[Starship Scarborough, Transmission 3]

This is Shawn Heart, reporting on behalf of the crew of the Starship Scarborough. [Heavy breathing.]

Correction. This is Shawn Heart, the last remaining member of the crew of the Starship Scarborough—the last remaining human on this godforsaken planet. [Crashing noises.]

I don't know how much longer I'll be alive, but I'm sure that doesn't matter to any of you listening to this broadcast, if you even are listening. I don't trust that you care enough for that.

By the time you receive this transmission, I know I'll be long dead.

This planet that you sent us to, although it might look barren and desolate from the sky, holds an infection deep within it. You couldn't possibly have known that when you sent us here, though. How could you have? You barely took the time to research this hellscape before shipping convicts off here to die.

But we're just convicts, right? Criminals. What do we matter?

But, despite the crimes we've committed, we're still human, and none of us deserved this fate you condemned us to. [Crashing noises.] Nobody does.

I met your friend, America Lee. [Rasping breaths.] I know all about the other missions you are planning. In fact, we even found one of the sister starships of Scarborough, abandoned here and covered in the cocoons of the infected creatures that haunt the heart of this planet.

[Static.]

That's right. I know this wasn't the first mission. I know there were others before us. We found them.

When the aliens infesting their starship attacked myself and five of my crew mates, they chased us into the caves beneath the ground. These monsters are abominations beyond what you can imagine, and I'm staring at dozens of them out the window of the pilot house now. They are larger than human beings. Some of them only by a little, but some of them are massive, five—ten times the size of me. They have wings to fly, tentacles to swim and grab, and the bodies of worms, allowing them to burrow deep beneath the ground—perfectly adapted to inhabit hell.

But that isn't the worst part. The worst is their teeth.

[Long pause.]

Within their mouths, infected maggots stew, spreading their disease with a single bite. One of our crew mates died that way. We watched him turn from a human being into a monster without any mind or soul. Just hunger. A living dead abomination.

And that was how we found the crew members of our sisters ship, too. Deep within the bowels of this planet, they hatched from their cocoons of hibernation, their skin rotting from their bones and their eyes black and blind. Zombies.

I managed to make it out. The three remaining crew mates I was traveling with, America Lee, Elias Young, and Jessica, weren't as lucky. Or, perhaps they were the lucky ones. They're dead now, at least.

I don't know exactly what happened to the rest of the crew—I wasn't at the starship when they were attacked. However, I can imagine. I found their bodies when I returned, mutilated and torn to shreds as parasites picked the meat from their bones.

I found two of them still alive on the ship . . . or more accurately, undead. Forgive me, I do not know either of their names, but they weren't human anymore when they found me. I can hear them banging on the door to the pilot house now. I'm not sure if they'll get in, or if the monsters outside will break in before that.

[Heavy banging. Static.]

This will be my final transmission. I don't think I'll live to send another, and I don't think I'd want to anyway. The only reason I'm contacting you now is to send this warning. The disappearance of the crew of the other starship clearly wasn't enough, so I pray that this will be.

Stop the missions now. This planet is infected, and no human deserves the fate of dying this way—so alone and lost. Seeing the horrible abominations and deformation of humanity we have.

I implore you, do not send any more ships here. There are places in this universe we were never meant to go. It doesn't want us here. To it, we are the infection, not the other way around. It will fight back, and it will kill anything that touches it.

If you've already sent more ships, my heart goes out to them. From somewhere deep in space, even though I know I'm already dead, my heart beats for them, because it's the only thing I can do.

[Crashing noises. Footsteps.]

[One and a half minutes of static.]

[End Transmission 3]

As the transmission coming from deep space cuts out, silence falls over the large office on the top floor of the Interstellar Colonization Corporation headquarters.

It's the middle of the night. Duke Green, now an old man, takes off his glasses and spins them between his fingers. Alicia Weathers, the CEO of the company, and John Franklin, the night-technician that first picked up the transmission, are the only two others in the room. The lights over the glass conference table that is too big for three people flicker once.

"I guess now we know what happened to the crew of Starship Alexander," Duke finally says, his tired voice breaking the stillness of the room.

Alicia rubs her temples, resting her elbows on the table in front of her and nods. "I'd hoped it was just a freak accident—convinced myself of it. We knew there were chances something would happen to one of the ships. That's why my mother decided we send more than one, after all."

She pauses, glancing out the large floor-to-ceiling window and into the lights of the city at night. With all the light pollution and smog, the stars are all but invisible overhead. A dense, yellow fog hangs like a sickness in the city. The sound of sirens and shouting on the streets below make their way up to the top floor. Even forty stories in the sky, it is impossible to escape them. Earth is slowly dying, but in the cities, it seems like it is already dead.

Alicia grimaces, looking back to Duke and John. A somber expression rests on Duke's wrinkle-creased face as he waits for Alicia to continue. John nervously picks at the beds of his nails.

"It seems we were wrong," Alicia finally says.

"We have to cancel the missions," Duke says.

"We will." Alicia nods. She slides her rolling chair back from the table and rises to her feet. Her heels click across the polished floor as she paces around the room. When she reaches the cabinet at the far end, she takes a bottle of whiskey from it, along with three glasses. After setting them on the counter in front of the cabinet, she pours a tall shot into each one.

"We won't be sending any more ships to that planet." She downs one of the glasses, drumming her long nails against the bottle of whiskey as if thinking. She pours herself another shot before passing the other two to each of the men.

John Franklin stares into his glass, the brown liquor swirling in front of him. He looks like he is going to be sick in it.

Duke Green takes a slow sip of his own before setting the half-empty glass down. "Does anyone else know about this transmission, John?" he asks the tech.

John chews on his lower lip. "No," he says. He eyes his glass one more time before taking a drink. "I was the only one on duty tonight. I notified you as soon as it came in."

Duke Green nods. "Good," he says. "You are not to tell anyone the details of this transmission. You are not to answer any questions about what you heard. Understood?"

John Franklin nods. "I understand, sir."

Alicia downs her whiskey again. The glass clinks as she sets it down on the glass table in front of them. "I'll hold a press conference tomorrow. I'll announce that we are canceling the missions to Ace Centauri."

The room is silent for a second, no one wanting to bring up the one thing still forgotten.

"What about the Starship Charlotte?" John finally chimes in. "She's already been launched. Can we bring her back?"

Alicia pinches her eyes shut for a second, leaning back in her chair.

"The ships aren't designed to return," Duke says. "They're a one-way trip. A second launch is impossible. Even reprogramming them to turn around can't be done. They don't have enough powers to decelerate in space and then accelerate back in the opposite direction."

John picks at the fabric of his sleeve, biting his lower lip. "But we could warn them at least, right? Send a message so they know?"

Alicia shakes her head and pushes herself to her feet. She walks to the window, gazing up into the sky.

"We can't do that," she says. "Charlotte was launched two years after Scarborough. The planet is four and a half light years away, so this message we just received is from four and a half years ago." A long pause. "By now, they are already dead."