“If anyone can hear me,” Laura spoke into the comms, “this is Laura Lancaster of the Minerva. I am stranded in a shuttle outside the orbit of the planet Quova. I have crewmates stranded on the planet's surface and we need help. I repeat, we need help. If anyone hears this, please…” 


She ended the transmission and stared at the comms with withering hope. This was the fifth transmission she’d sent out since the Minerva blew up…how many days ago? She’d lost track at this point. The comms receptor light lit up and she answered immediately. 


“Laura? Have you gotten any response yet?” 


Laura’s heart sank as she sank to the floor. “No, no I haven’t.” Her husband had responded, as he always did when she sent out a transmission. Not like he could do much to help. Larry and his crew were as stranded as she was, except they were on the surface of the desolate unexplored planet of Quova that they’d been contracted to explore. His crew's shuttle had been wrecked by the raining debris of the Minerva from space. Luckily, they had escaped the fire shower, relocating to an uncharted section of the planet, but it meant they lost so many supplies and out-of-sector communication. It wasn't all bad for them though; while they strived off the fruits of the world, she struggled to swallow tasteless rations aboard her smaller escape craft.


Larry did his best to keep her company, talking about everything and nothing. It was better than the silence; the static of the intercom could be maddening. It was all he could do for her, and sometimes she hated him for it. Never mind that he was miles away, never mind that he was trying to stay in touch. He had others to keep him company when the connection got cut; she had the dead silent sea of space and the corpse crew of the Minerva swimming in it.


Then one day he wasn’t there. Laura called for him through the comms, but she got no response. She screamed his name but got only static. She felt tears swell in her eyes and she wiped them away furiously. Maybe he was just asleep, or out of the encampment. Maybe there was an accident, and he was injured and bleeding out. Maybe he was dying.


The sudden heat rush around her dazed her, but her arms trembled as if in a terrible winter. She hugged herself desperately, breathing heavily as her heart pounded in her chest. “He’s alright,” she found herself saying repeatedly. “He’ll call back. He’ll come back. He won’t abandon me. Not again.” She curled onto the floor, thankfully because there was a sudden knock on the ship’s window. She knew what it was and was grateful she didn't have the strength to acknowledge them. She wondered who it was this time, whose cold corpse had drifted to the window to say hello and curse her for living when they didn't.

 ...

She woke up damp with sweat, her breathing labored and a new pain in her arm from sleeping on it. Groaning, she rose from the floor and dared to glance towards the dashboard and the window that looked over it. Her visitor was gone now and she thanked her God for that. She has seen enough of what resembled her crew mates now drifting as bloated husks. She caught a glare of the intercom lights blink aggressively, and she almost flung herself against the dashboard to answer it. 


“Larry?” she cried. 


“No, this is Jason.” One of Larry’s crewmates on Quova.


“Oh,” Laura muttered. “Where’s Larry?”


Jason paused. “Laura, there’s something I have to tell you.”


Laura braced herself for the worst as Jason spoke, then felt her world spin as he concluded. She stood silently staring into space as the exoplanet her husband was on, her thoughts racing but her heart surprisingly calm. She remained absent as a tussle erupted through the coms, only snapping back when her husband’s voice came through.


“Laura, honey, are you alright?”


“Is it true?” Laura muttered.


“Laura, I can explain. I -”


“Is. It. True?” 


“Yes,” Larry sighed after a moment of silence. “But she was the one who -”


Laura ended the transmission, and sunk the floor. She felt her chest grow heavy, her willpower drown in a new feeling. Shame? Betrayal? What did it matter when her world just crumbled away from her. She felt tears swell in her eyes and this time she let them. There were no knocks on the window as she drifted asleep.


How long had she ignored the intercom? How long had she avoided its glare? Sometimes she just stared at it, imagining what he had to say, what excuse he could possibly give. In the end she ignored it, and with no one else to talk to she found herself talking to her visitors.


“He’s a liar.” Laura spat. “He promised me, he promised me he would never!” The body at the window stared through dead eye sockets. “You’re right, I’m the fool for trusting him. I shouldn't have. Of course he would. Of course!” A drifting piece of debris knocked into her visitor, inching it and its gaze down towards the intercom. It was blinking again. “No,” she yelled. “I won't answer. It’s probably him and his excuses and -” 


In frustration she threw a punch at the window, winced at the pain as she cupped her now red fist. As if suddenly unable to see the sight of it, the body drifted away from the window, keeping its gaze on the intercom light. 


Finally she answered it. 


“Go away!” she screamed.


There was a brief silence before a response came in. “This is the SS. Jerusalem, responding to several distress signals sent out from your sector. Are you a crew member of the Minerva?”


Laura stood lost for words. 


The person on the other end repeated. “Hello?”


She snapped out of her shock. “Yes!” she cried. “My name is Laura. I’m a crew member of the Minerva. I’m stranded in a busted escape craft outside the planet Quova’s orbit. Please, please send help.”


“Copy that, we will pinpoint your location and send help right away.”


“Wait!” she cried out again. “There are others. Stranded on the planet’s surface.”


