Life is not so bad when it’s a routine. Living on a space station that’s aimlessly floating in space not surprisingly requires a ton of upkeep. Not surprisingly, a lot can go wrong when man-made machines meet an environment where there is nothing but atomic radiation that does its very best to kill you. Couple that with my unfortunate basic human needs that also require specialized machines to attend to, and the survival rate is dropping rapidly. The reality of my situation is that I am practically one short-circuit away from imminent death. That has been my experience for all nineteen years of my life. It sounds worse than it is.
So taking care of my tech is the single most important thing of my day. In order of importance to my well-being, it goes the reactor and solar panels, water recycler, fabricator, hydroponics, and finally my tablet. Most of the technical stuff is handled by Albert, the station AI. Who would have thought that a supercomputer, albeit a little limited one, would be smarter than one guy?
Every morning I’ll receive a list on my tablet of all the specific problems and the most effective solutions, accounting for the general chaos of my life. Now in the ideal world, I would have an abundance of raw materials to feed into the fabricator for the correct replacement part, but that requires mining an asteroid. So instead I have to cobble together temporary fixes until the next safe opportunity.
That is exactly what I found myself doing the day it changed. I stood over a bunch of gleaming metal bits, strewn over the floor. Of course, if you gave me enough time I could probably tell you which one was which and where it fit in the grand scheme of things, but right now I was tired and they all looked the same. I sighed, lifting what seemed to be a copper pipe, lifting it to my eye. It looked okay, but I knew there was something wrong with the whole thing.
“Al, what exactly is the issue with the flow system again?” I spoke into the empty station, my voice echoing throughout the halls. I set down the pipe and stood up, carefully latching the base of the pump back into place.
An Anglo accent interrupted me from my task, “Mr. Collins, the plant-nutrient solution is flowing inconsistently, causing slight decay in plant health. It seems as though there is an issue with one of the circuits that signal for automated irrigation. It will likely be the 3rd row one.”
“Thanks, Al. What would I do without you?”
“Likely starve to death, sir. Do finish this before eleven o’clock because there is still the matter of the solar panels that we need to address.”
My shoulders slumped, as I realized the task at hand. Electronics. I hated them. They required better eyes and hands steadier than mine. Normally the repair bots that the station was equipped with would handle the grunt work but most of them went on the doomed expedition.
Resources were always thin here, so if I fucked up here the station didn’t have an abundance of replacement parts, permanently screwing myself over. Exiting the hydroponics room, I sighed, pacing across the common room that I had recommissioned into a make-shift workshop towards my toolbox. There I grabbed the necessary equipment: Pliers, extra capacitors, and rubber gloves. That last bit is really important. Not like life or death is important but still, small electric shocks are such an incredible annoyance, it’s like stubbing your toe but somehow worse.
Once there, I examined the motherboard of the 3rd pump. Al said it was somewhere near the automated portion, so I stared in that general direction till an errant wire stuck out to me. It wasn’t anything life-threatening, only one of the copper filaments that was connected to one of the chips was frayed and wasn’t properly connected. If I decided to leave it alone, I would most likely die because of a lack of calories. If I did fix it and I screwed up here, I would lose one of the main sources of food or worse, cause an electrical fire in the capacitor by grounding a live wire onto other parts. If everything went perfectly well, there was nearly a 100% chance it would break again in the next six weeks.
So carefully, very carefully I grabbed the exposed copper strands and twisted it back into a singular line, carefully to not snap the already stressed metal. Then, carefully avoiding other delicate electronics with my pliers clamped around the gleaming brown strand, I carefully inched towards the chip it originally connected to. Finally, after what seemed like hours of my sweaty glove-encased hands guiding it to its destination, the wire connected. I stepped back, waiting for imminent failure because nothing ever goes 100% right in space.
“Sir, I do believe you have successfully solved the circuit issue. A congratulation would be in order but there are still the solar panels to attend to.” Al chimed in, ever the nagging nanny.
I mumbled back, “Yeah, when is there ever not more work to do.”
