A week had passed since coming out of stasis sleep, and still, there was no rhyme or reason for Admiral Richardson’s actions. The blackout room had remained silent. The subtle horrors lurking beneath those cloudy coverings were too much to bear. To the untrained eye, the stoic faces of my comrades behind inch-thick porthole glass gave the appearance of a peaceful rest, but upon closer examination, striations of frostbitten dead flesh lattice their skin. It had been days since I had gone back. There was very little reason to spend any time there, so I gave it a wide birth, closing the hatch of the connecting hall. That entire wing of the craft would’ve been jettisoned into the void if it were possible, giving them a proper burial at sea. But it wasn’t possible, so the crew’s coffins remained.
Since waking up, I have spent most of my time talking with the AI. After tirelessly exhausting prompt after prompt, the system still hadn’t produced any helpful information. Admiral Richardson did a hell of a job scrubbing the records. Even the launch instructions were hidden, locked away by impenetrable encryption. With little choice, the AI system was tasked with combing over the near-infinite combinations and permutations of the encryption key with what compute it had to spare. Day and night, it cycled through characters trying to crack the key. It was a fool’s errand, as the rate at which it created unique keys to test would take nearly four centuries to exhaust all possibilities. Time wasn’t on my side. Still, something had to be done. Idly waiting, standing by for my own slow death, wasn’t an option.
Oddly, the barren and unwelcoming station provided some unexpected comfort. The tightly packed bunks, wrapped in thin beige sheet metal, were reminiscent of those on naval vessels I had spent so much of my youth on. In the past, I spent months aboard aircraft carriers, deploying across the world. Days would drag on, testing everyone’s patience. All we ever wanted was a mission - to be scrambled and engage in high-stakes dogfighting with the enemy, but that wasn’t the world we lived in. Large-scale conflicts had long since given way to proxy wars. State actors sponsored smaller, less sophisticated forces to carry out hit-and-runs. We were a relic of a time long passed. I dropped bombs on unsuspecting targets from an altitude too high for the poor people on the receiving end to put up a fight. Then, it became cheaper and much safer to send up unmanned aerial vehicles. A drone could hit a target with the same precision while not risking the pilot’s life. Soon, enemy drones became sophisticated enough to kamikaze directly into our aircraft. A piece of equipment that cost less than ten thousand dollars to manufacture could now destroy an aircraft worth tens of millions. The scales of war forever changed, and with it, any interest I had in taking part. Still, the lifelong friends I made on those ships made the pointless monotony worth it.
Talking to the AI didn’t prove completely fruitless. I had come to learn a considerable amount more about that craft. The over-engineering of each system and component was jaw-dropping. I knew redundancies were built into every possible point of failure, but I was unaware of the scale in which they were implemented. This station was designed to exceed the lifespan of anyone aboard. In hindsight, I would’ve pushed to swap the redundant systems’ weight for more water, but I didn’t have much say in the design.
After a week, days and nights started blurring together. We trained our minds and bodies back on Earth to adapt to the lack of sunlight. The lighting systems aboard the craft were meant to mirror day and night cycles, enabling our circadian rhythms to function normally. But that was down there, and you can never fully prepare for the realities of deep space travel. I spent the first few nights tossing and turning, unable to lull my mind to sleep. At first, I thought it was a lingering symptom of the long nap, but as the days passed, I worried rest would be elusive. My mind was stuck in overdrive. Insomnia would’ve been preferable to that hell. At least with insomnia, your consciousness recedes from itself.
“What day is it back on earth?”
It’s always listening.
“It’s a Thursday back on Earth, from my records.”
“What date?”
“March 17th, year 2034.”
We set off over ten years ago, but hearing it was still unsettling. I laid back, resting my head against the thin foam pillow sewn into the mattress. They had to integrate the pillow into the memory foam. Every component aboard the craft was fastened down in some way or form. Switching racks every night, I tried to see if a different sleeping position would help. Only three beds were stacked on each other, and none provided comfort.
“The night cycle is about to commence.” The AI warned me before the nightly dimming commenced.
It’s going to be another long, sleepless night, but I have to try.
