He stepped into the monochrome chamber, and as the doors behind him slid shut, he removed his helmet. The room had no windows, so the only source of light was from the artificially white bulbs around him. Even if there were windows, there wouldn’t be much to see outside. Space doesn’t get much more interesting than dotted specks against a black backdrop. In the very center of the room, against the wall, was a small computer whose screen was holographic, as was its hardware. It was encased in a white material, camouflaging it with the walls.
He ripped the patch that identified him off of his suit, and placed it with his helmet on the frame of the computer. Professor Luke Browning, 112-335-125, his patch read.
Tapping a few buttons on the holographic keyboard, a blue interface slid into view. It was a readout of all of the ship’s main components, and their status. Everything seemed to be in order. The engines were still functioning, as were the coolant tubes and everything else. Living up here was hell. A sleek, monochrome, repetitive hell. He couldn’t stand much more of this. On more than one occasion, he considered taking his own life. It would be something different than everyday procedure, of course.
There was something that restrained him from his already-made decision, however. Browning drew a folded photograph from his suit’s pocket. Unfolding it slowly, he revealed two smiling, delighted female faces; one with blue eyes, and the other with hazel. They had the same red color to their hair, which only added to the nostalgic and longing mood. Every month, he would call and let them know that he was alright. And every two years, he would fly back down to Earth to see them. Those were the things that not only let him sleep well, but caused him to lay awake at night.
He thought of their- Boom! The sound of an explosion rattled the ship. Looking up from the photograph, he saw the blue interface was steadily blinking a shade of red. Engines-30%, the screen read. The chamber Browning was in was attached to the main engine. The ship had secondary engines, but that would mean…
Browning placed a call to the headquarters of NASA. After a moment of buzzing, the feed became clear, and a station operator could be heard at the other end.
“Identification number,” the operator commanded him to give.
“One one two, three three five, one two five.”
The pit-pat of fingers tapping against an actual keyboard could be heard at the other end. “Yes, Professor Browning?” the operator finally responded.
“The engine has suffered a blow which has depleted its energy to thirty percent.” The number was descending quickly. “And counting down. Plan of action?”
“See if the repair bots can mend the engines.”
Browning tapped some buttons on the holographic keyboard, and a green interface slid in. It had a basic outline of the ship, with the engine compartment on it blinking red. Nearby, there were small dots. With his finger, he dragged the dots across the screen to the engine.
Operation failed.
Again.
Operation failed.
“Negatory, command.” Browning tensed up. What could he do now? He started sweating nervously, trembling as he was. He paced the floor until the operator responded, knocking his helmet to the floor in the process, shattering the glass. He lifted the helmet to level with his eyes in sheer terror.
“Browning,” the operator asked. “Are you still there?”
“Yes… I’m here.”
“What are the oxygen levels in your compartment?” He slid his finger from the edge of the green interface, until a purple one appeared. Oxygen Levels: 50%
“Fifty percent.” He read it again. Oxygen Levels: 48% “And dropping.”
“There should be a panel to your right. Open it, and see if you can direct the engine levels to your oxygen reserve.” And risk killing the other crew members? He couldn’t. “You’re an important asset, Professor. Your knowledge is what got you up there. Redirect the engine’s power, and remain on the call. I repeat, rema-.” The transmission faded to nothing but static as the Professor ended the radio frequency. He punched in a phone number, and waited as the buzzing slowly faded into a familiar voice.
“Honey? Is that you?” asked a female voice on the end.
“Yes, it’s me, Irene,” responded Browning.
“This isn’t your time of the month to place a call! Did they let you have more than a day a month?”
“No, no… That’s not it.” His voice cracked as he attempted to find a way to tell her. Tears came to his eyes and dropped to the floor below him.
Silence for a moment. “Is there something wrong…?”
Oxygen Levels: 23%
“Yes… There’s something wrong. The engines are giving out. Command wants me to redirect their power to the oxygen reserves in here.”
“Listen to them!”
“You don’t understand, Irene. That would mean the death of the entire crew!”
“But what about our daughter?”
“What about our daughter? She barely knows me. To her, I’m the man that visits her twice a year because he only cares that much.”
Oxygen Levels: 15%
“That’s not true! She loves you.”
“She loves me? She doesn’t even know me! I’ve been up here longer than I’ve been down there with her. Look… I have to save the rest of them.”
Soft sobbing could be heard from the other end. “Even if you don’t think she loves you, I still do.”
“I know you do. I love you too. But this is a life or death situation, which could cost the lives of so many. Do you want forty three people to die to save a single man?”
“If that man means more to me than forty three people, yes…”
“It’s my duty to save these people. Goodbye, Irene."
“Luke… Don’t go!” Oxygen Levels: 3%
“I’m sorry… I love you…”
“No-!” He cut her off as he ended the call. He opened the panel that was to the right of him, and revealed a large, red button. He thought about it for a moment, his hand hovering over the button. Oxygen Levels: 2% Yes. He had to. He couldn’t ignore it… Or could he…?
“Data chamber decompression initiated. Detaching chamber in three… two… one.” Silence. “Detachment complete.”
Points: 1662
Reviews: 18
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