Nate B Quill

Proxima Centauri b—Earth’s nearest exoplanetary neighbor—had been a subject of fascination for nearly a century. Now, nearly four years after the first launch toward its orbit, John found himself marooned aboard a ship swallowed by its own jungle of oxygen-producing foliage.

John was resting in his cot. Sluggishly moving out of his uncomfortable pod, followed by a morning workout, not because he enjoyed it but because he had to. His muscles had already dystrophied beyond repair, the return to earth’s gravity now beyond reach. Instead he exercised to keep his heart alive, to live long enough to feed his thirst for knowledge. 

His legs shook from the working, his muscles not as strong as they once were, but he still had his daily chores. Towards the storage rooms. One left. One right. The cold from this section of the ship never ceased to shock him, but it was a necessity for the experiments being performed. Looking around, a bunch of purple containers filled the chamber. The color was his own addition to the ship’s design, something he was quite proud of when it caught his eye every morning. He pulled a few latches, collecting some of the air from the planet’s atmosphere for further testing later in the day. 

While waiting for the air to diffuse into the gas chambers, John went to do other chores. Poor planning had depleted the original oxygen supplies nearly a year ago now, the zero g agriculture program was forced to grow greatly. 

John took a sharp scalpel out of his bag. He made a clear incision into Barry’s abdomen, just left of his stomach. From the same bag, he took out a small spoon and mixed the contents of his stomach, before using a small scoop to retrieve the nutrients within. He scrunched his nose from the odd smell, before finally spreading them across the plants that covered the junglescape he called his home. 

“Gosh Barry, if only you could see this, maybe this many plants could have supported both of us! Apologies for my rash decision, but it was your life or both of us.” He continued talking to him, explaining his problems and how he might solve them, almost like a rubber duck. 

He returned to process the gases collected earlier. The atmosphere had a fraction of a percent more oxygen than the day prior. He returned to his friend Barry “O2 levels are up. Not sure why that might be. You think there’s a leak?” Of course there wasn’t a response, but John imagined what he might say. “Perhaps a leak? It would be unfortunate if that were the thing that killed you, the same thing you killed for”. John chuckled to himself. “I suppose all we can do now is wait”.