Author: K. E. Redmond

He stared at the blue and white globe passing beneath him, watching the dark shadow cut across its surface.
Once, the dark had been alive with light like glowing fungus. He’d imagined pearls of highways, puddles beneath streetlamps, neon signs.
As the lights winked out, the smog dissipated. In daylight, he and Johnson saw Mumbai, New York City, Madrid with crystalline clarity.
‘Amazing air quality,’ said the voice from Control. ‘Silver lining, eh?’ They still evaded his questions. People weren’t traveling as much in this pandemic, they said. We’re sheltering in place. Give it a month.
But each week the darkness deepened.
Johnson sat for hours looking down through the viewing portal as continents and clouds and oceans drifted by. His wife and son were in hospital, the same baby who was learning to walk when they lifted off. They had the new virus.
Control didn’t like delivering bad news on missions, so they knew when the updates stopped that something was wrong. Still, Control’s requests for data continued, tethering them with its normality. Then the voice changed. Changed yet again. They were told it was due to vacations, transfers, promotions. Everything is fine. Concentrate on your mission.
Johnson asked to speak with his wife. The voice on the other end was young, inexperienced. Maybe he didn’t know the rules; or maybe he didn’t see the point anymore. When he heard the news, Johnson just nodded.
Perhaps Control figured, in light of developments, the death of his family wouldn’t be Johnson’s biggest concern.
We can’t recover your return capsule. We don’t have the manpower. No ships. No planes. We’ve contacted every country that might help. There isn’t anybody. You’re on your own.
He’d guessed, of course. Earth was velvet black on the night side now.
Unlike the people below, they wouldn’t starve. They had enough supplies on the Station, especially after Johnson stopped eating.
No, as he saw it, they had two choices. Try reentry and hope the capsule came down somewhere near a landmass they could reach under their own power—he didn’t even bother calculating those odds—or they could continue to orbit until eventually their orbit decayed.
The alarm woke him: an open airlock. He got to the portal just in time to watch Johnson unhook the tether from his suit, open his arms, embrace the emptiness.
He was alone. How many days now? No matter.
His whole life, he’d wanted to be closer to the stars he’d first seen in his backyard telescope. Now when he looked down, he saw the Baja Peninsula, the Sahara, even the Great Wall of China. All the places he knew from books, but never bothered to visit. He’d been too busy looking at the stars.
The stars.
It took him a while to make the calculations, the necessary modifications. After the Yuri II disaster, all escape capsules were equipped with thrusters. He could use some of the Station’s fuel to slingshot him out of orbit, toward the stars. He had a curious feeling, half fear, half that excitement he’d felt as a kid when he’d seen Mars’ polar caps. He’d always dreamed of seeing them up close.
When everything was ready, he sent his last message. The comm light blinked slowly. No response.
‘Repeat message?’ the automated assistant queried.
‘Tell Control.’ He looked out at the glowing orange of Mars. ‘Tell them I may be gone some time.’