The Void

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Through the endless void, tumbling and spinning, crossing distances so vast that time becomes a meaningless concept.

And then…

contact.

Commander Mitch Granger looked at the mission clock — 36.03 more hours to go, just a day and a half more. Piece of cake. They’d been up for a week now, and he was starting to feel the drag of home pulling him back harder than ever.

Homesick, he thought. Hey, the homesick astronaut — not a bad title for a book. He had always wanted to write one; after all, everyone was doing it these days and making a fortune.

Mitch leaned back in his seat and peered out the shuttle cockpit window. The glass was magnificently clear, even though the orbiter’s portal windows were triple-paned, super-hardened optical-quality glass. He knew if he wasn’t wearing the bulky suit gloves and pressed a hand against it, it would still feel numbingly cold and fragile. There were thirty-seven windowpanes in eleven different sizes and shapes on the shuttle, and all of them acknowledged as a point of possible engineering failure.

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