Cold Equations

The chronometer read 19.05 when Gerry went out of the communicators range. She had five minutes left.   But she didn’t want to wait any longer. There was nothing she could do to save herself. She had already talked to her brother and there was nothing else for her to wait for.
“I will go now,” she said.
He nodded his head knowing that there was nothing he could do to save her.   And they didn’t have any time left. So he motioned with his hands for her to follow him. He led her to the airlock room where she was going to be sent out to space. She stepped inside looking unafraid. He started to close the door.
“I’m sorry I wish that there was another way,” he said.
The door latched shut and the pilot went back to the controls where he would press a button and send her out to space.   He already felt regret and he hadn’t even pressed the button yet. He knew that she deserved to live and that there wasn’t a reason for her do die. She hadn’t done anything. She was just young and didn’t know the consequences.   But there was nothing he could do about it. The ship didn’t have enough fuel to carry them both. And the commander had the final word. So he pushed the button.
He wished that there were another way. But she was already gone. Minutes passed and it was already 19.15.   The signal buzzer interrupted his thoughts. It was the commander.
“Why haven’t you completed the report on the girls death? Pilot Barton?”
He turned off the communicator.
He then remembered what she had said to her brother right before the signal was lost.
“Think of me like that, Gerry; always like that and not—the other way.”
He knew that she wouldn’t want anyone to think of her as just dead. She would want us to think that she was still alive and always with them.   So that’s exactly what he was going to do.   He would always think of her as if she were alive: and never the other way.