A pleading voice called from the mortal realm. The ritualistic chant reverberated all across the great graveyard. The sickly sky and its foreboding clouds began to churn into a green and grey mass, spiralling fiercely over a single grave. All graves were open, as were their coffins, revealing the still faces within, resting in eternal slumber. The chant called for one spirit, a chosen man urged to live again.
A ship raised anchor on the shores of a dying island. The crew could not understand why the captain would go ashore in the first place. The island appeared to have suffered fire and flood. Ashen trees and rotting ones littered the sand, fuming in their own ways. It had an aura of death, disturbing the superstitious deckhands. All were happy to see the captain return, happier still to hear the orders to weigh anchor and sail away.
The Horizon Mission was the first mission of its kind and as such it had its risks. It required reaching new worlds, finding interesting samples and perhaps answering questions we had of the universe. The risks were mainly financial, rather than technological. We had no problem sending astronauts up and on their way, just problems keeping the station going for many years. The solution was to cut costs and keep a single, low-paid employee; me.