I forgot my telescope on the bridge. It’s this hopelessly useless little
thing that can’t see the sun on a clear day, but I still wanted the Captain
to autograph it for me, and I’m so proud of myself for having been brave
enough to ask. She signed it with a smile, and didn’t even blink out how
difficult it was to write on a cylinder. It was an honor just to be there,
but the fact that she spoke to me personally was more than I could ask for.
I can die happy now. I was so relieved that it all worked out, and excited
to be up where the action was, that I left the telescope on top of an
auxiliary console. By the time I realized my mistake, something had gone
terribly wrong in the ship. I don’t have access through the doors myself,
but an engineer was running out just at the right time, so I slipped back in
and hoped not to bother anyone. I just wanted to grab it, and get out of
everyone’s way. Things escalated quickly. We had apparently come out of plex
too close to the planet, and were unable to compensate. The ship was being
torn apart by the tidal forces, and there was nothing anyone could do to
stop it. Our vessels are at their weakest when they collimate back to
realspace. The strain from faster-than-light travel is not enough to
vaporize us, or anything, but couple it with the sudden gravitational pull
of a celestial object, and you have yourself a recipe for disaster. I’ve
always hoped to be a pilot one day, so I’ve been studying all of this stuff.
I really shouldn’t be here right now, though. I try to leave, but the doors
are blocked by the hustle and bustle. I think it’s best if I just try to
stay out of the way. I grab my telescope, and stick myself in the corner,
where nobody notices me. It’s not long before they all begin to evacuate.
They’re heading for the escape pods, as are the rest of the passengers like
me. Meanwhile, I’m frozen.
I can feel the ship cracking from the gravity, and I know that I have to get
out of here too. Hopefully I can squeeze in one of the pods before they all
leave. I don’t make it. This ship’s bridge was designed as an actual bridge,
which overlooks the crew observation deck below. As I’m running along the
railing, an explosion from the side pushes me over the edge, and I begin to
fall towards the floor below. I watch it crumble, and escape into the vacuum
of space before anything hits me. I’m sent into the black as well, where I
expect to die quickly...except I don’t. I’m still alive, for some reason.
I’m not breathing, but my blood isn’t boiling either. I’m just there,
conscious and watching the debris flying chaotically around me. I don’t hang
around for long before I fall towards the atmosphere of the planet. I was
supposed to live here for the next year while I finished school. Now I’ll
die here. It doesn’t happen yet, though, as I continue to fall. I can see
the fire around me, but I don’t burn up. This doesn’t make any sense. This
is not what’s meant to happen when an object falls from space. I’m not built
to survive. What the hell is going on? I feel like I’m suspended in place
while the ground flies upwards to greet me. As it becomes larger, I see more
detail. The indistinct terrain, the road that cuts through it, the vehicles,
the people walking to the beach, their eyes. As fast as I was moving, and as
quickly as I stop, I don’t even die on impact. I land, awkwardly but safely,
as if I simply hopped out of bed a little too hard. I still don’t understand
this. Then I look up and see a flat piece of debris falling down right over
my head. It’s too large for me to get out of the way. And then I crash onto
the floor of the observation deck, and die as the rest of the ship is ripped
apart around my body, telescope still in hand.
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