Expedition (A Science Fiction Novelette)

Emil Lance loosened the tight tie around his neck. He knew that he was about to feed himself to a pack of hungry wolves. A room full of terrified, angry, and grieving family members awaited him. Instead of turning away, instead of letting someone else handle it like any sane man would, he let his conscience get the better of him.

He went to offer his condolences and help this family move forward.

However futile that idea might have been.

Emil took the stage, stepping behind the podium that separated him from the rest of the room. He took a deep breath to steady himself. Short and sweet. That’s what he had told himself that he would do. He wouldn’t be able to get through it otherwise.

He could see people watching him anxiously—over a hundred pairs of eyes staring at him as he squinted into the bright light from above. No one really understood how hot it got under those things, and under pressure, until they were in the situation themselves.

Each person was looking at him with something dangerously close to hope in his eyes. It sickened him. He had suggested when the program sent out the emails informing the mass group of people about the new information that it explicitly state there had been no survivors.

They hadn’t heeded his advice. And now, he was stuck dealing with the consequences, putting these people through more heartache.

“We’ve received communication from the Mars Expedition.” His voice didn’t even sound like his own. It was deeper and more professional than even he realized that it could go.

There were shouts of shock and cries of stunned hope from the audience. Emil held up his hands for silence, and immediately everyone complied. He knew that it was less out of respect for him than an effort to get information, to gain some kind of closure over the tragedy that had struck.

“You’re all here,” he continued. He cast his eyes downward like he was looking at his notes, although he needed none. He knew the words he planned on saying.

They had been too painful to forget.

“You’re here,” he started again, “as family members and in some cases, close friends of the victims. Some of the members of our esteemed government thought it best to keep the video private, but after much deliberation, it was deemed appropriate to divulge this information to you to help…to help you grieve. If at any time the footage is too much for some of you, there is a room across the hall. Several counselors are there and waiting for anyone who might need them.”

He paused for a moment as the eyes in the room flickered to the screen behind him, waiting for something to happen. Eager anticipation on some of their faces, worried and tense expressions on others.

“I’m truly sorry that this has happened to you all.” With those words, he stepped back and motioned for the director of the camera above him to begin rolling the footage. He didn’t stick around to watch it.

In the past several days, he’d seen more than enough.