The journey was an endless ordeal, but I cherished every single moment of it. Through wormholes and black holes, hyperspace jumps and subspace crawls, in the face of all my duties and yours, we had the blessing of working together, confronting all our hardships together.

"My limbs are your limbs," you said. "My eyes are your eyes." We interfaced, and our minds melded; there was a sense of togetherness that I had never experienced before. Normal space, hyperspace, subspace, darkspace—we were one as we moved through it all.

I remember when we managed to extricate ourselves free of Nyx Magna's gravitational pull and the Captain said to you "Maria, you're the best damn navigator this side of the Andromeda." I remember how proud I was that day.

"I am afraid," you said, just once, as we navigated through the hell of New Franklin's asteroid belt. You whispered, so only I would hear. "It's taking so long," you said. "I don't know how much more of this I can take. Are we ever getting home?"

"Don't worry, Maria," I said. "I'll get you home safe."

I gave my all to take humanity to its new home. What was left of humanity; one thousand souls, give or take a few. Though in the end, I must admit that what kept me going was the thought of getting you home.

And so the journey went on, in spite of all the hazards that we faced, and they were more than a few.

The meteor storm near Antares B was what undid me, mostly. Took one hit too many, I guess. Though we had already reached the last leg of the journey, it all went downhill from there.

But I kept my promise. I got you home safe, didn't I? We had to crash land, but still I managed to get everyone to the planet surface without any casualties.

Any casualties but me, that is. Even before crashing down, I knew I would never be able to fly again.

So, you did what you had to do.

You gathered everything that could be salvaged, stuck it in the Rovers, and started the long and arduous land journey to a designated spot in Terra Nueva's temperate zone, the place where humanity would build its new home.

I had to stay behind. But I saw your face, as you looked back and waved goodbye, on the verge of tears but still so fierce and proud and determined—and that was comfort enough for me. Thank the stars for small mercies, right?

I still have power, though it won't last long now. I still get your signals and I can mark your position in the map of the land. You're close to your destination; any time now, you will reach it.

And I know you'll keep your promise too. When you're finally there, you'll send me a voice message. "We're home safe, Laura," you'll say. And then, "Goodbye, Laura."

You've always called me Laura. So much more intimate than just ship.