CYCLE 84920
The rhythmic hum was constant, a low thrum against the metallic wall beside him. He shifted, his back protesting the hard surface.
Sunlight, filtered and weak, dappled the opposite wall, a cruel reminder of the world beyond. A voice, cold and precise, echoed from a speaker above, instructing him to continue the calculations.
He picked up the stylus, his hand aching from the repetitive motion. He had been here for as long as he could remember, meticulously logging data. It was his purpose. His reason.
A younger man, new to the task, faltered beside him.
"Are you sure about this, sir?"
he whispered, his eyes wide. "It feels... wrong." The elder man paused, his gaze meeting the younger's.
"It is necessary."
he replied, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Always has been." He returned to his work, the lines of figures blurring together.
Footsteps approached, heavy and measured. A figure in a dark uniform stood over them, observing their progress.
The younger man flinched, but the elder continued, his hand steady.
"Report,"
the figure commanded. "All parameters within acceptable deviation," the elder stated, without looking up. A grunt of satisfaction was the only reply before the footsteps receded.
He dreamt of open fields, of a sky untainted by artificial light. He dreamt of touch, a soft caress against his cheek.
He dreamt of a name, but it always slipped away before he could grasp it. He woke with a jolt, the hum a stark reality, the cold metal against his skin.
He had forgotten to log the previous hour's data.
Days bled into weeks, weeks into months. The younger man grew more proficient, less questioning.
Sometimes, when the calculations were complete, they would sit in silence, listening to the distant, rhythmic pulses.
"What do you think is out there?"
the younger one asked one evening, his voice barely audible. The elder merely shrugged. "Nothing we need to concern ourselves with," he murmured.
The final numbers were in. He triple-checked them, then presented them to the figure in the dark uniform.
A flicker of something, approval perhaps, crossed the stern face.
"Excellent. Prepare for the next phase."
The elder nodded, a sense of quiet accomplishment settling over him. Their work was almost done.
He watched as the younger man, now confident and efficient, began preparing the instruments. The rhythmic hum intensified, vibrating through the floor.
A warning light flashed red on the console.
"What is it?"
the younger man asked, alarm in his voice. The elder placed a hand on his shoulder.
"It is time,"
he said, looking at the display. The numbers clicked into place. Outside the viewport, a tiny, distant blue marble grew larger.
Their mission, spanning generations of astronauts in this self-sustaining ark, was nearing completion. They had almost reached the new world.