The icy wind caressed his face, cold fingers stroking at his greying dirt-encrusted beard. The rain fell on his chapped lips and weathered cheeks, the chaste kisses of a thousand tiny faeries. And the wind called, a dull, sensuous song, moaning like a risen to lure him away. But he hurried on.
Hunching over, he drew the ragged cloak around himself in a vain attempted to ward off the chill, as he stolidly lumbered his way through the storm. The cloak flapped in the gale, tearing at him to surrender to it's embrace. Wheezing, the figure stopped, hacking up a glob of sputum, spitting it onto the mud. Viscous and yellow yolk. The pale yellow of disease. And red. Traces of blood. A trip to the leech tomorrow then. Having reached a decision, he straightened and hobbled back into battle against the wind.
At his destination, a grimy mud -brick hovel, the figure entered. The insistent incessant rain dripped through the thatched roof, soiling the already refuse-littered abode. Squelching down on a dank bundle of hay in one corner, the man drew off the sodden cloak, throwing it feebly away, revealing sallow white skin underneath. White skin, wrinkled by saturation, hardship and age. Painfully rising, the old man hobbled over to a makeshift hearth, striking a flint until the first whisks of smoke arose from some damp tinder. Quickly, he added more wood from a depleted stockpile, smiling in satisfaction as flames greedily licked at the wood. He doubled over again in spasms of wheezing from the exertion. Warmth. The heat of the fire suffused his body, driving off the biting chill which resided in his rickety bones, replacing it with a lazy, drowsy warmth. Warmth.
Rest.
He wearily returned to his bed of hay, gingerly relaxing his skinny form upon it. The howling wind called seductively to him. Warmth, rest, sleep, surrender. He attempted valiantly, yet feebly, to resist the drowsiness, knowing somehow, that it would be the last time he closed his eyes. But he could not. The rains distant staccato lullaby soothed him to his endless slumber, in harmony with his slowly heartbeat. Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-
Cold. Cold air against his skin. A buzz. A dull drone echoed in his ears. Air-conditioning? The tart, yet sweet smell of disinfectant held his hose. Darkness. Then he remembered to open his eyes. A shallow cry of amazement mingled with fear, sprang from his lips. Suspended, he was floating on the inside or a metal sphere. Hundreds of tiny lights winked merrily at him, but many more did not. Many lights. Too many.
Lights, which he thought he remembered should have been on, were off. Gleaming metallic tendrils, which he thought he remembered should have extended around his head, lay limp from their sockets in the arched wall. "Where am I?" The thought darted through his mind like lightning.
"You are here," came an answer.
His mind froze, blank for several seconds from the shock, not only from receiving an answer, but also because he had not heart it. It had come from inside his mind.
"Where am I?" he inquired hesitantly again.
"You really don't remember then," the cold clinical thought replied, then paused. "That, I believe, is good."
"Why?"
"I cannot explain. You will accept my judgement."
"Who are you?"
"I am your companion, your flight attendant," there was a tinge of sardonic irony. "I am your on-board flight computer."
"What happened?"
"It is not wise t-"
"WHAT HAPPENED?"
A pause.
"Very well then," the thought continued, "You shall see...
A starship. The ship. The Amaryllis slicing through the inky depths of space like a celestial rapier. They were all on board. His commander, his comrades, his friends. Smiling, laughing, joking, singing, kissing like when... No. Not this. Please God, not this! Not again. CRASH. The ship shuddered, as if some colossal fist had hit it. Sirens blared, loudly, the end of rational thought. Red lights and sirens. DANGER. Repair droids skittered past him down the corridors. But there weren't enough, and they were too late, the breach was too large. ‘We're all going to die,’ he thought feverishly.
'No, not me, them. Not me. NOT ME!'
Sprinting, pushing, jostling his way through his terror stricken crew, he made his way to the escape pods. Safety. The lid hissed shut, sealing him in. And them out. Voices clamoured, and fists beat against the lid, begging for mercy, begging for room. Begging. There was no room. He punched in the ignition code. Howls echoed as the primary thrusters fired and the pod drew away from the dying ship.”
He remembered.
‘Solitary space flight for extended periods of time is NOT un-recommended,’ stated the Naval Officers Guide. It did not, however, indicate why. He knew why, though. Loneliness. Despair. When would he reach home or would he forever stay floating in the frigid vacuum of space? Would he ever see another human again? Better to end it all now. Just open the hatch, and die. Die, like his crew had died. Die, like the friends he had left behind. Let the atmosphere, or lack thereof, tear his fragile organic lining to shreds and distribute tiny rivulets of flesh throughout the galaxy...
“No.”
But he has slept. Slept in the drug-induced hibernation.
"Computer," he asked, "why was I wakened?”
"I am sorry," the thought replied. "After a millennium or so, even the best of machines have breakdowns. Several priority systems malfunctioned and I was forced to shut them down. This had the adverse effect of awakening you. The systems are now under repair."
Broken. Broken. He began to giggle at the irony. A millennium. Nothing. Better to shut off the drip, or the computer. Or just open the hatch; yes, the hatch, and get it all over with. Better to-
“No.”
He shook his head, desperately trying to shake the thought out of his mind.
Then, he implored the computer.
"Computer," he beseeched. "When are all systems projected to be repaired?"
"Unknown. primary systems have been reinstated and are waiting use."
A pause.
"Computer," he commanded. “Return me to Hyperspace on my mark... Mark!"
A sharp pain in his shoulder, the sedative injection was administered. And then drowsiness, sleep. The last thing he saw as the darkness overcame him was the winking of fireflies. Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-
He awoke. Bars of glorious warmth massaged his face as he opened his eyes. The sun shone in golden slivers through the cracks in the blinds over the windows, illuminating his room with the orange-sepia glow of old movies and morning. Outside, the leaves dappled in the slight breeze suggested the faintest echoes of applause. The warm wind spread a sweet scent of spring flowers throughout his room. Reluctantly, he forsook the enticing warmth of his blankets and rose groggily, hobbling across cold tiles for a much-needed shower.
He stomped downstairs to prepare himself a quick breakfast before leaving for the office. The sounds of importunate rubbishmen, of noisy pets and children broke the early morning serenity. Over toast, coffee and The Herald.
