My name is Leo Sol Maxwill, and I was left behind.
Officially, the Vision craft experienced a fatal malfunction in intergalactic space, involving a total destruction of the port-side stern. There were only enough escape pods for two-thirds of the crew. The other third of the crew, totaling four, was left to survive. That number has now reached one; the last confirmed contact with crewman Ida, the second-to-last man alive, was around two weeks ago. It’s hard to say for certain, as what’s left of our equipment is next to nonfunctional. The energy, food, water, and oxygen rations are running low, and will be completely depleted in an estimated 14 days.

Unofficially, if you’re listening to this, there’s something more important than technical details and who did what. Out here, with the only light coming from the Andromeda galaxy, I have realized something. Even with all my crewmates dead or gone, I am not alone. I’ve seen it out of the corner of my eye. I’ve seen it warping the stars, bending the light as it moves. I’ve felt it watching me as I try to sleep. Perhaps the most worrying bit is that I’ve heard it. I don’t know how; my comm channel has remained inactive ever since crewman Ida… left. Before last week, it had only spoken a few choice words: “hello,” “lost,” and “Vision”. Based off that last word, I could only assume that it could read.
Now, I say “unofficially,” of course, because I don’t want this to be covered up. I want the world to know that we’re not alone. I want everyone to know the story of how I made first contact.

It had been just two days after crewman Ida’s last contact, and I was feeling lonelier than ever. His death had shaken me, more so than any other crewman’s. Perhaps it was because he was the last one before I was alone. I was in my favorite spot of the Vision’s wreckage, the roof above the cockpit. Here, there was nothing to block the brilliant blue starlight sent straight from Andromeda. I had sat there for so many hours, gazing upon Avie, my wife’s photo, knowing she’d probably never see me again. Even with our current technology, it would take next to forever to send another craft out here, far longer than the Vision’s rations would last. So I held on to what I had, for without her, I had nothing at all. She was the last thing that pushed me to survive.

That day, I had explored farther than any other crewman had dared. What I called “exploring” was really just tethering myself to the Vision, and then sending myself out into space, searching for any debris that could possibly extend rations or even send a message home. It was rare to find anything, and even rarer to find anything useful. I still searched, though. Avie was my drive. I thought of her every time I found a new part of the Vision, or whenever I came back from exploring empty-handed. Sometimes, the ever-present Andromeda’s swirling stars reminded me of how we used to dance, graceful and slow. Even among the few stray asteroids that always seemed to hang around the Vision, I still saw her face. God, I missed her.

There was about a mile left in my tether when I came upon a massive chunk of debris. It would be a hard one to bring back; it still spun and drifted away, maybe even faster than I could reach. I was determined, though. There would still be some energy left in its wires, perhaps enough to extend energy rations by a day. I approached with hesitation. If I made a wrong move, my tether could become entangled in the almost claw-like beams that stuck out of the debris. Keeping pace with it, I grabbed onto the debris and held on. I instantly began to spin, the stars swirling around me at an aggressive pace. It was painfully reminiscent of how the Vision used to spin, on and on until we finally stabilized it by briefly firing the one working thruster. Though the firing thrusters in my suit would have likely had the same effect, I wanted to conserve those for when I might actually need them. There were so many things that could go wrong out here. Instead, I tapped a glowing panel on my wrist, telling my tether to lock up. Eventually, the debris slowed and came to a stop. With the hard part out of the way, I could now see that it was a chunk of a deck, comprised of a walkway with railing, but no walls. I pulled myself on top of it, standing on the metal walkway. That was when I first truly saw it.

I had known there was something out there for a while. I had felt it watching, observing, and even seen it out of the corner of my eye. Before then, I even thought it was just madness setting in, even though Ida had brought it up a number of times. Now I knew, though. It was very real. It came up to me, distorting the space around it. It’s hard to describe it in mere words. I can only describe it now like… like staring into infinity. I could see galaxies tens of billions of light-years away. I could see worlds that no man had ever seen, just by looking at it. It was perfectly spherical, and absolutely massive. If you looked at it indirectly, it would seem as though space was warping around it. Looking at it directly would cause a feeling akin to vertigo, and you could see anything it wanted to show you. This creature is sentient. I know this because of the first word it spoke to me. It said “Leo”. It knows me.

Before last week, there had been only one other communication with this lifeform. Its surface became reflective, and I saw only myself, no stars around me. It said “lost,” most likely in reference to myself. It then floated off, towards Andromeda, repeating only one word: “follow”. Now, this week, something has happened that I can only describe as the Vision craft repairing itself. This, I suspect, is the real madness setting in. I have found more debris in my daily explorations than any of the four of us who were left behind combined. I can’t possibly hope to have the Vision completely repaired, but there is a chance I can get both the thrusters working once more. What I’m going to do after the food, water, and oxygen rations run out, I don’t know. All I do know is that I’m going to follow the lifeform, whom I have designated Avie. I have no hope of getting home anyway.

To the real Avie, the one at home, I love you. More than words can say. I hope this message will reach you in time for you to hear it. My last thoughts will be of you. You will always find me in the Andromeda galaxy.

I suppose I’d better go. The Vision’s systems just came online.

My name is Leo Sol Maxwill.
I have seen infinity.