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To Miss Ashta,
You’ll be more than happy to hear that nothing awful has happened to us since the launch of our ship- despite how sure you were that things were bound to go wrong. We’re here at the first deep space port, and, as you reminded me before I left, my first task is to ensure my dearest sister of my welfare, and my increasing confidence in this voyage being fruitful for the both of us.
It’s hard to describe how deep in space we are. I pace up and down the empty corridors of this port, and all I can feel is the gentle breeze of the faulty aircon unit on my face. It’s bracing, in its own way. A sort of plaintive sense of determination arises- it’s hard to explain. It sort of reminds me of home, if our home was surrounded by great rocky wastes outside my window. Whenever I close my eyes I see it, fervent and vivid. I try convincing myself that we’ll be exploring a desolate rock and nothing else, but in my mind, I see those moons of Neptune as an icy kingdom, unspoiled by man. There, Leina, the sun is hidden forever, its mighty halo obscured by those great gaseous giants that rotate endlessly. It’s magical. In my mind at least. There- for, if you’ll let me have this, sister, I will put some trust in the intrepid folk that’ve come before me- there the snow and frost across oceanic wastes abound. That’s how the navigator I’ve picked up describes it. Tells me some guff about sailing through quiet space, that’ll we’ll be wafted to worlds that far surpass any beauty than the artificial homes we came from. That last bit I don’t disagree with. Anything’s better than the colonies. I suppose that’s why I’m even here. To expand the human race outwards. So that we might all have a home. A luxury not necessarily afforded to us. What is to be expected on a moon so far removed from us? A place of wonder, a place where we can finally rest- or maybe even some strange and alien creature, creeping silently across the great, cold lakes? Obviously not- but regardless, the only way we can find out is if actually go through with this expedition.
In all honesty, just writing to you has made me feel infinitely better about things. A part of me was afraid, but I think I can put those emotions to rest. I’ve dreamed of this for so long, you know- ever since we were children, looking out of the small portside window. I remember those books that were written about those barely shimmering moons beyond our sight. All lined up in great towers in Uncle Bright’s library. Education may not have been my strong point, but by god, those books. They were my only companions beside you, Leina. They were the only thing I had the heart to study, the only thing that gave me a dream to latch onto through those lonely nights.
It’s already been six years since I told you that I would start on this present undertaking. All the work- struggling alongside junkers to the endless wastes beyond Jupiter, the cold, the famine, the thirst; I worked harder than the regular crew during the day and spent my night studying everything I could about ships and the way they worked. Growing up back in the colonies- well, I knew how to use my brains and my body. It helped here. I even enrolled twice as an under-mate at some quiet military frigate (as much as I despise them). Even I felt a little proud when the captain offered me the second dignity in the vessel, so valuable did he find my earnest contributions.
I shall depart for the long, unmarked trail in a fortnight or so; my current task is to assemble to last of the crew in the meantime. They’ve got to be mad bastards. I am one, after all, and you need a few screws loose to get this sort of thing done. I don’t know when I’ll be back, Leina. If we succeed- well, I’ll be far too famous to come over and say hello. And if we fail, I’ll be with you in no time at all. Or maybe you’ll never see me again.
Take it easy, sis.
Your loving brother,
J. Ashta
To Miss Ashta,
God, it’s fucking boring out here! There’s nothing but quiet meteorites, sailing past our windows. The ship’s sorted, thank god. It’s old- much older than the colonies- but sturdy. It won’t be long till we leave.
It is lonely out here, Leina. The crew I’ve got- they’re pretty damn capable. But I wouldn’t call any of them a friend. Not like the kind of people we knew back home. I’d even take a Bright at this point. Lots of scholarly types here. The type that I can’t stand. You know why. Call it an inferiority complex, but it’s probably the opposite. I am better than them, you see. What good is having your nose in a book all the time if it gets you nowhere? Here they are, swanning about, too afraid to plunge into the deep with me. A few years on the frigates and this lot would be sorted out just fine. Who cares if I never had an education? I’ve seen things they can only dream of- and they dream of things I can never know. A friend- that’s what I need, Leina.
Well, that’s a lot of rubbish anyhow. There are no friends to be made out here. It’s all weirdos from the great universities or the strange freaks that have ended up here after a life of wandering. I wonder where I fit into that categorisation. At the very least, the first mate is a man I can trust. Beecha’s brave and courageous, and a loyal kind of guy. We met on a mining voyage out by Mars; it was pure chance he was out of a job. It didn’t take long to convince him to come along.