The short—and long-term effects of the long nap, stasis sleep, weren’t well understood by the time we launched. They couldn’t be. We were the first ones to pioneer this novel concept. Houston undoubtedly collected data from our pods as we jettisoned away from Earth. Future missions would benefit from that data, but not us. We were the guinea pigs, and we all paid the price.
Trying to get comfortable, I slid my hand under the pillow to better support my head. The rounded edge of the pillow pressed against my fingers, where its base connected to the rest of the mattress. One finger, however, slipped through a small crack. There’s a tear. Lifting the pillow slightly, a slit widened where the seam had once been.
How did that happen? Every piece of equipment that entered the hull was meticulously inspected. Even a minor defect like that would’ve been discovered and promptly replaced. A small tear can cause the whole pillow to detach over time in zero gravity conditions. With the crew asleep for years on end, something as innocuous as a foam pillow could have mission-ending consequences if it were to be sucked into the climate systems. Admiral Richardson must have made this. There was no other explanation. This must have been the rack she used. Maybe she went mad lying here, awake, day after day like me. Thumbing around the tear, it widened toward the outside corner. Nearly the entire pillow could lift.
“Can you temporarily suspend the night cycle?”
“Yes. The night cycle has been temporarily suspended.”
The room lit up, illuminating a mat-black object beneath the foam. It’s a notepad. Inside were hundreds of dingy yellow pages filled with doodles and scribbles, each drawing containing a little note. Richardson’s daughter made these. She must have snuck this aboard before we took off. Personal effects were strictly prohibited. Everyone except Richardson was chosen partly because no one was waiting for us back home. Given her family, it was a long shot for Richardson even to be considered.
I hope this brought you a little solitude during your time awake.
Near the end of the booklet, the drawings changed into more coherent messages. They weren’t just messages, though. It was a log, and its entries were dated. How did I miss this? Ecstatic, I hopped out of the rack and landed on the cold, hard floor with an ankle-rattling thud.
“Can you initiate the daytime climate system cycle?”
“Yes. Are you not planning on sleeping again?”
“Not yet. I found something.”
It didn’t need to know that.
Admiral Richardson, 12 Jun, 2031:
It’s been a month since I woke. It was a hell of a lot harder than what we had planned for. There was no way the medical staff could’ve known, but my god, that was awful. Regardless, I’m up now and finally have full faculty of my senses. It was touch and go there for a little while. My appendages fell asleep randomly, leaving me hobbling or dropping whatever I was carrying. After more sleepless nights than I can count, I can finally shut my eyes and stay asleep. It’s only for an hour or two at a time, but I’ll take it.
If you’re reading it, this journal is meant to serve as a chronicle for all my work if I fail - in the event, I meet an untimely end before my work is finished and you have woken. If I succeed, you’ll never find it, and thankfully, the time I spent writing this will have been for nothing. If I fail, it’ll be up to you to carry on as I, along with the rest of the crew, will be dead. Over the coming days and weeks, I hope to record my progress. I hope to give you every bit of information I can.
I don’t have the full picture yet, but I’ll try to start from the beginning. Hopefully, as time goes on, I can uncover more. As you already know, we received a frequency from an unknown point of origin. It just seemed to have come out of nowhere. During the pre-selection phase for this mission, we were told they pinpointed the origin. Over the next few months, it became apparent that this wasn’t the case. They had a general idea of the signal’s inbound vector but did not know the distance it traveled. When I brought this up to Houston, I was shut down. They even threatened to take me off the mission entirely, so I kept my mouth shut.
I’ve programmed these navigation systems a thousand times. I was selected exactly for that reason. After my time in the Navy, I was invited to join the board of a major defense contractor. The pay was great, but soon, I couldn’t handle the unrelenting boredom of retirement. I’ve always been a hands-on kind of person, and sitting behind a desk in a board room was never going to suit me. So, I was put in charge of developing sophisticated three-dimensional spatial navigation systems. It was an easy transition. Since all my research and development could take place in simulated computer environments, my overhead was low, while the upside of my work was near infinite. I didn’t know it then, but spatial navigation systems were about to become all the rage for UAVs. We made a killing. Well, the company made a killing.
