I didn’t want to steal the ship. The thing could barely go five lightyears before needing a tune up. It didn’t even have sentimental value: Paul had only been on it a few months before the alien plague got him.
But the company wanted to scrap it. Cheap bastards. They got my messages, but thought my request would be too expensive.
So, one cold night, I snuck past their guards and blasted off.
Awful, awful ship.
But when I boot up the holograms and see Paul standing there, smiling, hear his recorded voice, I know I’d do it all again.
Will Shadbolt has been dreaming up stories for as long as he can remember. His short fiction has previously appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Drabbledark, and other venues. You can read more at willshadbolt.com and follow him on Twitter at @W_Shadbolt.
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