Transmissions From Escape Pod X

Despite my training, I never truly thought that I would be spending an indefinite period of time isolated in space.  It never occurred to me that the psychological barriers I had erected would be insufficient for coping with the experience, or that I would need to find new ways of keeping my sanity.  The silence of space, coupled with Escape Pod X’s relatively small living area, leave me with few opportunities for relief.  I have, however, found a measure of solace in the ship’s archive.  I have an extensive collection of audio at my disposal, including the complete catalogs of many of Earth’s greatest composers.  Their music comforts me in my isolation.

The last two days have been productive, though not without incident.  My attempts to repair the audio transmitter resulted in a minor fire that, while relatively easy to contain, has set me back temporarily.  My work was not severely damaged, but I suffered minor burns that had to be treated.  The medical equipment on board was sufficient, but my skills are lacking.  I will not able to work effectively for a short period.

It’s easy to let my mind drift these days, and my injuries give me time to think.  As I sit here now, I can’t help but remember an old friend of mine.  His name was Ian Pym, and he was a doctor.  I mentioned him in my last transmission.  He was one of only two Boundless crewmen to survive the Venus expedition, and the only human being with whom I could share my experience.  Even more than my wife, Ian Pym was closest confidant.  I wish he were here with me now.

I said before that following our escape from Maia’s forces, we returned to Earth and were greeted with much attention from the planet’s scientific community.  I found comfort during that hard period in Rana’s arms, but Pym had no one to support him.  His wife had divorced him years earlier for his devotion to the Institute, and he had responded by channeling his angst into his profession.  His pain fueled his work, and his work sustained him.  His medical knowledge was unparalleled, but when he had no challenge in front of him, he wilted.

During the court-martial, when we were both grounded, I took the opportunity to enjoy all that I had missed about Earth.  Pym had missed nothing.  Worse, the Venusian experience had taken his oldest friend from him.  Pym and Captain Fleming had been close.  They had come up together through the Academy, and despite being two very different men, they complimented one another rather than clashed.  On more than one occasion, Pym confided in me that the loss of Fleming had been harder on him than the deaths of his own parents.  It showed.

When I became Captain of the Horizon – and even with the ship’s destruction, I still think of myself as her Captain – it was imperative that Pym join my crew.  I needed a seasoned medical officer, and he needed to find himself among the stars.  For the first few months, it worked out well, but then personnel changes jarred Pym from his routine, and his became despondent once again.

The most crucial of those changes came in the form of our new Executive Officer, Peter Rothman.  I am not lacking for confidence, but it was difficult to not be intimidated when in Rothman’s presence.  He joined our crew at the age of twenty-five, and had already accomplished more than I – or anyone, for that matter- had at thirty.  He remains far and away the Academy’s most successful graduate, and at the time, he despised having to serve as any ship’s XO.  He was destined to be a Captain, he thought, and anything less than that post at that time was beneath him.  The truth is, he may have been right, but that didn’t make his presence on the ship any less disruptive.

Equally troublesome was the arrival of our new Science Officer, Nadine Harrington.  Nadine had been a classmate of mine, and at one point, we had been romantically involved with one another.  Our relationship had ended shortly before my assignment to the Boundless.  Although we had remained friends over the years, her presence on the ship was a distraction, especially given her new romantic interest in then-Commander Rothman.  The two had been carrying on a secret affair for a few months, and I always suspected that Rothman engineered her assignment to my ship.  Furthermore, I believe that their secrecy was not due to any adherence to regulation, but rather because Rothman himself hated being seen as anything resembling human.  He couldn’t afford to show that he too had feelings, lest they derail his career.

Whereas Pym and Fleming had gotten in along in spite of their differences, Pym and Rothman couldn’t stand to be in the same room.  The challenges associated with keeping them in line gave me headaches, and had it not been for Rana’s constant companionship, I don’t know if I would have made it through our service together without professionally destroying myself.

Pym too came to depend upon a companion during that tour of duty.  He and his chief nurse Louise Dearborn bonded quickly, with the young woman standing in for the daughter Pym had always wanted but never had a chance to have.  Dearborn was a stubborn woman with a combative personality, and she and Pym were perfect for one another.  I regret that sometimes I didn’t get to know my crew as well as I’d have liked.  This is especially true in Dearborn’s case.  I suspect that there was more to her than I know, and that like Pym, she too was driven not by a sense of exploration, but by a need to escape from something back on Earth.

This was my crew, and together, we completed many successful missions.  It was our last, however, that had the greatest impact on all of our lives, and nearly drove me from space altogether.  It was a mission into deep space to investigate bizarre electromagnetic activity, and it brought us face to face with the legacy of those Venusian men who had launched themselves into the stars eons ago.  It was the last mission of Ian Pym, and it took us to the heart of the Robot Planet.

