##God ##sake sa&£ve us!
21 Nov 2024Costacor666
March 13, 3029. I was searching for an old friend, John F. Smith. The Federation was also looking for him; I'd worked with him occasionally. He was pursuing a path into the Coalsack Nebula. Creating that path takes months because hyperspacing directly into a planet is extremely risky. He had enough food for about two years to support his crew of 209 men. He was meant to be back a month ago, so they sent me. "Bloody hell, John, what mess have you gotten into now?"John left a trail of hydrogen fuel leading to a rogue planet deep in the nebula. I should probably tell my crew—there are 35 of us in an Anaconda-class ship. James is second in command, followed by Smith (third in line). We should reach the planet in about six months. John would be low on food by then, but it's the fastest route.
December 28th, 3029. The physical matter in the nebula has been jamming the engines. Smith thinks we should turn back. I'm actually thinking that yes, John is out there, but can I even make it to him? The planet is right in front of us. Give me one more day. James saw a container ship with half a year's worth of food, matched to John's ship, the FRS Mirror. The food is still edible. Scientists are investigating why it was discarded, but this means John and his 209 men ran out of food about three months ago. Let's hope they were rationing well. I will be on the planet tomorrow.
We are on the planet now, and the hydrogen trail has gone cold, but James found an SRV with a message:
SRV Message Note:
October 12th, 3028:
To whomever finds this: The FRS Mirror suffered catastrophic engine failure three months ago. Casualties are significant; we've lost over 50 crew members to starvation and disease. The remaining 150 are weak, and morale is dangerously low. We're abandoning ship, heading for Outpost Kepler-186f. Rationing is critical; we have less than a week's worth of remaining supplies. Coordinates for our last known position are: [Insert fictional coordinates, e.g., 147.32°N, 89.56°W]. High command casualties include Lieutenant Eva Rostova and First Officer Jian Li and 108 men. Those remaining are signing this message in a desperate attempt to signal for aid.
Signed,
John F. Smith
(Signatures follow, scrawled and barely legible)
I grabbed the note, ran to the ship, and ordered them to get there ASAP. But Smith says we can't go faster than 100 miles a day. I fell to my knees, crying. I got up and ordered them to go now. As we moved, we saw a campsite. A grim scene unfolded. Several bodies lay scattered amongst the rocks, their clothing tattered and their faces gaunt, testament to starvation and exposure. A few tattered tents offered little protection from the harsh elements. Most of their weaponry was gone. Surprisingly, a small cache of food remained—a few dried rations, mostly consumed, and a nearly empty water container. Scattered personal effects – a broken datapad, a worn-out compass, and a few personal mementos – spoke of lives abruptly cut short. A palpable sense of despair and loss hung heavy in the air. The overall impression was one of hasty abandonment, a desperate flight to reach Outpost Kepler-186f. We saw more and more such sites as we traveled, suggesting the crew had split into smaller groups. The number of potentially surviving men dwindled to a terrifyingly small number.
I saw the outpost, but they weren't there. I told my men to take a small shuttle and check each direction while the main ship stayed at the outpost, sending a message to command: "Clear way found. Go to hyperspace. Get here now." I went for a walk and over a hill, I saw a person walking slowly, with a long beard. I ran as fast as I could; he fell on a rock. I grabbed him, and it was John—the last man alive. He fell, saying, "We're all gone…leave my body…leave this hell…" He dropped dead. His condition was so severe that I knew he'd been dead some time.
I didn't bury him. I went to the ship and got out of there quickly, using hyperspace now that there was a clear route. I made it to Earth, told the government everything,