Onward

Onward

Deep breaths broke the tense atmosphere of the darkened control room, with the eyes of all fixed on the images of the long, empty corridor as the robot was guided down the steel gray opening looking for people -- to no avail.

The robot's operator moved the joystick on his control console and the robot turned down another empty corridor, until it came to a ladder. Slowly, the robot ascended the ladder, stopping at the top to peer closely into the shadows the emergency lighting lanterns failed to illuminate. Still, nothing.

The robot's microphone picked up something skittering by and the robot turned sharply to the right, trying to catch it. It failed and its camera saw nothing. Skittering sounds to the left and rear made the joystick operator spin the robot around and, this time, it did catching something -- a piece of paper being pushed along by the blasts of air still emanating from the overhead air vent.

The robot turned forward again and continued along the corridor at the top of the ladder. Like the others, this corridor was empty. The camera focused on a sign that read “Bridge” with a red arrow pointing starboard. The robot moved right and then left up another ladder until it came to a large sliding door.

The robot's operator flicked a switch on his console and the robot played a red beam of light over a black square of smoked glass to the left of the sliding door. Seconds later, the door slid open. Someone took a deep breath and let it out slowly before the operator moved the camera inside to the bridge.

“Found them,” a voice coming from a throat suddenly gone dry announced.

The camera showed the entire crew present on the bridge, all ten men and women. They were seated at their regular stations, as they should have been when preparing to land. However, none of them moved. Behind the robot's operator, someone gasped audibly and began to sniffle.

The operator cautiously moved the joystick forward, letting the robot slowly edge around to the captain’s chair. The camera showed a bearded man with salt-and-pepper hair staring straight ahead, his eyes not focusing on the camera at all. The robot moved to each face of the other nine crewmembers and saw the same thing. Nothing.

Save for the last one.

The camera had just started to move away when the woman’s mouth opened. The robot zipped back in front of her face and began to get a close-up of her face. Her eyes went wide even as her mouth opened wider, as if she was going to say something.

Then, some...thing flew out of her mouth and the operator jumped back in his seat. Behind him, someone half-screamed while somebody else dropped something metal that clanked loudly on the floor. The robot's operator regained his composure and looked at his console screen, but saw nothing but blackness.

There was something dark hanging on the camera lens of the robot. He couldn't be sure but it looked as if it was...was pulsing or possibly even breathing. He wasn't sure, but he knew he didn't want to see it again. Then, a large crack began to spread across the lens of the camera, there was the sound of metal rending and whatever it was made sure no one would see it again as the picture was lost.

The joystick operator pushed several buttons on a console but got no response. He turned on more infrared lights in the control room and turned to look at the woman next to him. She was breathing hard and looking at him, in disbelief. He looked over his shoulder at the men and women behind him, all of whom looked terrified and sick. He took another deep breath and then activated his radio.

“Alien contamination confirmed, sir,” he said, slowly and heavily. “Exploration ship 'Titus' lost on Catralia with all hands. Recommend sierra delta immediately.”

“Roger that,” a disembodied voice replied. “Titus confirmed lost to alien contamination. Standby on sierra delta.”

“What’s going to happen now?” the woman asked. “We’re not going to let the fleet just sit here, are we?”

“We’re going on,” the man replied, matter-of-factly. “The 'Cassius' is slated to land on the next habitable world.”

“But, what if the same thing happens?” she asked, incredulously. “Why are we doing this?”

“Because we have to,” the man replied, solemnly. “We can’t go back. Columbus didn’t go back. Magellan didn’t go back. We have to go onward.”

“Sierra delta for 'Titus' confirmed,” the disembodied voice boomed out. “Begin sequence.”

“We all knew the risks when we left Earth,” the man said as he punched a few buttons.

“Easy for you to say,” the woman grumbled, irritably. “You’ve already made your name. First person on Locus.”

“Yeah, but on the eighth ship out,” the man added, causing the young woman to gasp. “Begin sequencing for sierra delta.”

The woman thought deeply for a moment and then sighed, resignedly. How many people had died for Man to move forward and evolve? Deep down inside, she knew she should feel nurturing and protective of life, but she also realized she was part of the pioneering sprit of the human race. Who was she to halt progress?

“Confirming sierra delta,” she acknowledged, sadly. “Self-destruct sequencing initiated for Titus. Countdown has started.”