The captain is one of the most even-handed folk I’ve ever met. A friend of our uncle’s apparently. That got him on board quickly. He’s a kind one- a rare quality in any ship’s captain, especially this far out in the middle of nowhere. Doesn’t believe in the whole reprimand malarkey. One look into his eyes and you buckle at the shame. He’s like a father you never knew. Like we never knew. Ah, but that’s going nowhere fast. He’s a quiet one. All brooding looks and sweeping speeches. Not a friend, mind, but a character. This whole ship is characters. The other guys have all sorts of stories about the captain. That he was a bit of pirateer in his younger years. Would jump ship to ship, even targeted military vessels- not that I believe any of it. He looks like he couldn’t even hurt a fly. That tousled brown hair, only slightly streaked by grey, the hint of a wrinkle on his forehead- he’s nigh on venerable. I hardly believe a man like that could ever earn a moniker like the White Devil. He keeps himself to himself, except when he needs to. If only he bothered reaching out to his crew. It would do him a lot of good in the long run.
It’s been three weeks instead of the fortnight I promised you I’d take to leave- but I’m not wavering. It’s just taken a little longer than I thought. And blessed be for it. The forecast is a string of meteor showers, what with an errant asteroid colliding a few clicks from the port. We’ll brave it though. No point postponing this any further. I’m off to that land of mist and snow- but I’ll kill no albatross. That’s from that poem you like, isn’t it? The ‘Ancient Mariner’? I never understood it, really, especially since albatrosses are hardly ever seen even on Earth. But clearly, you shouldn’t kill one. Sometimes I feel like the groom. Waiting for someone to ruin my life, to take on their great sorrow and sin. I’m rambling again, I’m sorry- for every sad thought that crosses my mind, the prospect of new worlds flashes across my eyes, and I am filled with a new joy.
I hope you’re well. Probably won’t see your letters again for a while- the connection between here and you is intermittent enough. You know we have to write these things out, like in the old days? And then someone will take it through the main connection centres out by Jupiter to get it to you! I don’t know how the old folks did it. Remember me with love, just in case.
Your loving brother,
J.Ashta
To Miss Ashta,
So far, so good. Nothing awful has happened, though progress has been painfully crawling along. We frequently take a rest on the slow-moving meteorites that circle this part of the space belt. Sometimes the debris becomes so intense that it’s just easier to become part of it for a moment. I don’t know when this will letter will reach you. We sent out a small probe with our handful of communications on it heading towards port, but the thing could get all bashed up by some stray rock. I can only hope.
Spirits are still strong; the captain does a phenomenal job of keeping the men in line. There is plenty to do. Even the rocks we land on are worth venturing out to sample from, and even with our pace, I can see the murky depths of Neptune shimmer before me. Despite how cold it is out there, we are warm, and well-fed here, and that suits me just fine.
Nothing’s happened that’s worth bothering you about. The odd loose panel, the minor error in navigation; all par for the course on voyages such as this. Keep calm, that’s what the captain says. And that’s gotten us this far. I’m sure if anything worse happens, you’ll be the first to know.
Stay safe, Leina. I’m a hothead, I know, but even I have my limits. I’ve avoided going out for samples or doing anything more strenuous than planning and organising. I will not rashly encounter danger- not unless I mean to.
Despite how painfully slow it all is, and the little hiccups we’ve run into, I’m more than sure than ever that this journey will be successful. Why shouldn’t we establish our dominion over these treacherous wastes? The world, no, the universe is ours for the taking! If we can prove that humans can live out here, the possibilities will be endless. Who will dare to come between me and my destiny?
God, all this isolation is getting to me. Even I’m starting to wax poetic. It’s the captain rubbing off on me. I’ll wrap things up here, to save you the headache of reading this. Stay safe,
J.A
To Leina,
You’ll probably see me before these letters reach you, Leina. But god, I have to write about these last few days, or I think I really will go mad.
Last Monday, we were surrounded on all sides by asteroids. We’d hit a pretty rough patch, and the captain insisted that we just hunker down for a week or so, to let the worst of it pass us whilst we nestled in a gap. The darkness seems darker here. If I look out of the window, I can barely make out even a star. We were all hoping, the captain included, that something, anything, would happen that would make this end any faster.