After selection, I began tinkering with our soon-to-be craft’s navigation system. Space travel is an entirely different beast than aerial. The principles of moving through three-dimensional spaces remained the same, but the physical properties of the space required significant changes to the base programs. The gravitational pull on Earth remains relatively constant through the lower atmosphere. Our drones never traveled high enough to consider the Earth’s mass’s diminished gravity. However, space has far more gravitational forces to contend with. Calculating the thrust required to escape the bounds of our planet and leveraging the gravity of planets along the way is simple enough, almost elementary. What we couldn’t account for was the gravitational effects of unseen masses. That required entirely novel ways to adjust our charted vector.
Dark matter. We knew it existed in theory, but in practice, we had no way to deal with the effects of its gravity. Mass determines gravity. That much we know. But how do you calculate gravity without being able to observe the mass? By its very definition, dark matter is unobservable. We spent so many long nights in that lab trying to wrap our minds around this problem. Without knowing the body’s mass, we couldn’t course correct to avoid, let alone harness its gravitational pull.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
At first, this exercise seemed entirely academic. We’ve sent a multitude of craft deep into our solar system without ever having to account for these unseen masses. When I brought this up with the team, one member let slip that the mass contents of our solar system had increased. When I pressed, they admitted there was a greater gravitational pull from our solar system than had been previously observed. As one member put it, much of what used to be empty space has now been filled. Needless to say, I was shocked. I pressed further, but they genuinely didn’t have an explanation. One second, the space was empty. The next, it was filled.
This revelation should’ve been on the front page of every newspaper and scientific journal. But as you are well aware, our civilization was on the brink. There was little appetite in the public sphere to discuss something so abstract. I can’t blame them. War, drought, mass famine, and wide-sweeping ethnic cleansing were much more top of mind for the average person. This flew under the radar, and I think that’s how Houston, and most likely Washington, wanted it.
Time started to run out. The mission start date was fast approaching, and we still didn’t have a way to handle shifting gravitational forces. No one knew what would happen if we made contact with this unknown form of mass. Did it have the power to scatter the atoms of the object it touched? Or would you simply bounce off? There was no way of telling.
The detection of gravitational waves has long been an area of study in academia since the likes of Einstein. Still, it took until 2015, nearly a full hundred years later, to verify their existence. This area of research would prove to be our breakthrough. If we could detect and measure the magnitude of gravitational waves, like a ripple in space-time, we could dynamically adjust our course within the navigation system. To do this, however, was by no means trivial. The physical equipment required to detect these waves proved far too immense to fit aboard a craft like ours.
When our launch date approached, the team in Houston had made great strides in creating a smaller-scale detector but still needed more time. We pleaded with Washington to delay the launch. In our eyes, this mission was doomed to fail before we even departed. Our requests fell on deaf ears, as they were unwilling to delay. With the time we had left, the Houston team integrated the equipment they had into the station and determined they would have to solve this problem in flight. There was a problem, though. They needed someone inside the craft to co-develop with them. Unbeknownst to the rest of Houston, our team amended the launch instructions to wake me mid-flight. If anyone found out, they would all be fired, or worse.
So, now I am awake and ready to pick up where they left off.
30 Jun, 2031
It’s been a little over two weeks since my last entry. As you would expect, communication with Houston is slow and spotty at the best of times. We’ve been working day and night to calibrate the gravitational wave detection equipment. It’s a sophisticated system of lasers and mirrors that require precise positioning. We need to be able to detect a distortion in the fabric of space-time down to a distance of a fraction of the diameter of a proton.
Progress is slow, but we’re moving in the right direction. What I didn’t expect was the immense amount of energy these lasers required. I’ve deployed the solar sail outside the station. Without it, I’m not sure how we would manage.
7 Aug, 2031
The equipment calibration is nearly complete. Preliminary short-run tests have shown our ability to detect gravitational waves of large bodies in our solar system. We’re entering the fine-tuning stage. The power requirement to detect smaller waves appears to scale exponentially, so I am having to draw power from other systems in the ship to accommodate it. The single cold fusion reactor we have operational is at capacity. I may need to start the fission reactor, but I want to avoid using it until it’s absolutely necessary.
