Mankind Diaspora

[rKlehm]

Chapter 01 – Awake

My lungs were full of the perfluorocarbon-based substance that triggered the "I'm drowning" instinct. In reality, it was the opposite; the substance transported more oxygen and CO2 than blood itself. This stuff in my lungs was actually more efficient than breathing the purest air.

Unfortunately, filling my lungs with the damn liquid was only the beginning of the horror. Purging it was even worse. Air was being forced into my lungs by hoses, but instead of the relief of a breath of fresh air after a dive, the process felt like drowning in reverse: invasive, aggressive, and humiliating. This is what I trained for, though, and was the only known way to survive a cryogenic chamber.

"I hate this shit…" I thought.

My vision swirled in a haze as the pumps expelled the perfluorocarbon, leaving behind a lingering disorientation. My tongue was fuzzy with the unpleasantly familiar taste of cryo drugs, and the numb sensation throughout my body only added to my disorientation.

The light in the chamber was purposely dim, becoming more intense as my pupils adjusted to their task. The interior of the chamber was like an inverted balloon, with me in the center being crushed from all sides. The intent of this design was to keep the body static during the centuries-long sleep, as well as provide localized contractions and cramps to circulate blood and prevent muscle atrophy. As I awoke, the chamber deflated, giving me some space for brief movements

Despite the prefix "cryo-", the temperature inside the chamber was pleasant. The computer had raised the temperature to a warm twenty-four degrees Celsius before I woke up. The inner surfaces of the chamber were sticky and gooey. I remembered some training colleagues joking that the sensation was like some kind of fetish about being swallowed, and as much as I tried, I never found a better way to describe it.

The chamber continued to deflate, which allowed me to articulate my upper limbs with a greater degree of freedom. However, I was still completely locked from the waist down.

"Shouldn't I be waking up with the ship still in free fall?" I mumbled, still groggy and vocal cords rigid. I still had a lot of cryogenic drugs in my bloodstream.

I stretched my arm to reach the terminal's power button in front of me, a small screen the size of a tablet. The screen began to show the familiar sequence of logs while booting up, ending with the minimalist logo displaying the name Genesis IX, or GIX as we nicknamed it. It was the ninth ship in a sequence of thirty. The result of a joint effort of all nations in the solar system to colonize new stars and establish a lasting presence on other planets.

Despite all the things to mitigate muscle atrophy, I felt as if I had an anvil tied to my fist. It was like in one of those dreams where you're facing some bully, but your punches have no strength or impact, no matter how hard you try to hit him.

"Damn, it wasn't that hard during training" I thought. "And we still complained about the 'half-pump' drugs, that was a park walk compared to this."

But then again, all the training I did was for a maximum of a few months. This time, if everything went right, I should have been in cryogenics for about 150 years. The screen still stared at me, displaying my name, Frederico de Almeida and role of Maintenance Engineer while impatiently awaiting input. I had to focus.

Fighting against the weight of my own arm, I forced myself to follow the standard procedure, clicking on the [Blood Diagnostics] button. The report pointed to expected deviations; hypokalemia and hypocalcemia, and an elevated level of creatine phosphokinase. All known problems of cryogenics, and not easily controlled by the chamber's systems. The main symptoms were weakness, drowsiness, and motor difficulties, definitely what I was feeling.

I continued the struggle to keep my arm touching the terminal. On the next screen I clicked on [Cardiovascular Diagnostics]. Several metrics were abnormal when compared to a person in normal conditions, but two things jumped into my eyes. My heart rate and blood pressure were much higher than normal.

"Could these changes be due to the effort I'm making to keep my arm extended?" I thought. "This is completely insane, my muscles are totally fucked."

The blurry vision was already clearing up. It was clear enough for me to notice the incessant trembling of my muscles. Deltoids, biceps, triceps, and everything else quaked with effort.

Those once pleasant twenty-four degrees Celsius now made me sweat like an old mop. Panting, tired, but not defeated, I decided to continue operating the terminal. This time the chosen button was [Instrument Panel].

"Holy shit!" I found the strength and vocal cords to shout. I could hardly believe the reading: 2.7 g's of downward acceleration. "This is why I can't keep my own arm weight."

"This is not possible, it can't be possible, how are we accelerating at almost thirty meters per second squared?" I questioned myself. "Okay, this is bad, really bad. I needed to find some explanation for this" I thought. I ended up formulating three scenarios.

First scenario: I was no longer in space, but landed on a planet instead. This planet would need a gravitational acceleration of 2.7 g's. However, our destination was the TRAPPIST-1 system and none of the seven planets there has more than 1.2 g's of surface gravity. Which means that if I landed on some planet, this planet was not in TRAPPIST-1. Yeah, this scenario was very unlikely, I dare say impossible.

Second scenario: The GIX has two counter-rotating rings that produce 0.35 g's of artificial gravity. The cryogenic capsules should stay in these rings for most of the journey. Just before waking up, they should be moved to the GIX's spine where I should be at this moment. However, if some failure had occurred that caused the rings to spin out of control, the chambers could have remained stuck in the rings. This makes much more sense than having landed on some planet... Depending on how severe the damage was, maybe I could even survive. I liked this scenario quite a lot.

Third scenario: Very close to the second. But the failure did not occur in the rings, but in one of the pressurized tanks. Depending on the type of rupture, this could cause a very high acceleration for a short period of time. The GIX's helium-3 and deuterium nuclear fusion reactor would never reach 2.7 g's. But with a considerable large burst or leak, this could be possible.

I spent more time than I should thinking about all this. I did the calculations in my head. It would have been much easier to use a spreadsheet on my terminal, but just imagining how much effort it would take, I gave up. Anyway these were just speculations and there was no point in wasting more time on this, the priority was to get out of the capsule as quickly as possible. But, before that, it was necessary to complete the waking procedure.

I went through some screens and buttons. I will never be able to express my gratitude to my instructor who hammered these procedures into the folds of my brain. Every millisecond less that I spent with my arms extended counted a lot.

I finally got to the sanity checks; the atmosphere outside was within the expected parameters, the integrity of the chamber was apparently perfect. All the green balls indicating "ok" lit up. I stretched my index finger like in Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam. I pressed the [Start] button. My arms fell in relaxation when a flood of dopamine took over my brain after the successful task. I was even smiling, as I felt the drops of sweat wandering through the cavities of my face.

The joy didn't last long, much less than I would have liked. The progress bar froze at three percent. A few seconds later I was ironically graced by a pop-up informing that the procedure had been nullified by another user.

"What the hell is this!" I shouted, cursing again.

Frustrated and enraged, I gathered another handful of willpower and started the process again. My snarling teeth were a mixture of hatred, anger, and a coping laugh for all the stress that was taking over me. This time I hadn't even reached the [Start] button, someone had knocked me off the system again. Continuing to insist on this was stupid, I could barely lift my arm. I was very tired and someone was actively blocking me from the system.

