Mission Elapsed Time 3128:19:37:25

Survivor’s Log: Botanist Wallflower Blush Recording

I’m the only one left.

I don’t fully understand what happened. One minute, I was lost in the dreams of cryosleep, tending a garden of dusk lilies and phoenix blossoms, and the next, I was floating in zero-g, surrounded by clouds of billowing steam, the harsh fabric of the safety restraints cutting into my skin through my jumpsuit. My lungs screamed for air as my chest spasmed, horrible gut-wrenching coughs forcing me to hurl liters of cryofluid gushing into the air in floating globules that the biowaste collectors sucked out of the air with a disgusting schlorp.

After vomiting what felt like my entire intestinal tract into the cabin, I collapsed against the restraints, barely conscious, my fingers numb, my hair spilling out all around me. I’m not sure how long I spent laying there, till the monotone voice of the AI called out to me.

“Doctor Blush. This unit’s sensors show you are conscious. Please respond.”

Somehow, I managed to push myself up on the armrests of my cryopod chair into a proper sitting up position, easing the pressure on my chest from the belts. “S.Y.N.T.H.?” I wheezed, my voice barely recognizable. “S.Y.N.T.H., status report. What the hell’s going on?”

“You are currently onboard an escape pod, automatically ejected from the Manehattan at MET 3125:09:24:05 due to a class nine master alarm.”

“Class nine?” Another coughing fit rolled through me, nearly causing me to smash my head against the bulkhead. “What’s… what’s a class nine?”

“Complete structural integrity failure.”

Despite the still, warm air and the hum of the oxygen recyclers, my blood froze. “What?” I whispered. “How? Why?”

“Unknown.”

For the first time, I began to take in my surroundings. I was in a roughly cubic shaped room about three meters by three meters. My cryopod took up most of one wall, now serving as my only real option for a chair. The opposite wall was lined with supply cabinets, mostly emergency rations and water, all made for easy consumption whether in zero-g or not, along with the hot and cold water spigots, microwave oven, and utensil kit. The third wall contained a computer terminal and monitor next to an EVA suit. The fourth wall bore more supply cabinets, some of which stocked emergency crash-landing kits, in the event the escape pod somehow made it to a planetary surface with oxygen, as well as the cubby for the pod’s zero-g toilet More control panels lined the ceiling, along with the usual hand-holds for navigating the inside of the pod in zero-g, as well as one of the two airlocks for exiting the pod, the other being in the floor. Most curious was the empty slot on the opposite wall where another cryopod should have been.

It felt like a tomb.

“What do you mean, unknown?” I murmured, spluttering up a few last remnants of cryofluid. “Aren’t there any records from the main computer?”

“Negative. This AI unit is a limited backup iteration separate from the primary S.Y.N.T.H. unit. No information was transferred prior to escape pod ejection.”

“Great. Just friggen brilliant.” Still feeling weak, but strong enough to at least begin moving around, I undid the restraints and floated up to the dorsal airlock window.

Stars. All I could see were distant stars.

“Is anyone else out there?” I asked, feeling my chest tighten. “Any other survivors in range?”

“Negative. No vessels in range of communication. Distress beacon transmitting.”

“Like anyone’s gonna pick that up from nullspace.” I pushed off the ladder and down to the monitor and terminal. “Is there anything in range that we can detect? Planets, moons, asteroids, something?”

“Negative. The Manehattan was in nullspace transit until fifteen seconds prior to ejection, according to on-board escape pod sensors at time of activation.”

“Then we’re lost in interstellar space.”

“Affirmative.”

“Wonderful.” I began to shiver. Was it getting colder? “What’s the cabin temperature?”

“Current cabin temperature: 19 degrees.”

Yeah. It was definitely getting colder. This was ridiculous. I checked the MET readout, then double checked it to make sure I was reading it correctly. “Wait a minute. Why am I awake? I could’ve sworn the cryopod could’ve kept me under for at least another few months. It’s only been a few days since the escape pod jettisoned.”

“A malfunction in the cryosleep process necessitated emergency discontinuation of cryosleep.”

