Audio Log #001 – Elian Voss
Kepler's Drift Station, Saturn Orbit – December 27, 2191
" If someone's listening to this... well, first of all, I'm sorry.
I'm not very good at talking when the room's empty.
But I guess... they're all empty now "
There were no voices here.
Only the soft hum of the backup reactor and the sluggish ticking of a cabin clock that ran two minutes slow.
And silence—the kind that stretches into your bones and wraps around them like cold steel.
Elian sat hunched over the control console.
Dust veiled every button.
Most of the screens had long since died, except one—blinking slowly like a tired eye refusing to shut.
He reached for an old analog recorder.
A relic from another era, something he found in the station's forgotten supply room—its metal casing dented, cassette cracked at the edge.
But it worked. That was enough.
" Day 687.
Still here. Still me.
Me, and the same water filter that coughs every hour like it has a secret it won't tell "
He smiled faintly, voice dipping into something like laughter, though it didn't quite reach the edges of his mouth.
Not much did anymore.
His fingers absently traced the words etched into the desk:
" Wait untill replacement arrives "
That was before everything stopped.
---
Kepler's Drift had been designed for Titan atmosphere studies—an ambitious scientific endeavor.
Now it was a coffin-shaped satellite, forgotten in Saturn's cold gravity, orbiting like a failed promise left spinning in place.
He wasn't supposed to stay this long.
120 days was the contract.
But the next shuttle never came.
No messages. No calls. No answers.
He could've tried escape, once.
The emergency module had failed just as easily as the people who sent it.
" You know... when no one's waiting for you back on Earth, space stops being lonely.
It just feels... honest "
---
He reached out, sliding open the small viewport beside the terminal.
The rings of Saturn shimmered—frozen gold swirling in a hush that not even light could break.
For a moment, Elian simply breathed.
Not to speak.
Not to be heard.
Just… to prove to himself he still could.
And then he said:
" If someone hears this someday, I hope you'll forgive how slow I speak.
I haven't talked to anyone in...
I don't know.
A long time.
I'm not asking for rescue.
I just don't want to be erased "
---
And far away—so far he'd never imagine it—
someone was listening.
Not yet.
Not clearly.
But in the static between his words,
a signal had begun to travel.