"Well, it can only be some other crew member, he must be doing this for my own good, right?" I thought, trying to convince myself that things were still under control.

Suddenly the acceleration stopped, the drops of sweat that before ran voraciously down my face now floated inside the chamber. I felt like Rock Lee when releasing the training weights.

That's when it hit me. "Since the acceleration stopped, then I can't be landed on a planet. Thank goodness, this would be the most bizarre alternative of all." I thought.

"It stopped suddenly, without any deceleration or abrupt shock, which also rules out the hypothesis of the uncontrolled gravity ring. Therefore, the only explanation I can imagine is scenario three." I still hadn't decided how much I was liking that information, but the only thing I was sure of is that I was screwed.

There was something else too. Due to my inebriation after waking up from cryogenics I hadn't noticed, but there was a very loud noise before. Now that it stopped and I could appreciate the silence, it became very clear that it had been bothering me all this time. But the silence didn't last long.

I heard a muffled hiss and a sharp, metallic click as the thruster fired. The most interesting thing wasn't even the noise, but the slight push to the left that I felt in sync. A few seconds later a push of the same intensity and direction, but in the opposite direction, to the right. A few more moments and another push, this time coming from behind. This was obviously some kind of Reaction Control System, or RCS for short, used for maneuvering in space.

The past minutes were quite boring. Every once in a while I felt a new push to break the monotony. My access to the terminal had been completely revoked and I was still trapped from the waist down. There was literally nothing to do but create far-fetched theories about what the hell was going on.

 

[rKlehm]

Chapter 02 – Escape

A rumble from outside woke me up. Yeah, I had spent over 100 years sleeping and managed to doze off again, such was the boredom I was enduring. The sound seemed to come from the external surface of the chamber, but since everything was made of metal, the direction of the sound could easily deceive the senses.

It would help a lot if the chambers had windows. But ironically, I was one of the engineers on the team that wanted the capsules without windows. The argument was that: Since whoever was inside the capsule would be sleeping during the trip. The only benefit of a window would be for an emergency situation. And since in an emergency situation the chance of survival was minimal, it didn't make sense to spend precious kilograms on such windows. I should have imagined that one day I would be inside one of these capsules, awake, with someone making noises outside.

After some taps, bumps, drags, and what sounded like hammering, I began to hear a noise similar to a drill. It was clear that someone was trying to open the capsule. It would be much easier if they let me open it from the inside, using the terminal, as it had been designed open. However, the fact that they were clearly going through a lot of trouble to open the capsule makes me believe that this wasn't the GIX crew. They would know how to open the capsule from the outside in an emergency situation. I thought about preparing for the worst, assuming a fighting stance or something like that. But I soon surrendered to the fact that I was trapped, and whatever they wanted with me, for better or worse, I wouldn't be able to defend myself.

✹✸✶✸✹​

Finally, they finished loosening all the screws. This time there wasn't even a chance to take a third nap, the drill wouldn't stop disturbing me. The front part of the chamber began to move, very slowly. Before I could see anything, the intense light from outside penetrated through the cracks and almost blinded me. I instinctively put my hands in front of my face.

"Hello? Who's there? What's happening?" I inquired like a machine gun of questions.

"Calm down, Mr. Almeida, don't make sudden movements, everything will be alright." A male voice came from outside, it had a familiar accent and sounded like someone younger than me.

"How do you know my name?"

"It's written on the outside of the chamber. Are you feeling well, sir?"

"I just went through almost 3 g's with muscle atrophy and high on cryogenics." I didn't intend to be rude, but I worried that I sounded ungrateful.

"Yes, I'll ask you to forgive us for the stress we caused. We'll explain everything to you soon, but for now, we need to make sure you're fit to evacuate."

The chamber lid was almost completely removed. I was amazed by how quickly pupils can adapt, as it was already possible to render an image of the subject in front of me. There was a round face, with arched eyebrows conveying a natural sympathy. I couldn't imagine how that face could express a feeling of sadness or hatred with those eyebrows. His skin had the hue of autumn leaves, a warm blend of bronze and deep gold.

"Why are you wearing a spacesuit?" I asked.

"I know you have many questions, and believe me, I'm eager to answer, but now is not the time," he said in a hurry. "We need to get you out of here as quickly as possible, do you think you can get into a spacesuit?"

"I can" I replied promptly, I really wanted to ask more questions, but I understood that this was an emergency.

He began typing some commands on a screen on his wrist. Soon after the chamber began to deflate completely, releasing my legs. I was betrayed by the expectation of supporting my weight on them. Having been tied to the chamber, I had forgotten that we were in 0 g.

"Easy, take it slow," he said.

"I don't seem to have many choices." I tried to be funny, but I may have sounded like I was complaining again. "Where's the suit I should wear?"

The young man turned and pulled out a black suit, with red details and a logo showing a red star and seven planets.



"TRAPPIST-1?" I guessed.

"Yes, we are from TrapNat," he answered. Seeing my look of confusion, he quickly clarified, "The Alliance of United Trappist Nations. TN or TrapNat for short."

"Wow, nations?" I thought. I had left the solar system to start colonization, and they already had nations in TRAPPIST-1. I definitely wanted to ask him many things.

"Here, this is an emergency model, it's one size fits all and should be just fine in your body," he finished.

I took the suit and began the procedure of putting it on, using what I had learned in my training. Which proved to be completely unnecessary. Putting this thing on was as easy as putting on pajamas before bed. Taking advantage of the lack of gravity. I threw my legs through the upper opening, pulled the suit up to my waist, and put on the arms. There were several loose areas, but this problem was solved when the young man pulled on a tab attached to the outside. The inner fabric clung to my body. The hinges for elbows, knees and shoulders self-adjusted to my dimensions and stiffened. I was impressed with the technology, it was much better than spending long and precious minutes carefully adjusting the dimensions of the "fits-all" we had on the GIX.

"Perfect, now the helmet." He said.

I put it on, it was a glass dome with reinforced material on the back of the head. I tried to rotate it clockwise, as usual, but without success. The young man noticed my failed attempt and helped me screw it counterclockwise.

"Can I at least know your name?" I asked, not knowing if he could hear me properly because of the helmet.

He put on his helmet too, took my left hand and typed some commands on the wrist screen, then I heard a hiss in my ear.

"Radio comms from here on. What did you say?" He asked. We were using a radio, but it sounded like he was literally right next to me. Finally someone had solved that horrible static.

"I asked your name, I don't know what to call you." I repeated the question.

"First Lieutenant Gulliver."

"Lieutenant? First Lieutenant?" I thought. These were military ranks. We had abandoned military ranks in the Genesis missions, they no longer made sense for civilian ships. I thought it best not to question, clearly there were a lot of things different from when I left, I just nodded.

