Infinite Sky

The fuel light pulsed a steady rhythm, indicating all was ready within the capsule.
The last of his liftoff checks over, Hamish relaxed a little. He had a few minutes until countdown, giving him time to think.

This was it. All that training, best years of his life and all that, and it was finally here.
He stared out of the module window, trying to distract himself from the itching spacesuit. A flock of geese flew past, honking curiously. How he envied their freedom; they could just take off at will, leaving all behind – like he was trying to do.

His thoughts drifted back to Suzanne with a depressing inevitability. She was down there, somewhere, probably watching his little craft on metavision.
What was she thinking? Would she want him to come back? One time he would have said yes, but now he could not be sure. Not after all that had happened. Their last meeting had been decidedly tense, which in some ways was worse than the rowing.
He smiled wryly, wondering what Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin had been running from all those years ago.
The tiny window afforded a tempting glimpse of the moon, which hung invitingly as he pondered the dizzying firmament. What lay beyond? Would he fare any better out there than on the Earth? Infinite sky, infinite choice – and infinite opportunities to mess it up all over again.

‘Beagle Seven, are you receiving? Over.’
Hamish hesitated, fingers playing indecisively over the controls.
‘Beagle, Seven, are you receiving me? Over.’
Again, Hamish was silent.
‘Stephenson, are you ready? Come in please.’
A nervousness had entered the technician’s voice and background mutterings were discernable. Hamish frowned. Was he ready? Would he ever be?