Transmission 447-Kappa
CLASSIFIED — UEN NAVAL INTELLIGENCE Document Type: Intercepted Civilian Transmission Origin: Freighter Constant Horizon, Registration TCV-2891 Destination: Unknown recipient, personal encryption Intercept Date: Year 6, Day 142 Classification Level: RESTRICTED Declassified: Year 14, Day 87
BEGIN TRANSCRIPT
Hey, Mom.
I know you probably won’t get this. Relay stations are down across half the sector, and who knows if anyone’s even monitoring the civilian bands anymore. I’m sending it anyway. Old habit. You always said I talked too much, so maybe the universe owes you one last ramble from your least favorite daughter.
I’m kidding. I know I’m your favorite. Don’t tell Ria.
We’re three days out from what used to be Tellman’s Rest. I say “used to be” because there’s nothing there anymore. Captain Okonkwo made us do a flyby, said we needed to document it for the relief coordinators. Forty thousand people lived there, Mom. Forty thousand. Now it’s just debris and silence and that smell the recyclers can’t quite filter out. You know the one.
The Vethrak didn’t even land. They just... erased it. From orbit. Like it was nothing.
I keep thinking about that time Dad took us to the beach on Meridian Prime. Remember how Ria built that sandcastle, spent all afternoon on it? Then the tide came in and washed it away in about ten seconds. She cried for hours. I laughed at her, because I was twelve and terrible.
I’m not laughing anymore.
We picked up survivors yesterday. Eighteen people from a station that should have held two hundred. They’d been drifting for eleven days. The kids, Mom. The way they looked at us when we opened the airlock. Like they’d forgotten humans could be anything other than a threat.
One of them, a little girl named Sara, asked me if the monsters would find us too.
I told her no.
I’m not sure if that was a lie.
Captain says we’re rerouting to Anchor Point. It’s supposed to be safe there, supposed to be a fleet presence protecting the station. Supposed to be a lot of things. I’ve learned to stop trusting “supposed to be.” The only thing I trust anymore is the Horizon and the twenty-three souls aboard her.
Twenty-four now, I guess. One of the survivors is pregnant. Seven months along, if you can believe it. Bringing a child into this. I don’t know if that’s brave or crazy or both.
Maybe that’s what hope looks like now.
I should go. My shift starts in an hour, and I need to check the cargo seals. We’re carrying medical supplies, enough to matter if we can get them where they’re needed. Enough to save lives, maybe.
It’s not much. It’s what we have.
If this reaches you somehow, if the relays come back online, if someone finds this in a data dump years from now: I’m okay. The Horizon is holding together. We’re doing what we can.
Tell Ria I’m sorry I laughed about the sandcastle.
Tell Dad his stupid jokes finally make sense. Sometimes the only choice is to laugh or break apart, and I’d rather laugh.
Tell yourself that I love you. That I’m proud to be your daughter. That everything you taught me about kindness and persistence and showing up for people when it’s hard, it matters. It matters more than you know.
I’ll send another transmission when we reach Anchor Point.
Assuming we reach Anchor Point.
Love always, Yuki
END TRANSCRIPT
Analyst Note: Freighter Constant Horizon arrived at Anchor Point Station on Year 6, Day 149. Crew member Yukiko Chen continued service on civilian relief missions throughout the Crisis Period. Current status: Active, assigned to UEN Auxiliary Fleet.
This document was declassified as part of the Year 14 Historical Transparency Initiative. The full archive of civilian transmissions from the Crisis Period is available at the UEN Memorial Database.