Isaac navigated the four-wheeler through the narrow pathway that linked the reactor bay to the docking area. As they emerged, the echo of the tires against concrete dissipated and the claustrophobic close quarters expanded into a space which hollowed a significant portion of the lifeboat.

Back on the Endurant, the docking bay was a boon. Getting your hands on anything off-ship deeper in the hull was almost impossible, or so overwhelmingly expensive it wasn’t worth it. But with a dock close by, all manner of things flowed through, and finding the rare and exotic wasn’t as difficult. Especially the stuff they couldn’t make on a civilian ship. Isaac remembered picking up an old-style three-piece suit from one of the traveling merchants that came through for supplies. Isaac didn’t know if he’d ever wear it, but he picked the outfit up because he saw it in an article about ancient fashions and wanted to have it. He later regretted it because it was hard to stow.

But now the docking bay was a bittersweet feature. It was one of the only few that could hold an MEU, a multipurpose utility ship, but at the cost of space. A significant portion of the lifeboat’s internal volume was taken up by the docking bay. Which meant that lifeboat 9 had one of the smallest internal capacities. And they had to take on the survivors from the rest as they failed.

As the two pulled into the docking bay, the families of the fallen marines were already in attendance, standing in a semicircle around rows of makeshift coffins lined on a palette launcher which was already set upon the outbound tracks. Military funerals were treated as burials at sea, an ancient custom in which the dead were laid to rest in the vast bodies of water of the home world. They pulled up to a makeshift gatehouse constructed from metal shipping containers. One of the deck crew motioned for Isaac to stop just outside the raised gate, a container suspended from gantry crane hooks.

“What’s going on here?” Isaac looked around at the fortification after coming to a stop.

“Lieutenant Ensolus ordered us to put up a partition. He wanted to give privacy to the families.” The dockworker pointed upwards at the observation windows.

From the higher decks, the viewing galleries were filled, overflowing with onlookers. Crowds of people flooded around the panes on high.

“Wouldn’t it have just been easier if you blocked out the windows?” Isaac asked with suspicion.

“I said the same thing.” The dockworker shook his head with hands on hips. “We offered to do just that, but the lieutenant demanded we treat it like a counter-boarding drill. Ran it textbook and beat our old record, for the third time this month. You think he’d be satisfied.” He scoffed.

Isaac thought back to the discussion on the bridge with Sola, the commander. Though they hadn’t talked, considering the high-security bulletins coming across, it seemed that things were still the same: control over the lifeboat was still not in the hands of the crew. The commander probably wanted everyone to be on alert while they sorted things out up there on the bridge.

“That’s interesting. Well, we’re headed in, thanks for the info.” Isaac got ready to move beyond the wall.

“No vehicles past this point,” the dockworker declared.

Isaac looked over his shoulder at Erik, wounded and having trouble moving. “He can barely walk; I just need to—”

“No exceptions.”

Not wanting to cause a scene near the funeral and despite wanting to break this guy’s balls, Isaac relented with clenched teeth and a guttural groan as he dismounted. In tandem, Erik slid off the back of the vehicle and caught himself with his crutch with a grunt. As the two left for the enclosure, Isaac swiped the key from the four-wheeler.

“Hey, I need that key to move this thing.” The dockworker piped up at them, pointing at the vehicle.

Isaac looked over his shoulder and saw it wouldn’t be crushed if the gate made from shipping crates was lowered. “Reactor Bay property.” He tossed the key up in the air and then snatched it back as he turned away. “No exceptions.” There wasn’t such a thing as individual ship section property when it came to utility vehicles, but it sounded good in Isaac’s head.

He was careful not to outpace Erik as they approached the five rows by six columns of fist-sized black caskets, all evenly spaced apart from one another. On each side were the surname and first letter initial of the deceased.  Isaac stood and waited for Erik to catch up, but the marine pressed on, gravitated toward Arne’s casket labeled Berg, A.

Erik stood there alone, as the rest of the funeral attendees lingered afar. Isaac, not wanting to leave the marine there alone, pressed forward and waited in silence, shoulder to shoulder with Erik.

“All three of us,” Erik broke the contemplative quiet between them, “enlisted together—me, your brother, and Berg.” He pointed with his chin to Arne’s casket. “Me and Berg got our bottom stripe almost at the same time. Your brother became a mustang. That was back when that little cargo ship, the Lupine Dawn went rogue and started knocking off civvies in the local cluster.” Erik looked down and closed his eyes, with pursed lips, holding back showing pain. “This lucky bastard wouldn’t die, going on that raid. Of all people, I was sure he’d’ve outlived me throughout all this chaos.”

Isaac remained silent, letting Erik continue to talk, who was clearly in pain now. The marine unzipped a portion of his jumpsuit and pulled out a folded piece of paper from an inner arm pocket before straightening his outfit. Then struggling to one knee as he bent down, Erik held back labored groans. He reached to place the letter on the small plate beneath the casket.

“Say hi to my parents for me.” Erik braced himself against his crutch, touched Arne’s casket with his fingertips, then stood and hobbled past Isaac.

The caskets were in alphabetical order, and he pressed onward to Ivar’s, labeled Moller, I. Both of them stood in silence for a while, staring down.

“He was a good kid.” Erik again broke the quietness. “Volunteered right after the Endurant broke up.” The marine shook his head and pursed his lips, remorsefully. “He didn’t know what else to do. Just wanted to make sure everyone got through alright.” Erik placed both hands on his crutch and held himself up with it. “He was like your brother and you.”

