I wake up. Day 1,756 on this damn station. Day 1,952 since my mother died.
I sigh and sit up. This is not a hard a task in 0.1 gravity. This is one of the benefits of having my sleeping quarters located near the hub of the station. For those who haven’t slept in near zero g, the mattress has yet to be made that competes with this. Talk about sleeping on a cloud.
But it is hard to work in light gravity, so I make my way down one of the six grey tunnels that form the spokes of the station. Down towards the “office,” as the company insists on calling it. Those of us in that actually work in these places have another name for it.
There are no scheduled visits today. There rarely are at my station. Being that I am located on the edge of known space, I really only ever get traffic from scientific expeditions. And what with the downturn in the economy, the government is funding less and less of those. I wonder how long it will be before the company starts to close down the fueling stations.
But it is a steady – if lonely – job. That is what I signed up for. I never married. After my mother died I didn’t have any family left. I was always better with machines than people. It just seemed natural to trade in the latter for the former.
I like it.
I “fire up” the computers, which is wiggling trackball around until the monitors come on. I guess we use the term so that we can sound like people of action. Not that I have anyone to impress. I am all alone, after all.
Except for the bogey the monitor shows approaching the station.
I bring up the calendar and double check, though I know what I will find. Nothing. There are no scheduled events. No ships, no satellites, no meteors. Nothing.
Yet, the blip stubbornly continues to move towards me.
I try to hail it. No response.
It is still too far out to see by any visual means. By the speed of it, I have about two hours before it arrives, which means that headquarters will not get my message until it is six hours to late. I compose a message anyway and send it off. I attempt to hail the blip again. Again, no response.
I stare at the screen for ten minutes, then decide that there is nothing that I can do at the present anyway. So I check the maneuvering thrusters – just in case – and then go about my daily chores.
I am interrupted by a beep announcing a message. There is nothing identifying the sender. The message reads, “Hello. Please respond?”
Not your normal correspondence. I check the triangulation and see that it appears to be coming from the direction of the bogey. It is hard to imagine where else it could be coming from.
I respond “This is refueling station Exxon 14523. Please identify yourself.”
An immediate reply. “We require fuel. Willing to barter.”
I snort. What do they have on board, chickens?
“Please identify yourself.”
A longer pause this time.
“We are not known to you.”
No shit, Sherlock. I think this, but I follow company policy instead and reply: “You MUST identify yourself in order to receive permission to dock with this station.”
I do not hear anything back for ten minutes, so I begin to plan an evasive maneuver. I am interrupted by another beep.
“Remain calm. We are from what you refer to as Cluster MG-4253. We require fuel. Will barter.”
Who do these clowns think they are? I wasn’t born yesterday, and they sure as shit ain’t getting my fuel for free. Still, we are taught to be diplomatic…
“Please provide proof. Then we will talk. What do you propose to barter?”
I prepare to finish the maneuver plan, but a return message appears before I start to type.
“Please see attached video. For barter, we provide your mother.”
I open the attached video. The creatures on it are not human. I run a quick check. The file has not been altered. Which means…
Holy.
Shit.
My mind stops working. But then, a word calls me back to the present. Mother.
Mother.
Are they fucking kidding? Is this a sick joke. First contact or not, these guys are douchbags. I fire back.
“My mother? Go fuck your alien selves.”
A new message.
“Do not understand the proposed activity. Please open a video link.”
I start the video and…
And…
And I see my mother. Sitting right there. Smiling. At me.
Her face disappears behind my tears.
