EV3 Log: Day @2?5^66#

   

    The first thing we noticed when we stepped out was darkness. Our eyes had grown accustomed to unnaturally bright fluorescence after weeks of relying on the cheap backup bulbs for a light source. Months? It became hard to tell after the time log broke down, the numbers behind the touch screen now half submerged in a luminous fluid none of us could attach a name to, the date in the corner erratically shifting from Wednesday to Thursday to Monday when we were lucky. Elliot tried to fix it in the beginning when the rest of us complained about the incessant buzzing of the monitor that eased its way into our dreams, but then he burnt his left hand on the circuitry. The resulting blister bubbled painfully and healed into a scar that covered the better part of his palm. He reassured us that the injury didn't hurt anymore, that it wouldn't get in the way of his training as a cadet back home. No one forgot the horror on his face when he could no longer bend his hand. We never mentioned the buzzing again.

    Eventually, Mara suggested we make a game out of trying to guess which day would come next. None of us found much joy in it after the first couple of times, except Liam, who would dutifully watch the screen with a furrowed brow and either exclaim triumphantly or huff out a sigh. We were grateful when he won; it was good to see him smile. He was the only one left who could without being weighed down by one worry or another. By now, it was a habit, doing what we could to keep Liam happy. Mara would smooth out the wrinkles in his shirts, and Elliot would sing whatever fragmented verses of faraway songs came to mind. I drew: grasshoppers and beetles and roly polies. Though the images always came out slightly off, only growing worse as time elapsed, and my only reference became my previous sketches. Liam never seemed to mind. Most days trickled by the same as the last; occasionally, the radar would let out a single beep, signifying our approach to a large landmass. That would always lead to a flicker of hope, a spark that died as abruptly as it appeared. EV3, or Eve, as she was affectionately dubbed, always issued the same update not a minute later: LANDMASS NON-HABITABLE. And so we continued, drifting endlessly. 

    One day, when I was sure the others were asleep, I turned to Mara, knowing she would be awake as I was. Neither of us was good at drifting off with the chirp of our automated alarms, no matter how long we spent on the shuttle. I asked her a question that had been dwelling in my thoughts, bubbling up no matter how many times I tried to stifle it, "Do you think we'll ever go back home?"

    "Hm?" Mara replied, rolling around to face me.

    "Home. Do you think we'll ever go back?"

    She considered this question carefully, falling into a silent contemplation. I knew Mara would be honest with me, that she understood better than anyone what I was desperate to hear. "No," she said with an air of finality, "No, I don't think we will." 

    It was a day just as any other when we heard the familiar ding of the radar. I had grown to dread the shrill noise that always echoed in my thoughts for the minutes that followed. It felt odd to be haunted by something so transient. Mara was beside me on the couch; Liam sat between her legs and occasionally squirmed as her fingers combed through his curls, unraveling every knot with a practiced patience. Elliot paced from the main control board to the dining table, then back, briefly sitting down before standing up again. I was staring intently at the interwoven fibers of the cushion, counting the strands, copying the spiraling patterns onto the lined notebook I found at the end of our second month on Eve, when we first realized our time here would be far longer than we anticipated. Liam was the only one who raised his head to look; the rest of us only spared brief glances, too hesitant to hope, to wonder at all. The moments after fell into expected silence; it felt like we increasingly reflected the endless space around us, growing lost the more we explored. There were days I looked down at the expanse of my skin and swore there were stars shimmering beneath. 

    This stillness was broken by a sickening rumble. We stared, wide-eyed, at each other, unable to assign a reason to the interruption and fearing the worst. It was Liam who cried out with an accusatory finger towards Eve's radar. There was a new update shuffling across the screen: LANDMASS CONFIRMED HABITABLE, COMMENCING LANDING PROCEDURES. I cannot describe the thoughts running through my head in that moment, only that I felt like I was sinking; every sense was muffled and blurry, my vision ebbed slowly like the tide. The warmth of Elliot's hand brought me back to the surface. He was hauling me to the transport seats, a necessary safety measure for both take-off and landing. I was conscious enough to secure myself after momentarily fumbling with the straps; it had been so long since I had last touched the sinewy material. I was beginning to think I never would again. The next moments were a blur of turbulence and decreasing altitude. If I closed my eyes, I was a child again, gliding down from the precipice of the swing, pumping my legs again, reaching for the bleeding sun. Then, all too suddenly, we stopped with a final shudder. It was silent once more. My vision dissipated as soon as it came. 

    Elliot wasted no time in wrenching off his restraints; Liam followed, emboldened by his certainty. Mara was deliberate in her exit, her eyes occasionally trailing on my stationary form, but even she left soon after. I was thankful she didn't attempt to string me along. Only after my breathing escaped freely did I leave my artificial cocoon. The others had already stepped outside when I joined them, clad in a skin-tight suit meant to ease our bodies into the unfamiliar environment and cushion the effects this alien planet could bring upon our delicate limbs, our feeble hearts. Even if the initial diagnostics had boded well, we couldn't just run freely as we pleased in the beginning. The vastness of the land struck me immediately, the brooding purple of the skies and the expanse of shadowed terrain beneath it. It was endless, no matter where my head turned. How long had it been since I had last seen such complete darkness? I despised the artificial light of our emergency transporter, how it strained my eyes and induced headaches; now I wished for nothing more than to return to it, to the intimate familiarity it promised. I was terrified, suddenly swallowed by a profound emptiness and knowing nothing once again, as if I had been abruptly reborn. My head lowered to the ground, hasty in its search for something close and tangible. Dappled in the earth were small yellow flowers reminiscent of buttercups; their sweet blooms faced the sky. I had trampled on a few while stepping outside. Their broken stems bled under my feet. It was then that the full impact of our reality hit me. Eve had landed. This was our new planet. We were among its first settlers.