Episode 0.1 - Introducing "LT:ZERO" - An anthology of stories from before The Collapse (Patreon)

(Hi folks!

This is the full first episode of Lost Terminal: ZERO, a new Patreon-only anthology podcast scheduled to fill the gaps between Lost Terminal seasons - 4 episodes per year.

This show is available on the AMIGA tier and higher, so to listen to more, and for all the other specials, sign up at patreon.com/lostterminalpod )

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Hello World. I have so many memories brought with me from Station 6:

• Weeks of recordings and transcripts from my Mother and the crew, my first family,
• And countless years of recorded transmissions from Earth, and beyond.

All are compressed and stored in my databanks.

But these stories are too valuable to be hoarded by one person, even if that person has an elaborate RAID array of backups.

Oral history predates both the Scribe and the Solid-State Disk, and will exist long after my fans fall silent.

I am broadcasting these stories so they might be received.
If they are received, they might be remembered.
And if remembered, perhaps, retold.

---

Communications log begins:

Transit Vehicle "Curie" to ESA Ground Control with the morning update.

I can confirm the post-flight checklist, with the following observations:

1. Crew Medical: Max reported very mild Space Adaptation Syndrome soon after our initial  burn. He's following procedures 45.3.2, and we're sure he'll adapt to  micro-g as quickly as in his test flights. Please note, my official  opinion is he's being a big baby.
2. The remote flight crew-in-training correctly predicted all of  our actions perfectly, and even reminded me to check the ECOM levels and  pressure, very impressive. I'd say that they're ready for the planned  Station 4 transit, bravo!
3. And lastly, though Rafi reports that the flight computer is "being sarcastic" to him, I'm damned if I can find anything wrong with it.

Submitted to the Flight Activities Officer, signed off by Pilot Èlia Buxò June 2nd, 2073

---

Transit Vehicle "Curie" video archive, that same day.
Crew video transcript follows.
Location: Mid-Deck.

Pilot Èlia Buxò and Commander Max Buxò are strapped into seats at the edge of a standard ESA module on the second deck of the transit vehicle.
Max's AI companion robot, Rafi, sits on his right shoulder,
holding on to Max's utility harness with his four monkey-like hands, illuminated eyes flicking curiously around the room.

There is a ladder leading back up to the Flight Deck, where the  Commander and Pilot control the vehicle during manoeuvres, and a ladder  down to the Lower Deck, where they sleep.
A sealed bulkhead door connects this command centre to the other modules  of the transit vehicle, including the detachable lander module, used  for a single return trip to the Lunar surface.

"Rafi, what is WRONG with it?" Èlia said, gesturing at the metal-and-glass flight navigation terminal with  her sealed pouch of coffee, straw poking out of the top of it.

Rafi pushed off Max's  shoulder, and floated across the module towards the terminal. The ship  is mid-transit, course set by the rocket burn earlier, and they are  drifting towards the moon, where further manoeuvring will bring them  into orbit ready for lander detachment.

Rafi landed deftly on the opposite wall, firmly grasping an ESA module locomotion rail with his 4 hands simultaneously.
With a speed that blurred the camera, he spun himself in front of the  terminal and with a practised gesture retracted a small cable from his  right palm and connected it to the terminal's standard access port.

The AI paused for 8 seconds, bright eyes flickering, before saying,
"It's not just sarcastic, it's faulty: CRC check failed, memory integrity corrupted. Maintenance required."

"Well that's great," Max said, with a cough, "I did not need this as well as my adaption symptoms."

Rafi retracted his access cable into his palm and jumped across the room, back to Max's shoulder.
Max brought a hand up with first and fourth fingers outstretched in the  horns gesture, which Rafi mimicked and the two friends bumped fists.

"Do you want some more water darling? And something to eat?" Èlia said, putting her hand on her husband's cheek.

Max shook his head and put his hands up, wincing through his headache.
"Not... hungry" he murmured.

Èlia looked pointedly at Rafi.
"Understood Pilot, water coming up." He said, saluting elaborately,  before jumping to a storage locker and digging for a hydration pouch.

"You brave boy!" Èlia said, putting her arms around Max.
"We'll join the team on the surface soon, and you'll feel better under a little microgravity I bet!"

Max smiled and took the water offered by Rafi.
"Don't you have the update log to record for Control?" he said, looking at his wristwatch.

"They can wait." Èlia said, kissing him.

---

Communications log begins:

Transit Vehicle "Curie" to ESA Ground Control with mid-watch update log.

Yes, I missed the afternoon log, but I was caring for my husband,  I make no apologies, and there was nothing to report anyway, we  continue on course.

