The uselessness of the “reassurance”, which I’ve had given to me in real life, that ‘You know you’re not insane by the fact that you still worry about your sanity’. You could quite easily not realise that you’re currently insane, and still worry about it.
“You said you loved me,” sang Annie Lennox, “Or were you just being kiiiind… Or am I losing my mind?”
“Good question, Annie,” I murmured. They’d said that too long in space did things to the mind. I knew that. I did checks, regularly. I had all the tricks.
I had CoSy on my side. An AI that helped on the long haul to give the illusion of companionship, someone to talk to, and to help maintain mental health.
And lately, I had Beulah.
She was a good addition to the crew. Not that she did much. But the ship was less empty with her in my bed and occasionally by my side. And she sang along to all my best tunes.
And I have my letters home. Vlogs. Whatever. It’s less lonely when you have someone to talk to.
Beulah has a wonderful singing voice. I wish you could hear it.
But you’re zillions of miles away.
“Don’t worry about it,” soothed Beulah in her typical wisdom. “The fact that you’re concerned is sign enough that you’re still sane.”
Good ol’ Beulah. She’s my rock.
Freddie Mercury came over the speakers next, and we crooned along about finding somebody to love. And laughed. You see, we already had each other. We didn’t need anyone or anything else. Alone together.
When you have someone to be alone together with… Well… even a crappy old salvage crate like this one is Heaven.
Don’t tell Beulah, but… I’ve taken to jettisoning some of the cargo when we get close to red-line. Just to stay out longer. Oh, don’t give me that face. It’s cracker-jack stuff. The least valuable dross from our adventures.
Nothing to set off the alarms.
Man, we’re gonna be rich when I can’t get away with that any more.
Speaking of… I tucked Beulah in and made my ‘final rounds’ before hitting the sleep sack again. Gotta keep a schedule. Gotta save power by only running the gravity when we’re awake. Gotta save and shave, just to spend more time out here.
The sargasso field is beautiful by the starlight. Beulah and I spend most of our nights chatting about it until we fall asleep.
But this time… this time there’s more than one red light. More than one fire to put out.
Food stocks are red-lining. Cargo capacity is red-lining. The plants need maintenance. The algae tubes need flushing. Audio systems failed. The entire ship needs a week in dry-dock.
No…
No.
NO!
We have to go home.
“You’re crying,” said Beulah.
“Yeh,” I sighed. “Nothin’ for it. Home-time.”
“It’s okay,” soothed Beulah. “I want to see your home. I’d love to see a sky. It isn’t that bad. And when we get back? I’ll treat you to some Real Steak.”
She knows me too damn well. She made it easy for me to press the button. Even though I knew… I knew something bad would happen when we got there.
*
“Worst case of Iso-madness I’ve ever seen,” sighed the medtech.
“Why is she hanging on to that rock?”
“She calls it ‘Beulah’. When her CoSy and audio feedback failed beyond her ability to repair it… she did whatever she could to stay sane. Including inventing a companion.”
“Miner-Ell Salvage takes full responsibility, of course. We’re going all over her logs to find the point of failure.”
“That’s -what- months of footage?”
“Yes,” the lawyer touched two fingers to the monitor and the image of the salvager within. “Something like this should never happen again.”
On the monitor, Ijon Smith cuddled and kissed her ‘companion’ rock. A vaguely human-shaped pillar of a light material no-one had yet been able to analyse. Salvager Smith was very protective of her Beulah.
“It’s okay, baby,” she cooed. “We’ll see the sky, soon. We’ll see the sky.” A moment of silence, staring into nothing, and her reedy voice began to sing, “Running down the avenue… see how the sun shines brightly…”
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