Chapter Text
“What’s two plus two?”
Huh? Who the hell wakes a person up like that? I ignore the question; I’m tired. I attempt to go back to sleep, but the voice repeats itself again a few minutes later.
“What’s two plus two?”
The pronunciation is identical, the voice emotionless. It’s a computer. Somehow, that’s even more annoying. Shut up! is what I try to say but all that comes is “Shhpp.” What? “Incorrect, the computer says, What’s two plus two?”
What’s going on? All I get out of my mouth is whttt-ging. So I can’t speak. I need answers, so I try to open my eyes. Doesn’t work. Well, crap.
I keep trying, with little to no success.
Open!
I felt something that time!
OPEN!!
I open my eyes,..only to close them again at the blinding light.
“Eye movement detected,” say the computer, “What’s two plus two?”
I manage to keep my eyes open, and everything slowly starts to come into shape. I’m not exactly in the business of staying here, with the creepy computer and all.
I attempt to move my hands, but I only get a few twitchy fingers. Guess all I can do is look around for now. The room is shades of white and gray.
There’s LED lights and cameras basically everywhere. And a robot arm. Am I getting experimented on? That’s when I notice the breathing mask on my face and the tubes inside me.
NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE. I manage to move my hands and attempt to do …something. Because I’m not gonna let myself get experimented on like a rat in virtually every scientific field.
I instead roll off whatever I was previously on and fall straight to the floor (with the tubes inside of me forcibly taken out by it for good measure.)
“Oww..” Hey I managed to say something! “What’s two plus two.”The computer says.
Of course. I’m really tired so I give in. “Four!” My voice is shaky, but it’s coherent. I use my hands to lift myself. Where was this muscle function two seconds ago? Doesn’t matter now. I attempt to stand myself up, steady, steady…!!
Then like the asshole it is, the computer interrupts, “Full body motion detected,” and I fall down again. “What is your name?”
What’s my name?? While a slightly more reasonable question to ask, it’s still stupid.
“Are you serious?” I say, “its..”
“Incorrect answer, attempt number two.” The arm attempts to grab me but I dodge it.
“It’s-It’s...”
“Incorrect answer, attempt number three.”
“Oh god.”
I realize suddenly. I don’t know who I am, what I do, and why I’m here. Crap.
Okay, whoever I am, freaking out won’t help. But I gotta do something.
Okay, me. Let’s just try to figure out where we are. I look around, the place is clean and tidy, almost sterile. I look up, and see a ladder. Nowhere to go but up. I climb it, though it’s hard with my long hair blocking my eyes and an overwhelming sense of weakness.
I must have accidentally pressed something, because two platforms come out of the wall. I think they have…
“People! Are you awake?” I ask. No response. I take a closer look.
Damn it. They’re dead. The.. the closest one is a dark skinned man, while the other looks older with white hair . They’ve been dead a long time; their skin is leathery, crumbling in the latter’s case. I gulp down the vomit forming in my throat. Did I know them? I don’t know and that’s terrifying.
Don’t think about it. I go up the ladder because what is there to do? Think about the fact I am alone with no idea where I am, with no one to talk to-Shut up, brain!
I reach the top of the ladder and find myself in another room. It look similar for the most part. No answers here, unfortunately. I get up and turn around. Then I see it.
There’s multiples windows, but that’s not the important part.
The important part is the Milky Way shown through it.
Oh my god, I’m in space.
I sit, because processing information such as the fact I’m in space with no memory is a easier to do while lying down.
Okay, first order of business. Why can’t I remember anything?
I think about how I first woke up, with the loss of muscle function and the tubes that were in me. Wait! one of them was an IV.
I’m so stupid. I was in a coma! The tubes were probably keeping me alive while I was sleeping. No idea why I was in one though. The others were probably in one too.
That means I’ve been sleeping for a long time, based on their appearance.
So memory loss from brain going to mush while in a coma.
I’m okay with this answer. Of course, there’s the question why my muscles haven’t atrophied, but it probably has something to do with the tubes.
It isn’t enough information, so time to go exploring! And hopefully figure what the hell I’m doing here!
I walk my way through multiple rooms. The notable ones include: A room covered in panels showing environments from Earth (Mental health room? has a computer connected to it), A place to record video diaries, an inner airlock with EVAs and actual clothes (Thank god), and a lab.
The lab has microscopes, pipettes, PPE, a fume hood, basic lab stuff. There’s some cabinets too. I search them in case there’s a clue why I’m here. In one of the cabinets, I find…
“A modified mini-workstation?”
“Why do I know that. Am I smart or a trivia nerd? I really hope it’s the former.” It would make things a lot easier.
I’m hit with a memory.
The dark skinned corpse, now alive. He’s awkward, with a love for scientific niches.
I can feel tears forming. I wipe them away and move on.
I’ve made it to the command deck! There’s a few seats and control panels. There’s navigation, life support, altitude control, etc.
“Anybody in charge here? Like a captain?”
The computer replies, “Captain Yao, Li-Jie. Deceased.”
Another memory arrives.
Yao, the now older corpse. He’s strict, but fair and a great leader.
I distract myself.
“How about people that are alive?”
The computer responds, “Engineer Rocky Perez. End of manifest.”
They’re talking about me. It’s just me.
“You’re kidding, right? I can’t be the only person here?”
I accidentally find myself in the pilot’s seat and the systems turn on.
Nope! I jump out before anything happens.
Okay, Rocky (Rocky??? Were my parents movie buffs? Doesn’t feel like it. The name feels right, however so I just ignore the weirdness of my name.)
