Doubt, fear, worry. Not on the flight manifest but certainly as onboard as any Hynerian.
Space is a cold silent deadly place. Only a thin metal wall and a bit of technology stands between life and death. One systems malfunction, one failure of a simple mechanical part determines who lives and who dies. Weighs on the mind. Preys on the soul.

What does tomorrow bring? Where are we going? Will we ever get there? Why does the universe seem to conspire against us? Are we strong enough, bright enough to survive?

Who has not asked these questions. On Bravo-Four-Zero, they banged around the vessel like a steel hammer inside an empty, tumbling, fifty-five gallon drum. Echoes of thought unanswered; a non-sound as tangible in the mind as the knots twisting upon knots in each passenger’s aching tired fatigued muscles.

Hynerian canon worshiped two gods and eight precepts. Love. Joy. Compassion. Peace. Faith. Hope. Truth. Mercy. Moving at the speed of light into parts unknown, prayer poured forth minus the filters of reason and doubt, beyond prejudice, without limit. The chapel became the meeting place of choice.

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