An accidental miracle

Ships 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 be in our path to DL261. We should have sailed right by it, but we certainly did not. After post crash medical assessment, I realize that the laboriousness of standing is not due to injury. A minor asteroid strike must have drawn us off course and into it's gravitational pull before the autothrusters could correct.

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

I believe my suit if functioning per spec and I will soon attempt to get the ship system 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 system.

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

Ships log; date unknown, day two, dawn.

I spent the remainder of yesterday in the Tech/Com module trying to get the ship system online but without access to the tools 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 wont budge. My only hope is to access the airlock on the far end from outside the ship. I must do so at risk of 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 scan.

What choice do I have? I'm a dead man 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.

Ships log; date unknown, day two, evening.

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

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

Ships log; date unknown, day three, dawn.

I was awakened by an unexpected shift in the ships positioning. Tectonic movement I assume.

I fear my suit may have a micro puncture somewhere because there is an unusual, sweet smell, circulating inside my helmet. Perhaps 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 ships 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 my to open an entry point.

Ships log; date unknown, day three, 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, so I'll rest for a bit before I attempt the walk.

Ships log; date unknown, day four, sunrise.

I slept through the night and never made the walk toward the wreckage site yesterday. I 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. Its baffling but I'm thankful nonetheless.

I've nourished myself and performed a cursory check of the others suits. Orlio's and Grousky's are compromised but Sauder's appears to be in tact. 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 the God's protect me and return me safe and sound.

Ships log; date unknown, day three, night.

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

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 it's silhouette well enough to walk back but the light came from too far to determine its source. Or if it was anything more that 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 again, I couldn't see it any more.

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.

Ships 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 seems to still be in tact. 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 smells, the one inside my suit is stronger today than ever. Unfortunately, I can now assume that it's because of a puncture that has expanded over night, because my O2 is eight 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.

Ships 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 there was 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 is 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 a crash of an offline exploratory mission ship. I'm clearly doomed.

The question is, how do I want to spend my last 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 whats 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 you're coming anyway.

If you are, just know that I walked straight away from the control module entry hatch.

Ships 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 take off this helmet and take my chances. This might be goodbye.

Ahhhh, that sweet smell.

Turns out, I can breath 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.

Ships 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 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 mid air.

The beautiful man, whom I somehow was madly in love with by then, but not in a romantic way, kind of like a infant loves it 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 blue-ish glow of the TV illuminating the room. It make my skin look pasty white, and my lips as pale as the paper plate on the floor beside me, with a half eaten slice of pizza on it.

On the screen was my favorite single person shooter, and my avatar was was being absolutely destroyed by a team of undead soldiers while I laid motionless with the controller only a few inches from my hand.

When I turned to ask the beautiful man why I was seeing that, I suddenly recognized him and at the same realized why you never rescued me.

Because he's Jesus, and I've already been saved.