Callisto, December 24th, 2099 C.E
An unexpected transmission disrupts the usual stillness at the Galilean Moon’s Earth Way Station — or GaMEWayS — on Callisto.
It’s an old Christmas tune.
“Last Christmas.”
Something from the late 20th century.
Not unusual in itself.
Except it’s coming from Callisto B59 — a decrepit outpost abandoned years earlier, after a catastrophic accident claimed the lives of nearly its entire crew.
The structure was officially condemned and severed from the power grid. It had no lights, no life support, and no breathable air.
And yet, somehow… it sings.
Most base crews are preparing to leave for a holiday break in nearby Europa, now a thriving winter tourism hub. Only a skeleton staff remains, including First-Class Astronaut Brad Johnson — a natural loner.
Brad isn’t interested in Europa’s snow resorts or ice-surfing parties. His colleagues often mock him for his hermit habits: holing up in his quarters to sleep, read, drink, or brood. While they flirt and gossip, Brad prefers silence.
So when the bizarre transmission starts, he volunteers to investigate, assuming it’s a glitch… or a prank by one of the younger engineers.
He climbs into a GAMEWayS rover and sets out across the frozen terrain—thirty miles of winding ice roads pocked with ancient craters.
It’s early evening, Callisto time.
Above him, Jupiter looms nearly full, a titan in the sky, casting long shadows over the ridges.
When Brad reaches Callisto B59, the place is as dead as expected—dark, silent, crumbling. Yet somehow, “Last Christmas” continues playing on his rover’s radio, as if drawn from the icy wind itself.
He suits up. There’s no atmosphere here, and inside the dome it’s even colder than the Callistan surface: –200°C.
He steps inside.
Everything is just as the report said—ruined and lifeless. The habitat is skeletal: shattered viewports, buckled walls, twisted steel, and a thick layer of frost covering every surface. The control room isn’t better: shattered cables, rusted consoles, furniture half-dissolved by time and cold.
The music persists, now filtering through his helmet’s comms.
He rechecks his instruments. No power. No signal source.
Frustrated, he turns to leave.
Last Christmas
That’s when he sees it.
A faint glow coming from the old crew quarters.
He walks through frozen rubble, stepping over warped frames and collapsed ductwork. The door is ajar. Light spills out — warm, golden glow.
Inside is a vision pulled straight from Earth, decades ago:
A lavish Christmas dinner table, laden with steaming food. Candles flicker. Pine garlands decorate the walls.
And standing beside a fireplace is a woman in an elegant evening gown.
She turns, smiling.
“Brad! I’ve been waiting for you.“
He stumbles back.
His voice catches in his throat.
“Lillian… I thought you were…”
“No. I’m not. Not anymore.”
She steps toward him, just as beautiful as he remembers her ten years ago. Her eyes gleam, and her presence radiates warmth.
They’d only been married six months before he was deployed to Deimos during the First Martian War. She, a civilian geologist, had remained on Callisto—until the accident at B59.
He’d never recovered from her loss.
Now here she was, smiling, radiant, whole.
“Take off your helmet, Brad,” she says.
“You don’t need it here.”
Days later, when the whole GaMEWayS crew returns from their Europa holiday, Brad is missing.
Eventually, they find him — unconscious in the base parking lot, soaked through, slumped over the controls of a battered rover.
His laser weapon lies beside him, its power completely drained.
He’s rushed to the infirmary.
It takes three days before he can sit up in bed.
Some colleagues visit, gently asking what happened.
Brad shrugs, exhausted, half-laughing.
“You know, Lillian hated that song,” he says.
“She loved me, truly… but ‘Last Christmas’? It’s about betrayal. A woman who takes a man’s heart only to break it the next day.”
He turns to the window.
Outside, the sun is just a speck in the blackness. Jupiter rises in the distance, majestic and silent. The icy plains stretch endlessly, silver under its faint light.
“No,” Brad murmurs.
“That thing couldn’t have been her.”
Read one more tale about Callisto here.
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