It was late in the nebulous night when The Herakles was stopped in the middle of its charted course through the near unending inky black galaxy. The old ship was a reconstructed and repurposed model from back when a trip into space was a rare and honorable mission, something a person trained years for the privilege of. But that was a very, very long time ago. Nowadays, you could get a trip through the terrible cold of the galaxy for nothing but the scraps in your pocket and a promise of your silence. So long as you were of a sturdy nature and didn’t mind quietly taking part in illegal government dealings.
On this particular trip there happened to be only two passengers. There was Hector, a rough piece of work who was called in to clean up loose ends, which he’d do without so much as a flinch. Though, he’d take any job that paid well enough to keep him fed. Then there was Oren, who only appeared on record eleven years ago when he came out of the woodwork with a cure for a deadly virus that had been ravaging the lower levels of the planet. He couldn’t have known that the disease was sent with the purpose of quelling the murmurs of revolution. Still, he had found himself in too deep, and so here he was all these years later looking for a way out.
To say the two didn’t like each other would have been a severe understatement. Since they met there had been a constant undercurrent of choking, despairing, malevolent suspicion in every interaction they had. Each was committed to thinking the other was only an opportunity away from stabbing them in the back. If Hector was too harsh and rash, then Oren was too cold and calculated. Regardless, they fit together like a glove and fought even better. Playing an intricate game where they would ignore one another while also keeping a careful eye on the other’s every move, they tried to pry as much information out of one while keeping their own secrets close.
They were reaching the conclusion of their boiling pot relationship, almost at one another’s throats, when the ship gave a painful lurch and slammed them to the floor, and then, with a terrible screech, the lights went out.
When the two awoke a droning siren was burning a spot in the back of their heads, and everything was cast in a dark red warning light.
“God damn it,” groaned Hector as he rubbed the goose egg that was already forming on his forehead. “What did you do?”
Oren ignored Hector, stumbling into the control room in a state of near panic. What he saw spelled their doom. Alert after alert filled the screen, every one a problem that neither were capable of fixing. Once the alerts were cleared away though, their real death knell could be seen.
The Herakles was remodeled with no windows, as they had proved to be an unnecessary danger in carting untrained people across the galaxy. Because of this there was only one way to see what was outside: the screen on the control console.
When Hector made it into the room, Oren was already storming out, leaving the other man to stare despondently at the screen as the gravity of the situation set in.
It was a while before Hector went to find Oren. The ship's sirens had faded into the background at last and the red lights were now normal to the eye. Periodically, the ship would rock and creak as it was squeezed in the grip of a creature far larger than itself.
When Hector found him, Oren was sitting on the floor next to the exit door, arms on his knees and his head resting against the wall. The air between them was sour. Nonetheless, Hector sat on the opposite side of the door.
"I don't want to die with you."
Oren scoffed, refusing to look at him. "It's not my deepest desire either, trust me."
The ship let out an unpleasant rumble making them both shiver.
“I had thought it would be fine, when we were fighting? I was fine that we were going to kill each other. But now we’re going to be killed by a creature that I will never know a thing about, and I’ve decided I don’t want to die with a stranger.”
Oren pressed his hands hard over his eyes and wished that he was anywhere else. After a moment though, he dropped them and turned his head towards Hector, eyes downcast. “I was an orphan. That’s why there’s no record of me. I was abandoned on the streets at only a few hours old. Was bounced from place to place until I could start to fend for myself.”
Hector blinked. Then blinked again. "Why're you telling me this?"
“So that you can die in the middle of nowhere with a man you know.”
As if it were as simple as that. But an understanding has been offered now, maybe it was more meaningful for all that they had fought each other, and they can at least die with someone who knew them.
“I never had much money growing up. My momma, she could only work so much, and so she did what she could to get food on the table. But one year, she lost her job, and nobody would hire her. So I went out looking, and being the strong kid that I was, I found work quick enough. Momma never wanted to hear about it, she disapproved of course, but it kept food on the table.”
They went on like that, trading stories, misgivings, highs and lows. Trading their very lives. As they shared their stories, something more began to grow between them.
As they talked the creaking and shifting of the ship got more intense. Sometimes there would be a long period of groaning from the ship before a large section caved in with a sharp noise.
A particularly rough jolt drew the two out of memories of the past and back to the present danger.
“I should thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting me die with a friend.”
It wasn’t a question, but when Oren looked up Hector’s eyes shone with a glimmer of hope.
Oren chuckled, “I don’t need your thanks Hector. I should like to die with you too.”
In that moment the two understood each other better than they had ever been understood before. What had begun to grow had taken shape in their conversation and perhaps one day it could become something more than either of them would have ever thought.
But as they accepted their fate, The Herakles began to shift and shriek. On the control screen the creature could be seen as it pulled itself apart from the wreck of the ship. For it had only come to feast upon their dramatic conclusion, and it had no interest in what had now become a beginning.