by Caleb Fabrizio for the 2025 Bible Conference Contest
A thousand tiny satellites orbited above in the endless, cold vacuum of the dark, periodically bumping into one another as they travelled in their haphazard, erratic paths.
Beyond, the wreckage of the Arbalest loomed like a monstrous rift-whale hunting a school of fish, the gaping hole in its side like a jagged mouth about to swallow its prey. Visible through the hole, veins of neon light faintly flickered as the auxiliary power slowly drained itself down into emptiness.
One of the tiny satellites drifted too close to the ship, skipped past a weakly sparking external conduit, and bounced back out into the void. The small metal pack on its spine flickered with a transferred spark.
"PAIN RELIEF ADMINISTERED." The words seemed to wake Brent Galloway from his sleep. The fleeting remnants of a sharp pain arced across the back of his neck. He felt his eyes open, but the world was dark.
He grunted, surprised to feel some grit in his vocal cords, as if he had recently exhausted them from yelling.
"Status," he yawned. Then, hearing no answer from the suit, he tried to clear his throat. "Status!"
The onboard computer sputtered and whirred in the back of his helmet, resetting its temporary memory reels and collecting environmental data.
It hesitated for a moment, continually clicking at a stiff pace in the background. Suddenly, it spit a line of orange text onto Brent's visor.
[POWER LEVELS]: LOW. [AMBIENT TEMPERATURE]: 4 KELVIN. [VITAL SIGNS]: WEAK. [SITUATION ANALYSIS]: DISASTROUS.
Although he felt strangely tired, a jolt of adrenaline ran through Brent's body. None of this was possible. 4 Kelvin was far too cold for the ship, even in cryo suspension - which the captain had said would only be utilized for the final, long jump towards the frontier worlds. Had they all been put in suspension without his knowledge? He didn't understand how that would have been possible. Maybe he had been struck unconscious by some accident he couldn't recall.
"Bring up the journey summary," he finally commanded.
There was a silence, with that same faint clicking sound as the computer searched its internal archives. After a few moments, it threw more text onto the dark visor.
NO RECORDS AVAILABLE.
Despite his exhaustion, Brent felt annoyed, almost angry. "How are there no records?"
The computer just spun its reels and paused.
Brent grunted. If he was out of his suit, he would have spat. Barely any power, no light, and somehow, he felt like he had been hit by a cargo hauler. He was dazed, confused, and becoming increasingly frustrated with this uncomprehensible -
He felt a light touch on his left arm. A gentle touch, and the sound of fabric reverberating off fabric as something glanced off him in zero-g. Surprising himself with how shaky he sounded, he whispered, "Lights."
Despite the previous power warning, the computer obeyed. Brent gasped.
They stretched out into his horizon, in every direction. Nine hundred and ninety-nine, set drifting into oblivion without the suits necessary for their survival.
"[LIFE SIGNS]: NEGATIVE," the computer said abrasively, then shut off the lights.
Silence flooded Brent's ears and stagnated there for a while. Even the computer's whirring and clicking had ground to a halt. Far off in the distance, the hull of the Arbalest creaked plaintively.
Panic began to well in Brent's chest. His time in the Dust Marines back home had taught him not to lose his cool in the face of death. However, this - this was different. He wasn't even sure if any of it was real. Ships didn't wreck like this. If there was a pattern, or some kind of parallel to a previous disaster, he could better grasp the situation he was in. But nothing he had studied - no pirate raids, nor rift-space malfunctions - seemed to fit this nightmare.
He had to adapt.
If he twisted his head to the right, as far as it would allow, Brent could just make out the gaudy purple glow of the colony ship's exposed interior. For a moment, he watched the lights flicker out of the corner of his eye. Then, hungrily, he asked, "How much power do we have?"
The reels spun. "MR. GALLOWAY. IF YOU ARE THINKING OF OBTAINING A FUSION CHARGE FROM THE [ARBALEST], ALLOW ME TO DISUADE YOU FROM THAT NOTION."
"And why not?"
After few clicks, a simple diagram printed across his visor. "NOTICE [POINT A], MR. GALLOWAY."
"I'm looking."
"[POINT A] IS YOU. [POINT A] IS DRIFTING AT A RATE OF ~0.09 MPH AWAY FROM THE COLONY SHIP [ARBALEST], LABELLED [POINT B]."