Isaac cocked an eyebrow in confusion and tilted his head.

“He’d only been on the Endurant a few months before the incident, shipped in from an orphanage boat too old to stay on.”

Isaac grunted; a mild shock set in. “Took me a long while to get used to being alone on a massive colony ship, after my brother joined the marines. I’m surprised.”

Erik shrugged. “I guess he found his people.”

“Did the rest of them make it out?”

“I don’t know.” Erik shook his head. “He never talked about it again once the lifeboats started merging. With everything that went on, I wouldn’t have kept high hopes.”

Isaac turned to stare at the private’s casket with a newfound respect. He thought of his days after arriving on the Endurant. Bitter and distraught over the assaults and the loss, finding himself alone with his brother disappearing in joining the marines. Isaac at that time threw himself into his work and shut away from everyone around him. He couldn’t see himself then doing what Ivar did, to ask little and give everything. A sudden contempt creeped up from within his bones as Isaac found in the shiny surface of the laminated caskets the visage of a coward staring back. Unable to stomach his own reflection, he looked away in shame.

“I’m sorry.” One of the neon-yellow-clad flight crew piped up from across the platform at them. “It’s time.” As if he were directing outbound traffic, he motioned with his hands for the two to back away from the launching platform.

Erik nodded, grabbed Isaac by the arm, and ushered him away while hobbling quickly. As they cleared the launch pad and moved toward the semicircle of funeral attendees, Erik released Isaac and spotted someone in the crowd. The marine pushed himself to rush for them. The front of the semicircle made way and revealed a brown-haired woman in a blue jumpsuit, standing among them meekly, teary-eyed and holding back sobs.

“How you holding up, kid?” Erik searched her eyes, a solemn look on his face.

She pursed her lips and tried to give him a reassuring nod, almost falling to tears in the process.

“This is Trisha Berg.” Erik introduced the woman. “Arne’s wife.” He pointed to Isaac. “This is Isaac Ensolus, he—”

“You’re the one keeping the lights on.” Trisha spoke through sniffles.

Isaac saw the sorrow painted on her face and fought to indurate himself. “I’m trying my hardest to keep them lit.”

“You were with him, when he died?” She hushed out, her lip quivering.

With a steeled heart, Isaac nodded. “I was. What he did was very brave. Arne saved us all.”

As Isaac spoke, Trisha reached over and latched onto Erik’s arm. Her teeth chattered as she fought back tears. The marine groaned in pain as he braced himself and held her up. Isaac reached and offered his other arm, and the widow accepted it.

As they all turned and faced the launch platform, Jakob parted the crowd and stood just before the caskets.

“Commander Sola is unable to attend to today’s service,” Jakob announced with an authoritative tone, “and has asked me to proceed in his stead. He sends his deepest condolences in this dark hour.”

As Jakob scanned the crowd, he locked eyes with Isaac and flashed a malicious grimace. Then his gaze craned toward Erik and unleashed a disapproving look upon the sergeant. The lieutenant produced a book and began reading from it, words of comfort and reassurance.

As the launch pad began to lurch forward, the hum of hydraulics filled the quiet between Jakob’s words. The noise provoked Trisha, who broke down into uncontrollable sobbing. The rest of the crowd were also riled by the widow’s cries and denial. Her legs buckled and Erik was unable to stifle a grunt of pain as she let all of her weight drop on him and Isaac.

Isaac retrieved her from Erik’s grasp and let her down easy onto the ground. As she folded neatly upon the metal floor, Trisha reached out and cried for Arne to come back, over and over again.

Jakob finished his sermon with an ancient warrior’s vow. “…for if I fall, my body may come to rest, but my brothers shall carry my name with them, to victory once more.”

As the launchpad crept out of the airlock, the caskets detached and fell away from the ship, slowly disappearing into the void. Trisha was inconsolable and though Isaac squatted next to her, he couldn’t understand anything she said through her crying, though she continued to reach out toward the airlock as the launchpad returned, empty.

Isaac tried to calm Trisha. As he spoke to reassure her, the mark on his chest grew hot. The crowd grew quiet and still, as did the widow in front of Isaac’s eyes. As if he were standing within a portrait, nothing moved. Erik was mid-bend, reaching for Trisha.

“The cycle of death and rebirth is unending.” Slephna’s voice called out, consolingly. “Even in such an unforgiving place.”  

Isaac looked up and saw the floral beast standing upon the now-still launchpad. “Can you give it a rest for just five minutes?” He yelled out at her, his voice booming.

“Peace.” Slephna raised a leaf-clad arm. “Can you feel them?”

Isaac instinctively readied to shout how he didn’t know what she was talking about, but as the mark pulsed on his chest, a strange sensation poured over his skin. It was like bolts of electricity reaching for a way to ground itself, afar. Like the hairs on his arms were slowly attracted towards the airlock.

“Hunters.” Slephna quarter-turned toward the airlock. “They come. For you and I. Prepare.”

In the blink of an eye, the chaos of sorrow returned, engulfing the space around Isaac. Erik struggled to a knee to place a hand on Trisha’s back in comfort. Jakob approached the crowd and offered condolences. Slephna was gone. No one saw what just happened.

As the crowd quieted with the widow’s calming, an overwhelming sense of dread descended on Isaac. He didn’t have the slightest idea of how to prepare for what he sensed out there.