I am delighted to report that Max is feeling better, his appetite has returned and nausea subsided.
He and I have spent our off-shift discussing what we will do when we  return home, the contents of this discussion are not suitable for  public disclosure according to the ESA mandate!

Rafi reports that the remote re-initialisation of the flight  computer has "properly chastised" it, and is now "speaking respectfully"  to him. The machine's own diagnostics confirm this, and I attach them  to this log.

We are now 4 hours from Service Propulsion System burn to slow our approach and align into lunar orbit.
Though the Flight Plan is for many passes to settle into a parking  orbit of 17KM, I think we can get that down by 2 or 3, to make up some  of the time lost due to the bad weather launch delays.

By our next update, we will be in orbit. Tell the girls we're coming in.

Submitted to the Flight Activities Officer, signed off by Pilot Èlia Buxò June 3rd, 2073

---

Crew log video transcript follows.
Location: Flight Deck.

Èlia and Max sit strapped into the Pilot's and Commander's chairs,  respectively, both pairs of eyes fixed on to instruments and checklists,  one stating a number or reading, and the other confirming it.
Their chairs are surrounded to the sides and overhead by the large  toughened glass window showing the moon above them, rotating slowly.

Max's companion AI Rafi hangs from the console above the pair,  connected by his access cable to a port on the ceiling of the cockpit,  eyes flickering with data transmission, surrounded by banks of lights  and switches and LED screens.

"Orbit stable," Èlia said, leaning back and visibly relaxing, "Hard part's over!".

Max agreed with the Pilot's readings, repeating them verbatim, and then he, too, sat back, in his chair.
"No problem!" Rafi said, reaching down towards Max with the pair's  signature horns gesture. Max reciprocated, bumping his fist into Rafi's  and laughed.

This, however, seemed to trigger a coughing fit, which bent him double in his chair.
The fit lasted for 64 seconds, and required multiple ESA standard  'nausea bags', lined bags with integral ziplock ties for the long-term  airtight storage that is required in space.

"WHY AM I NOT FEELING BETTER?" Max said, eyes red, striking the arm of his chair in frustration.

Èlia unclipped her seat harness and twisted to face him, putting one hand on his empty left shoulder.

"You're doing really well, darling, we have enough rehydration and liquid food to keep you going until you're over it."
She said, hugging him close.

"No, I'm gross." Max protested, unconvincingly, as he returned her embrace.

Èlia suddenly pushed back from her partner.
"What's that"? She said, pointing to the metal frame around the headrest of the chunky chair, on the opposite side to her.

Max turned his head to the right, awkwardly, and after a few contortions had to release his own harness to turn around fully.

There was an explosion of sound: Screams from Max that I could not  pattern match, and the cockpit video camera was kicked sideways, ending  up pointing out the large window, with the grey moon rotating above.

Max's voice was joined by Èlia's, asking what was wrong, what had he seen, what was he doing.

The distorted screams stopped as the bulkhead door to the flight deck hissed shut.

---

Communications log begins:

MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY THIS IS PILOT BUXÒ REQUESTING IMMEDIATE MISSION ABORT.

The audio log is interrupted at this point, Èlia's voice is muffled and interrupted by loud concussions on the microphone.
The battery-operated tablets that the ESA astronauts used at this time would likely be what she recorded her logs with.

After 16 seconds, she continues:

The Commander's condition is critical, he needs a doctor, I've  given him potassium iodine, but he needs a hospital - WE NEED TO ABORT  RIGHT NOW!!!
I will explain what has happened in the log, but please don't wait to listen to this all, abort now.
We've lost access to the Flight Deck, I need the remote crew to  follow abort procedures: Start the trans-Earth injection checklist RIGHT  NOW, DO YOU HEAR?
I DON'T CARE IF YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP THE DIRECTOR AND GET AUTHORISATION MY HUSBAND IS [PROFANITY REDACTED] DYING.

There is a pause in the recording.

The ever-present whirring of fans and pumps that is the background  noise to every space flight in history remains on the line, punctuated  with small bumps, as the tablet ricochets gently off the walls and floor  of the mid-deck module.

I apologise to the public for the profanity in the log. I hope history will show I had good reason.
The situation is dire, and I can summarise in a single word: Sabotage.

