This is not my usual format. My normal viewers know that. But the information I need to share has no time for pretty formating and flowery language. The truth demans an audience tonight, and I'll show you all that now.
15 years ago, my father, Daniel Speeter passed way. Many sources have called his death a suicide, and that's what it was officially called by coroners. But I've never believed that. I know my father. My father didn't drink alcohol, but more importantly, my father did not own a gun, and yet, no investigation was done into where that gun came from. Whether my dad shot himself or not (The latter), that gun must've come from outside of the house. I've believed since I was 11, and I believe now, that my father was murderer. Murderer to cover up the Sagittarius Incident.
To many of you, the Sagittarius Incident is an old hoax from over a decade ago. To me, it's been my whole life for over a decade. What was my father so close to finding that would warrant being murdered? Just what was he looking into? I can only recall one conversation, from right before my parents divorced. Something about NASA. The Big NASA happening atthe time? The Sagittarius incident. And so I set my sights on that.
When I went back to my father's old house, for the first time in some 16 years, I shed a tear. All I could smell was the blood on the floor, long gone. My father. I'll miss him forever. The things he could've accomplished if he was still alive. But I wasn't there to grieve him. I couldn't afford to, not now. My dad and I, when I was young, would always play hide and seek. But hide and seek is different when you're the son of a journalist who is not afraid to push back against the institutions that be. He would tell me, "This is where to hide if someone comes in the house who isn't me or your mother," or "This is where the baseball bats are, in case you need to defend yourself." And when I'd ask why we didn't have a gun, he'd tell me, "Guns invite disaster." Such simple words. Now they're all I think about. Specifically, hiding spot my father showed me underneath the loose floorboard of his bed. Peel the wood back, hop down and crawl just a tick to your right, and there, you'd find a box. "This is where we hide things we want no one to find." I couldn't understand what that meant back then. But it became clear to me when I turnd 16. But I couldn't go back then. Not when they could've still been watching me. So I bided my time. now 27, I was sure they'd be off me. So I peeled back the wood, hopped down, and crawled to my right. And what do you know? There, in that box, were papers on papers. Notes about the Sagittarius. Interviews with people I had heard of in passing. Piper Hopkins. Irene Shaw. Contact info for them. But most damning of all, were these documents located in the box.
If you have ever supported me, and even if you haven't, I implore you all to read those documents. To my knowledge, they are genuine NASA papers my dad had swiped before he cut his ties with NASA. Crammed into that box that was crammed into the floors that were crammed into that crammed old house on a crammed old street. There's an unbelievable amount of information in those documents that confirm the existence of the OV Sagittarius, that confirm there were 5 people on the ship, and those five people are dead ringers for our Lost Stars that are now gone forever because of NASA. Like stars, they yearned so hard to burn bright for so long, only to peter out. And the lack of care put into the document is astounding. Crewmember #5, who I suspect to be Lemmar Shaw, wasn't even given a number, and was cited to be highly intelligent, which they "didn't expect from him". It's ludacris. What I find to be the most interesting is the mention of the crew eating through their entire ration supply, and saying the food did not make them any less hungry. That hunger followed by the sickness induced by the cosmic flare, and then someone (Who we can assume to be Phillip Davenport) dying from a tear to the Carotid. Indivually those things are strange, but togther? They paint a wild picture. More than that though, it confirms the death of three of the 5 passengers, with two remaining. When looking at the context information, it becomes clear that the last two people alive on that ship were likely Maxwell Coates and Lemmar Shaw. Looking at the ending though reveals information that's even more confounding. The bodies of Coates and Shaw were never found, just a pool of blood in the pantry the men had resided in. Though it's redacted, it's clear to me from how they talk about the individual that the person they suspect to have lived was Lemmar Shaw, who killed Coates in an "Act of rage and delirium". This is all information never even postulated before, that the Incident did happen, and there was a survivor. It was thought inconceivable until now. But now... maybe there's home Lemmar Shaw is alive. Hiding, maybe. In fear, definitely. but alive.
I folded the documents and put them in my pocket, and the laid there, with the dirt and dust, until night fell and I felt it was safe to exit the hole. I would hold them. For now. Photocopying them right then and there, before I attended to everything I now needed to do would've been suicide. So I held them. I waited.
My next step? To try and contact the living family members of our Lost Stars. But none of them would answer. I can't blame them. They were probably just as scared as me. But one woman did respond to me; Piper Hokins. I flew out to South Dakota to meet with her and we talked. A long talk. She spoke to me about my father. Hearing about him from someone else like that, from someone like Mrs. Hopkins made me only aspire to be everything he was and more. I shared my findings with her and in return, she gave me something precious: Her daughters Diary. Why would someonme lie in a diary? That makes no sense. They wouldn't.
So the question remains: What Are Our Lost Stars? I truthfully can't say I know for sure. But someone does. And that's NASA.
I don't know what will happen to me now. But what I can do is give you this: The Diary of Jane Hopkins, transcribed onto an online blog. I did my best to do her justice. And I've done my best to report the truth to you all. Because to find the truth, we must be the truth.