White Space

6

 As usual, Yemon was on the dropship, looking back at the civilians, some of them already on fire. It was a horrific sight, people trying to walk off the flames, trying to get away from their own burning flesh, from the horror of their own melting skin. Some of them, the ones who could still speak, tried to call for their help, choked to beg for their lives. Most of them just writhed and clawed at themselves from the sheer pain of being burned alive. If it wasn't enough, the chemicals on site inflicted even graver wounds on some of the poor souls, making the scene even more bizarre. There was no one to help them, he was told.

 Then, one girl, no older than six, walked out towards the ship taking off. She was miraculously unharmed. Yemon tried to move, tried to get off the dropship, but a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he stopped. Why did he stop? He could have still helped them. Somehow.

 "That's not why we're here." An eerily familiar voice said behind him.

 Yemon gathered his courage and tried to jump off the open cargo door, but more hands came to hold him back. Many, many hands. Too many, in fact, he didn't know how he knew this, but he did. There were too many hands holding him back for the people that were supposed to be in there with him. He looked down to see that the hands were also melting and burning, but he couldn't feel the heat yet.Above the crowd, a white light appeared, scanning through the horror below, casting deep shadows below the charred remains and the suffering, trashing bodies alike. The little girl looked up at it.

 "Package, en route, prepare for takeoff as soon as we have the drone." the voice behind him said.

 On the landing pad below the ship, desperate, burning hands reached for the crying girl. They almost had her.

 A featureless contraption made its way into the dropship and the heavy metal door closed as soon as the hovering little monster was inside, just before the hands reached the girl and she caught fire. It was fast. Too fast. It probably wasn't even possible for fire to spread so quick.

 "That's not what you're here for." The voice, suddenly distorted and monstrous, whispered into his ear. He turned to see a burning, melting face right next to his. No. The face was his.

 Like always in this dream, one way or the other, he punched the burning doppelganger and then went ahead to beat the living crap out of him. As always, it felt satisfying. As always, it wasn't how it had happened.

 And as always, he woke up, covered in cold sweat. He looked at his watch that, as a soldier, he was taught to wear at all times, even when he was asleep. It was very early in the morning, the beginning of the next Sol. Somewhere in Greenwich, normal people were probably just about waking up and making morning coffees.

 He was so used to having night terrors that it didn't even feel weird anymore. The overhead lflickered to life as he got out of bed. Funnily enough, they didn't use cold lights in the rooms at the station, like he was used to. The warm, soft glow gave the room a homey, almost cozy ambiance. It was a pity this place would have to go. He took out his grooming package, a small metal box with special foam inside it, housing all the items in perfectly shape-accurate holes. It was a bit of overkill, but, hey. Humanity sorted the problem of getting from one end of the solar system to the other in a few weeks, but they couldn't make a miracle cure against stubble, so he had to have the best tools for keeping it in check.

 He took the box and retrieved other toiletries and proceeded into the shower that was exclusive to his room. Seeing these inconsistencies reminded Yemon he was indeed in a very old establishment. All the rooms had a private shower, while you could only squeeze by somebody sideways walking down a corridor. Then again, even though planet side places tend to have a bit more luxury, it was quite unusual for a place, half submerged, and half covered in ice, to have enough room for everybody to have their own showers. And not even a tiny one at that.