Now that I could take a calmer look at the room we were in, I could recognize the environment. It was the GIX's decompression chamber. I couldn't say for sure if it was the front or the back, but that didn't matter much as Gulliver was already reaching for the decompression button. Red lights swept the interior of the chamber in a rotating motion. My suit showed an interface projected on the helmet visor, indicating a sixty-second countdown.

"What happened to the rest of the crew?" I asked, as we waited for the cover to open.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Almeida... But you're the first we've been able to rescue alive."

"But what happened? Are there still people inside the capsules?"

"There was an explosion in the ship's spinal column, where the cryogenic chambers were located. We tried to get here before that happened, but we arrived too late."

"But then we can't abandon the ship yet! There are still people alive in there, damn it!" I shouted angrily. I fought the urge to turn around then and there.

"Calm down, please stay calm. We have three other rescue teams operating here. Unfortunately each team can only rescue one person at a time," he tried to explain. "Please understand, we don't have much time and more explosions will happen at any moment! You are the first we've managed to rescue. The more time I spend explaining, the less time we'll have to rescue the others."

He was right. I was in good physical and mental condition, it wasn't fair that I spent rescue time satisfying my curiosity.

"I don't see any kind of EMU," I inquired resolutely, but with a lump in my throat from the whole situation. The GIX had an Extravehicular Mobility Unit, but not near this part of the craft, and it wasn't rated for two users.

"We won't need an EMU, we have cables anchored between Genesis IX and the Peregrina. we'll tie our lifelines to the anchorage and climb."

"What is Peregrina? I've never heard of it." I commented. It wasn't just curiosity, I was about to perform a climb in the vacuum of space, this was crucial information for the briefing.

"That makes sense. She came into operation about 20 years ago, she's a Freedom-class light frigate of the Trappist Alliance." He explained.

The ship's nomenclature left no more doubt, he was talking about a military vehicle.

The countdown reached zero. The hatch in front of us began to open slowly, converting the confinement of the metal room into an immensity of stars in the black void of the sky. I had more than two hundred hours logged in Extravehicular Activities, or EVA for short. I was already a seasoned veteran. However the first few seconds when you're completely loose in space are always nauseating. Our brain is used to the parallax effect, when objects that are closer seem to move faster than those that are very distant. The thing is, in space there's nothing close, everything is very, very distant, this ties our neurons in knots.

I followed Gulliver out of the GIX and attached my lifeline to a support on the external surface. As soon as I left the decompression chamber, I had a vision that seemed to have come out of some distant future space opera. Four black-hulled ships were anchored to the GIX by a steel cable about two or three kilometers long. My suit's onboard computer identified the ships and created a pop-up with a zoom on them, revealing that they were covered with what looked like metal plates forming an armored hull. The ships' designs were angled like those of a tank or warship. Two articulated turrets were fixed on each ship, one on the top and one on the bottom, in addition to various antennas and gadgets that I couldn't say what were.


View in 3D: Sketchfab

"Okay, do you see the anchorage point?" Gulliver asked, pointing to a steel ring near one of the cables leading to the ships.

"Yes, I do."

"Perfect, we'll need to move over there and then we'll climb to the Peregrina, agreed?"

"Understood."

"Do you feel secure enough for us to make this crossing separately? It will be much faster this way."

"We can go."

Gulliver made an "okay" sign with his hands. Attached the lifeline to a ring and headed in the direction we needed to go, I followed right behind. I was amazed at the agility of this suit he gave me. I had practically the same mobility as if I were wearing heavy cold weather clothes, which is excellent when compared to the suits we had on the GIX. Honestly, even if I had never had any experience with EVAs before, I would still make this crossing easily.

We reached the steel cable that led to the Peregrina. Gulliver and I followed the plan, attaching our lifelines to the anchorage cable and began climbing. Well, we were using the term "climb" for lack of a better verb, in space there is no "down" and no "up", we were in free fall. All it took was a few pushes and the laws of physics would do the rest—Newton's first law of motion; "A body remains at rest, or in motion at a constant speed in a straight line, except insofar as it is acted upon by a force." As there was neither gravity nor air resistance, there was no external force, with each stroke we gave on the cable, the speed only increased.

When we gained some altitude in the climb, I could have a better view of the GIX. It wasn't intimidating like the war bricks that were tied to it. Quite the contrary, the external surface was white and with some points covered by insulating materials. The two gravitational rings were right in front, just behind the dust and deep space radiation shields. At the back, a column made of truss steel separated the habitable part from the fuel tanks. Right behind the fuel tanks was another shield, this time to protect the ship from the radiation produced by the engine. All this I was already used to seeing. Now what gave me chills and made me freeze for a few moments was the number of holes it had in the hull. It looked like the poor thing had been devoured by moths. In addition to the thousands of holes, the metal panels of a good part of the spinal section were torn off. Probably due to the explosion that Gulliver had mentioned.

The speed indicator already marked fifty meters per second, more than ten times the normal speed of an EVA. When I saw Gulliver stop getting momentum I felt relieved and stopped too. I took advantage of the fact that I wasn't making any effort and took a look at the stars. TRAPPIST-1 was relatively close to the solar system, so most of the constellations were still recognizable. Not that I knew them by heart, but at least I remembered the most famous ones; Southern Cross, Orion, Canis Major and Aquarius.

As I always lived in South America, I'm used to having to identify the shape of the constellations upside down. However, at that moment this would be a little more complex. I didn't know my orientation relative to earth's equator, so the constellations could be in any random orientation. I was looking for the constellation of Aquarius, in which I knew TRAPPIST-1 would be nearby. I wanted to see how close I was to my final destination.

It wasn't a difficult task. I found a red-hot point of light, shining very brightly, and that I had never seen before in the sky. Soon after I could recognize the constellation of Aquarius rotated about forty-five degrees from what I was used to observing it. Without a doubt that red-hot point was TRAPPIST-1, a low-luminosity red dwarf. Which means that the only explanation for me observing it so intensely is that I was very close to it.

"We need to hurry, let's get more momentum!" Gulliver spoke over the radio while giving a few more pushes on the rope.

"Wait!" I shouted, but tried to keep up with him so as not to fall behind. "We're already going too fast!"

"I know, but we need to get out of here immediately, we're out of time!"

"And the rest of the crew?"

"Mr. Almeida, I'm sorry, but there's no more time, we need to get out of here now!"

I seriously thought about turning back and trying to go back to save the rest of the crew. But when I looked back and saw GIX in that state, I forced myself to make a logical decision. I didn't know what was about to happen. But if Gulliver was willing to risk his life to get off this cable like that,then it must be something very bad. I'll never know if I would have made any difference if I had gone back.

I tried to keep up with Gulliver's pace, but he had an impeccable physique. Each push he gave had almost twice the momentum of mine. We continued to stroke like two Olympic swimmers, Gulliver noticing that I wasn't able to keep up slowed down a bit. When I looked at the Peregrina, my suit's onboard computer projected a target on the ship's hull with a label.

