semiquincentennial
noun
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Two hundred and fifty years. It was a lifetime to be in transit. Several lifetimes, really. And yet, that was how long it had been. He looked out the window, seeing the stars drift past. Always a different view out of the front viewport. And yet, after so long, they all seemed to meld into each other.
He used to wonder at them all. What kinds of planets might be around each one. Now he could care less. After nothing but empty space for over two centuries, the stars had lost much of their majesty. He turned away from the external view and focused on the internals of the ship.
It was an old vessel, obviously. But he kept it running well enough. Even so, there were fewer lights on the console. Less computer readouts. Even outside of the bridge, there were less lights. And naturally the flashlights had burned out decades ago. At least he had developed decent eyesight in the dark. Plus, he had gone through the corridors so much that he could navigate them even without a hint of light.
Not for the first time, he thought about how he had gotten there. It was so long ago that he no longer remembered. He no longer remembered his own name; let alone why he was in the ship. He knew it was something very important though. A great purpose that he had been proud to take on.
He and the others. Yes, he knew there were others. Many of them, really. A full crew, of which he was only one. Now he was alone. How long had he been alone? At least a century. He had wondered why he was still alive, of course. But now, at 250 years, it was a useless thing to think about. He was still alive. The ship was still running. Maybe he would find his answers one day. Until then, he would keep the ship running.
He would get somewhere eventually; he was sure of that. He did not even much care what that place was. Maybe it would be his original destination, maybe it would not. He could not remember what the destination was, anyway. Besides, any destination would be good at this point.
After 250 years in the emptiness of space, even an inhospitable planet would be good. Maybe it would finally let him join the rest of the crew in whatever afterlife they were in. Maybe they would remember his name. Until then, he would keep the ship operable. He would keep it moving forward as well as he was able to with the means he had at his disposal.
He slid into a chair and closed his eyes. The ship would keep going as it was. He was currently not needed. And so, he would spend his time in his own thoughts. Trying his best to remember those things that he had once considered important. His goal, his friends and family. His name. Maybe someday he would remember them.
