Transcript December 30th 2068 983, being the sole living member of hab pod 98, has won the lottery. A reminder to all those who have been chosen in the latest round of the lottery that the rocket has landed and will leave at 0800 hours. Exodus Rocket, 0800 Hours 983 glanced around. All of the seats were full. There were looks of excitement all around. No one had ever expected to be lucky enough to get a seat on one of the rockets. Of course, that is, apart from 983. He’d been planning this one for a while. There were a lot of risks involved at every step of the way, but surprisingly everything had all gone according to plan. In the case of 982, better than planned. A harsh countdown blared out of the speakers around the cabin. 10. 9 ... 3. 2. 1. The roar of the engines shook the cabin, but soon the sound faded away. There was silence all around. 983 began to float in his seat, secured only by his harness. The only sound in the cabin was a deep creaking, seeming to penetrate every surface. Worried looks were exchanged, before suddenly, with a synchronised click, every harness unbuckled, and the hull began to open into a wide maw, filled with nothing but starry blackness. 983 opened his mouth to scream, but no sound emerged, just a thin rush of air as his lungs collapsed, forced in on themselves by the deep vacuum of space. The now frozen bodies slowly drifted away from the open bay doors of the launch shuttle, their remains being carried away only by the momentum gained when the craft depressurised. The body of 983 twirled slowly, as if dancing to silent music. The sight would have been eerily beautiful, if there had been anyone there to see it. The doors were remotely triggered to close, as the shuttle once again grew dormant, already prepared for its next trip in six months.
to fruition. Perhaps, I think, as I climb out of the cab and my boots thud onto the frozen soil, it is finally that day.
sudden outburst from 983. “How long have you been awake?” he asked. “Well, since just before you started arguing with 982.” “And what did you mean, when you said I could ensure I have a place on that rocket?” “Well,” said 983 with a sly look in his eye, “There are more and more malfunctions every day. Maybe you could ensure that something goes wrong during 982’s outside shift.” 985 walked to the edge of his bed, and slumped down. He didn’t want to be responsible for someone’s death. But then again, now that 987 was gone, he had nothing left here. If he got back to Earth, maybe he could find happiness again. “I’m going to do it,” he said, “But how?” “Well, he works on exterior repairs, and I happen to know where he stores his suit. I’d get started if I were you.” Emergency Announcement Transcript December 29th 2068 Worker 982 has died due to a catastrophic suit failure while working on routine maintenance. The ensuing chain reaction resulted in sudden depressurisation in hab pods 19 through 24. 195, 198, 201, 215, 231, 248 and 249 were also killed in this incident. Hab Pod 98 “What the hell was that?” yelled 983. “You killed 7 people!” 985 was sitting on his bunk, head in hands, in a daze. “I didn’t mean to,” he said, “It was just supposed to kill 982, not the others. I didn’t think it would short out the airlock seal as well” With that, he lay down, facing the wall. 983 shook his head, and walked out with a slight spring in his step. It could not have gone better. Evening Announcement Transcript December 29th 2068 982 has been detained and is awaiting execution, after an investigation due to an anonymous tip led to the discovery that he was responsible for the disaster earlier today. A reminder that any tampering with equipment will result in execution.
False Hope Ben Davis – Year 12 Morning Announcement
Transcript December 29th 2068 Another worker, 987, was lost late last night after a hull failure in Module 18B (Hydroponics). Rations have been decreased accordingly. After 773 being chosen in the latest draw, the lottery has moved on to Hab Pod 98. The winner will be announced in 24 hours. Hab Pod 98 “What’s the deal with this lottery anyways,” asked 982. “I’m sure they can afford to send more than two ships every year. Why can’t they just save us all, instead of taking 100 at a time?” His words seemed to be falling on deaf ears. 985 appeared to be absorbed in his vidscreen, while 983 was asleep on his bunk. 982 cast his eyes around the emptier than ever bunkroom. In doing so, he noticed the silk scarf hanging on the end of what used to be 987’s bunk. She had worn that scarf every day, and then on the one day she didn’t wear it ... “At the rate things are going, we’ll probably all be dead in the next few months.” 985 glanced up and said, “Maybe that’s what they’re hoping will happen. It would be cheaper if we all died out here. I’d just better win that lottery, because judging by the state of things, this is going to be my last chance.” “It is random.” he replied, “Any of us three could win it.” “Well,” said 985, “983 doesn’t have anyone to go back to, so he’s going to turn it down if he wins. I’m going to get out of this base one way or another.” 982 looked sceptical. “What’s that supposed to mean? I want to get out of here too. I’m sick of breathing recycled air, and drinking recycled piss! On that note, I’m going to go get my rations.” With that, he walked out of the bunkroom. “You could always ensure that you have a ticket off of this godforsaken rock.” 985 jumped in shock at this
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