[IMMINENT IMPACT - LETHAL RISK]
Relative Speed: 136.7 m/s (492.1 km/h)
Distance to Impact: 831.4 m
Estimated Time to Impact: 6.1 seconds​

"Let's start braking! Hold the steel cable with the palm of your hand." Gulliver shouted.

"Are you sure? Won't that destroy the suit?" I questioned.

"This suit you're wearing is much more resistant than those on the GIX. But yes, the suit will be destroyed, and we have no other choice."

I grabbed the steel cable with both hands and pressed as hard as I could, it wasn't enough to match Gulliver's grip. He was braking much faster than I was, which made me bump into him. Apparently, he was already expecting something similar. He was in a posture that allowed him to absorb the shock. From that moment on we started to brake as one, I continued squeezing as hard as I could. But I barely could see any debris coming out of my gloves, whereas Gulliver's were turning to dust. If we continued at that pace, soon he would be breaking with his own flesh.

I pulled myself close to the cable and passed it under my right arm, wrapping my arm around the cable to maximize contact area. Immediately, I began to feel the vibration and heat burning my arm. Clearly, the rest of the suit wasn't made to withstand as much friction as the palms. I achieved a better braking coefficient than Gulliver. Most likely because he was reducing the intensity of his grip to avoid losing his hands. I started to fall behind since I was braking more than him.

"Squeeze harder, I'll hold you with my legs," I said.

I could see another jet of debris being expelled from his glove, which was enough for us to collide again. This time, I was prepared for the encounter. I had raised and opened my legs, forming a sort of clamp. When we collided, I locked my legs around his waist and intertwined my arm with the steel cable as much as I could.

We crashed against the hull of the Peregrina at about five meters per second. It was quite a shock, and I'll surely have many bruises the next day, but what matters is that we were alive.

"My suit is screwed, I'm losing one-tenth of a percent of oxygen per second," I said.

"I'm more screwed than that. Let's get inside quickly," he replied.

Now looking at the Peregrina up close, I could estimate that it was about twenty-something meters long and four or five meters wide. Judging by all this stuff on the outside, I imagine the usable space inside is tiny. My suspicion took even more shape when I saw the airlock hatch—it was a hole less than a meter in diameter.

"The airlock only allows one person to enter at a time. In normal situations, I'd put you in first and go after. But I'll be out of oxygen in a few seconds, so you'll need to memorize the procedure," he said, clearly out of breath.

I observed carefully, it wasn't difficult: Turn some locks, pull the hatch, enter the chamber, close it, and exit on the other side. Well, I had to trust what he told me about the last steps since I couldn't see anything after he closed the hatch. My oxygen levels were low, but I still had a few minutes left. I waited patiently for the indicator light to turn green before starting the procedure.

It turned green, I entered the chamber and was surprised again by the size of the ship. It's a good thing I was in 0 g because it was only about one hundred and twenty centimeters tall. There was no way for an adult to stand up there.

The chamber filled with air and I opened the inner hatch. As soon as I poked my head inside the ship, I could see its entire interior. It was about the same internal space that the pilots of the Apollo missions had when the modules were docked. It was hard for me to understand why. After all, the GIX seemed like a five-star hotel compared to the so-called futuristic Peregrina.

That's when I remembered that Gulliver had mentioned this was a light frigate. They probably crammed it with weapons, missiles, and who knows what else. And forgot they'd need humans in here to operate all this stuff. A terrible example of military engineering, I hated it.

"Welcome aboard the Peregrina," Gulliver greeted me, extending his hand with the completely destroyed glove.

"Thank you," I tried not to seem ungrateful again.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Almeida. I'm Cirakari, the Commander of the Peregrina," introduced a woman in her forties. Her skin as pale and dry as a sheet of paper. A sharp face with prominent cheekbones, whitish blonde hair, and eyes as black as obsidian. I had never seen a human with such a distinct appearance, but not in a bad way—she had an exotic beauty, similar to an elf from Tolkien's novels.

"Pleasure, Commander," I replied.

"I apologize for the circumstances, but we need to hurry. Please, secure yourself to one of the stretchers on the rear bulkhead. We need to get out of here as quickly as possible," she ordered, pointing to the back of the ship.

"With all due respect, Commander, but what about the rest of the crew? We can't abandon them," I pleaded.

"If we don't leave here within the next thirty seconds, not even we will survive. We don't have time to save anyone else. Get in the stretcher."

"Thirty seconds?" I thought, a knot forming in my throat.

The stretchers were clearly improvised, tied to questionable support points. From back there, I didn't have much of a view of the control panels. But I could see that there were four officers distributed among five seats forming a circle. Imagining the ship as a two-story house, I was lying on my back on the ground floor, and they were "laying" in seats with their backs towards the floor on the second floor, with the ship's engines in the basement. The design made a lot of sense. When activating the engines, the acceleration produced by them in this orientation would simulate the acceleration of gravity on a planet. Eliminating the need for gravitational rings while the engines were running. The only downside to this whole story is that it's practically impossible to keep an engine with decent acceleration running for a long period of time. At least that's how it was in my time.

"Everyone ready?" Cirakari shouted from her seat.

"Yes," we answered in a disorganized and unsynchronized chorus.

There was no further warning, not even a phrase; she simply touched the panel. A noise of pumps, actuators, and whatever else took over the interior of the Peregrina, and as if in an explosion, we began to accelerate. I have no idea how many g's we were accelerating, but without a doubt, it was more than the 2.7 g's I felt inside the cryogenic chamber. At least this time I was lying down; my only job was to keep breathing and not pass out.

I couldn't understand exactly what was happening. The four officers were fiercely exchanging information in a language full of military jargon. The ship was accelerating in intermittent bursts of very high-g. Additionally, the crew occasionally subjected us to equally high rotational acceleration, as if they were dodging something.

"We were in combat…" It struck me.

A cold sweat broke out on my forehead as the ship's violent acceleration slammed me into the stretcher. My stomach lurched, and I felt a surge of panic rising from deep within. I had no idea what was happening, and the only thing I could think about was: I'm soon going to die. This wasn't just a simple evacuation, it was a desperate flight for survival. And as the g-forces pressed me into the floor, I couldn't help but wonder if we'd make it out alive.

I was trying to find some way to understand what was happening when I found a slightly reflective metal surface. It reflected enough for me to see the image of the GIX on one of the crew member's panels. In one frame, it was there, damaged, but graceful and elegant as it always was. In the next, a barrage of projectiles turned it into a grave, shattered into a million pieces. I'm not very religious, but whatever deity governs our universe, I ask that it have mercy on all those who couldn't be saved.

 

[rKlehm]

Chapter 03 – Run

"Brace for impact!" Cirakari shouted. Not that there was much I could do.

