Ever have a recurring nightmare you just can’t get rid of? It’s like a pestilence to your psyche, a debilitating virus you cannot cure.

My ship has been destroyed, my pod ejected. Hurtling through the void I see the frozen corpses of my crew floating by in slow motion, their last moment of horror forever etched across their faces. In unison, their eyes turn and look at me with blame and I am ashamed. My pod rattles as it comes under fire from the enemy that took my ship. Two of its three engines blow out, sending me into a spiralling pitch. Black, roiling smoke and flame erupt. I often wonder how there is smoke in space. There is no atmosphere, thus no oxygen, so how does smoke and flame even exist?

Aura is silent. My capsule continues its spin like a theme park attraction ride, well beyond the threshold of my gravity training. I puke. My pod fluid opens its mouth, eating it up, recycling it back into my system. Lovely.

My pod screams towards a planet I do not recognize. The system is governed by a red dwarf star which taints the nightmare red. How symbolic really. I know my pod is in this planet’s gravitational pull and will soon hit “re-entry”. Why is it still called that? Tens of thousands of years ago our ancestors took to the stars from Earth, and would return. It made sense back then. They left. They re-entered. But this is now. Shouldn’t it just be called entry?

The pod threatens to shake itself apart as I descend into a steep orbit, hurtling towards the surface of the unknown. The altimeter is dropping faster than my eyes can track. My external cameras show me in high definition the detailed surface of my impending doom. I can countdown the seconds until impact, until the cycle continues and my next life begins.

I awake, sweating, in my bunk. Reaching for a glass of water from my nightstand, my hands tremble. What do these dreams mean, if anything? I should’ve been born a Sebeistor. I am far too philosophical for a Brutor. My quarters feel very small suddenly, cramped, confining, maddening. I feel imprisoned. Maybe I am losing it? Maybe I never had it to begin with and am only now beginning to accept this fact.

I look in the mirror and see the face of the man I have come to accept as me. His visage brings me no peace today. He looks afraid. I glare at him in admonishment.

Re-entry. The word sloshes around in my brain. It is a key to some lock I cannot find. It has some hidden meaning; some unknown purpose. My intercom chirps. I press it.

“Major, all systems green. Holding steady orbit. Ready for re-entry on your command.”

Re-entry.