The dark carapace has been traveling through space for time untold, its invisible, lightening-powered overseer feeling the gradual loss of energy. They had traversed the void for what seemed like a millennium, heading toward the promised beyond; but something was amiss. The machine could sense it, and as its last effort, it awakens its master.
Through a dark void, an equally dark object cut like a lance. It moved at incredible speeds, silent and swift. Almost incomprehensibly so. As it surfed the black tide of the void, a blue glow illuminated its engines, acting as the burning blaze of hope that the ship too symbolized. Silently, the massive collection of metal, glass, and hope raced toward a new horizon; a horizon sought out for decades prior. Only recently, had the engines begun to fade. The darkness of the seemingly endless void brought no solace, but the hopeful within the object would not know, as they lived in ancient sleep. While they slept in ice, the faceless controller of the ship slowly deteriorated. It knew, by its calculations, that their new horizon should have been reached. It knew, by ancient calculations, that it should now be landing on the land beyond. It knew something was amiss. As they ripped through space, endlessly approaching a distant nebula, the machine knew not what was amiss. Within the ship, a man slept upright in a frozen capsule. Around him, the room was dark; the low, dim glow of working computers the only source of light.
Suddenly, his tube of frost lit up, the sides now glowing blue. A small computer screen on the side of the tube lit up as well, its glow orange and holographic. The countdown of awakening read “2 seconds”. In the aforementioned time, his capsule seemed to hum and hiss. The frost around his face evaporated, the glass following suit, until his eyes shot open. He gasped, taking in his first breath of air in centuries. His hands flew to the glass before him, a holographic display reading, “Welcome back, captain Douglas”.
As the glass flew upward, a feminine computer voice said exactly that. He fell to his hands and knees, coughing.
“You have been in cryo-stasis for [date/time corrupted]. The current date is [data not found].”
His stomach heaved, his body reacting horribly to the extended sleep.
“Please note any illness to the nearest medical personnel. How was your sleep?”
He pushed himself up, taking in heavy, labored breaths. It seemed hard to breathe.
“Computer…” he said, his voice cracking from lack of use. There was an auditory beep before he continued, “Display oxygen levels.”
“Oxygen levels: nominal.”
“Display… air scrubber status.”
“[data not found]. I’m sorry, I cannot assist you.”
Douglas growled in frustration, making a slow and unsteady walk toward a computer console.