Like something I wrote?"What . . . what is this?" is all I manage to say, in pure disbelief, as I watch the number on the ranging sensor climb steadily up. To clarify, there's nothing unusual about that in and of itself. What's abnormal, to say the least, is the sheer number the sensor has climbed to, and the rate at which it continues to do so. If its reading is to be believed at face value, then over one hundred and forty-nine million kilometres now separate our two vessels; approximately the distance between the Sun and the Earth, and growing fast. That's impossible. Our two vessles did a pass-by not a month ago.
I do a quick calculation.
It shows that the distance between us is constantly expanding faster than our vessels should be capable of travelling, even if we were moving towards each other.
We spend the next three days poring over the logs from the period around the anomaly being discovered. But no matter how thoroughly I inspect our instruments for faults, how many times I reset the connection, how many times I punch the damn thing, the number continues to tick up without relent. That, too, has exacerbated; we began to notice early on that the incremental distance increases were becoming even larger. The increments are growing to the point that we'll soon be dealing with lightyears of distance; a single one of which being a distance of over nine trillion kilometres.
Amongst certain members of our crew, there are those who try to make light of the situation, reasoning things like, "What we're seeing is literally not possible, so why fret? They'll make contact as soon as the instruments stop misbehaving. After all, we just spoke to them a matter of days ago!" Some even try to console me directly. But the knowledge of what has happened is a nightmare from which I cannot wake. Their hands, intended to offer me comfort, eventually slip off my shoulders.
The control rooms, both here and back on Earth, have been overrun by debate of the cause. Some posit theories of them being snatched up by a wormhole, others insist on catastrophic instrument failure, others still even posit the possibility of intervention by an advanced alien civilization in candour. I alone seem to have realised the plain and simple truth; they're gone. And that's all there is to it.
I'm finally overcome on my fourth sleepless day of working at a solution as I have the following realisation: even if I were to somehow to live and travel towards them for the remainder of the universe's existence, it would change nothing; we would never again meet. I hold their photographs in my hands, in disbelief that this is as close as we can ever again be.
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