No Second Takes

Day 2: Foiled
Captain’s personal files

The universe knows I shouldn’t be here and it’s punishing me for it. First my chief engineer took half the morning running routine simulations, causing a delay in planing. Then we had our crew meeting.

The meeting was not focused.

I was glad when it was over. Shamefully glad. Glad to have a good reason to go back to the Unity’s telescope, to stare out at the silence and the light. To be not a captain, not a widow, not even a person. Just a creature in awe of something too large to comprehend.

But there was no silence in the shuttle. Instead, a soft be-BEE-be-BEE of low-level alerts flowed out into the corridor when the door opened. There were lights, yes, but not the lights of stars. Flashing orange, pulsing yellow, jittering white: every console and panel seemed to have something it wanted to tell me. And the floor – it was a mess. The emergency cabinet had been opened and all its contents – temporary space suits, foil blankets, food bars, flashlights, wool socks – had found their way to the floor, their place taken by two unfazed chickens. They looked at me questioningly as I stood there in the doorway, as if wondering what I was doing in their house.

And what could I do? I couldn’t get angry. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t fall apart like the universe so obviously desired me to do. I radioed down to the science department and retreated to the bridge.

Whatever the Park did, the shuttle is back to normal now. I’m once more sitting here in the shuttle, looking at the stars.

I wonder what the Universe will throw at me tomorrow.