Unidentified Organism

2025 Write Now Winner - Grades 9—12

Waking up from cryo sleep would never feel normal. As I opened my eyes and unzipped the condensation-coated plastic bag that I liked to take naps in, I felt my muscles begin to wake up as my vision came into focus. I sat up in my cold, metal coffin, swung my legs out over the side, and hopped out, gently landing on the floor of the sleeping compartment. The station’s artificial gravity was still much more forgiving than Earth’s. I looked around the compartment that was filled with stainless steel boxes, inviting any astronaut that came along to a nice, long nap. Desperate to escape the heavy silence, I leaped out of the sleeping unit and into the claustrophobic hallway. Once again, I found myself alone, accompanied only by dim yellow lights and quiet beeping noises.

I ran one hand through my hair as I looked around, racking my slowly thawing brain. Where could everyone be? Then, for the very first time since I emerged from my cold nap, I looked down at the watch that hugged my left wrist. My eyes froze, locked onto the little glowing text. 4:23 PM, March 14th.

I fell asleep on February 19th, right after I started running a test on a new material we had collected. I had set the cryo chamber’s timer to 20 hours, the exact amount of time the material analysis was supposed to take. How had I been asleep for a month?

My awkward low-gravity walk became frantic as I continued to search the station. My search yielded absolutely nothing until I reached the cafeteria. The room was made up of a storage system for dehydrated foods, a coffee and hot water station, and two metal tables bolted to the floor. On the table furthest away from me, I discovered the first sign of human life: a navy blue mug.

The mug sat solemnly on the mirror-like surface of the dining table, lonely and abandoned. I quickly approached and placed my hand on its smooth side. To my surprise, the ceramic surface was warm, heating my palm in an oddly soothing way.

I lifted the mug to my face, the distinct and familiar smell of fresh coffee wafting up to my nose. Where it had once been sitting, a small chip had been taped to the surface of the table. I easily peeled away the tape, freeing the small chip. Instinctively, I marched the chip over to the control room. After carefully pushing the chip into the main computer, a video began to play on the screen. A familiar face popped up in front of me, with an unfamiliar expression plastered across her face. Dr. Silva, with her dark brown hair in a slicked-back bun, held the camera close to her face, close enough to see small beads of sweat forming on her brow. The camera shook slightly as she spoke.

 “Sam, if you’re watching this, it means we’re gone.” Her eyes darted to the left side of the screen, scanning for some unknown threat outside of the frame.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get to you in the cryo chamber, but hopefully you can find this message and make it out on your own.” My mind began to race. Where had they gone?

“That sample you brought back,” she continued, breathing heavily and scanning the room she was in, “it contained some organism. We didn’t know what it was, but we didn’t think it was safe to stay with it on board.” She sighed and looked into the camera apologetically.

“We didn’t know if it would be able to follow us, so I left you clues to get out and find us. Hurry, and be careful.” And with that, the video ended. Suddenly, I felt a lot less alone.

The first place I searched was the research deck. It was where both Dr. Silva and I had spent most of our time on the space station, and it was filled with places to leave clues. I ransacked every container and machine I could find until I reached the device I had used to test the sample before my cryo sleep. Inside was a small photograph of Dr. Silva and her daughter, Allison, on her third birthday. The cake was a half sphere haphazardly decorated with grey frosting and a plastic astronaut figurine positioned on top next to a burning candle. It was the moon. Scrawled on the back of the photograph was a code I knew all too well. I knew exactly what she needed me to do.

I raced back to the control room, where I promptly booted up the computer.

“Initiate self-destruct,” I yelled at the screen. The computer prompted me for a clearance code, which I entered immediately. Both Dr. Silva and I had memorized it before we left for this research expedition, and it was finally time to use it. The computer accepted my code and began a countdown.

“120 seconds until self-destruct. Please evacuate immediately.” I had no problem complying with those instructions, and I made my way to the opposite side of the station, where the emergency escape pods were located. Three out of four of them were gone, indicating that I was on the right path. The monotone voice of the computer echoed through the hall over the loudspeakers, the shrinking numbers ringing in my ears. I hopped into the remaining pod, pausing for only a second to look out into the vast expanse that lay before me. I hoped and prayed that I was making the right decision.

I quickly punched coordinates into the pod’s navigation system. I was on my way to the moon. I took off, shooting away from the station I had called home for months, and I fought the urge to look back. As my distance from the station grew and my distance to the moon shrank, I let out a sigh of relief. I was safe.

“Warning,” the pod’s computer announced. “Unidentified organism detected.”