Astronaut Man

Astronaut Man

In the year 2137, Earth was a place of noise and neon. Skyways buzzed with hovercrafts, cities stretched high into the clouds, and artificial suns floated over mega-metropolises. Yet for Astronaut Man, known officially as Commander Eli Voss, Earth felt too loud, too fast. He longed for the quiet of space — the hum of the ship, the glimmer of starlight, and the infinite calm between worlds.

Eli had been orbiting Neptune for 87 days aboard the Solara One, a sleek solo exploration vessel built for deep-space research. His mission was simple: study the frozen storms of the planet’s upper atmosphere and scan for signs of microbial life beneath the icy moon, Triton. He’d signed on because he loved the solitude. No politics, no traffic, no corporate drones — just him, the stars, and the silence.

But silence, he’d come to realize, has weight.

On Day 88, something strange happened. It started with a knock.

Not a mechanical glitch or system alert — an actual knock. On the outer hull.

Eli froze. “No. That’s impossible,” he whispered to himself, staring at the pressure gauge. The vacuum of space didn’t allow for knocks.

He checked the monitors. Nothing outside. Thermal sensors? Blank. Motion detection? Still as the void. He shook his head, blaming space fatigue. He turned back to his work, but the knock came again — three quick raps, like knuckles on a door.

This time, he suited up.

Out on the hull, tethered by a single cable, he floated cautiously toward the source of the sound. Nothing. Just the curve of Neptune below and the glint of stars above. Then he noticed it — a handprint. Frosted into the metal, as if something warm had touched it.

He ran every diagnostic. No damage. No breach. No signs of life. He logged it as an anomaly, but that night, while drifting into sleep, he heard a whisper over the comms.

“Eli…”

His eyes shot open. He hadn’t activated external comms. He sat up, scanning for interference, but the signal was clean. It didn’t come again.

The days that followed brought more whispers — fragments of memories, echoes of voices from home. His mother’s lullabies. His brother’s laugh. His own voice, from long ago, whispering dreams into the dark.

He began to wonder: was something out there… or in him?

By Day 94, the Solara One intercepted a faint signal from beneath Triton’s surface — rhythmic pulses, almost musical. Against orders, Eli changed course and descended toward the ice moon.

The landing was rough. The terrain cracked beneath the ship as he drilled through layers of frozen methane. And then… he broke through.

Below the surface was a cavern of crystal and light, glowing with bioluminescent life — plants like translucent lace, creatures like ribbons of starlight. And in the center, a pool of liquid so still it looked like glass.

He stared into it and saw himself — but not just himself. A thousand versions, from a thousand possibilities. In one, he was still on Earth. In another, he never left. In one, he was no one at all.

Then the reflection spoke.

“You came to find silence. But silence speaks too.”

Eli stumbled back, breath caught in his throat. The being — the presence — was inside the pool, or was the pool. It wasn’t a creature in the sense he knew, but a consciousness — old, vast, peaceful.

It had been waiting.

For someone who could hear it.

For someone alone enough to listen.

Eli didn’t respond with words. He sat at the edge of the pool, watching the images ripple. Memories, futures, dreams, regrets — all laid bare in silence.

When he finally left Triton, the whispers stopped. The knocks ceased. But Eli was not the same.

Back aboard Solara One, he set a new course — not for Earth, but farther. Toward the edge of the known. He understood now that space wasn’t just a place to escape. It was a place to meet the unknown — outside and within.

He was still Astronaut Man.

But now, he was also something more.

A listener.

A seeker.

A spark in the silence.