Celestial Bodies

a sci-fi short thriller

Chief Officer Kane freezes, mid-sentence. Odd look in his eyes. Mouth stuck open.

We all stare, unsure what’s happening.

“Kane?” I try.

Tiny, jittery movements, nearly imperceptible, shudder throughout his body. His pupils dilate with irregular pulses. His open lips quiver randomly as whispery rasps leak out of his throat in strange, staccato spurts.

“Kane!” Hernandes calls out louder, her expert medical eyes scanning the man for diagnosable signs. “He looks like he’s having some sort of seizure.”

She takes a careful step toward him, continuing. “Maybe a focal impaired or clonic—”

She doesn’t finish that sentence before Kane explodes in a flash of red shreds and wetness that splatters everything, including us, in dripping gore.

Something was very, very wrong on board the SS Hermod…

***

MISSION CONTROL, General Sue Harden reporting

Optimism pervaded the entire Nereus mission previously. A standard science mission: round-trip data and material retrieval. We’d done hundreds of them. We’d even done a few dozen in uncharted space. But this would be the first manned trip in the Nereus region, and regulations required first manned trips into an uncharted region always had extra hands on deck instead of the typical triumvirate.

And we had put together what we thought was the perfect team for the job: Captain Warren Lutz leading the crew, with Science Officer Suraj Singh handling the key objectives related to retrieval and early analysis; star pilot Errol Floydd at the helm and Engineer Tony Ghazarian ensuring the machinery ran smoothly; Medical Officer Dr. Lydia Hernandes on board for routine health checks and any emergency medical issues, and Chief Officer Nestor Kane to assist as needed and take command when Lutz needed shut eye. All outstanding in their various disciplines; their exceptional teamwork skills proven on numerous missions. Everyone had complete confidence we had a team that couldn’t fail.

Pure hubris. Every one of us an Icarus.

***

I thought more than three crew members completely unnecessary for such a small mission. Yes, the journey included a huge swath of uncharted space and, yes, standard protocol for such missions mandated more, but it still felt like overkill to me. I felt the Hermod’s computer systems could handle most of the work and any humans would be little more than babysitters and manual labor, should a need arise. Truth told: I thought a pilot and the requisite science officer to perform the actual mission objectives would be enough.

But every mission needs a leader. And I got tagged, having done my share of similar, successful missions. Regulations demanded the rest, so our threesome doubled in size to a crew of six. Not that I was unhappy about any of the choices. I’d lead several missions with reliable, sturdy Kane as my second, so having him fill the role on this trip suited me fine. Wiry “Flyboy” Floydd had a rascally goofball charm except at the helm, where he proved laser-focused with unmatched piloting skills. Similarly superior in proficiency, thick-browed grease monkey Ghazarian (who hated me reducing his engineering skills to a car mechanic slang moniker) handled everything—even his meals—with imperturbable attention and gravity. We had multiple laureate astrophysicist/geologist Singh for the main event; his classically bespectacled face the one nod to stereotype in our group. And steely-eyed Dr. Lydia Hernandes, Portuguese Nobel Peace Prize winner, joined for the experience of space travel more than maintaining crew health—though that was her mission objective. All good people and, I’ll admit, while I balked at the additions at first, since trips this long can get dull, a small part of me looked forward to some good, varied company.

Little did I know it would turn into a body count.

***

MISSION CONTROL, General Sue Harden reporting
From the mission logs transferred to base, everything had gone according to plan up until the anomaly. The ship hovered as Singh worked the robotic arms, collecting bits of stardust and other material for study. Both the video and mission logs received revealed the phenomenon occurred as if out of nowhere. As if it had either uncloaked or come through an unseen rift of some sort. It appeared as a mass of light and energy, brighter and whiter in the center, with pale pinks and oranges feathering out in dreamy, ethereal ripples—the entire thing stretching out approximately ten or more times the size of the Hermod.

***

Everything was on track. We’d arrived and entered what appeared to be the largest nebula ever recorded: a vast mass of particles and gases that, sensors told us, stretched on for over 2 million light-years. After endless scans, tabulations, cross-checks and so on—Singh was busy manning the Handyman, manipulating the robotic arms and collecting bits of space dust and whatnot for study. Floydd kept us steady and Ghazarian kept his eyes on the systems. That left Kane and Hernandes and I playing cards in the mess. We all joked about that term. On a larger ship, you’d have a “mess hall”; on a ship this compact, there was just a table in a hutch off the galley. Regulations demanded everyone clean up after yourself before you left, but we all would have done it anyway, because in such a tiny space, one thing left out astray actually looked like a bona fide mess.

