Black Star

Chapter Six

Once back in his cabin, Professor Touchreik had no more energy than to collapse on the bed. The energy surge of the morning had been short-lived. In part, it was the physical exhaustion and in part, it was the mental stress. Was there a time in middle age when life should slow down a little? A man of 101 who was physically fit and in the September years of his life might not want to find himself on the other side of the solar system. He rolled over and hung his face over the side of the bed and watched the stars through the floor window pass by. The billions of lights crossed his vision and lulled him into a trance. The cabin lights must have dimmed as the system detected him drifting into sleep. 

He had no idea how much time had passed when his eyes suddenly opened fully. The room was darkened and he became anxious, aware of a presence in the room. All he saw was the night sky whizzing past and for a moment thought he was drifting in space. Orientating himself, he remembered where he was. He attempted to move or roll over onto his back but felt restricted. His limbs felt lifeless and heavy, but he mustered a huge effort and rolled onto his back. The invisible weight or pressure on his chest was still pinning him down. He was sweating with fear and he could feel the Lazarus spinning faster and faster. 

He closed his eyes tightly in the hope it would all go away and could see only blood-red flashes behind his eyelids. He remembered the Lazarus. Yes, he was aboard the Lazarus and had fallen asleep on the bed. He remembered that now, and the realisation hit him this ridiculous tin can in space was out of control. Spinning faster and faster, with no one able to stop it. The light from the floor portal reflected the sun's rays, faster and faster across the room. Repetitively spinning like a frantic searchlight. To say he saw her would be a lie because he was blind and impotent on the bunk. Maybe the word was aware, imperiously aware of movement in the room. The wardrobe/radiation shelter door was moving and slipped open. 

He felt Ramona peering at him through the gap, her long fingers curling around the door frame, then gone. He became confused and horrified as the light spun across the room faster and faster as the ship's spin pinned him harder to the bed. He raised his head to see her at the end of the bed now, leaning on the wall. Her arms were folded and she just stared at him. She had come for him, to take revenge. He tried to hold his arms out, to reach out to her, but they were too heavy. He felt the burning in his arms and his fists were heavy as lead. She was here, she was back. Maybe this was how it all happened? He was fading as she became stronger. This wasn't how it was meant to be because he wanted them to be together again. Calling out to her to help him, so he could explain everything and make it right. Why wouldn't she respond to him?

He called out to her, "Ramona." She just laughed. 

An evil sneering laugh, if he could only explain that he would make everything better. Tears streamed down his face, and the flashing light from the sun got brighter and brighter. So bright the room filled with blinding white light and he forced his eyes to shut, but couldn't. The pain stung his head deep inside, and then there was an enormous deafening whoosh, then silence.

Suddenly in an instant, his eyes opened, and the lights in the room had come on and the hatch window in the floor was now closed. There were tears in his eyes and streaming across his cheek. 

For the coming days, there would be no day or night. According to the professor's body clock, it was now early evening, the drone had suggested he keep a normal sleep routine where possible. The clocks onboard would mimic Earth time without the sunrise and sunset. However, the general lighting on the ship would shift frequency into the late evening until dawn. He threw his head back on the bed and brushed his cheek with his sleeve. Ramona, she was gone. It had been his fault and all he was left with were the memories.

The professor's guts hurt from mental pain and anguish. He picked himself up and propped himself on the stool next to the formulator; dialling up some caffeine and a light snack. Sipping the caffeine gave him a little light relief either real or imagined. Leaving the food where it was, he wandered over to the leather settee and sat watching the steam rise from the remains of his drink. He felt no need to do anything else and he just stared without moving for hours. His thoughts drifted in and out from conscious to semi-conscious. The steam slowed down and eventually, there was none. What the hell was he doing here? He was no adventurer or reality junkie and he was out of his league.