Bon Voyage
"So… tell me about the nightmares this week."
The way she says it isn't quite a question or an order, her tone somewhere between a measured sympathy and forced professionalism. They must teach that in therapist school, that detached neutrality that nearly borders on indifference.
"They weren't too bad," I mumble. The leather sofa protests as I shift in my seat. It must sense my dishonesty.
"No?" A clear inquiry this time, but with a note of skepticism. Weary disbelief. She knows, of course, that some gentle coaxing will help to reveal them. Am I so predictable?
"Well…" I begin, my dry tongue sticking to my teeth makes me trail off. It's always one or the other in this room. If it's summer, the AC is broken. If it's winter, the heater is on the fritz. I swear they do it on purpose, just to keep us uncomfortable enough to let our guard down.
"It was a cable car," I say, regaining my focus.
"A cable car?"
"Yes. It went from Earth, you know like, here- all the way to Mars."
"That's quite a trip," she replies, leaning in closer. For a change she seems genuinely interested in what I have to say.
"No kidding. But the thing that started to make me realize it was a dream was the logistics of it."
"Do tell?"
"Think about it. How fast does a cable car travel? A snail's pace, right? We're talking about going to Mars- that's a forty year trip in a speeding car. Forty. Years."
"…So you felt trapped on that cable car?"
"Trapped? No, that doesn't even begin to describe it. Doomed. Absolutely doomed."
There is a heavy silence that wedges itself between us and lingers for an uncomfortable amount of time. Neither of us seems to know how to break it.
"…Do you remember what it was like on Earth?"
"I used to," tears form in my eyes, "I used to dream about it. About them… I can't anymore, I can't even… I can't even picture their faces…"
The program glitches. Distorts for a moment, giving me a glimpse outside of my pod and into the others that surround me.
Familiar faces of my crew-mates, names forgotten, stare blankly ahead. I wonder how often they are able to see me through the simulation and wish the same as I- that it could be their loved ones around them instead.
The simulation resumes.
"Was that helpful?" she asks.
"It… I don't know…"
One hundred and eighty days. That's how long our mission was supposed to take. In that time we were to utilize the simulator to keep ourselves sane during suspended animation, to keep our minds sharp. One hundred and eighty days…
Today is day fourteen thousand and six hundred. Forty years.
Who knows how long we have been off course. Who knows how much longer we will drift through nothingness.
The glitches are more frequent lately.
"So… tell me about the nightmares this-"
…
…