Christine squirmed in her sleeping bag, burying her face deep into her pillow in a desperate attempt to fight off wakefulness. It was futile. The harsh reality of their situation on this desolate moon was already seeping into her consciousness, dispelling the last wisps of her far-fetched dream about exotic alien artefacts and whirlwind press tours.

Sitting up with a groan that sat audibly somewhere between disappointment and disgust, Christine ran her hands through her long reddish-brown hair. What has once been a soft tangle of curls that perfectly framed her face could now only be described as a knotty mess, and that is if she was feeling generous. Not that you could see much hair under the layers and layers of fine dust that made her head feel several kilos heavier.

She longed to grab the small jug of water she was allowed to keep in her tent, pour it over her head and wash her hair for the first time in nearly three months – but the North Star wasn't due for at least another two weeks, and what remained of her water rations were barely enough to keep her coffee thermos full.

Coffee. That's what she needed.

After half-heartedly wiping herself down with one of the completely ineffectual "dry wash" kits that she had thought such a clever purchase when the algorithm had suggested it to her as she prepared for the expedition, Christine threw on the cleanest t-shirt she could find and a ragged pair of cargo shorts. Grabbing her over-sized thermos, she made her way to the camp's open air mess, which offered a spectacular view of the camp's alien surroundings.

Even without the hardships of limited supplies and seemingly never-ending work, life on this strange and remote moon had taken some getting used to. From orbit, the vast expanses of ochre terrain had appeared not unlike the Australian Outback described in the histories of Mother Earth. But as they discovered upon landing, the similarities were largely superficial.

They had been left constantly short of breath during their first weeks due to the thin atmosphere, and the weaker than usual gravity gave their movements a subtle, bouncy quality that had taken some getting used to. And then there was the soil. A rich, rusty red soil that was fine as talcum powder in some areas and coarse as gravel in others. And it got into everything – their clothes, their equipment, and worst of all, their food.

The moon's flora was sparse but hardy, consisting mainly of low-lying, leathery shrubs and occasional stands of trees that looked like a cross between baobabs and giant mushrooms. The fauna was even rarer – they'd spotted a few insect-like creatures and what might have been the equivalent of small reptiles, but nothing larger.

But it was the sky that truly set this world apart. For 18 hours of their 26-hour day, the horizon was dominated by the massive gas giant they orbited. Its swirling purple atmosphere was a constant source of wonder, with massive lightning storms illuminating continent-sized clouds in brilliant flashes of white and violet. During the brief periods when the gas giant was hidden from view, two smaller, irregularly shaped moons could be seen racing across the star-filled sky.

As beautiful and awe-inspiring as it could sometimes be, the moon felt profoundly alien. It was a constant reminder of how far they were from home, and how much was riding on their expedition.

Christine felt a twinge of guilt as she heaped two large spoonfuls of coffee into her thermos. The oversized tin they stored it in was looking alarmingly empty these days, and while it was probably the foulest tasting instant coffee one could possibly imagine, Christine was utterly convinced it was the only thing keeping their ragged group of academics sane.

If the North Star didn't return with supplies soon, Christine feared they would likely return to find only the gruesome aftermath of some violent scene brought on by the sounds of spoons clanging against an empty tin.

Christine sighed, her gaze drifting to the alien landscape beyond the camp. The harsh beauty of this world had long since lost its novelty, replaced by the grinding reality of their day-to-day struggles. For a moment, she allowed herself to entertain the doubts that had been lurking at the edges of her mind.

What if they were wrong? What if this moon held nothing but dust and final failures?

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

But as quickly as the thoughts surfaced, Christine pushed them aside. She was a scientist, after all. Doubt was part of the process, not an endpoint. She thought of Professor Wilson, his unwavering dedication in the face of ridicule from their peers. It wasn't blind faith that drove him, but a lifetime of meticulous research and reasoned hypotheses.

