An Accidental Miracle

An accidental miracle

Ship's log; date unknown, time unknown.

I've landed on a planet that, until today, didn't exist on any of our charts. It wasn't supposed to be in our path to DL261. We should have sailed right by it, but we certainly did not. After post-crash medical assessment, I now realize that the laboriousness of standing is not due to injury. The asteroid strike that rendered me unconscious must have thrown us off course and into its gravitational pull before the auto-thrusters could correct it. My body is just not used to this amount of gravity.

 I've been unconscious for an unknown duration of time, but it must have been several days because Sauder, Orlio, and Grousky's bodies have already begun to decompose. All ship systems are down, and the time circuit on my portable is clearly affected by the planet's magnetic field because the display shows only gibberish symbols and random numbers. As I type this log entry, I have no way of confirming its storage or transmission.

 I believe my suit is functioning per spec, and I will soon attempt to get the ship systems back online. The AI was acting peculiar before the meteor strike, so I fear there is an internal bug of some kind, and without Orlio, I won't be able to diagnose or restore the systems.

 Sauder was able to jettison the locator beacon during entry, but I have no way of confirming its current status.

Ship's log; date unknown, day one, dawn.

I spent the remainder of yesterday in the Tech/Com module trying to get the ship systems online. But without access to the tools stored in the lab, I was unable to access the power core or the drive reset. The impact must have damaged the ship's structure because the hatch to tier 2 won't budge. My only hope is to access the airlock on the far end, from outside the ship. I must do so at risk of my own peril, since I have no way of obtaining environmental readings from outside the ship. I'll have to open the hatch and rely on my possibly malfunctioning portable's atmospheric scanner.

 What choice do I have? I'm a corpse if I stay here in the command module without food or water. And if I am to survive here until rescue, I certainly don't want to do it with the company of three rotting reminders of the mission's failure. In the event that this planet's atmosphere is unfavorable, and I don't make it back to the ship, please tell my mother that I was thinking of her in my last moments.

Ship's log; date unknown, day one, evening.

Although the atmosphere and exterior conditions were tolerable, my attempt to access the rest of the ship through the airlock was unsuccessful. The ship is noticeably twisted, thereby rendering the airlock door and auxiliary hatches in tiers 2 and 3 inoperable.

 Due to the excessive gravity, I've expended a considerable amount of energy in my efforts. The emergency rations here in the command module will help restore my strength, but there's only enough to sustain 4 lives for 24 hours, without exertion. I don't expect it to keep me alive for more than a few days. I hope you're on your way.

Ship's log; date unknown, day two, dawn.

I was awakened by an unexpected shift in the ship’s positioning. Tectonic movement, I assume. Additionally, I fear my suit may have a micro-puncture somewhere because there is an unusual, sweet smell circulating inside my helmet. Maybe the air here is breathable, but I have no way of confirming, so I dare not tempt fate.

 To evade the inevitable hopelessness of being stranded on an uncharted planet with no operating ship systems and very little nourishment, which I would have to risk my life to ingest anyway, I will make another attempt at exterior entry today. Maybe the shifting jarred something loose enough for me to open an entry point.

Ship's log; date unknown, day two, late day.

I'm sad to report no joy. The exterior entry points are still inaccessible. I did, however, see what looks like wreckage of some kind in the distance. It looks to be within walking distance, but with this gravity, I'm not sure I'll have enough strength to go there and back. Either way, I must try. Maybe there's something there that I can use to pry open an entry. I've exhausted what little energy I had when I woke up, so I'll rest for a bit before I attempt the walk.

Ship's log; date unknown, day three, sunrise.

I slept through the night and never made the walk toward the wreckage site yesterday. I’m feeling a sense of urgency now because I realize that the wreckage could be that of our locator beacon. I pray that it isn't.

 The sweet smell is ever present, but my O2 reserve hasn't lessened more than expected. It’s baffling, but I'm thankful, nonetheless. I accidentally discovered that the life support system in the command module is still functioning when I instinctively removed my helmet to nourish myself when I woke. I've since performed a cursory check of the other team members' suits. Orlio's and Grousky's are compromised, but Sauder's appears to be intact. If I am not rescued by morning, I'll remove his body to preserve the suit, in case mine begins to malfunction. I don't imagine the smell inside his suit is nearly as sweet as the one in mine.

 I will now exit the ship and begin the walk. May God protect me and return me safe and sound.

Ship's log; date unknown, day three, late day.

My worst fears were warranted. The wreckage was much farther than expected and, sadly, nothing more than a remnant of the locator beacon's foil sail. There's no way that its flexible frame will pry open anything.