Let’s figure out where we are.
I see the sun in one of the panels. We must still be in the solar system, hopefully.
“Call.. Earth?” I hope that does the trick. I have no idea who made this spaceship, so I can’t default to Houston.
“Current transmission time to Earth is 11 years, 10 months, 14 days and 6 hours.” Says the computer.
What.
“Nope, you’re just stupid, No flipping way.” I look at one of the panels.
It’s a map showing how far I am from the sun.
Crap. I scroll (very fast mind you), for about a minute. The star shown on the panels isn’t the sun. I’m in an entirely different solar system.
Okay, lets take a second Rocky, we can’t be that far. Besides, there has to be some way to get back to Earth. I go down the ladder and into one of the rooms.
One of the panels show where the fuel and engines are stored. Technically, there’s multiple engines. There’s 1009 spin drives powering this ship. Wait. That last bit wasn’t shown anywhere on the panels. And what the heck are spin drives? Did I-Nope, I have more important things to do.
Uncanny knowledge of this ship aside, I find what I’m looking for. A whiteboard!
Using basic physics calculations, (They come easily to me, I’m an aerospace engineer most likely,) I come to a less-than ideal conclusion.
With the fuel I have, It will take me 113.8 years to get home.
I collapse on the floor.
Iamdyinghereiamdyinghereiamdyi-
Nope, nope. Distract yourself, Rocky. Do literally anything BUT think about the fact that we’re dying here!
So I stare. At the white board. At my arms. Huh.
I have a tattoo. It’s weird how easy the brain can distract itself while in distress. My arms are amber, but decorating my left is a red line between two circles, one bigger than the other.
A red line.
A red line.
A broadcast.
A space probe. Arc light was its name.
An interstellar microbe.
A name: Lumenphage, light-eater.
A crisis.
I’m in my apartment, that is decently large for New York.
I’m fiddling around with my 3-d printed figures when I hear a knock on the door.
Technically, its three knocks. I sigh to myself. It’s Peter. Peter is the kid of my next door neighbor. He’s a sweetheart.
Ever since he learned I was an engineer, he’s done nothing but come by to talk about his science project. (It’s one of those DIY robots, by the way.)
It’s weird that the only person who talks to me about engineering is a middle schooler, but then again, I’ve been called childish by a lot of people.
I open the door to Peter. I greet him like always do, with my weird fusion of a wave and jazz hands. Then I notice his eyes are red, and he’s sniffling.
“Are we all going to die?” His voice is shaky. I know what he’s talking about. Who doesn’t?
“Because of the dots, right? The lightphage?” He’s crying now. Oh god.
“Shouldn’t you talk to your parents about this? Also it’s Lumenphage.” I awkwardly respond.
I’m the last person who should be talking to him about this.
“My parents don’t want to talk about it, ..and you’re the smartest person I know.”
I hate it when adults do that. Trying to shelter your kid from the world in some attempt to keep them innocent never works. Kids deserve to have honest conversations about the crap that’s going down.
I sigh. I really am discussing the upcoming apocalypse with a 12 year old.
“Look, two years ago, Irina Petrova noticed a streak of infrared light from the sun to Venus. That’s the Petrova line, AKA the Lumenphage.”
“That’s what’s eating the sun right?”
“Dimming it. But yeah, they are. Over the next thirty years, the Earth could cool by 10 to 15 degrees.”
“Which is gonna kill us, right?”
“Hey,” I put my hand on his shoulder, “Earth’s not going down without a fight. They’ll figure out. The most brilliant minds in the world are on it.”
The memory ends, and I’m back on the ship again, sitting on the floor, huddled in a ball. So I’m going to die in outer space, and the world is dying too. Great.
I cut my hair, which was getting way too annoying. I search through the rooms and find some… Vodka?
Well, It’s alcohol.
I keep searching while taking the occasional shot. It’s somewhat calming, in a way.
I find storage packets. There’s labels on all of them. Martin Dubois, Commander Yao, and Rocky Perez. I open them. There’s clothes for all of us, and pictures too.
There’s Martin with his girlfriend; her name was Annie. She was brilliant too. Yao with his wife and kids. He makes a funny face in every picture. I don’t realize I’m crying until the tears wet the floor. I hold them back with all my might.
I don’t want to ruin the photos.
I finally take a look at my own. There’s a photo with me and another eight people at a party, my friends I think.. Looking at it feels hard. I search a bit more. There’s another photo, not of me.
The picture is a cloaked person waving (to me?) They’re tall and seem to be of Japanese descent. Their dark hair shines in the sunlight, and their deep brown eyes, outlined by their glasses, are the happiest in the world.
We’re close, probably.
I notice a bracelet on top of the pile of clothes. It’s decorated by smooth cyan rocks. I put it on, and feel a warmth. It’s a personal belonging, most likely. I may not know why I feel it, but I welcome the comfort.
After a very calming session of ice cream and niche musicals, I try to figure who I am. But that’s hard when you are currently experiencing existential dread. The whiteboard is now full of disorganized notes.
Who am I?
Engineer. Astronaut.
New York. Alone, Single?
Perez last name. Hispanic? Mixed?
Tattoos. Arm, Petrova line. Leg, Christmas orchid (cool). Lumenphage mission?
Those aren’t really concrete answers. Ugh. I hate this.
My head hurts like hell, probably from all the alcohol. I close my eyes to alleviate the pain.
Bonus! My rocky design!