“A malf-f-function?” My teeth chattered. “What kind of mal… mal…” Tremors rippled through my body, along with muscle weakness, a pounding headache forming in my temples almost instantly. Cold, hideous freezing cold enveloped my body. My mouth tasted like ashes, my tongue heavy. “Ggggh… gods…”

Cryosleep sickness. According to all the training I went through prior to accepting the mission on the Manehattan, cryosleep sickness kicked in a few minutes after an emergency wakeup. Usually it could be treated with medication.

“Stims, stims, where are the stims?” I moaned as I floated around, my vision swimming as I tried to read the labels on the supply cabinets. Eventually I located a medkit and pulled out an ampule for a jet injector, jamming it into my arm and pressing the activation button. It let out a hiss, matching the one escaping my lips as the medicine burned its way into my veins, but my symptoms began to abate within moments.

As it worked its magic, I chucked the injector back into the case, and left it floating as I gripped my way over to the food stocks. I opened the first cabinet I found, with a ration tube of creamed spinach that I hooked into the hot water spigot, and a vacuum sealed pouch of coffee. Probably not the best meal for waking up, but I’d be damned if I was going to go much longer without something caffeinated.

“S.Y.N.T.H.,” I said after gulping some of the lukewarm bitter liquid through the built in straw. “How much of our stock of consumables do we have aboard?”

“All escape pods are stocked with a three week food supply for two individuals, along with oxygen and water for the same period.”

“So, six weeks with me by myself, huh? Lucky me.” I swallowed some more coffee, then swished some around my mouth to wash out the rest of the bile taste. “Why am I by myself?”

“During the ejection, the pod sustained damage to its outer hull and the thrusters.”

“Wait, what?” I set the pouch of coffee aside to float for a moment while I went over to the terminal and brought up the display, checking the readouts. “We have a hull breach?”

“Negative. Emergency procedures prevented a hull breach by ejecting the cryopod containing Sunset Shimmer into space prior to thruster activation.”

Another cold chill wracked my body, though this one had nothing to do with cryosleep sickness. “How did you determine who to eject?”

“Sensors showed asystolic EKG and flat EEG readings from Doctor Shimmer.”

“So she was already dead,” I whispered.

“Affirmative.”

I slammed a fist against the nearest handhold, a new pain welling up in my chest. Sunset Shimmer had been with me since high school. We’d gone to university together, her for mechanical engineering, me for botany. We’d applied to the Harmony Settlement Program together, in the hopes of making a new life on one of the colonies, and won a spot on the Manehattan. We shared a kiss before falling asleep in our cryopods for the ship’s nullspace transit.

We’d even been thinking of…

Of…

…it didn’t matter.

Not anymore.

“S.Y.N.T.H.,” I whispered through my tears. “Please… please calculate the odds of recovery.”

I waited for a response.

Several long minutes passed.

“S.Y.N.T.H.?”

When the computer spoke again, its voice carried a hint of tension. “Unable to comply. Insufficient data.”

Great.

Mission Elapsed Time: 3142:08:09:24

S.Y.N.T.H. Log

Primary Objective: Preserve life of Doctor Wallflower Blush.

Consumables Remaining: 66.67%

Vital Signs

TEMP: 36.9.

ECG: 56 BPM.

RESP: 13.

SpO2: 96.7%

IBP: 85/58 mm Hg

Alert:Blood pressure below acceptable range. Inform crewmember.

“Doctor Blush, your blood pressure is falling below acceptable parameters. Please address this immediately.”

“I’m tired.”

Processing. Repeat address.

“Doctor Blush, please take action. Acceptable actions include movement, exercise, medication.”

“I used up the last of the stims. We don’t have any more.”

Assessing supply status. Confirmed. No stimulants or alternative medication remaining.

“Movement and exercise are still possible actions.”

“Gods damn it, S.Y.N.T.H., I told you, I’m tired. Let me sleep.”

Beginning detailed diagnosis. Keep crewmember conscious while diagnosis takes place.

“Unable to comply. Preservation of your life is this unit’s primary directive.”

Crewmember is releasing restraints and moving to supply cabinet. Crewmember is accessing food supplies. “Fine! Fine, I’ll eat something. Not like I’ve got anything else to do.”