“For the record,” Kane said, “The hand I currently hold, sucks ass.”

Hernandes snorted. “So, when’s the wedding?”

Kane raised an eyebrow. “Wedding?”

“Yeah,” Hernandes replied. “You to your hand.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Kane threw back.

I just shook my head, unable to keep a smirk off my face. These two could really volley the snark. It made for healthy doses of entertaining banter.

Gzjzjzjjzzhzzhzhzhzhzhh!

The lights went out and all ambient sound died.

“What the fuck?” Kane’s voice.

A loud BEEP and then the sounds and light returned. Softer. The tell-tale sign we were now on backup systems.

What the hell had happened?

***

MISSION CONTROL, General Sue Harden reporting
Video and mission logs match in relation to the premiere event. The outermost sections of the anomaly, the tail ends of the seemingly vaporous feathers rippled, and pulsing waves undulated from it toward the ship. The pulses were invisible themselves; the wavering of the nebula’s particles and stars shining in the distance provided the only visual evidence that something was passing from the anomaly to the ship. But the minute the waves hit the ship, the video goes out—as does every single of the ship’s systems, according to the crew logs. The backup for critical systems kicked in seconds later and the crew began diagnostics and functionality checks.

***

On my command, Floydd had parked the ship at a full stop and we now sat in the mess, discussing next steps. As claustrophobic as it felt with all of us in there at once, it was still the largest room on the ship. The computer, functioning normally despite the interruption of power, confirmed we’d been hit with some sort of energy wave, though it was unable to do a full analysis of specifically what made up that wave. And Ghazarian’s diagnostics didn’t reveal much to explain the systems’ failures beyond the mysterious, invasive energy. I had Kane send a message to Mission Control that they’d best be prepared to send a rescue team; there was no way we’d get home if anything else went down.

And so, as safe as we could be for the moment, we needed to take the time to figure out our best options for a plan going forward.

“Look,” I was saying. “Nobody wants to complete our mission more than I, but we have no idea if that thing out there is sentient or not and if what it did to the ship was intentional or not. Was it a one-time freak of nature or a direct attack of some sort? And we can’t assess that without any real intel and I don’t know if it’s worth poking around and running the risk of something worse happening. We sure as hell can’t take another blast like whatever the hell it was that hit us. But I’d like everyone’s thoughts before I call it.”

“Man, I don’t know, boss. I feel like my head’s a little scrambled,” Floydd said.

“Me, too,” Kane offered.

“Huh. I thought it was just me,” I admitted. “Ghazarian? Hernandes?”

They nodded.

“So, this thing didn’t just affect machinery.”

“Well,” Ghazarian formulated aloud, “whatever wiped out our systems must have had some sort of element that affected all forms of energy…”

Hernandes picked up the thought: “And our nervous systems run on electrochemical signals, so it’s likely we all had a bit of a glitch or reboot of sorts.”

The rest of us took that in for a beat.

“All right,” I said. “So, we may even be compromised in ways we aren’t aware of, yet. That tells me leaving the sector as soon as possible is our best option. I won’t put our lives at risk.”

Kane piped up. “Sir, if I may…”

I nodded.

“Whatever that thing is, if it wanted us dead, we probably would be. I mean, that’s assuming it’s sentient. We don’t know if it is and—even if we did—we don’t know if what it did was hostile or accidental. Maybe it just came to do a job and we were collateral damage. Or maybe they thought we were space junk or something.”

“They fuckin’ blew out our systems with an energy wave, Kane,” Floyyd said. “And they’re still sitting there! You wanna wait to see what they’ll do next?”

“Reacting out of fear rarely leads to good decision making!”

Floydd huffed.

Turning to me, Kane continued. “I don’t mean to downplay the risk factor. I’m just saying we are safe for the moment and are in a unique situation, with a rare opportunity at a potential first contact and I think we should consider our options. For all we know—”

That’s when he froze. And, after what appeared to be some sort of barely perceptible seizure, his body blew apart like he’d had a bomb inside him.

We all wiped burning muck from our eyes, only to open them to stare, dumbfounded--our brains unable to process anything.