“Work that you have leashed yourself to. I recommend that this search project you have undertaken be put on hold, at least till you bring back the next shipment of—“
“I can’t do that,” I interrupted, “Al, if there is even the slightest chance there is a species like me out there, I can’t…I can‘t miss it. This was your idea, remember? You did the math yourself.”
“I understand that, sir. But I must remind you that I will always do what is necessary for you. Even if that means telling you the uncomfortable truth. I recommend that after dealing with this solar panel issue, we must reduce search activities by at least 50%,” Albert gently chided, his monotone voice washing over my ears like waves on a beach.
He was right. I mean, it was his job to be right. In comparison, I was a human while he was the amalgamation of hundreds of brains like mine. AI’s like him were rare. The more common version was circuits and processing units piled on top of each other, to run algorithms and the language of computers, big hardware boxes, silently humming and observing. All these individual parts and hardware formed a pseudo-brain, creating the Pulsar.
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The next step was Albert or the Neutron Star series. Instead of tons of hardware, a couple of engineers and scientists decided to directly copy human brains. Neutrons were made by digitizing human subjects, linked together with a main computing core and a single fridge-sized hard drive. Hundreds and hundreds of people forged and melded together into one personality and one being, all contained within a fridge.
It was incredible. It was horrifying. It was hyper-efficient in helping me survive. It was really frustrating to argue with Albert, as a result.
Of course, there were regulations and rules built into his thinking, the result of several attacks in Earth’s past. Without these, I expect that Albert would have killed us both already, as any logical thinking machine would have.
And yet, we were still here, struggling day by day, fixing one pipe or wire at a time.
I breathed a sigh of relief. The easy part of my day was finished, and more importantly, it was lunchtime. I sat up, aching knees protesting the entire way, and hurried my way to the kitchen, passing by the locked living quarters on the way. I only had two hours, and goddammit I wanted my MRE and strawberries.
Two hours and a few minutes later, it was time for the spacewalk, aka the single most dangerous yet also really necessary thing in his life. The solar panels helped to power the hulking behemoth that was the station, alleviating some of the stress placed on the reactor. But, like most things on this ship, it wasn’t designed with a 20+ year life cycle in mind, so it had its fair share of issues.
Today, there was an issue with the inverter on the right panel, so I had to suit up and go out there and replace it myself. There were several ways that this could end horribly for me.
Let’s start with the positives though. The suit I was wearing was a technological marvel all things considered. It combined a light, durable, metallic weave with multiple layers of synthetic polymers to maintain a pressurized armor coat that could withstand outer space's harsh reality. I hadn’t even started to talk about the magnetized boots and gloves yet either.
Duel rings of electrically charged metal put out enough magnetic force to (hopefully) keep me attached and anchored down to the hull of the ship. As with all things, they could be rather finicky at times, given they had to have a constant current. But they were rather ineffective in helping, you know, move around, so I had to un-anchor myself to the hull and use compressed nitrogen to push myself in a direction and pray I didn’t splatter. The upside was that it was cool as fuck, as I moved around doing my best superhero impression.
This was space however, a little hole could suck the air out of my lungs and I would die. The spacesuit itself could have some structural issues and I would get either cancer from atomic radiation or I would just cook inside the suit. My magno-boots could malfunction and I would float away into space, again asphyxiating in my suit. If I took too long, then a solar flare from a nearby star, where an explosion pushes radiation from stars past the gravity of the star itself, could genuinely vaporize me in a matter of nanoseconds. I mean the possibility of a freak space rock coming out of nowhere and squishing me was not exactly zero.
Wouldn’t that be something, the very last human dying of a suit malfunction or even a stray rock? At least no one else would witness my embarrassing end. I couldn’t even imagine it. Here lies Michael Porter Collins, who died because of a small hole in his suit, I mused as I walked towards the nearest airlock to the solar panels. I could imagine it now, as I entered the pearly gates the sheer amount of boos I would receive for dying to something so lame. Millions of years of evolution to die in that shitty way? No, the human species deserves something a little more poetic.
