Sarah7

She stumbled backwards away from the ancient corpse, almost falling as her weak legs struggled to keep her upright. She realized now how the air, the dust, and the decay all around her felt. It felt like a tomb. The back of her foot hit something else in the dirt. It was hard, and round. She bit her lip and slowly looked over her shoulder. It was not another body, ‘thank goodness’, she thought. It was a helmet of some kind, grey and oddly padded on the outside, with a broken glass visor. What struck her eye was that there was a light blinking within the helmet.

Coughing again from the dust, she slowly lifted the helmet closer, and could see that the light was blinking rapidly from blue to green, and it was raised to suggest it might be a button of some sort. Should she press it? What if it was some kind of self-destruct? Terror gripped her with a coldness greater than the dry, fetid air and the slick moisture from whatever container she had been in.

She looked about the room. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, but beneath that dust were dimly lit control panels, angular walls, and a hard metal floor that all pointed to technology of some kind. The room looked somehow familiar to her, but how could that be? She could not remember anything. Was her name Sarah? And why seven? Was she the seventh member of some kind of crew? Was this a ship of some kind? That thought triggered something. A suggestion of a thought.

Yes, she had been here before. But, why? Suddenly furious at her own fears, and desperate for some kind of knowledge, she pressed the button inside the helmet.

“... this is an S.O.S. It is now day 36,524 since this signal was started. I am trapped in a service elevator and I cannot move. If anyone is listening, please respond. This is an S.O.S. It is now day 36,524 since...” She listened to the message repeat again and again, but could not imagine how it could be possible. It must be automated. Thirty six thousand days? How could anyone be alive after that time? That was almost... almost one hundred years!

She sat down on the floor hard and began weeping in despair. Her mouth tasted of metal and bitterness.

“This is an S.O.S. ... Hello? Is someone out there? ”

What?! She grabbed for the helmet convulsively and dropped it on the floor. After a dusty scramble for it, she punched the blinking button again.

*Cough* *Cough* “Hello? Are you there? Hello?” she cried desperately.

“Yes. Yes! I am here! Who is this? How can you be communicating with me? “ the voice was odd somehow. The inflections were … off. But right now she didn’t care. If it was another person - someone she could communicate with - then perhaps she could find a way out of... wherever she was. And perhaps he might have some idea who she was.

“I - I found a helmet of some kind. It had this blinking light. I pressed it, and I could hear your S.O.S” she said.

Her own voice sounded tight and panicky to herself. A thought passed her awareness lightly. Was she perhaps crazy? Would that explain what was happening to her?

“You must have found one of the soldiers’ combat helmets. They scan all active channels and that one must have picked up on my signal. I am very fortunate that you happened upon it. May I enquire as to your name?” the odd voice seemed eerily calm for someone who had been trapped in a service elevator for... 100 years? She tried to place things together in a way that made sense, but felt herself slipping toward panic.

“My name? Uh. You see, I seem to be having trouble remembering who I am. I just woke up in some kind of container full of fluid, and when I looked at it, it said ‘Sarah 7’. I guess that’s who I am”

It sounded even stranger as she said it out loud. How could she even be here, in the middle of some kind of broken down laboratory, or something? Was this some kind of test?

There was a long pause. The voice did not respond at first. “Hello? Can you still hear me?” she began to panic again.

“Yes. Yes I hear you. Are you sure about this? Are you sure the sign read ‘Sarah 7’?” the voice, while lacking much in inflection, seemed to be very anxious now.

“Yes! Where am I? Who are you? Where are we?” Her voice ended higher than she intended. She was going crazy. She had to be.

“Calm down, Sarah. My name is Max. I can help you. But you first have to help me. I’m trapped in this service elevator, probably about three floors down from your location. We are in a spaceship called the ‘Starlight Hope’. It crashed several years ago. You and I are probably the only survivors. You’re going to have to come down to get me. I cannot move.”

“Spaceship?” she said, but as she did, it clicked somehow within her subconscious. Of course. This was a spaceship. Vague memories of walking these halls, being aboard a spaceship before brushed lightly on her consciousness. This Max’s words seem to ring true.

“Okay, okay. I can come get you, I guess. But tell me one thing. How long has this ship been crashed here?”

Again, a long pause.

“Ninety nine point nine nine years.”

Sarah - if that was her name - fell back to the floor in a cloud of dust. She put her head in her hands and wept freely.

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