Everything was covered in crimson fluid and pea-sized bits of flesh and bone. The walls, the ceiling, the floors…us.

Floydd started shaking.

“Holy fuck! Holy fucking fuck!!!”

***

MISSION CONTROL, General Sue Harden reporting
Ghazarian could find no clear cause of the shutdown and the crew’s prevailing theory after some discussion was that the anomaly was in fact the cause, as a result of some form of energy waves (though exact details of how the anomaly had achieved the result remained, and continues to remain, a mystery). It was in the middle of those discussions that Officer Nestor Kane spontaneously exploded. That was the first casualty.

***

It was touch and go and I’m trying to remember everything that followed, but I may have the order wrong. Hernandes calmed Floydd down before gathering some of Kane’s remains to try to study it with the hope of ascertaining any clue as to what might have happened to the poor guy. Ghazarian worked on trying to find a way to get our main systems running again. Floydd and I cleaned the mess as best we could, though I had a feeling I’d be eating elsewhere from here on. We each showered and changed clothes at some point.

I held it together on the outside—had to—but inside, I was a wreck. Kane was a good man. We’d been through a lot. He did not deserve whatever the hell happened to him. It may have been an accident or a freak of nature, but I was still furious and fighting a shocking, gut-wrenching grief. It made those hours a blur.

I sat in my room, feeling residual warmth from the shower, yet still chilled from the recent events. I was running ideas through my head.

The door chimed.

“Come in.”

The door slid open and Ghazarian took the single available step in. Even the captain’s room on a ship this small was barely more than a cubbyhole.

“Tell me something good, Ghazarian.”

Ghazarian sighed.

“Oh, shit.”

“No, no,” Ghazarian said. “I mean. No: whatever happened fried too many of the main circuits and machinery, so getting the primary systems back up isn’t possible. But—and this is the good part, probably, if you agree—I think I can link the comms to the tractor beam and use the beam as a conduit to try to communicate with the anomaly in the chance it’s in any way sentient. We might get some answers not only to what happened, but how we can mitigate our risk going forward, allowing us to complete our mission.”

I thought about his idea for a moment. It was a promising concept and I wanted to honor his effort, but I couldn’t afford the uncertainty or the potential danger.

“It’s an intriguing idea and I appreciated your ingenuity and creativity, but I think we’d best stick to the plan and prepare to leave the sector.”

“But we’ve come all this way. And we could be about to make history: a first contact with a species unlike any we’ve ever encountered. And every mission has its pitfalls.”

“Pitfalls?! Is that what you call what happened?!”

I saw Ghazarian’s jaw clench. But I forged ahead.

“And what if your beam accidentally stokes the fire? Are we gonna write that off as another “pitfall’? We’re in a precarious situation and you could not only make it worse, you could get us all killed in the process. I’m sorry, Ghazarian, but I’m not willing to take any more risks with the ship or our lives.”

“But, with all due respect, sir, isn’t that our job? We risk our lives every day out here. Every action, every moment we’re out here is a risk. We know that. We choose that.”

“Did Kane choose what happened to him?”

Ghazarian looked down, lips tightening, pulling inward. I felt bad. I had dealt a low blow. The “pitfalls” comment still ate at me. And I didn’t want to argue. I wanted to get the hell outta there.

“Prepare the ship to leave the sector. That’s an order.”

Ghazarian looked up. Stiffened. Nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

He left. I exhaled.

***

MISSION CONTROL, General Sue Harden reporting
According to Captain Lutz’s log, the crew’s assignment was to prepare the ship to leave the sector. But Ghazarian disobeyed orders and attempted to communicate with the anomaly, presumably hoping it was both sentient and not hostile. And, to his credit, his idea was sound: he linked the comms to the tractor beam and used the beam as a sort of two-way phone line. If he’d had the time to input carefully crafted messages into the computer, it might have even been successful. But, in the tiny window he had to make his attempt, he chose a quicker option; he used the human/computer interface nodes to transmit salutations and overtures of peaceful relations which the computer simply translated into all known linguistic articulations and codes.

Our best guess, based on the logs, is that the beam triggered the anomaly’s reaction. Which led to the ship’s second fatality.

***

“Captain!”

The unmistakable urgency in Floydd’s voice sent instant, icy prickles through me. I looked up from the departure progress logs on my portable data tablet, to the helm where Floydd sat, staring out the view screen. And no wonder: our tractor beam shot out at the anomaly, hitting it square in the blinding white center.

