THE DYING ASTRONAUT
written by sophia ramirez
illustrated by zara belo
composed by willa hawthorne
This document is a transcription of Expedition 74 flight crew communications recorded on the built-in audio recording function of Frank A. Patterson’s headset. After the headset was recovered during search-and-rescue, the audio files were forwarded to NASA Manned Spacecraft Center, Houston, where mission elapsed time was converted to ground elapsed time for this document. Transcription of these files was managed by S. L. Taylor, Test Division, ISS Program Office, to whom inquiries concerning this document should be referred.In the text, one dash (–) indicates a self-interruption. A series of three dots (...) indicates garbling or static. A series of three hashes (###) designates portions of the communications that could not be transcribed because of Patterson’s incoherent screaming.> HELP. ANYBODY.
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> I DON’T BELONG HERE.
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OH GOD
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> OH MY GOD. WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE.
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> I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home. SOMEBODY.
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>
(Mumbling to himself. Many words are unintelligible.)… Okay … recording log, March 21 … This is Frank … crewmember of Expedition 74 aboard the ISS, along with Dimitri Korsakov, Jessica Hines, Kate Ababio, Thomas Walker … hope this is working.
> It’s been … since the ISS exploded. I’ve been trying to re-establish communication with mission control, but I believe the station’s communication system and backup … destroyed. I presume Korsakov, Hines, Ababio –
OXYGEN TANK LEVELS AT 50%. APPROXIMATELY 3.5 HOURS REMAINING. > Yeah, okay. Okay. I presume Korsakov, Hines, Ababio, and Walker to be dead. The station is completely destroyed. I think that thing right in front of my face is an airlock. I saw a mug a while ago. I’m alone. In my spacesuit, with approximately three hours left of oxygen. Three hundred miles above Earth. I’m somewhere above Canada.
> It’s tiny. I could squash those mountains with my boot.
> Anyway, I’m stuck here. Those are the facts. Nothing I can do about them. I figured I should make myself useful and submit our final report on our research on–what was it? Sorry, on the microgravity dynamics of bubble-geometry Bose-Einstein Condensates. Right.
> Months of research. No sense in letting it go to waste. I expect you guys back in mission control will find this after I’m … and use it to reopen the lab up here. I’m just going to be blunt. You have to continue our research. I’m sure it must be hard after something like this … happens.
>
(Clears his throat.) We knew the risks. We’re scientists. We’re pushing the boundaries of … science. Nothing else is relevant. Hines would punch me for saying that, but it’s true.
> …
> Right then. So in the Cold Atom Lab, we were investigating ultracold quantum states of matter and how they apply to macroscopic objects of novel topology. It was incredible–we were breaking ground into totally new realms of BEC physics, especially vortex creation and behavior.
> We essentially created a quantum gas in bubble geometry – well, Hines likes to point out that it’s really more of an ellipsoidal shell structure. She always says we’re laying eggs, just to tease me. Laid eggs. It doesn’t matter.
> What was I talking about?
> The research. Right. Alternative dressing techniques worked fairly well for us. We found we were most successful in reaching the Bose-condensed state in ultracold bubbles through, well, alternative dressing techniques–I already said that. Sorry.
> What were they? The alternative dressing techniques. Radio-frequency dressing? No. Microwave transitions?
> What were they?
> What the hell did we do?
> Radio-frequency … microwave … anti-gravity … dressing … dressing …
>
(A frustrated scream rips out of him.)Shit!
> …
>
(Crying.) Shit.
> …
> I didn’t know–I didn’t know what was happening.
(Spilling out.) I had to adjust some solar panels. It was just a routine spacewalk. Suddenly there was all this static in my headset, and I heard Korsakov scream, and there was a bright light – oh, my God. It was so bright. I just got thrown back.
(The words distort into sobs.)I didn’t know what was happening.
> …
> Jesus. Sorry. I’m sorry.
>
(Exhales.) We were able to form vortices, little whirlpools, in the quantum material, which confirms the previous theoretical work done by, who was it, Nathan Lundblad about, well, you know. Microgravity … and such. I’m sure you already know. It’s very important. He wrote some paper in some journal.
> …
> Open Physics, maybe?
> …
> Sorry. I keep getting distracted.
> I can see Vancouver down there. It’s nighttime. My eyes are adjusting a bit to the darkness.
