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Patron saint of one way trips
They called her Laika.
She guards the stars, some of the faithful told him. She went out to find something new a sister whispered into the dark after curfew was called. she never came back.
she was sent after the missing planets. Another sibling whispered as they forced their way into a vent, screws clattering to the floor. she runs through nebulas, and chases planets
I heard she wasn’t a person, but a dog. A brother said. When Simon asked what a dog was, the brother had confidently claimed they were like a person, but hairy all over and with four legs. They made a sound like a scream.
It was more of a whisper, another acolyte claimed over ration packs. They could speak like people.
No, no, they sang, another one claimed.
They barked, an elder told him, the last time he was brave enough to bring it up, when he still questioned too much, looked towards the stars and thought they were still there and alive. The elder made a sound, an odd and guttural yip. They looked unhappy as soon as they did it, as if it wasn’t quite right.
Personally, Simon didn’t know what was charming about dogs, unable to picture it in his mind. A hairy, screaming thing.
The brother said the dogs had gone long before the trees, even as stations fought to preserve their pets. Resources diverted, but it was too little, too long.
There wasn’t one on Eden, but other stations had had them. Remnants now. Simon had to bludgeon an old man who attacked him after he made the mistake of tossing away a worn red ball that was in his way. He doesn’t want the man to die. He doesn’t. But the butcher cannot leave someone to live, cannot fail a mission. Is not allowed to fail. With each day, he finds himself loathing his title more.
(When the old man dies, he is still holding the ball.)
In the end, the story is the same.
They say she was sent up to the stars, in the name of progress, put in an iron ship. Those that sent her, knew that she would die in the ship. They never planned to bring her home. They killed her for progress.
and those who are changed irreversibly by those trips
He was beaten, when he made the mistake of telling one of the elder acolytes, asking them about her. It was not a one way trip to find the stars and the planets, there was nothing but the tree. To claim Laika, was to claim that there might be something, when there was nothing.
Only the Quiet Rapture.
Those who keep her in mind, grow quieter and quieter. The whispers linger, hidden deeper and deeper, passed along before the voices disappear, a new voice picking up her name. He remembered how the last tree had faded by inches, moments, leaves drifting down quietly, and thinks that when it died, it took Eden with it. A second quiet death, in agonizing crawl.
Still, Simon thinks of her.
Put in an iron ship
Like Laika he tries, as they weld him in to the iron ship, ignoring the churning in his gut. The welder raises an eyebrow, a gruff is that another one of your cult loonie guys?
There is no recognition in their eyes.
Only the captain flinches.
(Later, he knows it’s because she knows. Because Laika was put in the iron ship and she never came back. Killed in the name of progress.
The captain knows who Laika is.)
Those that sent her, knew that she would die in the ship
The brother’s message plays. I will have my freedom. They will have their execution. Simon tears through the manuals. A chart grows on the wall, an exhaustive map.
The oxygen ticks lower. The heat grows. He’s sweltering. He aches, a low thudding in his head, a burning in his eyes as he darts between the controls and the map. His body burns. He thinks some of the blood dripping from the ceiling leeched into his lungs, a wet sound at the back of his breathing.
Just a bit further, he tells himself. They said that they’d free him if he did this.
He just needs to return from his trip.
They never planned to bring her home.
Even as Ava speaks over the radio, he already knows the truth. The heat and pressure are crushing now, he’s fighting for every breath. His heartbeat and breathing increased, panic and terror overtaking him, even as he tries to keep moving forward.
They never planned to bring him up. Ava tells him she can’t reach him, and he knows, he’ll die in this iron cage. Another sacrificed to an iron ship, another who walked in, unknowing of their fate.
A one way trip down into the blood ocean.
Simon, he tells her, when she asks for his name. He is named, before he dies. She’ll remember it. At least they know his name now.
They sent him to die, and they didn’t even know his name.
They killed her for progress.
This is bigger than you. He tells himself, bloodied hand, fumbling with the life jacket. It clicks, shut, finally, blessedly.
He doesn’t know if this black box actually contains a future, a hope. But if he cannot live, then he might as well go out fighting to the last. That he’s going to die for something.
He tucks the pendant in, thinks of the last tree. The red ball. And prays.
As the teeth sinks in, he channels his last spark of rage, the pure hopeless fury of someone who knows they are about to die, and depressurizes the iron lung.
If he dies, he will die for something.
And as the blood cascades in, as he fights for the last breath, even at the very end, he still wants to live, as he feels heat and pressure crushing in on him, the lost distant wail of something- god monster parasite fish demon because what else is this but some sort of wasteland-
Somehow, louder than the rest, he hears a distant bark of a dog.
Not the fake, ragged sound one of the elders had made, but something high, clear. And somehow, he finds himself recognizing it for what it is.
And then another, as the iron cage collapses away, as the monumental eye is closing.
A bark. Racing closer to meet him.
Simon forces himself forward. Against the pressure, the heat, the pain, racing forward to meet them. One last journey.
The air begins to cool, the pressure lifts. The pain eases, as something small presses into his arm- arms, again. Both arms are back, as if they were never gone, the pain in his head, his chest finally easing. The little tail they have wags, excited to find him. Dark eyes look up at him, the quiet spark of recognition at one another, another traveler going one way.
It is warm and furry, and so unlike what he had thought when he pictured a dog, and yet, he knows her for who she is.
Laika.
She’s perfect. She’s lovely. A soft kiss against his nose and she presses to his chest, a comfort he hasn’t felt in years.
He’s not alone.
They’re not alone.
They’re free now.
Safe.
No blood.
No pressure.
No heat.
No terror.
No iron ship.
Just stars.
Simon curls around Laika, pressing his face into her fur and cries.
and other journeys from which you can never return