“Are you sure?” the person sounded either shocked or skeptical; she couldn't tell.


“Of course I’m sure! My husband is down there with his crewmates.”


“Copy that. We will send help immediately.”


“Please!” she pleaded but the transmission had already ended. 


She felt her heart flutter. There was hope again! Someone finally responded and they were sending help. It was a while before she realized she had said that out loud, but she didn't care. Ecstatic, she reached for the comms and contacted the crew on Quova. It wasn't until she heard her husband’s voice that she realized what she’d done.


“Laura?” Larry called faintly.


“Hey.” she responded. She could feel a lump in her throat and choked out the words she needed to say. “Help is on its way.”


“Really?” Larry replied, a slimmer of joy in his voice. “Someone responded to your distress signals?”


“Yeah.”


“That’s great!”


“Yeah.” She overheard him inform the others, overheard their cheers and joys and almost ended the transmission there had he not said her name again, this time with a softer, lower tone.


“I’m sorry Laura,”


She scoffed. “For what?”


“For hurting you.”


She paused for a moment. “Did you enjoy it?” she scorned. 


“Laura, she kissed me!”


“And did you enjoy it? You clearly kissed her back.”


“I was asleep. She kissed me in my sleep. I woke up to her lips on mine. That’s what Jason saw.” 


“Why would I believe you?”


“I’m your husband Laura! I have been your husband for ten years now. I have never cheated on you, I have never betrayed you. Why don’t you believe me? Why don’t you trust me?”


“Because you left! When I begged you to stay. When I begged you to reconsider this mission, when I begged you not to go. But you came anyway, dragging me with you into this mess. This is all your fault!”


“I had to work. You know that. And you didn't have to come.”


“I know that.”


“Then why did you?”


“Because I’d rather be with you in this hell than without you at all.”


“Laura…” Larry said but didn't finish. The silence rang for long minutes before Laura broke it. 


“I just want to go home.”


“Me too, -” There was a sudden break in the transmission, screams of static interrupting his words. 


“Larry?” Laura called back panicky.


“Laura i-,” then the transmission went silent with static. Looking up out the window towards the planet she realized what had happened. He was too far from her. The bodies and debris bumping into the damaged ship shoved her further than the broken communicator could transmit. Could she still send a message? Perhaps; it would explain why it took so long for help to respond. But it also meant she may not be able to talk to husband. 


“No,” she whispered, tears running down her face as the realization hit. “Please no.” The bodies were far from her now, as was most of what was left of the Minerva. But the Quova was smaller now. And so was her husband.

…

A minute felt like an hour, and the number of minutes she counted felt like eternity. There was nothing else to do, no one to talk to. She had tried to send a transmission but barely got through before the intercom gave up completely. She surrendered to the floor, hugging her knees in the new chill the ship emanated. She had never felt more lonely. 


An eternity passed before help arrived; she almost thought she had simply imagined it. The ship’s new chill negated the warmth of her blanket, or the subtle comfort of her own touch. She could do nothing but count and stare through the window at Quova. Her eyes were red with tears that died out long ago, and her stomach growled all while rejecting food and water. This must be what dying feels like, she thought absently. She didn't want it, but she would have gladly welcomed it. Hope, she thought, was an alien concept for her now. Foreign, unwanting of her, a ruse told to make the pain of slow death much more painful. 


But hope was a fickle bastard, how quickly it grips the heart. That’s how she felt when another transmission came through from the SS Jerusalem. She was too weak to respond, but strong enough to see the ship come into view. The SS Jerusalem was a mountain of a ship, large enough to blot out the sun as it loomed over Laura's dying craft and tethered her ship into its hanger. Once docked, she was swarmed by medics screaming inquiries she couldn't make sense of. All she could whisper was, “My husband. Please save my husband.”

…

Laura woke up with a start, in pain, and in bed. How long since she last felt such comfort? Jumping out of the bed, she bolted out of the room, and accosted the first person she ran into. 


“My husband!” she shook the startled boy. “Where is he? Is he alright?”


“I-” the boy stammered, “I don't know who you’re talking about.”


“The crew members stranded on Quova,” she groaned hastily. “Did you find them?”


The boy’s eyes lit up with realization as he nodded. “The rescue party is returning with them now.”


He pointed in the direction of the hanger and she ran in that direction. She burst through the doors with a force that even surprised her, just as the rescue vessel docked in the hanger. As with her, medics rushed the ship as cautiously as they were hasty, storming it as soon as the doors opened to ensure the safety and health of the crew. Laura’s heart froze momentarily, expecting the worst: her husband laid out on a stretcher unconscious and un-breathing, her husband scarred from his experience unable to recognize her; her husband…


Larry walks out of the ship, limping on one leg with a medic’s assist. She sees his eyes glance around the room as if it were all alien to him. Then his eyes darted across her, then on her, and her body erupted with hope when recognition shone in his eyes. She ran down to him, almost knocking him over with her embrace as she was blinded by tears. He embraced her back, tightly, possessively.


“I’m so sorry, Laura.” he muttered, burying his face in her hair.


“Shut up,” she responded amidst tears. “Don’t ever let me go again.”