The speaker crackled to life.
All that space, out here floating and burning fuel and taking on more fuel and burning that too, and it’s still possible to press a button and say a name and make a speaker electronically hump the air in the pattern of a voice.
“Are you there?” her voice.
“Oh yeah hey, what’s up?” he sent back.
A conversation was had. He ended it thus: “Well, I’ve got to get moving here but I’ll catch up with you this week and we can hang out.”
“Ok,” she crackled.
Days passed. Fuel burned. Stars were reflected in eyes and on porthole windows.
It was nice to hear from her. Must be the product of doing what you’re supposed to do, he thought. Get out there and really give the universe hell, and it can only respond with good things for you. All of the exertion and studious moderation would pay off in the end after all.
Days passed. Fuel burned, more fuel all the time. He looked ahead at the fuel he’d be burning in six months and was amazed but hopeful. He looked back at the fuel he was burning only six months before and felt smug and satisfied. Did anyone ever really have to train up to get to 5 thousand pounds of fuel? Ha! Those pussies. Of course, he’d had to.
Well, the only thing to do when you’re feeling so satisfied is to pluck the fruit from the vibrant vine that is the result of all that labor. Ha! Why not? Anyone can see he was moving along very well.
Her frequency. His finger, the button. Presumably somewhere, a crackle.
He waited. It took a while. Well, space is pretty big after all. He flipped knobs and turned dials and piloted. Still nothing.
He went around his ship in the usual routine, pulling this lever, checking that level. Always a wandering eye on the speakers behind their white grilles set into a near wall here or there. They remained mute.
And so.
Gradually eyebrows fell. Gradually the corners of a mouth relaxed. Gradually there was nothing but him and the fuel again. Burning, burning, more all the time. Sooner or later it had to pay off.
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