Just as it had happened with the GIX, in a fraction of seconds, we heard explosions coming from outside. It was like molten steel drops had been raining on one of those warehouse roofs made of zinc, deafening and disorientating. The Peregrina's armor resisted most of the impacts, but five of them tore through the ship faster than I could process.

I was knocked out for a few milliseconds after the impact. The first thing I noticed when I regained consciousness was the hissing of air leaking through the glowing red-hot holes left by the projectiles. The second thing I could comprehend was that I was drenched in an astonishing amount of blood. I ran my hands over my body to check if it was mine, and thankfully, it wasn't. When I looked up to the upper deck, I saw the deformed body of one of the officers. The projectile had entered through his right shoulder with such energy that the entire shoulder region was pushed into his own body. The arm had fallen near where I was lying. With every acceleration, more blood drained from his body. I hadn't even seen his face when I entered the ship, much less known his name, but may he find peace in the afterlife.

"Stop accelerating, I'll try to seal the holes!" I shouted after the shock effect wore off.

"Ok." Cirakari replied. "The repair kits are marked and signaled, can you find them?"

"Yes! I found them," I replied while grabbing the nearest repair case.

I opened the case and found tools I'd never seen before. Inside, I found what looked like a futuristic hot glue gun, some metal plates, and a device resembling a barcode reader. I didn't have time to read the manual, so I followed my instincts.

I brought one of the metal plates close to the hole and the air suction stuck the metal to the structure. I took the "glue gun" and pulled the trigger. A thick, silvery substance came out of the tip and infiltrated the small cracks that remained between the plate and the ship's inner hull.

"Did I do it right?" I shouted to the rest of the crew.

"Yes, it's great," replied the third officer, whose name I still didn't know.

From time to time, the ship made evasive maneuvers. Sometimes Cirakari warned before pulling the joystick, but there wasn't always time for that. She threw the joystick hard to the right, the RCS screamed angrily as the ship spun on its own axis. I felt like a hamster that put too much speed on the wheel and ended up being carried with it.

"Holy shit, they got the Avenger and the Jiùxīng." Gulliver screamed, I figured that those were the names of the other ships involved in the rescue. More unknown souls that passed away in this crazy nightmare.

"More projectiles incoming!" Cirakari shouted.

I barely managed to grab hold before another barrage slammed into the ship. This time, fortunately, the armor held up better. Stunned by the sound and vibrations, I held my breath, but no new holes opened up.

"Strike 1!" Gulliver shouted. "Strike 2! The hostile has been neutralized."

✹✸✶✸✹​

I collapsed on the floor, letting my body do its work now that the adrenaline was decreasing. The three remaining officers got up. Cirakari knelt beside the fallen officer.

"Mankind sends their regards, Louis." She whispered, wiping a tear from her eyes.

"Are we safe?" I asked.

"Yes, for a few more days at least," she replied.

"I'm sorry about him," I said, still panting.

"He died protecting humanity. We have no choice."

"I wish I could say I understand what you're saying, but honestly, I have no idea... When I left Earth, we had just signed an agreement for the non-militarization of space. And now that I wake up from cryogenics, TRAPPIST-1 is already colonized and there's a war happening to protect humanity?" I finally had to ask; there were no more excuses to postpone this moment.

"Gulliver, take us back to the Broodmother," Cirakari ordered. "I have to talk with Mr. Almeida."

She jumped from the upper floor onto a platform, then came down and sat beside me. We both stared at the bulkhead splattered with blood and decorated with my poorly made patches.

"I hope all this was worth it," she said.

"But why? What happened?"

"To be quite honest, I was hoping you could explain," she exhaled and turned her head from side to side, relaxing the tension in her neck. "About twenty years ago we started detecting retrograde burns from ships like yours. We thought it was another attack by the Overseers, but we quickly realized those ships were being deliberately destroyed."

"Overseers?"

"Yes, don't you know who the Overseers are?" She was genuinely surprised.

"I have no idea."

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her chin up in a suspicious look. "The aliens who subjugated the human race," she said like a kindergarten teacher telling a child not to eat modeling clay.

"You're kidding, right?" I replied with a sarcastic laugh.

"I think you're the one who's kidding," she replied, with a serious expression gradually turning to anger.

"I've never heard of any aliens, I swear."

"Where did you come from?"

"From Earth. I boarded Genesis IX to colonize TRAPPIST-1."

"I think you're late," she mumbled. "How long ago did you leave Earth?"

"150 years," I said. We stared at each other in silence for a few seconds.

"So the Overseers didn't exist on Earth 150 years ago?" She finally broke the silence.

"No, we had no knowledge of them," I explained. "How many other ships have been destroyed?"

"Eight," she closed her eyes for a moment. Then sniffled and raised her eyebrows before speaking again. "We decided to rescue your ships after the Overseers destroyed the third one. We failed in all attempts. You're the first person we've managed to rescue."

"That high-g burn on the GIX, that was you?" I asked.

"Yes, we were burning towards your ship when their first interceptor arrived and fired against the Genesis IX. We managed to take it down and attach the anchors. Then we did another burn to avoid the next wave of attackers and started the rescue," she explained. "We soon discovered that the computer automatically woke the crew. The only way to avoid creating complete chaos was to keep everyone locked in their chambers. That was why we blocked you out of the terminal."

"When I joined the colonization efforts, I had already made peace with the fact that I would leave everything I ever knew behind. The crew of the GIX and the other Genesis were the only people I had left," I said in regret.

"I'm sorry to hear that, I can't even imagine how you must be feeling right now," she tried to comfort me.

"What do these Overseers look like?" I asked.

"Does it make any difference?" She asked in a somewhat rude tone. "I'm sorry, this isn't your fault," she apologized, shaking her head. "But this is a sensitive topic and a cause of discord within A.U.T.N. We've never seen them. They communicate through digital avatars; we have no idea what they look like."

"And what about those interceptors you mentioned, did you never manage to capture one?"

"Not exactly. Fights in space tend to turn ships into a deadly cloud of debris, but we've managed to fetch a few for studies," she paused briefly. "The thing is; the ships are operated by humans serving the Overseers, as far as we know, they never actually came to TRAPPIST-1."

"So, are you saying that humanity back on Earth just accepted vassalage to an alien race? Seems really far-fetched to me."

"Don't forget that you have been a popsicle for the past 150 years."

"If humanity was subjugated by the Overseers, how is A.U.T.N independent?"

"Independent?" Cirakari let out a fake laugh of disdain. "The first colonies of Vielovento were created by humans loyal to the Overseers. But in the first few years problems with food rationing and water transport from Emerald led to an independence war. The war against the Overseers' loyalists quickly expanded to a fight between the colonies themselves."

"It seems like humans haven't changed," I added.

"The Overseers were quickly defeated. They had just a small contingency and the forty light years of distance from Earth made it impossible to resist the rebellion," she finished. "But that was a long time ago, since your ships started closing on TRAPPIST-1, so did the Overseer's interceptors. Worse than that, four years ago we detected an Armada with four antimatter-powered cruisers. These recent attacks were so shocking that the nations of TRAPPIST-1 stopped fighting each other and formed the A.U.T.N. We're not truly independent; we're more like quarrelsome rebels."

