THE LAST MARINER IN THE COSMOS

Sometimes a planet-sider would make the mistake of asking how he coped with the emptiness of space, wasn’t it too lonely, too quiet? The star-scorched old Captain would throw his head back and laugh a hearty rumble that those around the table could feel in their stomachs. Once his audience was stunned to silence, he would lean forward, crumple up a smile, strike them with an unwavering stare and begin to talk.

“If you had the eye,” he would say, tapping the brass augmentation in his skull, “then you’d never call it empty.” He’d pause, to be sure the listener was hooked, then reel in.

“Space is a dancing rainbow of violets, teals and maroons, all ebbing and flowing like the waves of a great ocean.” The Captain had never seen the ocean, nor was space much like it, but he knew these were terms they could understand. “When you look at the stars, you see darkness, but I… I see a distant pulsar blinking through a nebula, like a lighthouse through a fog. You feel stillness, but I can feel the maelstrom of a black hole, half a dozen lightyears away, engulfing entire systems in its wake. I can see electromagnetic currents. I can see the undulations of spacetime itself and when I sail those waves, I’m fighting through a storm. Space isn’t empty, no, space is alive.” Then he’d lean back and let them take it in, sure in the certainty that they’d be buying his drinks for the evening.

That’s what he used to do, but it had been a very long time since he’s had a chance to amaze a planet-sider. Exactly how long, he couldn’t be sure; time becomes hard to keep track of when it’s the wind in your sails. It had been a long time, to be sure and yet the thought of the stillness of it all, the land-dwellers’ myth of a peaceful cosmos, had stayed with him. Through all the whirling chaos of space, perhaps there was somewhere just… still…

It had only ever been an idea, but when the feed from his patrons finally fell silent and he had no more jobs to occupy his mind, all he was left with was that idea. Very quickly, that idea became a quest.

He pored over charts and maps, arguing with the ship’s genii. He would stare out into the night, searching for a small speck of calm, but the night was always raging.

There seemed to be a spot, equidistant between two galactic superclusters, where the tides of time drifted into slow eddies and those eddies eventually stopped. The journey itself took what most would call a lifetime and the Captain spent the whole trip watching the universe swirl past. He was no longer enchanted in its majesty but wearied by it. He had sailed these oceans long enough; now it was time to find the shore.

At last, he came to the place where the distant stars are as faint as dust in the air, where the pulse of everything quietened to a low hum. He could still feel the gentle rocking of ambient fields, but the solar breeze had subsided, the only noticeable radiation was from the ship itself. Yes, this would do. This was peace.

The Captain gave his genii a short farewell (the ship’s computer hadn’t much liked the Captain either), then turned off the engines and all non-vital systems. For the first time in duodecades, the Captain’s worn old Skyliner, dubbed ‘The Statera’, fell silent. He swivelled out his mechanical eye from its brace and finally, the world stopped roaring. Now he could lie down, close his eye and begin to sleep.

*          *          *

In a place where there is almost no movement, almost no heat, almost no time, it becomes very hard to tell how long you have been there, much like waking up from a long sleep. This would have made it twice as hard for the poor Captain to know how much time had passed since he found himself waking up from a long sleep in a place with almost no time. Time has a funny way of creeping up on you, or in the Captain’s case, crashing into you.

At first, there was a pressure wave through the air; a thunderclap in a steel box. The almighty crash slapped the Captain awake just in time to be thrown from his hammock and feel the bone-crunching impact of the ceiling. The room quickly steadied and the Captain propelled himself towards the control panel. He slammed a fist down to activate tertiary systems, local gravity slowly restored itself and the panel came alive with warning lights and sirens. The Captain scrambled to put his augmentation back in and the moment he did he could feel that he was now hurtling uncontrollably through the ocean of space.

The Captain stumbled through the Statera, pushing aside mangled beams and burst coolant pipes. The bulkheads had stomped shut meaning his fears of a hull breach had come true. And yet… his senses told him all oxygen levels were stable. Strange. What in hell could have pierced the hull, but not depressurised it? The chances of asteroids were slim, the same with a satellite, a station, another ship, in fact, he was too far away from anything for this to even happen and yet… it had.

The Captain reached for the white door to the cargo hold but before he even touched it, the latch clunked up and the door swung open. The Captain staggered back and expecting the worst, reached for his sidearm. His mechanical eye squinted at the hatch as it produced, first a leg, then an arm and then a whole person. It was another space-farer, in a spotless merchant corps jumpsuit. She was at least half the Captain's, but a few more star passes and she’d have the tan of a true mariner.

Although they were both in the same business, there’s little comradery between stellar sailors and the Captain whipped out his pistol, yelling, “What the hell are you doing here?”

The younger sailor threw her hands up in defence, but her face didn’t betray fear, instead, she began to smile, “It’s you, it’s really you!”

The Captain was taken aback, but he wouldn’t satisfy this whippersnapper with an affirmative. Instead, he gripped his pistol tighter and repeated, “I said, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I can’t believe I finally found you, you sir are very elusive. My name’s Honor,” Honor offered her hand. The Captain remained still.

“Don’t make me waste my breath thrice.”

“Ah, yes, why I’m here. Well, I came out here to find you, but now I think I need your help.”

“Then hindering me was a bad start. Now, get back in your tin can before I kick you into it.”

“That’s just the thing Captain, my Casimir engine’s kaput, that’s why I collided and-”

“Not my problem,” the Captain grumbled, taking a step closer.

