Chapter 9

Damn.

I was counting on the cargo to pay off my debt. A million tons of hydrocarbons would fetch a good price on oil starved Earth, and the 0.5% that the ghost recieves would have cleared me completely and left enough for a start up stake.

Of course, my orbit has changed. How badly I do not yet know - the automatics are calculating the new orbit. The burn through happened around the cargo drain hatch, so right on my center of mass, thrusting me directly away from the sun. It probably saved my existance, the combination of thrust and the shading and cooling provided by the gas.

Time to put the pod away. I roll the camera to look out at the stars. I forgot just how beautiful they are. Memories tug at my mind. A warm July night, cicada's singing. Laying in the grass watching the stars. She is beautiful, warm beside me ...

NO!

I am dead and that is gone! She has been dust for over a century. I really should purge this memory bank. I place the memory back, gently and tenderly. It is part of who I am. I can no more dispose of these memories than I can turn myself off.

A chime. New orbit calculated, error of plus or minus 4%. I'll miss Earth by a margin too great for the fuel I have. Using the most optimistic calculation I'll not get within a million kilometers. In three orbits, roughly 280 years, I will fall into the sun.

I am going to die, to cease existing. There can be no appeal against gravity. Ghosts fear death as much as the meat do, and with better reason - we have all done it once already. And we remember.

I had better report.

The radio, unused since Titan, wakes on my command. I transmit orbital information and a summary of how and why I am here. Voice flat, harsh, mechanical. I never saw the sense in tuning my voice to a more human pitch - my interactions with meat have been few and far between.

I recieve acknowlegement. And a code. A priceless gift from the Ghost command - my off switch.

This is GHST 27557, once a man known as John Burnham, signing off.

Will I dream?