Coffin

by David Kosten

[Coffin-1134, Mender Log: 001, Date: ERROR]

Coffin-1134…it’s a fitting name. It was a joke back then, back on the satellite. One time I was even tapped on the shoulder, and when I turned around, there was a printed replica of an antique calculator flipped upside-down in my face, the numbers 4-3-1-1 embossed upon it. Moments later it was whipped away from me, replaced by a burly man grinning from ear to ear. Seeing how his grin did not reach his soft brown eyes, I could only muster a faint smile in return.

We both knew how this voyage would end, even though we would never admit it. It didn’t matter that over half of the Coffin autopilots reached their destination without complications. It didn’t matter that cryosleep supposedly only left passengers with mild flu-like symptoms. It didn’t even matter that those we left behind on the satellite would get a lifetime stipend for our “entrepreneurial” spirit.

In the best case, we would land on a hostile world under the rule of a Von Neumann probe, never to see our homes again, working till the day we died. In the worst case—well—that’s this case.

Alright, enough evasion…I must come to terms with it—so, out with it. I am going to die on this ship. My death was finalized the moment I signed on to be the Mender and was subsequently awoken.

If I had known back then that the worst case would come true, rather than it just being a heightened, abstract risk factor, would I still have done it? Would I still have gone through the screening, enlistment, and training? Would I have still, with a smile on my face, promised those I loved that there was nothing to worry about, that it was just something to increase their stipend?

I think—I think I would have to. Once screened it’s nearly impossible to say no, once enlisted the only way out is desertion, and once trained “escape” warps into never ending debt. I couldn’t do that, not to myself, not to them, not to anyone. No, this is my burden to carry, and one I must carry alone.

Besides, I am in too deep to turn back now. There is no way to reactivate the stasis pod; my body will atrophy in a process called space rot. My muscles, bones, vision, immune system, and mind will decay away into nothingness. I can scream, cry, plead, beg—but it’s pointless.

Even worse, though, is the impossible task set before me. The autopilot should have taken Coffin-1134 to the nearest colonized world. It didn’t. The ship states that we are in the Eridanus Supervoid, one of the biggest doldrums of outer space. The problem with this information is that it’s not logically possible. The Eridanus Supervoid is billions of light years away from our origin and destination. I don’t even think it’s achievable for the ship’s autopilot to have gone so far off course for so long without awakening me beforehand.

Not only that, but the status of the power and integrity of the ship don’t match up with the time it would take to get here. It makes sense that all the fission cores have been depleted, broken down, and placed into the Cherish Star—the sole fusion core on this ship. By now though, the Cherish Star should be nothing more than a cold hunk of super condensed detritus. Instead, it’s supposedly functioning within “acceptable norms,” with a couple million light years remaining till it dims enough to be a concern.

Then there’s the integrity of the ship. Orbital motion and the subsequent thermal cycling should have degraded the granite hull and fried the circuitry long, long ago. Obviously, since I can record this log, that hasn’t happened.

So, that leaves the question of what happened and…I don’t know. The ship’s records don’t either. They are corrupted, indecipherable from meaningless gibberish. I’ll try to find a pattern, a method to its madness, but I doubt it will be successful.

Still, because there are no notable resources around to mend with, it’s about all I can do. Perhaps I could adjust the program for whose stasis pods turn off first once the power starts to run out. It was more of an afterthought because of the discrepancy in durability of the power versus the machines, but now it seems to be the most likely eventuality.

Ah! My head! “Mild flu-like symptoms,” yeah right. It hurts...I think I am going to stop this log here and go try to float myself to sleep. Maybe waking up organically will feel better than being forced to do so artificially.

[Coffin-1134, Mender Log: 042, Date: ERROR]

The longer I examine our situation the more hopeless it seems. We are in a deadly river of nothing, a cold void, a forever night that seeks to snuff us out, and I am the only one awake to know it. To the rest, it’s like they never left…or more accurately that they are dead.