"What are Vielovento and Emerald?"

"The F and E planets, respectively. We thought it better to give them names instead of letters."

"You said their cruisers are powered by antimatter?"

"Yes, all Overseer's ships are powered by antimatter."

"So that's how you colonized TRAPPIST-1 long before we even arrived. When we left Earth, we only had access to nuclear fusion engines; antimatter was still science fiction stuff."

"And it's because of these antimatter engines that the Armada will arrive here at TRAPPIST-1 in the coming weeks," she concluded.

"I'm sorry, I wish I could help somehow, but I have no idea how I can be useful."

"Well... That's a shame," she said as she stood up. "The 'Alliance' part of the A.U.T.N is fragmented. We invested a lot in these rescue missions. If you add up all our losses, it must have exceeded ten percent of the fleet, not to mention all the officers, like Louis, that we lost."

"Divide et impera," I recited.

"What did you say?"

"The Roman saying, divide and conquer, a strategy to cause internal discord in the enemy to fragment it, and then attack one fragment at a time."

"Hmm..." Cirakari looked at me with a furrowed brow. "I've never heard of these Romans. Are they real or fiction?"

"Real, they were an ancient empire that dominated much of the European, African, and Asian continents," I replied.

"You seem to know a lot of things that we don't know here in TRAPPIST-1. My optimistic side wants to believe that this is an advantage good enough to have justified all the losses we've had," she said as she climbed to the second floor. "Come, use the vacant seat up here. We're going back to our cruiser."

 

[rKlehm]

Chapter 04 – Answer

The Peregrina had no windows. The only way to see outside was through cameras. Fortunately, the cameras transmitted in surprisingly good quality and with an excellent frame rate. The monitors were almost like magic portals to the outside world.

It was through one of these magic portals that I saw the ship the crew referred to as Broodmother. To simply call it a ship doesn't do justice to the engineering feat that was this marvel. There were two pairs of counter-rotating gravity rings, each about fifty meters in diameter. Between the pairs of rings was a trunk that served as an anchorage; eight black bricks similar to the Peregrina were attached. At the back, four radiator panels the size of a football field each emit a dim red light. The radiators have the part closest to the engine smaller than the front part, so that the radiators are hidden behind the shadow formed by the engine's radiation shields. And speaking of the engine, it was an elongated dome about twenty meters in diameter.

With the Broodmother in sight, the crew began the approach procedure. I had a VIP box seat view. I could watch all the panels and camera feeds, but I was forbidden from touching anything. All I could do was watch the celestial docking dance.

The first step was to adjust the relative speed between the two ships. The Peregrina's RCS was noisy, but also very strong and precise. It fired in short bursts to align Peregrina's trajectory with that of the Broodmother. To ensure there was no lateral movement, the vectored thrusters constantly needed to adjust the ship's axis, keeping it perfectly aligned with the larger station. The crew carefully monitored the closing rate between the two ships, using the low-intensity approach radar to ensure no debris or other smaller ships interfered.

"Reduce closing rate to one meter per second," Cirakari ordered.

"Peregrina is GO for docking, over," Gulliver communicated with the Broodmother.

"Peregrina, this is Broodmother command tower, approach confirmed, proceed to docking point H2, over," an unknown voice responded.

"Aligned with docking point H2," Cirakari affirmed a few seconds later. "Initiating final approach."

"Reduce closing rate to one-tenth of a meter per second," Cirakari ordered a few more seconds later.

"Touchdown," Gulliver stated.

"Peregrina, welcome aboard Broodmother. Please wait until a reception team contacts you."

✹✸✶✸✹​

"Does it usually take this long to board the ship?" I asked.

"No, it doesn't," said the third officer whose name I still didn't know.

"I apologize for my rudeness. In all this chaos, I forgot to ask your name."

"No problem, I'm Hóng Tàiyáng, but you can call me Tài," he said with a small nod. If he was from Earth, I would say he was East Asian. He carried a calm intensity, sharp brown eyes flickered with quiet focus. His short, neatly cropped hair framed a face that rarely betrayed emotion.

"Nice to meet you, Tài."

"Likewise, Mr. Almeida."

"Why do you all refer to me with such formality?"

"Well... You're almost two hundred years old and seem to be someone quite important, so I think it's fair to call you that."

"You can just call me Fred, it's no problem."

"I think the reason it's taking so long is precisely because of you, Fred," Cirakari interrupted our conversation.

"I know they must be anxious about my presence, but why would that result in such a long delay? Shouldn't it be the opposite?" I addressed Cirakari.

"I imagine if we were a well-organized and truly united military body, yes. But what must be happening in there now is an arm-wrestling match between the admirals of each nation," she replied.

"Are the three of you from the same nation?" I asked.

"No, actually, each of us came from a different corner," Cirakari replied. "I was born in Fillandril, a city-state in the dark part of Vielovento's twilight zone. It's not very relevant in the general political sphere, but it's home to one of the largest space force training academies; we receive students from almost all nations of Vielovento."

"I'm from Great Lakes," said Gulliver. "The Republic of Great Lakes is in the hot part of Vielovento. You know, the planet is tidally locked, it's always daytime there. It is a great place for a vacation, but unfortunately the radiation is too intense, hence our skin tone."

"I also come from the hot part," Tài introduced himself. "I come from Xīn Tiāntáng Wángguó, or New Paradise Kingdom in a literal translation. Xīn Tiāntáng was one of the first colonies of Vielovento. Unlike other colonies, we never abandoned our mother tongue, I believe due to some ideological issue from back on Earth. After the independence wars, Xīn Tiāntáng became a monarchy and is one of the main powers in the system."

"I think it's fair that I introduce myself too," I said. "On Earth, I lived in Brazil, in Latin America. I graduated as an engineer and got a scholarship for an internship and master's degree on Mars. I stayed there for ten years and was selected for the TRAPPIST-1 colonization program. I spent the last three years migrating from base to base on the Moon to complete my training, and today I'm here."

"Apart from Earth and TRAPPIST-1, I have no idea what the other names you mentioned are," said Cirakari.

"That makes us even, because I also have no idea about the names you mentioned."

"Yeah, fair enough," she conceded.

We spent a few more minutes exchanging curiosities about what Earth was like before I left and what TRAPPIST-1 is like today. At first, it was just an icebreaker to reduce the anxiety of being confined inside Peregrina with Louis's corpse beside us, but as we discovered more things about the differences in our worlds, the interest grew.

✹✸✶✸✹​

"UTAS Peregrina, this is the Broodmother team, please confirm the start of the boarding procedure."

Cirakari stretched and took advantage of the absence of gravity to launch herself to her workstation.