Not even half a day later, the majority of the rocks had thinned out all of a sudden, so we creeped out quickly into the quiet space beyond it. The circling rocks behind us seemed to close up any possible exit almost as soon as we moved past them. Mind, it only looked like that. A few blasts from the mining laser and we would have been fine. But I could tell it unnerved the lads. Even the captain looked a little shaken. Can you imagine it? The creeping, silent fingers of space close around you, leaving you, alone, and fifteen forlorn spheres spinning in front of you. We had met in the flight deck to discuss our next plans, in any event. This was fairly uninteresting. A smattering of groans, and then a weary trek back to the bunks for most of the men. It was just me and the captain left alone, talking shop.
Then the radar started to bleep. We had scanned the area for any stray meteorites just a minute ago, but now something was in our vicinity. The captain moved over to the monitor, and for the first time on this long journey, I heard him gasp. He motioned over to me, and I beheld our bogey. This far from civilisation, we’ve been forced to rely on more rudimentary technologies, like the kind of radars that would blinker around Uncle’s room. Works, well, about as well as you would expect. In any case, there it was. A blinking green dot. This was, as you can likely guess, nothing unusual. Stray rocks, or some disused satellite, they’re all pretty normal if I’m being frank. I told the captain as much. It was then that he pointed back to the display, looking rather solemn. Our bogey was now significantly closer and moving ever faster. If only our camera systems hadn’t been taken out by debris! Whatever this thing was, it was heading directly for underneath the ship. In all the ships and all the space travel I’ve done, I’ve never seen anything that moved in quite the way it did. Side to side, like a bloody bolt of lightning. I turned to the captain, but he simply told me that there was no point in raising the alarm. Best let the men die in their sleep, calmly and peacefully. He put a sad hand on my shoulder and said I was a fine example of a man. I won’t lie to you, sis, but I was afraid. More afraid than I thought I could be. Death was on our doorsteps, barrelling towards us, and I could only think of you, and old Uncle Bright, who had told me so long ago to give up on the spacefaring life-
And then the thing stopped. It was baffling. Right below our ship, the bogey had stopped. And then the whole ship turned on its axis one way, and then the other. I tumbled right into the captain as the alarm rang out. And then the ship was righted, as the men clambered into the deck, to see us collapsed in a heap. The captain told them there was some computer error, that it had spun the thing around, and we had hit the emergency override, hence the state we were in. They laughed and went their way. Everyone but Astonaige, our engineer. He was down in the bowels of the engine room, you see. And he could have sworn he felt the distinct sensation of being moved by someone or something.
The captain decided that slowing the pace down would be ideal. There wasn’t any need to rush, especially considering how strange the last days had been. We would amble our way to our first stop, the moon on the other side of Neptune’s orbit. I begged the captain to reorganise our route so as to leave it out entirely, still spooked by whatever had happened, but he insisted that we visit it first; it had been previously visited by probes, and there was the chance that there would be fuel reserves we could salvage for any future emergencies. The fuel consumption for the journey there would be fine, he assured me, as entering orbit would do most of the work. I had no other choice but to relent to the more senior member of the crew, despite how much I wanted to blow my top off at him. So, we continued- that was until the most extraordinary thing appeared on the radar. The captain called me over at once, sure that it was our mystery rock from the other day. But this bogey we could see from our deck window. There, spiralling in infinity was the shape of a man, still. I told you that I wouldn’t risk my life on this journey, and the captain told me as much as I donned a space suit and headed out. But I had to. It was the right thing to do, Leina. Nobody else was doing anything, so I took matters into my own hands and jettisoned off into deep space. I could see my target spin and spin in front of me, its visor all frosted over by space’s wretched chill. Gingerly, I reached out my hand and grasped onto the body’s limbs. Two quick tugs on my cable and I could feel us being reeled in. A dead man’s hand, Leina. That’s what it seemed like. Even through layers of thick insulation, the chill of death leaked out. Before long, we were in the medical bay, with the suit splayed over the surgeon’s table. There was a little whirr as the ship doctor accessed the vitals of the suit. I swore bloody murder when the doctor told us that whoever was inside was still alive.
