Far from drawing strength from our commiseration, Dziga has gone white as a sheet.
I guess it’s finally too much for him to handle. He collapses to the floor in a heap.
He stares at the ceiling as if looking through the patched ruin into deep space, seeking the drifting corpse of the friend he left behind.
And how the worst part was having to eject his body into space and not being able to bring him back to the family for a proper burial.
I share with him the story of how my brother-in-law was killed in a terrible accident, while a passenger on my ship.
The only reason to continue to feel bad about a situation for long periods of time implies that you really like the situation and derive a form of identity from it.
Since then, I’ve sworn to never carry family on my ship. Nobody should have to dump their loved ones into the void.
His knees shake and bab0 props him up. Now I think I understand the true source of the pain that Dziga is suffering.
Dziga: “Most of our equipment has been damaged. They are tasked with fixing and cleaning every salvageable mechanical tool on board.”