What's in a name?

What’s in a name? The empty void of space, broken up only slightly by stars, stared back at Lane with no answer. It was late and Lane’s brain was especially philosophical. Was a name supposed to convey character qualities or personality quirks? Or was it just supposed to be a pleasant-sounding identifier, something a person could make their own. Lane sighed and leaned back in the commander’s chair. All the status boards were still green, which meant nothing to do. He could watch a video or read a book or even go to sleep, but Lane didn’t feel like moving. He still had two days before he woke his relief up from cryo-sleep to do their two-week shift.

Twelve days of zero social interaction always made Lane listless by the end. Were names prophecies? Lane was named after a young man who over a century ago had ridden a raging bull as a sport and died due to it. Did that mean he would die a violent death? Or that he should avoid bulls? (easy to do in space, he supposed.) Or was he heir to the days and experiences that his namesake had taken from him too young.

And what about naming inanimate objects? Their ship was Pandora II. Supposedly, it had been christened with that name since exploring the stars meant opening Pandora’s box. Lane still felt like whoever had come up with that idea didn’t fully understand the myths. Plus, it was the second of its name since the first had never returned. Who knows what happened to the crew? Stranded on a livable world with no follow-on party coming? Or dead in a fiery malfunction is the abyss of space? Or perhaps just a minor malfunction that slowed their return? When exploration missions are measured in years, it is not unheard of for small issues to turn into a year or two later return date.

Suddenly, the status screens flashed red, and an alarm started beeping. Lane startled and shook his head. What the hell was going on?

-SEVERE MALFUNCTION-

-CRYOSTASIS RECHARGE FLOW FAILURE-

-NO FLOW DETECTED-

-HAZARD IN MAINTENACE CORRIDOR 3-

Lane sighed. Of course, he couldn’t have another boring shift. Nope, instead the universe had decided to spice up his life with a massive problem.

He pulled up the auto-alert system. Thirty minutes after any alarm is sounded the ship’s AI automatically wakes up the rest of the crew. Lane pulled up the video feed from maintenance corridor three and took stock of the damage. The main cryostasis recharge line had somehow disconnected and was whipping around spewing its chemicals. It was an urgent fix. Without the cryostasis recharge the rest of the crew would be forced awake soon anyway.

Lane selected an hour on the auto alert system. That gave him enough time to fix the problem without waking everyone up needlessly. But somehow if he failed, they would wake up with enough time to attempt a fix too. If the cryostasis failed, then the ship lacked enough food and water for a fully active crew. Lane needed to check one last thing before leaving. He pulled up the information on the recharge chemical through the ship’s database. Good, the chemical was only dangerous is breathed in, so he only needed a mask not the full suit. Lane stood up out of the chair and began a slow jog towards the corridor.

Outside the door he paused and looked in the hazmat. Donning the protective mask, he paused to think though his steps. As long as the clamps still worked it would be easy to reattach. Although if the clamps still work, why would it have come loose? Lane psyched himself up for a moment and opened the door. The corridor was full of a light mist and Lane could feel the coolness of the chemical against his skin. The hose was whipping around. Lane thought back and wondered if this was his moment where he lived up, rather morbidly to his namesake. After a brief pause Lane sprinted forward and tried to grab the hose. The heavy metal end slammed against the side of the chest. It drove all air out of his lungs. It then banged on the wall denting a fuel pipe and then slammed Lane in the side of the head. He fell up against the opposite wall from the force. He could feel a trickle of blood on his skin and the entire corridor was spinning. But he had to get that hose. It came back towards him, and he dove putting all his weight into pinning it against the wall. It hurt his chest again, but it worked. He grabbed the hands and shimmied it up towards its home. With a final schnick he secured the clamps and sat on the floor.

Mission accomplished was Lane’s last thought before he slid into darkness.