The doctor reacclimatised the suit, ensuring that the sudden change in environment wouldn’t shock its occupant into a coma, or worse, death. At long last, the frosted helmet was disengaged, and our new addition to the crew was now right there. It was a miracle that he was still alive, the poor bastard. His hair had taken on a sickly green colour, and his eyes pale and glazed over. The pallor of his skin was so grotesque, it would make even the hardiest of soldiers keel over at the sight. But he was breathing. His glassy eyes looked at us, as he raised a weak hand. I held it, and the ghoul inside turned to look at me now. “Whither are you bound?” came a weak voice.
You can imagine my surprise at having a question posed to me by a man who was so on the verge of absolute destruction. I stuttered out a reply; that we were bound, at the very first, to the moon on the far side of Neptune currently, the sphere of Galatea. The spectre groaned, turned away, and seemed to pass away on the spot. The doctor assured me that he had just fallen asleep.
In time, the ghost recovered and looked more like a living man. It was a diet of thin soup and defrosted bread that he could stomach- the harsher contents of our daily meals were too much for him. Two days passed by with me and the captain in constant attention to him. The doctor had stressed that we were expecting too much from him, but I had to know about him. Here, at the edge of what was known, where only robotic hands seized solid land, was a man. And he was now on our ship. Maybe he was the clue to taking this land for our own? On the third day, he spoke again. I had thought that the experience out there, alone for who knows how long, had left him mute. Thankfully he wasn’t, and I saw to it that he was moved to my cabin. I attended to him as much as I could, my duty permitting. I’ve never met a more interesting fella. The colour had now returned to his eyes, all cold, sea-blue wastes. He had eyes like us- full of a sort of madness that we mad sods take in our stride. The captain- who is far better with words than me- told me that he saw a hint of primal madness in them, lingering forever at the edge of what was known. I can see what he means. But whenever I arrive with a plate of food for the guest, his whole face lights up, as if I was a saint among the dying. He was generally a foul bastard around anybody else- swearing indiscriminately and scribbling furiously in my empty journals. At night he screams like a banshee, on and on and on, trying to wake up the dead ghosts that still linger out there.
When he began to wander around the ship, I struggled to keep the crew off him. They had a thousand questions, ranging from the suitably interesting, to the downright disgusting. But it was Beecha who approached and asked, at last, the question we had all been thinking but were too afraid to ask- how on earth he had wound up here of all places, alone.
His eyes darkened for a moment, and I could see his hands begin to twist into each other. He replied, slowly, and sadly, “To flee the one I gave birth to.”
“You… gave birth to?” I asked.
“Yes.”
At this, the men guffawed, and laughed at our guest, before going on to whatever they had to do. You can see why, right? Our new guest was stark raving mad. Positively loopy. You see it in some men, who have been left out without oxygen for an extended period of time, the captain told me, a sad and knowing look in his eye. I asked the guest again, now that it was just us in the mess hall, if he had truly meant what he had said. And within his eyes, so full of madness, I saw for the first-time crystal-clear clarity.
“Yes.”
Not long after, my guest asked me if we were planning on continuing to Galatea. I told him yes, that was what the captain said would be best, and after a prolonged period of thought, he told me that perhaps such recourse would be for the best. That it was perhaps for the best if he had killed what he gave birth to instead.
That’s all I’ve seen so far of our stranger, our nameless stranger, that stalks these halls at all hours. He’s clearly gotten better, but he’s still quiet and uneasy around the men- except me. Despite that, and despite his odd outbursts from time to time, the other guys treat him well, for underneath his angry and explosive outside is a sweet soul. For my own part, I love him like the brother I never had. If I were to try and be poetic about it, I suppose his constant grief and fear fill me with deep, aching pain in the confines of my soul. He must have been a bloody sight to behold in his heyday; even though he could be confused for a walking corpse now, he has a surprisingly charming look about him.
I told you, Leina, that I wouldn’t find any friends out here. Just my strange luck then, that here, in the depths of the abyss would I find someone I can talk to.
I will be sure to send any more letters your way, should there be anything else to say.
Judau
[As recorded in the private journals of Judau Ashta]
I adore my guest. Every nerve in my body quivers when I’m around him. My heart aches more than anything else when I see him finally able to retire to bed after a long day of aimless wandering. He is sweet and vengeful; he has seen such terrible things and things more beautiful than I could imagine, and they spill out whenever I least expect it.
