Placeholder Cabin - Opening Act
Temporary Permanent
Elevator doors slid open with a pressurized hiss. I walked across a corridor. A light at the end waited for me.
A green light blinked, like a small flashlight shining through the glass. I walked toward it. As I entered, two harnesses locked into place with a mechanical snap. A big display flickered to life, casting a soft blue glow across my visor.
The cabin smelled brand new, plastic and sterile, like catching that new toy smell. It barely fit one person, but considering I was going to be the only occupant for the next few years, I couldn’t really complain. I’ve slept in worse apartments during my college years. The ambient noise kept up a steady, low-frequency hum.
“The Flight Director is requesting to revise your final patch to the media feed, Pilot,” a voice came from the secondary console. It was crisp, perfectly modulated, and had this dry, slightly off feel to it. A voice I didn’t choose and I had to adapt to.
Like other encounters, I held my guard up with this new unknown. A blue marble Earthset hung above the screen, laced with a geometric grid of satellites. No sunrises or sunsets here. Just the cold, artificial geometry of my orbit.
“Tell them the signal is dropping and my focus is on telemetry,” I adjusted the wrist seals of my flight suit. It felt way too uncomfortable to wear quite suddenly. “I don’t have anything inspiring to say to the cameras. I am no content creator,” I whispered.
“Recording a telemetry error is technically a fabrication, Pilot.” A tiny green status light flickered on the screen as she spoke. “However, considering the public relations department has already written four variations of your historic final words for the clicks, I suppose accuracy is fluid. Cutting the feed now,” she said, her glow illuminating my hands.
Silence returned. It was glorious.
While the other candidates recited lines about legacy and national pride for the cameras, I learned early to feed the PR machine exactly what it wanted. It was easier. Fewer battles.
I spent my life moving. But this cabin? It felt different.
“Simetria. A vehicle to get somewhere else, but this space was entirely mine. I wished I had the luxury of national pride. It seemed comforting.”
Progress: 381 of 4,412 words
So what’s the story?
Two entities who have spent their entire existences waiting to be replaced are about to discover that no one is ever coming.
Aboard the most advanced space exploration vehicle ever assembled, the Simetria, they serve as a live test for the first faster-than-light drive.
The pilot has always treated his life as a temporary assignment, something to tolerate until the real future begins. She was manufactured for a single purpose: to be present, but never to be seen.
The countdown goes to zero. The telemetry is gone. Positioning data is unreadable. Every signal home receives silence.
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Placeholder Cabin: Temporary Permanent (A Short Story)
by Cale Lares
Who’s writing?
Thank you for reading and being here.
I’m Cale Lares, and I write short stories about outliers at the limits of human experience. Born in the Caribbean, shaped by the Andes, and now writing science fiction from the subarctic north.