I carried the story of an entire species, their responsibility pressed on my shoulders. So I couldn’t die, not yet.
Stepping out into the airlock always made me feel strange. Peering outside into the inky darkness, and the little bright dots in the void made me feel small, those dots were stars, burning massive furnaces constantly warring with their gravity, putting into perspective the sheer insignificance of my existence. I took a shaky deep breath and exited the station.
“Al, are we rolling?’ I felt my boots start to whir to life, as I jolted down, glued to the metal frame of the station. I squinted, as the electronic display whirred to life, dim blue lights displaying suit status, nitrogen available, and distance towards the solar panels. A countdown begins, in the top right corner, detailing the time before a solar surge took place.
“Yes sir. One of the transistors has overheated, so I hope you remembered to bring the spare transistor,” Al chimed in, his voice filtering in from the suit’s internal speakers.
“Al, I’m attached to my home by just two boots and one glove that might work, so unless it's something helpful, please shut the fuck up,” I shout out as I bend my knees, hands on the station, carefully lifting and shifting the thrusters ever so slightly.
“Sir, may I remind you that due to my coding, I have no understanding of human emotions?” Al primly answered back, the same deep monotone.
“Alright, whatever. How much more time do I have?” I asked, panting a little bit. Hey, I might be slightly out-of-shape, but fighting to keep my arms straight against the force of compressed nitrogen gas in nearly 15 kilograms worth of metal armor would tire anybody out.
“Roughly, 2 hours sir. If you are feeling a little tired, might I suggest cutting down your portions next time?”
I ignored him, the visor beginning to fog up slightly as I felt an uncomfortable drop of sweat slide down into my eye.
“Reserve gas has fallen to below ten percent,” came the metallic echoing voice of the suit. I grimaced, still 30 meters away. I had just enough to make it to the panel and back to the airlock. If I screwed this up, I would likely suffocate as the air in my suit would eventually run out. So, I did not want to screw this up.
My arms had started to burn and ache when I finally reached the base of the solar panel a whole mountain away from where I started.
Of course, that was the easy part. Because you know, nothing could be that easy in space. Tensing my legs to lock them into place, I suddenly jolted towards the hull, boot sticking to the hull like a fly caught in honey. I waited for a few seconds, making sure that I was well and truly safe. Luckily nothing happened, so I carefully dug through my back pocket, looking for the spare transistor I stored in there.
And of course, one of my gloves and one of my boots sparked and fizzled out, with most of my body flailing wildly in the void.
Falling away, I could feel, really nothing. I was wholly unbound from the ground or the metal of my ship for the first time in my brief spark of life.
Do you know what it feels like to be untethered in the void? The closest comparison that I read about is being submerged underwater, no longer bound to a linear plane of motion, everywhere around you being straight, up, and to your right all at once. But in the water, you still feel the resistance pushing against you, grounding you. The utter weightlessness found in space was akin to a puppet pulled along by its strings, barely in control of its own body.
I had to get my hand or foot to touch the ship if I wanted to live. Easier to say, but harder to do, as my vision went spotty, my brain tingling, the blood rushing to my head. I squint my eyes, black spots dancing in and out, as I palm the gas trigger in my right hand, and my arm flails wildly behind me. Shutting my eyes, I pulled the trigger, feeling a searing hot pop echo throughout my body.
Fading in and out of consciousness, the feel of gray ship metal beneath my fingers brought a little focus to the haze. Grounding myself on that singular sensation, I willed the fibers in my arm to move, each aching and screaming with every centimeter they moved. One arm after the other, one foot after the other, slowly climbing the metal mountain between me and the airlock.
Eventually, the pain faded, and the labor became the only thing that my brain could process, could focus on. The feeling of the minerals and metals beneath my hands, the dull twinge of my arms and legs moving, became my world.
I don’t know how long I was moving for, be it minutes or hours, as the door came into view. With aching hands, I pried open the handle, floating into the depressurizer, before finally popping back into the ship. I collapsed, the floor seemingly swelling up and enveloping me, as I took off my helmet.