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Let it be known that Scott was not a fan of Space. These feelings had started out life as mere apathy – content amongst the clouds he left the stars to John – but slowly drifted into the realm of strong dislike as he spent more and more time up there. Was up there even the right phrasing? There was no up or down in Space, no sense of direction at all really, which only added to the mindfuckery of the entire place.
In the space (ha) between planets, when each one was a mere glint on the glass, like a bit of dust you could rub away with your thumb as if it were nothing but a smudge, the only reliable way to pinpoint your location was to look for the sun. Of course, John and Alan could probably navigate their way across half the goddamn solar system without anything more than their own wits and uncanny ability to retrace their steps without needing a map, but in Scott’s case he was entirely reliant on technology. If something knocked the nav system offline, he was screwed, and when Three turned away from the sun so that the only lights were unfamiliar stars, he was very conscious of this fact.
It was disconcerting to say the least. Terrifying, one might say, if, for example, they were cast adrift in a tiny pod designed for close-range rescue and decidedly not for floating aimlessly through the vast abyss of Space without any sign of Three or the sun or… well, anything, with everything offline and the controls as dark as the view through the window. But surely no one would be so unfortunate as to find themselves in such a situation…
Oh, right – except him.
Here was a basic rundown of the events which had occurred over the past twenty minutes... Actually, he could only remember of nine minutes out of those twenty because he’d been floating in a lovely, blissful state called unconsciousness and had only slammed back into awareness about thirty seconds ago. Literally slammed, by the way, because he’d forgotten where he was and had bolted upright only to smack his head against the roof of the pod. He wasn’t sure whether his subsequent headache was as a result or if he’d suffered a minor concussion over the past half-hour. Maybe it was both. He blamed Space. Space had it out for him because he’d chosen to stay happily within the realms of blue sky and had never harboured any desire to step foot on a rocket until circumstances had brought Three into his life.
So. The past twenty minutes: a ship with a fuel leak had made a distress call. Scott had tagged along with Alan because he’d needed to up his space hours for the year before the GDF started squawking about his licence again. He had taken a pod across to dock with the vessel. It transpired that the crew were the biggest bunch of idiots in the entire galaxy and had neglected to keep an eye on the pressure gauges, resulting in a massive explosion which had knocked both ships into uncontrollable spins and had sent the pod flying into the unknown.
Into the unknown, whispered a little voice in his head which sounded suspiciously like Gordon. Ha. Oh God, maybe he really was concussed. He sort of wanted to laugh hysterically. This swiftly shifted into the urge to cry and, ten minutes later, having successfully resurrected the radio but nothing else as the pod didn’t have enough power for anything other than working comms and life support systems – and even those were questionable because there was ice on his suit and oxygen levels were still dropping – he nearly did burst into tears.
“Ah, excellent,” John announced, as if his voice weren’t suspiciously wobbly, although he was doing a convincing job of pretending otherwise. “Good to hear you’re still alive.”
“Just about.”
“Can’t get rid of you that easily, huh?”
John was uncannily good at repressing all emotions. The job demands logic was a favourite saying of his. Emotion dulled the senses and confused the mind. It was a distraction. It led to mistakes and in their line of work, mistakes weren’t just unacceptable but had the potential to be fatal. Which was why, right now, Scott was so concerned to hear an unmistakeable tremor hidden beneath the sarcastic quip. It was proof of just how worried John had been. And this was John, who managed to remain mostly unruffled in the face of Fischler’s stupidity, so for him to be openly affected… Scott didn’t even want to think about how Alan was faring.
It was an incredible view out of the window – endless, innumerable stars – too many to count. An incomprehensible amount of undiscovered worlds – planets and galaxies and unseen frontiers. The darkness between the tiny lights held untapped potential. The adrenaline junkie in his heart lit up at the thought of such an adventure. The very human part of him recoiled from the sight. Lost, cast adrift – he could float forever without ever seeing anything other than darkness. It was so impossibly vast. If he thought about in too much depth, his head spun, although perhaps that was the concussion.
He became aware of his name, shouted over the radio, the sound made harsh by fear. John was not messing around it seemed.
“Yeah, yeah, still here. Reading you loud and… well, sort of clear.”
“Don’t go radio silent,” John snapped.
Scott could practically see him bristling like an agitated cat despite the lack of holograms. They were on audio-only comms and even then the connection was weak, liable to cut out at any second. The thought of being alone out here terrified him on an instinctual level.
“Okay,” he replied, pressing his fingertips to the glass to feel ice through his gloves, voice dipping to a faint whisper. “Okay, I won’t.”
John exhaled slowly. “Talk to me.”
“About what?”
“Anything. Alan’s got Three back online, but your signal’s too weak for him to lock onto it, so we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”
“Using the radio signal?”
“Something like that.” John hesitated. “Keep talking,” he urged, something young and frightened in his voice that Scott hadn’t heard from him since Dad’s disappearance. Unspoken: I’m not losing anyone else. “Come on, since when do I give you free rein to talk about anything? I’m surprised you’re not leaping at the chance to degrade my brain cells.”
“No, that’s Gordon’s role.”
“Yours too. Annoying me is one of your favourite hobbies. It makes the list just after surfing.”
Scott scratched ice away from the glass to glimpse his reflection’s smile. “Just before surfing, actually.”
“Good to know you take delight in my suffering.”
“Big Brother’s prerogative. There’s gotta be some perks in being the eldest.”
If he stared at the spaces between stars for long enough, his eyes began to play tricks on him. It was impossible to keep track of time. He lost himself in the strange flashes of light where there was nothing but empty void.
“Scott.”
“Shit, yeah, still here.” He knocked his head back against the seat and immediately regretted it as pressure exploded behind his eyes. Screw concussions, honestly.
John audibly gritted his teeth. “What did I just say about radio silence?”
“Not to do it?”
“Exactly.”
Scott scouted for a subject change, came up empty handed, and announced grandly, “I fucking hate Space.”
He eyed the stars suspiciously as though Space might take offence to this comment and throw another curveball at him, maybe in the shape of a meteor or, if you believed Alan’s conspiracy documentaries, an alien craft. Needless to say, Space remained obstinately empty.
John let out an amused huff. “I figured.”
“Don’t know why you love it so much.”
“…You’re going to ramble about how much you hate Space, aren’t you?”
Scott’s silence was a confession in itself.
“For fuck’s sake,” John whispered, the words caught up behind a hysterical laugh, “Why are you like this?”
“I could not say anything at all?”
“Don’t you dare. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… tell me why you hate Space.”
Twenty minutes later, having been successfully tackled in a hug by a vaguely traumatised looking youngest brother, Scott switched on the projector to greet John with an obnoxious grin.
“That’s why I hate Space. Just in case it wasn’t clear.”
“Oh, you made your reasons very clear.” John levelled him with a disapproving stare. “And for the record? Aliens do not count. Not a valid argument. Everything else? I can see it. I don’t agree with it, but I understand your case. But aliens?”
“Aliens,” Alan chimed in gleefully, “are totally real.”
“I’m done with you both. Go home. Don’t bother me for another six hours.” John cut the hologram projection but kept the audio online just long enough for them to hear him mutter, “Goddamn aliens, why are they like this?”