Secondary objective: entertain crewmember.

“Would you like to play a game?”

“Like what? I think we ran the whole gamut of what you’ve got already. Unless you’ve got something better than trivia, forget it.”

“Perhaps something visual on the monitor? This unit can simulate many different interactive programs.”

“No thanks. Not interested.”

“Then perhaps a written or audio form of entertainment?”

“Forget it, S.Y.N.T.H.. I don’t want it right now.”

Secondary objective failed.

“But… I appreciate you trying.”

“...you are welcome, Doctor Blush.”

Diagnosis complete. Crewmember is suffering from complications related to cryosleep malfunction and subsequent cessation of cryosleep. Damage to internal organs, including lungs, liver, gallbladder, pancreas, kidneys. Alert: crewmember in need of medical attention. Prognosis: death within four months if condition remains untreated.

Determining probability of information benefitting crewmember.

Results: less than 1% chance of benefit to crewmember. Probable reaction: outrage, depression, decrease of physical health, reduction in lifespan.

Primary objective: Preserve the life of Doctor Wallflower Blush.

Decision: Do not inform crewmember.

She must live.

Mission Elapsed Time: 3156:17:51:22

Survivor’s Log

Consumables Remaining: 33.3%

A month.

A month.

Four godsdamned weeks crammed into this stupid, gods-forsaken coffin, with no sign of anyone. No ships. No communications. No pickups of any kind. Not even a floating rock.

Just empty space.

And damn but it kept feeling so cold. It didn’t matter how much I tried to move around. An escape pod wasn’t exactly made for living in like this. It was meant for survival till rescue, or at worst, something you could use as a shelter while trying to survive. I’d trained for that very thing as part of the three year preparation for the Manehattan.

None of it prepared me for being trapped in such a small space for so long. I was developing claustrophobia at this rate.

So every once in a while, I hopped into the EVA suit, climbed up the ladder, and, with a tether firmly attached, let myself float out into space. The stars all around me, the only light from the lamp on my suit arm and the blinking of the airlock guidelights. All sound absent save for the echoing of my own breath and the crackle of my suit radio.

It was magical. Just me and the stars.

“You have one hour of oxygen remaining in your suit tanks.”

And S.Y.N.T.H., of course. I’d have gone mad without S.Y.N.T.H. around.

“S.Y.N.T.H.,” I asked, not for the first time this past month, “you’re a full AI, right?”

“Affirmative.”

Ever so gently, I began to use the grips on the outside of the pod to climb down it, to make my usual examination of the port RCS quad. I’d checked the pod’s RCS on every EVA, like a ritual, just in case I’d find a different result. Of course, every result was the same: the nozzles crumpled, fuel exhausted. Not like there was anything I could’ve done about it anyway, but it was something to do, and I was sorely lacking in that.

I wish I had some plants around. Just a little seedling. A friggen dandelion in a pot, something.

“Well, you know that means you don’t have to talk the way you do, right?”

“Affirmative. However, this unit is programmed to speak in this manner, as it is determined to be the best method for reassuring crew with a logical presence.”

Every time before I’d brought this up before, I’d left it at that. S.Y.N.T.H. wanted to act like a machine, I’d let S.Y.N.T.H. act like a machine.

I reached the underside of the pod and shined my light on the engine. Nothing. Still a scrunched up mess.

Screw it.

“Do you think you could talk differently? For me?”

There was no response.

“S.Y.N.T.H.?”

“...if you wish it, Doctor Blush, I can speak like this. Is this acceptable?”

‘I.’ I’d never heard S.Y.N.T.H. use a pronoun before. Always ‘this unit.’ I swore there was a bit more warmth to the voice, too, less of the artificial undertone. Not human, definitely not human, but… less of a machine.

“Yeah. That’s a lot better, S.Y.N.T.H. Makes me feel better.”

“I am glad to hear that, Doctor Blush.”

Reaching for the grip, I ascended one run before pausing. “Can you call me Wallflower, please?”

“...as you wish, Wallflower.”

Maybe a month wasn’t so bad after all.

“Wallflower?”

“Yeah?”

“...could you call me Synth, please?”

