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Time doesn’t exist. Not out here, not anymore. There is no sun to count the days, not even the faux-daylight cycle meant to mimic life on Earth. There is nothing. Nothing except stars. Just stars as far as the eye could see.
It made him dizzy, seeing all those little lights twinkling off in the distance. It felt like they were taunting him. He could almost hear it, the chorus of screams harmonizing with the destructive sounds of terror and rage. The voices all asked why? Why did he get to live when they could not? What made him so special? Nothing, that’s what.
He stopped looking at the stars after that.
He curls his hands around the handheld radio, waiting for a message that would never come. Nothing in or out, not while the pod’s antenna was damaged. Still, he tried.
“This is Dr.… um… I don’t… know. Uh, right, ID code T as in Tango, E as in Echo, and K… Kilo, uh, then numbers 112512.”
He pauses. What is there to say? He couldn’t beg for help again, no, not when he knows deep down he doesn’t deserve it.
“I- they’re gone… they’re all gone. I couldn’t… I’m sorry.”
Bad radio etiquette, not clear, no purpose, not even a proper sign-off. Of course, just another thing he’s failed at. Add that to the list…
If he had just responded a bit faster, moved a little quicker, he would’ve been in the airlock with the others. That sort of maintenance was his job, his area of expertise. Not that it would’ve changed anything, it had been sabotaged from the start, but at least he would have died with them, and wouldn’t have been left with this terrible guilt that was pooling in his gut.
The end is drawing near, he knows that. And when it does arrive, and those down below learn of the tragedy, what happens to his memory? Would they know that he ran, that he abandoned them at the first sign of trouble? Or would the knowledge of his cowardice be left to die here with him?
Tango studies the small plastic badge that Pearl had given to him. Apparently she had found it near where she picked him up from out in the Wastelands a few months back and now is wondering if he knows what it is.
The upper corner is curled in and blackened as if burnt, rendering the name completely illegible. What he can make out, however, is the photo. A picture of a rather unhappy looking man, presumably who this badge was for. Tango doesn’t recognize him.
“Nah,” Tango says aloud. “Never seen it before. And hopefully the poor bastard this belonged to won’t be missing it too much, I doubt he’s ever gonna be getting it back.”