Staring into empty space, she coddled a chain between her fingers. It danced, strung by a small, poised shell of metal. It floated and spun, swung to its farthest edge then tugged back by her involuntary gestures. Her breath tightened. She stared. It was quiet. It was a vacuum. Then she remembered what she was told to do.

4 years ago, aboard the SS Homuncula, Hermione Pritchard became the Consulting Anthropologist. One of the only members who was not a scientist or engineer, her lack of expertise and miniscule training meant she stood out as the “grounding” principle for most of the team. They had their heads in the books while she daydreamed of going home, reminding them of a simpler time when their contracts were fair. Emmanuel Ross assigned her to maintain ethical practices and social responsibility. However, what certainly forced his hand was the regulations and shut downs at a trigger’s pull. She knew she didn’t mean much to the operation. Jupiter was the size of a soccer ball and everyone’s eyes were on the engines.

Space became a reality to her. It was not any closer, relatively speaking, and it was never really out of sight. The stars looked roughly the same, just as she would stare at them out her window at night. It was clear she had not gone anywhere either. “Not earth”, she wrote in one of her letters, jokingly. It was just further away from anything she had come to know. The only change in her heart was that her daughter was not close by. The letters were not only to cheer up the poor little girl, but also an attempt to raise herself to a semblance of a smile. But there had been no choice in the matter, though she still blames herself. “Lie in the tests?”, she thought but did not write. We are all assigned our duties. Governance is the great pillar of our commerce.

Captain Ross announced, halting the middle of the busiest evening, “We have done it! Congratulations Section 2B-1. Experiment CL-7 was a success. In spite of restrictive testing, insufficient flexibility of human resources and overall haste of the program timeline, we have finally copied the code, hacked the system, cracked the safe! This is a great moment for Governance. And so, all sections, join us in the 3rd Mess Hall for a stand-up meeting and… some celebration. We look forward to also announcing our next experiment.” Everyone in the room stood and clapped ecstatically as soon as the speaker budded out. She took that jargon of the elite as a true achievement, tying her hands to their joy. Her confusion and attentive, nodding grin placated the crowd as the cheers died down. She thought that whatever this was must be the purpose of their whole excursion, and her generous pay. Papers landed on her desk, requesting her final approval. “Do no harm” was the simplest criterion.

Staring at her warmed signature, she at long last considered her child’s age. “Has it really been 4 years?”, Hermione Pritchard said out loud. The girl was essentially disowned at this point. In good care, but not so in the woman’s instinct. Barely recalling her face, and having no clue as to the state of things when she returns home, she wondered whether the girl would blame her mother for everything that has happened? She has been governed poorly, but Hermione would never say this. So much has changed without even an awareness of her own will. She had become a completely different person.

Staring into empty space, then her breath tightened. Everyone in the hall floated and spun. The silver blue locket swung to me. Opening it, I saw the face of my beautiful daughter. I stared. It was quiet. It was a vacuum. Then I remembered what I was told to do.