Martin stroked the glass coffin that surrounded his charge.
Fame?
Respect?
No, he realized… rest.
He went to lift the button’s cover… and recoiled again.
Maybe I’ve just been up here too long?
“Isn’t that the point?” He startled. It was his voice – how could it be anyone else’s? – but it was not familiar to him.
For the twelfth time today he went to lift the cover.
My orders! His hand recoiled again. My duty!
“Watch the screen! Wait for the signal! HOW LONG ?!”
Cracked and faded in neglect, but definitely his own voice.
I’m just here to push the button…
“Push it! Go home! Do your duty!”
His swollen eyes strained to read the mission clock. 87 hours… they had promised to replace him after 24. Was he supposed to assume the worst?
Rest…
He slumped back against the console and held his head in his hands Release would be his – had his eyes not dried out hours ago, he would be weeping. He reached for the button again – there would not be a fourteenth time.