Here lies Captain Reeve, a daring ace,
Who led his crew through time and space.
Forever known as the spacefaring schmuck.
His final words: ‘Oh fuck.’

Having been struck by a large unanchored piece of debris, Spaceman first class Robert “Robby” Robertson cartwheeled down a hall of the USS Goddard. The starship’s amber lights pulsed as Robby’s heart pounded. While the starship’s sirens blared, Robby’s state-of-the-art suit’s comms filled his ears with the more disconcerting sound of static. The starship’s trusses creaked and Robby moaned in desperation in unison as he hurtled across the ship.

The split second after Robby’s boots magnetically attached themselves to the hull at the end of the hallway with a clang, Robby broke into a run for the bridge of the starship. There he would find the control panel to, well, I’m not sure but I’ll figure it once I get there, Robby expertly planned.

.

“When I was working with the engineers to refit her for her next voyage, I requested that the important buttons be colored red,” Captain Reeve had told Robby on his first day on the Goddard. Robby recalled failing to stifle a snort. With a smug grin, Cap had elaborated with, “What, too cliché? When I was reading the Starship Monthly catalog, there was an article in it about having a color-coding scheme on the control panel and how productivity gurus love it. So, I thought it’s worth the extra few kilodollars, being the busybody I am. Hopefully it’ll be quite the return-on-investment when I need to make a split-second decision to save the ship from impending doom!” When Robby had asked to take the Goddard for a spin to test out the controls, Cap had made the very contractually obligating statement of, “Maybe some other time, kid!”

.

That time never came. Or maybe that time is now? Robby entered the wide-open space of the atrium, whose vaulted ceiling terminated at the nosecone of the ship.

Robby looked up and saw the bridge a dozen meters above him. Disengaging his magnetic boots, Robby propelled himself to the mezzanine which hosted the captain’s seat and controls. As he swung himself over the railing, Robby reengaged his boots to reconnect with the floor. He strode over to the control panel, in parallel punching the comms module situated on his opposite arm. After a few clicks and pops, he heard a voice amid the static.

“Robby, this is your captain speaking. Press the red button on the—,” was uttered from Robby’s earpiece before more clicks and pops belched from the failing transmitter. The voice snuck in a, “but make sure to avoid the—,” before finally being enveloped in the static.

Robby looked down on the center control panel. A light signifying an uncompromised airlock glowed green. The condensation that was building up on Robby’s visor began to impede his vision, so he popped off his helmet. Now, where’s that damn red button? Robby scanned his eyes back and forth across the control panel, shifting his gaze centimeters lower after each pass.

The intense elation of seeing a lipstick-red circle was immediately followed by his heart dropping to the floor below the bridge. There wasn’t a red button. The color drained from Robby’s face, previously flushed pink with exertion. Robby wiped the sweat above his ginger eyebrows with the sleeve of his maroon spacesuit. With his other arm extended over the control panel, his index finger hovered over two red buttons.