A beep sounded in the void of outer space. Echoing off of everything, being drowned by the lack of substance there until it became nothing at all. The broken hull of a ship floated in space. People were here, once. People were here recently, though now it was barren and broken. The wreckage floated among the stars in a defiant showcase of mankind’s wont to explore and expand.
From a small distance away (although distance exists on a much different scale in the endless vacuum of space), a ship observed. It was a small machine, referred to as a “light runner” by the United Federation of Nations; designation LR-TANTAMOUNT. Built for a skeleton crew to make quick jumps of long distances–for recon, for exploration, for pushing mankind further out into the emptiness of the universe.
“–Repeat: GC-XERXES is, ah, dusted. I’ve got eyes on it and it’s split in two. No readings of life. More than that, no readings of organic matter. Requesting orders,” the lone crewmember of the TANTAMOUNT radioed home to Earth, a lifetime away. His thumb rubbed nervously on one of the joysticks in his cockpit.
For a while, it seemed no reply would come. He was alone, a single soldier attending the funeral of a Galaxy Class ship. Destroyed unexpectedly in the edges of domesticated space, it’s crew gone. He thought for a moment that this must amount to an insurmountable amount of paperwork, but grimaced and pushed the crass thought from his mind.
His console blinked, a text reply coming in.
“DROP RECONNAISSANCE BEACON. RETURN TO EARTH.”
A chill started in the base of his spine and ran rampant up his body until he convulsed involuntarily. A routine response. But this was a galaxy class ship. There were no bodies. No survivors. Hundreds of people gone, billions of dollars, up in smoke.
Ultimately, he wasn’t paid to question these things. He thumbed the console command to deploy a reconnaissance beacon, and whirled his ship around. Plotting a course for Neptune’s Gate, he leaned back into his seat as his ship went under heavy thrust. He’d be home in a few days. At least he didn’t end up like those poor bastards on the XERXES. The thought of that shawarma joint down the corner popped into his mind, and belly pinched in want.
His console rang out, tinting red as a message displayed on the screen.
UNIDENTIFIED SIGNATURE DETECTED.
He furrowed his brow, he was the only ship in the immediate area–part of the reason he’d be sent to confirm the wreck.
The ship cracked in half, the klaxons of his console fading into obscurity as the air whisked out into the nothingness surrounding him. He saw the shadow blotting out the stars, approaching.
And then everything was over.