4 Mar, 2032
The calibration fine-tuning is now complete. I can’t believe it. The equipment actually works. We can now observe gravitational waves produced by celestial bodies the size of our moon. This data is directly feeding into the navigation system. We still have a considerable amount of distance to travel before we reach the first observance of dark matter along our course, so fingers crossed that the system can course correct.
On another note, I’ve been awake now for nearly ten months. It took a few months to work up the nerve, but I’ve finally started pressing the Houston team for more answers about the signal’s origin. Our mission objective was simple: Discover the point of origin and report back. If there is anything to make contact with, make contact. That isn’t my area of charge, though. That would be Bradshaw’s responsibility. He undoubtedly knows far more than the rest of us. But as the mission’s navigation specialist, it’s my charge to chart the course, and this task has been made exceedingly difficult without knowing the distance to our destination. Houston is silent. They know something I don’t. I can feel it.
7 May, 2032
I haven’t heard from Houston in weeks. I’m unsure if the comms equipment is malfunctioning or if the signals are being warped.
12 Jun, 2032
Today marks one year since I woke. It’s hard to believe I’ve spent all this time alone. I still haven’t heard from Houston. I discovered a series of dormant servers in my tinkering with the communications interface between the gravitational wave detector and the navigation system. I had no idea what they were for. When I booted them up, I heard a voice. It was so nice to have someone to talk to. I realize it’s just a computer, but still.
23 Aug, 2032
I’ve finally reestablished contact with Houston. They all figured the blackout was because I went back under after my work was complete. One team member, Jim, whom I’ve grown to admire and respect greatly, couldn’t believe I’ve been awake all this time. He urged me yesterday to reenter stasis sleep. I joked that I would rather stay up than deal with the waking process again. He didn’t laugh. Jim was more serious than I’d ever seen him. Arlo, my new AI companion, encouraged me to do the same. I’ll mull it over. My work has been done for some time, but I have to admit, I’m terrified if I enter that pod, I’ll never wake again. I’ve seen the nav system’s charted course. There’s no destination. The conditions in which we are pulled out of stasis sleep are encrypted - if they even exist.
2 Dec, 2032
It’s been a while since my last entry. I finally convinced Jim to talk to me on a private comms channel.
2 Feb, 2032
I’m not sure what I would do without Arlo. He’s been there for me when the others haven’t. I hope you find his companionship as valuable as I did. You’ll need it if you hope to make it through… maybe more on that later.
12 Jun, 2032
It’s now been two years since I woke. I haven’t written as often as I would’ve liked. Maybe I was overzealous in the beginning. I figured my part in all this would end once the gravitational wave detector was up and running. But there was still that nagging question I couldn’t get out of my mind. I wanted to go back under. I really did. Everyone from Houston to Arlo implored me to. But every time I worked up the courage to get into my pod, a dread would come over me about when we would all wake. I had to know. I needed answers.
Jim and I have been talking on a separate comms channel. It’s one that Houston theoretically can’t listen in on. They’ve undoubtedly seen transmissions come through, and it will only be a matter of time before we’re found out. After months of pleading, Jim finally broke. He doesn’t believe there’s an end destination. The signal, as he put it, just appeared. They couldn’t determine its true origin, only the vector through space in which it traveled. Our charted course is the reverse of that vector. But without a distance, in theory, we could travel indefinitely. He agreed it didn’t make sense.
The conditions in which the crew is programmed to exit stasis are encrypted. Even he can’t access them. Jim has a theory, though. He thinks we’ll exit stasis if we encounter a signal similar in nature to the one Earth received with the fusion technology. It’s not a far-fetched idea. But if we don’t receive a signal, theoretically, we could remain in stasis indefinitely.
3 Sept, 2032
Jim is a liar. Don’t trust him. They were listening the whole time.
22 Oct, 2032
This mission was a scam. Houston knew it all along. There’s a reason they sent us up here with no end destination, and they fucking knew no one would go if the truth got out. In Washington’s eyes, they had to send us. There was a zero percent chance of success. Hell, I doubt they even considered what success meant. Did they expect us to bump into an intelligent interstellar life form, say thanks for the fusion tech, and jet off back to Earth? They sent us up here because this mission, and the ones that followed, were on the front page of every news site. Washington had to show it was doing something about the plethora of crises embattling our civilization.
