The Watching Star

Darkness. Not night-darkness. Not almost-morning darkness. This darkness ate light. No sky, no line where anything ended or began - just dead rock under his boots and nothing above.

Landon Brooks tried to breathe, but his chest caught against the suit's metal frame. OXYGEN DEPLETION—FIVE MINUTES REMAINING. The red warning light pulsed in the corner of his vision, fast like a trapped thing.

His radio crackled. He'd tried every channel, every emergency code, every goddamn frequency they'd ever used. Nothing came back but static. His lips were moving but he couldn't tell if he was still speaking or just thinking about speaking.

He looked up. Stars everywhere, too sharp, too bright. The whole galaxy scattered across black nothing. But one star grabbed him and wouldn't let go.

Not special. Not different from the others. But his eyes locked onto it anyway, like it was watching back.

His laugh came out as a cough. His fingers were clumsy as he hit the transmission button.

"Commander Landon Brooks. Mission ID 347-A. Nobody's there. Nobody's coming. It's just me."

The silence after felt heavier than before.

His mouth was dry. The air tasted like pennies and battery acid. Each breath came in thinner than the last.

"Guess it's you and me," he said to the star. "You seeing this? Anyone up there?"

Nothing answered. But he stared at it anyway, that one point of light that maybe, just maybe, burned a little brighter.

His chest jerked with a spasm. The cold wasn't fear anymore - fear had burned out hours ago. This was emptier. Quieter.

His hand hovered over the transmission switch. One last try. One more shout into nothing.

"Not ready," he whispered. "Not yet."

One shallow breath. He pressed the button.

One weak signal pulsed out into the black.

The star didn't blink. The universe didn't care.

Then silence.