Next to the Sun

He hoped for a resounding crash; that might have satisfied. Anything to break the infuriating monotony of immeasurable days. The whole of yesterday, his daughter’s birthday, slipped by unnoticed, and he loathed himself for it. 

What he got instead, as carefully arrayed prisms plummeted sideways into the wall, was a gentle tinkling like pixie dust and a painful contusion as his hip collided with the edge of the desk. Flung against the exterior window in sudden triple gravity, he clamped the heels of his hands against his eyes, pressing in for a moment of relative darkness. “Dammit!” He yelled at the sun, his entire horizon. 

Something was wrong with the gravity again. No shit. He saw that coming as soon as the whirling shadow of the centrifuge arm missed its interval. But gravity would settle in a minute, and he would start again. That passing penumbra was the closest it ever got to dark in the conservatory. You would think someone who got constant vitamin D from orbiting this close to the sun would be happy. He couldn’t even blame seasonal depression. 

“Heyyyyyy, Evan!” 

Evan resisted the urge to throw something. Normally he did his best to tolerate this enthusiastic oddball, but today, “Not in the mood, Davis.” 

A gangly man, late twenties, equipped with vacuum-pack and fluorescent safety goggles, bounded gently into the room on anti-grav moon boots.

“Sorry. I just,” his words halted awkwardly, but the smile was unwavering. “I came to clean up, you know we can’t have shards in the HVAC.” Evan nodded and vaguely gestured him along. He had known Davis for three years, but only by the name badge on his jumpsuit.

“Beautiful day,” declared Davis conversationally with a nod out the arching wall of windows, which was now the floor. “Magnificent loops in the Tau Sector.”

“Same as every other damn day.” 

Davis just nodded, unphased. 

Some distant part of the ship gave a great resonant shudder and moan, as though sighing. And then everything went still and silent.

A wail and a flashing light cut in. A disembodied voice intoned, “ATTENTION: Primary life support offline. Engage emergency protocols. Authorized support personnel, report to central control.” The door connecting the conservatory to the rest of the ship hissed closed. Lockdown. 

Evan’s analytical mind revved into hyperdrive. How much oxygen was in this room? He needed to slow his breathing. Which would happen first, asphyxiation or roasting alive? Or maybe dehydration? How long until he passed out from heat exhaustion?

His companion showed no sign of unease. Davis pushed his goggles up onto his sweaty forehead and shrugged out of his vacuum-pack, unzipping the jumpsuit underneath and tying the too-short arms down around his waist. A packet was produced from a pocket, from which he gingerly unwrapped a slice of frozen pizza, resting it carefully against the hot window. “I love it up here,” he said dreamily, settling down comfortably and staring out at the undulating solar corona. He gave a contented hum, looking admiringly around the lab like a tourist in a sidewalk cafe, until his eyes came to rest on Evan’s shaking hands. His brow furrowed. “You okay?” 

“Of course I’m not okay! Life support is down! What are we going to do?” 

“Follow protocol,” answered Davis, as though it were the simplest thing in the solar system. 

They were quiet for a few minutes. The smell of pepperoni filled the dwindling air around them, luring Evan out of his panic into memories of tiny fingers below his own as they pressed into dough, flour smudged noses, pepperoni arranged in a smiley face. He finally understood that until his last oxygen-deprived breath, his whole body would ache from missing them.

“You’ve never asked what brings me here.” Evan was yanked from his fugue state. Davis stated it as a fact, no judgment to it. It was a polite question on the ship, part of normal introductions, but Evan never asked it, mostly because he didn’t want to be asked. 

“I used to be a researcher.” Davis went on between bites of pizza. “I had three PHDs, my own lab, bottomless private funding... It sounds like a dream, doesn’t it?” Evan stared at him incredulously, Davis’s usual buoyancy was gone, replaced by a twitchy solemnity. “I couldn’t handle it. Suddenly I was at the bottom of a very dangerous spiral. I was so heavily self-medicated I could hardly…” He trailed off, the end of the sentence unnecessary.

Something clicked in Evan’s mind. “You’re Paul Davis.” This man had been on the verge of groundbreaking discoveries, a prodigy, all of twenty-two years old when he suddenly disappeared.

Davis shrugged an affirmation. “They did me a favor with the name tag.” 

Gravity was finally failing. They lifted gently from their seated positions. Davis tucked the pizza wrapper back in his pocket before it floated out of reach.

“Aren’t you angry?” Evan finally asked. “You’re beyond qualified, you’re on one of the most groundbreaking missions in scientific history, and you’re about to die a janitor.” 

The answer came easily. “No, I’m not angry. Just grateful.” Davis gave an understanding smile. “I’m better here. This was enough of a second chance for me.” After a minute he asked, “how did you come to be here, Evan?” 

Evan didn’t want to answer. But this was his last chance at truth, a deathbed confession to the stranger with whom he would share his final breaths. “I thought this would be, I dunno, a way to move forward.” And yet he couldn’t look at the sun without thinking of waking up next to his wife with the morning light streaming in. He couldn’t split light in a prism without thinking of his daughter’s purple pajamas covered in tiny rainbows. “But I still miss them.” he whispered. “It still hurts.”   

“It didn’t work.” Davis confirmed. 

“No.” 

A pause. 

“Tell me about them.” 

Evan talked about everything he could remember. He talked until the oxygen ran out.