“Well, actually it is, you see, my ship’s auto-repair has fused us together, meaning that-” but before Honor could finish her sentence, the Captain had reeled up and kicked her back through the door. He immediately slammed the door shut and locked it tight.

“Stupid lass,” he thought, staring out at the still spinning stars. He’d just have to sort this out himself.

The Captain lumbered through his craft and made it to the bridge. There, a large window showed the open expanse, now cascading in dizzying white streaks, but to the Captain, it was a vomit of colour and noise. The ship’s wheels were spinning out of control and the instruments blinked colours almost as varied as the space outside.

The Captain grabbed the wheel, shouted instructions at his genii, but Statera herself seemed to resist. It took all his might to slow the spinning just a touch, but then she would speed up again and continue spinning in another direction. Finally, the Captain couldn’t resist any longer. The wheel threw the Captain backward and spun violently of its own accord.

The Captain sat grumbling on the floor. He knew exactly what had happened.

“Hey!” the Captain yelled through the reopened cargo door, but there was no reply. He cursed to himself and climbed through.

The Captain passed the seam where the two ships had fused together. The repair robotics on the newer ships were fast, but not smart. They were programmed to plug a hole in a hull at any cost, even if that meant using another ship.

“Too clean,” the old space-farer thought to himself as he stepped onto the bridge, “not a true vessel, yet.”

Then the Captain saw Honor at the helm, trying to reign in the wildly spinning wheels.

“The hell you doing? Stop that!” the Captain cried.

“Captain, I-”

“You’re what? Trying to spin me out more?”

“My genii can’t compute the additional payload,” Honor began to explain.

“Scrap the robot, you’re doing this by hand,” said the Captain tossing her a communicator, “Your ship’s part of mine, that makes me your Captain.”

Honor was unsure about the Captain’s abilities, but now was not the time to argue. Once the Captain was back at his wheels and Honor was at hers, he relayed specific instructions to her, who carried them out dutifully. The manoeuvre was tricky, requiring subtle, tandem variations in the two sets of unaligned thrusters.

“Easy… easy… too much and you’ll rip the seal,” the Captain said, “and pitch right… now!” Suddenly the stars slowed and stopped spinning. Now they were just floating. Honor whooped over the communicator and old sailor couldn’t help but turn a smile.

“Honor, was it?” the Captain ventured over his communicator.

“Yes?”

“Let me take a look at that kaput engine.”

Hoisted upside down over the scorched drive, the Captain could see that ‘kaput’ was putting it lightly.

“And now all the auto-repairs are spent fixing the hull,” Honor explained, “Can you fix it?”

“Not without a new engine.”

“Well, if yours is still working, perhaps you could drop me somewhere habitable on your way to wherever you need to go. I can helm while you rest if you like. I’ve sailed Skyliners like yours before.”

The Captain yanked himself up out of the engine shaft. “My engine won’t carry two ships and besides, I am where I need to go.”

Honor didn’t understand, “but this is dead space.”

“If you knew how hard it was to get here, you wouldn’t ask me to turn back,” the Captain tried to ignore her, hoping she’d change the subject.

“Why would you want to be here?”

The Captain slowly explained, “because this is the only place in the whole godforsaken universe where the people, the planets, even the stars are quiet,” the Captain turned on Honor, the bitterness had returned, “But even in a place that can’t be found, it seems you bastards still find me. Now, leave me alone, I need to sleep.” The Captain paced away, Honor tried to get him to stop, following him all the way back into his ship.

“Wait! Don’t you want to know why I found you?” Honor cried out. The Captain hesitated. He didn’t turn around, but let her talk.

“I was a planet-sider. Small colony off the Laniakea crest. All I ever knew was my rocky, barely-terraformed world and I didn’t care to leave it… until one night, in a spaceport bar where this old mariner starts to tell me about the universe, how it seems still, but it swirls and dances, like colourful waves on a great ocean.”

A glint had appeared in the Captain’s metallic eye, Honor continued, “I stowed away on a cargo hauler and I’ve sailed the waves ever since. I’ve seen those otherworldly colours and they’re more beautiful than I could have imagined... When the work stopped coming, I knew I had to find the man who inspired me to be who I am now… It is Captain Radshaw, isn’t it?”

The Captain still couldn’t face her. He had a lump in his throat.

“I’m just sorry it had to be like this,” Honor said, bowing her head.

The Captain didn’t turn around, but finally found the words, “no you’ve not.”

“Not what?”

“You’ve not seen its true colours. Not yet,” the Captain reached up to his eye and swiveled out the small brass cylinder from its socket. He turned and handed it to his fellow sailor.

Honor was stunned, “You don’t need it?”

“All I need is sleep… You came to thank me-”

“I’m not sure I can give you that anymore.”

“But I can. Thank you, Honor. Sail well.”

At last Captain Radshaw gave Honor the crumpled smile she had travelled lightyears to see and he was gone before she could reply. She tried to follow but he had locked the hatch behind him, trapping her on the other side of the seal.

Captain Radshaw made it to the bridge of Honor’s ship. He had a quick look over the controls and rested his hands on the wheels. He turned them slowly at first and then pulled them hard, pushing the thrusters to full capacity. Honor watched from the porthole of the other ship, the seal was giving way, the air was rushing out, but Radshaw’s ship had not depressurised, Honor was safe. She felt a pang of fear for him but then realised what the Captain was doing. He was letting her go.

At last, the two ships cracked apart and separated. The old mariner closed his eye. He fell still and the universe fell still with him.

ANAX.