It is 10:47
10:47
It is 10:47 and the captain will not wake up.
Around the captain, people are screaming. Warning sirens blare, only adding to the mania. People yell about the attack and the marauders, but none know what to do. Perhaps the captain could quell the panic. But that is of no relevance to anyone now.
It is 10:47 and the captain will not wake up.
A man crouches beside the captain. Most others are trying to escape, or trying to stop the multi-level system’s failure, or else screaming, or else just dead. But he is crouching beside the captain. He tries to staunch the bleeding, tearing a strip off his shirt and wrapping it around the wound.
Within seconds, the blue fabric is stained dark red. The man does not weep, for there is neither time nor space for tears, nor even tears left to cry. But, perhaps, the reason he does not weep is that the captain is alive. The captain has to be alive.
It is 10:47 and the captain will not wake up.
The captain is dreaming.
He drifts through an abyss. Around him swirl nameless stars, stretching out to infinity. In the distance, he sees a spacecraft, a magnificent Stellarengine like the ones he wished to pilot back when he was a boy. He’s always wanted a spacecraft to sail to the furthest reaches of the void. When he sets his eyes on the starcraft, the captain thinks it beautiful.
And it is—if one has the eye for that sort of thing.
A spider web of deep red veins runs across the spacecraft like firelight. The soft glow of rear thrusters trails from the end of the ship like a comet tail. A sleek design and gentle curves befit a space-age aesthetic.
He wonders, then, why portions of the ship are marred. Some of the burning veins are dimmed; there is a patch where they don’t show at all. There is only blackness on that region of the ship. And, as his fingers curl into firsts, he wonders if he can see the outline of a hole cut into the ship. Something swirls out from it.
He smells smoke.
You can’t smell smoke in space.
It is 10:47 and the captain will not wake up.
People panic.
There is a girl, about seven years old. But she isn’t among those panicking. Instead, she stares at the man lying on the floor, even as her mother runs towards one of the exits. She doesn’t understand why the man isn’t moving, why he lies in a pool of his blood. The girl doesn’t understand why she is crying.
What she does know is that she likes the captian. He was nice to her. When they first met he got down on one knee, tousled her hair, and pinned his captain’s emblem to her shirt. Later, when she was crying because she missed her brother who her mama said she couldn’t see anymore, he sat next to her and gave her some candy that he carried in his pocket. And he said he missed his brother too.
The girl doesn’t understand what is happening, why everyone is screaming, why the captain is lying on the floor. All she can do is ask him to wake up in a voice drowned out by the surrounding cacophony.
It is 10:47 and the captain will not wake up.
There is blood pooling on the floor. If one had the inclination, one might compare it to the puddles that children jump in after a rainstorm. Even now boots fling red droplets into the air as they trample across the spreading pool. The captain is bleeding out.
The knife next to him is fully submerged in the blood. Perhaps it will never be clean again.
It is 10:47 and the captain will not wake up.
The captain is trying to remember. He knows, or he thinks he knows, that something terrible has happened. He was on a ship—his ship. Brief moments appear, flashes of memory. And he is there, watching the events unfold as terror grips him.
He feels a jolt as something rocks the ship; objects careen across the room as the gravity generator shorts out for a second. Sirens blare and many of the terminals display system errors. The captain sees a face he feels he ought to recognize and he sees a hand holding a knife. He doesn’t see much else.
He wonders if he is dying.
He wishes he knew who killed him.
He wonders…
It is 10:47 and the captain will not wake up.
A woman stands in a corner. In her left hand, she grips a laser rifle, in her right, she clutches a Datacard, one worth a minor fortune. She’d worry about being caught, but that doesn’t seem necessary at the current moment. No one is looking at her.
Amidst the panic, she remains calm, despite swearing considerably while under her breath. The mission was supposed to have been quick and easy, just cause a disturbance, grab the money, and get out. But then a member of her gang stabbed the Stellarengine’s captain and everything went to hell. She should have known he wouldn’t be able to set aside his vendetta.
One of her comms blinks, the signal for them to leave. She glances at her comrade, who is kneeling beside the man he stabbed. She thinks he’ll leave either when the captain finally dies, or when he pulls himself together. He’ll have to follow soon or be left behind.
She worries that if the captain wakes up, her comrade will stay in the dying wreck.
It is 10:47 and the captain will not wake up.
The captains’s memories are blurred and shattered, filled with splinters and fragments. It is like the memory of a memory. His memories come fast and they overwhelm him.
He and his brother both are seven. They play under a burning sky. One skins his knee, skin ripping until there is a faint upwelling of blood. No tears flow, but his brother knows he needs him.
He and his brother are seventeen. They sit at their kitchen table and exchange their letters so that each would open the other’s. It is with great glee and rejoicing that both of them are welcomed into the Astral Navy. This is their chance to pilot starships like the ones they dreamed of when they were younger.
He and his brother are twenty and both of them are moving quickly through the ranks.
He and his brother are twenty-one. It is here that he becomes the captain. As captain, he feels as though the stars are dancing with him. His smile is so all-consuming he doesn’t notice the one worn by his brother doesn’t reach his eyes.
He and his brother are twenty-two. The captain stands on the bridge of his Stellarengine with his brother. This is his first real assignment; he is ready to at last prove himself. But they are attacked and it goes poorly. Many lose their lives, including a dear friend of theirs. After the battle, the two argue, each blaming the other, and themselves. Eventually, the captain’s brother leaves to join a group of marauders. Before his brother leaves, one says they hope the other dies. Either could have said it; neither could have quite meant it. Years later, the captain gives his emblem to the little sister of the friend who dies; he feels he doesn’t deserve it anymore.
He is twenty-nine. He sees his brother and he sees a knife.
The captain wishes he didn’t know this.
It is 10:47 and the captain will not wake up.
A man cradles his brother as he bleeds out. Tears, finally, begin to pour from him as he says he didn’t mean it. This is a lie, of course; there is a reason that his brother is on the floor, life dwindling with every breath. But the man is beginning to believe his own lies.
He shakes his brother and cradles him and cries over his body. He does all he can think to make his brother live.
It is 10:47 and the captain will not wake up.
The captain falters. Next to him, he sees a doorway, light burning through a faint crack. He could pass through it if he wanted. It’s right there, only a few feet from him. And beyond he hears screams and panic from his crew; he can’t let another attack succeed.
But he hears his brother’s voice and doesn’t know if he is strong enough.
He reaches out an unsteady hand.
It is 10:48
