spacecollaborative-blog

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Final Edit

Introduction to Doctor Jane Healy’s Essay on the Ian McKinnon Logs.

The daily logs of Doctor Ian McKinnon were found among the rubble of the Astra 27 three days after it plummeted to earth in the April of 2067 after a failure in the electrical wiring. These logs, since then, have been heralded the most convincing piece of evidence supporting the movement to end solo space travel since the first Astra took flight in 2037. The logs support the argument that ships as technologically complex as the Astra model can not be manned alone, and that machine failure cannot be overcome alone. But I believe the logs provide substantially darker evidence as to why solo space travel should be abolished for good.

Log 1.

I think that I should perhaps do a little introduction. Hello, my name is Ian and I’m 34 years old. Goodness, this I’ve made this sound like school. Hi, I’m Ian and I’m 34 and I like TV and the colour yellow, when I grow up I’d like to fly to space. I’m rambling. They don’t make it clear what we’re meant to be reporting in these logs. I suppose some sort of progress report. Right, well, I’m heading to space and that seems to be going rather well so far. Astra 27 all intact, no malfunctions yet, at least none that the Astra deems necessary to warn me of. It’s all quite exciting. Until tomorrow!

23rd May 2067, Post-Mortem

Upon careful examination of the body of Doctor Ian McKinnon it has been discovered that the cause of death was electrocution. It has been deduced that the most likely cause of this was the deceased’s attempt to correct the faulty wiring of the ship. This deduction is being contested due to the unlikelihood of the scenario, due to each astronaut’s teachings not to touch the motherboard of the ship. Further tests are being run.

Log 61.

It seems horrifically ungrateful, doesn’t it, to say that space can get boring. I spend each morning staring down at the Earth in the same way I would stare at the stars as a boy. I could name every constellation, pull out all the important stars and attempt to make friends by listing them off to any poor child that made the faux-pas of standing too close to me at Scout Camp. Sirius, of course, was my favourite. But if anyone asked it was Vega, for it’s blue. But I knew it was Sirius, quite simply because it was big and in the dog constellation, two things that excited my prepubescent brain. And now, I stare at the Earth. I watch as it turns and each day I wait to see the tiny slice of Europe and wonder at all the little boys and girls who are just getting to sleep after spending the night looking up into the sky. How many, I wonder, will tell their friends they had seen a shooting star? I’m sure they knew, as I did, that it was really a helicopter, but their friends didn’t need to know that. But here, there is no one to tell about the slice of Europe I can see every day.

There were no malfunctions in the Astra today.

20th April 2067, The Telegraph

A night of speculation and panic has reached a devastating end this morning as the bright lights that streaked the sky in the early hours of the morning are revealed by NASA to be the Astra 27 plummeting back home. After a severe malfunction in the wiring, it appears that British astronaut Doctor Ian McKinnon tried to return the rocket to the plains of Colorado, USA, to save the £25 million machine and his own life. Yet, terribly, to no avail. Though the atmospheric shields remained secure through both the Thermosphere and Mesosphere, saving the Astra from combustion, it shut down entirely just a cruel 55km from the Earth’s surface. In a plead posted on the NASA website as dawn broke, we are asked to take a minute’s silence at midday to honour the deceased Doctor Ian McKinnon.

Log 76.

Outside the right window, you can see nothing. A static screen through the rectangular glass. It reminds me of being young again, the black with white flecks, often curtained with soft grey. But this time without the potential mystery of a unidentified flying helicopter. Perhaps, from this window, nothing is a bit harsh. In the clean, unaffected glass I can see myself. The grounding reminder that I still exist.

Log 80.

You left me a booklet that I consult every single day. It tells me about the importance of routine in maintaining your sanity. So I read it every morning as soon as I wake up. It stresses the importance of remembering your past self, your self on earth. Little tics, little habits you have to maintain. As well as new routines to integrate into your new life. So, after checking the booklet, and my pocket-watch, I go to the motherboard.

2nd June 2034, NASA interview posted to their website

We are honoured to reveal today the next revolution in battling the final frontier. After decades of innovation, experimentation and exploration, Professors Amelia Hudson and Alijaz Guildenstern can now reveal their Astra, a rocket that can not only fly itself to and through the universe, but can also repair itself if it should encounter any technical malfunction.

‘It will completely change our idea of space,’ says Hudson, ‘No longer will it be an unattainable image, but a reachable destination that any person can visit.’

That is not to say, however, that the Astra can be flown by your average man. But this is a solid step paving the way to the human race’s conquering of the stars as space travel becomes more accessible and safer by the day.

Log 95.

I woke up to bright blue lights. Small, glowing beams of iridescence, burning onto my eyelid. As I closed my eyes the image of them glowered on my eyelid from the clinical blue to a fuzzy red and when I opened my eyes again they were gone. But when I closed my eyes again they were there, but fading quickly. And the more I blinked the quicker they left, until I was quite unsure whether they really existed in the first place. I wish there was someone here, to make sure I’m not going crazy. I have checked the Astra status and there has been no reported malfunction. I have reasoned with myself and have come to the conclusion that when my eyes went from black to this sterile white interior my brain must’ve confused itself, forgot its function, forgot how to process. This makes sense to me.

As for space, it remains the same. When I stare out the window I can see the same stars, and they all look the same. Until tomorrow.

Log 129.

It doesn’t quite make sense anymore. My theory doesn’t quite play out. The blue lights are here in the day. And god how they taunt me. They dance around me but I can’t follow them. They burn onto my eyes and I can’t blink to make them run away. I think they’re maybe in my brain now. It is cruel. But who can I tell? I can look down onto the earth and see the piece of my home and scream at them, hoping that my cries will make it through the machine, the vacuum, the spheres, air, bricks, into home. But I’m not that crazy yet. There has been three alerts in the rocket today, the wiring has been damaged but it is being fixed.

Log 135.

I have spent the day investigating the blue fairies. They’re just how I imagined the sprites in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Puck a whirl of blue, causing mischief and praying on those who are alone, changing their psychology and their desires. Now when I wake up I don’t really see him, but I can hear him a little, his clanging in the engine room echoing into my room. I see him later though, when I check the motherboard. Not properly, of course, just a quick flash. The machine is working hard to repair the wiring.

A clipping from James Goodwin’s 2086 award winning non-fiction novel on Ian McKinnon.

On a small metal spaceship, with thin, empty corridors, sharp corners and smooth walls, any sound you might hear, you will hear. Sometimes, Ian would tap one of the metal pipes and listen as the sound reverberated through the hallways, bouncing off the sterile, steel walls until it reached him again. It was nice, for Ian to have those little conversations with the walls. It made him forget quite how alone he was. And for hours at a time he would tap, sometimes a little pattern, occasionally the tune to a simple song from home, but mostly just single taps, waiting for them to come back before he’d reply again. It became part of his routine. He would wake up to the bright blue lights, check the motherboard, then talk.

Sometimes, if Ian was lucky, he wouldn’t have to start the conversation himself. He would hear a knock, or a pattern, or a little song from home, and stop what he was doing and knock back. It never particularly crossed his mind who he was talking to, it was just nice to have someone there. In fact, it wasn’t until Ian heard him talk that he had even considered meeting him.

“Hello?” Ian said, when he heard the voice. “Who’s there?”

The man was sitting in the control centre. His hand, which was resting on his lap when Ian first saw him, was now gliding over to the motherboard. He didn’t speak when Ian saw him, although he did hear him on several occasions after though he only saw him once more after this day. He was older than he was, with receding hair and deep lines on his forehead. He wore a well-fitting grey suit, and he had with him a briefcase. He made Ian feel small, in a lovely way. Ian quite liked looking at him, he was comforting and he liked having someone there with him so he wasn’t quite so alone. His hand, which had a few freckles covered with long, curling grey hairs, ran over the buttons and wires. He ran over them in a circle, like he was memorising the pattern. He gave Ian a comforting smile, picked up his briefcase and left.

2nd June, 2067, The Telegraph.

In a disturbing progression of events, Doctor Ian McKinnon’s Captain’s Logs have been found amongst the rubble of the Astra 27. Doctor Ian McKinnon has now been honoured and mourned by the nation for his tragic death two months ago, but the public now has a new tragedy to adjust to as the logs reveal the leading weeks up to his demise were not spent in the jovial state we had all naively but rather a state of increasing paranoia and insanity.

Last Log.

I have finally accustomed to life on the Astra. I had a moment of enlightenment this morning, about the loneliness that I think eats at us throughout our lives. I have spent over 100 days staring at the Earth, the Earth in it’s entirety and I think that this gives me rather broad understanding of the people that mill there below. They’re all alone. Every one of us is alone. And here, if I make no noise, all I can here is my little pocket watch, a token from home. It’s rhythmical ticking, dimmed by time. But it reminds me that I’m alone. I can remember the moments in my life when that was all I could hear. Moments when I was physically alone. But I have come to the realisation that it doesn’t matter whether I can hear that ticking or not. We are all alone. Alone in our heads, in our thoughts. I think that maybe these are what these solo missions on the Astra are about. I think I understand it all now.

Rhiannon Whale

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Final Project: Before Editing

Introduction to Doctor Jane Healy’s Essay on the Ian McFielding Logs.

The daily logs of Doctor Ian McFielding-Simmons were found among the rubble of the Astra 27b three days after it plummeted to earth in fifth day of 2062 after a failure in the electrical wiring. These logs, since then, have been heralded the most convincing piece of evidence supporting the movement to end solo space travel since the first Astra took flight in 2037. The logs support the argument that ships as technologically complex as the Astra model can not be manned alone, and that machine failure cannot be overcome alone. But I believe the logs provide substantially darker evidence as to why solo space travel should be abolished for good.

Log 1.

I think that I should perhaps do a little introduction. Hello, my name is Ian and I’m 34 years old. Goodness, this I’ve made this sound like school. Hi, I’m Ian and I’m 34 and I like TV and the colour yellow, when I grow up I’d like to fly to space. I’m rambling. They don’t make it clear what we’re meant to be reporting in these logs. I suppose some sort of progress report. Right, well, I’m heading to space and that seems to be going rather well so far. Astra 27 all intact, no malfunctions yet, at least none that the Astra deems necessary to warn mae of. It’s all quite exciting. Until tomorrow!

23rd May 2067, Post-Mortem

Upon careful examination of the body of Doctor Ian McKinnon it has been discovered that the cause of death was electrocution. It has been deduced that the most likely cause of this was the deceased’s attempt to correct the faulty wiring of the ship. This deduction is being contested due to the unlikelihood of the scenario, due to each astronaut’s teachings not to touch the motherboard of the ship. Further tests are being run.

Log 61.

It seems horrifically ungrateful, doesn’t it, to say that space can get boring. I spend each morning staring down at the Earth in the same way I would stare at the stars as a boy. I could name every constellation, pull out all the important stars and attempt to make friends by listing them off to any poor child that made the faux-pas of standing too close to me at Scout Camp. Sirius, of course, was my favourite. But if anyone asked it was Vega, for it’s blue. But I knew it was Sirius, quite simply because it was big and in the dog constellation, two things that excited my prepubescent brain. And now, I stare at the Earth. I watch as it turns and each day I wait to see the tiny slice of Europe and wonder at all the little boys and girls who are just getting to sleep after spending the night looking up into the sky. How many, I wonder, will tell their friends they had seen a shooting star? I’m sure they knew, as I did, that it was really a helicopter, but their friends didn’t need to know that. But here, there is no one to tell about the slice of Europe I can see every day.

There were no malfunctions in the Astra today.

20th April 2067, The Telegraph

A night of speculation and panic has reached a devastating end this morning as the bright lights that streaked the sky in the early hours of the morning are revealed by NASA to be the Astra 27 plummeting back home. After a severe malfunction in the wiring, it appears that British astronaut Doctor Ian McKinnon tried to return the rocket to the plains of Colorado, USA, in order to save the £25 million machine and his own life. Yet, terribly, to no avail. Though the atmospheric shields remained secure through both the Thermosphere and Mesophere, saving the Astra from combustion, it shut down entirely just a cruel 55km from the Earth’s surface. In a plead posted on the NASA website as dawn broke, we are asked to take a minutes silence at midday to honour the deceased Doctor Ian McKinnon.

Log 76.

Outside the right window, you can see nothing. A static screen through the rectangular glass. It reminds me of being young again, the black with white flecks, often curtained with soft grey. But this time without the potential mystery of a unidentified flying helicopter. Perhaps, from this window, nothing is a bit harsh. In the clean, unaffected glass I can see myself. The grounding reminder that I still exist.

Log 80.

You left me a booklet that I consult every single day. It tells me about the importance of routine in maintaining your sanity. So I read it every morning as soon as I wake up. It stresses the importance of remembering your past self, your self on earth. Little tics, little habits you have to maintain. As well as new routines to integrate into your new life. So after checking the booklet, and my pocket-watch, I go to the motherboard.

2nd June 2034, NASA interview posted to their website

We are honoured to reveal today the next revolution in battling the final frontier. After decades of innovation, experimentation and exploration, Professors Amelia Hudson and Alijaz Guildenstern can now reveal their Astra, a rocket that can not only fly itself to and through the universe, but can also repair itself if it should encounter any technical malfunction.

‘It will completely change our idea of space,’ says Hudson, ‘No longer will it be an unattainable image, but a reachable destination that any person can visit.’

That is not to say, however, that the Astra can be flown by your average man. But this is a solid step paving the way to the human race’s conquering of the stars as space travel becomes more accessible and safer by the day.

Log 95.

I woke up to bright blue lights. Small, glowing beams of iridescence, burning onto my eyelid. As I closed my eyes the image of them glowered on my eyelid from the clinical blue to a fuzzy red and when I opened my eyes again they were gone. But when I closed my eyes again they were there, but fading quickly. And the more I blinked the quicker they left, until I was quite unsure whether they really existed in the first place. I wish there was someone here, to make sure I’m not going crazy. I have checked the Astra status and there has been no reported malfunction. I have reasoned with myself and have come to the conclusion that when my eyes went from black to this sterile white interior my brain must’ve confused itself, forgot its function, forgot how to process. This makes sense to me.

As for space, it remains the same. When I stare out the window I can see the same stars, and they all look the same. Until tomorrow.

Log 129.

It doesn’t quite make sense anymore. My theory doesn’t quite play out. The blue lights are here in the day. And god how they taunt me. They dance around me but I can’t follow them. They burn onto my eyes and I can’t blink to make them run away. I think they’re maybe in my brain now. It is cruel. But who can I tell? I can look down onto the earth and see the piece of my home and scream at them, hoping that my cries will make it through the machine, the vacuum, the spheres, air, bricks, into home. But I’m not that crazy yet. There has been three alerts in the rocket today, the wiring has been damaged but it is being fixed. I suppose it is the dancers. I want to go home.

Log 135.

I have spent the day investigating the blue fairies.

On a small metal spaceship, with thin, empty corridors, sharp corners and smooth walls, any sound you might hear, you will hear. Sometimes, Ian would tap one of the metal pipes and listen as the sound reverberated through the hallways, bouncing off the sterile, steel walls until it reached him again. It was nice, for Ian to have those little conversations with the walls. It made him forget quite how alone he was. And for hours at a time he would tap, sometimes a little pattern, occasionally the tune to a simple song from home, but mostly just single taps, waiting for them to come back before he’d reply again. It became part of his routine. He would wake up to the bright blue lights, check the motherboard, then talk.

Sometimes, if Ian was lucky, he wouldn’t have to start the conversation himself. He would hear a knock, or a pattern, or a little song from home, and stop what he was doing and knock back. It never particularly crossed his mind who he was talking to, it was just nice to have someone there. In fact, it wasn’t until Ian heard him talk that he had even considered meeting him.

“Hello?” Ian said, when he heard the voice. “Who’s there?”

The man was sitting in the control centre. His hand, which was resting on his lap when Ian first saw him, was now gliding over to the motherboard. He didn’t speak when Ian saw him, although he did hear him on several occasions after though he only saw him once more after this day. He was older than he was, with receding hair and deep lines on his forehead. He wore a well-fitting grey suit, and he had with him a briefcase. He made Ian feel small, in a lovely way. Ian quite liked looking at him, he was comforting and he liked having someone there with him so he wasn’t quite so alone. His hand, which had a few freckles covered with long, curling grey hairs, ran over the buttons and wires. He ran over them in a circle, like he was memorising the pattern. He gave Ian a comforting smile, picked up his briefcase and left.

Last Log.

I have finally accustomed to life on the Astra. I had a moment of enlightenment this morning, about the loneliness that I think eats at us throughout our lives. I have spent over 100 days staring at the Earth, the Earth in it’s entirety and I think that this gives me rather broad understanding of the people that mill there below. They’re all alone. Every one of us is alone. And here, if I make no noise, all I can here is my little pocket watch, a token from home. It’s rhythmical ticking, dimmed by time. But it reminds me that I’m alone. I can remember the moments in my life when that was all I could hear. Moments when I was physically alone. But I have come to the realisation that it doesn’t matter whether I can hear that ticking or not. We are all alone. Alone in our heads, in our thoughts. I think that maybe these are what these solo missions on the Astra are about. I think I understand it all now.

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Hallucinations

On a small metal spaceship, with thin, empty corridors, sharp corners and smooth walls, any sound you might hear, you will hear. Sometimes, Ian would tap one of the metal pipes and listen as the sound reverberated through the hallways, bouncing off the sterile, steel walls until it reached him again. It was nice, for Ian to have those little conversations with the walls. It made him forget quite how alone he was. And for hours at a time he would tap, sometimes a little pattern, occasionally the tune to a simple song from home, but mostly just single taps, waiting for them to come back before he’d reply again. It became part of his routine. He would wake up to the bright blue lights, check the motherboard, then talk.

Sometimes, if Ian was lucky, he wouldn’t have to start the conversation himself. He would hear a knock, or a pattern, or a little song from home, and stop what he was doing and knock back. It never particularly crossed his mind who he was talking to, it was just nice to have someone there. In fact, it wasn’t until Ian heard him talk that he had even considered meeting him.

“Hello?” Ian said, when he heard the voice. “Who’s there?”

The man was sitting in the control centre. His hand, which was resting on his lap when Ian first saw him, was now gliding over to the motherboard. He didn’t speak when Ian saw him, although he did hear him on several occasions after though he only saw him once more after this day. He was older than he was, with receding hair and deep lines on his forehead. He wore a well-fitting grey suit, and he had with him a briefcase. He made Ian feel small, in a lovely way. Ian quite liked looking at him, he was comforting and he liked having someone there with him so he wasn’t quite so alone. His hand, which had a few freckles covered with long, curling grey hairs, ran over the buttons and wires. He ran over them in a circle, like he was memorising the pattern. He gave Ian a comforting smile, picked up his briefcase and left.

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Voice-over Script

These bright blue lights. Every time I wake up. (1...Upon careful examination of the body of Doctor Ian McKinnon...). This is Ian McKinnon from the Astra 27 and well, um, I suppose this is my first progress report. (2...night of speculation and panic has reached a devastating end this morning...). No malfunctions. Operating as usual. (1...death by electrocution...). I spend each morning staring down at the earth. (3...decades of innovation, experimentation and exploration...). The same stars, they all look the same. A static screen through a sterile square glass. (2...it’s worth £25 million...). (1...faulty wiring in the ship’s motherboard...). (3...revolutionary in it’s ability to repair itself...). (2...secure through the thermosphere and mesophere...). (1...unlikelihood of the scenario...). (2...severe malfunction in the ship’s wiring...). (1...further tests are being run...). 

PAUSE

Hello?

PAUSE

They burn onto my eyelids. Blue for a while and then to red. (3...space travel becomes safer and more accessible by the day...). (2...to honour the deceased Dr Ian McKinnon...). I go to the motherboard. Three red alerts. That’s mean of them. (1...technical fault with the wiring...). (2...malfunction in the wiring...). (3...The ship’s ability to repair itself...). I think they’re in my head now. 

[spacecollaborative-blog]

A Refresh of Ideas

- A recurring hallucination, perhaps a character to add some sort of discourse into the narrative.

- A mix of both logs and clippings.

- A stronger focus around the motherboard and technological vocabulary.

- A clearer voice for Ian, more individuality.

- A clearer reason as to why he’s in space.

[spacecollaborative-blog]

The Logs: Work in progress

Log 1.

I think that I should perhaps do a little introduction. Hello, my name is Ian and I’m 34 years old. Goodness, this I’ve made this sound like school. Hi, I’m Ian and I’m 34 and I like TV and the colour yellow, when I grow up I’d like to fly to space. I’m rambling. They don’t make it clear what we’re meant to be reporting in these logs. I suppose some sort of progress report. Right, well, I’m heading to space and that seems to be going rather well so far. Astra 27 all intact, no malfunctions yet, at least none that the Astra deems necessary to warn mae of. It’s all quite exciting. Until tomorrow!

Log 61.

It seems horrifically ungrateful, doesn’t it, to say that space can get boring. I spend each morning staring down at the Earth in the same way I would stare at the stars as a boy. I could name every constellation, pull out all the important stars and attempt to make friends by listing them off to any poor child that made the faux-pas of standing too close to me at Scout Camp. Sirius, of course, was my favourite. But if anyone asked it was Vega, for it’s blue. But I knew it was Sirius, quite simply because it was big and in the dog constellation, two things that excited my prepubescent brain. And now, I stare at the Earth. I watch as it turns and each day I wait to see the tiny slice of Europe and wonder at all the little boys and girls who are just getting to sleep after spending the night looking up into the sky. How many, I wonder, will tell their friends they had seen a shooting star? I’m sure they knew, as I did, that it was really a helicopter, but their friends didn’t need to know that. But here, there is no one to tell about the slice of Europe I can see every day.

There were no malfunctions in the Astra today.

Log 76.

Outside the right window, you can see nothing. A static screen through the rectangular glass. It reminds me of being young again, the black with white flecks, often curtained with soft grey. But this time without the potential mystery of a unidentified flying helicopter. Perhaps, from this window, nothing is a bit harsh. In the clean, unaffected glass I can see myself. The grounding reminder that I still exist.

Log 80.

You left me a booklet that I consult every single day. It tells me about the importance of routine in maintaining your sanity. So I read it every morning as soon as I wake up. It stresses the importance of remembering your past self, your self on earth. Little tics, little habits you have to maintain. As well as new routines to integrate into your new life. So after checking the booklet, and my pocket-watch, I go to the motherboard.

Log 95.

I woke up to bright blue lights. Small, glowing beams of iridescence, burning onto my eyelid. As I closed my eyes the image of them glowered on my eyelid from the clinical blue to a fuzzy red and when I opened my eyes again they were gone. But when I closed my eyes again they were there, but fading quickly. And the more I blinked the quicker they left, until I was quite unsure whether they really existed in the first place. I wish there was someone here, to make sure I’m not going crazy. I have checked the Astra status and there has been no reported malfunction. I have reasoned with myself and have come to the conclusion that when my eyes went from black to this sterile white interior my brain must’ve confused itself, forgot its function, forgot how to process. This makes sense to me.

As for space, it remains the same. When I stare out the window I can see the same stars, and they all look the same. Until tomorrow.

Log 129.

It doesn’t quite make sense anymore. My theory doesn’t quite play out. The blue lights are here in the day. And god how they taunt me. They dance around me but I can’t follow them. They burn onto my eyes and I can’t blink to make them run away. I think they’re maybe in my brain now. It is cruel. But who can I tell? I can look down onto the earth and see the piece of my home and scream at them, hoping that my cries will make it through the machine, the vacuum, the spheres, air, bricks, into home. But I’m not that crazy yet. There has been three alerts in the rocket today, the wiring has been damaged but it is being fixed. I suppose it is the dancers. I want to go home.

Log 135.

I have spent the day investigating the blue fairies.

Last Log.

I have finally accustomed to life on the Astra. I had a moment of enlightenment this morning, about the loneliness that I think eats at us throughout our lives. I have spent over 100 days staring at the Earth, the Earth in it’s entirety and I think that this gives me rather broad understanding of the people that mill there below. They’re all alone. Every one of us is alone. And here, if I make no noise, all I can here is my little pocket watch, a token from home. It’s rhythmical ticking, dimmed by time. But it reminds me that I’m alone. I can remember the moments in my life when that was all I could hear. Moments when I was physically alone. But I have come to the realisation that it doesn’t matter whether I can hear that ticking or not. We are all alone. Alone in our heads, in our thoughts. I think that maybe these are what these solo missions on the Astra are about. I think I understand it all now.

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Although this focuses on the effects of isolation of a group in Antarctica, the same results can be applied to our character. Especially with the extreme and alienated climate being comparable to the environment in space.

[spacecollaborative-blog]

A L I E N : Isolation

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Sterile.

Structured.

Blue lights.

A L I E N : Isolation Crew Expendable DLC

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Photo Source: Jenna Nilsen-Lediert (Instagram- @jnilsenlediert)

20th April, 2056- Interview with Doctor Marcus Romanastrov

‘We have spent fifteen years building the technology for the Astra to maintain itself in the stars. It’s success relied solely upon it’s ability to repair and rebuild itself if it should come across any malfunction and Dr Amelia Smarlings ability to repair and rebuild herself alone in space.’

After spending 500 days sitting on a revolution, the Astra has safely landed back on earth marking the first successful one-man voyage into the final frontier.

2067- The Logs of Ian McKinnon

Log 70.

You left me a booklet that I consult every single day. It tells me about the importance of routine in maintaining your sanity. So I read it every morning as soon as I wake up. It stresses the importance of remembering your past self, your self on earth. Little tics, little habits you have to maintain. As well as new routines to integrate into your new life. So after checking the booklet, and my pocket-watch, I go to the motherboard.

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Photo credit: Jenna Nilsen-Lediert (Insta: jnilsenlediert)

Ian McKinnon:

Outside the right window, you can see nothing. A static screen through the rectangular glass. It reminds me of being young again, the black with white flecks, often curtained with soft grey. But this time without the potential mystery of a unidentified flying helicopter. Perhaps, from this window, nothing is a bit harsh. In the clean, unaffected glass I can see myself. The grounding reminder that I still exist. 

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Article about the effects of isolation

[spacecollaborative-blog]

A Concise Version of Happenings, in Short Story Form

2. 3rd August 2066, Astra 27 Log

Log 1.

I think that I should perhaps do a little introduction. Hello, my name is Ian and I’m 34 years old. Goodness, this I’ve made this sound like school. Hi, I’m Ian and I’m 34 and I like TV and the colour yellow, when I grow up I’d like to fly to space. I’m rambling. They don’t make it clear what we’re meant to be reporting in these logs. I suppose some sort of progress report. Right, well, I’m heading to space and that seems to be going rather well so far. Astra 27 all intact, no malfunctions yet, at least none that the Astra deems necessary to warn me of. It’s all quite exciting. Until tomorrow!

8. 23rd May 2067, Post-Mortem

Upon careful examination of the body of Doctor Ian McKinnon it has been discovered that the cause of death was electrocution. It has been deduced that the most likely cause of this was the deceased’s attempt to correct the faulty wiring of the ship. This deduction is being contested due to the unlikelihood of the scenario, due to each astronaut’s teachings not to touch the motherboard of the ship. Further tests are being run.

3. 26th November 2066, Astra 27 Log

Log 61.

It seems horrifically ungrateful, doesn’t it, to say that space can get boring. I spend each morning staring down at the Earth in the same way I would stare at the stars as a boy. I could name every constellation, pull out all the important stars and attempt to make friends by listing them off to any poor child that made the faux-pas of standing too close to me at Scout Camp. Sirius, of course, was my favourite. But if anyone asked it was Vega, for it’s blue. But I knew it was Sirius, quite simply because it was big and in the dog constellation, two things that excited my prepubescent brain. And now, I stare at the Earth. I watch as it turns and each day I wait to see the tiny slice of Europe and wonder at all the little boys and girls who are just getting to sleep after spending the night looking up into the sky. How many, I wonder, will tell their friends they had seen a shooting star? I’m sure they knew, as I did, that it was really a helicopter, but their friends didn’t need to know that. But here, there is no one to tell about the slice of Europe I can see every day.

There were no malfunctions in the Astra today.

7. 20th April 2067, The Telegraph

A night of speculation and panic has reached a devastating end this morning as the bright lights that streaked the sky in the early hours of the morning are revealed by NASA to be the Astra 27 plummeting back home. After a severe malfunction in the wiring, it appears that British astronaut Doctor Ian McKinnon tried to return the rocket to the plains of Colorado, USA, in order to save the £25 million machine and his own life. Yet, terribly, to no avail. Though the atmospheric shields remained secure through both the Thermosphere and Mesophere, saving the Astra from combustion, it shut down entirely just a cruel 55km from the Earth’s surface. In a plead posted on the NASA website as dawn broke, we are asked to take a minutes silence at midday to honour the deceased Doctor Ian McKinnon.

4. 13th February 2067, Astra 27 Log

Log 95.

I woke up to bright blue lights. Small, glowing beams of iridescence, burning onto my eyelid. As I closed my eyes the image of them glowered on my eyelid from the clinical blue to a fuzzy red and when I opened my eyes again they were gone. But when I closed my eyes again they were there, but fading quickly. And the more I blinked the quicker they left, until I was quite unsure whether they really existed in the first place. I wish there was someone here, to make sure I’m not going crazy. I have checked the Astra status and there has been no reported malfunction. I have reasoned with myself and have come to the conclusion that when my eyes went from black to this sterile white interior my brain must’ve confused itself, forgot its function, forgot how to process. This makes sense to me.

As for space, it remains the same. When I stare out the window I can see the same stars, and they all look the same. Until tomorrow.

1. 2nd June 2034, NASA interview posted to their website

We are honoured to reveal today the next revolution in battling the final frontier. After decades of innovation, experimentation and exploration, Professors Amelia Hudson and Alijaz Guildenstern can now reveal their Astra, a rocket that can not only fly itself to and through the universe, but can also repair itself if it should encounter any technical malfunction.

‘It will completely change our idea of space,’ says Hudson, ‘No longer will it be an unattainable image, but a reachable destination that any person can visit.’

That is not to say, however, that the Astra can be flown by your average man. But this is a solid step paving the way to the human race’s conquering of the stars as space travel becomes more accessible and safer by the day.

5. 1st April 2067, Astra 27 Log

Log 129.

It doesn’t quite make sense anymore. My theory doesn’t quite play out. The blue lights are here in the day. And god how they taunt me. They dance around me but I can’t follow them. They burn onto my eyes and I can’t blink to make them run away. I think they’re maybe in my brain now. It is cruel. But who can I tell? I can look down onto the earth and see the piece of my home and scream at them, hoping that my cries will make it through the machine, the vacuum, the spheres, air, bricks, into home. But I’m not that crazy yet. There has been three alerts in the rocket today, the wiring has been damaged but it is being fixed. I suppose it is the dancers. They jeer. I want to go home.

6. 19th April 2067, Astra 27 Log

Last Log.

I have finally accustomed to life on the Astra. I had a moment of enlightenment this morning, about the loneliness that I think eats at us throughout our lives. I have spent over 100 days staring at the Earth, the Earth in it’s entirety and I think that this gives me rather broad understanding of the people that mill there below. They’re all alone. Every one of us is alone. And here, if I make no noise, all I can here is my little pocket watch, a token from home. It’s rhythmical ticking, dimmed by time. But it reminds me that I’m alone. I can remember the moments in my life when that was all I could hear. Moments when I was physically alone. But I have come to the realisation that it doesn’t matter whether I can hear that ticking or not. We are all alone. Alone in our heads, in our thoughts. I think that maybe these are what these solo missions on the Astra are about. I think I understand it all now.

There is a severe fault in the wiring of the Astra, I think I shall fix it myself.

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Dancing Fairies 

[spacecollaborative-blog]

The Pocket-Watch

The pocket-watch that lay on the top shelf, its long chain dripping just to the second, told him that his son was home. It’s bright bronze by the latch softened by constant fingering and fiddling and its ticking hushed and tired.

---

Why I left my pocket-watch at home today I do not know. The sole purpose of the pocket-watch is to alert me of the time, specifically in Mr Keith’s drama lessons, for it is simply impossible to get through two hours of Brecht’s frankly shit philosophies without knowing when there’s fifty-six minutes left, or forty-two, or, if you’re lucky, three! Yet, today, I trespassed into the unknown. How am I to know if I’ve been trapped into an eternal time lock of thespian hell if I don’t have any means of telling the time. 

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Ian McKinnon

A brief character profile of Ian as a teenager.

- Nicknamed Pocket-watch Ian for his insistence upon carrying his pocket-watch wherever he goes.

- Fiend for amateur dramatics.

- Firmly believes that Physics is the superior science.

- Can see the appeal of being a supervillain.

- A strong knowledge of Welsh Mythology, and is proud to be Welsh.

- Has strong opinions on Star Trek.

- Only child with busy parents.

- Bullied by boys but thought sweet by girls.

- Believes growing stubble would help with both these circumstances.

[spacecollaborative-blog]

Short Story: Alien

The plants on Gliese 581 c are pitch black and the sky is dark red. Because Gliese is a little nearer to its sun, a red dwarf, than we are to ours, the planet is tidally locked so one half always faces the sun whilst the other never sees the light. As a consequence, one half of the planet is so cold it freezes life immediately, whilst the other is so hot it melts life immediately. Yet, there is a small strip of land encircling the planet that’s not too hot, not too cold and could sustain life. There’s also a massive cosmic structure called the Large Quasar Group which is four billion lightyears wide. Scientifically, it makes absolutely no sense. Cosmic structures can only physically grow to a size of 1.6 billion light years. Yet this Large Quasar Group, the LQG for short, has another 2.4. No one knows why or how. The fact that scientists have also found rips in space hardly needs mentioning. But with all these mysteries, all these uncomfortable little uncertainties, all these completely unexplainable happenings, people still question the probable fact that we’re not alone in this universe.

The question of whether life exists beyond Earth is one of humanity’s most profound and unanswered questions.’ – Dr Kevin Hand

It was only when Daniel came to tidy his lawn at 9am that he saw the letter beneath two crushed and empty Fosters cans. It was beginning to peel open as the cold dew festered through its white envelope, smudging the words Mr Daniel Hardy on its front. It had been a while since Daniel had received an interesting letter, especially one that refused to be delivered through the post box. But, there were things to do. Not only were there the two Fosters cans that guarded the mystery letter, but there were another three under the Rhododendron bush and one, this time a Corona bottle, standing by the pansy pot. Also, there were four dead pansy heads that needed removing, a new weed by the fence, the whole garden needed watering too. But this little letter with his smudged but legible name on it was waiting so the garden must be tidied. It only took him a few minutes.  

He took a little while, when the garden was done, to look over the envelope. It was exciting, receiving a letter, and Daniel wanted to take his time over it. Take a few minutes to wonder about who was writing to him and why. But anticipation ate in to him, as it often does, and when it came to it he ripped the envelope open.

‘There may be aliens in our Milky Way galaxy, and there are billions of other galaxies. The probability is almost certain that there is life somewhere in space.’ – Buzz Aldrin

‘Sounds like your classic scenario.’ Rachael had said when she finally replied to Daniel’s email. ‘Check the forum, though.’

Daniel had, of course, checked the forum and they had, of course, confirmed it to be your classic scenario. But Rachael had a certain expertise in the subject that Daniel had yet to truly find elsewhere on that website, her knowledge on extra-terrestrial life could only be rivalled by his own. She had, one time, encountered an alien in the flesh on a holiday to Thailand, she was an expert on the details and theories of Roswell and she had many a time offered her own convincing theories on the government’s reasoning for keeping evidence of alien life away from the public. Her profile picture, however, was the 5th Doctor which was obviously a complete denial of the new dimensions Christopher Ecclestone brought to the character. Alas, that was of no matter, Rachael was one of the few online who could actually make a distinction between fictional works and factual evidence. She was the only person worth consulting over the mystery letter, and he daren’t investigate it any further without her approval.

But her confirmation of it to be ‘your classic scenario’ gave Daniel the authority he needed to start planning. It was well known within his community that you do not go searching for an alien without proper preparation. Aliens are not to be trifled with, if they made it to earth before we made it to them, then their technology is far superior to our own. The general rule was to keep away and watch from afar. But, there is a certain amount of protection that must be acquired in order to ensure safety if an unprovoked attack ensues, of course. Daniel had exactly twelve and a half hours until the letter stated he needed to be in the clearing by the park in the woods and he had rather a lot to do.

‘I believe alien life is quite common in the universe, although intelligent life is less so. Some say it is yet to appear on planet Earth’ – Stephen Hawking

‘Hey,’ said someone from down the aisle. ‘Hey, Sir.’

It was one of the boys who lived up Daniel’s road. He had curly, dirty blonde hair, most kept behind his studded ears but some dripping down over his eyes. He was wearing the same brown jacket Daniel always saw him wear when he walked to the bus stop for school every morning, although Daniel sees him less and less nowadays, and his name was Jack.

‘You’re the one who lives up the road, ain’t you?’ He said.

‘Yes, Jack.’ Daniel replied.

‘How’d you know my name, Sir?’ Some of his friends had joined Jack now. A girl with long hair and two boys with short hair who were smiling. ‘Are you a pervert, Sir?’

‘Jack.’ Said the girl as the boys laughed. She knew his name too.

‘You’re right, you’re right. Sorry, babe. Can I help you, Sir? What you here for?’ Jack said.

Daniel was at the corner shop for batteries. Double A, for his torch. He already had two in there, but who knew how long they were going to last? They’d been in there quite a while now and batteries notoriously never say when they’re going to leave. Better to get replacements now then to be stuck in the middle of the woods in the dark.

Jack’s friends left him then, but Jack himself offered to show Daniel the way to the batteries. But by the time they got there (the batteries, it seemed, where really quite far away) there were no double As left.

Imagine the moment when the world wakes up and the human race realises that its long loneliness in time and space may be over — the possibility we're no longer alone in the universe.’ – Matt Mountain

Daniel sat by the edge of the clearing. As of yet, there had been no other life save the two rabbits whose eyes had shone white in the glare of the torch. It was thirteen minutes past one and there was no sign of any extra-terrestrial life. Daniel clung to the letter, safely protected by its now dry envelope. Fourteen minutes past midnight and still nothing. The slight clench of frustration began to creep up through his body. Fifteen minutes and nothing. Sixteen and nothing. Until, seventeen and something. Something had appeared through the gap in two of the trees, a silhouette against the orange glow of the city sky down below, and Daniel froze. He tried to shine his torch toward it but the light was beginning to dim now and only reached a few metres forward, casting no light on the mysterious shadow that stood frozen at the opposite side of the field.

And then, suddenly, white light. The whitest Daniel had ever seen, coming from four quite large circular sources. It glared through the wood, casting long, willowy shadows across the clearing and bathing Daniel in its luminous glow. Another two figures appeared in different gaps in the trees, forcing two more stretched stripes of black to lay across the clearing. This was accompanied by a low hum of engine, crackling against the silent of the night, and the acute smell of melting rubber. No doubt the smell of the burning petrol used by this species.

It was overwhelming, and absorbing. Every sense was met with something alien and every thought Daniel had ever had had been confirmed in an instance. It was a feeling of complete fear and complete excitement. Every ridicule, every rebuke, every rejection had been justly destroyed, maybe even parodied, but this moment. How Daniel wished he had a camera, there would be no feeling greater than sending this to every person who had denied the existence of aliens; away to his teachers, his friends, his parents. He had met aliens and he was filled with a satisfaction so great it made him realise how it was Rachael came to be the way she was. But how was he to communicate with them? His first words to this new lifeform would be printed forever.

‘Hello?’ Almost a reflex reaction. Ah well.

And then the lights went off and Daniel was thrown to the bottom of a black lake. The darkness went over his head, encompassing his whole body, filling his throat and restricting his breathing. He blinked and took in staccato breaths until the red city highlighted the figures once more.

And they were running. Running towards him at such a speed Daniel barely had time to register his panic before they were almost upon him, completely black with the orange of the city keeping its distance behind the trees.

He ran. He was completely ashamed of it but he got up and ran. Absorbed by panic and fear, he ran. But they kept coming at him.

He daren’t look behind him but long, metal pellets were hitting his back. And the silence was marred by high siren-like shrieking.

They followed him until he hit the first street lamp.

Watch out if you would meet an alien. You could be infected with a disease with which you have no resistance.’ – Stephen Hawking

He first told Rachael everything and then he wrote it down in his folder. He wanted to check with her before he posted it on the forum, he wanted her to tell him the most important details, to help him recall the experience in the most convincing way. She would know how to put it, what words to use to make it sound real and then he would tell the world that they were real. The infinite universe full of impossible happenings, full of diamond planets and dust clouds that taste of raspberries and smell like rum, full of unexplainable rips and phenomenon cosmic structures, has the most likely thing on earth: life. And Daniel had proof. His fear turned to a hyperbolic excitement the moment his front door slammed behind him. He’d been searching his whole life. And now he knew that they were not alone in the universe.

He checked his computer. Rachael hadn’t replied yet.

Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying.’ – Arthur C. Clarke

- Rhiannon Whale