“Sonuvabitch,” I muttered under my breath. I hit my intra-ship communicator.

“Ghazarian, what the hell are you doing?!”

No response.

“Stand down, Ghazarian. That’s an order!”

No response.

“Stand down immediately, Ghazarian!”

No response.

“Sonuvabitch,” I barked. Floydd turned to me, wide-eyed.

“What the hell is he doing?”

I was already heading out the bridge door. “Getting himself a life sentence!”

I bolted to engineering. I met Singh coming up from the science lab.

“Did you order that tractor beam?”

“I sure as hell did not!”

We got to the engineering door at the same time. It was closed and locked.

“Fuckin’ hell!” I spat. Hit my comms. “Computer! Unlock engineering and open the door!”

A whir and click and the door opened. We ran inside.

Ghazarian reclined slightly in the lone chair, comm link nodes attached to his temples.

“Get those nodes off; I’ll shut down the beam!” I ordered.

“Beam first,” Singh said. “Not sure what unlinking him while it’s on will do.”

I leapt to the control panels. A flash of light caught my eyes. Singh and I both looked out the viewscreen to see the anomaly sending a bright beam through our own, heading for the ship. It would hit faster than I could blink. Still, I turned to the control panel to find the tractor beam switch.

Got it!

Reached out—

Sparks flew. A deafening buzz. Ghazarian stiffened, his entire body arched up, like he’d been hit with defibrillator pads.

“Jesus--!” Singh cried.

I watched, frozen in shock for moment before tearing my eyes away and relocating the tractor beam switch in the sparking control panel. Lunged for it, arm out, hand headed right for the damn thing.

The panel went dead. Ghazarian crashed back down into the chair.

Silence.

My hand hovered over the now useless tractor switch.

I turned to look back at Ghazarian. He lay still. Mouth open. Eyes rolled into his upper lids. Dark ooze leaking from his ears.

Chest not moving.

Oh, god…

***

MISSION CONTROL, General Sue Harden reporting
Little forensic analysis of the second alien-caused event, resulting in the death of Dr. Ghazarian, produced findings that explained in any clear specifics exactly what happened and, more importantly, why. Despite the engineering panel being severely damaged, the main computer’s diagnostics managed to reveal the composition of the beam, velocity, and so on, but its cause and purpose could not be ascertained. Dr. Hernandes’ reports discussed the results of the beam on Ghazarian’s body; the physical effects almost certainly due to the neural link of the nodes he wore connecting him to the engineering computer array. Though, again, we have no hard evidence to verify that to a 100% certainty.

And the above incident reports from Lutz and Hernandes are the final communications we received, with the exception of the distress signal, requesting immediate rescue. If any more logs exist, they either weren’t sent or the transmission was lost. We now await reports for the Eridanus, our latest, fully automated vessel we dispatched to find and retrieve the Hermod and, hopefully, any crew that may still be alive. We await with tempered optimism that, between any remaining logs and the black box, we’ll finally get some answers as to what happened out there. And that we’ll find some survivors.

***

I swallowed a fat, nasty lump in my throat as I stared at the horror in front of me.

I had Floydd and Singh doing a full diagnostics check to ascertain what, if any, of the engineering systems remained operational and to follow that up with a ship wide systems check to see if anything outside of engineering had been affected. I was prepping a log of recent events when Hernandes called me in to review her progress on Ghazarian’s autopsy. I held it together the best I could as I stared at the body on the table and the dark, viscous fluid that dripped down all sides to the floor.

“The only way to attempt to understand the damage to his brain was to open him up,” Hernandes explained. “And this is what happened.”

In my coolest, calmest voice, I managed: “What exactly am I looking at?”

“It appears the beam essentially liquified his brain.”

I stared at what was left of Ghazarian. His head lay in that glistening expanse of gelatinous goo, skull half removed, sitting next to him. The back half of his skull that was still in place pooled to the rim with the muck, looking like a bowl of blackish-crimson bisque.

They’d turned his brain into soup.

I pulled my eyes away. Looked at Hernandes. We locked eyes. Two comrades standing as calm as possible, our eyes betraying our mutual horror in a sort of surreal, silent screaming.

“We need to get out of here,” I said.

“Roger that,” she replied.

“Captain,” a voice behind me said.

I turned to see Floydd at the door, a pale shade of green, eyes bugging at the sight of Ghazarian on the table.

