Universal Science Ship CLass ARK-E

“Commanding Officer’s log.” A man said, adjusting the recording device. “Number 1,123.”

He sat down, paused, and took a long, deep breath.

“As you can see,” he gestured above and around. “The atrocious weather persists.” A series of luminous streaks zigged-zagged across the void in the background. The usually crystal clear transparent enclosure was being blemished with random splashes.

“I have instructed Hamaan to secure the children below deck, as it is no longer safe on the surface.” The man looked up beyond the screen, then to his left. He scurried out of view and returned a few moments later. “That was the secondary ballast tanks,” he said.

“I am making this recording, suspecting the worst. We have not been able to summon for help for days. The heavily charged ionosphere is interfering with all forms of intra-planetary communication.”

“The planet’s sea level has risen beyond comprehension. I…” he tapped a flat surface to his far right. A collection of symbols, figures, charts, and tables came to life on the screen. “I believe that the planet’s recent increase in proximity to our natural satellite has been the cause of these catastrophic weather patterns.”

“I have launched the Titans—” The image was rocked sideways, and the readouts disappeared. He repositioned the screen. “The Titans will reach the satellite in 4.5 hours to initiate orbital trajectory corrections. If successful, the extreme weather phenomenon would cease.”

He paused.

“Unfortunately,” he said, sitting back. “It was too little too late. Despite this, I am glad to report that we were able to acquire a live catalog of the planet’s indigenous lifeforms.”

The man tapped another spot on the same location. A video feed appeared on the lower right corner. The image cycled through different locations, showing various animals and plant life.

“As you can see,” he said. “We have amassed almost a thousand different species of fauna and flora.”

He leaned forward. “The Titans were built for science, and so was the ARK. But as time was scarce, I found it necessary to deviate from their original purpose.”

“You may question the logic of my decision,” he leaned back on a different angle, arms folded. “And that would be your prerogative. But if I had to choose again, I would not do anything differently.”

A loud klaxon blared, a dull red discoloration permeated the screen. “Computer, pause recor—” The screen was knocked ajar. Only the floor was visible. In the background, one set of footsteps could be seen frantically pacing back and forth, even stumbling. There was a deafening groan in the background, followed quickly by a series of successive metallic-snapping noises.

“All hands,” a muffled synthesized voice shouted. “Brace for impact! I repeat. Brace for impact!”

***

The screen had remained stagnant for several hours, only revealing the prevailing darkness. The tiniest of squeaks came from somewhere within the room. Then, almost as quickly as it had first dissipated, brightness returned.

A set of feet came into view. A set of hands picked up the screen and adjusted it once more for optimum coverage.

“Commanding Officer’s journal insertion,” the man said as he sat down on the floor. “Journal insertion number 1,124. We were hit by a magnitude 8 tidal wave. The Command Module has been severed from the primary hull. Structural integrity is holding. At this stage, only emergency power is available. Based on estimates, I have only one week’s worth of oxygenating fluid and—”

He tapped his wrist. A frowned permeated his unshaven face. “—one day’s worth of recycling fluid.” He smiled wryly, “At least I will not suffocate.”

“It is better this way,” he said shortly after. “Hanaan and the children would presume my demise, and would refrain against attempts to rescue me. They are safer this way. Once the Titans have completed their mission, they should return to the primary hull. They would be a welcomed sight. Computer, end recording.”

***

“Captain Hano’s journal insertion, number 1,125.”

The man sat quietly in the corner of the dimly lit room. “I have nothing of significance to report. I…” he paused. “Just wanted some company. There is no one else to talk to but you. Whoever you are.”

“Oh, right!” he smiled. “I spotted a school of Megaptera Novaeangliae just off the port side. These majestic creatures must have noticed the Command Module and decided to satiate their curiosity. For a moment then, I had forgotten about my predicament.”

Captain Hano stood up suddenly, clamoring towards the far wall. “Titans!” he cried. He almost tripped trying to get to the other side. A removable panel was torn off violently, it then flew across the room, and hit the screen. Darkness ensued.

***

The screen came alive. A disheveled looking Captain Hano sat quietly in the same corner. He had his arms wrapped around his knees. The lighting was a few levels lower. His stubbles were barely noticeable.

He looked into the screen. His eyelids drooped.

“I am down to the last sachet of rec-fluid,” he finally said. “I should conserve energy, try and stave off dehydration as long as I can. Though, the chances of survival are minute.”

“Well then,” he said. “This is it, my final insertion.”

Hano crawled slowly towards the screen, settled himself in a recovery position, face rested on his sandwiched-palms. “To whoever that finds this recording, please locate my wife and children. Cartographic coordinates have been embedded within this input/output stream.”

He reached out and pressed the side of the screen. “Hamaan, Thajeph, Shemi, and Maya. And of course, my little one who has yet to enter this realm. You will all be in my final thoughts. I may not be with you physically, but know that my spark will flare brightly and watch over you wherever you are in the galaxy.”

“Hamaan, my jewel. Do not despair. Please look after our children. I am a part of them just as I am a part of you. Look to them and find the strength you need. Where there is life, there is a way.”

Hano twisted the cap off the pouch and emptied the contents into his mouth. “This is Captain Hano of the 58th expeditionary unit, signing off for the last time.”

He took one last look into the screen and then pressed the extreme corner.