Derelict

*there are a few swear words in here, which I felt were needed, and you may not. Otherwise, it's pretty clean.

You’ve all heard it, there’s no sound in space. I’m here to tell you, brother, that it’s a fucking lie. Drifting through space in the last working spacesuit the Naut had to offer, I hear plenty. I hear the hiss of the oxygen as I suck it in. What’s left of it. A minute, maybe two, and then? Nothing, I suppose. A few desperate, grasping breaths that yield nothing, and I’ll pass on. To where? No fucking idea. Maybe better than here, though. I hear the blood as it leaves my heart, sloshing down the arteries, to the veins, to the capillaries, to the few working brain cells still firing. I hear the suit crinkle as it expands and contracts around me, reacting to my struggles. I hear the sniff as I try to clear the nasal drip this damn suit oxygen always gives me. I hear my old pal Percy telling me “You know there are better ways to make a living, right?” Yeah. I hear plenty.

You can taste, too. Like regret, for example. Why I thought piloting that damn derelict back to the orbiting space station at T-4 for the salvage was a great idea, I no longer know. Pretty obvious now. Ah, hindsight.

Certainly, when we captured it from the slavers, it was running well enough. There were three of us, and we cornered it on Felerant when they risked a planetary landing for transfer. I drew short straw, but I didn’t mind. Out here, you snatch every scrap of credit you can lay your hands on. I’m a privateer, right?

Lift-off was uneventful. The rest of my shipmates waved good-bye over channel, and we planned to meet up at the cantina on the space station once I arrived. Two days. Shoot, I can do two days standing on my head. In zero-g, that is. Heh. The Naut was slow, and poorly maintained. So I didn’t push, even though I wanted to. It all showed green, or at least yellow, on the read-outs. Good enough for a salvage run, surely.

But less than 4 hours later, a hydraulic hose snapped at a fitting, and the hose careened through the cable shaft like a snake with epilepsy. Took out two circuit boards that were not-so-safely installed on the inside wall of the shaft. One of the boards controlled the comms. The other knocked out the oxygen feed. Alarms worked fine. Damned loud, too. No rush on the oxygen, I thought. It’s just me in here. I tracked down the snake and secured it. Did they have a replacement? No, no they didn’t. Slavers, am I right? Scum. No replacements for the boards, either, I have to make do without. How I’m going to arrange docking at the station, I have no idea. One problem at a time. Push comes to shove, I’ll just use the space suits on rotation if it gets close on the oxygen.

Back at the pilot’s chair, I began scrutinizing the readouts. That hose hooked to something important, right? Turns out… yeah. Subtle. AutoNav. We hadn’t changed course, but if the Naut experienced any drift, I could shoot past the station. Hmm. At the time, I thought propulsion is fine. I can still stop in space nearby and they can come get me. Which hopefully, they will, when I don’t respond to comms.

Best laid plans, right? Turned out, that damn hose also affected the port deflector shield. Wonderful things, deflectors. Keeps the very rare but quite deadly stray micro-meteorites from trashing a perfectly good hull. Not to mention the occupants ensconced in said hull. Might only happen once in the entire useful life of a ship. But poor you, if your number comes up, and you don’t have one. Which, it did. And there went the oxygen reserves in the cabin, whistling out the newly minted holes in the hull. Right—two holes, one on entry and one on exit. The ship tumbled from the off center thrusts.

Patches. Every ship has some. Just, you know, in case. Slap the patches on the holes from inside, the remaining pressure holds ‘em in place, problem solved. At least mitigated. But no, there are no patches, not on this ship. Fucking slavers.

Breathe, I told myself.

