Hope

“…so, I just wanted to say I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye, you know? And hey, if you see your mom, tell her I don’t regret anything. Anyway, adios, amigo.” He finished. It was the third message he’d recorded. First it was his parents, then his sister in Buenos Aires. Raul was the last. There were no tears this time. He’d ran out after the first message. Now he just felt numb.

It had been almost a week since they’d lost the reactor, and now the batteries were beginning to fail. To conserve power, Neuner had begun cycling the life support system for only eight hours a day. For eight hours a day, they had fresh air, potable water, and warmth. The other sixteen they spent thirsty, gasping in the cold.

He sat back, shaking his head. The display in front of him provided the only illumination; Neuner had cut the lights on day one, to conserve every spare milliwatt of power. He stared at the display in front of him, trying to make sense of it all. He wasn’t even sure Raul would ever get his message. It could be years, even decades until anyone found out what had happened to them. As far out as they were, recovery was unlikely.

“Andres,” a soft voice said from behind him. He turned to find Neuner floating in the hatchway. “Lights out, my friend,” she whispered.

He nodded, forcing a smile. “Thank you, Maggie,” he whispered. She gave him a curt nod, then turned and left. “Lights out” meant it was time to kill the life support for the day. That meant all non-essential electronics as well, including his terminal. Hey keyed off his display, and made his way back up to the command module.

After the reactor failed, the commander had decided to put most of the crew into cold storage. Forty-eight human bodies now lay frozen, floating in anaerobic solution in chambers aft of the command module. Despite limitations on life support, not everyone could be placed in cold storage; someone had to remain alive, in the vain hope of finding help. Magdalena Neuner, as the ship’s engineer, was the obvious choice. But anyone passing by would be looking for a signal. As comm officer, Andres Giolito drew the other short straw.

As the days went on, hope of rescue began to dim. Neuner remained maddeningly practical: she busied herself running the numbers on their consumption, then running them again. Cutting power to most of the ship bought them several months, optimistically. That left the two of them sealed into the CCM, which held the only breathable atmosphere. Bathing and all forms of hygiene were a luxury; they needed all their water to stay alive. Andres tried not to think about how bad he must smell.

Though the power-saving measures left the atmosphere thin and cold, it bought them at least a few months. But they were running out of food; their ration packs were nearly depleted. They could make it another few weeks on nutripaste. But that, too, would run out eventually, leaving them to starve to death in deep space. Though Neuner continued to look for ways to make it a little longer, Andres was losing hope.

He floated up into the command module, and found Neuner sitting at her station, running the numbers again.

“Is there really a point to that now?” he asked, irritated.

“If we wish to remain alive until we are rescued, yes,” she replied, not looking up from her tab. “I may have found a way to buy us several more days, but we will need to cut back on life support.”

He gaped at her. “Cut back more?” he asked, incredulous. “We’re barely breathing as it is!”

“I am aware,” she replied. “But I believe if we begin taking low doses of sedatives, we can decrease our oxygen consumption. The medkits we have here should provide a sufficient supply.”

“You want us to sedate ourselves?” he demanded. He found all of this increasingly pointless.

She sighed softly, lowering her tab to look over at him. “Andres, I understand how uncomfortable this is. But you know what happens if we do not make it.”

Andres grimaced at her. Neuner remained hellbent on carrying out their orders. If a ship passed within communications range of theirs, someone had to be alive to return their ping. A ship that came across a seemingly dead spacecraft would ping the ship. If the ping was returned, they would commence rescue operations. If it was not, they’d simply mark the derelict’s location, notify ESA, and move on. A recover mission would eventually be mounted. But it could take years.

“Here,” she began, “you will feel better after you eat.” She grabbed a ration pack floating near her seat and tossed it to him.

He snatched it from the air, eagerly, yet as he prepared to open the pouch, he found it was already unsealed. What’s more, he discovered half its contents were missing.

“Did…did you already eat this?” he asked, studying the pouch.

“Only half,” she replied, returning to her work.

Again, he gaped at her. “Half?” he demanded. “Each one of these packs contains a quarter-day’s worth of calories!”

She lowered her tab again, turning to him. “I am aware,” she replied. “But we must-”

“Conserve,” he finished for her, tossing the pack away in anger. “Yeah, I’ve heard it before. But what’s the point?”

She stared at him, confused. “The point is-”

“No, there is no point!” he shouted. “So, what, we buy ourselves some time. How much time does this get us, huh? A few days? A few hours?”

Her expression hardened. She pushed free of her seat, floating toward him until they were nose-to-nose. “Perhaps,” she whispered, harshly. “But that may be enough.”

“Enough for what?” he rasped, incised. “So we starve a few days later. What’s the difference?”

“If a ship happens across our-”

“Don’t you get it?” he shouted in her face, waving his arms for effect, “nobody is coming!”

She glared at him. “You are so quick to give up.”

He threw up his hands. “Oh, I gave up days ago! Look at where we are! We’re a million kilometers from anything! How can you think somebody’s gonna come out here looking for us?”

She took a deep breath, calming herself. “Because I refuse to abandon hope. We must do all we can to buy more time. Every second counts.”

“Yeah? Well maybe you should…” he trailed off, as something caught his eye. Neuner took notice, following his gaze. Abruptly the two pushed off, floating toward the forward lattice. Andres strained his eyes, squinting. Ahead, far distant, he could see a thin white line. It was moving toward them, very slowly. His jaw dropped.

“That’s…” he whispered.

“A ship,” she finished for him, studying the commander’s interface in front of them. “It is a DSRV.”

In an instant, hopelessness evaporated. Andres turned to her, prepared to apologize. She looked into his eyes, perhaps prepared to scold him. Neither bothered. There was no time.

“I’ll fire up the comm array,” he said, turning swiftly to float to his station. They had no idea how long the ship would remain within range. Every second counted.

END