"Broodmother, this is Commander Cirakari, we are ready for boarding."

"Understood commander, your logbook indicates that you are transporting Mr. Frederico de Almeida, rescued from the Genesis IX ship, and the body of Louis Timothée Nicollier who died in combat. Do you confirm this information?"

"I confirm."

Cirakari exchanged a few more messages with the boarding team, the speed with which they responded to each other made me believe this was something repeated many times. After all the checks, we received the green light to enter the mother ship. As the airlock chamber only fits one at a time, Cirakari went first, Gulliver went right after, and Tài went next. I was the last to leave the Peregrina.

I opened the external hatch and launched myself out. As soon as I exited, two soldiers wearing black armor, steel helmets without any visor, and the A.U.T.N emblems grabbed me by the arms.

"Mr. Almeida, you will be quarantined for your own safety, as well as to avoid disorder aboard this ship," one of the brutes said. Even if I wanted to resist, I wouldn't be able to; their strength was superhuman.

"Where's the rest of Peregrina's crew?" I asked. Literally everyone I knew was dead, these three I met less than four hours ago were the only people I knew. Not that I considered them friends or anything, but they were the only living faces I would know how to recognize.

"They're in quarantine too," the other brute replied.

Each one held me by an arm. They used the supports on the internal bulkheads of Broodmother to launch themselves through the corridors. Their arms seemed like a Renaissance trebuchet; it was impossible for a human being to have so much strength. The only logical explanation that came to my mind would be some kind of exoskeleton underneath the armor.

I was taken to a compartment that connected the main trunk of the ship with the gravitational rings. Surprisingly, it was very similar to the system of the late GIX. Brute 01 started descending the stairs first, I went in the middle, and Brute 02 went last. The piping connecting the rings was just over a meter in internal diameter, another similarity with GIX.

We descended the twenty-something meters of stairs. With each step, we felt more and more of the artificial gravity acceleration produced by the rings. I felt very comfortable with the gravity reaching the last step. It must have been something very close to 1 g. Perfect.

The pair of brutes grabbed me by the arms again, and we walked along the central corridor of the ring. Several people, most dressed in A.U.T.N uniforms, stared at me in a cacophony of distinct expressions; indifference, curiosity, fear, hope, anger, disgust, and so on. I tried not to pay much attention to it, but it was difficult.

We arrived at a door that said [Detention Center]. It was obvious that the so-called quarantine would be in a prison. When we entered the door, inside there was another corridor, this time with mini cells attached to it. The walls separating the cells were metal, and the front wall, which faced the corridor, was made of some transparent material.

They put me in one of the cells. The only glimpse of privacy I would have was some curtains to cover the space designated for necessities. Despite the confined space and being a cell, the environment was quite comfortable. In the cell in front of me was Tài, in my left diagonal was Cirakari, and beside me was Gulliver.

"Enjoying A.U.T.N's hospitality?" Cirakari asked sarcastically. We were silent for a few seconds, but soon after, a contagious laughter took over the environment. Not so much because it was actually funny, but because of the bizarreness of the last few hours.

"I'm so sorry for all this, guys," I said, actually feeling guilty for all the trouble I caused, even without having any logical fault.

"This says more about us than about you," she replied.

"What do you think will happen?" I asked.

"I think they'll first call us, individually, and see if our descriptions of the facts match. After that, they'll call you and bombard you with questions. As I said, we made an absurd investment to rescue you, there's enormous internal pressure for you to be useful in some way."

"And if I'm not useful?"

"You'd better be," she said while making a silence sign and pointing to the ceiling.

✹✸✶✸✹​

They first took the Peregrina's crew for interrogation, exactly as Cirakari predicted. The interrogation was apparently quick, each one stayed there for about thirty minutes. Until it was my turn. The pair of brutes escorted me to the interrogation room.

The interrogation room was actually a meeting room. An oval table in the center with large, imposing chairs around it. Dark walls and flat lighting coming from a central light. What caught my attention the most was a three-dimensional hologram projector in the center of the table; I imagined what it would be like to play video games on that thing.

Seated around the table were five officers, I presumed them to be the admirals Cirakari kept talking about. Two men and three women, all stern-faced and in imposing uniforms. All the uniforms were the same, with A.U.T.N colors and symbols, however, unlike the other uniforms I had been seeing around the ship, theirs had an extra little flag on the chest. Each had a different little flag; I imagined it must be the nation of origin for each of them.

I repeated everything I had already told the Peregrina's crew about what Earth was like when I left and everything else. Following Cirakari's suggestions, I tried to sell my fish with some knowledge of human history that I had. Apparently, it worked; the five were fascinated by my summary of Sun Tzu's The Art of War. Admittedly, I made up some parts because I couldn't remember everything by heart, but I believe I summarized the essence of the book satisfactorily. I also recited some passages from Machiavelli's The Prince; I believe I was much more faithful, as it's a book I really like. Lastly, I tried to summarize all the major wars that I could remember as well as the large empires of ancient times.

"Admirals, do you know what this means?" asked High Admiral Lánhuā, representative of Xīn Tiāntáng Wángguó. "That in addition to technology, resources, and manpower, the Overseers have millennia of human knowledge that has been hidden from us."

"It's a bit too late to apply this knowledge, the Overseers' cruisers will arrive in a few weeks! Our defense preparations have been organized for years and based on state-of-the-art space strategy. We can't replan everything to apply this bunch of nonsense from the time we fought with swords and horses," replied High Admiral Baraka, representative of the city-state of Fillandril.

And so began another round of bickering between them. I stayed quiet, hoping for things to calm down. Instead, the situation escalated.

"High Admiral Baraka is right," I said out loud. Which propagated a silence in the room that made everyone look at me. "I know absolutely nothing about space combat. Even when I was a child, the governments of the solar system signed a treaty of non-militarization of space. Where I came from, or rather, when I came from, there were no space wars."

"Excuse our decorum, Mr. Almeida. This discussion shouldn't be happening at this moment and place, especially with you here," Baraka replied.

"But isn't this strange?" Lánhuā inquired. "According to the timeline described by Mr. Almeida, the space non-militarization treaty must have occurred around 2180, and the submission of the human race happened sometime between 2200 and 2220. After Genesis IX had departed and before the Overseers' first colonizer."

"Where are you going with this, Mrs. Lánhuā?" Baraka inquired.

"What if the non-militarization treaty was already influenced by the Overseers as a way to weaken the human race?"

"You're seeing faces in clouds. It may even be a real correlation, but we have no way to prove or test this hypothesis."

"Look at our current state. Since the independence wars, we've been killing each other. We've had some advances in recent years, but we're still very much divided. What if all this was caused by the Overseers? Every intrigue and conflict we've had in the last hundred years could have been their response to our independence."

"Well, let's have this discussion then, but first, let's take Mr. Almeida back to his quarters," Baraka concluded.