No, wait. I need a spacesuit. Like, right now. The tumbling of the ship made navigating to the suit lockers an interesting time, but I got there. The first locker… was empty. What? The second locker was also empty. The last locker had a single suit. It’s been patched, too. Any port in a storm. I struggled into it, spun the valve, and… ah, sweet oxygen. Okay, a little stale, but still, I had a good 4 hours left to—

Hmm. The ship threw me off my feet again, and I remembered that other problem. We had no AutoNav. The tumbling ship is departing course and there’s nothing to do for it. If, by some remote miracle, my crew wasn’t already on station tossing back a few, and for no good reason at all they decided to come looking for me, I wouldn’t be on path. I had to leave the ship. It wasn’t much of a chance, but it was the only chance I had.

The airlock still cycled. It alarmed, because there was no oxygen to fill the chamber. But, it cycled. Small mercies. I punched the evacuation button so that the ship could pretend to eject the atmosphere before opening the outer hatch. It tried. Really. Decided, yay me, that there was no more oxygen to evacuate, and cycled open the outer hatch. Privateer I may be, but yeah, I'm not going down with the ship.

I gave myself a gentle shove and watched as the Naut tumbled away from me, headed to some un-named port in the vastness of space.

The first hour was fine. Hope sprung eternal. But my mind was not content to let it be. As the time passed, I made up a jingle in my head. Something to do, while I waited for a rescue that likely wasn’t coming.

O’Riley is dead and his brother don’t know it

His brother is dead and O’Riley don’t know it

They’re both of em dead and they’re lyin in bed

And neither one knows that the other one’s dead.

I chuckled over that for a while. Not a whole lot to do, while I waited for nothing much, really. The odds of seeing a single person in a spacesuit drifting in the limitless reaches of space – yeah, pretty damned small. I didn’t have anything better to do.

He made a life fishing the waters of Maine

Trapping the lobster and cursing the rain

The ship he called home will not see him again

Now that O’Riley is dead.

Several more verses followed. Creativity comes easier when there are no distractions. Other than the I’m gonna die distraction, that is. Eventually, I ran out. Out of ideas, and out of time. I’m determined to make it to the bitter end, though. Face my maker head on. Eyes open. Bring it.

My breathing slows, I still.Stretching every last second out of the oxygen I have left. Which is going to be, if my suit readout still works properly, when nothing much else did on the Naut, about four more breaths.

Three.

I don’t make it. My brain gives up and drops me out of consciousness. Coward.

So when that ship materializes in my path, Bam! And the airlock cycles open and scoops me in? When their crew rips off my helmet and I suddenly have air again?... Yeah. I miss it altogether.

End

Authors note: the following is not part of the story, and ought not to be counted if there are word limits or some such. It is my original work, however 😊

I know you probably want the whole song by now – if you are curious, it sings nicely to the tune of Irish Washerwoman, more or less. The chorus my Dad made up with his Irish drinking buddies. Came home and delivered it to the family, with pride.It stuck with me. Took me another 58 years before I decided to make it into a whole song, but, here it is:

[chorus]

O’Riley is dead and his brother don’t know it

His brother is dead and O’Riley don’t know it

They’re both of em dead and they’re lyin in bed

And neither one knows that the other one’s dead.

{verse}

He made a life fishing the waters of Maine

Trapping the lobster and cursing the rain

The ship he called home will not see him again

Now that O’Riley is dead.

So raise up your glasses boys, Give me a toast

He was free with his money and given to boast

It’s 2 in the morning I miss him the most

Now that O’Riley is dead

Lend me your legs and we’ll take him to sea

Out to the deeps where he’s longin to be

Was only on water he ever felt free

But Will O’Riley is dead

[Chorus]

{verse}

His brother rests there in his bed quite alone

The fire that roared in the chimney is done

He’d miss Will for sure if he knew he was gone

but Tam O’Riley is dead

Tam lived a life that was far from the sea

Tapping the trees for the syrup you see

And he loved his brother as fierce as could be

now Tam O’Riley is dead

We’ll bury old Tam where I know he’ll be pleased

To rest in the shade and fertilize trees

Was out in the forest he felt the most free

now Tam O’Riley is dead

[Chorus]

{verse}

They toiled it’s true but they were content

And both of them thought that their life was well spent

Together were born and together they went

The brothers O’Riley are dead

[Chorus]