They fought the good fight, but those infected with the virus proved too much of a match. Commander Griffon was the lone survivor. He’d lost his entire crew. He was now alone on a rock that was never meant to support human life. His rations had run out two days ago and he had maybe 24 hours of oxygen left. His thoughts turned to his children. Understandably once NASA got word of the virus they shut off all avenues of returning. He was now isolated on a rocky world. Solitary. Griffon wished they’d kept the SATCOM open so he could talk to his kids one last time. Just one last time, but the risk of him revealing the truth was not one they were prepared to take. Sure NASA would fabricate some story about a hydrogen leak that caused an explosion or something equally believable. The truth would never be made public. Ever. He could feel the virus taking hold. He was losing his identity. Losing focus. He wanted one last look at the Earth with his unobstructed eyes. He’d wait until North America was in view. Maybe his children were looking up at the same time. This gave him comfort.