Chapter – 20
How does one best acknowledge an achievement like this? My family and I had celebrated, all gathering together for food and laughter, all having much needed showers and putting on clean clothes, but none of that celebrating felt right.
I sat on the command deck, delicately cross legged, enjoying the soft and warm feeling still new to my skin. Being this clean was a sensation I had simply forgotten. I could have been more comfortable, by sitting on a chair instead of the floor. Again, however, it didn’t feel right.
I could close the metal wall showing me Earth.
I could activate the lights.
I could have company.
But none of it felt right.
I was convinced this was it, sitting here, right now, alone. I was so completely convinced. This was my chance to see what I had accomplished, in the same way Robert had seen himself in the mirror. I would see what I had done, unbiased, completely and totally. The sensation wasn’t nearly as vivid. In fact, I found it calming.
This is what I've been working for. When I thought about my work, when I imagined the end product of my struggles, I didn’t see my family gardening peacefully on Earth’s surface. It’s a pleasant thought now that it comes to me, but not the one I've been following. What I've been striving for was this. I wanted to sit, cross legged, alone in the dark, and look down at Earth. This was my victory.
Looking down at Earth now, I felt it. It was nothing resembling self righteousness or arrogance. I wasn’t acknowledging my own talent. I was taking in who I was, where I was, and, of course, the lifeless orb suspended before me. There was no glorification or damnation. I only saw what there was to see, and it was spectacular.
Happy, wasn’t the right word to describe my emotions at that moment. Overwhelmingly content would be best. This ship might never reach the surface, and I might not live past the next few days, but it didn’t bother me. I'd gotten farther than I could have hoped. If it were time for my finale, so be it.
I felt the urge to smile, but suppressed it.
It didn’t feel right.
__________
There was plenty to do in order to prepare, but we're a skilled family. With Robert’s help, most of my responsibilities were dealt with. The garden was largely harvested, the food stored in whatever way available. My brother was prepared for whatever health hazard there could be to the best of his ability. The only person I hadn’t the time to check up on was April. Her work was probably the easiest, but unquestionably the most time consuming. She was steering the ship for our landing. This may seem daunting, but the computers did most of the work. She just had to oversee it.
I was finally permitted to leave the medical room by my brother, and did so without hesitation. My hands stung from cleaning liquids Cain had rubbed on, followed by fresh bandages.
Walking was slow, but completely under my own power. I was thankful for this, and for the busyness of my family. This way, the halls were generally empty. There was no one to see me if I started limping, or if I stumbled. I wanted the privacy to be in pain without causing alarm. I knew this was stupid, but emotions are rarely otherwise.
I walked very slowly on purpose. I was growing nostalgic in the light of recent events, and events soon to unfold. As I passed through each familiar corridor, I looked over every little detail with a new interest. It was my way of saying goodbye. Not that the ship would be abandoned once we reach the surface. It just wouldn’t be home anymore. In space, there was nothing beyond its solid metal shell. It was everything. On Earth however, it wouldn't be. This would be its final venture.
I passed a long stretch of hall, and a faint shimmer caught my eye. I turned to my left, seeing Mary. It took me a moment to realize what she was doing. To my surprise, she was dancing. I would describe it as childish, but in an adorable way. She was spinning in slow circles, her arms outstretched, eyes closed. She seemed at peace, which was good to see. I'd been worried about how she'd react to Earth. I was concerned she would react the way she and Robert always did, but nothing had happened yet. I did notice something as she continued her slow circular motions. She wasn’t nearly as transparent as before.
She looked human.
I spent a few seconds innocently watching her. Her movements were simple, yet graceful. I had to remind myself that even these small circles were beyond my own abilities.
I continued my farewell to the ship. I couldn’t help but imagine the ship saying the same to me. I came to a door and entered. Closing the door behind myself, I looked to see the room alight. All the repaired terminals were functioning, covered with countless words and numbers. Small beeps filled the room like a small symphony of productivity. In the middle of the orderly chaos was April. She was leaning on her cane, bent over the largest of the screens. Her eyes were darting through the coding, seeing things I couldn’t hope to follow. The room hadn’t been this alive since the ship left Mars. I hadn’t seen my sister so enthusiastic since then either.
I came forward, slowly shifting my weight from terminal to terminal. I couldn’t think of much to say, but it didn’t matter. I made my way to her side, and waited patiently for her. She turned to me, her sweet smile wide, with her eyes droopy from lack of sleep. Then with very tender motions, she slid her arms around me, holding me tight. I smiled also, hugging her back. The room and its distractions seemed to disappear, or fade into a background very insignificant compared to the glories of human contact. We stayed like that for a good long time, our weak and feeble bodies leaning against one other. Entire minutes could have passed…even hours.
We cautiously stepped away from each other.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
She smiled again, gesturing around the room. “For this.”
The beeping and flashing came back into focus. “We did this,” I corrected.
“We helped, Abel. We did what you couldn’t when you needed us to, but it was all because of you. No one else could ha…”
“No,” I interrupted.
She didn’t look offended. Instead she became thoughtful, while allowing me to continue.
“No one else could have done this, but I couldn’t have done this without you, without the others. Please don’t give me all the credit.”
“But you deserve it, Abel. Yes, you needed us, but not nearly as much as we needed you. There’s no shame in seeing that.”
“There is every bit of shame in not seeing the rest,” I countered.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you. I mean Cain, mother and father. You were each a genius behind this journey, in many ways more than myself. You were the genius who led us to Earth, and you are the genius who will lead us to its surface. So thank you, April. Thank you.”
Smiling still wider, she turned back to her terminals blushing. It was a testament to our relationship, one balanced between dear siblings and dear friends.
I turned and left. I didn’t need to check her work in any way. I knew it was perfect. I knew everyone’s work was perfect. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that my family did everything right.
I knew there was no possible way we could have been better prepared…it just wasn’t enough.
__________
It was impossible to know what went wrong. I could speculate, but there would be no point. How could I accurately guess what failed if I could barely remember the events that followed? I felt like I was in the medical room again, drifting in and out of consciousness, catching mere glimpses of the chaos. I will describe what I saw with all the detail I remember.
First things were happy. The family got together for one last large and generous supper. There were laughs and jokes, old stories recalled, and praise given to everyone from everyone. I think Cain showed us a painting, one of the family.
I think.
Then things became exciting. There were flashing
terminals and lots of noise. There wasn’t much else. I have this reoccurring image of Earth, slowly growing larger and larger in front of me. I saw mountains, then water.
There was noise…so much noise.
Everyone’s voice screamed inside my head. I could barely make out what any of them were saying. My father was telling everyone to get out, to get away before it was too late.
I didn’t listen.
I remember running down a corridor, my wounded and weak body be damned. There was nothing more important than my destination, though I can’t recall where I was going. I saw familiar machines, my hands racing desperately.
“I can save it!” I heard bellowed from my own mouth. “I can save it! I know I can! Let me go!”
It was all so vague, but I remember realizing I wasn’t the one shouting anymore. Instead, the same words were coming from Mary. I can still see her fighting to keep her balance as she stumbled down a dark hall.
“I can save it!” She screamed. “Let me go!” I don't know what she was referring to.
My father was there, carrying my sister. My brother was waving them to safety. My mother followed.
Robert’s hands were clutching my shirt, pulling at me, then dragging me, refusing to let go. Maybe I was fighting him off. Maybe I was struggling to keep up.
There was a bang.
Then another.
Then another.
Then nothing.
Abel Page 22