Cycle 4444

According to my mother, there’s always something ominous about the number four.

Four, four, four, four. Four is misfortune, four is misery, four is loss, four is death.

And yet, on our four-thousand-four-hundred-and-forty-fourth cycle, we caught what might be called a lucky break.

Ever since the backup water reclaimer broke down, we’ve had to severely ration our water usage. Two litres feels like a good amount of water, but when it’s all you’ve allowed yourself for hundreds of cycles, it starts to wear on you. It feels like there’s not a single bit of my lips that aren’t cracked, and the smell is starting to approach intolerable levels. Neither of us can remember the last time we had a shower, and regular showers are very important when you’re under constant threat of being exposed to deadly amounts of ionizing radiation.

But then, we came across a large asteroid just lazily flying through space as we are. And not just any asteroid, but one filled with ice.

As it just so happens, deep within our greatly diminished cargo holds was a small amount of excavating equipment, mainly some drills and blasting charges, but it was enough for Ellie to mine huge chunks off to carry back to the ship after we touched down, and we easily refilled all of our tanks to full.

However, without any way to reclaim the water, it’ll only give us another three, maybe four hundred Cycles sticking to our current rate, assuming nothing else on the ship breaks down.

Or, we could stay.

There’s enough ice on this celestial body to last us years, maybe even decades, and we wouldn’t have to ration anymore, but this asteroid is going places even slower than we are, and there’s still the issue of the rest of our unreplenishable supplies slowly running out.

Ellie’s become something of a masseuse ever since we ran out of painkillers. I could just have her run the portable x-ray on my back but I don’t need a machine to tell me I’ve got a tumour growing on the inside of my spine. I can just tell.

So, we could stay, which would mean certain death, but we would definitely die much more comfortably than we would out alone in the vastness of space. Being able to have regular showers again would almost certainly prolong our lives, and it would be nice to stay and have somewhere to actually get outside the ship and stretch my legs, even if it has to be in the confines of an AVA suit.

Or, we continue on our course in the billion-to-one chance we encounter a habitable world before the last of our food, water, or power runs out, or until the failing reactor finally kills us both.

I asked Ellie and she actually pulled rank, something I can only count the number of times she’s done on one hand. She said I’m the officer, so it’s my choice, and she’ll support me either way.

I don’t want it to be solely my choice, but, Ellie saw an opportunity to to skirk painful responsibility and took it. I don’t blame her, I probably would’ve done the same.

In the end, I don’t think it matters to her so long as we’re together.

And we will be, to the end.

I should sleep on it, but when the two choices are certain death, and almost certain death, well.

Almost isn’t one hundred percent. I should heed my mother’s warning, and flee from death.

For now, though, I’m going to have the longest shower of my life.

I’ve earned that much at least.