It's funny, the things you think about when you're alone and out in the middle of nowhere. More and more these past few weeks I find myself thinking back, reliving my youth on the tiny planet the locals called earth. The screech of children's swings, the primitive rings and hooks straining against the pull of gravity and inertia. The giggling joy of each child, bidding parent or sibling to push them harder, higher. 

I should be sleeping. Would be, were it not for the cryo system's shutdown. I suppose it was to be expected. Flying through space at near light speed is risky business. If the backup systems hadn't kicked in -- well, I'd rather not think about it. 

Bad enough, telemetry and communications went with the first impact. Leaving me, a none-too-talkative computer and the few mammals that made it out of cryo, to our own devices. Don't get me wrong, the computer was busy enough flying this ship. If I'd been handed that job, I most likely would have followed the Levie fragments straight into Jupiter. Still, it would be nice to have someone to talk to. Maybe captain Warren or Jeanette,

God I wish I knew if she was alive or not. With all of the chamber shrouds dark, I just can't be sure. Damn the hides of this ships builders. So many dead, all for the lack of a millimeter of shielding, Well, I'll be damned if I'm going to be one of them. 

"Access." 

"Identify, please." 

"Who the hell do you think I am!" 

"Identify, please." 

I swear, I'm going to smash this damn computer, after we land. 

"Identify, Wren Marcus." 

"Confirmed. State query, please." 

"E.T.A. Centauri One?" 

"Query failure. State query, please." 

"Estimated Time of Arrival, Centauri One?" 

"State time reference, please." 

"Earth, Greenwich-Mean-Time." 

"Stand-by." 

Unbelievable! This system is supposed to be the fastest ever devised. Virtually an electronic brain possessing trillions of neural pathways. By comparison. this system makes those on earth, the Cray and Sun super computers, look like toys to be used by children. I'm no mathematician, but it seems the calculations should be simple enough. 

"Access." 

"Identify, please." 

"Identify, Wren Marcus." 

"Confirmed. State query, please." 

"Status report." 

"State systems for report, please." 

"Query request processor." 

"Stand-by -- No previous queries on file." 

What the hell? 

"Status report." 

"State systems for report, please." 

"Neural pathway stability." 

"Stand-by. Report follows:" 

" Systems control, nominal." 

" Cognitive synthesis, nominal." 

" Process monitoring, nominal." 

" Permanent storage, nominal." 

" Temporary storage -- Stand-by." 

" Failure, reconstructing pathway -- Stand-by." 

" Temporary storage, nominal." 

"Query." 

"State query, please." 

"Estimated time of arrival, Centauri One?" 

"Stand-by -- Arrival in nine hours, seventeen minutes." 

"Status, landing thrusters?" 

"Stand-by -- Thruster status, unknown." 

Great, I'll be home soon and won't be able to land. 

"Query." 

"State query, please." 

"Status, breaking thrusters?" 

"Stand-by -- Breaking thrusters, nominal." 

"Query." 

"State query, please." 

"Extrapolate, repair time from breaking thruster shutdown and E.V.A. operations success probability?" 

"Stand-by -- E.V.A. not recommended. Probability high of debris collision." 

"Tell me something I don't know!" 

"Query failure. State query, please." 

Nine hours. It might as well have been nine months or nine years. No use sweating over it. In two hours, the ship will fire her breaking thrusters, slowing the ship enough to prevent overshooting the home world. And fire them again until orbital speed can be achieved. At that point, I'll have an hour, two tops, to find and repair the damage to the landing thrusters. 

Checking over the suits I found they were all in working order. Each was designed with a single person in mind though I doubt the designers gave much thought to the length of the journey these suits would be required to endure. Nor the natural changes to physical attributes of those whom the suits where designed to fit.

Mine for example, though perfect when we began, was now several inches too short. We had spent a year preparing for cryo sleep and moving a safe distance from inhabited worlds before engaging the drive system and accelerating to near light speed. In that year, I grew two inches. I would have to use the captains suit. 

I guess the engineers never gave much thought to natural growth rates in males. 

I busied myself through the next few hours, packing away the things I'd used since coming out of cryo. Bundling the mammals up in their cubby holes and checking the database on EVA maneuvers. I should have done this last, long ago. I never imagined I'd need to know so much. Who would have thought there was so much to maneuvering in weightlessness. 

I could feel a low rumbling, seeming to come from everywhere. Moments later, the rumbling gave way to a peculiar shifting. Objects in front of me seemed to be there one instance and gone the next. I was coming close to losing myself to the vertigo as the ship slowed. 

With a roar, the thrusters fired again. This time sending me sprawling across the cabin. I tucked, rolling just in time to avoid smashing my head into the low panel that served as a table during meals. Unfortunately, not soon enough to avoid the wall that met my forehead full force, sending me into unconsciousness. 

"Harder, Danny.' I yelled, swinging just above my brother's head. I wanted to fly, to leave the ground far behind and sail on into the sky on my jet of rubber and rusted chains. Laughing, Danny pushed as hard as he could, sending me further into the air. I was flying. 

"Harder!" I shouted. 

Danny ran back from the swing, waited for just the right moment, then ran full tilt pushing me harder than before.

This time, the swing flew up above the bar, swayed to the left and jerked roughly as it reached the end of the arc. I was frightened and exhilarated at once. Everything became clear, the park grounds, the sand still clinging to my new tennis shoes and the squeaking of the chain on the bar as I swung back and forth.

The squeak seemed to get louder each time I passed under the bar, like some rusty giant coming out of a deep slumber only to find it had slept out in the rain. Squeak, squeak, squeak, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz.

The alert continued, bringing me out of my unplanned slumber. I wasn't at the park, trying to fly away. I was on board the ship, hours from home and something was wrong. Bzzz, Bzzz. 

