Drift
Selena tumbled out of control beyond the orbital plane of Titan as remnants of her construction rig were pulled toward the gravity well. Her terror in the chaotic silence was punctuated only by her ragged breathing.
This is how she dies.
Her suit had been damaged in the hurried ejection right before the engine core went critical. Her oxygen tank was punctured and rapidly venting. The only thing a rescue team would find was her dead body floating among the wreckage.
She looked at her wrist display to check how much oxygen she had left.
187 seconds. Three minutes to live.
How does one come to sudden grips with what a life could have been, ultimately was, and then accept the end in such a short time?
She tumbled for a moment in shock, frozen with indecision. There was only one choice to make, but she couldn’t come to terms with it. Not yet.
But she would have to use the command.
Her paralysis was broken by a sound that could only be described as a “warble,” carrying through her helmet. Startled, she looked around frantically as Titan circled her visor. There was a blind spot behind her, and debris still threatened her already short existence, but she could not account for the sound.
Then, just within her range of view, the starfield warped. It was as if her visor were damaged and distorting the view.
Except it wasn’t.
159 seconds.
What was it? And what was that sound? It was like nothing she’d ever heard. Had the shock of the explosion and the loss she felt traumatized her mind? She was already shaking from the prospect of choking to death—if some sharp piece of wreckage didn’t impale her first.
It was time for the command.
“Alpha Tango Jaguar forty-five,” she said unsteadily, “unlock kill switch.”
Selena hoped it would still be functional, but she wasn’t sure how badly the suit was damaged.
There was a low chime. “Please confirm to enable the kill switch,” the suit replied.
She paused. Was this the only choice? But the alternative . . . nobody was coming for her in less than two minutes.
“Confirm,” she said.
“Kill switch enabled.”
Presence
117 seconds.
At least she wouldn’t die painfully. A quick jab and it would be over, as long as she gave the command before she began to suffocate. She looked at Titan as the support beam she’d been welding cartwheeled by, just missing her. It was a beautiful planet.
89 seconds.
The warble came again, but without the accompanying distortion of stars.
What the hell was it? She awkwardly attempted to turn herself around every which way as she tumbled, but she could see nothing besides the wreckage and the planet.
It had to be in her mind. She breathed deeply.
Get calm.
This is it.
Make peace.
You knew this could happen.
56 seconds.
This was as calm as she was going to get. But she could accept this. Had to accept it. She took another deep breath. James would be sad, but he would understand. The deep pang of that loss stabbed her in the chest.
But then the stars warped again—just for a moment—distorting the void, a ripple against the field of stars. Her breath caught, but she had no more air to spare for fear.
“It’s only a trick of the stars,” Selena whispered, trying to force her thoughts to solid ground. “It’s your brain trying to provide false hope.”
She shook her head.
I won’t go there.
Her time was running out, and she accepted that.
27 seconds.
She suddenly had the sense that she was not alone. Her rational mind screamed at her, reminding her: Don’t succumb to madness.
Yet she could feel it—a presence near her, distorting space-time. Suddenly, she was paralyzed between the decision to enable the kill switch and the creeping realization that something was there with her.
The warble hummed again, more insistent, like a heartbeat she couldn’t control.
15 seconds.
Almost time. What should be the last thing she sees? She didn’t want it to be the mysterious false hope of the bending of stars. Her eyes shifted again to Titan, brighter than anything else in her field of vision. She couldn’t ensure she could hold it in her gaze, tumbling the way she was, but she tried to focus on its grandeur.
10 seconds.
It’s time.
The warble came again.
She’d never know what it was—didn’t want to know what it was. She closed her eyes and readied herself for the end, when there was a sudden, sharp knock on her visor. Startled, she opened her eyes and was confronted with the distortion of stars.
Before she could react, something pressed against her visor, like a slow, creeping pressure from the void. She instinctively opened her mouth to give the kill command, but before she could act, the visor hissed.
Something opened her visor with ease.
Panic surged, her hands scrambling to close it despite her imminent death. The hindbrain wanted to live. She was trained to avoid exposure to the vacuum of space at all costs—and yet here it was. The air thinned. But then something cold, wet, almost living, slipped across her face.
“No!” Selena choked, her breathless plea escaping into the void. She didn’t want this. Why hadn’t she given the command?
The thing moved, slithering down her throat and filling her lungs. Her heart pounded, blood roaring in her ears, but she couldn’t scream.
