Listening to
God is an Astronaut's Suicide by Star and I wrote the following short. Almost certainly not what they had in mind, but great music to write by.
Cirran breathed in the hot, musty air as sweat dripped down his face. The scraping, skittering sounds came from the door again and his hand spasmed on the controls in reflex. He licked his lips, blinking against the glare as the local star crested the lip of the viewscreen.
“Ship. Lock trajectory and initiate maximum available thrust.”
“That course of action is not recomm-”
“Override. Command code ‘Declination’. Serial number 57821, Tango. Confirm.”
“Override confirmed.” Acceleration pushed him into the seat.
A bark of sound welled up from Cirran’s throat, a laugh half strangled by sobs. Tears dripped down to join the sheen of saline on his face and he leaned back in the command chair. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. Every breath brought a
hint of copper.
“Hold it together, kid. It’ll be a wild ride.” He could see Daerion’s cocky grin beaming over from behind the transparent faceplate, light from ion shells streaking his visage with neon warpaint.
Something thrummed through the ship and the warning lights began blinking over the propulsion readings. The hum of the engines was gone. In the silence, the scraping of the escapees work on the command deck’s door locks was all the clearer. Cirran pounded on the console with a grunt of frustration, smacking the control stick into a slowly fading metronome. Tick, tick, tick...
Pulse pounding, breaths rasping, Cirran made his way to the security locker. His eyes felt pulled to the corner, but he locked his gaze on the matte grey finish and the serene green glow of the security pad. His trembling hands pulled a small rectangle of bloody cloth from his uniform pocket and he typed in the code. The locker opened with a mechanized whir, revealing the mag pistol and ammunition, a security tac vest, a first aid kit, and a pair of auspex.
He reached for the gun in manic haste. It took three tries to finish loading it. After a second’s hesitation, he pulled out the first aid kit as well. He left the vest and the ‘spex alone. If the escapees breached the doors…
Cirran spun back to the console and his left foot slid out from under him. The med kit went clattering across the deck as he fell backward, arms windmilling out to the sides. His head hit metal with a thud and sharp flash of pain and light. He blinked away the dancing motes and rolled onto his side. He was lucky he hadn’t shot himself when he hit.
He moved to push himself back up and noticed the blood. The actinic tang filled his nostrils. Crimson warmth coated his left side and pooled shallowly over the deck, smeared by his passage. A tributary led back up the brief steps to the ops station in the corner. Cirran’s eyes followed it against his will.
Mirri’s glassy eyes fell on him with damning weight.
Arclight fell on the arboretum lawn in an argent web, revealing glimpses of pale skin. Green eyes gleamed from the shadows. The breeze prickled his body and brought with it the scents of flowers. Her breath touched his ear.
“We can stay together.”
Cirran staggered away, gagging on bile, on fear, on failure. He hid his face in the command chair, clung to the seat for life. He screamed, shrieked. He pounded on the seat, sobbing.
The doors shook with a clang, then another. He looked up. The prisoners had ditched the subtle method. He didn’t have much time.
Cirran plodded dully to the fallen med kit. Mirri watched him, silent, patient. He felt her anger soften into pity as he opened the case.
She covered her mouth with her hand as he fell on the ice. She skated over in graceful, easy motions. She held out her hand to him. She wasn’t wearing gloves.
“Need some help?”
He reached out and pulled her down on top of him.
Cirran pulled out the injector and the painkiller vial. He loaded the vial and jammed the injector onto the meat of his forearm. A stream of cold ran up his veins and entered his heart. Calm spread soon after. He closed his eyes and imagined his heart beating in time to the blows on the door. Clang. Ba-dum. Clang. Ba-dum.
Behind it all, he could hear...music? A vibration at least. Something vast. Was the ship shivering slightly? Was he?
It took some time for the insanity to ebb. As it did, it left him hollow. He felt light, diffuse.He dropped the injector and scooped up the gun. He stood and turned toward the viewscreen. The star filled the whole of it now. His people called it Clarion, a class A3V, young and bright, its nuclear fires set to last for hundreds of millions of years. In the mythology of ancient Kathar, it was the last note of the song that sung the heavens into being. The destiny of all souls, a guide and waypost to the life hereafter. He imagined he could feel the light from the viewscreen passing right through him. He was a phantom, a ghost, carried on the starlight.
“That’s how you make it through a real engagement, Rook.” Daerion took a sip from his drink. “Fear is hesitation and hesitation is death. So, go in dead and come out alive.”
The clanging sounds shifted, stretching into a creaking. They were almost through. Cirran opened his eyes and turned to the door. It flexed open a half inch, then shut again. Shouts came.
He shifted direction. The gun came up and put four smoking holes in the console. Warning lights flickered and died. Puffs of smoke rose like incense. He turned back to the console and stared at the image of Clarion, blazed it into his mind.
He wondered just what was on the other side of the door.
The gun rose again and fired. Drops of crimson hit the viewscreen, glittering like rubies in the starlight.
