It used to be, centuries ago when ships sailed on water and not between stars, that marooning was reserved only for the most deserving. A bastard captain mutinied by his crew or a deckhand so inept he’d cost the life and morale of his fellows.
Back then though, you were guaranteed a few things, besides rations and shot. Air, light. The knowledge that no matter how marooned a man could be, humanity was still within reach. A horizon was all that separated you.
Jack leant against a rock and looked up towards the heavens. He’d spent the last hour trying in vein to work out which star was home, but realised his astronavigation ended with the seven constellations every school kid new on Merrick. His suit beeped at him again. 90 minutes O2 remaining.
“To you, arseholes,” he said, drawing the last of his bourbon through a straw.
They’d mutinied. Who did that these days? Decided the haul was too good to give to their employer and financier and left him on a rock that’s only name consisted of a computer generated string of letters and numbers.
Two pellets of air, 4 hours a pop. Water and a gel paste. And his nickel-plated recoilless gauss pistol. One aluminium round in the draw and enough charge to punch through the helmet of his vac suit.
He placed the muzzle against the weakest spot on the biweave of his helmet and took one last breath of bottled air.
“Captain, we made a mistake, ” his suit comms buzzed.
Prompt originally posted by Ryukazo on reddit and received 1 upvotes.