Waiting in the Black
03 Sep 2020Marchogion
[Originally written for the FDev "Life on a Fleet Carrier" competition] : Far at the back of the ship all the pipes converge into a gnarled trunk of steel that terminates in a squat tank that’s sluggishly leaking foul-smelling waste onto the deck.
It reminds me of a tree I saw once. A rare visit to a planet’s surface, ten gawking station dwellers shepherded around an arboretum by an enthusiastic dirt-born gardener.
No leaves here, though, and clean metal instead of the filthy brown scale it was covered with.
“Hand me that twenty mil socket,” I say to Vladimir, extending a hand out from under the recyc-tank. I could reach it myself but I’m damned if he’s getting a free ride on this job.
“Have you thought how much like a tree those pipes look?” Vladimir says, making no move to help me.
I pause for a moment. He does this sometimes, seeming to read my thoughts.
“No,” I say, and grab the socket myself.
“What would a tree be doing so far out here, anyway?” he says, sounding thoughtful. “Fifty thousand light-years from civilisation, just waiting for an explorer or the owner to come by.”
“It’s not a tree,” I say, petulant. “It’s just pipes.”
“Reminds me of a tree,” he says. “Reminds me of this one time I went down to a planet and this dirt-born gardener…”
“Stop,” I snap, cutting him off. “That’s my memory.”
Vladimir scratches his head. “Seems like mine.”
I ignore him, jam the new socket into the ratchet and begin cranking on the bolt as if it’s Vladimir’s neck.
“You’d think they’d have a few more crew to keep a ship this size running,” he says.
Something uncomfortable shifts at the back of my mind. I push it back, ignore it.
“We do fine,” I say, and hear Vladimir scoff behind my back.
“You’re a stolid type, Gogo,” he says, soft voiced. “Not given to flights of fantasy.”
“Funny,” I say. “I never had the same thought about you.”
“True. That’s why I’ve come to a conclusion.”
I close my eyes and sigh. “Alright, let’s hear it.”
“It’s me who’s hallucinating you,” he says.
I try not to laugh but only manage to strangle it into a harsh bark of amusement. The sheer audacity of it overwhelms me and I can feel a muscular upwelling of mirth in my gut.
“Really?” I choke out. “Really? Who’s fixing the waste recycler, then?”
I back out from under the tank and squirm into a sitting position. Vladimir just watches me with his sad, blue eyes.
“You know it’s you,” I say, angry now.
For some reason Vladimir is holding the socket I thought I’d been using a moment before.
“I wish you were real, Gogo,” he says. “I’ve enjoyed our talks but I can’t keep this going forever or I’ll be mad by the time the owner gets here.”
I’m not sure how to reply to that so I just sit there, lost in the black, back to the unforgiving steel, all alone and staring at Vladimir.