable. Death. My heart began to pound. Sweat began to coat my palms—a tightness formed in my breath.

In a snap, the ship was gone. After a flinch and an exhale, I moved my arms up to the release hatch on the mask of the outing gear. Outside, the temperature was 49 degrees Kelvin; death would occur in a fraction of a second. I held my hands there for a moment, frozen in time. “You’ve already decided this,” I thought. “You’ve made it certain….” But my hands would not move; I was frozen. I relaxed for a moment, opting to float a bit longer and rest.

Dreams came, but this time there were no screams. For a brief minute, I was in my home world; I could smell the ocean, I could taste the salt. The rise and fall of the tide, I felt it as I was carried by the whims of the abyss. I floated deeper into the sea; the light of day faded, overtaken by the mask of the ocean ceiling. All the life, the fish, the reeds welcomed me back down. But I would wake from this short escape; I always would.

When I opened my eyes, a creature had emerged from the black. A 20,000-tonne aluminum animal now faced me, and despite our size difference, it observed me keenly as if I were the only tiny thing in this whole galaxy. This beast was a warship, I could tell that much, and it spoke the language of intimidation and violence, which I had never uttered once in my existence.

“What is it doing here?” I wondered, “A military ship with no flag, no colours, staring directly at me….” There would be a danger, I was sure of it. With no ability to identify its prerogative, I had to assume the worst: a rouge. Whether bounty hunters, pirates, or deserters, they had found me.

I should have been afraid at that moment, with such a monster of metal hulking over me. I should have been terrified. I probably was, in all honesty, but now I only remember how that moment, another choice, was presented before me after I thought I had made my last. I could still pull that latch; the frozen death was still an option. But now, there was something else. Sure, I might die, feel more pain, or get sent to Crescentshire for trial. But there was a chance of something different, something new, a potential that had never been available until now. The ship became more prominent as my body was pulled towards its gravity. Soon, the ship’s magnetic trunk would scoop me up; this made me feel something. An uneasy, anxious wonder of a life that could be worth living. It was…a different kind of hope.