The view from the port window was amazing every time. From far enough way, the petty squabbles of the people below seemed so insignificant. The vast expanses of blue and white, green and brown, made it impossible to even imagine that a war might have been going on, soldiers killing soldiers or murder on the streets of some major city that was maybe a barely noticeable speck from this distance.
The elderly man smiled as he continued to stare out the glass. Even though he knew full well it wasn’t actually glass (one of the engineers on board explained it to him on multiple occasions but he could never recall the actual name), he still preferred to think of it as such. For some reason, the familiarity of the substance made him feel more at home than any sort of knowledge of the safety behind the science of what was actually there.
There was a knock at the door. The man smiled to himself. The knocking was another quaint insistence of his; the tone that the button outside created was so very impersonal. He preferred every guest to knock instead, as it often could tell him so much about what was on the other side. Before they ever came in, he could often tell who it was, what kind of mood they were, and sometimes was even able to figure out what they wanted.
Sure, the screen next to the bed that showed via strategically placed cameras what exactly was on the other side of the door, down to fluctuations in their body temperature and electronic equipment they have on their person, could have easily told him much of the same information. It didn’t feel right though. It was cheating, like a calculator on a math quiz or a map during a survival exercise. Depending on these machines instead of your instincts would only get you killed.
He laughed at his own train of thoughts. This coming from a guy who’s sitting in a space station, completely dependent upon the technology around him to keep him alive.
“Come in, Commander,” he said finally. The door opened a moment afterwards, and Commander Kelsee walked into the room. She stood just inside the doorway as it closed behind her, not saying a word until the admiral turned to face her.
He smiled. Her attention to the little details of protocol was why she was largely his main point of contact on the station. She kept track of everyone’s idiosyncrasies, managing to avoid offending anyone and learn almost everything about someone within moments of meeting them. She exuded perfect control, both over herself and others. Even him.
Most importantly, though, she was trustworthy. She believed in her ideals, and his for that matter, and that made her the most important part of the small team up here.
He turned around to face her. He found the habit of his former superiors to talk to their subordinates with their back turned to be exceedingly rude. It does not matter where you stand; you always stand there because of each person, alive or dead, that followed you there, and forgetting that was the fastest route to betrayal, or worse, complacency.
This time, however, he didn’t say anything immediately after turning around. Her knock was a little faster, a little higher than she gave when she was coming in for appointed rounds. Not enough to cause alarm, but enough to know she had something to say. So he waited for her to speak first.
She hesitated before speaking. It wasn’t a good sign. “You have to teach me sometime how you can tell so much just from the sound of a knock.”
She was making small talk. Another bad sign. Still, he smiled his best disarming smile. “It’s easy enough to explain, but noticing the differences really just comes with time and attention. Regardless, I don’t think you came here to discuss knocking.”
Her expression didn’t change. It remained as unreadable as it did when she first arrived. He was reminded once again to never play poker with her.
“The engineers and physicists have gone over the numbers one more time. There’s no way around it; one way or another, we’re going to go out of orbit, regardless of how we use the maneuvering engines.”
He nodded, the grin leaving his face. “No way to get a ship out here to rescue sir?”
“No sir. Communication with anyone on the surface would reveal our position.”
“And the centrifugal plan?”
“Not in our current orbit, sir. We are too far away from moon’s orbit to use it, and our air wouldn’t last long enough to use any other celestial body.”
He leaned against the table in the center of the room. The image from the camera on the bottom of the station showed clearly on the surface the table the land directly below them: a large city, hundreds of buildings and criss-crossing streets filling the entire. The older admiral stared at the table for a long time. He knew why he was selected to lead this mission, and he knew what he would decide to do in the end, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.
“We’re all knew what we were getting into when we signed up for the mission, Sir.” The Commander spoke softly to him, as if to someone mourning. “You don’t hold responsibility for all of us; we all made the decision.”
“No offense, Commander, but you don’t have to press the damn button.”
“That’s true, Admiral. Although I will, if you won’t.”
The admiral stayed there for a moment, continuing to stare at the table. Minutes passed before he found himself able to respond, looking up at her. “You don’t have to worry about that, Commander. I know what’s at stake here.”
“It will save hundreds of thousands of lives, and bring--”
“Peace to people who have never known it, yes, I know.” He sighed. “But someone has to show respect for those that are sacrificing their lives to make peace happen. Both us up here, and those down there.” He gestured back to the table at the image on the table.
The commander didn’t respond, outside of a small nod. After another moment of silence, the admiral waved her away, and she left the room.
He sat down at the table, and stared out the window for a little while longer. Peace. It was easy to imagine up here, despite how impossible it was to achieve when he was below just months before. The irony of whole situation settled on him like a cloak of iron, snuggly holding him to the seat of execution.
He looked at the table once more. Then he closed his eyes, and stared at the keypad in front of him. He entered the code he had committed to memory long before he ever left earth’s atmosphere. There was only a short pause before the view from the camera turned white. The delay from the white-washed image and the view of the crater where the city once was took much longer.
He looked out the glass window once more from his chair, as it began to retreat much faster than he had expected it to. He knew they would be traveling fast as the weapon pushed back on the station, but distance was an illusion in space. A part of him was still hopeful up until a moment ago that help might catch up with them, but that seemed unlikely at this rate.
He stood up, heading out of the room. Morale was always at its worse when death is a certainty, and he had a job to do.
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