It would be the first time they truly talked.
"Is it serious? That they don't arrive because of gravity? Something like that?"
"Have you seen Interstellar?" He leaned back against the metallic wall, taking a deep breath, assuming a more relaxed posture now.
"Yes," she replied with a serious face, showing superiority.
"Remember how in the movie they lose many years on Miller's planet?"
"Huh?"
"Exactly. It's the same thing with us, except it's not fiction."
"Does that mean because of the black hole, the video I made of you will never arrive?" She raised an eyebrow, wanting to laugh, a malicious glint in her eyes.
"That's right..."
"Hmmm..."
...
She picked up the gun and pointed it directly at his face:
"So you're not that useful, are you?" She forced a sensual, ironic voice, trying to intimidate him.
Nunes laughed bitterly.
"I wish I wasn't. But do you know how to pilot a ship?" He crossed his arms, serious, his voice challenging. "Get it out of here, fix what broke in the crash? Operate this ship?"
"In other words... you're going to use that to get out alive?" She turned her face away, pouting, a hint of childish irritation.
"Not just that... I'm going to sleep."
"What?" She returned to normal, confused, her voice a little louder.
He stood up, ignoring the gun pointed at him, an act of supreme audacity.
"You think this is a holiday camp?" She watched him stand up, anger rising in her chest.
"Look, you need me more than I need you." He yawned, a calculated gesture of disrespect. "I want to sleep. Then when I wake up, I'll go outside and check on the ship..."
He turned and walked to the sofa. Angrily, she pushed him hard, making him fall to the floor like a sack of bricks, a dry, painful thud.
"YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!!" she screamed, pointing the gun at him, her body trembling with fury. "You think you can do whatever you want now, huh?"
"I don't think. I will." He stood up again, his voice calm and defiant.
He blew her a kiss with his lips, pouting, a provocative gesture.
"Good night, Ketlen." He gave a tired smile, a thread of exhaustion and victory in his eyes.
He threw himself onto the sofa.
"Real talk, wake me up in a few hours. Seriously. And don't give me that 'wake me up when September ends' crap, 'cause I'm getting up way sooner than that. I need some rest, Mrs. Rhinitis, and to let the tuna digest." He stretched, looking incredibly comfortable. "Hooooooly shit… now I get how you passed out in this thing, I didn't even know it felt this good!"
He closed his eyes, exhausted, stretching his body like a lazy cat.
"You idiot... you can't even die right!" She gripped the gun angrily, her face contorted with frustration and a certain shock.
His snoring echoed in the room.
"Damn it, already?" The question escaped her, incredulous.
...
"Hmm, fine then." She bit her lips, unsure what to do, lost in a mix of anger, confusion, and a strange acceptance.
Ketlen, now in solitude, pondered her actions. Would it have been sensible to keep him imprisoned? Had she crossed a line? She considered the possibility of eliminating him and trying to pilot the ship on her own. Observing him there, lying down, it was undeniable that he was physically and emotionally devastated. A man of imposing stature and defined muscles, now reduced to little more than an empty shell.
She had done this to him.
"Yeah, he's actually kinda cute..." She thought.
"But... he's a cop."
"But so what? He's really handsome."
"Stop. You've never found a decent boyfriend."
She slapped herself on the head, giving herself a lesson.
"But yes. He's a hunk. Pedro, Rodolfo, Guilherme... besides being losers, they don't even come close to this Nunes."
She bit her lips, thinking about everything but what she really should have been.
"Stop it, Ketlen," she whispered to herself, returning to the computer.
As she sat back down at the computer, she decided to record a video.
CHAPTER 4: EMPATHY
-----------------☆☆☆☆-----------------
496 Years Later, Watery Moon
Ketlen watched Nunes from a distance. He had been sleeping for five hours, a deep sleep of exhaustion. The light was even stronger outside, painting the watery moon. Was it time to wake him up?—she felt weak, empathy for him was still an uncomfortable and unexpected sensation.
"You took me from my grandma."
"Why was she so important to him? A grandma?" She made a cute face, thinking to herself, the question genuinely in her mind.
...
"Is she sick? Oh… poor thing, he doesn't seem as evil as the other three."
"STOP IT, KETLEN!" She slapped her own head again, fiercely reprimanding herself.
"Shit…"
"Since when have I been like this?" She rolled her eyes, annoyed by her own weakness.
The ship's control room seemed alive, even in silence. In the distance, the faint, continuous hum of the kitchen fridge filled the space like an electronic whisper, pulsing in the background, almost like a domestic mantra. The air inside had a clean, subtly fragrant smell—something between cool lavender and a fresh metallic note, reminiscent of recently-turned-on technology.
At the heart of the room, a colossal couch reigned supreme, sunken in the center of the ship like an altar of comfort. It was deep, elegant moss green, with a plush fabric that gave you goosebumps just looking at it—cool to the touch, as if it had been lightly refrigerated, but never unpleasantly so. When you sat down, it hugged your entire body, molding to your curves with that perfect density between firm and soft. The armrests, reclining with an almost silent fluidity, slid as if propelled by an invisible motor, adjusting to the user's slightest desire.
The scent it gave off was indescribably comfortable—something like a mix of freshly washed linen with a hint of light plant-based leather, cozy without being cloying. With every deep breath, it felt like your body was invited to turn off from everything and simply... be.
Below their feet, the rug was a high-density textile work of art, with threads interwoven in micro-textures that created a 3D landscape. It was called "Frutiger Aero," a design inspired by ancient simulation utopias: in the foreground, a bucolic expanse of light green fields with flowers that seemed to dance with the slightest movement of light; in the background, a translucent and vibrant city, trapped inside a dome of water, as if submerged and alive at the same time. The colors were intense but soft on the eyes, with electric shades of blue, pink, and amber spread in harmony. It was more than a rug—it was a horizontal window to another world.
The TV—if it could even be called that anymore—dominated the front wall with its elegant and lethal presence. With true 8K resolution, support for hundreds of frames per second, and absolute contrast, it looked like a painting in motion. There were no bezels. The image that played on it would float slightly above the surface, as if projected into the air. The brightness was perfectly calibrated, adapting to the room's lighting in real time. You could see the reflection of light in digital beads of sweat on a face, or dust moving within a sunbeam—all with a clarity that bordered on the supernatural.
She got up from the kitchen chair, an open area behind the couch, determined to wake him. They needed to get off that moon and go back to space.