To anyone who is receiving this transmission: my name is Robert Julius Clarke, and I am Captain of the USS Horizon.  I am an American citizen and serve under the jurisdiction of the Office of Interstellar Exploration, which is a subsidiary of the Earth Spacing Institute.  And I am adrift among the stars.

As the Institute’s flagship, the Horizon is often given the privilege of making the initial foray into unexplored territory.  In my capacity as Captain, I have made first contact with alien races both friendly and hostile.  I have witnessed triumph and tragedy, found and lost dear friends, and stared deeper into the icy blackness of space than anyone who came before me.  I have lived a life worth living.  But I am not yet ready to die.

It was not my decision to send the Horizon into this uncharted sector of space, but I followed my orders, as I have done since my days as a cadet.  I took no pleasure in receiving them from Fleet Captain Rothman – an arrogant but highly skilled individual who has once served as my own XO – but it was not place to question his decision. As my superior, Rothman was entitled to command my ship and I to whatever corner of space he liked, regardless of my opinion.  Resigned to obeying the order, I staffed the ship with my usual crew, including Science Officer Nadine Harrington, Chief Petty Officer Reese Forrest, and Chief of Security Irwin Burrell.  For my Executive Officer, I selected recently promoted Captain Richard Washburn, an intelligent young man who still needed one or two missions as a number two before taking command of his own ship.  As navigator, I selected my wife, Rana – the Venusian woman, last of her people, who had escaped with me from her homeworld years ago. We set out from the TVC-15 satellite near Earth and charted a course to this unexplored region.

I was told that our mission was to investigate unusual electromagnetic activity eliminating from a small moon.  It struck me as unusual that we would be sent out so far into space for such a routine exercise – especially given what had happened the last time Rothman and I had investigated a similar phenomenon.  Still, I continued, once more refusing to ask critical questions – questions which might have averted the impending tragedy.

Our investigation uncovered a hidden base constructed by an unknown race of creatures.  It was broadcasting an untranslatable message deep into space.  Even Rana with her telepathic abilities could not decipher the intent of its sender.  Under Section 47-B of the Institute’s charter, it was my decision as Captain to choose whether or not to initiate contact with the extraterrestrials. I chose not to and began to turn the Horizon back toward Earth.

We were unprepared for the swiftness or the ferocity of the attack.  The alien ship seemed to come out of nowhere.  It was an enormous vessel, composed of an unknown material and equipped with a devastating array of weapons the likes of which no human had ever seen before.  It became clear immediately that we had no hope of surviving a firefight.  I ordered a general evacuation.  I was last off the bridge, not out of duty, but out of reluctance to leave behind this ship that I had come to think of as a friend.

I had arranged to meet my wife in Escape Pod D, but when it became apparent that reaching that section of the ship would be impossible, I ordered her to launch and made my way to the only remaining shuttle – Escape Pod X.  I launched at the last possible moment.  I do not know if anyone was left aboard.

The Horizon was destroyed before my very eyes, engulfed in a ball of flame that quickly burnt out in the vacuum of space, leaving only the husk of a once-proud vessel in its wake.  Debris was launched into space, and Escape Pod X was not fortunate enough to avoid it.  There was a collision, and my shuttle was sent spiraling into the abyss.

Escape Pod X is a large vessel, and well stocked with supplies.  Physically, I should be able to survive on her indefinitely.  However, the engines are inoperative and the prospects of rescue are not inspiring. Humanity has once attempted to enter this territory, and was met with violent resistance. We may well have provoked a powerful race, and the consequences may be grave. For the foreseeable future, the Institute will have greater concerns than the survival of one Captain.  They will attempt no search without being given a reason to believe I am alive.  I must give them that reason.

For nearly two weeks, I have been making short-form transmissions on an isolated channel in the hope that someone might discover me.  I have received three garbled replies – two from petty officers, and one from Captain Washburn.  Attempts to reestablish communication with all three have failed.  I also have attempted two prior long-form transmissions, with mixed results.  Using a space suit I found in the hold and the ship’s standard tool kit, I was able to repair an external transmitter, and am now capable of stable long-term text communications, which I will do at regular intervals.  Restoring audio transmission capabilities is my next priority.  I will begin repairs on the system soon.

For now, though, I am alone, drifting through space, the weight of a vast, empty universe bearing down on me.  If there is anyone out there picking up this transmission, please respond on this channel.  I will be waiting.

Th#s — text-bas_d… s-tem… Cap…. izon… This is a test of the long-form text-based transmissions system.  This is Captain Robert Julius Clarke of the USS Horizon.  Repeat, this is Captain… arke… trns… can’t… crew ___s_ng… ##########

Transmission Disrupted