Introduction

Stasis

a slice from the life of interstellar space

Mission Cycle 2417

Stasis technician Dr. Theo Strand was baking cookies with his mom. He could sense the yeasty aroma throughout his body. As he reached for the handle on the oven door he heard the voice of his mother, but rather tiny, not like it was far away, only that it was a tiny voice. Mom was saying, 

“Here, Theo, use my oven mitt. You would not want to scorch that nice hazmat suit.”

That was when Theo suspected something was amiss. He turned to face Mom, just as she brushed back her blonde curls from her forehead with the back of her flour-crusted hand. That should’ve been a dead give-away since Theo could barely remember when her curls had been that blond, but Theo, with a heavy sigh, responded in his best, most rational, tone of voice,

“But Mother Dear, as I recall, you’ve been dead these five or six years, at least!”

Mother just returned her sweet matronly smile. “I know, dear, here’s the mitt, now don’t you let the edges burn, that would be just ssssSSSSS…”

And those tiny words suddenly grew into the unmistakable hiss of a stasis chamber seal giving way, followed closely by that oh so familiar, though barely audible, hum of life support fans. The hum reminded Theo that true silence is an old, old myth, at least outside stasis where the complete silence is broken only by the dream stimulator. Yes, the hum of fans, the closest thing to total silence, as far as Theo could make out as the stasis fog gradually cleared his head, was the sound of loneliness.

But at least he had work to do. Work is never entirely lonely. The only reason for the onboard intelligent system to be waking the stasis technician, would be some sort of stasis chamber failure, hopefully not a catastrophic one. That might take lonely to a whole new level. With no small relief, as he glanced down the row of stasis chambers, Theo spotted just a single red flashing alarm light. He grabbed the crash kit from the wall and headed down the gangway. Theo’s joints and muscles began to ache with his weight as ship rotation slowly increased. The intelligent system was simulating planetary gravity in order to reduce stress by giving vascular function a chance to normalize. A quick glance into the chamber window and Theo could see by the shriveled remains inside that it was already too late. No need to check the vital signs readout on the front panel. He glanced down at the name plate stuck to the front of the chamber: “Horticulturist Chance Evers”. 

“Well, Evers my friend, rest in peace.”

And the not-quite-silence of the life support fans sounded just a tad lonelier.

Replacing the crash kit, Theo slid the manual rotation control next to it back down to zero, overriding the intelligent system. He did not need to be dealing with, literally, dead weight today, but then Theo thought better of it and slid the control back up toward 1G or “planetary normal”. He had a cycle or two to deal with the horticulturist, debug and calibrate the stasis chamber, and get back to dreaming in his own stasis chamber. There was all that, and maybe more, to deal with but first, breakfast.

By the time he reached the tight little galley Theo was feeling his weight again, but in a healthier, less achy, way. He’d made sure back at Lunar Port of a good stock of his favorite enriched oatmeal before they’d left orbit. He glanced at the ship chronometer set into the wall over the sink and frowned.

“Not even seven years ago?”

His voice felt intrusive over the hum of the fans, perhaps all the more so considering what the word “year” might even mean by the next time he woke from stasis. A bellyful of warm cereal quickly put such speculation to rest. Then back to work.

Theo stretched his legs a couple times up and down the gangway as ship rotation slowed back down. He illogically felt the need to be careful with horticulturist Chance’s body, considering its condition and its near weightlessness, as it was released from the chamber. Theo nudged it easily along, its back barely touching the gangway. He detached the nameplate from the chamber as they floated by.

***

Back at the aft bulkhead, which sealed off the bilge from the rest of the ship, Theo paused, suspended there with his rigid and silent charge, floating in the cramped space before a long tumbler set into the wall between the pipes, which ran the length of the ship connecting with various sources of organic waste. Both pipes and tumbler had been as idle as the crew for nearly seven years now. He cycled the tumbler until a long rectangular opening appeared. Then it just seemed appropriate that something be said, some proper goodbye to Horticulturist Chance Evers, who had paid the ultimate price for his chance at the stars.

“Well, Chance, you had hoped in vain to someday be turning mulch with a pitchfork on a distant planet, but instead here you are, about to be pitched in with the mulch yourself.  Your skills may have been lost, but your hope and your stored bodily energy goes on.”

He nudged the horticulturist into the tumbler and pushed the heavy button to cycle it back into the bilge. As it ground to a halt the lonely hum of the life support fans was interrupted once again, but this time by a voice from behind him.

“Hello Sailor!”

Theo spun himself about and beheld a familiar form in the hatchway.

“Maeve!”

Mission Cycle 2418