Tim Kerr moved down the corridor of the space ship. As he walked, he stared out at the stars outside. The view of the galaxy would never cease to amaze him. The wonderful views through the ship’s windows and viewing panels were a large part of his experience in space. The Galactic Hope CT7 might not have been the largest craft in the fleet, but he was proud to be one of the two person crew. He and Jane Hamilton had been on their mission for several weeks now. 

He joined Jane in the cockpit of the ship. She gave him a smile as he buckled himself in.

By now, they were both used to life on-board ship. They had adjusted to the confines of the craft and its sleeping quarters, their civilian clothing being replaced by the navy blue jumpsuit uniforms with the Space Association insignia. You had to get used to life on-board, had to find your space legs. 

They busied themselves at the control panel, tapping keys and hitting buttons, tweaking, controlling and steering the ship, reading the screens, dials and sensors, and monitoring the screen in front of them that displayed the view up ahead. 

Mission Control back on Earth came across the communication system speakers.

‘Can you hear me?’ came Control’s familiar voice.

‘Affirmative, Control. Coming over loud and clear.’ Tim said into the hand-held device.

‘Are you there?’ Control asked, clearly unable to hear Tim’s response.

Jane grabbed her own hand-held comms device. 

‘Yes, Control. We’re here. Are you reading me?’ She said. 

‘Hello? Hello?’ Control tried once more.

Tim swore to himself. That was all they needed. If Control couldn’t hear them, then they were all alone out here. He suddenly felt such a long way from Earth, from his home and his family. He tried again.

‘This is Galactic Hope CT7, come in control.’

Nothing. 

One morning a few days later, Tim woke when his alarm went off. He knocked the alarm off, and sat up in bed. Then the smell of gas hit him. He looked around his tiny quarters, suddenly wide awake. He dressed quickly in the uniform and dashed down the corridor to the cockpit. 

‘Computer, run a check for a gas leak.’ He said.

Running checks, the ship computer’s robotic voice replied

At the bottom of the display screen a green line grew slowly, showing the progress of the checks.

Check completed. All workings in-tact and fully functional. 

At that moment the doors whooshed open and Jane appeared on the bridge.

‘Can you smell gas?’ She asked, hopping into the seat next to him.

Tim explained he’d had the computer run a check and no gas leak.

‘Computer,’ Jane said. ‘check air supply units. There is a definite smell of gas.’

A few moments later the computer spoke.

Air supply running as usual. 

‘And the gas cylinders?’ Jane asked.

All fully operational. The computer replied.

Over the next few days, the smell of gas lingered.

Eventually Tim snapped, demanding to know of the computer, what it was they could smell, if it wasn’t gas.

I’m sorry, the computer replied, I do not have an answer to that question.

By the time they headed back to their quarters that evening, the smell of gas had vanished. Maybe they would never get to the bottom of where the gassy smell had come from. Strange things happen out in space, he said aloud. He hoped that they could fix the issue with the comms panel too. Hopefully that would right itself. Maybe the problem was with Mission Control, maybe they were checking the tech their side. Either way he hoped it would all sort itself out. Until then, they would continue with their mission, after all, what other choice did they have?

A few days later, Tim finished in the on-board gym, wiping his forehead with a towel. He stepped out into the corridor on his way to shower and change. Then he stopped. He gasped and stared in shock. 

Standing in the corridor was a little girl. She wore a pale blue dress and her hair hung in pig-tails. The girl looked so out of place in the grey industrial corridor of the ship. And then she vanished. 

A shiver went through him. What was going on? Was he hallucinating now? He hoped this wasn’t the start of things, that their journey hadn’t taken an odd turn. 

Later that day, as they were sitting side by side in the cockpit, Jane stopped tapping away at the keys. She pointed to the air.

‘Can you hear that?’ She asked.

‘I can’t hear anything. What is it?’

She turned her head and listened, distracted by music that only she could hear.

‘The classical music, you really can’t hear it?’ She asked, a worried look on her face.

Tim shook his head. Jane stared around her in wonder.

