Six months. Six months I’ve been stuck here. Surviving through vacuum-sealed, computer-printed Nutri-Paks that “Taste of the Stars”. I’d rather open my mouth in a dust storm than eat another bite. Every can just reminds me of the breakfast Mary could be making for me. She didn’t want me coming here, but what other option did I have? Stay in the mines and never see the sun again? At least here, my lungs aren’t perpetually drowned in soot. But I guess the styrofoam-like rations aren’t much of an improvement.
I wonder what the crew is doing now. After the accident, I don’t imagine the Company wants to shell out for another job just yet. They’ll probably just write me off and find another sucker to fill the void. But I’ll still be here. Until my skin runs cold, and my eyes glaze over.
There’s an old comm system here, at least a century old, caked in reddish dirt creeping in from the windows. I’ve been fiddling with it, trying to get a message out, but I don’t even know if it’s getting anywhere. It’s mostly static, with sporadic bouts of consciousness—just a few freighters clinging to the old ways.
Eventually, I got a response.
We do not currently have any service ships within your star system. Estimated time of arrival: One year. Transport fee: One million credits.
Lifetimes of work, just for a pick-up, only to end up stripping ships in the Outer Layer for the rest of my life. Maybe the body they lend me will at least be cheap.
Mary. I wanted to take her to Saturn. She always did talk about it. Tried to scrape together what we could, but all we could manage was a weekend at Space Land. She said she didn’t mind, but I know that was a lie. That was probably the best trip we’ve had in a while.
Maybe it’s the food, but when I gaze out into this godforsaken landscape, I can see her, just over the horizon, urging me home. Each passing day, she has become more real. Before, it was just a silhouette, but now, I can feel her warm hand on my shoulder and, for a moment, I sink deep within the pools of her hazel eyes and forget this nightmare.
*****
Mary tells me not to worry. She says I’ll find a way. I don’t believe her. The ETA is a distant dream at this point—my skin clings to my bones, and my stomach caves in on itself. I’ve stretched my rations as far as they could go. I don’t think tomorrow is in the cards.
Mary is beginning to fade. Her face is becoming a smeared painting in my mind. I start to dip in and out of consciousness and crash to the floor. My limbs sprawl across the ground, and before I can take my final breath, I hear a low rumble and specks of sand clicking against the walls. A boot crashes into the door, and a golden smile fills the void.
“Damn, I’m not late, am I?” He scuttles over and starts to peck at me with the tip of his boot.
I wince as he wedges the toe into my ribs.
“He’s alive, bout as thin as a toothpick though.” He double-taps his temple. “Get a stretcher and some Jelly.” Right as he finishes, a stretcher overflowing with small blue bags floats into the room, with a lanky robot in tow.
“That is every bag we have.” He tilts his head down to me. “Are you sure it will not go to waste?”
Damn shame if it did. Give ‘em a scan and see.”
The tin assistant looks me up and down. “Vitals are manageable.”
“Should fetch a fair price then. Toss him up and let’s roll out.”
That’s the last thing I remember before everything went dark.
*****
My body lies limp. Every muscle relaxed, plastic tube slithering down my throat, and my veins filled with fresh blood. A figure garbed head to toe in sanitized gear approaches me. The only slip of skin visible is the wrinkles around his eyes. His artificial hand squeaks as he prods at my veins. As he finishes, a man appears veiled in a silk suit.
“So?” The silk man says.
“Stable, but nothing worth keeping.” The doctor replies.
The silk man pulls out a cigar and lights it. Surely there’s something here. The boys said they heard him talking to himself. Maybe he’s got a hidden chip somewhere.”
“Nothing showed up in the scans. Most likely hallucinations from his Mars excursion.”
Smoke billows from the man’s cigar and into the doctor’s face. “What about Sammy? She likes to take in the stragglers.”
The doctor presses a rubber finger into my rib. “He’d need a new body if she’s going to take him. She’s pretty rough with her toys. This body wouldn’t last a week.”
We got a spare body down here somewhere, what about then?”
“With a tough enough one? She could probably get a year out of him.”
“We’ll give her half off on this one, then. Get him packed and ready for shipping.”
“Right away.”
*****
My body is different. My face is wide, with patchy hair and a scar running down my left cheek. I don’t think Mary would recognize me. She tells me she doesn’t mind, that she’d love me all the same. I hope she’s right. She says she’s waiting for me, waiting in our special place.
The doctor’s been gone for a while. He said he was grabbing me some clothes that would fit me. I seem to be the only one here, besides the vacant bodies. I know they’re long since deserted, but when their glassy eyes poke from their nylon coffins and lock with mine, it makes my blood freeze over. Their eyes have a faint crackle of whatever life still lingers, and when I look long enough, I can feel them trying to reach out to me.
I attempt to follow the lingering footprint of the doctor’s shoe, but it seems to lead me in circles. My bare feet stick to the frosted floor—an ocean of cracked tile, stretching out and into the fog. Coolers burrow into the walls, revealing only a slight peek at what lies inside. I walk down the corridors and gaze at the stacks of bodies that pile to the ceiling. The humming lights crackle as they struggle to stay on. I look around but cannot find an exit anywhere.
Whose body do I now possess? Was he a good man? Did he deserve his fate? These thoughts linger with me like a habit I can’t kick. I’d hope he was a horrible man, the most awful in the entire system, just to ease the pain. But deep down, it doesn’t make it better.
I study my new hands. Calluses bubble on the surface, my left thumb is bent at a forty-five-degree angle, and the palms scrape along the walls like sandpaper. These are the hands of a man who has stripped thousands of ships and could strip a thousand more. And now this poor bastard has been evicted from his own body.
The further I travel, the worse the bodies grow. Automated cremators struggle to keep pace with the mountains of expiring inventory. Flames chew and chew, but chutes keep dropping bodies onto the pile. Plumes of smoke leak from the maws, the fetid stench burrows into my nostrils, and crinkles my eyelids. I hear horrid sounds from inside the machines. I don’t know if it’s gases escaping from their bodies or life being torched away.
I stumble down the winding passages and am greeted with three doors. The first is a deep red with chipped paint and a rusted push handle. The second door is a fresh blue with a missing handle. The third is a pine green with a waterfall-like sound behind it. I feel a hand on my shoulder pushing me towards the green door. I hesitate. The hand feels cold. I turn my head and see a poor soul grasping onto life. The right side of its face droops, and its jaw hangs on by a single tendon. It pulls its head towards my face and gurgles out.
“Hhel… hhel.”
Phlegm bubbles from its exposed throat. I try to pull away, but it won’t let go. I hear flesh splattering onto the floor. More bodies approach, latching onto my limbs and driving me to the door. With their mass behind me, I crash through the door and am greeted with a guard asleep at his desk. His monitor spews static, and the bodies, like moths to flame, huddle around it. Their rotting hands reach out and rest on the screen.
The guard awakes as viscous liquid dribbles from the open wounds and onto his face. He falls back, crashing to the floor. He crawls over to me and grabs my leg.
“What are you doing out?” He says as he tries to pull himself up.
I kick at the guard, but he won’t let go.
He crawls up my body and grabs my shoulders. We grapple, and he slams me into the desk, knocking over the monitor and stopping the static. I fall to the ground, and the bodies turn towards the guard. They coalesce around him, and all I see of him is his arm reaching out to the sky before the mass engulfs him. His screams are swiftly silenced as his body heaves, then collapses onto the floor.
I slip past as the mass focuses on the fresh body, and lock the door behind me. I push at the blue door, but it doesn’t budge. When I reach the red door, it seems to open on its own. Beyond the metal frame lies a stairway that ascends into the inky abyss. Each step seems to meet my foot before I touch it. I climb and climb in absolute darkness with no end in sight, in complete silence. I don’t hear my steps, my breath, or even my heartbeat. Eventually, I reach a door, and it slides open. Before me is an expansive hallway. Glossy wood doors clash with the ceramic floor caked in various fluids. Behind the doors shrieked whirring blades and crunching bone.
I take hesitant steps past the frosted windows. One of the doors creaks open, and a figure coated in spattered blood emerges.
“Don’t worry, I won’t get anything on the… oh shit.”