"Very slowly. Your point being?"
"THE ENERGY EXPENDITURE REQUIRED TO REVERSE COURSE AND REACH [POINT B] IN TIME TO REPLENISH YOUR POWER SUPPLY WOULD BE" a series of whirrs followed, "[IMPOSSIBLE] TO ACCOMPLISH."
Brent mumbled something.
"I CAN HEAR YOU, MR. GALLOWAY."
"Boost me as far as you can safely go, then eject enough of my oxygen supply to reach the ship interior."
"NEGATIVE, MR. GALLOWAY."
"I'm sorry?" Constructs weren't programmed to argue.
"[PROPULSION JETS] OFFLINE. MY REMAINING [POWER SUPPLY] IS BEING USED TO KEEP YOUR [VITAL SIGNS] ONLINE."
"So this is it." He was surprised the words came out of his own mouth, and even more surprised at how his tone rang of defeat.
The onboard computer clicked away for a few minutes. Finally, it simply said, "THIS IS [IT], MR. GALLOWAY."
"This is what the void feels like."
The words were harsh and grating on his ears. They seemed to come from behind him. But it wasn't the computer's voice. It was far more measured, more lifelike. Sentient.
Was the machine playing tricks on him? He blinked twice, in spite of the low light environment. No - that couldn't be possible. It was his imagination, likely oxygen starvation or fatigue getting the best of him.
"Wake up, Mr. Galloway. It's time to start living."
He was in what felt like a field. Breezes blew over his face, and there seemed to be the faint rustle of grass in the wind.
"You've been asleep for a long, long time." The voice was soothing, unlike the grating whisper he had heard only moments before. The air was pure and sweet. Instinctively, he breathed in deep.
And choked.
"MR. GALLOWAY. THE [USAGE] OF YOUR [OXYGEN] SUPPLY IN THAT [EXCESSIVE] MANNER IS [NOT] RECOMMENDED."
He opened his eyes. Before him was the darkness of space that had surrounded him before, a starless sky that stretched on forever in all directions. What was that voice he had heard? That sensation? He rolled it over in his mind as he floated, ever-forwards, into the darkness. He had to be going psychotic, or else the computer was messing with him, somehow having developed a morbid sense of humor.
"You're staying with me, friend."
That whisper again. Subtle, almost non-audible, but there nonetheless. Was he even hearing it? Was he losing oxygen? Going insane? It sounded like it came from the computer's speech circuit in the back of his helmet.
"I'm as real as they come, Mr. Galloway. Or can I call you Brent? We're friends after all, you and me."
It felt as if someone was squeezing him around the neck.
"Don't be afraid. This is a wonderful place after all. You just need to adjust to it."
The pressure tightened, like an arm wrapped around him.
"It's possible to live in the dark, after all - once you get used to being blind."
He felt the invisible grip loosen, and the void was silent once again. Light had faded entirely from the Arbalest's interior. He was alone.
Orange text printed across his visor once again. WARNING. POWER LEVELS <4 PERCENT. LIFE SUPPORT WILL DEACTIVATE IN [50] MINUTES.
Whatever had impacted the ship previously must have punched through the energy shield, the hull, and the emergency inner seal. Whatever it was, it was immensely powerful. He hoped that it wasn't out here with him.
"Send an emergency broadcast." In the tension, he hadn't thought of it earlier. It was a futile shot in the dark, but it was worth an attempt.
He heard a sharp clack. "[NEGATIVE], MR. GALLOWAY."
"It's our only chance."
"[NEGATIVE]," the computer repeated. "SPACE UNKNOWN."
He was too exhausted and hurt to figure out what this meant. He hesitated for a moment, trying to turn the words over in his mind. It still made no sense. He said again, "Send an emergency broadcast."
"[NEGATIVE], MR. GALLOWAY. SPACE UNKNOWN."
"What do you mean, space unknown?" Brent snapped.
"UNQUANTIFIABLE."
"What do you mean?" he demanded.
"UNQUANTIFIABLE," the computer repeated, slower this time.
He felt sick to his stomach. None of this was making any sense. "What sector are we in?"
"[NEGATIVE]. NULL SPACE DETECTED."
"There's no such thing as null space."
A short pause. "CORRECT."