A moment later turned to him.

‘That was so strange. I could hear classical music. It sounded lovely.’

Was this normal? Did other space crews experience this unsettling feeling? Perhaps this was all part of the journey. If he could just speak to Control then he would feel better about things. He picked up the hand-set and tried contacting Mission Control again.

‘Mission Control, come in please, this is Galactic Hope CT7. We’re not doing so great up here. Really need you to get back to us. I think there’s a problem with the ship.’ 

They waited for a response from back on Earth. Just as they were about to give up hope, Control came on the speakers.

‘You need to come back.’ Control said. 

‘We should change course? Plot a course for Earth?’ Tim asked.

There was a crackling high-pitched sound of interference.

‘Come back to us.’ Control repeated.

Unsure if Control could even hear him, if they had heard him at all, Tim replied, affirmative, we’re coming home. 

He and Jane tapped at the panels, changing course, new co-ordinates for Earth. 

Tim felt better that they had changed course, and were headed back. They could check with Mission Control, explain the odd things that had happened and see what they had to say. He sensed Jane’s relief at the change in direction. She busied herself with the control panel, wishing she was home already. 

That evening, as he was on his way back to his quarters, staring out at the stars as he always did, the image changed. As he was taking in the view, the scene transformed. The twinkling stars and the black sky was replaced by what looked like a view of a car park back on Earth. It was as though he was looking down on the car park from a window above.

As he was still trying take in the strange image, the starry sky retuned once more. It was as though the viewing panel was a television screen and someone changed the channel, and had now flicked it back. This was all too much. 

He felt dizzy, the thrumming of the ship’s engines seemed to echo and ring in his ears. The corridor shook all around him. He stumbled forward, falling, reaching out his hands to protect himself from the hard floor. 

He sat up with a start, and looked around at his surroundings, unsure of where he suddenly found himself. He was no longer on the ship, but was in bed in a large room. It looked like a hospital ward. 

‘Where am I? What’s happening?’ He managed.

‘You’re in hospital. There was an accident.’ Said the woman at his bedside.

There was a child sitting in her lap, a little girl in a blue dress, hair in pig-tails. The memories came flooding back to him. This was his family, his wife Emma and their daughter. 

Once Emma had summoned the doctor, to tell them Tim was awake, she explained about the gas explosion in the coffee shop that he owned. There had been only one customer in the shop at the time.

‘She was also hurt in the blast. Like you, she has been in a coma, since the accident.’ Emma said.

‘When was this?’ Tim asked, trying to take it all in.

‘Six weeks ago.’

He managed to sit up and take a good look around the ward. There was one other patient on the ward, in the bed across from his. He and the other patient were dressed in navy blue pyjamas, the hospital logo printed on the chest pocket. 

‘That’s her. She was the customer in your shop at the time of the blast.’ she explained, pointing to the other patient. 

The patient was lying there, eyes closed, hooked up to all kinds of machines. Classical radio station played from a small stereo on her bedside cabinet. Tim recognised her straight away. 

It was her, it was Jane. 

‘She loves classical music so her husband has been playing the music hoping to bring her round.’ Emma said.

Her husband was in his twenties and was sitting in the chair at her bedside. He looked exhausted and upset, several days’ growth of beard on his face.

Tim pointed to Jane. 

‘Could I speak to her?’

Emma asked Jane’s partner if that would be okay.

He nodded, Tim guessed he would try anything to get through to her. Emma helped him cross the ward, to Jane’s bedside. Tim perched on a chair, pulled it close to her. He took hold of her hand.

‘The mission is over, Jane. Come home.’ Tim said softly.  

Nothing happened for a long moment. Then she gasped loudly, deeply, eyes open wide, staring at the ceiling. It was as though she had just come up through deep water, breaking the surface. She gulped at the air. As her breathing returned to normal she looked around her. Tim could see in her eyes, the memories of the real world coming back to her.

His gaze wandered to the sign above the entrance. 

Hope Hospital, Ward CT7.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom