The cascading void came alive in the distance; reflecting the prismatic glow of every hue imaginable in the mind of Captain Jacob Costner. The vast horizon was infinite in scope, encompassing all directions and never ceasing in its expanse. Distant clouds of elementary creation sat motionless to the naked eye as a million distant stars shone their brilliance upon the

voyager. Slowly, calmly, almost methodically, Costner drifted deeper and deeper into the formless void of deep space. A faint bead of sweat made its way down his forehead. The perspiration made the man chuckle to himself. In his every experience space had been deemed as cold and dormant, and here he was breaking a sweat. Thoughts of his wife and daughter drifted through his mind like a ballet of haunting imagery. Questions of how he was going to return to them and what they would think of him if he did slowly died like waxing sunlight across the face of the lunar surface. Costner lifted his right arm to the sunscreen of his pressure suit. The long white sleeve contained a number of digital read-outs and various data windows. Costner focused himself on one of the many different windows in particular; across the main viewing area emblazoned in bright orange lettering the screen read: Oxygen levels: 43%. Costner lowered his arm and let out a sigh. His emerald eyes reflected the distant movement of a passing comet. He closed his eyes and thought once again of his wife. Karen- Oh how he hoped that he could wish himself back home. Holding his eyes closed so tight as to never give the hint he may be insincere, he wished upon that shooting star. Dreaming, praying, begging- asking anyone or thing in the depths of darkness for the miracle he needed. Jacob then pressed a small button on his information panel and sent his message in a bottle across the cosmos: “Houston command. This is Captain Jacob Costner of the Pegasus 3. I have been abandoned in deep space. Help me”.

The Pegasus 3 sat in stationary orbit around the Saturn moon Titan. The ship was a state of the art reconnaissance craft. Small and limber, the ship was one of the fastest in the entire system. While on a scheduled stop around the planet Saturn, her crew of 3 was to monitor the planet and its moons for any signs of possible liquid water. It had been discovered that in order to successfully terra-form an alien world there must be a small percentage of liquid water, and the most likely body in the solar system to have that accommodation was Saturn’s largest moon. Holding the small ship on its horizon, the stale canary and ash atmosphere churned with the stellar body’s seasonal monsoons. On board, Lieutenant Arthur Queen, an athletically built middle-aged ex-navy pilot slowly banked through the corridors of the spacecraft toward the starboard observation array. Placing his worn hands firmly onto the titanium bulkhead, Queen rotated in the zero-G environment to a sitting position to analyze the data coming in from the ships sensors. Cycling the image screen to show a broader view of the moon, Queen stared intently at the rapidly increasing numbers compiling themselves about the work station.
“Anything yet?” a voice said over the intercom.
“Nothing yet, but analysis is just now coming back” replied Queen.