Stars

Last night, I dreamed about the stars again. Not the stars you can see in the night sky or those you can admire from a viewing deck in any bigger starport. I dreamed about the stars I saw inside the dark, cold hull of Morning Glory as she drifted through the empty void far away from home.

Later, doctors would tell me that the drugs my suit injected into my body, trying to slow my heart rate and conserve oxygen, caused those hallucinations, but I refused to believe it. How could I dismiss meeting you so easily?

I’ll never forget when you appeared the first time, when all the warning lights in my visor turned red, and I tried to stay calm even if I knew there was no point in trying to conserve oxygen any longer. There was no way rescue would come in time, so maybe it was better to stop fighting and let go.

But I couldn't. Was this basic human instinct that tried to keep me alive without realising how futile its efforts were? Or, in those last moments, did I try to find comfort in the procedures I’d trained to follow for so long that they’d become an integral part of who I was?

At first, I only saw the starlight illuminating the dark corridors as my consciousness slowly faded. It was so soft and beautiful that I smiled and let go, wanting to become one with the stars that surrounded me. Only then did I notice you.

Your eyes shone like the surrounding lights, and your hands were warm as you held my hand for days to come and told me stories about the fallen stars who had lost their way home.

You stayed with me until the starlight faded, dispersed by the bright light of plasma torches cutting through the hull. They didn’t expect to find anyone alive and so easily dismissed my story about you. Yet I still remember the promise you gave me when we parted, and I wait patiently for you to come back.