He awoke with time standing still. Literally. His ship's dashboard clock had not ticked since the first piece of shrapnel floated past the port window upon entry to this side of the universe. This stoic moment had mocked him as time secretly passed. The hour, minute and second hands acting as constant reminders of the exact moment in which his mission, his purpose, diverted course.
Through this undocumented passage of time, days had turned to months had turned to years as a single pinpoint of light slowly grew in the center of his vision field. The serenity of deep space was captivating when his journey began. That beauty had since grown stale. The absence of matter was now all he noticed. Aside from the pinpoint: a lone star and his last remaining companion.
Visions of my family would be nice. Home would be nice. Why must I see you in my sleep?
A faint red glow emanating from his control panel illuminated the interior of the cockpit. Without this glow, he couldn't be certain if his eye was open or remained closed in slumber. The cockpit, also his bathroom, bedroom, kitchen, study and celestial screened-in porch, was elaborate yet cramped. A pinnacle of his society's technological advancement, his craft had the resources and durability to sustain his voyage throughout the infinite. It had all the bells and whistles; just not much room for the pilot himself. Within an easy arms' reach, a buffet of buttons and switches stood at attention awaiting orders to execute their respective functions. These orders, however, would never come.
Midway through his voyage, a CRITICAL ERROR had occurred, and afterward the auto-pilot feature had taken complete control. The CRITICAL nature of the situation was very real and increasingly violent attempts to override the ERROR were fruitless. During one particularly passionate effort, he had mangled his hands and several controls alike. That was his last attempt.
Over time, his blood had dried on the console while the broken switches laid in a shadowy graveyard underneath his feet. Of these battered buttons that now littered the cockpit floor, many had once operated his windows that, when operational, were programmed to filter-out various wavelengths of light – a product of his own design! Meant to protect his eye from harmful rays, this innovation was compromised by the CRITICAL ERROR, and all ancillary starlight vanished long ago. Only the lone star remained.
In the weeks leading up to his experimental expedition, media outlets had crowned him EXPLORER OF THE STARS, and he was to be THE FIRST WITNESS OF WORLDS BEYOND. Or if he was lucky, THE FACE OF FIRST CONTACT.
Imagine what the Times would've drummed up for me now.
But not only was the starlight lost in the ERROR. Vanishing alongside the array of distant galaxies was a vast collection of on-board media. His entire world had been condensed onto a hard drive with the intention of either enlightening primitive beings on some far-off planet or showcasing his civilization's worth to a superior alien race. In the file dump, thousands of hours of audio and visual entertainment, digital encyclopedias defining his world, archives highlighting the achievements of his people, equations, star maps, literature, scripture and works of art were forever erased. The potential education and/or audition now fell solely on his recollection – and perhaps his singing voice!
Also disappearing in the data purge were all remaining traces of his late wife and daughter. When the CRITICAL ERROR commenced, the alarm that rang out was piercing enough to pull tears from his eye, blurring his sight throughout the frantic attempt to recover those precious files. Exactly when these tears transitioned from a physiological response to raw emotion was unclear, but as the siren ceased and silence prevailed, the tears sustained. He had lost them all over again. He was truly alone.
But now, after the days had turned to months had turned to years, even that memory was not enough to elicit emotion as he stared ahead at the light. Instead he yawned and faded back to sleep, droning on toward the pinpoint.
