THE FOLLOWING TRANSCRIPTIONS are excerpts taken from the audio recordings of Captain M. Sebastian’s unofficial diary. The device was found in a vacant spacesuit, one of the few distinguishable items recovered among the wreckage of the Unified Terra exploratory starship, Vespucci, which, at the time of its detonation, was approximately 68 AU from Earth. No bodies were discovered. No other recordings were salvaged.
1.
I’ve begun to wonder, Baby, plagued by sleepless nights and nagging doubts... Am I captain material? Can I really do this? I just don’t know, Darling, maybe I’m not cut out for the cosmic life.
Perhaps it’s too late to have these worrisome thoughts, what with Pluto being yesterday’s news, already a distant speck in the proverbial rearview mirror. God, how I’d love to go for a spin in the Jag, top town, summer night and warm wind in our hair. I’d love that, Baby. You and me. An open road. Endless possibility, never mind our planetary bounds.
2.
They call this meatloaf—whatever this is. Let me tell you, Baby, it ain’t meatloaf. It ain’t a loaf of any sort. It’s slop. Slop confit. Slop à la mode. It doesn’t actually taste half bad, but it’s got the texture of mucus, and it looks like a moose’s afterbirth.
I miss your cooking, Baby. I miss any cooking. Any food that doesn’t start as powder. Anything that isn’t rehydrated. To be perfectly honest, I miss the napkins at this point. A glass of beer, good god! What was it Richard III once said? My starship for a glass of beer!
3.
David is cheating again. I can’t prove it, but I can feel it. How else is he winning every damn game?
I’ve started playing chess, Baby. Lots of chess. You know, to pass the time.
David Yang, our navigational officer, has been undermining my authority. He thinks it’s funny when he wins, which is every fucking time we play, the way he says Checkmate like Check, Mate in an Australian accent, you know, because the Aussies say mate. Well, it might have been funny the first dozen times... But heaven help me, Baby, I swear, I just might take each pawn and deposit them right up David’s ass to let him know exactly what he is. How do you like that, mate?
Someone needs to remind these people, Baby. I’m Captain. Say it with me... Captain.
In chess, I would be the king. But the girls are quick to remind me: the queen is the most powerful piece. Yeah, well, it’s just a game, you insubordinate whores!
4.
By any standards, the Vespucci doesn’t boast what you’d call a teeming community. As you know, including myself, we are a paltry crew of six. Among our half dozen there are two women, Greta and Lorraine, who, between them, scrape together the accumulated sex appeal of a kitchen sink. Even so, loneliness is a sculptor of man. It has taken me like a lump of soft clay and moulded me into one of those phallic statues of ancient Egypt, Greece, or Rome.
Greta, our psychiatrist, is nearly old enough to be my mother, while Lorraine, our biologist, is almost young enough to be my daughter. You can understand, then, how it felt almost like a family reunion when the three of us fucked in a whirlwind of sweaty limbs and close pressed flesh.
I didn’t want to break the news like this, spill the beans, so to speak. How I cheated on you, betrayed you, et cetera, et cetera. I didn’t want to disclose my wild liaisons, all those lusty betrayals I knew would break your heart—your big, beautiful heart—beating back on earth for me, only me, so very far away. I didn’t want to divulge the steamy details, the moaning and contortions and body fluids hovering like time frozen crystals in the lewd absurdity of zero gee gravity.
But we don’t have secrets, do we, Baby? And you know how I don’t like to stand on ceremony. In this low gravity bucket out among the stars, it is hard enough to stand at all.
5.
I’ve been spending my spare time in the greenhouse. The smell of ozone reminds me of home. It reminds me of you, Baby, though you smell a whole lot finer. Still, beggars can’t be choosers, and the rich soil, the blossoms that bare their throats... It’s a rare treat for the senses... Perfume and pollen, pink petals and broad green leaves.
I sleep here sometimes. Spread out on the soil, it feels like I am lying in my grave. I think of all the deaths that might lead to my end, how whichever version sneaks up to throttle me one night, slowly stalking me like a tiger I know is there but cannot see, cannot stop, a pathogen inside of me or an alien egg, a disease, a monster, my own hand waiting to flip the switch but biding its time... Whichever end is coming, Baby, it’s coming soon. Death is coming for us all.
6.
I cut down the sunflowers today. You wouldn’t believe how tall they had grown! It was like wading through a grove of NBA superstars. I didn’t like the way they were all looking down on me. They had to go. They’re already turning brown. I haven’t seen the sun in weeks.
7.