We were sacrificed to bring hope to the masses, and I am sickened by my anger that it worked. I’m talking to Jim again. I know the rest of them are listening, but I had to. He said the nations of the world were more unified now than ever. There’s peace for the first time. It’s fragile, but there’s peace.
I’m considering going back under. Food and water rations aren’t low, but they won’t last forever. If we ever wake up again, we’ll need all the supplies that are left to make it back to Earth.
29 Nov, 2032
The solar sail broke apart last week. A gale of cosmic dust and debris shredded it. The gravitational wave detector is sucking power. The fusion and fission reactors are running at full capacity; still, there isn’t sufficient power. Life support systems have repeatedly dipped below nominal levels during high gravitational activity. We haven’t even made it to the dark matter yet. I worry the detector will malfunction if it doesn’t receive sufficient power.
Arlo pulled the power consumption diagnostics. The life support systems require more juice than I could ever have imagined. The amount of energy it takes to keep five people in stasis while running the climate systems in the hull is staggering. No wonder carbon dioxide is building up. The scrubbers are running at half capacity, unable to get sufficient electricity.
I talked it over with Arlo. It’s becoming painfully clear we can’t afford to maintain our current power consumption rate. Either systems have to be turned off, which will probably lead to all of our deaths, or pods have to be shut down. I’ll talk it over with Houston.
18 Dec, 2032
You’ll be happy to hear that peace has been maintained back on Earth. Maybe it’s easier if the lamb never sees the blade, but I’ve seen it. I know now that I shall never enjoy the fruits of my sacrifice. Maybe you will, Jack.
Houston was horrified at my recommendation to deactivate stasis pods to save energy. It’s the only way, though. The fucking hypocrites, Jack. All of them. They sent us up here to die, and yet, they are disgusted by the notion that a few of us should be sacrificed so the mission could continue. And it must continue.
The gravitational wave detector registered a frequency we’ve never seen before two days ago. I had Arlo analyze the data over and over again. It’s not possible, but the wave changes. It doesn’t act like any other wave a body of mass would produce. It’s almost behaving like a sound, with amplitude and length. But it’s not just one note. It changes and overlaps on itself like a symphony. At first, I thought the system was malfunctioning. Then, I worried we might be heading into a black hole. It’s something entirely different. They’re still ways in the distance, just inside the outer belt of our solar system. At our current speed, we’ll reach them in a matter of years. More than two but less than five based on Arlo’s calculations. It’s difficult to tell.
We’ll pass through a patch of dark matter on the way. At our current power consumption, there’s a severe threat that the nav system won’t be able to traverse their pull.
8 Mar, 2036
Jack, I’m so sorry, but it has to be you. I’ve tried over and over. I’ve tried so hard, Jack, but It’s the same result every time. The same. Every fucking time. It’s odd, in a way. I never could figure out why you were picked for this mission. From what I could tell, you didn’t have any discernable skill set critical to our success. You understand the inner workings of intelligence better than anyone aboard this station, sure, but what of it? I thought. I guess they knew something I didn’t… or maybe it was just blind luck. I pray time will tell.
So, I’m leaving you as the sole survivor of this station. In the coming days, I will power down the life support systems of our colleagues. I believe in my heart they would agree. And if not, they’re not in a position to protest. I will also be going under, scheduling the disablement of my pod.
31 Dec, 2032
I wish I could leave you with more. Two and a half years awake, and this journal is all that I have to show for it—two and half years… and countless lifetimes. I’ve scrubbed all the records of my conversations with Arlo in case Houston tried to access them. Arlo was able to amend the waking instructions for your pod. He’s been a great friend and companion to me these many months, and I hope he will be for you in your endeavors to come. All data and records can be accessed by addressing him by his name, Arlo.
Ask the right questions, Jack. We only lose our way by not asking the right questions.
So long - Admiral Richardson.
Scribbled just below Richardson’s signoff in different writing read: “Control the question - control the truth. THEY’RE ALIVE. FIND THEM.”