The aluminum silicate glass constructing the window gleamed in the relative darkness of space, a blue light penetrating into the artificial illumination of the bridge like fractured laser beams, some thin and others thicker. As the giant space fortress made a turn inch by inch, one of these diagonal azure columns stretched across a dark olive console and then the pair of hands with slender fingers resting upon the touch screen.
Misa's verdant eyes caught the beam that reached over her digits and averted her attention to the expansive universe before her with a lift of her chin. It was but a moment's pause that she stared out the large window before her, the sun so distant and yet its light still reached their position. The advanced technology of the aliens was unfathomably mind-blowing, truly: for it had been, remarkably, but ten months since the SDF-1 haphazardly folded deep out in the solar system near Pluto. And now, the entire crew that remained alive plus the 70,000 civilian survivors living aboard this gargantuan spacecraft were erring on crossing the orbit of Mars.
...Mars. Immediately on that thought, Misa's eyes returned to her screen, her palm pivoting upon it and her pointer finger swiping in the opposite direction at the same time. The screen changed to the next page of fighter pilot duty assignments as a beeping noise filled the air suddenly.
"Incoming transmission, sir," announced Kim as she reached up to a knob above her black hair to begin the decoding process.
"Very well, Kim. Pull it up. Let's see what the U.N. has to tell us today," a deep voice sounded off, reverberating within his throat and slipping off his lips with leathery texture. Captain Global's reply was delivered without looking up from the report he studied as he sat within the recesses of his chair. His strong right hand gripped the brim of his impressive hat and adjusted it, the garment adorned by a fastened medal that boasted his rank as Captain and highest power on the ship.
Turning the dial to the reserved United Earth Government frequency to receive and decrypt the message, Kim's dark eyebrows furrowed slightly. Clearly perplexed, she spoke half to herself, "That's odd..." Trailing off, she stood from from her chair and visibly checked that the knob was tuned correctly; it was.
Captain Global looked up from the paper within his hands then and turned his face to the right, attention now on the small-framed woman switching through channels. The man in his late forties was of Russian descent; if his accent (even though watered down over the years) didn't indicate that fact, his handsomely robust jaw and chiseled nose certainly did.
"What is it?" he inquired as he placed the papers he perused on the small table by his chair and stood, quickly walking over to her station with arms crossed before the dark blue uniform that covered his chest.
"I'm not sure, Sir," Kim replied, her blue eyes scanning over her equipment as she continued switching through different communication channels. "It's not coming in on the usual frequency-"
Just then, a sound of soft static became audibly present and data began filling up her monitor. Kim bowed her head slightly to confirm words were scrolling upwards as they populated the screen and sunk back down into her chair to read the message.
"What in the world is this?" she posed as Global leaned slightly over her chair. Though the message was in English, the information seemed pointless. It was just weather conditions: degrees measured in Celsius, wind direction, rainfall measurements; it was all so random. "It appears to be some sort of automated message, but there shouldn't be any communications on this channel. It's an archaic line that's been out of service for years."
Vanessa's fingers quickly tapped against a series of keys before her and the brunette turned her face to their direction then. "The point of origin is from an old Mars base. It's from Salla, Sir."
The pale hand still swiping through pilot duty schedules suddenly stopped as Misa's fleshy lips parted, her body stiffened in shock as she repeated above a whisper, "Salla?!" She then turned around quickly, her back to her console with her hands gripping the edge of it behind her. Her attention fully was captured by the events unfolding upon the bridge before her.
Captain Global straightened his body and turned to Vanessa, "Salla Base was devastated years ago in an anti-UN attack. The entire base was massacred.. or so said the report."
"Sir!" Misa suddenly interjected into the conversation, taking a few steps forward, tone drenched in seriousness and perhaps even a bit of urgency. "Is there any possibility that there are survivors?!"
"Hn.." Global's sight had averted downwards as he had already deemed that to be infeasible. "I can't see how there could have been, but there's no explanation for this transmission. Not to mention that Salla Base was quite expansive. I'm positive there would be plenty of supplies, and we could always do with more..."
Trailing off on that thought, the Captain sauntered forward, uncrossed his arms, and adjusted his hat as he sat back down in his chair. "Claudia, how damaged are we?"
"Repairs were completed on the starboard side two days ago, sir. We're in excellent condition," she reported. Misa's eyes shifted from her counterpart back to the Captain.
"And how far off course are we from earth?" he inquired.
"We're still a bit far off from where we should be, but we're actually 18 degrees East from intercepting Mars' path directly, sir," Vanessa spoke up.
A hand upon the bridge of his nose, it slid down and off before Captain Global spoke, "Well, then. That's not far off at all. We'll accept fate's invitation this time and take the opportunity to restock on supplies. Alter course for Mars and advise ETA!"
"Affirmative, sir," Claudia confirmed immediately. "Course changed for Mars. Our ETA is four hours and twenty seven minutes."
Misa hadn't moved an inch during this time, but as Global issued the order, she immediately turned back to her station. A deep breath drawn into her lungs, she stared down at the large Android tablet surface before her, but made no further action. Her insides wrenched into knots, and she was unsure if it was attributable to grief, to anxiety, to pinning hope on something utterly impossible being true... Perhaps all of these emotions together were what swept over her insides and carried her off into the recollection of a memory... one she revisited more often than what she deemed healthy.