The Eye

Connor sat back in the command room, upon the captain's chair. He looked through the large front window, staring into the darkness. He had never truly looked at it before. Always had a distraction. His sister telling him about her last read, his parents telling him to check the engine room, or secure the airlocks, or even just wash the dishes. But now... Now that everyone was gone, the void almost enticed him. He stared into its dark embrace, his mind forgetting all his problems, all his regrets, replacing them with the black ocean. Now that he thought about it, he'd never seen anything out there. He knew all too well that the Mehrune was the only submarine, but he couldn't remember seeing something else: passing fish, not even the sea bed. The thought disturbed him.

He pulled his eyes from the allure of the abyss, back to his surroundings. The command room, with its five chairs, industrial and uncomfortable, the bland metal-grey walls, and an array of electronic displays around the room. Even when his family had been there, they'd been undermanned, but Connor had soon realised that most of the readings, scanners and holograms were useless. Sensors for sound, though he'd never heard anything from them, for proximity, when nothing had ever come near, and another for currents, though this ocean didn't seem to have them! Useless stuff.

He went to the right of the circular ship, the canteen, to prepare a meal. Another cold, sterile room, simple and practical. Now the only excesses were the plates and cutlery, four times as many as necessary. Time was immaterial down here, but the clocks told him it was eleven, and eleven was lunchtime. He prepared himself a nice scrambled egg. It was an old favourite of his father's, and he used his special recipe, with his secret spices and seasonings. After he'd relished every last bite, he went right again, on a routine check of the engine room. The room was hot and sweaty, not the same cold practicality of the rest of the sub. He checked each engine, the oxygen system, the waste, every task he had internalised and memorised since his childhood.

And finally, he moved right again, to the crew's quarters. Warm, lived in and almost perfectly preserved: This was his favourite room. His face grew a great, boyish smile as he walked into the lounge. There was his dad's spot, in the armchair, with his stack of manuals and toolbox by his side. There, his mother's chair and music stand, her violin case lying open next to it. And his sister's desk, with her pile of books: Aristotle, Plato, Socrates. Nietzsche, Tolstoy, Rand. His smile widened as he looked at the metal walls, warmed by the pictures and paintings on them. There, the family all together, in their positions in the command room, and beside it his mother's fantastic recreation of a mountain from back home. He sat down on the old carpet, loving the warmth of it, the welcoming feel of the wool, a rejection of the impersonality of the rest of his home. His mind wandered, to his artistic mother, painting the most beautiful portraits and playing her wonderful music; his father, his methodical working, the way he'd take Connor through each step of an emergency drill over and over again, so he knew exactly what to do if it happened; his sister and her long ramblings of philosophy, of history, and the world above. He sat in there for what felt like forever, all the happy times coming back to him, gladdening him, and taunting him, joyously recalling the past, and hating it for never being able to return.

He was brought out of the cycle by a sudden ringing. A loud, repeating alarm reverberated across the room. He got up, surprised. He'd never heard this alarm before. He tried to remember his training. A leak? No. Perhaps an issue in the engine room? But then that would've been specified... He quickly walked to the command room. One of the scanners had suddenly started up. For years, it had been silent, detecting nothing and no one, and now it was picking up reading after reading. He tapped the display, focusing in on one of the alerts. Alert, Alert! Strong ocean current from the North-West, speed indicates the Mehrune will collide with the current in minutes. the display said. Connor frowned. How could the ship have been travelling the same direction for years, and only now they encounter a current? He looked at the other alerts, but it only made him more dismayed. Yet more currents were just... appearing. All came from the same direction, and were heading the same way: towards the Mehrune.