"Access." 

"Identify please." 

"Identify, Wren Marcus." 

"Confirmed. State query, please." 

"What the hell's going on?" 

"Query failure. State query, please." 

"Query, reason for alarm?" 

"Stand-by -- Collision detected, environmental systems off-line." 

"What?" 

"Query failure. State Query, please." 

"Status report, backup systems?" 

"Stand-by -- Backup systems -- off-line." 

The ship shuddered. I could hear a low whistle off to my left. No time to think, that hole had to be patched before the loss of pressure put me to sleep, permanently. I had to make it. One way or the other I'd either find the tools or die trying

. The tools weren't in stores as I had expected. This forced me to search each foot locker individually. Skipping my own, I made my way along the starboard side. My mood darkening as I passed each darkened unit. Under normal circumstances,
the status idicators would glare a solid green indicating the units were in good working order.

Now, only four units had any activity at all. Mine of course, showed red indicating normal release. The others blinked red and green in rapid sucession. Without any lighting in the shrouds, it was impossible to tell wether the indicators meant the occupant was alive or dead. Besides, I didn't have time to waste checking. 

I found the needed tools stored in a foot locker under the captains cryo chamber. What he thought he was doing keeping such essential materials there I'll never know.

With the stuff in hand, I headed back to the main cabin. The whistle had grown, becoming a shrill scream, and forcing lose papers to slip across the room toward the expanded opening.

The first patch plate, drew into a funnel and flew straight through the opening. With only two left, I knew I had to make them count.

I had the welder going before placing the patch panel this time. Tacking the leading edge to the cabin wall before folding it into place over the opening. I had to work fast, the patch was already beginning to funnel in on itself, I placed several tack joints around the edges, then hammered the welds around the entire patch. This wasn't going to hold for long. The final patch would have to go on top of this one.

With the vacuum cut, and care, this should seal the breech well enough to get the environmental systems back on-line. If not, it'd give me time to at least get into my suit, the tanks wouldn't last forever but I'd have a fighting chance. 

"Access." 

"Identify please." 

"Identify, Wren Marcus." 

"Confirmed. State query, please." 

"Status report." 

"State systems for report, please." 

"Status, environmental systems?" 

"Stand-by -- Environmental systems off-line." 

"Restart environmental systems." 

"Stand-by -- Restart successful." 

Now, that's more like it. 

Stepping into my suit, I struggled the bulky material up around my waste. The weight of the thing surprised me. After much effort, I fastened the gloves and seals in place, locked down my helmet and headed for the airlock. Spinning the latch, I switched on my suit's life support system. 

Outside the ship, I tethered myself to the airlock latch-guides and floated down below the port side toward the thruster array.

From here, things didn't look too bad. Some debris had taken off part of an access panel but, I could see no real damage to the fuel linkage or control couplers. How deceptive a little distance can be...

The forward thruster seemed in good shape until I saw a meter length gap between the pod and the hull. No way I was going to fix that. I'd have to repair the remaining thrusters and hope that they'd be enough to land the ship at least well enough to walk away alive.

Moving from pod to pod, I patched each as best I could. Laying in temporary couplers here, welding supply linkages there. 

If I had been paying attention, I might have seen the dust cloud before it hit, unfortunately, I didn't. With the first impact I lost suit power. Oxygen alarms never sounded, never alerted me to the increasing mix of carbon-dioxide filling my suit and slowly draining away my strength. In moments, my suit grew stuffy. With no recirculation, my breath condensed on the visor, clouding my vision. I began to feel cold, then numb until finally, I blacked out. 

Looking out at the night sky and feeling lucky to be alive, I can't help wondering why I made it. I know Command sent up a rescue shuttle when the ship grew close to the home planet. I know that they found me floating just outside the airlock, hopelessly tangled in tether cables and rambling on and on about who knows what.

Somehow, even a year after the fact, I can't get it out of my mind. Command had decided not to attempt bringing in the ship. She would be allowed to orbit until finally, burning up entering the atmosphere. She was still out there. Still circling the planet. I can almost hear the alarm beacon signal her arrival home. It's late. I feel very old just now. 

"Wren?" 

"It's late, Hon." I said, turning a bit, slipping my arm around her waste. 

"Cold?" I asked. 

"A little." She shivered and moved closer to me. 

"Wren." 

I turned to face her. Something in her voice pulled at me, forcing me to give her my full attention.

In her eyes I could see her love for me and something else. They held the look of quiet anguish.

I hugged her close to me, hoping to prevent the tears I knew were coming.

Brushing the blonde strands from her forehead I gently kissed her. 

"Have I told you how much I love you?" 

That did it. She buried her head on my shoulder. 

Feeling helpless, I stood there holding her while she sobbed quietly. Her tears dampening my collar. Knowing more than ever that I loved her and hating myself for not knowing what to say. Not knowing a means to take her pain away.

For Jen, the cryo chamber's failure had been a mixed blessing. On one hand, I came out in time to keep the ship going toward home. On the other, she'd lost her entire family. 

"Wren," she said haltingly, "I wish mom could be here." 

Kissing her cheek and tasting the salty residue of her tears, I hugged her close "So do I, Hon... So do I." 

We stood, looking out at the night sky. Watching the clouds skitter across the horizon on their journey through the sky. As we watched, one star, brighter than the rest seemed to move.

Fixedly, we watched as the star began to twirl round, changing color as it seemed to fall. Then arching to the north, picking up speed on it's way through the atmosphere. 

"Wren, we're going to have a baby..." she said, fixing me with a sheepish grin. 

Smiling, I knew the star we'd seen shooting across the sky had been our ship. One life ends, they say. And another begins.