Henrik Refsnes

I give up. I don’t even know what date it is.

The ship’s computer brought me out of cryo yesterday and it’s acting completely out of whack. For starters, it can’t tell me the exact date. Its best guess is my suspended animation lasted 600 years. Its guess. It’s a fucking knowsoft.

So much for the 6 years in the pamphlet. 

It also says every single soul on this ark, except me, has died from radiation sickness due to a catastrophic core failure. The exposure reached the crew module, and cryonics, before the core was ejected. But not the med-bay in the grav ring. I was saved by norovirus isolation. Saved. Yea, and oh, it turns out all this happened hundreds of years ago. 

And that’s not even the best part. We never left Earth orbit. Never left.

Never… left.

Or so the computer insists. I haven’t been able to confirm, because I’m told the sensor array was damaged in a collision with space debris a couple of decades back. Last time I checked, centuries ago to be fair, there was no space debris large enough to take out the whole damn array floating in orbit.

The computer also informed me there hasn’t been any communication from Earth, or the moon, or Mars. Nothing. For centuries. Io, Europa, Callisto, Rhea, Titan, Phoebe. Dead silence. There is no one out there.

It would appear I am the last human in space, and quite possibly, at all.

But none of that matters.

Because we’re dead in the water, on a slow decent into the gravity well.
Half the ship is depressurized and in lockdown, I can’t reach the CIC, no shuttles are docked, all escape pods are gone, and the engine is shot. Without the ability to fire thrusters, this 60 trillion-dollar hulking shitshow will break apart on re-entry.

A fiery death. In roughly 320 hours.

Which brings me to the reason I’m shaking legs at all, and you’ll love this. The erratic ship’s computer does not want to die alone.

This is the worst day since yesterday.