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Hot wind blew across Alex’ face; had he any hair it would be whipping around fiercely. But he didn’t, so instead he smiled and pushed the dry ground with his foot, rotating his al-fresco crash couch slowly, like a cooker, away from the wave of eye watering heat.
The spin revealed nothing new, but he willed himself to see it through novel eyes. One hundred years of sitting in the same spot has a way of shrinking your world, if you weren’t careful. Over his shoulder, a cluster of homes and community buildings came into view. There were some research buildings further back too, but Alex didn’t even try to squint past his cataracts. He knew they were there. He rotated past the fields and “ecosystem preservation” stations until he was facing his home. Within walking distance of the larger settlement, his residence looked just as chaotic and half-spun as the rest of the houses there - and while the silhouettes of each home was unique from decades of fixes and expansions, none of them looked like a spaceship.
***
Not to say Alex had all of The Rocinante to himself - every home in Paradise had a piece of her - that was the nature of living in a system with nothing to spare. Shortly after he landed, he’d had the unsavory task of explaining that the Rings were gone. No more communication with the systems, no supplies from them, either. He was a practical man and understood the importance of sharing resources. He knew the stakes were incredibly high- higher than any of these pilgrims had signed up for. So Alex gladly and without resentment let the community cannibalize The Rocinante. It hurt to see them rip out her guts and equipment and repurpose it into building a new community, but he also felt incredibly proud that she was there to usher him into a new chapter of his life, a new community, a new family.
At this point, nearly a century since the Rings dissolved, half this settlement was drinking out of Tachi bulbs and eating mushrooms grown from the spores of Roci’s and recharging her batteries for their generators but none of the homes had her. The “uppermost” module of the Rocinante was where he lived, with only the bare minimum supplies and environmental equipment left.
***
His mind wandered and he didn’t try to wrangle it in. He was on in years, and so goddamn tired, it was probably time for him to move in with family. There was no room for them here, so after he left, what to do about the Rocinante?
He scratched his beard and he thought and pondered and argued with himself and continued to let the crash couch spin. He thought about what Naomi or Amos or Jim would say. Would they want something big and celebratory? Austere and profound? He thought about his Martian upbringing, reflected on how the things he valued had changed so very much across the span of his lifetime. Guess it doesn’t really matter what they would have wanted for her - this is my ship and it's my responsibility to see it through.
He thought about how The Rocinante was more than home, more than shelter. Even though he was soft and wrinkly and wet - she cold and hard and unyielding - this ship was part of him. Something deep and ancient tied them together. She’s part of his personhood… so he should treat her remains the way he wants his earthly form to be treated.
Alex decided a long time ago he didn’t care much what happened to his corporeal matter - embalmed, cremated, left to the wilds. Funeral, wake, ignored. Tombstone or statue or an unmarked grave. Tossed into space, buried under ground. He’d be dead - and whether or not his spirit persisted - it didn’t really matter what happened to the atoms he’d borrowed from the universe to make his body.
And so it was with the Rocinante, too. He wasn’t sure where her spirit would end up, but the fact was - and he knew this in the depth of his being - that her material was immaterial to her essence. Our component atoms do not belong to us, we do not own anything, we are borrowers only.
****
Kit listened to Alex’s request without protest or comment; Kit had no high esteem for the crew of The Rocinante growing up and only after repairing his relationship with his father could he look at it with indifference. He was the perfect foil to Alex, a third party that had some insight into the emotional weight of Alex's decision.
The last of the Rocinante was to be recycled back into the community.
“Do you think you’ll keep part of her? The crash couch, maybe? Certainly the placard?”
Alex shook his head, feeling strangely calm. He held the placard now, worn down nearly to a gleaming featureless plate of metal. If he kept this part, someone else would have to get rid of it once he was gone. He realized it was more sad to know she was squirreled away and put on display. To be divided and hoarded, to exist in meaningless pieces that served only to comfort the nostalgia of the owners. To be passed down by obligation until no one remembered the object or its owner. No. If The Rocinante was going to be truly decommissioned there would be no keepsake, no romance. The crash couch, the placard, all of it to be recycled and returned to the system.
***
Alex knew the decision to recycle The Rocinante was right and proper and true, but that didn’t mean he wanted to watch it happen, just like he found it hard to look at his ailing, failing body too closely. He could hear the demolition crew and see the sparks of their machines, slicing into his flesh - into the Rocinante’s flesh. He didn’t feel any pain and he sang under his breath ... You can finally feel the wind when it blows / Don't be scared to be free, to let go, show it off / Feel like letting go.
That next morning, hardly a visible blush of dawn on the horizon, Alex felt a swirl of emotions, too complex and fragile to decipher. Attachment, guilt, ownership, desire, longevity, legacy. Family, loyalty, love, connection. He felt a release, something popped or dissolved or shifted in him and he knew in that moment that Naomi was thinking of him, that she was releasing something deep inside as well.
***
“I can’t believe he passed - just like that,” Kit snapped his fingers in punctuation, “I figured he had more time - I mean Look! He didn’t even unpack his whole bag.”
Rohani leaned against the door frame to Alex’s room, the bed only once slept in, and never woken up from. “I believe it - his soul was tethered to that ship tighter than it was to his own body.”
“I’m serious! It’s… kinda creepy, like they both just sorta snuck out the back door without saying good bye.”
“Not everyone gets the grand finale, dear, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Maybe some people
can
go gentle into that good night. Think of how violently all his friends died… is it so depressing to have at least one person from his family die peacefully on his terms? Nothing material tying him back? Don’t let your own attachment and hoarding tendencies” - delivered with a playful nudge - “prevent yourself from feeling happiness and peace for your dad. He found it and I think The Rocinante found it, too”