The Eden Initiative

A searing sun glared down upon the boundless wastes of Tau Ceti IV, a barren tapestry of rock and dust unbroken by any hint of vitality. The only sound was the ceaseless murmur of shifting sands, a dry whisper in the void.

A figure clad in a silver space suit trudged through the dunes, boots sinking into the relentless terrain. The figure faltered, dropped to its knees, and with unsteady hands, unfastened the helmet. The faceplate lifted, revealing Jonas Carver—eyes hollow, breath ragged.

Within the sterile expanse of Pathfinder 7 two hours prior, a lone hibernation pod thrummed in a vast chamber. A sharp hiss pierced the silence as pressurized air escaped, and the pod’s lid glided open with mechanical grace.

Inside lay Jonas Carver, his chest rising as awareness returned. His eyes blinked open, adjusting to the stark artificial glow.

With a grunt, he sat up, swung his legs over the side, and promptly crumpled to the floor. Moments later, he rose steadier and shuffled to a chessboard in the corner. He lifted a black rook and paused before setting it down with purpose.

“Jonas Carver, Pathfinder 7, mission log,” he rasped, voice rough but resolute. “Luyten 726-8C was a wash, like the three before it. Nitrogen levels spiked—inhale too long, and you’d be dizzy before you’re dead. Another cosmic letdown joins the parade of disappointments, bleeding our time and resources. On the upside, I nearly landed without painting the cockpit green. Improvement, I guess. Tau Ceti, I’m oh-for-four—don’t fail me now.” He smirked faintly. “Hey, Cal, ping my wife, will you? Cal? …Cal?”

Far across the void, another voice logged its defeat. “Mira Tanek, Pathfinder 12, mission report. Wolf 1061D’s a bust—methane saturation at eighty parts per million. We’ve been at this too long. What if this is all there is? Just… vast, hollow nothing.”

Yet hope endured. “Lorin Carver, Pathfinder 4, mission log. Two down, three to go. A new world’s out there, and we’ll claim it. Course locked for Proxima Centauri B—ETA eight months. Ever the dreamer.”

Jonas spoke as soon as the report finished, a private report to his wife, Lorin, “Recording in progress. Hey, love, it’s me. We’re just a few thousand light-years apart now—strange to think about, huh? Saw your report; you’re zero-for-two. I’m zero-for-four, so you’re outpacing me twofold. Your stats look strong—these next three’ll pass quickly. I’m minutes from Tau Ceti, so I’d better prep. Miss you. Talk soon.”

The message chimed: Sending to Pathfinder 04.

“Cal? …Not you too.”

Pathfinder 7’s doors parted with a soft whoosh. “Good morning, Jonas,” intoned Cal, the ship’s AI, its voice a steady anchor amid the storm of Jonas’s mind.

“Morning, tin man. Where’d you vanish to? Thought you’d bailed.”

“I’m afraid I don’t grasp ‘bailed,’ Jonas.”

“Forget it.”

“My memory banks don’t allow forgetting, Jonas. Your rook was pinned last I checked.”

“Why’d you go silent earlier?”

“A circuit fault in the command module. Resolved when you restarted my systems.”

“Convenient. Send Lorin that message, yeah?”

“Processing now, Jonas. You’ve got one incoming. I’m syncing status reports as we speak.”

“That glitch fry your wiring?”

“Reports are current post-reboot. The fault blocked incoming comms—started nine months back.”

“Nine months? These logs are relics!”

“Accurate, Jonas. Updating now—give it a few minutes.”

The bridge called. Jonas stepped in as Cal announced, “Reports syncing. One new message from Pathfinder 4. Tau Ceti landing in five.”

Jonas nodded, peering through the viewport as Lorin’s voice broke through. “Hey, you’re likely nearing Tau Ceti now—can’t believe it. I’m proud of us, and how far we’ve pushed. I’m on Proxima B—stunning, right? It’s almost Earth reborn. Except it’s not. Too tight to its star—six hundred degrees Fahrenheit daily. An atmosphere so close to ours, yet I can’t step out. Wondering why I’m still here? We lost Tanek last month. Yesterday, Korrin, Vey, and Salvo dropped off too.”

“No way,” Jonas muttered. “Cal, refresh Salvo’s page.”

“Refreshed, Jonas.”

“Again.”

“Reports are still updating, Jonas. Hear this next part carefully.”

Lorin’s tone sharpened. “My Cal unit was dark after reanimation. There’s a glitch in the EM Drive—circuit failure cuts comms and thruster restart. Jonas, if it hits you, you’re grounded too. I’ve got four, maybe five days before Proxima’s heat cracks the hull.”

“When was that sent?” Jonas’s voice broke.

“Thirty-one days ago, Jonas,” Cal replied.

Jonas staggered through Tau Ceti’s sands, the sun an unyielding overseer. He sank to his knees, unlatched his helmet, and let it tumble away.

His voice, calm now, pierced the wind. “To anyone who hears this, this is Jonas Carver, Pathfinder 7, Eden Initiative. Attached are coordinates for Tau Ceti IV—our new haven. Temperatures not too fierce nor too frigid, an atmosphere perfectly balanced for life. The trek may take months, perhaps years. I’ll be here.”

The sand whispered on, unheeding.