Star Rider

Kurt's Journal #8 - non-recovery agreement

I activated the centrifugal gravity, settled back into my seat, and a profound stillness enveloped the space. Cube remained silent, its human-like design seemingly crafted to resemble a mourner at a funeral. Its silence at that moment felt like the most appropriate stance, a respectful expression for the departed.

I inserted the flight recorder of DSF 3137 into the reading device, then shifted my focus to Alcon's compact backpack. Inside, I found an assortment of modest yet practical items: two storage disks, a wristwatch powered by a functional isotope battery, a bracelet crafted from delicate glass beads, a composite notebook accompanied by two pencils, a knife, a pistol, and two spare batteries for the portable equipment of the spacesuit.

I flipped through the notebook, and on the title page, there was only one phrase written: "Time is nothing." Below it, there was space for a signature, which read "A&A." As I continued to flip through, the rest of the pages were blank. However, two cards slipped out from between the pages, resembling photographs. I picked them up and tried to make out the images. Due to the effects of cosmic rays, the entire pictures had faded and become blurry. Yet, from the faint outlines, I could just make out that one depicted two people inside a cabin resembling a Ferris wheel, while the other was too indistinct, showing only a partial silhouette of what might have been the sky. The watch on my wrist displayed a stopwatch cumulative time of approximately 84,000 hours, suggesting that it had been reset over nine years ago and had been running ever since.

I picked up the storage disks. These were two universal portable data storage devices with thick radiation-proof cases that were a bit heavy. This model comes with a mini operating system. In addition to being used as a storage disk on the spacecraft, it can also be inserted into the recording interface on the space suit and linked with the interactive keyboard on the arm and the helmet display to become a portable computer. I inserted one of the disks into the data reader of the central computer and initiated a security scan. Cube alerted me:

"Kurt, there are text log files stored here, but they appear to be encrypted and cannot be decoded."

This was normal as well. If it was a normal work log, the astronaut would not encrypt it. However, if it was a personal log, it would usually be encrypted. Part of the reason was that the instinct to protect personal privacy, and part of it was due to the limited liability compensation clause. If the company discovered that the astronaut had a tendency towards self-harm or if an accident occurred due to personal factors, the company could waive liability for compensation. Therefore, encrypting personal logs was basically a habit of astronauts. Of course, for some disputed flight accidents, the company would hire lawyers and experts to decrypt and interpret personal logs if they suspected the astronaut was concealing something. But in most cases, it was a confirmed mechanical failure or purely an exploration accident, and the company did not care what the astronaut wrote in their personal log.

I inserted the second storage disk and initiated a scan. The results indicated that, apart from the built-in mini operating system, the disk was empty. It appeared that only the first disk contained the text log data, while the second one might serve as a backup or have a different purpose altogether. This realization triggered a memory, prompting me to turn to Cube and inquire:

"Cube, do you remember the Star Catcher spaceship from some time ago?"

"I do. SC-11071, there was a problem with the propellant tank, and the engine failed."

"What about its updates?"

"There were updates. SC-11071 is a traction ship without payload, with a crew of four, and they have enough supplies. They have stabilized their position and are expected to be rescued in 170 clock cycles..."

"Okay, how about the record of DSF 3137?"

"I've already retrieved it and sent it to the relay station. After interpreting the raw data, I've put it on the display interface."

I turned my chair around. There wasn't much in the record for 3137. Cube had already interpreted the various sensor and instrument data into a basic list of events. From the record, it appeared that there was an engine failure, followed by a loss of pressure in the cabin. Finally, the section of the spacecraft that Alcon was in was ejected from the main hull and drifted for about 90 clock cycles using the auxiliary traditional oxidizer and fuel backup propulsion system before landing on this small asteroid, which was the section I saw. Then the system shut down. Before the system shut down, it also recorded that the supplies carried with the section could support about 60 clock cycles.

"Hey Kurt, I've received a reply from the company and put it in the notification center," Cube interrupted.

I opened the company's reply, which was a long "Rescue Principles and Guidelines" followed by a short message: "The record of DSF 3137 shows that astronaut Alcon signed a non-recovery agreement. We have recorded Alcon and DSF 3137's final location. At this time, the company deeply mourns those who have lost their lives in the exploration of the stars. Furthermore, Kurt, thank you. You can continue with your mission. Best wishes to you."

A non-recovery agreement? In other words, the astronaut, in the event of a failed rescue, also gave up the recovery of their body and belongings. This kind of action is often done in exchange for additional compensation in the "limited liability compensation" clause. As deep space explorers, our lives have a price, and so do our bodies.