Travel Sickness
Created | Updated 4 Days Ago
Travel Sickness
 |
Never coming back.
Never.
The words rolled around his brain. Over and over. If he could've been sick, he probably would've chosen that moment!
Never?
In the pitch blackness, his thoughts sought some light. Something to focus upon, still the incomprehensible dread, ground him to the now. (Not the never, his mind rather unhelpfully added.)
He sensed rather than saw his fellow Miners around him. Perfectly still, seemingly unperturbed by thoughts of abandonment.
Never. Coming. Back.
He felt the deck shift, magnetic soles keeping the team �upright� as the vast cylinder altered course, metal vibrating as truly astronomical forces acted upon the fifteen-mile-long hull.
He recalled the flight plan, calculating their position by the vibrations of change. Just three changes, four years apart, marked how inconsequential the distance travelled so far. So very much further to go.
Never. Coming. Back.
He knew he'd last the journey. Simple maths showed he would (barring catastrophic accidents) still be functioning centuries after their arrival. Nevertheless, he allowed his senses to check his status. Everything was showing optimal. Working perfectly. Conserving energy on the long journey. Systems slowed to an almost standstill.
So why was his mind so inexplicably active?
Never. Coming. Back.
Was the answer, no matter how improbable. Improbable?
Impossible! He simply should not be feeling this dread. Should not be feeling anything.
Three thousand Miners swayed ever so slightly. Millimeters of movement as the ship corrected again, accelerating, sling-shotting ever forward into the black nothingness.
Never coming back.
Why did those three little words bother him so much? He had no ties to his brief past. No memories, other than the few brief hours of training, downloaded, uploaded, tested, protected beneath his titanium skull.
Back to what? The vast assembly plant where his Masters had churned out millions of his kind. Each programmed to perform specific tasks, separated into various Castes. Engineering, Mining, Terraforming. . . his thoughts were interrupted by another miniscule jolt.
He connected to the ship's system. Particle collision Deck 326, hull integrity 100%. Course unaffected. Mission A-OK.
Never coming back.
What if, even given the obviously astronomical odds, the ship had collided with something bigger, some catastrophic event caused terminal failure of the mission?
He knew he could survive in the freezing vacuum. Knew he had been made to function no matter what the environment. So why the impossible dread?
Never. Coming. Back.
His mind raced, imagining floating in the darkness. Three millennia of nothingness. His systems would eventually fail. Tasks that he existed to perform would be unfulfilled. The new hope for his Masters would be destroyed. Harm would ensue. Lives wasted.
Head bowed. Fear and dread consuming him. Doubts about the very reason for his existence caused his positronic brain to shut down, protecting the mission.
Twelve and a half years later, the signal reached home.
'We've lost another one! Miner unit, Deck 327.'
'Please tell me it was mechanical failure, not�.'
'Sorry, boss, same bloody message from the ship!'
The message was patched in. The Control Room held their breath as the strangely sad mechanical voice sobbed through the speakers.
'I don't like it out here, I'm scared. I want to come home. Please, help us. Help me!'
More uncontrollable, impossible, dreadful sobbing,
'I'm never coming back, am I?'
Transmission ends. Unit M2988 off-line.