> So many kids ask me about the view. I could never understand why. I’m one of six human beings in space. I’m pushing the outer-limits of human knowledge. I’m making giant steps for man-fucking-kind. How’s the view? That’s all they want to know.
> Korsakov loved those kinds of questions. He told them all the cute facts, like how we get to experience nighttime sixteen times a day at 45-minute intervals, whenever we’re on the dark side of Earth. He showed them all the Milky Way photos. He loved to sit in the window module, just taking photos.
> I mean, I never wanted to be a downer. Yeah, you see a lot more stars, I guess. That was Korsakov’s thing. There was always too much light in the station for my eyes to adjust in there anymore.
> I’m starting to see the Milky Way a lot more now. There’s Orion down there, right above the horizon. Three sapphires on his belt, he’d say. Korsakov. Dimitri.
>
(Starts humming under his breath. Possibly ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’)I remember the day I first decided I was going to become an astronaut.
> I won first place in my senior year science fair. It’s funny. I can’t remember what my project was about anymore.
> Oh, I’d recommend installing two vacuum chambers next time for the lab, so you can keep up daily experiments if one breaks. The facility had to be completely torn apart and reassembled twice. It really slowed things down.
(Resumes humming.)> This is ridiculous. What the hell am I doing here?
(Laughs.) I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be seeing any of this.
> I should say something to the families, if they’re listening to this. Okay. Yes.
> They loved you guys. I mean, of course they did. That’s stupid. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.
> Jessica wouldn’t stop talking about her mom’s pancakes. She couldn’t wait to go back down there to eat them. Just one bite, she’d say. She’d eat the whole stack in one bite. Thomas –
(Voice breaks.)> Thomas loved his kids. What were their names? Sam and… Bailey? Becky? Becky. I had a girlfriend in high school called Becky. She was so much smarter than me. We always tried to recite more digits of pi than each other.
> Three, one, four, one… five, nine, two, six five, three, five, eight, nine … eight, nine…
> Eight, nine…
> Eight, nine…
> …
> She called me.
(A long, painful whine escapes out of him.)> I don’t want to die.
(Repeats it like an echo.)> I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die.
(Barely whispers. He breathes it out.)> …
> That cloud right under me kind of looks like a giraffe. Or a chimney. It’s skinny, I mean.
> Dimitri should be here instead. God, that’s a shitty thing for me to say. He should be the one doing this. He always told kids how pretty the view was up here. He’d say something good to everyone’s families. I can’t even remember his brother’s name. He talked about him all the time. I know it began with an A. Al–? An–? Antip? Anton? Ant–
OXYGEN TANK LEVELS AT 45%. APPROXIMATELY THREE–> Shut up. Shut the fuck up.
> You cold motherfucker. I’m dying here. Can’t you see I’m dying here? Tell me something useful. Tell me Dimitri’s brother’s name. Tell me more about Jessica’s family besides her mom’s fucking pancakes.
> Tell me – tell me that you pushed yourself…
(Laughs.) three hundred miles away from everyone. You fucking idiot.
> Tell me this is all my fault.
> She called me. Becky. I could barely understand what she was saying. Her voice was so high, quavering in and out. Like the wind could sweep it away. She had been in an accident on the way to the science fair, and she called me. She called me. And I saw the judges coming with their clipboards. One of them had a tie with the periodic table on it, I remember him. He was the one holding the badges in his hand. First, second, third. They were the only colorful things in that whole room.
> Call 911. Rebecca, call 911. And I hung up. The judges came. I smiled. And I won first prize.
> …
> And I became an astronaut.
> And I flew up here.
> I’m right where I wanted to be.
> …
> I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.
(No more verbal communication for the following three hours of recording. For approximately two hours, the crying is deep and all-consuming. Hour three is silence. The exhales, but mostly the space between the exhales, the space between the stars.)WARNING. OXYGEN TANK LEVELS AT 5%. RETURN TO AIRLOCK IMMEDIATELY.> Thanks, helmet.
> Before we came up here, Kate showed me a cartoon where two astronauts are looking down at a tiny Earth, and one says to the other, "Makes you feel more significant than everyone else, doesn't it?"
> I don’t know.
(His breath shivers.)I just feel lonely.
> …
RETURN TO AIRLOCK IMMEDIATELY.>
(Laughs.) You know what?
(Wheezing. More laughter.) You were right, Dimitri. This view. It’s something else.
> It really is.