The journey

"How's the ship?" John asked, his voice sounding small in the vast emptiness around them.

Daniel, a broad-shouldered man in his thirties, glanced at the blinking control panels, his face bathed in the blue glow of the monitors.

"Everything's optimal. No anomalies," he replied, but the tightness in his voice hinted at the unease they all felt. Outside, the infinite blackness of space pressed in on them, a silent reminder of how alone they truly were.

"Good. How long is our journey till the objective?"

"57 days, sir." They've been in space for a month already.

"And how's our flight path? Any deviations?" John asked, trying to focus on the routine.

"We're right on course, sir. Not a degree off." Daniel replied, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the console.

Lucia studied John's face, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. "John, you don't look great. Are you getting any sleep at all?" she asked, her tone soft but laced with concern.

Actually, all three knew such mission felt wrong.

"I think I slept better last cycle, but it's still not enough," John admitted, rubbing his temples as if trying to push away the constant headache that had become his unwelcome companion. The ship's hum seemed louder today, or maybe it was just the way his nerves were frayed, stretched thin by the endless void outside.

Daniel and Lucia exchanged worried glances; they too had been plagued by restless nights, haunted by dreams they couldn't quite remember but left them waking in a cold sweat.

The unspoken fear gnawed at them—what if this mission was slowly unraveling their minds? What if the isolation and the unknown were too much for any human to bear?

"And you Daniel?"

"I wasn't that lucky. I just can't stop thinking about what expects us. No one has ever found something like this before." He spoke while deep in thought. His eyes lost in the vastness beyond the small window on the side of the cabin.

"How could such thing even exist?"

"Calm down, we talked about this already." Lucia was the doctor of the team, so she understood the changes that such unfavorable situation brought to them. They all knew their mind wasn't fully in the right place and that helped them endure the journey, in fact.

If it was a normal person on their place, he or she would already be deep into various health and mental problems.

Everyday they transmitted their status to the central command back at earth, a basic medical checkup like time length of their sleep and blood pressure.

The ship was a marvel of human engineering, designed to sustain its crew on long-duration missions through the cold void of space. Its sleek, cylindrical form housed three primary sections, each meticulously planned for efficiency and safety.

The Command Cabin was the nerve center of the ship, where rows of glowing control panels displayed every conceivable piece of data—from navigational coordinates to life support statistics. The dim blue light from the consoles bathed the cabin in a soft, eerie glow, reflecting the cold, calculated environment they inhabited.

The Living Quarters, referred to by the crew as "The Apartment," was a cramped but functional space that served multiple purposes. The walls were lined with compact bunks, one for each crew member, where they could retreat for the brief moments of rest they managed to snatch.

The center of the room held a multifunctional table, where they ate their rehydrated meals and conducted their daily planning meetings. One corner housed a small gym area with resistance bands and a stationary bike, essential for maintaining muscle mass in the microgravity environment.

The constant hum of the ship's systems was a reminder that their comfort was secondary to survival.

The Cargo Hold was the largest section, filled with stacked crates of supplies—freeze-dried food, water reserves, spare parts, and scientific equipment. Every item had its designated place, organized to maximize space in the tight confines.

At the back of the hold, the airlock chamber connected to a small decompression room where they could suit up before venturing outside the ship. Their EVA suits were stored there, hanging in their designated spots like silent sentinels waiting for the call to action.

The experiments were the heart of their mission, providing both purpose and distraction from the crushing isolation. In the sterile lab space adjacent to the living quarters, they conducted a variety of experiments aimed at understanding how life could survive in the harshest conditions.

John meticulously tended to the small garden of hydroponic plants—lettuce, spinach, and tomatoes—carefully monitoring their growth under artificial light.

Lucia was responsible for the cultivation of edible mushrooms, which thrived in the controlled, damp environment she created.

Daniel, the engineer, spent his time testing advanced materials and nanotechnology, designed to withstand extreme temperatures and radiation, hoping to find breakthroughs that could revolutionize future space exploration.

They also conducted long-term psychological studies on themselves, documenting the effects of prolonged space travel on their mental health, an experiment that seemed to grow more relevant with each passing day.

Each experiment served as a tether to normalcy, a way to measure time in an environment where days and nights had lost their meaning.

As the cycles passed their destination loomed ever closer, but the excitement that once fueled their mission had soured, curdled into something darker.

They all felt it, a heavy, oppressive weight pressing down on their minds. But none of them dared to mention it in their reports to Earth. They knew what that would mean: cancellation.

Failure.

And so, in silent agreement, they kept their fears and symptoms hidden.

The real problem was the gnawing sense of dread that had settled in each of them, like an unwelcome guest. Every passing cycle seemed to chip away at their sanity. The ship, once a marvel of engineering and a beacon of hope, now felt like a cold, metallic prison.

The walls seemed to close in, the shadows grew longer, and the silence was deafening. None of them dared to voice their fears, but it was clear: something about this mission, this object they were heading toward, was slowly driving them to the brink.

The problem was that all three of them felt worse now than months back. Strangely, the desire to reach such strange object grew more and more each cycle that went by.

"I dreamed about this round and dark ball floating in the space for the hundredth time already! I'm now sure I'm going crazy." Daniel said, breaking the tense silence as they sat in the cramped 'apartments' area, picking at their freeze-dried meals.

"My mind keeps slipping to unhelpful thoughts, interfering with my work on the experiments." He held his head with both hands while he forced his eyes closed. He just couldn't understand why he felt like that.

Lucia swallowed hard, the water in her bottle suddenly tasting metallic. 'You're not alone. I can't focus on anything anymore."

John nodded, his voice a low murmur, "the same here."

"But why? Is there an explanation for what were experiencing?" Daniel demanded na explanation.

Lucia took a deep breath, knowing she needed to say something that would make sense of the creeping dread they all felt. "What we're experiencing... it's not uncommon in long-duration missions," she began, her voice steady but tinged with concern.

"It's a combination of isolation, the monotony of space, and the psychological strain of being so far from Earth. Our brains aren't wired for this kind of environment—no natural light, no fresh air, nothing familiar. It's like sensory deprivation, but worse because we're constantly aware of the vast emptiness outside."

"Our minds are trying to make sense of something completely alien, and it's pushing us to the edge. We have to be careful. If we let this get to us, it could compromise the entire mission."

"Let's end this cycle and try to sleep early. Tomorrow will be our last before we reach the objective the day after."

She had not mentioned it, but all three knew that the main causer of their state was just a cycle away.