Steren – Entry 12
– Day 1 after the accident
Mothership,
This is John Clark, engineer and data collector on the Steren Exploration Craft 0026. This is my data report.
I watched a meteor hit the fuselage on the East Wing last night. The entire compartment went up. It was like a star exploded in the lens of one of our telescopes. It took the oxygen generator and solar arrays with it. I have five days.
– Day 2
Mothership,
The communications bay went with the East Wing. I’m updating you by hand, old style with a pen and paper. I found an old notebook in Clara’s room, while I was searching for com devices. She was fixing the oxygen tanks when it went up.
I made escape plans, at first. I kept one foot in front of the other by mentally replaying the basic field training we were forced through by the safety officers, before the expedition launch. Four days hemmed in by sterile white walls and blazing ceiling lights, shouted at by a man who looked more like military than health and safety staff. But his orders echoed through my head now, and I steadied my hands. First, check the escape pods. See if they’re still attached. They weren’t. The few that the investors were willing to give us had either ejected early due to cheap sensory arrays or had their shell exteriors cracked and damaged. Second, look for any computer equipment still functioning. But the circuits fried when the solar arrays were incinerated. Check life support, oxygen levels, immediate biological, chemical and technical hazards. Count the days left.
Now I’m writing letters to a fucking ship. They didn’t mention that in basic training.
Still, it feels right sticking to some routine. However abnormal it is.
The power briefly went out today. Only the starlight seeped in through the control room windows. It lasted for several minutes. I paused and listened. The machinery throughout the working parts of the ship shut down, nothing moved or whirred. It was like an animal in my arms that had just stopped breathing, the thudding of a small heart against my chest dropping away without a sound. The silence was suffocating. I couldn’t breathe. The seconds stretched in the darkness of the room, hammered out by the sound of blood thudding in my ears. My chest tightened. Then the power came back on, and the display read 30% oxygen levels.
– Day 3
Oxygen, 10%. Power, 0.3%. Water, one litre.
When was the last time I saw you? Probably the day of the launch. We all set out in this tiny little exploration craft. Me, Clara and Sam, thinking we were Indiana fucking Jones out to raid some remote extra-terrestrial ruins, or discover a motherlode of fuel for the investors back at home. I took a picture, I think. The three of us, in this same control room. We had champagne like it was 2019. The distant suns glinted off the solar arrays of the main station. I looked out of the little porthole window of the craft, and I felt that rush again. It goes away, so many years up here. Spending so much time in the tight little corridors or brightly lit cubicles of the main station, analysing the data disks farmed by the exploration crafts, never seeing out of a window. Why would you? All the light’s inside, under those blazing white striplights that burn into the back of your eyes and keep you awake hours into the night. You dream about going out in a craft, doing some real discovery work. Seeing something, anything. Now look where I am. Proud, Ma?
– Day 4
Mothership,
We’ve been journeying for a while now, huh?
I re-read Emily’s letter today. I have her picture, at least. She had the smarts to print it out the day before launch and included it in her going-away letter to me. A little polaroid – she was always retro. She’s standing there in front of the willow tree. Her hair curled down to her waist, smiling at her dad behind the camera. We’re arm in arm, it’s sunny. She’s wearing a white dress, because her grandma said that’s what brides used to wear on Earth. I wanted to wear my uniform, but she begged me to get a suit like her grandad’s.
I have the silk buttonhole flower that her ma sewed for me, to wear on the wedding day, beside me now as I’m writing. I managed to sneak it on board the craft after the initial inventory checks, though that seems so long ago now. My fingers brush over the stitchwork. I think this is the first thing I ever held that was hand-sewn. She embroidered my name on the back. John…
– Day 5
Dear John,
I’m so proud of you for landing this opportunity. I know how much it means to you, how long you’ve waited to get out there in the vast, unexplored cosmos. You’ve spent hours telling me how you’re going to find a rare oil deposit or discover a new strain of extra-terrestrial bacteria, something to help back home. I believe everything you’ve said to me. You’re going to do great.
This morning, Jenny asked where you’re going. I told her, ‘daddy’s going to go and find something extraordinary.’ She wanted to come. She’s going to grow up to be a little explorer too, I reckon. But for now, she sends her love, albeit with a slobbery kiss.
And for the long journey there and back, love, I’m sending you this picture. I have one copy here, with me. I’ll be looking at you each night, before bed, and thinking about all the stars you’re seeing. I’m seeing them, too.
I’ll meet you again soon,
Emily.
by Nicky Peters