Tevun-Krus #104 - SoulPunk

Lost - A Story by @jinnis

Lost

by jinnis

A cup sits on the table, the dried, dark stains beside it and on the inside suggesting it contained coffee. I sniff, trying to remember the taste. It has been so long—too long. A spoon next to the cup tells me the owner probably drank it with sugar, an unhealthy attitude I've given up long before I joined this voyage. Intrigued, I gaze around the deserted cafeteria and take in the two rows of empty tables, their grey surfaces clean except for this one, the blue vinyl chairs arranged in neat rows. Odd.

Before the depressing mood of the place can get to me, I move on and follow the curved corridor towards the cargo hold. Only a faint glow from the lighting panels illuminates my way—just enough to guide me through the silent ship.

To my surprise, the sliding door to the giant sleeper hold stands ajar. In the dim greenish light, the dozens of rows of identical pods, stacked eight storeys high on a light-weight construction rack, resemble a modern catacomb. I climb the stairs to the third storey and move between the pods without touching them. The green glow stems from the surveillance panels on the pods, ensuring the occupant's cryogenic sleep remains undisturbed.

An eerie silence in the hold sends icy shivers through my mind. In front of the seventh pod in the fifth row, I stop. Here. This is the place engraved in my memory. The tiny light on the panel glows a reassuring green. Green means operational, I decide, convinced the light communicates a comforting message of all is well. Beneath the light, a single row of letters.

Daniel Mataki, engineer, ETH-2471. My name, and my well remembered registration number. I lean over the pod and stare at my own frozen features through the small, frosted control window.

This is my body, frozen, stabilised by cryogenic technology for the journey through space as it is supposed to be. Still, here I am, an insubstantial soul drifting above the pod. Panic floods my mind, overwhelms my thoughts. But the pang of shock is too immaterial to last more than a second. While it dissolves, the questions linger.

Will I be able to return to my body when they wake me up at our destination? Have I heard of this soul—body separation before? I can't remember. However, the spiritual aspect of space travel has never bothered me. I just hope the medical team has the technology available to reunite my material with my immaterial part.

Agitated, I turn away, determined to find answers. But my journey through the ship provides none. The hallways are as empty as the mess, and so is the bridge. I check the crew quarters and the engine room. Nothing. The empty cup in the cafeteria remains the only proof someone lived on this ship.

Back on the bridge, I try to understand the readings of the instruments. Most are blacked out, others emit a faint glow, supplied with power by the main reactor—but for how long?

Desperate, I return to the hold to inspect the pods, wondering if they have become coffins long ago. Some of the green lights are strong, others faint, and some are gone. There is no way I can determine if the sleepers in the pods are alive or dead. Like me, they could be in a state in between, their souls drifting through space for eternity.

Is the ship still on its way to our destination? Does the tiny green light hold any significance at all? Am I only here because the one on my pod is still lit?

And what will happen when it disappears, the last remnants of the ship's energy used up?

I can't help the fear that fills my insubstantial mind. Death might be a welcome friend.