I was here on purpose.
Part of the record, part of the experiment -- I'd either capture the impossible, or have a better case to study. That's what I kept telling myself.
In a slightly-dishevelled departure terminal, in the older wing of the Damor city spaceport, I scanned my palm over the credit reader at a worn ticket kiosk. The jumps I could afford appeared on a small screen next to it. Roxi, the moon, that was the first one free. I glanced down at my clothes. This wasn't my regular port, but I had a locker here, and it had contained a basic but clean jumpsuit. Good enough.
Without thinking too hard about it, I tapped the moon's symbol with my finger. The screen flashed green in acceptance.
Only then, as I hesitantly brought my palm back up and held it over the ID scanner, did I feel that cold, brief chill of doubt.
What had I done?
A too-familiar thought.
I half expected to be flagged by the system. No one was around to notice though, unless you counted the robotic floor cleaners, and the few patrons sitting at a dining counter further down the hall.
Too late now. At least, I had to make a showing of it. There never really was a perfect time for this. And I'd never get through it without facing it honestly.
Only a few arriving locals passed me as I made my way down the hallway to the correct gate. This old wing handled the arrivals and the departures of smaller shuttles, those that launched at unpopular times, and personal shipments. It was free of the melee of the main terminals, so it was a favourite with local pilots. Few enough of them would know me by sight.
The gate for Roxi was mostly deserted at this noon hour. I'd come straight from the beach, where I'd had a brief swim to clear my head of last night's party. I was still balancing eager curiosity and dread. Collect information and analyse it after. That was the plan. It had seemed so clear in the early morning sunshine, but here in the quiet departure lounge, I had my doubts. This was my life I was stress-testing, not a hypothetical hull plate.
I sprawled on a plush couch, propping my feet on the low table before me. A miniature crimson flight path projected in the air above it. Our supposed ship, a tiny white dot, travelled repeatedly up the launch arc, paused at the orbital change, then swept around a wide parabola towards Daltia's moon.
Then back again, appearing at the table's surface. Arc, pause, sweep.
Routine.
I stuck my foot right above its little takeoff, slicing the red flight line with my shoe. The glowing dot moved right through me, emerging from the top of my foot and continuing up to orbit. I smiled. Imagine being that certain of anything.
I recrossed my feet on the table and let my focus drift past the transparent screen. Every so often, distant chimes would sound, announcing an arrival or departure. Mostly in-system, to Roxi or the mining sites. Or to Sahr, one of the distant populated moons. Occasionally I saw a more exotic port of origin. Gemma, for instance -- technically Daltia's closest neighbour, though nothing could be called close to this corner of the galaxy. There was even one drone shipment in from Auria, all the way back in the same quadrant as Earth, just mind-twistingly far.
The few passengers around seemed ordinary enough. A few nicely-dressed business people. One small family. I wondered if Roxi were their final stop, or if they'd be heading onwards to foreign places.
I told myself I was people-watching. Mostly, though, I was hoping they'd stay away, and continue down the central concourse to one of the other twelve lounges. The few travellers already seated near me would be audience enough.
Other ships came and went in the distant window, the heat making their outlines hazy as they rolled from the landing strip. Behind us, on the other side of the spaceport, came the periodic bone-vibrating sound of their launches.
It filled me with yearning.
There were full-sedation methods for this. Free, harmless, with less of a hangover than I'd had this morning. But I didn't want my first time to be that way.
Don't get me wrong -- I didn't judge others for using them. The point, to me, isn't to get to Roxi. It's to do this right, for once. It would be a doorway to much more than the moon.
But these thoughts are always part of the cycle, as repetitive and ultimately meaningless as that projected red flight path. Would this recording I was making even help? Or be just another embarrassment?
A young woman in a soft grey coverall made her way quietly from patron to patron in the lounge. She greeted a man sitting on a couch nearest the window, and then exchanged a few polite words with another person seated near him. By the time she took a chair next to an older woman a few benches over, I knew she was a flight guide. Here to settle everyone, make sure we felt great about the void we'd all paid to cross. That unpleasant fluttering feeling began in my chest.
I tried to push it back by thinking of the other people who had felt nervous at this port today, been nervous and done it anyway. Boarded, let the attendants strap them in or whatever, and meditated to ease their whirling minds. It was normal. Normal and routine. They'd been telling me that since I was eight years old.
The pre-boarding chimes sounded, right over my head. I forced myself to relax. The guide perched on the edge of the couch, next to me, and took my hand. Hers were smooth and somehow just the right warmth. "When does it get bad?" she asked.
Immediately, my heart went to my throat. "Yesterday?" I tried to joke.
She just looked sympathetic. Beside us, the glowing white speck leapt off the table again, beginning its optimistic trek into the lounge room air. I wondered if the guide could sit with me on the ship, too. If we made it that far.
"Halfway up the ramp," I whispered. "When I see it."
She nodded. "You could close your eyes."
I shook my head. (Makes it worse,) I admitted, switching to Linear.
I didn't tell her what I'd see in the darkness.
(I'll walk with you,) she replied. (Come.) We rose with the other travellers and moved away towards the gate. Behind her, the dot reached the end of the parabola and disappeared.
I took a deep breath, trying to distance myself from the suddenly too-loud environment around me. She guided us to the end of the boarding line. The other passengers walked past the scanner, then through the open gate flanked by two male attendants in identical flight uniforms. The others were quickly through, and I was out of time to stall. I barely noticed the scanners, placing my hand over the reader like I'd done at a thousand entrances and exits. No, the real threshold would be past the gate. Where the floor changed.
The guide rejoined me. We stepped through the thick metal doors. My breathing came too fast. I tried to slow it down, while still forcing my feet to walk. Any moment now and they'd all see. They were just waiting for it.
Each second made a different part of my body clench. Jaw, stomach, lungs tightening, until I felt like a poorly-made machine.
And just as predicted, I ground to a halt only a few steps up the ramp.