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It was much worse than a plane.
It was much bigger, obviously, but this wasn’t the point.
The most horrible thing about the ship was silence. It never made a noise, and it made him feel as if they were floating in vacuum, although the vacuum was outside.
The ship had gravity: just perfect, one would say, but it also made the flight terrifying.
But maybe, Yossarian was afraid in general.
Fear filled the insides of the ship, making the air in his lungs feel even dryer.
Pioneers. Heroes. The Government would say anything to make space travel more exciting than it actually was: routine, boredom and waiting, waiting, waiting.
The Government never said, however, that this particular crew of pioneers was a dozen of cherry-picked cadets who started thinking more than they were supposed to.
Yossarian looked at them and saw himself. Well. They were better than he.
They all were going to die today, anyway.
The ship took off – still not the tiniest note of sound – and the only thing his body felt was a slight pull of gravity. Immediately it all went back to normal.
Each one of the crew was diligently doing their tasks. He could see, though, all the pain these young lungs were filled with. Their fingers were shaking, their eyes were restless, and all in all, they looked like robots on the brink of malfunction.
And then, the ship's alarm went off.
This sound was much more appropriate for their impending doom and managed, even, to bring Yossarian some comfort, however paradoxical as it might seem.
"It's James, sir!" shouted a girl at the video monitoring desk. "He's in the airlock!"
It was too late, though. The only two things Yossarian was able to see on the screens were James’s fingers on the door and the look of regret on his face. A second after the boy was nothing but a flash in the golden aura of the ship grinding through the atmosphere.
Yossarian looked around and saw the chaplain, who was talking to one, then another, then one more crewmate, calming them down, drying their tears, giving them water and oxygen masks, so they wouldn’t hyperventilate, doing so many things at once, like a whirlwind of kindness.
At some point the chaplain met Yossarian’s eyes, saw a silent plea in them and all but teleported next to him.
“Come,” he whispered and pushed Yossarian out of the bridge into the closest empty aisle.
“You’re gritting your teeth,” he said when they were alone in the dim light. “Are you okay?”
Yossarian relaxed his jaw and laughed sarcastically.
“I’m not.”
The chaplain raised himself on tiptoes and kissed Yossarian gently. Yossarian kissed him back with desperation.
“Is there anything I can do?” the chaplain asked.
"Couldn't he wait until we collided with the goddamn black hole or whatever else we are supposed to do?" Yossarian snarled, trying to channel his frustration and feeling none of it go away.
"Probably he wanted to die on his own terms," the chaplain replied.
"I have my own terms, then.”
The chaplain cupped Yossarian’s face with his warm hands.
“I know you do, but please. Let’s ignore all this for a moment. Close your eyes.”
Yossarian forced another bitter laugh, but closed his eyes and squeezed the chaplain’s fingers, removing them from his cheeks and pressing them to his lips instead.
“Do you know that you are the only thing that keeps me going?”
“It’s my job,” the chaplain said simply.
They stood there, in a tight embrace and complete silence, lulled by knowing they were together in this, until the five-minute countdown started.
This was Yossarian’s job, as the ship’s captain, so he returned to the bridge – firmly holding the chaplain’s hand.
The entire crew was there, just standing and waiting. Yossarian could try and give some useless commands to distract them, but he didn’t bother.
The chaplain carefully freed his fingers, came to one of the engineers, who was crying quietly, and calmed them down as far as he could, then came back to Yossarian and gripped his hand again.
Thirty seconds.
No one said a word, they all stood facing the ship’s windscreen and the emptiness that the computers registered as an entrance to the wormhole that wasn’t working.
Everyone stood with their eyes closed, some hand in hand too.
“It’s been an honour to serve alongside you,” Yossarian said, and everything disappeared.
And appeared again.
Instead of black nothing, there was a bloom of green and blue in front of them.
Something was wrong, yet something was right. Right as the chaplain’s hand in his, right as the bravery of the youngsters around, right as the blood still flowing in their veins.
“It’s Earth, isn’t it?” the chaplain gasped, and Yossarian realised what was wrong.
It was Earth, but it was mirrored.
It was as if the ship herself heaved a sigh of relief. Laughter, cautious, but nevertheless full of joy, filled the air, and Yossarian finally allowed himself to breathe some of it in.
Inhale, exhale.
Alive.