LifePod 37

LifePod 37

As I stare into the vast expanse of the cafeteria, its dingy and decaying walls collapsing under the pressure of the centuries, I feel desperately alone. I feel it as my eyes sweep the hundred empty tables and lock onto the face of the Pods only other occupant. I hear the clinking echo of glass on metal as he sets his drink down, the sound interrupting the deafening stillness of this place. I can barely recall a time when this cafeteria was filled with conversation and laughter. As the years went by the conversations got quieter and quieter until it was just two voices.

We are alone. The crushing weight of this, drives the breath from my lungs and threatens to drown me in hopelessness. Normally, to escape this feeling, I busy myself with a task, fixing one of the hundreds of ancient machines that have been in service much longer than intended. If that fails to alleviate the haunting emptiness of this place, I’ll try to find refuge in the imagined world of one of the books that line the library shelves. More recently, I have channeled this panicked energy into filling a hidden cupboard with supplies for a journey I might never have the courage to make. Each day passes by uneventfully, melting into the next. Today, though, I decide I can’t ignore the truth. We can no longer stay here.

My hand brushes my stomach, I step forward.

“Dinners cold.” Isaac says. The walls repeat his statement, his voice echoing around the large room. He pushes a metal bowl towards me as I take my normal seat across from him in the cafeteria. It’s half-full with a white mush.

“I used some of our onion powder so at least it tastes like something today.” Isaac continues, not setting his book aside. I study him for a moment. His strong arms, his already balding head, his pale skin. I love Isaac, the way you might love a very close roommate, but not the way my mother loved my father, no matter how hard I try. That makes what I have to say that much harder.

“I’m pregnant…” I whisper to my mush. Isaac’s spoon stops its gentle scrap along the bottom of his bowl.

“Are you sure?” he breathes. I can hear the fear catching in his voice.

“Cecelia has run four tests.”

I already know what he’ll say because I felt the same way. Humanity is in the throes of its final death rattle and bringing a child into this world would be cruel. But as this new life stirs within me something else stirs, too. Hope. I have spent too long not knowing if other people are still out there and up until now, I never had reason to risk finding the answer. In thirty years, we’ll be dead. This child will be completely alone, a lingering ghost sentenced to solitary confinement for the crimes of its ancestors with only the computer, Cecelia, as company.

Isaac sits back studying me, his next words are delicate like he fears they may set off some unseen bomb.

“Cecelia can perform the procedure, its best we do it as soon as possible.”

“I’m keeping it.” I say it gently as if it’s not a crazy pipe dream.

“That’s cruel Lena” he says, his quiet tone unable to mask the anguish, “We’ve talked about this before, this world is no place for a child.”

I reach across the table grasping his worn hands in my own, my thumbs trace circles on the back of his hands the way I do whenever he’s upset. If the pregnancy news was a gut punch, my next words are going to be the knockout blow.

“Not if we leave the LifePod.” my words cut into him and reopen a wound that has festered between us for quite some time. It’s the fundamental difference between Isaac and myself. To him the LifePod is sanctuary, to me it’s a cage. He lets out a deep sigh, a familiar sound that tends to start all of our arguments. A mental damn breaks in my mind and my words begin to spill out on their own.

“LifePod 34 is only twenty miles from here and they were still thriving before we lost contact. I mean, we could walk that in two days and you’ve seen the moss and grass through the viewport, things are growing again. We can run another test to see if the air quality has improved. There could be people there, Isaac, I know it, we need to get to th--”

“This is bullshit, Lena.” he groans, his voice pained and tired like a father arguing with his child for the hundredth time. His dismissal brings color to my cheeks.

“No, it isn’t!” I insist.

“Yes, it is!” he shouts back, his eyes wide, showing his frustration “We’re all we have! How many times are we going to have the same conversation? Our ancestors screwed up. You want us to risk our lives up there?” He stutters, “A-a-and even if the other LifePod has survivors how do we get to it? The air is toxic and a little grass hasn’t changed that. It’s just not safe, Lena.”

Despite my efforts, I feel hot tears roll down my cheeks. “Isaac, I’m going to have this baby, and Pod 34 is his only chance to have a life worth living.”

“Fine, Cecelia will run the atmospheric test, we’re due for another one anyways, I just don’t want you to be upset when the results come back.” His voice is gentle. I nod at his peace offering. He thinks things will be the same, but I know they aren’t. It might just be patches of grass but it’s gradually reclaiming more ground each year. I rest my head on the cool surface of the table and channel all the hope this baby is giving me that things out there have finally changed enough.

