Anthea's Hope--chapter seven

7

     The starship glided through the inky expanse. Its hull humming with quiet purpose. A faint distortion flickered across the comms panel. 

     Musk leaned forward in the pilot’s seat. He squinted at the controls. 

     “Hmm…” he muttered, tapping the screen. 

     Newton, seated beside him, adjusted his angular glasses. His alien-sharp senses prickled. Before either could react, a voice crackled through the speakers. It was soft. Poignant. Unearthly.

     “...ground control… ground control… ground control…”

     Musk’s head snapped up. 

     “What the hell?” 

     Through the viewport, a figure emerged from the void. A lone astronaut. Suspended in a halo of shimmering dust. His suit was frayed. Visor reflecting the distant gleam of stars. Drifting eternally in the void. A spectral figure in a tattered spacesuit. Floating amid a glistening cloud of stardust.

     “This is Major Tom to ground control… ground control… ground control…”

     His presence was impossible. A ghost of a mission lost to time. Yet there he was. Drifting. Falling. Floating. Weightless. His voice curling into their minds like smoke. Major Tom wasn’t just a ghost of a tragic mission. He was a tempter. A siren of the cosmos. His voice was hypnotic. Tinged with a sadness that seemed to seep into the ship’s hull. 

     “Can you hear me, Elon Musk? Thomas Newton?”

     Newton stiffened. His pale hands gripped the console. 

     Musk, ever the skeptic, smirked. 

     “Nice trick. Who’s broadcasting this?” 

     Major Tom didn’t answer with words. Instead, the cabin dimmed. A wave of sensation washed over them. Weightlessness. Timelessness. The allure of the infinite. His voice deepened. Resonant. Seductive. 

     “Why chase burdens across the stars? Musk, you’ve conquered Earth’s limits. Why tether yourself to another world’s woes? Newton, Anthea has forgotten you. Why bleed for a memory?”

     His words carried a seductive weight. Promising them freedom from their relentless quest. The air thickened with his presence. Visions flickered. Musk drifting among constellations. Free from his ambitions. Newton shedding his human guise. Dissolving into the cosmos where no planet could claim him. 

     Major Tom’s form grew sharper. His outstretched hand beckoned. 

     “Join me, my brothers. The stars don’t judge.”

     Musk clenched his hands into fists. His knuckles stretched white. 

     “From Hell’s heart I stab at thee!” he growled. Eyes blazing with that familiar, unyielding spark. Getting strength from the words. “For hate’s sake, I spit my last breath at thee!”

     Newton, though, faltered. 

     His long exile on Earth had left scars. Decades of isolation. Watching his planet’s pleas fade unanswered. The dead astronaut’s offer tugged at his deepest doubts. Newton’s gaze drifted. Pupils dilating as decades of loneliness melted over him. Years spent on Earth. Failing. Failing. His people’s cries echoing in his skull. The temptation gnawed deeper. To let go. To be free.

     Major Tom sensed the crack. His voice softened. A lullaby now. 

     “Thomas, you’ve carried your burden long enough. Rest here.” 

     The ship’s systems flickered as if bending to his will. Thrusters idling. Course drifting. Newton’s hand hovered over the navigation panel. Trembling. Poised to surrender. 

     Musk shot him a glance. Sharp. Brutal. 

     “Newton!”

     Newton’s head jerked. Had he been sleeping? He looked at Musk. Thought about his wife. His children. Were they still alive? Then looked forward again.

     “Fuck this guy!”  he said.

     Musk sprayed a mouthful of spit in laughter. 

     “Yeah,” he grinned, “fuck this guy!”

     Newton’s hand steadied. His alien resolve resurfaced. Cool. Crystalline. His fingers danced across the console. Recalibrating the trajectory with surgical precision. Cranking the thrusters to full burn. 

     Major Tom’s image wavered. His siren song faltered.

     “...ground control… ground control… ground control…”

     The starship surged forward. The visions shattered like glass. The seductive pull snapping under the roar of engines. Major Tom’s form faded. His outstretched hand dissolving into cosmic sparkles. His voice a dwindling whisper swallowed by the void. The ship tore forward. Unshaken. Unstoppable.

     After enough time had passed, Musk relaxed. 

     “I guess it’s easier to avoid temptation than to resist it,” he told Newton. 

     Newton adjusted his glasses. 

     “Indeed,” he said.