One Bright Morning

“How about C-7?” Fox asks through the crackling static of the communicator fastened around Boar’s neck. Boar himself puts a finger on the third row of his game board, runs it to the right until it graces the empty space of the seventh column.

“Miss,” Boar says, placing a white peg in the corresponding hole of his battlefield. Fox was close; one space shy of sinking Boar’s submarine “A-3?” His question is followed by the gentle hum of empty air as he imagines Fox’s contemplation. Then her voice.

“Miss, as well,” Fox says. Boar clicks his tongue, puts a white peg on the top screen resembling Fox’s battlefield. The ratio of white to red pegs on the board is embarrassing; Boar feels this often when they play Battleship.

“How was your third sunrise today, Boar?” Fox asks. Boar glances upward, his gaze met by the asteroid belt. An expansive cluster of space rock drifting around in an endless loop. The sun, distant yet glaring bright, sets the backdrop for the blanket of zodiacal dust floating in the atmosphere. Spectral flecks glow in the light of the midmorning.

“Redundant, but beautiful, nonetheless,” Boar says. “Only fifteen more to go.”

“I’m almost jealous. Three seems like too little in comparison. C-6?”

“Damn. There goes the sub. How’s Ceres this morning?” Boar places a red peg in the final empty spot drilled into his plastic submarine. “Sunny with a chance of rain?”

“It’s actually snowing here. Full blizzard with quite the stiff breeze.”

“Bundled up, I assume?” Boar asks.

“Actually, forgot my scarf at home. I’ll see if I can borrow one from someone.”

“Ask Gator,” Boar says, surveying the asteroids in the distance. “He should be awake by now, yeah?” He chuckles to himself when Fox laughs.

“How hard do you think you’d have to throw something for someone to catch it out here?” Fox asks. Boar rubs his neck, doing his best to ignore the itch atop his scalp. Little known fact; oxygen is crucial for humans to continue living, and removing a helmet that provides your air intake isn’t a good idea when living in space.

“I’m not smart enough to do that kind of math, Fox. Doesn’t mean you can’t take your best shot. D-4?”

“Why are you shooting in the dark, Boar? Miss.” Fox says. “You’re getting sloppy here.”

“Sometimes, that’s the way you have to play it.” Boar places a peg. “Do you still get packages?”

“From time to time. Enough to sustain; think my luxury benefits are dried up. G-1?”

“Phew, miss,” Boar says, eyeing the battleship anchored in the center of the board, empty of pegs. The other four ships float full of red pegs. Boar chews on a lip already red raw. “Same here, Fox. I get enough for food and that’s about it.”

“Seems we’re nearing the end of the clock, yeah?” Fox asks. The question is followed by an uncomfortable silence. Boar takes another look at the sky, counts the other rocks in his immediate vicinity. Seventeen. He gives a simple wave when he makes eye contact with another prisoner. Vulture, he’s called, a redheaded man who keeps closer to himself than his asteroid does to his ass.

“H-2?” Boar asks.

“Hit,” Fox says. Boar places another peg. Fox stays silent enough to spike concern in Boar’s chest. “Boar? Where do you think heaven is? Like, relative to us?”

“Well…” Boar begins. “I always thought heaven was above us. Typical belief for someone raised in faith, I guess. But I’m not sure. Most days I’m not sure which way is left.”

“I feel like it might be under us,” Fox says. “I think we’ve passed it.”

“Regardless, I think this is as close to heaven as we’re going to get, Fox.” This statement is followed by another silence. “Sorry, I’m just now realizing you might have been looking for some reassurance that we’ll go somewhere more pleasant after the drop.”

“No, it’s not that,” Fox says. “I just... I don’t know. D-5?”

“Yeah, hit,” Boar says, placing the first red peg in his last vessel; the battleship. “Come on, now. Tell me.”

“Is today the day? I’ve got this… pit in my stomach. A certified tension. I’m convinced it’s drop day.”

“That’s how every day feels, Fox. But we’re all here for a reason. This is penance. Nothing we can do to change that.”

“I know that, Boar. I just… wish for you a better place than this.” Boar can taste Fox’s concern through the static.

“What do you mean?” Boar asks, turning his gaze to Ceres. Somewhere on that dwarf planet, Fox sits with her own copy of Battleship. He imagines she’s blonde with hazel eyes and pictures a face he’s never seen before red with tears.

“You’ve told me your story several times over, Boar. I don’t believe you deserve a punishment this harsh.”

“I killed somebody, Fox. I don’t think anyone can discredit that. H-3?”