Well, there’s nothing quite like mutiny to break up the monotony of the stars. It was like Pirates of the Caribbean, Baby. It was like Peter Pan! Well, I sent those Judas, backstabbing bastards straight to Neverland. That’s one less worry. Well, five less worries, if you’re keeping score.
I expected it from David. But the girls? We had shared so much! And Reiner? That came out of left field. Uchenna, our medical officer, is blameless, but I couldn’t take risks. Pre-emptive strike, you know?
It’s a whole lot quieter now, Baby. So very quiet. It makes it easier to hear you calling from afar. If I close my eyes and focus, I can just make out your voice. I can filter it out among all the others.
8.
Remember that Christmas in Minneapolis? Remember the weather?
We opened our presents while we drank hot coffee. You got a knit sweater with a reindeer, white like snow until you laughed at your mother’s gift, spilling your morning pick-me-up all over its sleeve. I got a hat with snowflakes on it. It wasn’t me, but at least it was warm.
Remember the ice skating and sledding that we couldn’t enjoy because the wind on our faces felt like the lictor’s whip? Remember the snow? Jesus, Baby, do you remember the cold?
Well, I’ll be the first (and only) to tell you, Minneapolis was a cakewalk, my love. The weather here is out of this world—ha-ha! But really, it’s no joke.
Baby, it’s cold outside.
9.
It’s dramatic, don’t you think, how these starships come with a self-destruct?
10.
The weather girl says we’re in for some frost, a real cold evening. If nothing else, she’s looking hot, even if she is glazed over with a powdering of ice. I am watching from the bridge through the viewing portal. The program is on mute—no sound out there among the stars. But it’s plenty entertaining, if not exactly burlesque. If I lay on the floor and look up, waiting for the slow revolution of her body, I can see up her skirt for nearly half a minute. Every fourteen minutes, an encore. It’s a real treat.
Oh, don’t be mad at me, Baby. It’s like that out here, so very far from home. A fellow gets bored. A man gets desperate. I’m desperate for you, Baby. Oh, how I hope you know that—it’s true. Maybe I should turn this thing around? Whaddya say? Should I pull a uey?
11.
Well, it’s here.
It’s not a tiger, and it’s not an alien egg. Turns out it’s a big red button which requires unanimous consent. A big red button... So cliché.
It took some wrangling, but I got the girls to come back inside. They were cold as ice, but compliant. I woke David from his nap in the games room, Reiner and Uchenna from the sullen solitude of their bedrooms.
I got us to come together, Baby. All for one and one for all! It was inspiring stuff. As Captain, I’m finding my stride.
With the help of Uchenna’s surgical saw, everybody lent a helping hand, so to speak. I applied my palm print, theirs too, and the thing was done. We have an hour until it comes... The end.
And Baby, it’s going to be a blast!
12.
I miss you, Baby.
13.
When you wish upon a star
Makes no difference who you are
Anything your heart desires
Will come to you
14.
Baby, I’m coming home.
(End of recording)
The above transcriptions, along with the full unofficial diary of Captain M. Sebastian of the Vespucci, are required reading for any new or active Unified Terra exploratory starship crew member. These pages are mandatory content to be carefully read, in full, prior to any mission launch. It is a warning of the psychological fragility of life in space, prolonged confinement with limited company. It is a caution against the troubling effects of cabin fever.
Since the loss of the Vespucci, four other Unified Terra exploratory starships have gone dark, nonresponsive to daily checks and official logs. Each ship has gone quiet within the range of 67 to 71 AU from Earth. Due to the linked, explicit loss of contact within this defined distance from Earth, its range has been unofficially dubbed The Vespucci Zone, or, unofficially, Sebastian Space.
It is perhaps, admittedly, in bad taste that the phrase ‘Baby, it’s Cold Outside’ has been cemented into the cultural vernacular of the UT Space Force following the mental breakdown of Captain M. Sebastian and the consequential tragedy of the Vespucci. Among cadets and veterans alike, the phrase is employed to express a variety of emotions, none of them good, but its rough translation can be summed up as ‘Shit has hit the fan.’
A sixth UT exploratory starship, The Resolution, is manned by a crew of staunch individuals whose reputations and characters reflect the name of their ship. Weeks beyond the fringe of our solar system, daily logs continue to come in, indicating smooth sailing and a routine, if not sterling, flight. Since entering the Vespucci Zone sixteen hours earlier, we have received the first transmission from Captain A. Barbados.
Without a trace of humour, mission control has read his foreboding message: ‘Baby, it’s cold outside.’
