Nightwatch on the Madison Mary

 Yet another night I sit beside the porthole and its riveted rim, the dim glow of a terminal before me and the endless field of stars to my right. A cold draft blows to my side, the papers clipped to the steel terminal frame fluttering in the wind. Contrary to what one might expect of a metal tomb drifting through the bone chilling void of space, it was quite rare to feel the sensation of cold on a sufficiently large ship. With no atmosphere to dump the waste heat to, it simply wells inside the ship, baking those inside.
 I rejoice at this small, yet rare experience. After years drifting through nothingness, one begins to notice the small things that they lack. The cool breeze of the Paethan highlands among the sensations I miss the most. Gazing out of the porthole to my right, I watch the field of stars slowly turn and pan past my small frame of view. Perhaps the assignment to the second watch wasn’t so bad. The bustling of the day does not concern me, and I can simply sit in silent contemplation in the night. I suppose the terms night and day are meaningless, drifting in the cosmos. The closest thing that we have to a day and night cycle would be the periodic dimming of the lights, synchronized with the crew’s sleep schedule.
 Hundreds of people aboard this mighty vessel united in a single purpose clamor to maintain the hulk of steel guns and engines for years on end, so that Mary’s mission should not fail. It occurs to me that I am unique in the way I approach this assignment. Most would wallow in their own self pity, bored to tears in their watch. However, I know my purpose. Every soul aboard the Madison Mary knows their divine purpose. However mundane my task of watching for drive plumes on a dim monitor may be, I know that my efforts contribute to a greater whole.
 I feel a sense of pride. I am proud to be assigned to this post. I am proud to even have the privilege of observing the mighty ship with my own eyes, even moreso to be a part of its crew. I stare at the monitor for a few moments more, before I begin to think yet again. What even is this greater purpose? Do I know what greater whole I contribute my sanity to? I feel such a strong conviction to some purpose, but I can’t quite put my finger on what that purpose is. Come to think of it, I don’t remember how I came aboard this ship. I can only feel my attachment to it. I let out a sigh, turning my head so that I may lose my thoughts in the stars. Drifting for years. The last time the engines were activated was four months ago for a minor correctional burn, every day apart from that is monotony.
 One would think that a core ship this far past Phainon would be subject to constant pirate attacks, however, I believe the mere presence of our might wards away the cowardly mongrels that inhabit this backwards region of space. I have not counted one plume since we’ve crossed Phainon- not due to any lack of passing ships, rather, a lack of deceleration.
 I’m drifting again. I lift my mug, and take a deep sip from its contents, before turning my scattered attention back to the monitor before me. Suddenly, I am flashed by the sudden glow of the monitor, basked in its radiant beams. I bring a hand just above my brow to shield my eyes from the blinding light before the light abruptly extinguishes, and I am left in darkness once more. Disturbed, I turn to gaze once more out the porthole as to ground myself in reality, only to be horrified by the lack of stars. The chill returns to my skin, the air begins to freeze, my muscles shiver and my teeth chatter. Frost spreads on the glass, my breaths turn to great clouds of fog. I realize that with every breath, I inhale less and less, before soon enough, I have to nearly shatter my ribs to get even an ounce of air. I give up my wheezing gasps for air, now resigned to my fate. As my lucidity begins to fade, I can’t help but try and remember what our purpose here truly was.
 … I find the night cycles of the Mary to be exceedingly tranquil, only the sounds of the metal behemoth to keep me company. The groan of its hull, the hum of its panels. I take a ginger sip from my mug, before turning on the plume monitor for another long night of staring.