 Also, the walk was so long that it had gone dark almost halfway back to the ship. I was preparing to spend the night on the ground, in the dark, when I saw a faint light emanating from somewhere on the far side of the ship. I was able to see the ship’s silhouette well enough to walk back to it, but the light came from too far away to determine its source, or if it was anything more than a passing meteorite.

 I may have been exhausted to the point of hallucination, but I saw what looked like the silhouette of a person in the distance. I thought it was a shadow until I reached the ship. But after I climbed back into the control module and turned around to look at it again, I couldn't see it anymore. Either I've developed a serious case of space dementia, or there's something alive out there, on an uncharted planet, in the middle of nowhere.

Ship's log; date unknown, day four, daytime.

I slept longer than expected, well past dawn. My body is noticeably weaker today than yesterday. I had brief thoughts of walking toward where I saw the shadow yesterday, but my common sense still seems to be intact. There's no way to determine if what I see is real, at this point. Wandering out into the wilderness on a wild goose chase doesn't seem like a smart move, considering how little nourishment I have left. It's best to be still, at this point, and hope to hear the sweet sound of a rescue team touching down beside this ship.

 Speaking of sweet things, the aroma inside my suit is stronger today than ever. Unfortunately, I can now assume it's due to a puncture that has expanded overnight, because my O2 is at only nine percent today. Either that, or the suit is simply failing. Either way, I'll need to switch into Sauder's body bag by nightfall. I'm not looking forward to it.

Ship's log; date unknown, day four, evening.

What a beautiful star-set. The colors in the sky were magnificent. The streaks of neon green and electric blue seemed to send waves of comforting energy through my body.

 I know that I can't trust what I see anymore, but I can swear I saw someone standing off in the distance again. Only this time, it looked like someone waving at me, as if calling me to him. This isn't good. My body must be shutting down or something. The nourishment rations are only meant to sustain life, and nothing more. But what life is it sustaining? The life of a woman who is clearly destined to die on this blank, desolate, floating rock? Never once, at the academy, did anyone mention a rescue crew arriving more than four days after a crash, much less the crash of an offline exploratory mission ship. I'm clearly doomed at this point; the question is, how do I want to spend my last handful of hours? Cooped up in this broken space vessel, or on my feet, searching for a solution?

 Screw it, I'm climbing into Sauder's suit, taking what’s left of the nourishment, and heading toward where I saw the light and shadow. If my portable is functioning properly, I'm sure I'll eventually walk beyond the range of the extender, but who cares, I don't think you're coming anyway. If you are, just know that I walked straight away from the control module entry hatch.

Ship's log; date unknown, day four, night.

This message is probably not being recorded or broadcast because I walked so far from the ship that I must be out of range. But sitting here, in the dark, alone, I have nothing else to do but write.

 I can't take the smell of Sauder's excretions anymore. I'm going to die here anyway, so I'm going to remove this helmet and take my chances. This might be goodbye.

 Ahhhh, that sweet smell!

Turns out, I can breathe just fine, and that wonderful aroma is everywhere. It's invigorating, as if I'm being nourished by it. I feel more energetic right now than I did two days ago. It's so dark, and so quiet, but somehow, I feel great. Not scared or sad. Strange, considering how close I am to death. At least I know that once I lay down and close my eyes, I'll probably just fade away in the darkness with the sweet smell of this ridiculous planet in my nostrils.

Signing off, Lieutenant Cheryl P. Gustophsen of the Jonah III, exploration crew.

Ship's log; date? Who cares. Morning.

Can't believe I'm still alive. Or at least, I think I am.

 Last night I dreamed of that shadow. It was a human, a man, and he was beautiful. Not in a physical, movie-star kind of way, but as a feeling. A feeling that soaked into my heart the minute I could see his face. I've never felt anything like it; it was blissful, and when he reached for my hand, it went through my body like a wave of warm air. The sweet smell was almost overwhelming while we walked, hand-in-hand toward the dim light. It got brighter as we got closer to it, but then vanished when we arrived at what looked like a window, floating in midair.

 The beautiful man, whom I somehow was madly in love with by then, but not in a romantic way, kind of like an infant loves its mother. So weird.

 Anyway, he brought me over to the window, and when I looked through it, I saw the truth of where I've been all this time, and why you never came to rescue me.

 As I looked through the window, I saw myself lying on the floor of my bedroom with nothing but the bluish glow of the TV illuminating the room. My skin looked pasty white, and my lips were as pale as the paper plate holding a half-eaten slice of pizza on the floor beside me. On the screen was my favorite single-player shooter, and my avatar was being absolutely destroyed by a team of alien soldiers while I lay motionless, with the controller lying only a few inches from my hand.

When I turned to ask the beautiful man why I was seeing it, I suddenly recognized him, and at the same time, realized why you never rescued me. Because that beautiful man is Jesus, and I’ve already been saved.