“Yes, Floydd,” I said, mostly to draw his attention away from the table.

It worked. He turned his eyes to me.

“Propulsion systems are down.”

Fuck!

***

MISSION CONTROL, General Sue Harden reporting
Reports from Eridanus have been troubling. They revealed several systems failures and confirmed no survivors aboard the Hermod. But, as Eridanus began a deeper dive into the ship’s mainframe, something happened to the machinery and it began to glitch before cutting out completely. As of today, we have lost communication with the Eridanus and fear it may have succumbed to the same fate as the Hermod.

We are currently considering whether or not a second rescue mission is prudent or if we should mark the sector as dangerous and to be avoided until a later time when we are able to gather more intel.

***

WE ARE SPEAKING TO YOU THROUGH YOUR COMPUTER, BECAUSE YOUR BRAINS ARE NOT CAPABLE OF THE PROCESSING REQUIRED TO ALLOW US TO COMMUNICATE IN YOUR LANGUAGE. WE LEARNED THIS BY ACCIDENT, FOR WHICH WE ARE VERY SORRY AND ASHAMED. BUT WE WILL SPEAK TO THAT SHORTLY.

God, I hope the black box wasn’t too damaged and is recording this…

BEFORE WE CONTINUE, WE APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE IF SOME OF THE WORDS WE USE ARE NOT QUITE CORRECT. YOUR LANGUAGE HAS BEEN A CHALLENGE, WITH SO MANY WORDS MEANING THE SAME OR SIMILAR THINGS AND SO MANY GRAMMATICAL VARIANCES. THE INEFFICIENCY AND REDUNDANCY HINDERED OUR ABILITY TO CATALOGUE AND PRIORITIZE LINGUISTIC ELEMENTS EXPEDITIOUSLY. BUT TIME IS CRITICAL, SO WE ARE MOVING FORWARD WITHOUT OUR MORE STANDARD, RIGOROUS ANALYSIS IN AN ATTEMPT TO SAVE LIVES. THUS, IF OUR DICTION OCCASIONALLY FEELS AWKWARD, WE HOPE YOU WILL STILL BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND OUR MAIN POINTS AND FORGIVE ANY CLUMSINESS OF GRAMMAR OR VOCABULARY.

WHEN YOU ENTERED OUR BODY (OUR BODY, UNLIKE YOURS IS EXPANSIVE AND HAS NO OUTER CONTAINER/SHELL/SKIN), ONE OF OUR SENSORY SYSTEMS (IT IS MOST COMPARABLE TO YOUR IMMUNE SYSTEM) RECOGNIZED YOUR VESSEL—ESPECIALLY ITS ENGINE ENERGY EMISSIONS—AS TOXIC. BUT IT WAS MINIMAL ENOUGH THAT, SHOULD YOU HAVE CONTINUED PASSING THROUGH AND LEFT US, WE WOULD HAVE DONE NOTHING. BUT WE MONITORED YOUR ACTIVITY TO MAKE SURE THE DISCHARGE DID NOT GROW IN MAGNITUDE. BUT YOU STAYED AND BEGAN TO INGEST PARTS OF US.

They’re talking about Singh’s particle collecting.

THAT WAS UNACCEPTABLE AND SO OUR IMMUNE SYSTEM BEGAN IMMEDIATE NEUTRALIZATION. SUCCESSFULLY TERMINATING THE INGESTION AND FUEL PROPULSION—THE IMMEDIATE THREATS—ALLOWED US TO EXAMINE YOUR VESSEL FOR STUDY TO LEARN WHERE IT MIGHT HAVE COME FROM AND OF WHAT IT WAS MADE; THE GOAL OF WHICH WAS TO REMOVE IT SAFELY AND PREPARE OURSELVES FOR PROTECTION FROM SIMILAR INVASIVE BODIES GOING FORWARD. THE CLOSEST THINGS WE CAN OFFER IS WHAT FOR YOU WOULD BE TERMED A “VACCINE”.

