Those Who Breathe Easy

by Benjamin Hollon

"Excuse me?" Dianne spoke softly, but in the quiet halls of the space liner *Athena*, her words carried. The steward turned to face her, tilting his head inquisitively. "I know it's the middle of the night, and you're probably heading to your sleep shift, but--" "It's no trouble, madam. How may I be of service?" "My son, Avery--he's having trouble breathing and can't fall asleep." "I'm sorry, we're near the end of the current oxygen canister, and discomfort is common during this time. It will soon pass." "I know, but... he's so tired and is such a sweet boy. Isn't there anything you can do? Open the next canister a little early?" "I--" The steward hesitated. "I will ask." "Oh, bless you! Thank you so much." "Sleep well, madam." * * * Rebecca held the vial to the light, comparing the algae's hue to a printed chart. She nodded, set it down, and picked up the next sample. A shriek and fit of giggles from behind her interrupted her thoughts. "Mama!" came the delighted cry. Setting down the vial, she turned and lifted five-year-old Mark to her lap, laughing with him and gently combing through his hair with her fingers. "I need to run the concentrator, sweetie," she said, looking straight into his eyes. "Do you have your earplugs?" Mark nodded. "All right. Go put them in and you can watch a show." Mark ran off, and she watched as he disappeared into his bedroom. With a sigh, she walked over to the oxygen concentrator's controls and set it running. It hummed faintly as it began warming up; she had five minutes, still, before it would reach full volume. Over the next hour, the concentrator would filter oxygen out of the air and bottle it up. This space station served as a convenient stopping point for ships returning to Earth from the outer planets, one of several stations that provided fresh air for those interplanetary voyages. It was a living, Rebecca thought. If only it didn't have to be so loud. Pausing by the door to Mark's room, she looked in at him, watching cartoons with earplugs in and the subtitles turned on. He looked up and waved to her, and she smiled back, watching him with love. His eyes--they were his father's eyes, she was sure. By now, the concentrator was too loud for her to hear herself think, violently breaking her train of thought. As she took earplugs from her pocket and put them in, she tried to remember what she had been thinking about, but all she could focus on was the shrill, high-pitched whine of machinery. * * * "Come see, Avery," Dianne said, pointing to the window. Avery was playing with toy cars on the bed, making them fight each other in an imagined battle royal. "But Mom," he protested, "the blue race car is beating the fire truck!" "Put down the cars, they'll still be there in a minute." Reluctantly, Avery obeyed. "What is it?" he asked. "It's a space station," she told him. "Our ship is going to connect to it." The station was painted alternating shades of brown, and large windows revealed racks of plants inside. Two outer rings spun in opposite directions while the hub in the middle with the dock for the ship remained still. "Why are we stopping here?" Avery asked, mesmerized by the station's spin. "The ship is picking up fresh air to breathe. We'll leave soon." The crew of the ship provided entertainment for the passengers, with live music and other diversions at meals. Still, Dianne found space travel grew monotonous and welcomed this stop's break from routine. Briefly, she considered the people who must live on the station, wondering how they kept entertained while spending years in that confined space. She quickly dismissed the thought; after all, they were paid to be here. Surely that offset any discomfort. Forgetting about the station, she opened the news feeds from back home. She glanced over the headlines with mild interest before turning to the sports section. * * * Since the station's hub did not spin, there was no illusion of gravity to comfort Rebecca as she floated near the airlock, suppressing the urge to vomit. Mark loved to bounce around here, but she avoided weightlessness when she could. Today, though, was pickup day. Four large oxygen canisters were loosely fastened to the wall nearby, and she rechecked their gauges to pass the time. Finally, she heard the clang as the ship finished docking. She swung the airlock door inward to admit the two crew members of the *Athena*, who began loading the canisters onto the ship, with barely a nod to her. When they finished loading the canisters and paid her, she stared at the number in her bank account. It would be enough to cover the next few weeks' expenses, at least, and she was always grateful for that much, with prices rising. Still, Mark's birthday was next week, and she had hoped to have a little extra to buy him a nice treat. The ship's officer cleared his throat, breaking her out of her reverie. "The captain did have one more question. Would it be possible for you to fill an extra canister for us?" "An extra? What for?" "The passengers are more comfortable with extra oxygen in the air, and we've been burning through it faster than is standard." She scoffed. "Out of the question. Don't pamper them and you'll be fine." "Ma'am, I'm just the messenger. I can't say that to the captain!" She looked at him quietly, softening. He was hardly an adult, early twenties at most. "Look," she said, "even if I wanted to break protocol for this, I can't. I'm only supposed to harvest a certain amount of oxygen from this amount of plants; any more and it deprives me and my son." "I understand," the officer said. "You're only doing your job. Still, the company authorized us to pay three times the usual price for a canister, just this once." She gasped. "Three times--" Mental calculations began. Half of her brain engaged in furious debate with the other. "Excuse me a moment," she said, and left to check the station's gauges. One more canister wouldn't put them in danger, she concluded, though breathing would be uncomfortable for a few days. She couldn't help but wonder if this would begin a trend, if she would be asked frequently to sell their breath for the money they needed to live. It was unsustainable. Still, in this moment... She returned to the airlock. "For triple pay," she said slowly, "I can give you an extra canister." "Oh, thank you, I'll tell the captain." Her brain overwhelmed with the conflict between joy and depression, she started the concentrator and put in her earplugs, fighting to focus despite the overwhelming noise. She found Mark in bed, napping. Smiling sadly, she lifted his head, and he stirred but did not wake as she plugged his ears, too. She planted a kiss on his forehead and whispered to him as she turned out the light. "Happy birthday, my love." PREVIOUS | TABLE OF CONTENTS | NEXT