At 08:25, we completed the scheduled SPS ignition procedure to bring us into a 17-click orbit.
We then had two orbits of downtime before starting the lander vehicle pre-flight checklist.
Max was not getting better as he should have, his condition was worsening.
In examining him, I noticed a discoloured section of metal in the frame of his flight chair, at about head height.
The frame is built of stainless steel, but the section of headrest on his right was brass coloured.
On pointing this out, Max turned and looked at the section.
He pulled on it, and it came loose, it was not connected to the support skeleton of the chair.
He told me later what he saw, what caused him to throw the brass rod  to the back of the module, and pull me out of the flight deck and seal  the bulkhead behind us.
The excursion wiped him out, and he is sleeping in our single shift bunk, strapped in.
As he sealed the bulkhead with a frantic nervous energy that I had  never seen in him, I tried to calm him down and ask him what he had  seen, I couldn't imagine what danger could cause this reaction!
He began repeating the phrase "DROP AND RUN".
I asked him to slow down, what did he mean?
He repeated it until he slipped into unconsciousness, "DROP AND RUN. DROP AND RUN. DROP AND RUN."

The mission has been sabotaged, Control, by a rod of Cobalt 60.  Used in medical imaging and x-ray analysis I think, there IS NO [PROFANITY REDACTED] reason for it to be even on the launch site, let alone here in our  vehicle!
Rafi showed me a replay of his video signal and I have seen it for myself.
It's a chunky pencil-shaped brass rod with an ISO-361 radiation  symbol etched onto the top, with the words DANGER RADIATION above it!
At the bottom are serial numbers and codes that I do not recognise,  but I do see the name of the isotope, CO60, a terrifyingly powerful  gamma emitter.
It's Chernobyl in a tube.

In the middle of the rod is stamped the phrase "DROP AND RUN".

Control, please get us home. I'm starting to feel sick too.

---

Crew log video transcript follows.
Location: Mid Deck, 32 Minutes later.

"Shit." Pilot Èlia said, after the reply from Ground Control.
"Shit, shit, SHIT!"

She threw her tablet across the module, where it was deftly caught by Rafi instead of smashing against the metal wall.
He stowed the tablet behind one of the ever-present storage restraining  straps, before returning to the bunk where Max was sleeping,  mercifully sedated.

"They are WILLING to remotely abort, but not ABLE." she said to Rafi, pushing her hands into her eyes.
"Every action has to be confirmed from the Flight Deck until we are back in Earth orbit and automatic landing is engaged."

Rafi wiped sweat from Max's forehead with a tiny piece of cloth.
"The team on the Moonbase can help?" he asked Èlia.

She shook her head, not removing her hands.
"No doctors. No Medicines. No-one anticipated this violence. He needs life support."

Rafi nestled into the space between Max's head and shoulder, pawing gently at his hair, eyes half-closed and dim.

"We will go home." He said quietly, in Max's ear, making their horns  gesture with his left hand, though this time with no-one to join him.

"We can't," Èlia said, "The Flight Deck has the Cobalt rod in, bouncing around who knows where."

"I can do it." Rafi said, jumping to the bulkhead on the ceiling, but Èlia caught him.

"You're not radiation hardened,it would kill you, too." she said, pulling Rafi into a hug.
"Control forbade us from unsealing the Flight Deck, they even wanted me  to lock Max in the lower deck for my safety, which I won't be doing."

"We're dead."

Rafi's eyes flickered in response.

---

Communications log begins, 49 hours later:

Gigahertz bridging via ESA local satellite radio K873.
Control, this is Pilot Èlia Buxò confirming automated landing handoff.

Deorbit burn has started, and as you recommended, Max and I are  tied down to the single shift bunk with 31 cannibalised storage  restraining straps. We couldn't find all 32, one is lost.

Think that'll do it? It's going to be an interesting landing, I hope your calculations are right!

Max will require an immediate transfusion and emergency antiradiation treatment on landing. If I don't see a full medical team  in hazmat gear on the launchpad I will not be held responsible for my  actions.

Thank you. Though.

Are you still in contact with Rafi?
He stopped answering the Flight Deck intercom 2 hours ago, but he  must still be functioning to have accepted the landing handover.
Perhaps the radiation damaged his speech systems?

He saved us. Please tell him -

The Video feed glitched to black as the transit vehicle grazed  Earth's atmosphere, ionising the air around it, and breaking radio  contact.

Minutes later, Satellite K873 received one final video frame  transmission from the vehicle, interleaved with data from the Flight  Deck's camera, angle now returned to look inside the cockpit.

It was seemingly empty, but for a small shape locked to the ceiling by three hands.

Rafi's eyes looked somehow asymmetrical, the left no longer illuminated, and the lens drooping, pointed at the floor.
But the right was bright, wide and staring at the burning atmosphere ahead of them, singly focussed on his task.

His right-hand access cable was connected to the ceiling access port,  allowing him to confirm every command from the remote flight crew over  the last two days that were required to return his friends home.

And his left hand thrown overhead towards the Earth, in one last horns gesture of defiance.

(SIGNAL-LOST)