Absolute Zero Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry by Joe Jablonski

An intergalactic delivery man spends decades in stasis with a robot looking after him, becoming increasingly detached from the beings he sees en route; by Joe Jablonski. Image generated with OpenAI ONE I wake up on a planet covered in fire. For the first few seconds I feel nothing. I see nothing. I'm all alone: a void floating within a void. It's everything I've always hoped death would be. My stasis pod opens with a hiss. I sit up using muscles that have been electroshocked into peak performance. The air is thin. Cold. There are so many beeps. I cough up oxygenated liquid from my lungs until nothing is left. A monitor on the far wall displaying the amount of time I was under flickers on. 76 years. Not that it matters. I'll be back in that thing within hours. "Welcome to Kepler 12," says a preprogrammed voice. It's my own, cut and pasted with all the proper syllables. A robot walks up as the words fade. I stand and snatch the cl...