Well “good morning” to you too, guys! I see we’ve all just awakened from cryosleep. How long were we under? 57 years, you say? And how far are we from Earth? 23 light-years? Alright then, first things first: Exactly why did the ship’s computer awaken us? I see. We’re approaching a mysterious planet that meets all the criteria for sustaining life, and we have to suit up and investigate. Wait a minute [closes eyes], my training’s coming back to me now. I’m the captain of this ship, aren’t I? And you’re all waiting for me to make a decision, right? Well here it is: Captain says fuck this.

I’ll be cryosleeping through the rest of this space expedition, and I suggest you all do the same.

What’s that you say, Lieutenant Briggs? Now’s not the time to just lie around in cryobed all day, feeling sorry for myself? We’re picking up a distress signal from planet LG-186, and we must check it out? Well allow me to save you guys a lot of trouble, and tell you what that distress signal’s all about: Something’s really goddamned wrong on LG-186, and I think the last thing we should do is find out what it is. Look. We’re 138 trillion miles from home, people. We’re in alien territory, here. We’ve all heard stories about aliens. We know they’re out there. We know that most of them are just plain old terrifying. And in case you didn’t notice, that planet growing larger and larger in our ship’s bay window is basically just an ominous, swirling mass of storm clouds and lightning. Just looking at LG-186 is terrifying enough; I see no reason to go poking around to find out what terrifying shit is actually on it. Of all the reasons for a group of 13 deep-space travelers to be awakened from cryosleep, the sudden appearance of a sinister-looking, life-bearing alien world emitting human distress signals is just about the worst I can imagine. Being awakened by the ship’s computer so as to get a look at a breathtaking supernova lightshow outside our starboard-side windows? That’s my idea of a good reason to have my cryosleep interrupted. Being stirred from sleep to investigate the mysterious disappearance of 468 space colonists on LG-186? Really not feeling it, guys. If you are into that sort of thing, by all means, go right ahead, explore away. But I’ll be right here, catching up on my cryo-Zs.

Thanks, Private Frost, but no thanks. I won’t be needing that cup of coffee, because I don’t want to wake up any more than I already have. What I really need right now is to go back to cryosleep and pretend that I was never awakened to this goddamned nightmare-waiting-to-happen.

Officer Samara, as always, you look exceedingly sexy in that space suit, and I appreciate your invitation for me to get out of this cryobed and join you in your bunk for some “good old-fashioned sleep," but I see that for exactly what it is: an attempt to seduce me ever closer to that terrifying alien world. And let’s be honest: You probably have some sort of plan to smuggle one of those alien babies back aboard the ship, either for some sort of financial gain, or due to your cold, logical conclusion that the alien creatures are beautiful in their perfection as killing machines, since it will turn out that you’re actually an android devoid of all compassion.

If the rest of you observe Officer Samara, you’ll see that she’s now sweating white liquid latex. I just cut your revelation wait-time by 45 minutes, guys. You’re welcome. Now if one of you would be so kind as to hit my cryosleep button, I’d appreciate it. Another 57 years should do it.

Officer Tripp, I understand your concern that my desire to cryosleep right through the next half-century and hide from the alien world is classic avoidance behavior, but I disagree that it’s a sign of depression, and I will not go to the ship’s automated pharmacy to get an autodiagnosis for antidepressant capsules. What you call “depression” and “alien world anxiety” I call a “realistic outlook on a goddamned death planet that would be better slept through than seen.”

Look. I’ll tell you what we should do: calm down, take a deep breath, hold off on this LG-186 thing, cryosleep on it, and see where we are in another 57 years, because I know we can do better than this distress-signal bullshit.

If you guys still insist on heading out, do me a favor and send a distress signal out for this ship before you go, because I know one of you morons is going to end up carrying that alien or alien baby and or alien virus back aboard this ship one way or another, and I’d like to have some human backup around when I wake up for the sequel.