Christine took another sip of her coffee, grimacing at the taste but savouring the familiar ritual. She reminded herself that breakthroughs rarely came as dramatic revelations. Instead, they were built on countless small observations, each piece of data bringing them closer to understanding.

As she made her way to the dig site, Christine's mind turned to the day ahead. An anomaly in their latest survey had revealed traces of an uncommon metallic substance about four metres underground. While her scientific mind insisted it was most likely just a small meteorite, a small part of her couldn't help but entertain more intriguing possibilities.

Christine let out a small chuckle as she suddenly imagined uncovering the bottle cap from the extraterrestrial equivalent of Coca-Cola. The image of Professor Wilson proudly holding up their find in front of a panel of slack-jawed academics back in the colonies was just the boost her spirits needed.

As she approached the site, Christine could see Tim already hard at work, his lanky frame hunched over a piece of equipment. He was calibrating one of their more sensitive scanners, his brow furrowed in concentration. Despite his youth and initial nervousness, Tim had proven to be a valuable member of the team, his keen eye for detail and artistic skills providing unique insights into their findings.

"Morning, Tim," Christine called out, causing the young man to start slightly. "Found any evidence of the alien cola wars?"

Tim's confused expression made it clear he didn't understand the joke, but with a shy smile he still responded with all the confidence he could muster. "Not yet, Dr. Sorrentino. But I am sure we will."

His attempt at optimism was endearing, and Christine felt a pang of guilt for her earlier cynicism. It was easy to forget sometimes that for Tim, and indeed for many of the younger team members, this expedition was the culmination of a lifelong dream. Their enthusiasm, while occasionally grating, was also a much-needed antidote to the creeping despair that threatened to overtake the older, more experienced members of the team.

As she began to set up her own equipment, Christine's thoughts turned to the rest of their small band of explorers. Dr. Eliza Chen, their geologist, would likely be along shortly, her quiet competence a steadying influence on the team. Then there was Jack Hawkins, the team's jack-of-all-trades engineer, whose knack for keeping their temperamental equipment functioning in this harsh environment had proven invaluable.

And then, of course, there was Professor Glenn Wilson.

Wilson, now in his sixties, was a far cry from the academic powerhouse he had been in his forties. Once loved and respected by academics and the general public alike. A charming and talented archaeologist, Wilson had made his name by helping preserve the almost lost history of Mother Earth and some of its oldest cultures. He had really shot to fame when, after appearing on popular late-night talk shows, it was discovered that he had a talent for bringing even the driest aspects of history to life.

But after turning his attention to the alien history of the galaxy, Wilson had become an outcast within the academic community. They considered it a source of great embarrassment that he would continue to argue for the existence of alien civilization despite no evidence being found on the nearly 200 planets humans now called home. But Christine knew better. She had seen the fire in his eyes when he spoke of his theories, the meticulous research that backed up his seemingly outlandish claims. It was that unwavering belief that had brought them all here, to this remote moon at the edge of explored space.

Christine's musings were interrupted by the distinctive sound of Professor Wilson's cane tapping against the rocky ground. She turned to see the old man making his way towards them, his wild grey hair even more dishevelled than usual, but his eyes bright with anticipation.

"Ah, excellent! I see you're already hard at work," Wilson called out, his voice carrying a hint of breathlessness from the short walk. "I have a good feeling about today, my young friends. I have a feeling in my bones, as old as they may be getting, that we are on the verge of something extraordinary!" His eyes twinkled with the same enthusiasm that had first drawn Christine to his cause.

Taking a long sip from her thermos, Christine's mind briefly wandered to thoughts of the North Star and its crew. Despite her initial scepticism about the battered ship, she had really come to appreciate and enjoy the company of its rough-around-the-edges crew, and not just the company of their charming captain.

Blushing slightly, Christine refocused on the task at hand. Wilson's enthusiasm was infectious, and even if experience had taught the expedition to temper their expectations, she couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. Despite the hardships and doubts, a part of her couldn't help but wonder if today might be the day they proved Wilson right and changed humanity's understanding of the universe forever.