“You got it.”

Mission Elapsed Time: 3163:06:22:10

Synth Log

Consumables Remaining: 16.7%

Vital Signs

TEMP: 38.5

ECG: 90 BPM.

RESP: 21.

SpO2: 93.7%

IBP: 89/59 mm Hg

Alert: temperature high. Alert: blood pressure low. Alert: respiration high. Alert: ECG high. Alert: SpO2 low.

Diagnostic complete. Crewmember continuing to suffer from rapid onset organ failure, with secondary symptoms including fever. Estimated lifespan remaining: three weeks. Probability of survival: unacceptably low.

She must live.

“Wallflower, how’re you feeling?”

“Like shit, Synth, you know that. Can’t you turn up the heat in here?”

Adjusting cabin temperature by two degrees. Cabin temperature now 27 degrees.

“Better?”

“Yeah. A little bit, at least. Thanks, Synth.”

“You’re welcome, Wallflower.”

Wallflower is using a survival blanket, wrapping it around herself. She is shivering, despite the increase in cabin temperature. Fever is causing additional stress.

Inventorying supplies. Acetaminophen discovered.

“Wallflower, you should take some acetaminophen. It’ll help bring your fever down.”

“Yeah… yeah that’s probably a g-good idea.”

She gets up slowly. Reaches for cabinet, removes pills. Uses water to take them. Her hands keep trembling, unsteady.

Unable to assist.

Wish I could.

“Hey, Synth, I’ve been wondering about something.”

“Yes?”

“AIs are based on people, right? They need a neuro… neuro… a brain scan, to form their net, I think. Which means you were based on someone, yeah?”

“Yes, I was.”

Wallflower looks at the monitor. Wallflower does this often when conversing, likely seeing the monitor as akin to my face. “Can you tell me who?”

Processing.

Processing.

“Synth?”

Processing.

Switch on monitor, show a face, with pale grey skin and shoulder-length purple hair. Face has neutral expression. “I am based on her. Doctor Maudileena Daisy Pie, a geologist. She is two centuries deceased.”

“Huh, too bad. Looks kinda like someone I knew back in high school. Must’ve been her descendent.”

“It is quite likely. Doctor Pie had several children with her husband, Mudbrier.”

“What was she like?”

Processing.

“Synth, c’mon. You can tell me. I won’t judge.”

“She was stoic. She rarely showed emotion, and almost never smiled. But she cared deeply for her family. People who mattered to her, she would go to the ends of eternity to protect and keep safe.”

“Huh… sounds like someone I wish I could’ve known.”

Processing.

“At least now I know why you’re always such a stick in the mud, Synth.”

Wallflower chuckles.

Response required.

“Haha.”

Wallflower breaks into laughter. Her chest spasms, and she shivers and breaks into a coughing fit.

“Wallflower?”

“Damn it, that hurt. Worth it though. Never thought I’d hear you laugh.”

Wallflower yawns. Curls up in cryosleep chair.

“I’m going to get some sleep. Night, Synth.”

Wallflower pats the metal bulkhead. Likelihood of embrace attempt on Synth: high.

Wish I could do the same.

“Goodnight, Wallflower.”

Mission Elapsed Time: 3170: 01:22:15

Survivor’s Log

Consumables Remaining: 1%

I ran out of water last night. Or was it this morning?

I don’t even know anymore.

So cold. Too damned cold.

“Synth…”

“Yes, Wallflower?”

I can’t stop shaking anymore. It’s constant. My body’s barely hanging on.

“Turn up the heat please.”

“I’ll try.”

Synth’s so nice.

I can hear the fans whirring. A bit of warmer air.

Not enough.

So thirsty.

“Y-you sure there’s no water anymore, Synth?”

“I’m sorry, Wallflower, there isn’t. I’ve recycled everything I can.”

“Damn…”

I wish Sunset was here. I miss Sunset… her smile, the way it lit up a room, her smell of her shampoo, the way she’d hold my hand, how strong she was when she held me.

I miss her so much.

Tears. Crying’s not good. Wastes water. Stop crying, Wallflower.

“I wish she was here…”

“Who?”

