Dreams

Static

 "Houston, this is Ares 7, Houston, this is Ares 7. Can you hear me?"
No reply. Just static.

Then switching the station, muttering a quick prayer and holding up the radio headset.

"New York, this is Ares 7, New York, this is Ares 7. Do you copy?"
No reply.

Garcia, Brown and Vega sit around the icy table onboard the Ares 7 craft in pensive contemplation.

"Shanghai, this is Ares 7, Shanghai, this is Ares 7. Do you hear me?" continues Captain Chambers, in vain. He switches to another frequency, always another channel, hopping around the map, from city to city, from continent to continent.

'Is there anyone out there? Can you hear me?'

The Ares 7 had strayed from the predestined path two days ago, on April 7, 2057, due to an unexpected disturbance - as the rocket rounded Mars for the third and final time, there was fatal interaction to their nose cone of the ship. A microscopic, unexplainable pebble, perhaps tossed into orbit by a Martian, barely nudged the nose of the ship a half-degree to the left.

The change of course was too small detect in the beginning; however, once the rocket thrusters were fully powered into hyper speed, the crew of Ares 7 instantly found themselves lost in space, a hopeless 650,727,128 miles from Earth.

At first, they were hopeful.

"Garcia, what do the provisions look like?" The Captain was inventorying every last object in his ship on the clipboard thoroughly, from the live-giving batteries down to the humble toothpicks.

"We have enough for two weeks and three days, if we ration it." Garcia had been assigned to be in charge of the food and provisions for the crew.
Chambers nodded. "Do you have the complete list?"
Garcia handed him the list containing all the contents of the pantry and kitchen; it was long, but not long enough.

They had faith in their Captain, though. He was a capable man, and from his military service he was accustomed to peril and crisis management. A few even had faith they would make it back to Earth alive. A few even still wrote in the journals in the thought they could read them back on Earth.

Later on the first day, Vega and Brown sit on their cargo bins in the private cabin playing cards, absently watching the foreign planets and stars drift by. A casual conversation starts.

"Double or nothing," says Vega, as he dealt another hand. After they had picked up their hands, he pauses, sitting up and asks, "Say, you married, Brown?"

Brown says, quietly, "No." His eyes are inspecting the cards.

Vega grins wide. "Got a girl back home?"

Brown wants to shake his head and stay sealed, to be stoic quiet like a soldier, but something unexplainable makes him smile, too.

"Well, yeah, I guess," he said, sheepishly. The brown skin on the back of his neck turns red. "Yeah I guess I do."

"What's her name?" asks Vega, grinning.

"Sophia." Brown doesn't even try to conceal his blushing anymore.

"Are you at least planning to get married when we get back?" Vega asks again, and then adds, sullenly, "I mean, if we get back."
Brown frowns. "What do you mean? We'll get back alright."