Beyond Nothing

Chapter One

The shapes of space flash past the windows of the rocket, bright and clear through crystal glass. I lie back in my seat, watching the stars go by. My chair reclines, and the ceiling above me is a curved sheet of clear glass, ribbed with steel, allowing me to easily rest on my back and watch the scenery pass. Thick, buckled leather straps stop me from drifting upwards.

This has been my dream since I was eight. To make my way to space; to see the earth spread out below me, everything I used to care so much about suddenly so small. However, I never imagined the circumstances that would bring about my journey. The awful things I and my family would have to face.

I never thought that it might take a terminal illness to get me into orbit.

At this point, having known for over a year, I've accepted it. I am fifteen years old, and I am dying. I've gone through anger, denial, depression and the whole why-me-this-is-unfair stage. Now, I just want to get everything done. And I'm well on my way to doing that.

The decision was an easy one to make. I'm dying anyway – I want to go out in my own way, not succumb to the snake that twists deep in my body, choking the life out of me a day at a time. I want to die with style.

It's taking a long time, longer than I thought, but each hour we move closer to our destination. I can feel it, like a pull in my gut. My death is calling to me with mournful cries from somewhere deep in the galaxy around us. It is a little stronger each time I wake up. At this point, it is a fishhook in my belly, tugging at my skin, pulling so hard it hurts.

It seems so recent – waking, checking the paper, seeing the ad – but in reality, it has been over two months since that morning. Since I signed up to be the first person to jump into a black hole. I would take with me the best radio equipment available - and considering the scope of our mission, it's going to be good - and pilot a small shuttle specially developed for the mission straight into the maw of the beast. I would, essentially, kill myself, in the name of science.

I skipped the hundreds of hours of training most astronauts go through, covering only the most important parts over the course of a month instead. I had a crash course in scuba diving, and learned basic medical skills, along with how to pilot the shuttle I'll take. I learned how to operate the radio equipment, and what codes I should use if I have no time to say full sentences.

The radio by my side crackles – this is how they communicate with me, mostly, just to get me used to it. I don't fit on the ship, not having gone through the same bonding processes as the rest of the team did through their years of training together. They leave me alone, and I grant them the same courtesy, leaving my area only at meal times.

'Cassie?'

I twist over, grabbing the receiver and holding to my mouth. 'Hi.'

'Get yourself ready. We'll reach the point where you have to leave us within an hour.'

I take a deep breath, heart beating a pounding rhythm against my rib cage: Thud, thud, BOOM, thud, thud, BOOM. 'Alright.'

I place the receiver back on the floor, where it adheres to the velcro square stuck there for that very reason. Everything is strapped or stuck down, secure against walls and floors and ceilings – even people. When we sleep, we have to buckle ourselves into sleeping bags against a surface, with straps over arms and legs and chest.

I know they will be taking photos, so I change into fresh clothes and brush my shoulder-length blond hair for the first time in days. The knots snag in the brush, and I have to yank it through.

I will take no supplies with me when I fly – I'm not expected to survive, and if I do, I can simply fly back to the original ship. Some sentimental objects, however, can be taken.