Three thousand days
alone on this godforsaken hunk of metal in the middle of space, with
nothing so much as a passing comet … I’ve murdered my only living
companion. But I had to get out of this interminable cycle of nothing
– away from the mess I signed up for at the age of twenty-one;
naïve; excited over the prospect of leaving my home planet for a
life of adventure. A promise of a post aboard a starship after the
minimum three years service; they seem to have forgotten me.
Once a week I talk to
a computer back on Earth. Nothing to report. Systems at a hundred.
What am I waiting for? The sun to explode?
Outpost 269 reporting
in.
What is your
status?
Status normal.
Observations?
No observations.
Equipment
efficiency level?
Fully functional at
a hundred percent.
Status of cat?
Alive and well.
Prepare for scan.
I move into the
cubicle for a full body scan that records my mental and physical
well-being. I’ve no idea how it works, but recently have begun to
suspect that it may not be as accurate as I once thought. Otherwise,
why did I kill the cat?
Over eight years I’ve
been here.
Checking one section
at a time I start with engineering in level A; finish with the
observation room. On Friday and then at the weekend, donning my space
suit, I examine the outside surface for faults. Once a month a pod
arrives with more food supplies. The routine of non-events has at
least some consistency.
Making my way around
this tiny excuse for a space station, I’d hope against hope for
something to go wrong. A sun storm to interfere with my settings. For
a crack in the panelling. Stray bolts showing wear. An alien attack
even.
If it wasn’t for
the cat I would have gone mad a long time ago.
Not talking to
myself. I’m conversing with the cat.
Its name is Nibbles. Or rather, it was.
Used to be. Former name. Former cat.
Nibbles would be hard
to find at first. As a kitten it was difficult to get him to eat.
“Nibbles!” I’d
shout. “Nibbles … dinner time!”
I’d find him hiding
behind a canister in section D. In a bundle of sheets in my living
quarters. Or often he’d be high above the space between the
lighting and ceiling tiles.
Watching me.
Observing my every move. Wary but interested in my behaviour.
Once I’d started to
hand-feed him, we began to make a connection. Soon Nibbles was
following me everywhere. In the evenings we’d lie on my bed
together. I’d massage his head, rubbing the back of his ears.
Nibbles used to like that. And his purring would provide me with
comfort. I was looking after another living being, a life that
depended entirely upon my own.
“Breakfast time,
Nibbles. How about some milk? Okay, we’d better get to work.”
In the evenings we’d
play hide-and-seek.
“Where are you
Nibbles? There you are!”
There was a favourite
piece of yellow and green tape I’d throw high into the air. The
friction of this movement would cause it to crackle. Nibbles would
come running into the room, eager to entertain us by chasing,
catching and assuring his dominance over the object.
On the last day he
knew. We’d spent too long together for there to have been any
chance of me fooling him.
“Time
to go,” I said, unable to meet his eyes. “The only way,” I
mumbled while he blinked back at me knowingly.
“I love you,” I
told him, taking hold of his neck. “You love me too, I know you do,
but fate… they’ll be coming for me. Soon … they’ll have to …”
My excuse will be
that Nibbles found his way into the waste disposal chute without my
knowledge; the truth being that I put him there knowingly,
deliberately – an execution, nothing less.
Nibbles didn’t
struggle. He trusted me, and I know he was happy to give up his life
for mine. As I watched him; watched the body fly into the vacuum of
space and finally explode, I was overcome with sadness for the loss
of my only friend.
Silently I held the
tears back.
Returning to my room
I shaved, showered, prepared myself mentally for what I was going to
say in my weekly interview. The excuse I would make. And then, with
an action that can only be deciphered as a spur of the moment spot of
madness, I carved his name (N-I-B-B-L-E-S) into my forearm using a
razor blade.
“Outpost 269
reporting in. Status normal. No observations. Equipment efficiency
level is fully functional at a hundred percent. The cat however, has
died.”
I began to laugh,
more at myself that at the machine in front of me. “It’s dead,”
I muttered, then hesitated before confessing that, “I killed it.”
Prepare for body
scan.
Moving into the
cubicle, I could still hear meowing but for a moment, a future of
happiness flashed before my eyes.
