Dear friends, I hope that in time, I leave my entry for Twenty-four Hour Short Story Contest (bases here), organized by 
As I usually do, I have illustrated my story.
2119. Last vigil.Resuscitation for assistance: 1. ID 0011. Lucas Bok.
Deaths confirmed by cryogenic syndrome: 2.
ID 0001 / Head of the Biological Engineering and Exobiology Unit.
Cause: Multisystemic failure.
ID 0023 / field worker
Cause: Multisystemic failure
Deferred resuscitation: 1
ID 0001-A / Young Settlers Brigade
Capsule A-03
Status: Waiting for field survey to resuscitate Young Brigades.
∞∞∞●∞∞∞
He was in the South-Amazon camp, where it all began.
For months he had been collaborating with the Biological Unit led by his wife. Soon the overwhelming evidence would make them add the term "Exobiology" to the name of the unit. He was always part of the support group, was only an oceanographer, and a psychologist (and had always defended his right to cultivate both passions, although he understood that his dilettantism had prevented him from standing out professionally). Mariana had always been the genius person in marriage: a specialist in genetic engineering and exobiology... Until Luna was born and became the genius person for both of them. In fact, traveling with the support team had been the way they found to keep the family together despite the field expeditions that took over Mariana's life.
So far they were doing well. They were only upset a few times when the camp was overcrowded with military personnel. That was a counterpoint to him. And he was particularly irritated by Mariana's admiration for some scientists from the Biological Defense Unit.
Yes, Mariana had been the great person in the marriage and now she was dead.
Luke was forced to continue filling out the log, one of his main functions as steward of this stage of the mission. He had trouble moving his fingers, even though a few days had passed since his resuscitation.
He contemplated the row of capsules in his section. Twenty people must have slept, perhaps dreaming of beautiful meadows. Yet two had died in the course of the last twenty years... And, despite the feeling of shame that burned him, he had to admit that he only cared about one of those two deaths. Only one made him feel that his heart was getting sore, and only one made him feel his petty body for executing life so healthily, only one made him postpone Luna's resuscitation. What would he say to her? How would he justify that the bright and colorful future they promised him was not only uncertain, but that they would have to build it without her mother?
Sometime in the last twenty years, Mariana's organs stopped working and the emergency capsule systems didn't turn on. Because the systems could (and did) fail. They knew that from the beginning and yet they had thrown themselves into that fate with hungry desperation. They had dragged Luna to all those dangers betting on a future they could not foresee, ensoberbecidos of Science. They had defended theories of healing of waters and soils with a security that they knew, in the depths of their souls, was false. They had integrated the missions that persuaded the Security Council to authorize the South Amazon Dome to that long expedition in time. To that stationary journey. They had been like children terrified by a present they did not know how to face and had dragged many lives with them. They bet everything on running the wrinkle and had made a high bet.
A hundred years; five awakenings. Twenty years ago, in the penultimate vigil, the drones of the advance guard of exploration had brought ambiguous signs. The presence of the Molys (as the news of the time began to call them) was evident. Outside the dome, the gigantic ceibas were covered with a faint mantle of white flowers. There was no observation of vertebrates in the quadrant, but there were insects, and, surprisingly, there were fish. Microscopic spores were in the water, but they were very rare. Everything seemed to indicate that the Molys were dying. How much would be left out there in the world they knew? The pulse of the communications was heard in all the devices, but no voice responded. No Internet connection worked.
A hundred years ago, a group of transnationals were rushing into a space station, would they have made it? Other domes on other continents should be in a situation similar to that of the South Dome. He prayed for it.
He found it hard to believe that he had seen Mariana and Luna only four times in the last hundred years. Despite the bleak results, being together and alive had filled them with euphoria. The dome staff and the settlers had celebrated. There was music. They danced. They allowed themselves to be somewhat lavish with sweet rations. They had been happy for a few days each time before going back to sleep (Mariana and Lucas had made love with desperation, clumsy, limbs cramped by the prolonged suspended animation, and yet magnificent, two perfect flames against the crystals of the dome - and the jungle behind with the weight of their tortuous breathing under the Moly mantle).
Mariana was dead.
And he only felt an obligation for what was to come, because he felt that his actions were no longer moved by hope. He had nothing to build out there. And he felt it for Luna, he felt it in his soul, in the center of his pain, his daughter was not enough for him.
He cried.
Through the glass of the dome the light rose in fury. His eyes burned. He had not slept. Hard night.
He set out to continue filling out the logbook.
2119. Last vigil.Resuscitation for assistance: 1. ID 0011. Lucas Bok.
Deaths confirmed by cryogenic syndrome: 2.
ID 0001 / Head of the Biological Engineering and Exobiology Unit.
Cause: Multisystemic failure.
ID 0023 / field worker
Cause: Multisystemic failure
Deferred resuscitation: 1
ID 0001-A / Young Settlers Brigade
Capsule A-03
Status: Waiting for field survey to resuscitate Young Brigades.
The sun illuminated the dense cups of the giant ceibas. A white mantle, a little wilted, like the veil of a dead bride covered the majesty of the jungle.
Then he saw it.
A small yellow bird, perched on a low branch, tore Moly's veil with a nervous peck. He took a small seed and carried it in his beak.
Birds were Luna's passion. A hundred years ago, when they imagined the future, they had painted for Luna an exhubrating fauna. Forests full of all kinds of life. A camp full of young people and exciting jungle explorations.
He smiled as he remembered.
They had to add internet to that landscape. They had had to promise to have the pets she wanted... and yet it was dramatic and hard to propose to her. Luna, more than they, had had to tear the ties that united her to the world she loved.
But it was also the world that was changing with Moly. A world that made life unsustainable.
A whitish shred fell to the ground and collapsed, lifeless.
Above the anguish that gripped his throat, a small laughter, just a trill, formed.
He hastily searched for the last page of the log. He crossed out the postponement of resuscitation.
One hundred years was enough. Luna would see the world they were conquering.
And they would do it together.
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