A sci-fi short
by Connor B. Schwab
Log. 27, 2/8/2118
Audio File 27X4A
Shirō Ryuuji, First Officer, reporting from the Arcturist Cluster.
We’ve encountered large volumes of interstellar gas and have reduced speed to below FTL standards. Sinaxsis A—our final destination—is now within communications range. The local colony has not responded to our repeated requests for system entry.
We ran an archival transmission search covering the last six years and found nothing after the reported communications failure on 7/24/2115. Captain Mari’s concern is growing; she believes something has gone terribly wrong on Sinaxsis. Many of my shipmates share that belief, though I find it unlikely that 11,000 colonists simply vanished like dandelion fluff in the wind. The more probable explanation is a failed comms buoy. We have the materials to repair it—Starline doesn’t send us out empty-handed.
On a personal note: I find little solace in the ecochamber. I miss surface air and real trees. Feeling soil underfoot would do me good, but this is the life I chose. Still, I’ve found a small comfort in Bridge Officer A-18, Madeline Skylark. Officially, our relationship is platonic—but privately, I think she likes me.
Log. 28, 2/10/2118
Audio File 90SX1
Shirō Ryuuji, First Officer, reporting from the Arcturist Cluster.
We are 24 hours out from Sinaxsis. Still no radio communications, though the planet is now in clear view from nearly every forward-facing window. A turquoise orb with thin white rings that glitter like a wedding band in the light of its hot white sun. It is a breathtaking sight. Almost tragic, the thought that such a beautiful water world might be going to waste. If the colonists truly are gone, at least they lived on one of the most striking planets in the known galaxy before their demise.
On a personal note: Madeline and I spent the evening together in the lounge. We found a single surviving bottle of merlot and shared it by the broad window on the portside wall. It turns out her taste in classical films is impeccable. I hope, in time, to show her a few of my turn-of-the-millennium favorites.
Log. 29, 2/13/2118
Audio File 4AB24
Shirō Ryuuji, First Officer, reporting from the Arcturist Cluster.
We’ve received data back from the Fusion Flyers. I don’t know whether I’m more afraid or more confused. Atmospheric readings are normal. Oceanic life scans are thriving. But for the colonists . . . perhaps a much darker fate awaits.
Not a single soul was detected at the central communications hub. Their cruiser was scuttled, yet their jump ship, Frontier One, remains in orbit. Satellite sweeps show no evidence of mass destruction or conflict on the surface.
At this morning’s briefing, we discussed deploying a militarized survey team to the first township. Records suggest the colonists were just over a year into construction when work abruptly stopped. Their crop fields are still visible but badly overgrown. Our ship’s botanists are already debating who gets first pick at sample collection.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something was down there with them. And it didn’t want them there.
The landmasses are unstable—sand and coral buildup, not bedrock. I’m surprised the colonists managed to erect even basic two-story housing. Seismic scans show minimal plate movement, yet the ground shifts almost like a liquid. Some islands appear to drift, untethered, across the surface.
I’m no geologist, but Madeline is. Over cherry rice and sake last night, she told me the science isn’t fully understood. She believes the islands possess some form of buoyancy, not rooted to the crust at all. Floating land. She hopes we’ll uncover the truth.
I’m not sure I do.
Log. 30, 2/15/2118
Audio File 27X4A
Shirō Ryuuji, First Officer, reporting from the Arcturist Cluster.
The sun here is strong—a type F-class star. Its light is piercing, almost unnatural, like the glow of a fluorescent bulb. It unnerves me. It reflects off the planet like a flashlight does off a murky mirror.
After further data analysis from the surface, we’ve determined the life readings on the small coral landmasses are much higher than previously thought. It seems there is a subterranean plant life of some kind. The islands almost seem as if they are alive.
Captain Mari has ordered a surface landing for 0800 tomorrow. I believe I may be selected for this particular excursion. To be entirely honest, I am terrified. With all of our observation, I still feel as if we are blind. Something is still missing in the puzzle.
The Halion guys have already reported back to corporate on Earth. Apparently, they are very interested in business rights for Sinaxsis—and possibly the whole system. I’ve never liked businessmen, and it is clear these desk jockeys are unprepared for what could meet us on the surface. I find the prospect of taking my mind off these worries very enticing. Madeleine will be hearing from me this evening. A private rendezvous would do both of us well.
Log. 31, 2/16/2118
Audio File 3A212
Shirō Ryuuji, First Officer, reporting from the surface of Sinaxsis A.
It is quite hot. At our current location on the surface, it is approximately 91° F and 86% humidity—practically the Amazon. The colonists’ settlement, Oceanside, is described by Starline as “Paradise is just within reach! (Only 27 light-years, to be exact.) With no terraformation needed! Live, work, and relax on the diamond of the Arcturist Cluster—Sinaxsis A!”
It’s a diamond, all right, but a very hot one at that. Oceanside looks more like an abandoned construction site than a beachside paradise. The asphalt streets are cracked, and weeds have sprouted their way up through the rocky surface. The metal plating on the sides of the buildings have begun to rust. The saltwater and wind have clearly done a number on this place—even if it has been absent of humans for less than four years. There is no one in sight. The whole island is silent, not including the crash of the waves on the white sand beaches.