He turns back to the door and pulls out a scalpel. He keeps his eyes locked on me and his back glued to the door. I make a run for it, but he jabs the scalpel at me, lodging it into my hand. Blood leaks like a faucet from my wound. I don’t have time to pull it out. The surgeon stares at my hand before running back inside. I take my chance and run to the exit. A siren screeches. The doors begin to shutter. I run to the end of the hall and dive under the gate. Before I can clear it, the gate slams on my foot. A crunch rings through my ears and up my leg. I pull and pull, slowly squeezing my toes through. Pain stabs through my foot as I drag myself into the parking lot.
The tarmac spans my entire view, freighter ships pull in and out of the loading bay, and shoot off into the crimson sky. I crawl over to the nearest freighter as it finishes unloading its cargo and pull myself into the back. The cold steel soaks into my back as gravity pushes me down. The lingering smell of expired inventory congeals as the hopper door hisses shut. I can finally close my eyes.
*****
I feel a welted finger brush my face and immediately freeze. I keep my eyes closed and pray they don’t notice.
“Did we miss one?” One man said.
“Nah, I’m sure I dropped everything off,” Said another man.
“Well, what the hell is he doing here, then?”
“Ship hopper?”
“Who’s hopping ships on your route? It’s a goddamn graveyard over there. Is he even breathing?”
An ear presses against my chest. I hold my breath, but my heartbeat gives me away.
“It’s a breather. Toss him in storage and keep him fresh. We’ll take him out with the next load.”
Hands clasp my limbs and drag me from the ship. My body dangles as they march. I try to fight, but I’m out of steam. They take me to a backroom outside the hangar and heave me inside. I crash into the wall and slump to the floor. I struggle to get up, but I can’t even lift my arm. My wound spews blood onto the floor and starts to pool around my body. Darkness conceals all but the red dots in each corner of the room. They seem to leave their corners and float over to me, encircling me. It feels like they are burrowing into my skin as they trace across my body.
“Your vitals are insufficient for sustained consciousness. You require medical attention.” The room seemed to echo with a siren-like voice.
Whatever “attention” they would give me, I’m not sure that I want it. But what options do I have? Just bleed out in some storage room, God knows where?
“You wish to see Mary again, do you not?”
Mary. I haven’t felt her warm hand since leaving that awful place. Could they bring her back to me?
A needle coils from the ceiling and dangles in front of my face—the green liquid inside bubbles from my ragged breath.
“Go ahead.”
The needle jams into my arm, and the warm fluid soaks into my veins. My head feels washed in a cloudy heat that blurs my vision. I try to stay awake, but my world goes dark.
“Do not worry, all is well.”
*****
“John, are you ok? Your breakfast is getting cold.”
The smell of freshly baked muffins wafts into my nose and nudges my eyes open. A warm blanket snugly wraps around me, and I hear a familiar clack of heels on the hardwood floor. I stare for a moment.
“What? Did I get flour on my face?” She wipes her face with the back of her forearm.
“It’s nothing.”
“Well, ok, Mr. Nothing, up and at ‘em. I made your favorite.” She kisses me on the cheek and strolls back to the kitchen.
I take a second to just sit. Our home looks different, nicer even than the ones on Saturn. I check my hand, no wound. My feet, no pain. I walk over to the mirror and feel my face. Light stubble is starting to surface, but it’s my face, just as before.
Mary waves me over to the table. My plate is stacked high with blueberry pancakes with a side of banana muffins. I drench my pancake tower in syrup and dig into it. It somehow tastes of everything and nothing at the same time.
“How’d you sleep?”
I scam her face. She looks like my Mary. But I don’t think I’ve seen her blink this whole time. “Alright.”
“Good. You had me worried when you wouldn’t wake up. I thought I was going to have to call the doctor.”
“I’m fine, just a little tired. Bad dream, I guess.”
She walks over to the window and opens the curtain. The glow of the morning sun washes over us both as she stares off into the horizon.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you were right.”
I look over to her.
“The skies are beautiful on Mars. Even better than Saturn.”
About the Author
Matthew Frunk is a Creative Writing Major at Northeastern State University in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. He is an emerging writer with work published in NSU’s The Talon. He lives in southeastern Oklahoma with his cats, Toni and Teddy, and is a fan of sci-fi, fantasy, and all things odd.
Bluesky SnipFic: Matthew_Frunk