…

Atmospheric Conditions Unsuitable. Three words, their power undeniable. The relief in Isaac a counter weight to the emptiness I feel. I am rudderless. It’s been three days since the test came back and I still don’t know what to do. I wander around the Pod in a daze, my hopes for the future leak out of me like air from a balloon. Completely deflated I lie on my side in the observation deck. The faint rays of sun vainly attempt to caress away my sorrow. I feel its warmth on my face, I zone in and out, one thought slipping into the next or into nothing at all. I squint. Something glittery reflects the sun light and startles me. I peak through the grime encrusted viewport and notice a bright gold locket dangling from what’s left of our LifePod signpost. I stare with my mouth agape as the locket sways gently with the breeze. I’ve looked at this stupid sign post my entire life, studied every crack, every faded scuff of paint. How the hell did this get here? My eyes widen and before I can think I’m sprinting to find Isaac.

Isaac stares at me like I’m a crazed maniac as I bounce excitedly from foot to foot in front of him. I breathe in deep gulps of air between every word.

“There – are – others, like someone, something, I-I-saw a thing! Hanging!” I emphatically explain the locket to Isaac and he continues to stares at me like I have three heads.

“I gave you the test results, the atmosphere is still toxic, you haven’t been sleeping well lately, you’re probably just imagining things.”

“Isaac, I’m not, you can see it for yourself. That’s never been there before, you know that as well as I do! Someone hung it there, someone was here. That locket didn’t just appear!” I say, annoyed.

“Damn, Lena, leave it be! Can’t you just accept that this LifePod is it? There is nothing out there for us. Even if Cecelia messed up and the Earth magically fixed itself our shelter is here, our food and water is here, our whole life is here. We don’t even know if someone is out there.”

“Someone is out there. I can’t just exist in here with you forever pretending I don’t know that! Especially with the baby, he needs us to do everything we can to give him a life.”

“You’re delusional and it’s going to get you and that kid killed, but, sure, let’s run the test again, it won’t change the fact that we are not going anywhere.” And with that final twist of the knife, he storms off.

That night I sit in the control room alone not wanting to see Isaac. I’m still so angry that I can’t stomach the sight of him. I feel like a volcano threatening to explode with rage. If I don’t do something to distract myself from Isaac and everything else, I will.

“Cecelia, display the repair work list.” I let out a low whistle. The list is huge, every malfunction in the thousands of systems that comprise the Pod are listed before me. I hate computers, this is why I leave them to Isaac. Looking at the log I notice many of the repairs are highlighted in red.

“Cecelia, what does red mean?”

“Red indicates external repairs. With no remaining intact radiation suits, external repairs unadvised.” I continue to scroll and one of the repairs stands out. Hatch 73 seal failure. Hm, 73, that’s the science lab. Luckily, there are several internal airtight doors between us and the lab and Cecelia does all our testing anyways. I pause.

“Cecelia, will the failed seal effect the atmospheric tests?”

“Failure of seal 73 has comprised the accuracy of all testing within the science lab.”

I stand up so fast my chair clatters to the floor.

“You ran a test you knew was faulty?”

“Control room personnel were made aware of testing limitations before proceeding with atmospheric tests.” I’m stunned into silence. He knew. He lied.

…

I am careful to avoid him as I plan my escape. It takes less than an hour to empty my small cupboard and grab the few items I hadn’t been able to stash. I am trembling as I enter the observation deck. I walk to the bulkhead door. Through the viewport I can see wind kicking dust into small swirls, I have never felt wind before. I hesitate one hand on the circular latch, the small viewscreen above blinks into life, Isaac.

“What are you doing?” the alarm in Isaac’s voice unmistakable.

“I know about the tests Isaac.” I say flatly waiting for his explanation.

“I did it to protect you. It’s still toxic, Lena, you have no idea what’s out there.” he says.

“To protect me? You kept me in this tomb to protect me? Someone placed that locket outside and I’m going to find them.” I scoff into the tiny screen.

“You can’t do this, especially not alone. This is our home. Come back to me, Lena, we can discuss it. Prepare ourselves and maybe one day we will be ready. This is reckless, not brave.”

My throat is as dry and my heart racing. Am I really going to leave this place? Now, with Isaac’s words buzzing in my head I find myself frozen, poised between the impossibility of leaving the world I know and the impossibility of continuing on. I think of my child and that tiny ember of hope begins to grow. There has to be a world out there still, there has to be people who still laugh, and love, and cry together. And we will find them. For the both of us. I tighten the straps on my pack, open the door, and take a step.