The biologists and botanists of the group had a field day. Every tree, shrub, and piece of foliage was categorized, packaged, and prepared for send-off back to The Everlast. Upon further investigation of the dwellings that had been completed, we discovered something quite beyond words. I will edit in the audio from that discovery. Those present were Combat Operative Scott Mancino, Mycology Specialist Hannah Brown, and me.
Secondary Recording
Scott: We should be clear to enter the building.
Shirō: I will have caution. We will be returning with all of our shipmates at the end of this expedition.
Scott: Caution will be had.
Hannah: Why would they just leave the door ajar like that?
Scott: Bad reasons, obviously.
Shirō: The moisture levels are at 100% in here. Either their climate control systems went whack, or there’s water accumulating in the space.
Hannah: God, it smells disgusting.
Scott: YO! OH MY GOD! There’s—there’s a guy over here.
Hannah: HOLY SHIT.
Scott: What’s that he’s covered in? It almost looks like insulation foam.
Shirō: He—he looks like he’s being eaten by the ground.
Hannah: It’s . . . it’s fungus. It resembles Rhizopus.
Scott: What does that mean?
Hannah: It’s bread mold . . . like he’s covered in bread mold, or some weird, highly mutated strain of it. This type of mold shouldn’t grow on people—even after their death.
Shirō: Wouldn’t this planet have different species of fungus? Why this, and why does it spread outward through the floor?
Hannah: That’s exactly my question. I’m going to need to get a swab. I could see if it’s feeding on the body, but it extends into the ground. Where is it getting all of its energy from?
Scott: I don’t know, but get that sample, and let’s get out of here.
Shirō: Put up a lidar drone. I want the whole space scanned. Get images of everything.
Scott: Yes, sir.
Hannah: That should be good. I’ve got my sample.
Shirō: Leave the drone up. Let’s get back to the transport—it will send the image data later.
Log. 32, 3/16/2118
Audio File 21SR3
———————–For board member eyes only————————–
Shirō Ryuuji, First Officer, reporting from the Arcturist Cluster.
We returned yesterday evening with fungi samples from the surface of Sinaxsis A. What we found was worse than anything we could have imagined. We sent a secondary team to collect more samples from the surface. It has been 16 hours, and they still have not returned. We have only received radio silence.
The fungus samples have grown at an alarming rate. It seems the fungus was brought from Earth to Sinaxsis. The planet strangely altered its genome—the method of this change is still unknown. The genetic alterations have allowed it to grow at extremely accelerated rates. Spores of the fungus were found in the soil as well as in the air. From this realization, I fear that my other shipmates and I who visited the surface may have carried unwanted passengers back to The Everlast. I’m closely monitoring myself for symptoms and have quarantined myself in my room. Madeline has come to see me multiple times, but I have turned her away.
If I truly am harboring the fungus, it would be catastrophic for me to infect other crewmates—especially someone like Madeline. Hannah Brown, now the lead researcher on the fungus, has found it is able to communicate by supercharged cilia fibers that act something like a brain. These fibers seem to lead into the ground—some sort of subterranean growth. The fungus had drained the nutrients from the colonists it had killed. Many of our biologists were surprised to find it did not affect the plant life or small insects living on the surface. But to humans, and our imported animals and crops, it was deadly.
If the fungus is spreading on the ship, there is a chance it could lack energy due to its disconnection from its core—but what it could do is still unknown. Our data has already been sent back to Earth. We are now awaiting a response from Starline; based on the distance, it should be three days.
Log. 32, 3/18/2118
Audio File 35AV1
———————–For board member eyes only————————–
If you are hearing this, I am dead. We have lost control of the ship’s deck. All command modules are inoperable. It is clear we have spread the infection. The fungus has found its way into the lungs of every crewmate on the ship.
I can feel it within me. My mouth and my tongue feel hairy and moist. I can feel it creeping up my throat, growing within my lungs. Everywhere itches. I feel as if I could reach my fingers between my ribs and rip it out. I want to scream, but I can’t anymore. I know this is the fate the colonists already suffered—and the fate my crewmates are going through as I speak.
I can feel myself going. My mind seems to be slipping away; that seems true for most of the other infected. The emergency generators failed this morning. We’re being pulled in by Sinaxsis’s gravity. As my mind slips away, so does the ship—into the great embrace of the ocean below us. I’m not sure how we lost fusion power, but it seems the fungus has our minds now.
I am almost happy we are to plunge through the atmosphere—for a death by freefall sounds much better than this. I can feel it behind my eyelids; it enjoys the wet places. It grows and mutates. Its fuzz grows out of my ears and down my neck. I’ve already torn much of my hair out, for it is filled with its tiny spores. I beg for relief now. I believe that relief is coming.
I can no longer hear the screams of my crewmates—only the fiery rumbling sound of atmosphere striking metal, the hum of failing artificial gravity, and the weightlessness before impact.