Pov - Firstclass

A crackle in my helmet speaker. “Saito, this is Solstice. Status report.”

Because I’m First Class. And First Class means you go first, yes. But it also means you go alone. Every other human being is down there, under that blanket of atmosphere, breathing real air, feeling rain on their faces, arguing about stupid things that don’t matter. And I’m up here, touching a scorch mark on a dying machine, wondering if I’ve forgotten what it feels like to want something. firstclass pov

There’s a spot on the station’s hull that I’ve passed a hundred times before. It’s a small scorch mark, about the size of my palm, where a micrometeoroid hit two years ago. I remember the night it happened. I was inside, drinking rehydrated coffee, when the whole station shuddered and alarms blared. We thought we were dead. Turned out to be a fleck of paint traveling eighteen thousand miles per hour. A crackle in my helmet speaker