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QEC TRANSMISSION DATA.
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TRANSMISSION SOURCE: [ERROR] UNABLE TO LOAD SYSTEM DATA.
ORIGIN COORDINATES [SOL-7781 NORM.]: [ERROR] UNABLE TO LOAD SYSTEM DATA.
TIMESTAMP [TRN-01 STD.]: [ERROR] UNABLE TO LOAD SYSTEM DATA.
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>>>[ERROR] PROCESSES CORRUPTED. ABORTING PROCESSES...
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It was the silence.

After cycles of an inhuman cacophony, the likes of which no madhouse has ever
produced, it was the sudden, stunning silence that told me, locked away in my 
quarters and wracked with throes of my own, that they were all ... gone.

And all I could manage to feel was relief - for my sake, and for theirs. 

The virus (if virus it was, though I dread to consider the alternatives) we
picked up on that nightmarescape of a planet seems to have decided to spare me
from that fate - at least for now. Why, I neither know nor can guess, but it
has loosed its death-grip on me (though not its hold entirely), enough at 
at least that I could get myself to the only medium of long-range
communication on this ship, this dusty console forgotten or ignored in the 
cobwebs of Non-Essential Storage, to type out this message.  

And in my passage through the corridors of the ship to get here - shambling,
crawling, dragging myself through an atmosphere now dismal, desolate,
foreboding - the things that I saw shall haunt me for all my remaining days.
Terrible tableaus of the final moments of the members of my crew, still-lifes
of violence and agony and lunacy and





I can't...I can't go on.


I must stop. I must rest. Yes, too soon did I attempt this. I must return to
my quarters to convalesce a while longer - though I must admit, the thought 
of making the trip again, seeing what I saw once more ... it makes me
shudder. 

I must go now, before I lose the will entirely. I can only hope that I have
expended enough energy that when slumber overtakes me, it is free of those
terrible dreams I have been plagued with. 



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