“You told me it was an accident,” Fox says.

“Doesn’t matter. I still killed someone. The machine was being operated under my supervision. Though not well enough. H-3, Fox.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad person though, Boar. I get the weight of something like that, but you have to forgive yourself.”

“Even if I could, there’s no point. I’m still out here with several other hundreds of us. Let me ask you; do you feel guilty about what you did?” Boar asks the open atmosphere. The sun’s already receding, cloaking his asteroid in a chilly shadow.

“Of course I do,” Fox says. “There’s not a single day where I don’t feel regret.”

“Do you deserve to be out here?” Boar asks.

“We all do. Everyone save for you.”

“That’s not fair. I’m supposed to be out here, like everyone before us and everyone after.”

“My point is becoming misconstrued. I just hope for you, if there happens to be another place to go after we’ve departed, that it’s easier on your soul than you are.”

“I-” Boar begins before beginning another leg of argument. He lets out a short breath, evaporating the tension in his chest. “Thank you, Fox.”

“H-3 is a hit, Boar,” Fox says. Boar nods, activating the headlamp on his helmet and throwing a red peg on the board.

“I’m gaining on you, I can feel it,” Boar says.

“Pfft,” Fox says. “Fat chance. You’ve got one ship left and I’ve landed a hit. No vertical possibilities left. You’re fucked.”

“Well, game on, sister. Take your best shot.”

“My best shot will hit. D-6.”

“Noooooo,” Boar says, shaking his head.

“Boar…,” Fox begins.

“Hit,” Boar says, placing the next red peg. “H-2?”

“You got that one. Look at you, catching up to me.”

“I’m onto you.”

“But not fast enough. D-7.”

“Oop. Miss.”

“I’ll take it,” Fox says. “Nowhere to go now, soldier.” Boar chuckles. His watch beeps. Looking at the screen, it reads a few seconds under five minutes. A timer, counting down. “Your go, Boar.”

“Sorry,” Boar says. “Uh… H-1?”

“That’s my cruiser. Good work. D-4!”

“Hit, captain.” Boar places the peg, staring into the last vacant space of the battleship.

“Victory is on the horizon, as is Jupiter,” Fox says. Sure enough, the gaseous, striped orb of Jupiter hovers large on the opposite side of the asteroid belt.

“Beautiful. I’ve never gotten tired of it. You know, for being prisoners, we’ve kinda got it good.”

“You mean, despite the pitch black expanse of space, wacky sense of vertigo, and eternal sentencing to floating space rocks?”

“Well yeah, but you can’t beat that view. I’m firing blind again. E-9?”

“Shit, that’s an actual hit. Since when did you get good at this game?” Fox asks.

“A minute ago,” Boar says, looking at his watch again. “Your go.”

“Going for the kill,” Fox says. “D-3.” Boar gives a slow nod, placing the final red peg.

“You have sunk my battleship. You’ve earned a crown once again, Fair Fox. I applaud thee.” Boar gives a slow clap.

“Thank you, sire,” Fox says. “Sweet victory once more!”

“What does that bring the tally to?” Boar asks. After a moment of silence, Fox responds.

“Okay, it’s Fox sitting at fifty-four. Boar sitting at three,” Fox says.

“Oh well,” Boar says, picking the pegs off the board and placing them back in their compartments. “I’ll get you in the next one, yeah?”

“Heh, you say that every time, Boar.”

“I mean it this time around. I’ll get you this next one.”

“I look forward to it. Thanks for playing with me, Boar.”

“Likewise, Fox.” Boar returns his gaze to Ceres, opens his mouth to speak. The watch chimes, reading one minute. A ray of sunlight creeps over the horizon as Boar's asteroid rotates into its fourth day cycle.

“Hey, Fox?” Boar asks, switching off his headlamp.

“That’s my name. What’s up?”

“I… have a question,” Boar begins. A thousand thoughts flow through his head, questions tripping over each other, like a floodgate opening after years of sealed pressure. Before he can ask, the watch beeps louder. Thirty seconds.

“Fox… do you have blonde hair and hazel eyes?” Boar asks. Fox chuckles that same admirable laugh before responding.

“I have brown hair, Boar. Like yours,” Fox replies. “Bullseye on the eyes, though!”

“Forgot I told you about my hair. It’s never been boring, has it? Constant Battleship?” Boar asks. Ten seconds.

“No, Boar.” Fox says. “Is it boring to you?”

“Never, Fox. Thank you,” Boar says. He closes his eyes and envisions brown hair paired with hazel irises.