u/FCRrr

For Robert

And the engines failed again. This time there was no possibility to ‘coast’ to the nearest station. Maybe the Hyperdrive shouldn't have been pushed so hard, but at the same time, both estimates, for slow and fast travel, had shown the destination was out of reach anyway. Guided by hope, faith, or stupidity, the lone miner had pressed on, terrified of any stops along the way; his precious cargo of rare minerals could be scanned by pirates from space-miles away.

If only greed hadn't taken over. Every battery, from the galley to the escape pods, had been cannibalized to mine just a little more. Consequently, the ship was far too heavy to easily break the planet’s gravity upon take-off, but warning signs were ignored in favour of pushing forward.

He was stuck in the vastness of space. It was ironic that an emergency beacon couldn't even be transmitted due to a lack of credits, despite a fortune sitting in the overloaded cargo hold. He felt tired of post-late-stage capitalism.

Perhaps the only remaining chance lay with passersby, though his vessel would likely be ignored, as any sane-minded person would assume it was a trap. Why stop and check a dirty, stranded, seemingly abandoned ship that wasn't even worth salvaging for parts? There was no blame to give; all is fair in love and war, and this was rebel territory.

As oxygen levels began to drop, thoughts grew foggier. The final systems were shutting down with a chorus of various beeps and alarms, which seemed entirely unnecessary given the circumstances.

Stepping into the escape pod seemed wise anyway, since the smaller space would conserve oxygen longer. An injection of Suzetrigine followed, despite the lingering worry that the sedative would cause a final, permanent sleep. Would that really be a bad thing now? He was afraid. Loneliness crept in on a scale never imagined possible before… an outcast of civilisation, drifting just outside the most forward stations humanity had ever built.

For some reason, thoughts drifted to music… it had been a long time since he last listened to music, and the reason why was a mystery. Much care had gone into choosing an enormous assortment of new and old albums, along with various ‘best ofs’ for the journey. Classical music from the 20th to the 23rd centuries used to be a passion… Dave Brubeck… Lou Reed.... Zeynep Paylaşım… Erika Mościbrodzka…

He thought of his mother, though it was hard to remember her face now. Consciousness was slipping, and his vision darkened. Breathing was heavy and slow. He realized he was lying on the escape pod’s floor, and with great effort got on his knees, then stood up. With his last breath he unlatched the capsule’s door and walked into the void, the silence and the darkness.

The faint buzzer groaned again—a mechanical rattle alerting that the battery levels had reached a terminal low. If the primary cells died now, they would take the backup starters with them, plunging the entire system into a permanent, irreversible sleep. As usual, there was no hope for the lantern to ignite tonight, though it hardly mattered; the last ships had slipped past long ago.

Between the chemical rot of the batteries and the choked, dust-covered solar panels, the lighthouse had withered into a state of ruin, even if its ancient structure remained stubbornly rooted to the rock. Mercifully, the last true renovation had occurred before the world surrendered to satellite communications, back when such structures were still forged to endure. In fact, not just to endure but to protect its occupants in those long weeks of rough seas, before they were replaced by sporadic visits by technicians that now came by air.

Nature was reclaiming the battered shell. The broken reinforced windows allowed the sea spray to seep into the lower floors; likewise, shattered panels above let the rain bleed directly into the equipment room. The roof would surely not be able to support the weight of the maintenance crew’s helicopter, if they ever were to visit again. Another thin, pathetic buzz vibrated through the air, and then—absolute silence. The system had exhaled its final breath.

All that remained was the hollow howl of the wind, the rhythmic assault of the waves, and the steady dripping of water onto cold metal. The final relic of human engineering had ceased to function. In truth, it made no difference; humanity itself had been extinguished for years. The lighthouse—isolated, forgotten, and fed only by the dim sunlight that struggled to pierce the atmosphere—had doggedly pursued its mission to stand alone. But like all things wrought by man, it was destined to fail.

The faint buzzer groaned again—a mechanical rattle alerting that the battery levels had reached a terminal low. If the primary cells died now, they would take the backup starters with them, plunging the entire system into a permanent, irreversible sleep. As usual, there was no hope for the lantern to ignite tonight, though it hardly mattered; the last ships had slipped past long ago.

Between the chemical rot of the batteries and the choked, dust-covered solar panels, the lighthouse had withered into a state of ruin, even if its ancient structure remained stubbornly rooted to the rock. Mercifully, the last true renovation had occurred before the world surrendered to satellite communications, back when such structures were still forged to endure. In fact, not just to endure but to protect its occupants in those long weeks of rough seas, before they were replaced by sporadic visits by technicians that now came by air.

Nature was reclaiming the battered shell. The broken reinforced windows allowed the sea spray to seep into the lower floors; likewise, shattered panels above let the rain bleed directly into the equipment room. The roof would surely not be able to support the weight of the maintenance crew’s helicopter, if they ever were to visit again. Another thin, pathetic buzz vibrated through the air, and then—absolute silence. The system had exhaled its final breath.

All that remained was the hollow howl of the wind, the rhythmic assault of the waves, and the steady dripping of water onto cold metal. The final relic of human engineering had ceased to function. In truth, it made no difference; humanity itself had been extinguished for years. The lighthouse—isolated, forgotten, and fed only by the dim sunlight that struggled to pierce the atmosphere—had doggedly pursued its mission to stand alone. But like all things wrought by man, it was destined to fail.