Things didn’t sour until we had to ration the toothpaste.
Marjorie and I had trained well together. When paired for the mission, we’d celebrated. We were both pragmatists, rural kids. After the crash, we’d known it would take time for Earth to realize we weren’t headed back home, let alone send aid through the wormhole. We’d worked together to survive.
As our comforts disappeared, though, tensions rose. I nagged. She snored. After three years marooned here, we’d discussed everything but religion and politics. Arguments erupted. Wayward looks, ‘Good mornings’, simply sitting together—everything came with a little drop of poison, a little bitterness.
***
She rolled the tube, pressing down all her weight with each fold, until she reached the top. This had been the ritual for weeks. A tiny dollop squeezed out.
“Only enough for one…” Marjorie said matter-of-factly.
We stared at each other, a minefield of resentments between us. I could feel the grime on my molars.
“You let me have this, I’ll re-heat the last bean packet for you.”
Marjorie considered, then handed me the tube. I walked away so she wouldn’t have to watch.
***
An hour later, I could still taste the mint on my index finger. Marjorie sat at the fold-out table with a small bowl of steaming brown beans in maple flavouring. When she went in for a bite, I put my finger in my cheek to remind myself it was a fair deal.
“Good?”
“Incredible.” She exhaled a mouthful of warmth. The smell was too much. I suited up and headed for the airlock.
***
My makeshift shelter was a brief but heavy walk away.
In a game of Ro Sham Bo, Marjorie had won the forward hull of the ship, where the fission reactor still provided power and life support. The aft fuselage had separated in the crash-landing. I’d jury-rigged pieces into something nearly airtight and had buried it in dirt, but I still wore my survival suit inside. While I slept at Marjorie’s, hunkered down there during radiation storms, I spent most days in “The Bunkie”.
The twilight zone of Kepler-186f was cold; blue everywhere, frigid and sparse. There was water ice here, but no flora, no fauna. It was survivable, but not the Goldilocks paradise that Earth had hoped we’d find.
I sealed the repurposed porthole behind me and collapsed into my hammock.
My comms clicked.
“When the time comes,” Marjorie said, “I can’t die in here, with you out there.” Her tone had shifted, unsteady.
I sighed.
“We’ve got plenty of dried apricots, nuts, water. We still have time…”
Radio static.
“…We’ll be OK, Marj.”
She sighed.
“There’s a couple beans left,” she said.
“They’re yours. We had a deal.”
“I’m extending the olive branch,” she said.
“OK. I’ll be back over… Thank you.”
The comms clicked.
“Hey Marjorie,” I added, “did you wanna borrow my minty finger?”
A stifled, but not entirely resigned chuckle buzzed in my ear.
“Forget it. You can stay out there.”
She laughed again.