She’d approached death on her terms, just like she was trained to do in this exact kind of emergency. That choice had been taken away and replaced with a waking nightmare.
The pressure in her chest was immense, and she was sure it would suffocate her, but—a pulse of warmth pushed on her, deep inside her mind. It was gentle, strange, and utterly alien. There were no words, but a suggestion entered her thoughts.
She inhaled deeply, and her lungs expanded, drawing breath. Despite her fear, the icy vacuum didn’t rip her apart. As her panic began to subside, she could feel a thin layer of something that felt like a cold gel coating her face and sealing her skin.
Her eyes flicked toward the oxygen gauge on her wrist.
Zero percent.
But she could breathe.
She sensed the thing—whatever it was—inside her. Despite her momentary salvation, she wanted to scream but couldn’t. Although she was breathing, she could not make a sound.
Her mind was trying to catch up to the rapid change of events when her body jerked forward, and the stars spun around her. This wasn’t the random spin of her ejection from the ship. Something clung to her, controlling her movements.
She didn’t fight it—couldn’t fight it. As she moved with seeming purpose, the warm sensation and suggestion returned, humming through her thoughts, soothing and surreal. A memory of sitting on her couch in front of a fire, sharing a warm mug of tea. The smell of wood and cinnamon. A wash of comfort and contentment came over her.
Her vision blurred again as she moved—something was bringing her to a construction gantry ahead of her. It was taking form, the dark metal structure stark against the curve of Titan.
Was this real? Or was this just the beginning of the nightmare?
The warble echoed again—this time, it seemed to come from inside her body.
She’d stopped tumbling and was on a controlled trajectory to the gantry. Two construction workers in bulky suits scrambled toward her as she drifted toward them, wide-eyed.
Moments stretched into what felt like hours as the workers loomed larger. Tethered to the edge of the structure over which the gantry serviced, they waited for her with open arms, like a parent welcoming a lost child.
Lost in the emotion of what was happening, Selena suddenly found herself in their arms.
“We’ve got her!” one of the workers shouted, the voice crackling through her helmet. At some point, she’d reentered com range, but wasn’t sure if they had spoken to her before now.
She could see through their visors that they were two men, and their eyes were wide in wonder as they saw her visor raised.
“How is she alive?” asked one, but there was no answer.
They carefully traversed the girders of some emergent structure, transferring tether lines until they reached an airlock leading to the construction station. Someone hit a button, and the outer hatch opened. They eased her inside and began following her in.
As they did so, Selena gasped, lungs convulsing. Her mysterious savior detached itself, slithering out of her throat with a sickening slickness, leaving her coughing violently. She felt the covering on her skin dissipate, and a rush of cold vacuum slammed into her face, shocking her, and she shook violently.
One worker slammed the close button on the airlock, and they both stared wide-eyed as her magboots secured to the deck. She collapsed into a sitting position, hugging her knees and trying to breathe.
The airlock closed, and green lights flashed. The man hit another button, and a rush of emergency air flooded the enclosed area.
“Bloody hell,” said the first man over the com. “What the hell just happened?”
Selena looked up at them, her chest heaving, breath coming back in painful bursts. Able to breathe, she rose and scrambled toward the airlock window, still feeling the presence lingering just outside.
The men joined her as all three gazed out the window, but all they saw were stars.
“What was it?” whispered the first worker.
Selena shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice rough and throat painful, “but it saved me.”
Her hands were trembling as she gave a command to her suit.
“Alpha Tango Jaguar forty-five, disable kill switch.”
“Switch disabled,” said the suit.
Echo
Selena closed her eyes, still breathing heavily, the alien’s presence still somehow with her, echoing in the back of her mind.
The workers exchanged glances. “All I saw was a distortion in space. And your face . . . it looked wet or something.”
She nodded at the memory of it, unable to speak.
They continued to peer out the airlock window, the vast starfield quiet and empty. Whatever had been there was long gone, leaving only the memory of its impossible presence.
In the years that followed, Selena would often dream of the entity. The dreams were never frightening but calming, as if the strange being somehow remained with her and watched over her from the cold void. Any fear she might have harbored of a return to space disappeared with those reassuring dreams.
Often, she would catch herself during her work, pausing when she thought she might have seen a ripple or distortion, but it was always wishful thinking, hoping for another glimpse. A chance to whisper a soft thank you.
She never saw it again.