The Empty Space

By Candace Kade

The day I left Earth was the day I lost myself.

Our Nebula-class colony ship races through space, headed for the distant Red Orion Galaxy. Four hundred sixteen-year-olds in matching gray jumpers jostle into lines for lunch. Surrounded by the clink of forks on dishes and the smell of subpar cafeteria food, I could almost trick myself into believing I’m still at school. On Earth.

But in the past twenty-four hours, I’ve lost my family, classmates, country, culture—everything. I’m nothing but a space orphan—alone, yet surrounded by hundreds of stars and strangers.

As I make my way to an empty table, I avoid looking out the tiny windows into the bleakness of space.

I’d peeked out just once. The darkness seeped into my soul and sucked it dry, leaving me curled up in the fetal position in my bunker. I’d found the one soft thing in the entire spaceship, a knitted sweater from another passenger, and pressed it to my face.

It still smelled of warm cookies and cinnamon. Of Earth.

“Nihao.”

A girl interrupts my thoughts as she slides into a seat next to me. Wispy frame, shrewd eyes the color of a black hole, a smirk on her lips. My brain isn’t sure what category to place her in. Diplomat? Cyborg? Probably not the warrior track.

The retinal display in the corner of my eye marks her as from the Asian Federation. My translator at the bottom spells out: Hi.

“Hello,” I respond.

She answers in a language I don’t understand, but my translator does all the work for me. “Can I sit here?”

Since she’s already sitting, I shrug. “Sure.”

She slices open her packet of food. “Western Federation, hm?” she muses, studying my stats. “Ever been to the East side?”

“No.”

Rolling her eyes, she pulls out a pair of chopsticks. “Course not.” She sniffs her food once. “My name’s Eclipse. Well, that’s what most people call me. But you can call me anytime.” She gives a flirtatious wink.

I open up my packet of food, trying to fight the rising blush. “I’m Adon.”

“Adon.” She rolls the name over her tongue. “What do you do for fun on this flying craft of metal?”

Shuddering, I try to forget that’s what this really is. “I’ve taken up Jiu-jitsu.”

Eclipse gives a nod, bun bobbing with the motion. “Trying to impress the ladies with your moves?”

“Not exactly—”

She swats at me with her chopsticks. “So, the pig wants to eat swan food?”

I squint at my translator in confusion. Several articles pop up.

[Slang. The inferred meaning could be alluding to striving after something or someone who is out of one’s league.]

Does she think she’s out of my league or that I’m hitting on her? Or maybe that her Federation is better? My cheeks grow hot again.

Eclipse covers her mouth with her hand and giggles. “I’m teasing, silly.”

“Oh.”

She studies me a moment, then gives a knowing look. Grabbing my hand, she drags me off the bench. “Come. I want to show you something. It will make you less grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy,” I complain as I let her drag me. She’s surprisingly strong.

My feet slow when I see where she’s taking me.

“Come. On,” Eclipse grunts, and pulls harder.

I follow reluctantly. A door slides open with a mechanical hiss. We step into a large, enclosed room with floor to ceiling windows. Outside of them…

Darkness curls toward me like a bad dream in slow-motion. I don’t look.

“Look!” Eclipse points at the floor-to-ceiling glass, and I force myself to face it.

I inhale sharply.

There’s nothing but blackness and a few distant stars outside. The world is empty. Devoid. Life is sucked dry. Despair, hopelessness, it all overwhelms me like the dark shadow that stretches on for eternity. I want to curl into a ball.

My eyes can’t turn away—can’t unsee the nothingness.

My body freezes.

This life is so empty. Fleeting. Oblivion is inevitable—

“You’re not seeing,” Eclipse interrupts. “Look there!” She points at the corner of the window, where there’s a green star.

Why does it look familiar?

“That’s what we left,” she explains. “See how tiny Earth is compared to the universe?”

I stare at her. “And this is supposed to help me feel better?”

“The universe is full of opportunity. You only need eyes to see it.” She takes my hand in hers and squeezes.

Everyone told me that to leave Earth was to lose a part of humanity—all that we are. At the time, I scoffed. Explorers like me didn’t feel fear, sadness, or loss. All I needed in life was to reach the next frontier and push the limits of humankind.

But now I just want the wind to tickle my skin one more time, to inhale the scent of rain as it hits the parched pavement, or see my best friend’s smile. I’d give anything for one more day on Earth.

As a kid, I’d stay awake in bed when I was supposed to be sleeping, staring up at my ceiling, which I’d plastered with glowing stars. Back then, space was a dream. A goal. It wasn’t until I left our planet that I realized how terrifying and lonely space could be.

The warmth in Eclipse’s hand seeps into me, bringing me back to the present and unfreezing the terror in my heart.

I’m not alone.

“Is it empty space or is it a blank slate?” She turns again and studies me. “What do you see now?”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Candace Kade is a recovering over-achiever who spends her free time dreaming up stories typically involving tech, psychology, culture and/or swords. She’s a certified Krav Maga instructor and loves writing action-packed martial art scenes. A third culture kid mix of Chinese + American, she considers Chengdu and Austin to be her home.

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