Too far from home

Personal logs of Keldron intern, Designation: P3XQ1

“come home”

The words blinked on the screen. Sending a message to me from home would have cost a fortune. The trip had taken months. Months I’d enjoyed. The company had been fellow researchers, many from places their interests weren’t given much regard. People whose families had barely enough to eat didn’t have space to care about the life cycle of stars or the implications of a black hole. Those were luxury goods. But we’d all gotten lucky. We’d had access to The Net. We’d had time to study, time to prove our worth. And now we had the chance to do research.

Beyond the screen, a star died, and I watched it. I studied it. I knew it better than my own face since there weren’t many mirrors around here. And why would I look in a mirror when I could stare at this? Why look at a person when I could stare into space, into this beautiful titan that was dying?

“come home”

Two weeks of research, two weeks of data entry, with the blinking message a persistent reminder of a life I’d left behind. A life I’d return to eventually. But not when I had the work to focus on. The probe had returned more information, more data to analyze. More to do. Always more to do. Just me and the numbers. I thought I’d miss them less.

“now”

A second message. Even if I left now, it’d take months again to return home to Keldorn Prime. To see them. To hear them. To hear anyone that’s not a recording. I never thought I’d get sick of silence. Back home there is never silence. It’s a mining colony. The drills never stop. The refinery never quits. Silence is a luxury, and I’m sick from it.

“please”

Another week, another message. It’s costing them to send these, and they can’t know if I’m responding yet. The message takes weeks to travel. Did they assume I wouldn’t care? They were right to do so. I can’t leave the work unfinished. I can’t go home, even if I’m homesick. Even if I’ve started talking to the plants in the hydroponics garden. Even if I’d love to see anyone of them again. Or see something other than these metal walls and a dying star.

“not safe”

What’s not safe? The outpost I’m in is perfect. Except the incessent humming made by the gravity generator and air recycliers. But that can’t be fixed. Or can it? I’m not an engineer. Plus, the sound-canceling headphones stop it. Even if I could go home, I don’t want to. Do I? I’ve never been social. I’ve never needed people. But that doesn’t explain why I keep talking to the plants. And why I think one of them is talking to me. Why I keep humming the same song my mother used to.

“return”

The message is right. It’s time to return home. But how? All this place has is EV suits and a little pod for doing repairs or gathering samples. Neither can go long range. The company that funded this won’t pick me up and take me home until the work is done. When the star is dead. It could be years. Years of this. I don’t know if I can do it. I know I don’t want to.

“home”

The words blink incessantly. Accusatory. I want to go home. I want to answer the messages, but I can’t. The outpost can’t send messages. I should have found that more alarming when they told me. What if I needed help? What if something happened to the air cycler? It’s been humming louder than usual lately. What if the gravity gave out? I need to leave. I need to get out. I need to get home. Home. Home. Home. I never should have left.

The messages are gone. No sign of them in the logs. No sign of them in the saved messages. Nothing. What could have happened? Did the company delete them since they were distracting me? Did the plants do it? No, they can’t type. Can they? But even if the messages were deleted, they would still be a sign of messages received. What if...what if they were a figment of my imagination? Could I be that crazy?

“come home now. Please. It’s not safe. Return home”

The message took up three lines on the little screen on my personal communication device. I didn’t understand how. The device didn’t work in space. It used a network of relays back home. I only had it with me for the pictures. It came from my brother’s address as if he were nearby. How would he get here? They couldn’t afford the trip. Unless the reason they wanted me to come home was that they were rich now? No, that couldn’t be the case. No one got rich working in the mines. Even if you got lucky. Getting lucky meant some luxury.

I had to get home. There had to be a way home. They couldn’t have just locked us in these floating metal boxes with no way out, no way to call home. Nothing. I couldn’t even talk to another outpost.

I have a plan. It’s stupid, so I’m leaving a recording. If it fails, please send this to my family. A comet is going to be within range of the repair pod in a few hours. I’m going to take what I can fit in there and hitch a ride. Based on my calculations, the comet goes close enough to the Theadrin fueling station I could reach it. From there, I could figure out how to get home. Or if I was stuck there, at least it would be with other people.

Or I could die alone staring into the glittering black of space.

It’s better than being locked here in this box.

End log

Status: Deceased