Brent was suddenly afraid. Not just of death, but of something worse. Despite being in a vast vacuum, he felt the onset of claustrophobia setting in. None of this was right. None of this could be real. He was having some kind of cryosleep nightmare, some kind of induced dream gone terribly wrong.
"You're not asleep, Mr. Galloway." The voice he had heard earlier - the one accompanied by the vision. Calm and controlled, coming from his helmet's speakers. "But you have to live. You have to leave this place."
"Don't listen to his lies." Again, the whisper. It made the computer's voice circuits crackle. "What does he know of living?"
"Mr. Galloway." The other voice spoke firmly, as if it was pushing aside the whispers. "You have a chance at life. Do you want to take it?"
"You don't have a chance. We both know this is the end of the line, Brent. Isn't it so peaceful once you accept your fate?"
"Let him talk." The calm voice addressed the whisper for the first time. Then, "Brent?"
"I-" Brent was speechless. Oxygen starvation felt different than he had imagined - he never expected to be having a three-way argument with himself.
WARNING. LIFE SUPPORT DEACTIVATION IMMINENT. SEEK A RECHARGE STATION AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.
"Brent." It was the measured voice again. "You don't have much time. You have to decide."
"There's nothing to decide, apart from shutting your lies out of his head!"
WARNING. POWER LEVELS <1 PERCENT. INITIATING EMERGENCY POWER CONSERVATION MODE.
"I..." The lack of oxygen was making it hard to breathe. "I want to live."
A blinding flash of light shot across the plane of null space. It was distant, but close enough that a quick boost or two of a jetpack could reach it.
The speaker in Brent's helmet buzzed angrily for a moment, then fell silent.
He was alone, but the unspoken command of the voice lingered. He had to reach the light.
"Computer." He summoned all his remaining strength. It was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe, and his voice sounded ragged. But this was his one chance. The voice had given him his only hope to live.
Orange text flowed across the screen. POWER CONSERVATION MODE ACTIVE. CONSTRUCT UNAVAILABLE.
"Manual control override."
WARNING. MANUAL CONTROL MODE WILL OVERRIDE ALL PREVIOUS -
"Yes. I know." Brent gritted his teeth. "Do - it - anyways."
MANUAL CONTROL ACTIVE. Brent felt the pressure on his skull increase as the neural nodes contracted around his head. Now his own thoughts - not the workings of the computer - would be the catalyst to propel him forwards.
He imagined himself boosting horizontally. Instead, orange text wrote itself in front of his face.
ERROR. POWER <1 PERCENT. LIFE SUPPORT WILL DEACTIVATE IN [20] MINUTES.
"Turn off life support."
COMMAND INVALID.
"Turn off life support."
COMMAND INVALID.
"I'm not asking. I'm demanding. Turn. It. Off."
The suit went still for a moment. Even if the computer couldn't react to his commands in conservation mode, the suit's "dumb" functions would still be required to obey a repeated order.
Brent took his final breaths of air. Slowly.
LIFE SUPPORT DEACTIVATED.
The air inside the suit immediately went cold. Brent could feel himself being pressed in on all sides like a phantom grip. The Geiger counter in his suit began to sizzle viciously.
He was fading from consciousness. Fading fast. With his one thought - all he had left - he shot every bit of fusion power he had left into the jets on his back.
* * *
A thousand tiny satellites orbited above in the endless, cold vacuum of the dark, periodically bumping into one another as they travelled in their haphazard, erratic paths. The dark reveled in the chaos.
Beyond, the wreckage of the Arbalest loomed like a monstrous rift-whale hunting a school of fish, the gaping hole in its side like a jagged mouth about to swallow its prey. The spines of its dead interior were splintered into exaggerated, sharpened shapes.
One of the tiny satellites sent a weak beam of fusion energy out of his jetpack. He spiraled out of control, sending himself on a collision course with the glowing orb that had appeared just moments ago, like a miniature sun.
This place had never seen the light before. It was beyond the far reaches of inhabited space, a place where none ought to go but where many a ship had disappeared in ages past. But even in the darkest places, hope will find a way.
Brent collided with the radiating beam. He was pulled in, and he felt the warm rays wrap around him like a father's hug. He was safe. He was free.
And it was brilliantly, blindingly, beautifully bright.
This piece will also be published on the author’s personal blog.