Elegy of Infinity

Log Entry #366

Something hit the ship during the night. It wasn’t able to breach the hull but managed to smash open the casing of a hyper-drive node. Don’t have the supplies to fix it. As I figure it I’m about one long jump away from the major shipping-lanes. It’d take ages to travel that same distance with standard propulsion. Two of the three nodes still work. People have made successful jumps with less on their hands, but most end up jumping straight into stars or planets. I’m not going to risk it. Might not be necessary as of yet, but I turned on the distress beacon.

Log Entry #367

Spent about six hours going over star charts. There’s a drifter colony by the name of Nirvana not far off. Shouldn’t take me more than a day or two. They don’t use credits in colonies like that. With any luck I’ll have something good to trade for the parts that I need. Regardless I’ll be able to at least use their transmitter. Air and water recycling systems are working at 100 efficiency. Algae yield is at 78.2. That’s the best I’ve seen it in a while; the central computer must be rerouting some of the excess power from the hyperspace nodes. I turned off the distress beacon. Doesn’t seem critical with the colony so close. There’s plenty of fuel in the tanks; it’s much more than enough to make the hop.

On a personal note, I’m aching to get back home. Technically I’ve missed Father’s Day, but I’m sure they won’t mind having a little belated celebration. I should be able to take them all on a nice vacation this year. Profits are already up and I’ve been making a ton off of commissions lately. Boss is worried about the collapse on Ganymede. I don’t think it’ll touch us. Ten years ago it would’ve been a different story. Getting away from them was the best thing we ever did. The freedom is worth the blood that we spilled.

I’m rambling. I think I’ll run another system diagnostic.

Log Entry #368

The star chart was out of date. There’s nothing left of Nirvana but a few tons of scrap metal floating around an asteroid a few hundred thousand miles from where the colony used to be. I reactivated the distress beacon, and turned all thrusters off. Started going over every single star chart by hand; took me nearly four hours to get through them and when I was finally done I couldn’t fucking believe it. Less than half of the star charts were up to date. Those few happened to only focus on major shipping lanes. The rest were anywhere from six month to ten years behind. To put it slightly in perspective, the chart I had hoped would lead me to Nirvana was three and a half years old.

I am far, far away from any big lanes; I’d be amazed if anyone picked up even the faintest hint of my emergency signal. The charts for the surrounding regions are a gamble at best. As it stands now, I’ve got plenty of fuel but no idea where to go.

I have to think of something soon.

Log Entry #369

I’ve been traveling by means of stand propulsion for thirty-six hours and I’ve gotten nowhere. It would take well over fifty years to reach the shipping lanes this way, and that’s assuming that I manage to even conserve enough fuel. All morning I’ve been working out the odds of trying a hyperspace jump with only two working nodes. The chance of simply surviving is about 63.5. Surviving and reaching the destination that I had originally sought is nearer to 47. Can’t say that those figures really inspire much confidence, but nevertheless it’s awfully tempting; I can’t imagine sitting here on this ship for fifty years.

I’ll give it some more thought.

Log Entry #370

I’m going to try to make the jump. I wrestled with the idea for about a day and decided that I couldn’t wait and rely on standard propulsion. It would be hard to ration enough fuel to make it to the lanes, and even then my survival wasn’t a sure thing. What if something else struck the ship and managed to actually pierce the hull? What if life support failed? What if I got sick? As far as emergency supplies go, I have next to nothing.

I need to take my fate into my own hands.

Log Entry #371

Everything is ready for the jump. All I have to do is flip the final fail-safe. I set the jump coordinates for a wide-open area near one of the lanes. It would be a mistake to try and pop straight into the lane itself; I could conceivably come out of hyperspace inside of a ship’s engine. My body has been trembling for over an hour. I don’t think I’ve ever been so anxious. As soon as I flip that switch, I’m saved or damned. Never have I been a deeply religious man, but I got down on my knees and prayed all the same. I prayed for a safe return and for my family’s safety, should I never return. By the time I finished, tears were streaming down my face. The last time I cried so hard was when my son nearly died from a bacterial infection. But I can’t wait any longer. I need to steel myself and do it.

For the love of God, this might be it.

Log Entry #372

It’s taken me days to summon up enough strength to so much as type. I survived the jump but wound up several hundred light years off course. As soon as I checked my navigation computer the strength seemed to pour out of me. Never have I felt so drained, mentally and physically. I am completely, utterly alone. There is not another living organism for millions and millions of miles.

