Day 1
The countdown echoed through the cabin like a death sentence delivered politely over a loudspeaker. Four astronauts sat strapped into their seats, waiting for several million pounds of explosive fuel to light up underneath them. It was, objectively speaking, an insane way to travel.
"Ten."
Commander Evans cracked his knuckles inside his thick glove. He looked calm. He always looked calm. It was his primary skill. His face could remain perfectly relaxed while his internal organs were screaming in seven different languages.
"Everyone good?" Evans asked the cabin.
"Nine."
"Nervous," Dr. Aris Thorne admitted from his seat. His voice cracked at the end like a teenager going through puberty for the second time. He was a geologist. A rock doctor. A man who had spent his entire adult life staring at stones through microscopes. Now he was sitting on top of enough rocket fuel to delete a small country from the map.
"Eight."
Evans shrugged inside his harness. "Always."
"Seven."
Pilot Lena Petrova's voice came through the speakers from the cockpit above. She was the only one of them who sounded like she actually belonged here. Her voice was smooth and steady, like honey poured over steel. "Control, this is Odyssey. All systems green. We are go for launch. Repeat, we are go for launch."
"Six."
Evans glanced over at Engineer Mark Chen. Mark was staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like he was trying to bite through his own molars. His knuckles were white where he gripped his seat restraints, and a small vein in his forehead was visibly throbbing.
"Hey, Mark." Evans kept his voice light and casual, like they were waiting for a bus instead of a controlled explosion. "You breathing over there, buddy?"
"Five."
"I'm breathing," Chen said. His voice came out high and tight, like someone was stepping on his throat with a very small shoe. "I'm just also praying to every god I can remember from Sunday school. Plus a few I just invented. There's one named Gerald now. Gerald is the god of not exploding into a million tiny pieces. I made him up forty seconds ago. He's my favorite god."
"Four."
"Name faster," Thorne muttered. He was trying to joke, but his own voice was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. "Gerald sounds underqualified for this situation. What are his credentials?"
"Three."
The rumble started. Low at first. Deep in the belly of the spacecraft. Like a giant prehistoric beast was waking up underneath them and stretching its legs after a very long nap. The whole ship began to vibrate. Evans felt it in his chest. In his teeth. In his dental fillings. In places he didn't even know could feel vibration.
"Two."
"Wait." Chen's voice went high and squeaky, like a mouse that had just been stepped on. "Wait wait wait. Important question. Life or death question. Did anyone else forget to pee before we strapped in? Because I definitely forgot to pee. One hundred percent forgot. My bladder is currently sending me very angry messages."
"Oh for f**k's sake, Mark." Thorne groaned loud enough to be heard over the growing rumble. His head fell back against his seat. "We are literally about to ride a tower of explosives into outer space and you're thinking about your bladder?"
"It's a valid concern! What if I have to go during launch? What if the G-forces make it worse? What if I become the first astronaut to drown in his own—"
"ONE."
"Too late now," Evans cut him off. He was almost laughing. Almost. The rumble was a roar now. "Should've thought about that before you drank three coffee pouches this morning."
Chen's eyes went wide. "How did you know about the coffee?"
"I know everything, Mark. I'm the Commander."
Petrova's voice cut through the cabin one final time, sharp and clear and professional as always. "Ignition."
Fire.
It was not a gentle fire. It was not a campfire or a candle or a nice cozy fireplace in a mountain cabin. It was pure, unfiltered violence. The entire universe turned into a giant fist and punched all four of them backward into their seats with the force of a angry god. Evans felt his ribs compress like an elephant was sitting on his chest. His cheeks flattened against his skull. His vision blurred at the edges and went fuzzy and grey. The roar was everywhere—in his ears, in his head, in his blood, in his very soul. It made every loud thing he had ever heard in his life sound like a gentle whisper.
"Velocity nominal." Petrova's voice came through the chaos, impossibly calm. She sounded like she was ordering a sandwich at a deli. "Passing max Q in ten seconds."
Max Q. The point of maximum aerodynamic pressure. The moment when the rocket was pushing through the atmosphere at incredible speed and the forces trying to tear it apart were strongest. If something was going to break, it would break right now. This was the universe's way of testing whether you really wanted to go to space or whether you'd prefer to become a very expensive firework.
Evans forced words out of his compressed lungs. "Copy that, Lena." It felt like talking through wet cement mixed with gravel. "How you doing back there, Aris?"
Thorne's voice came through strained and tight, like he was being slowly crushed by a very patient boa constrictor. "I think... I left my stomach... back on the launchpad. Along with my dignity. My courage. My will to live. And possibly my lower intestine. Tell my family I loved them. Tell my rock collection I'll miss them most of all."
"Good," Chen wheezed from his own seat. He sounded like he was being sat on by an elephant who was also sitting on another elephant. "Less weight. Better fuel efficiency. You're helping the mission, Aris. You're a hero."
"Shut the f**k up, Mark."said Aris Thorne
"I'm providing emotional support."said Mark Chen
"You're providing a headache."said Aris Thorne
"Both are forms of support."said Mark Chen
"Max Q passed." Petrova's announcement cut through their bickering like a knife through butter. There was relief in her voice now, a small crack in her professional armor. "Smooth as glass. We're through the worst of it. The ship is holding together beautifully."
The pressure eased.
The violent shaking softened. It went from "imminent fiery death" to "angry washing machine during the spin cycle." And then, all at once, it stopped completely.
Silence.
Not true silence. There was still the hum of machines doing their jobs. The soft hiss of oxygen flowing through the vents. The quiet beep of monitors checking systems and reporting back. But compared to the violence of launch, it felt like a library at midnight during a snowstorm. Peaceful. Almost sacred.
-Will Be continued 😎
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