Alarm sirens were sounding throughout the ship. The crew was rushing to the rescue capsules. The beautiful martial order presiding over the destiny of the ship had given way to total chaos. Shields had already failed. The armor was seriously damaged and decompression sets and devastating explosions where ringing the ship.
All were fleeing to save their lives. All? No. The captain would remain on board until the last moment. It must be said that he had little choice, enshrined as he was in his capsule.
Within it, no excitation. An apparent calm prevailed. The head of the board gave the final orders to the batteries of guns still in firing condition, directed the survivors in the corridors, trying to preserve as long as possible a partial integrity of the ship to fight until the end. The cables connected to the base of his neck were scrolling through a huge amount of information. Vectors of attack, systems conditions, map of the area, estimation of losses, vectors of escapes, all information traveling at a speed that would have seemed excessive to the bare human eye.
Then the capsule was also affected. Crack appeared in the shell and confined air began to leak. A deafening noise invaded the chest of the pilot. He was disturbed by this flux of information his five senses had to analyze, numbed as they were after several months inside the pod.
On the outside, the ship fell to pieces, the steel breaking and air escaping his alcove.
Finally, a missile ripped the hull of the vessel and finished its course close to the capsule. It exploded sending a shock wave making the den where the master lived explode like a fruit too ripe.
The injury of fire, asphyxiation due to lack of oxygen, his eardrums exploding, these were some of the consequences of the explosion. His pulse rose and he gradually lost control of parts of his body. He passed away when a piece of the spaceship launched at hundreds of meters per second passed through his brains.
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Then there was nothing. Total darkness. Not a sound, no noise. Peace. Finally.
The seconds seemed to last for hours. He was trying to order his thoughts.
Then the ambient cold cleared and a gentle heat came. He felt objects moving on his body. His body? How was that possible?
He tried to open his eyes but saw a flickering glow. He was shaken from left to right, shaken in every direction. Then calm again. His eyelids finally managed to rise.
An angel dressed in white smiled to him. Wait ! Why was this angel wearing medical uniforms ? Where was he then ?
The answer came to him a few seconds later:
“Welcome among us. We strive to make your stay in this place as comfortable as possible. But for now, I have to read this legal notice.
You have signed a cloning agreement with our corporation and we are proud of your choosing of our services. The capsule containing your body had been destroyed and your mind automatically downloaded to this new receptacle, we are pleased to announce that in less than a week you will be fully operational by the terms of our contract. If it were not to be the case then you would be reimbursed for any costs incurred and recorded in our medical program,” read monotonically the nurse.
And voila. He remembered it all now. The explosion, the pain, the cold darkness. He had experienced death for the first time. And for the first time he had come back to life. Tears began to flow down his cheeks while he backed into restful sleep, assisted by a well adjusted infusion.
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The days went by and looked alike. Gradually he took control of that body which was now his. He had now a final stage to cross, to look into the mirror.
The doctor and a nurse were at his side and led him to a large mirror where he was fully reflected.
He discovered for the first time his new avatar. He went and began to scrutinize the face that was looking at him with a sniff of disdain. From a distance it looked like his former face but as soon as he approached the illusion was dispelled. There was something wrong. A kind of artistic blur. The contours were not as accurate as before. It was him and it was not at the same time. His eyes had lost this particular reflection that used to illuminate his face and appealed to women. His scar. Where was it? It had also disappeared. It had taken long months to get used to it and now it was gone.
He hoped to see himself in the mirror and what was reflected was the face of a stranger. Should he have expect a perfect result for the amount paid? Obviously not.
He now was out of the clinic since a month. He was wandering in the city, unable to order his thoughts. His mind was telling him to start again as before. But his reflection in the mirror was telling him something else. He was no longer himself. These patched up dead skins who watched him when he went to a window or a mirror gave him the thrill. Was it normal to live again, live again in the garments of another? Upon looking in more detail at the deliquescent envelope, he felt seeing it fall apart and sow dead parts of himself on his way. He was nothing more than a walking corpse, lost in the maze of the city, death at his shoulder. His nostrils reeked. Was it the smell of decomposing tissues? He wanted to tear the skin, release himself of the mortuary costume, but he managed only to graze his flesh and numb his fingers.
It had to end.
He took out of his pocket the Derringer he always kept on him, put it against his temple and pressed the trigger. Once again his brain flew into pieces. But this time no more second chance. No more backup solution. Death. Peace. Liberation from this body too heavy to bear. Free. Finally …
Von Richtburg