IN OUR DIAGNOSTIC ANALYSES, WE DISCOVERED YOU: THE SENTIENT BEINGS INSIDE THE VESSEL TO WHOM WE NOW SPEAK. UNFORTUNATELY, OUR FIRST ATTEMPT TO COMMUNICATE WITH YOU PROVED A FAILURE. WE HAD NO IDEA MERGING WITH ONE OF YOUR SPECIES WOULD BE SO DISASTROUS, BUT YOUR BODIES ARE CLEARLY NOT ABLE TO MERGE WITH OURS; THE RESULT WAS HIGHLY UNEXPECTED AND DEEPLY TROUBLING, AND WE HOPE YOU WILL FORGIVE US FOR THE DAMAGE TO THE BODY OF THE BEING WE SEEM TO HAVE DAMAGED BEYOND REPAIR.

Jesus. Poor Kane. That’s what happened…

YOUR NEXT ACTION TOWARD US WAS THE ENERGY BEAM. WITHOUT COMMUNICATION, WE COULD NOT KNOW IF IT WAS A RETALIATORY ACT OR NOT, BUT IT WAS CAUSING DAMAGE AND SO, ONCE AGAIN, OUR IMMUNE SYSTEM AUTOMATICALLY REACTED AS IT MUST AND NEUTRALIZED THE THREAT; THIS TIME, ENTERING AND FOLLOWING THE BEAM TO SEND THE NEUTRALIZING AGENT TO THE SOURCE. WE DID NOT UNDERSTAND THE SOURCE WAS LINKED DIRECTLY TO ANOTHER ONE OF YOUR SENTIENT BEINGS AND THAT THE END RESULT WAS NOT ONLY THE EXTINCTION OF THE SOURCE, BUT OF THE OPERATOR AS WELL.

Oh, fuck. They unintentionally cooked Ghazarian’s brain…

IT WAS NOT OUR INTENTION TO DISABLE ANYTHING BUT THE BEAM. WE DID NOT FORESEE THE REACTIONS THAT SPREAD THROUGH YOUR SHIP AND DISABLED YOUR SECONDARY PROPULSION SYSTEM. WE ARE GREATLY TROUBLED BY THIS. WE WISH THERE WAS SOMETHING WE COULD DO TO CORRECT THE SITUATION, BUT IT IS BEYOND OUR ABILITIES. WILL YOU BE ABLE TO RETURN SAFELY TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM THROUGH ASSISTANCE FROM OTHERS OF YOUR SPECIES? WE WOULD BE MOST HAPPY IF THAT WERE THE CASE.

FEEL FREE TO SPEAK TO US THROUGH YOUR COMPUTER; WE ARE ABLE TO RECEIVE YOUR RESPONSES AND WILL TRANSLATE THEM THE BEST WE CAN.

***

Hernandes, Singh and I had already ascertained we were dead in the water. I had sent a distress signal to Mission Control but knew life support and rations would most likely not last long enough for retrieval or rescue. So, when the anomaly began communicating with us, we knew the mission had inarguably evolved into a “first contact” scenario with an alien race: an event we had to document for as long as we were able.

Ghazarian had been right after all.

With nothing to lose, we began a dialogue with the anomaly—the alien lifeform we had unintentionally violated—and explained our current unfortunate situation to them. They reaffirmed both contrition and their inability to fix our ship. So, Hernandes, Singh and I were left to struggle to accept our fate gracefully. What the alien did offer, however, added unexpected, divergent roads to our demise. They could expel our ship from their body so our remains could be retrieved by any ship that may be sent for us. Or, alternatively, we could remain inside their body and get broken down and absorbed into the anomaly’s physical makeup and remain a part of them for the rest of our existence. Or, they could do a combination: absorb only our energy to become a part of them and then remove the ship, including our bodies, to be discovered at some point. And the three of us did not have to choose the same option; they would honor each of our choices, individually.

Hernandes, Singh and I took some time to ponder it all. Interesting, we all agreed: we’d opt to have our energy absorbed into the alien and the remaining elements ejected. That way, if a retrieval ship did come, they would get the logs and have evidence of everything that happened, the existence of the alien(s), and the awareness to stay out of the sector they inhabited. And the three of us would live on in some fashion as yet to become known to us.

We communicated our choices to the alien along with a timeline so we had the opportunity to prepare. Singh wanted time to pray, Hernandes wanted time to meditate, and I wanted time to complete my log entries and make sure the ship’s black box was as secure as I could make it.

It’s only a matter of time, now.

I’ve made peace with the situation. Where I’m headed. And to be honest, as an astronaut, I think, in some fashion, it’s fitting to end things this way.

Out here.

In space.

Another fragment of the endless parade of celestial bodies.

This is Captain Warren Lutz of the SS Hermod signing off.

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