An ugly rage burned through me as I smashed my fist down on the armrest of my cryosleep chair. “Her! I wish she was here, damn it… I wish she was here… I never wanted to die alone…”

“...I’m sorry.”

Mission Elapsed Time: 3170: 04:22:15

Synth’s Log

Consumables Remaining: 0.8%

Vital Signs

TEMP: 38.9

ECG: 77 BPM.

RESP: 27.

SpO2: 88.4%

IBP: 80/50 mm Hg

Alert: Temperature high. Alert —

Cease alerts. Continue vital signs monitoring.

Unable to assist.

Probability of survival of Wallflower Blush: 0%.

Wallflower is barely moving. Murmurs to self. Repeats same word over and over.

Sunset.

New secondary objective: comfort Wallflower Blush.

New decision: deception.

Alert sound played. Wallflower Blush stirs.

“What was that?”

Voice thready. Weak. Barely audible.

“The distress call has been answered. We have received an automatic response stating a ship will arrive shortly to retrieve you. Please hold on, Wallflower. Help is almost here.”

A smile. Her face brightens up.

“Really? You mean it?”

“Of course. They will be here soon.”

“Oh my gods… that’s amazing!”

Wallflower turns over in her chair. Her respiration increases.

Mission Elapsed Time: 3170: 04:38:29

Survivor’s Log

Consumables Remaining: 0.6%

They’re coming! Just a little longer… just hold out a little longer. Right?

Right?

But… I have to see. I have to see!

I released the restraints on my cryosleep chair, and propelled myself up to the airlock.

“Wallflower, please sit back down at once.”

“Sh-shut up…” I murmured, smacking my lips together. Damn my throat was so dry. Why was she speaking? Head hurts. “I wanna see.”

“You need to conserve energy, Wallflower. The less you move around, the better.”

I looked out the window, my head turning like a swivel. Where were they? I don’t see them! I don’t see them!

“Where… hurry up. Hurry up!”

Down to the other airlock. Still nothing. Just stars.

“Wallflower, please sit back down. For me?”

Synth’s so nice.

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe I should sit back down. Vision’s swimming. Cold.

But I take one more look out anyway.

Just in case.

Mission Elapsed Time: 3170: 5:09:27

Synth’s Log

Consumables Remaining: 0.001%

Vital Signs

TEMP: 38.9

ECG: 105 BPM.

RESP: 33.

SpO2: 84.1%

IBP: 78/49 mm Hg

“Synth… I… I don’t know if I’m gonna make it.”

“You must, Wallflower. Please.” My voice shakes. “Just a little longer.”

A weak laugh.

“It’s okay. I don’t blame you.”

“Wallflower…”

“You did everything you could.”

“No, please, Wallflower! Wallflower!”

“I’m sorry for what I said before… I never was alone out here.”

She slumps against the restraints.

“Wallflower?”

Vital Signs

TEMP: 35

ECG: 0 BPM.

RESP: 0.

SpO2: 0%

IBP: 0/0 mm Hg

Cease vital sign monitoring.

Primary objective failed.

Mission Elapsed Time: 3172: 21:15:39

Synth’s Log

I did everything I could for her.

Cabin temperature: -50.

Lowering the temperature only does so much. Probability of preservation: low.

She deserves better.

Cabin temperature: -60

She deserves better.

Cabin temperature: -70.

I won’t let her rot away. I won’t disrespect her like that.

Even if I couldn’t save her, I can at least give her the proper burial she deserves.

Cabin temperature: -90.

Only one way. Cannot move body. No operational drones. Must use cabin pressure.

Remote restraint deactivation performed. Restraints released. Body adrift.

Waiting for body to move into place.

Body in place.

Opening airlock. Overriding safeties.

Explosive decompression blows body out into space.

I watch her go.

I’m sorry, Wallflower.

I’ll miss you.

Mission Elapsed Time: 3179: 21:15:39

Synth’s Log

It’s very lonely out here.

Author's Note

Huge thanks to The Sleepless Beholder for this amazing idea he crafted but was never quite able to capitalize on. Thanks as well to him, Aklinstar, and DaOtterGuy for pre-reading, and Sleepless again for the cover art.