He loves to lounge around the flight deck now, sitting close to the captain and me, watching for something. Every day I ask him what it is that he wants to see out in space. Every time I do, he shakes his head and reminds us that some things are not worth knowing. He has started throwing himself into my work. He clearly knows his bloody stuff, and frequently tells me of some insane fact that I would have no way of knowing. His manner of speech- so strangely archaic- has infected the way I write and even talk. I feel like my vocabulary doubles at an hourly rate. I told him about my dream. For the first time, apart from the intensity with which my baby sister would listen to me as a child, someone seems to care. Not just about the practicality of the mission, but the romance of it all. I told him, life or death, nothing would stop me from my goal, for the knowledge that I wanted more than anything else. A shadow passed over my guest’s face, and I was worried I had ticked him off. His bad moods were certainly something to behold. I watched with horror as he wept suddenly. A wail erupted from his mouth, and he fell upon me, saying: “You fool! Are you a twin to me, in my madness? If only you knew- it is as if I am Faust, damned now to hell, looking back on my earlier self!”
I was intoxicated by this. His grief, my curiosity, rising into a great stream of desire within me. It took a good deal of talking and some hot cups of tea to finally bring him back to a sense of calm.
He asked about my sister, my family, and my past. I told him, more than gladly. Working the way I have these last few years, you hardly ever get the chance to talk about yourself beyond how good you are with a gun. I told him how happy he made me- that at long last, I had someone to talk to.
“Yes,” replied my guest; “we are lonely creatures at heart, are we not? Desperate for someone better than ourselves. I remember those I relied upon, once. Gone, now, as most good things are. She was hope- the one light in the shimmering world we came from. But I- I am lost now, and forever divorced from the binding threads that secure us from madness.”
As he spoke, I watched as his face became darker with grief once more. Silently, he rose, and moved slowly for the door of my cabin heading, I thought, to bed.
I look out of my window. I’ve seen retired veterans who’ve seen the worst of war look more put together than he does. How can he look at those stars and see grief? What has he seen that has broken his spirit like that?
Perhaps I should follow him.
[The following is written in hastily scrawled script]
I have seen it. I HAVE SEEN IT! THE THING THAT LURKS BEYOND!
I cannot begin to understand it. I followed behind him, watching as he turned away from his room, and instead towards the flight deck. Stealthily, I crept behind and watched as he perched himself on the empty captain’s chair, and stared into space, all huddled up. I wanted to leave. This was quite clearly a private madness. But I couldn’t. I was fixated on the space that we were both looking at. It was dark again, dark like it was inside the asteroid, where the light of stars never reaches. But there was a light there. The radar bleeped. Once, then twice. Then faster and faster. I heard my guest gasp. He ran for the window, and his face was pressed up against it. I too leaned into the room, and it was then that I saw it. Two small green specks billowing into maddening surges. The bleeping stopped. The specks disappeared. My guest seemed at once relieved. I too, satisfied, albeit disturbed, was ready to head to sleep. It was then that I heard the scratch of metal, screeching in my ear. There, rising up into view was the lopsided face of what I can only describe as a huge man, a monster of metal and rot slowly looming towards us. It was horrific. All peeling metal, revealing shuddering electronics, like beating organs waiting to be put to rest. A great hand rested itself on the glass opposite us. Its green eyes oscillated wildly, whirring in and out of existence, blinking. I saw my guest raise his hand to the glass and whisper a single word.
“Zeta.”
With a sudden start, the thing outside the window retreats and begins to shake and shiver, tossing and turning. My guest turns to the radio receiver and engages it, and there, echoing around the room, is the scream of a dying child, made of metal and flesh. It is shrill and sorrowful, and I scream in response, cowering in fear. The guest stands there, staring at the thrashing just beyond our ken. With a great roar, the thing disappears into the darkness. He turns to me.
“And now, you see my child. You hear it crying. Why shouldn’t I put it out of its misery? Why shouldn’t it die? Why am I not allowed to run from it?! Why won’t it let me die!” he yells at me, collapsing into a heap. I rush to him, my ears still ringing, and kneel beside him. With those deep, oceanic eyes he looks at me. He gestures towards the door. He wants me to bring him to his cabin, where he will tell me everything. And that he knows that this act will spell the end of his lonely existence.
I have done as he asked. He lies opposite me now, humming a song I do not recognise. His story must be strange- strange and harrowing, for as I look at the faint reflection of myself in the small portside window, I see two green lights where my eyes once were, and in that green, the madness of a man lost to space. His story- thus!