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Prompt 3 – Stars

by | FlashFicFeb | 0 comments

I’m my dream, I’m alone on a spaceship. A starship. It’s my starship, I’ve saved up my entire life to buy it. I’m traveling to find a new home, a new world around a new star, but it’s going to take a decade to get there.

I have this dream a lot.

The ship is simple, a long chain of four rectangular chambers, like shipping containers, connected by wide hatches. Each section is ten meters high, ten meters wide, and twenty meters long. The first section houses the bridge and engineering; the second is food, medical, and exercise; the third is sleep and entertainment; the last is cargo. The whole thing is all dull gray metal, with tubes and pipes and vents everywhere.

There is no light speed, no wormholes, no warp. Just ten years of travel with high-tech food and medical technology to keep me alive. There’s a library of movies and books and music, but no live communication or entertainment.

After the first few months, I know every millimeter of my ship. Every hum and buzz and beep becomes so familiar, I notice the smallest changes and can fix them easily. The ship is an extension of my body. The stars outside the few portholes change very slowly, but I notice the shift.

I’m not lonely, not at first. In fact, I’m excited at the prospect of time alone. I think of reading and learning new skills and getting away from the chaos of other people. The chaos of society.

It takes six months until I start to really start to crave some kind of connection. By then I’m talking to myself, talking to my ship, taking to the stars. It takes six months for me to open the boxes I have in the cargo section and start putting together my crew.

The tanks are easy enough to figure out. One meter wide disks on the top and bottom, cap the transparent tubes that are just over two meters high. They remind me of my brother’s fish tanks when I fill them with water, but when the chemicals are added the liquid becomes a murky pink.

A little prick of my finger and three drops of blood into three little glowing rings of green. The computer quickly putting together the necessary components. In 72 hours they will be the size of peas. In a week they will be grapefruit. In a month, they will be something almost like me.

Fatherhood? Maybe an over-eager gardener. Or a captain of a crew of myself. Variations of myself. Two girls and a boy. Programed to be a navigator, an engineer, and a medic. I hope they are better with people than I am. I hope I can teach them to play cards.

I hope they like me.

This post is part of Flash Fiction February from Storytelling Collective.

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