Death is tempting me stronger than anything ever has. It frightens and sickens me, but at the same time I can see no good in struggling on. What good is living if I’m stuck in this bubble for the rest of my life? It’s lurking all over the ship. I see it everywhere. Even now, I find myself glancing up over the top of the computer at the air lock controls. It would take just a few clicks to shut off life support. Overloading the engines would work just as well.

If I keep thinking like this, I’ll go insane.

Is there a fate worse than death? Does it take more courage to live than to die?

Can a situation ever be truly hopeless? There’s always a chance (however incredibly remote) of a military ship crossing my path or picking up my distress call. A pioneering vessel could conceivably find me. Nothing is statistically impossible…but if I let it, false hope would rip me apart.

There will be a search at some point, but it won’t last long. They’ll be searching in the wrong half of the galaxy.

Death will just have to wait.

Log Entry #373

A lot of time has passed since my last entry. Not much happens here from day to day. I gave up trying to amuse myself with things on the ship’s computer a long time ago. Each day, or whenever I happen to wake up, I go in the cockpit and open the bay windows as much as I can. Then I sit, and I watch, and I think. Time fades away. Out here, it’s all arbitrary. Nothing short of a month means anything. As I sit I lose awareness of my body and my ship and I just drift away. I observe it all as if I were nothing more than a transparent eyeball.

At least my misery takes place in a magnificent setting. I have seen beautiful things; words can hardly do them justice. My ship has flown past much, from iridescent nebulas to red giants nearing super nova. I have gone by asteroid belts and ice moons, but they are all forever out of reach. Man is so utterly insignificant, and this universe is so terrifyingly big. I am glad that we’re so deluded with notions of self-importance. Otherwise we’d all go mad.

It is very hard to imagine a world beyond what I know now. The elections on Ganymede must be over by now. My son’s birthday is nearing. I might never see another one. I go numb whenever I think of my family. In a way I’m grateful for it. It helps me fight the sorrow, and that helps me keep death at bay.

Some of the lights on the ship are failing. I’m not running out of power, but the bulbs are breaking and I don’t have any replacements. I wonder how long the computer screen will last. I don’t have it on much, so it could conceivably last for decades. Air and water recycling has dropped to 99, but that isn’t a concern. I only need to worry if it drops another five percent within a short of amount of time. Even with the best systems, it tends to fluctuate. Algae yield is at a steady 78.

I’m not sure how to end this entry. I feel as though I should attempt some form of closure, if this happens to be my last. But I can’t. Finality such as that is terrifying.

Log Entry #374

Most of the ship lights have failed. I am alone in the dark. As I look at the clock on the ship’s computer, I find that it has been years since my last entry. To some that would be a shock. To me it is little more than a curiosity. I no longer work against the passage of time, nor do I try to work around it. I simply flow with it.

Sometimes I can’t tell if I’m merely thinking or talking to myself. All I ever hear other than the low hum of the florescent lights or the whir of the engines is my own voice. Silence can be shattering. I take some pride in keeping my mind together for this long. I don’t think most people could cope with infinity. It’s more than humbling. It’s destructive.

I am running very low on fuel. I’m going to burn it all in one last burst. That’ll keep me going forward indefinitely. I have not bothered to check my position on star charts in quite some time. I am so far from civilization that the chances of me being found is probably one in several trillion. It no longer numbs me when I think of what I’ve left behind. For all I know there could be nothing left to come back to. What if an atomic war had wiped everything out? I feel slightly guilty that this thought does not shock or scare me. I find it strangely curious, amusing in a twisted way.

Log Entry #375

My body has withered. It is hard to adequately exercise my muscles; they are in the process of atrophying. Typing is difficult. My fingers are stiff and heavy. The lights are all but gone. The computer screens glows so faint that I must press my nose almost right up against it; or is it that my eyes have gone? It is hard to say. It could be both, even. The fuel is long gone. But this ship, my mausoleum, will keep going on forever, whether I’m alive or dead.

My son, if he is still alive, most likely has a family of his own by now. I may have grandparents whom I will never meet. They probably pronounced me dead a long time ago. It would be interesting to read my own obituary. I gave up hope of being found some time ago.

I am finally ready to give this all some sort of closure. It is not my ever-dwindling health that has allowed me to do this; my mind has simply changed. I spend much of my time drifting dream like between consciousness and sleep. I have seen incredible things out here; I have felt things that few humans have ever felt before me. There are secrets out here, among the stars. But to find them, you must give everything you can.

This will be my last entry, whether I live another two minutes or twenty years.