I wonder which is preferable, realizing for certain that you are going to die, thus being able to come to terms with it and cherish your last moments or being put in a Coffin with hopes of awakening one day, only to never actually arise from slumber. Strange how I “chose” the former when no one else did. It would be nice to have some company, but I can’t access their terminals on account of me being the Mender. I see why the design isolates my pod from the others, it’s too much of a temptation.

In other news, there is still no progress on decrypting the records and the algorithms for who will die first have been updated for the most likely chance of survival with the least detrimental effects due to inbreeding. Glad I won’t have to deal with that. Hello to anyone who is inspecting these logs who does have to deal with it. All I have to say is you’re welcome. Without me you would have been dead. Ah—who am I kidding. The chances of someone listening or reading to these logs are nonexistent, without several miracles.

Miracles…like artificial gravity, warp technology, realistic holograms, printers that make food, or friendly alien civilizations near me. If only one of those existed, my life would be so much better. In its place I just float around trying to solve an unsolvable problem, create advertisements for the aforementioned miracles with the minuscule amount of scrap I do have, and make logs.

Why am I even still doing these logs anyway? It’s not like protocol will save me, nor will waxing poetic to nobody.

[Coffin-1134, Mender Log: 066, Date: ERROR]

I got something! It’s a signal. It’s a repeating pattern. The computer translates it to the word “waokz,” which is clearly not right, but it’s better than nothing. It’s probably just anomalous radiation but given where I am it really could be something of note.

[Coffin-1134, Mender Log: 088, Date: ERROR]

The signal has been going on for who knows how long. Well, twenty-two logs to be factual, but I honestly have no idea how long the time between each log I record is. Sometimes it changes to “hk waokz,” but other than that, nothing. I don’t know what I expected. In all likelihood, it’s just from an unusually stable pulsar or it’s just another bug in the code.

I mean, was I really thinking it was a message sent specifically to Coffin-1134 in some sort of code that’s in my language? There is no way that could be the case. The isolation and space rot must be getting to me.

[Coffin-1134, Mender Log: 099, Date: ERROR]

I think I have a solution. Not to the records or to the way out of this emptiness, but to the message that’s being sent. I know it makes no sense for it to be a message, but—it just fits. Apparently, there was once a code called a Caesar Cipher where the order of the letters of the alphabet are changed by a certain amount, meaning every “A” would be a “B,” if there was one change; “C,” if there were two changes; and so on.

With six changes the message reads “be quiet.” I know it’s silly, but once I got it, I turned off the tracking beacon. The thing is, once I did that, the signal stopped shortly after. Thinking logically, it might just have been the beacon interfering with the receiver—but I just can’t get the dark forest theory out of my head. In the unknown, eternal night, none can see but all can hear, and, in their fear, they are either poised to strike or worse, ready to hunt. Maybe it is better to keep the beacon off just in case. It’s not like the Von Neumann probe will come and retrieve a Coffin lost in a supervoid anyway.

If I do this though, isn’t it dooming the ship even further? After all, if there is something communicating with me, even if it isn’t friendly, it is probably better to interact with them than to drift pointlessly. I think…I am going to do the opposite of what the message suggests. If I reactivate the beacon and let out some light via igniting the engines, I am bound to get some attention if there is anything that could give it.

I feel like what I am about to do is akin to screaming in a dream. That always felt like a bad idea, and yet, I always wake up afterwards. Maybe it’s a metaphor or something like that.

My hands are shaking. My eyes are getting blurry. It might be the space rot setting in. I’m going to do it. I have to do it, I have to—

[Coffin-1134, Mender Log: 101, Date: ERROR]

This might be my last log. According to the computer, Coffin-1134 has latched on to something’s gravitational pull and is being pulled towards it at a rapid pace. The momentum isn’t slowing down, even with the engines at full throttle. The object isn’t giving off any light or signals. I’m trying to send messages to it—nothing. It could be a black hole, but the speed at which it’s pulling the ship in—I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was just so lonely. I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I—