The Planet We Lost

By V Manjunadh Chintapenta

In the vast expanse of the universe, searching for a final hope, two scientists—Clara and Erin—

 journeyed aboard a silent, gleaming spacecraft.

Inside the cockpit, Clara’s trembling hands moved across glowing panels, her eyes glistening with 

unshed tears as she adjusted the ship’s navigation systems. In the corridor behind her, Erin 

carried the lifeless body of a fallen crewmate toward the cremation chamber.

He placed the body gently inside, paused for a moment, then pulled a lever. A flash of white light 

swallowed it, casting the chamber into emptiness. For a heartbeat, the void outside seemed to 

mirror the hollowness within him.

With slow, heavy steps, Erin walked through the dimly lit corridors. The digital walls flickered with 

holographic projections of planets—each marked in red, crossed out—the silent record of failed 

attempts.

He entered the cockpit, where a vast control panel glowed before him—a sea of crimson lights, 

with only three faintly green indicators remaining, fragile symbols of hope.

With a deep breath and heavy heart, he reached out and pressed one of the green icons. It 

flickered for a moment… then turned red.

Clara turned toward him. Their eyes met—no words, only the quiet acknowledgment of loss and 

despair. They embraced, holding each other tightly in the cold hum of the spacecraft, two souls 

adrift in the vastness, clinging to the last fragments of hope.

Suddenly, a cluster of asteroids hurtled toward the ship. Instinctively, Clara seized the controls 

and swerved sharply, threading the craft between two massive rocks. The cabin flickered with 

starlight reflected from jagged asteroid surfaces; each near miss sent vibrations through the hull.

Warning indicators pulsed erratically across the console—one section glowing crimson, reflecting 

off Clara’s tense face. No words appeared, only the silent flicker of red spreading like a wound 

across the dashboard.

With tension tightening in their chests, Clara and Erin wrestled the shuttle through the chaos. The 

ship shuddered violently, spinning and rattling as debris scraped its hull. The violent jolts threw 

them hard against walls, leaving bruises and gasps in their wake.

As the turbulence subsided, silence returned, broken only by the faint hum of failing regular 

engine. Through the viewport, a planet shimmered in hues of blue and green — a distant promise 

glimmering in the void.

Overcome by relief, Clara and Erin clung to each other, tears mingling with stardust — a fragile 

embrace, a heartbeat of hope in the infinite darkness.

They activated the turbo engines and raced toward the planet. As they neared, the spacecraft’s 

communication device blinked to life. A soft, alien voice emerged, incomprehensible at first. Erin 

pressed a button: “Universal Translator Activated.” The device, a marvel of interstellar technology, 

allowed planets with life to communicate across millions of light-years. With the translator 

engaged A clear channel opened between the planet and the spacecraft.

“Identify yourselves and provide the purpose for your approach to this planetary system,” the 

voice intoned, precise and deliberate.

Clara steadied herself, voice trembling:

 “We come from a world that’s… falling apart. Our mission is to find a place where our kind can 

start again — where life still has balance.”

A short pause. The voice replied, cautious but curious:

 “Falling apart? What do you mean?”

Erin’s tone was heavy with guilt.

 “Our planet once thrived — forests, rivers, oceans — everything flourished. But we… we ruined it 

all. The air turned toxic, water undrinkable. Skies that shimmered with color turned grey with 

smoke. We called it progress.”

The voice interrupted softly,

 You traveled across the stars, achieved the impossible… yet your knowledge couldn’t save you?

Clara’s eyes welled.

 "We tried… too late. We built cities that scraped the skies, but forgot the soil beneath our feet. We 

cut down forests faster than we could plant them, poisoned oceans to feed our greed. The 

temperature kept rising, yet we said it was normal".

Silence lingered — the voice sounded almost pained.

 “What about your people? Did they not understand the danger?”

Erin’s voice cracked.

 “We grew too many. Too fast. More mouths than the soil could feed. We fought over food, water, 

power. Nations turned on each other. The strong hoarded, the weak perished. Half of our people 

were gone — famine, disease, wars… and still we didn’t learn.”

Clara whispered, staring at the void outside:

 “We had the brilliance to reach the stars but not the wisdom to protect our home. Here we are… 

searching for another, before the last breath fades.”

A heavy silence followed. Clara and Erin could hear faint murmurs, as if a multitude of voices 

were discussing their words somewhere beyond the stars. Then, a calm, authoritative voice 

spoke:

“Hold for a moment.”

Hours passed. The hum of the ship and blinking consoles were their only companions. Finally, 

the voice returned, somber and reflective:

Your situation… it serves as an eye-opener for us. We, too, have been following similar paths, 

slowly destroying our own home. Listening to your account is… unsettling. It is a reminder of 

what happens when caution is ignored, when balance is forgotten. Honestly, we were unsure how 

to respond, how to help. But this is a wake-up call for all of us. Perhaps it is time to act with 

collaboration, before it is too late.

A pause, then the voice continued, steadier now: “After internal discussions, we have decided — 

you may enter.

Through the viewport, the planet’s blue and green brilliance shone invitingly. The voice spoke one 

final time, calm and profound:

“Welcome to Earth.”

Every intelligent species risks destroying its own home if it forgets respect. Let us 

hope we remember this time — and that no civilization ever has to search for a 

new planet to survive

By V Manjunadh Chintapenta