 

[rKlehm]

Chapter 05 – Accept

I thought they would take me back to prison, but thankfully, I was wrong. The guards led me to my quarters. It was not much bigger than my cell to be honest, but at least the walls weren't transparent anymore.

"This will be your temporary room until we arrive at Vielovento," one of the soldiers escorting me explained. "You're free to access all common areas of the Broodmother, but we ask that you avoid talking about what Earth was like or any topics that could cause unrest."

"What's going to happen when we reach Vielovento?" I asked.

"I don't have that information. Probably some officer will brief you before we get there," he explained. "Any other questions?"

"I don't think so."

"Alright. Main meals will be served every six hours, starting at 0000, then 0600, 1200, and the last one at 1800. Between these times, light snacks and food will be available. Consumption of alcohol and recreational substances is only allowed on Sundays, and only after formal approval from one of the Grand Admirals. Understood?"

"Why do you still use Earth's 24-hour system and weekdays?"

I couldn't see the brute soldier's face under his metal helmet, but judging by the silence and his body language, I could tell he had no idea what I was talking about.

"That's exactly the kind of thing you shouldn't be saying around here," he retorted. "Unless you want to go back into quarantine."

"Got it, I'll keep quiet," I replied. I just wanted to confirm my theory. The TRAPPIST-1 planets are tidally locked, meaning one side is always in daylight, and the other is in eternal night. Because of this, using hours to measure the day's progression doesn't make sense in terms of a day-night cycle. They only use hours to measure time. Also, Planet F, or Vielovento as they call it, has a "year" of just nine Earth days, but that doesn't mean much since TRAPPIST-1 has no seasons like Earth. So they probably continued using Earth's time measurements and calendar out of convenience.

The brutes who had escorted me turned and left. I closed the door, and for the first time since waking from cryosleep, I finally relaxed. I took off the suit Gulliver had given me—it was completely destroyed in the area where I used it to break against the steel cables. I headed toward what I assumed was the bathroom. I was expecting wet wipes or, at most, a steam hose for a shower. I was pleasantly surprised to find a nozzle spraying real warm water, which was surprisingly relaxing.

I took full advantage of the real water to wash away all the remnants of the cryo chamber's gunk. The soap was fragrant, leaving a fresh scent that reminded me of flowers. There was also a kit with deodorants, lotions, shampoos, razors, and more. The deodorant smelled strange, as I had been using the same woody scent for over ten years, but it was better than having body odor.

Looking in the mirror, I noticed that my skin was paler than I remembered. It used to be a rich chocolate brown, slightly oily, and—without wanting to brag—almost wrinkle-free, even though I was nearing thirty. Or rather, nearly one hundred and eighty if you count cryosleep. I also noticed that my beard had grown out. Cryosleep slows your body to a near-death state, similar to how tardigrades survive extreme environments. But even in that state, hair and nails still grow, especially after 150 years. The razor blades were so sharp that my face felt smoother than when I was ten years old.

After some time staring in the mirror, I realized my vision wasn't as sharp as it had been on Earth. Making self-diagnosis tricky; still, it was clear my vision wasn't what it used to be. It was yet another common side effect of cryosleep.

Then it hit me: I should have undergone a medical checkup after waking up from cryosleep to address deficiencies and minimize the side effects of the drugs I had taken. I hurriedly put on one of the A.U.T.N uniforms I found in the closet, looking just like one of them, and set out to find the infirmary, wandering aimlessly in the gravity ring.

✹✸✶✸✹​

"Hey, excuse me, could you tell me how to get to the infirmary?" I asked.

"Uh… hi," the young woman hesitated before answering. "I think you just passed it. It's in that direction, marked with a red cross."

"Oh, really? Didn't notice, thanks," I replied.

"You're the guy who came from Earth, aren't you?" she asked. It seemed avoiding that topic was going to be difficult.

"Yeah, that's me," I answered with an awkward smile.

"Is it true that there are forests on Earth bigger than cities?" she asked, trying to strike up a conversation. I really wanted to continue talking. Not only had I been enjoying talking about Earth lately, but she also seemed like good company. She had a youthful look, with large, expressive brown eyes, long wavy hair that shimmered when she moved her head, and full, rounded lips. Her golden skin was sprinkled with freckles and darker patches. From what I gathered in conversations with Gulliver, this skin tone came from the "hot side" of Vielovento.

"Yes, it's true! There are forests so vast that you could wander for months without ever finding your way out," I replied.

"That's amazing, Earth must be a beautiful planet," she responded, clearly interested in continuing the conversation.

"Unfortunately, our species treated Earth pretty badly. When I left on the Genesis IX mission, it was just starting to recover, but many cities were already underwater, pollution tinted the air a sickly yellow, and there was a lot of poverty and misery due to overpopulation and lack of jobs" I regretted taking the conversation to such a grim topic. "I hope in the 150 years I've been gone, it's become what it once was."

"They say the Overseers fixed all of Earth's problems."

"Seriously?" I was astonished. Did it really take aliens coming to our planet to fix it for us?

"Well, that's the rumor, but they say yes. The Overseers needed a lot of manpower, so they gave everyone on Earth a job. And people who are starving and miserable don't work well, so it makes sense they would have solved that issue."

"But what do the Overseers need twelve billion people for?"

"No idea," she said with a shrug. "By the way, you're wearing our uniform. Are you joining us?"

"I just wanted to be fashionable," I joked, managing to get at least a smile.

"I'm part of the Virgo crew, same class as the Peregrina. I saw your rescue and the battle with the Overseer's interceptors in the feed. You guys fought really well."

"To be honest, I didn't really know what was happening. The ship started making these crazy maneuvers, and I could barely stay on my feet. All I managed to do was patch up the hull breaches and try not to pass out."

"Being a patcher is one of the most admirable roles. Not everyone can handle that. Especially with Cira as the pilot—she's amazing. No one can hit her."

"Wow, I figured she was experienced, but I didn't know she had a reputation too."

"She sure does. It's because of her that the Peregrina holds the top spot for confirmed kills—four so far," she said, checking the time. "I've got to go. We're starting a simulation training on the Virgo. We'll have to catch up sometime, so you can tell me more about Earth."

"Is this a date?" I asked, taking a chance.

She looked at me with a puzzled expression, tilting her head as if she didn't quite understand.

"Uh, well, we're going to meet up, so I guess it's a date, right?" Clearly, she hadn't gotten what I meant. I should have considered that, after all this time, some expressions might have lost their meaning.

"Yeah, brain fart," I replied, embarrassed.

"No worries," she said with a laugh, extending her hand toward me. "By the way, my name's Alice."

"I'm Fred," I said, shaking her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Fred," she said, waving goodbye as she walked down the corridor.

I turned and did the same. I realized I really had walked right past the infirmary. But to be fair, I had already spotted Alice when I passed by, and that distracted me. Also, my vision wasn't great at the time.

I went through the checkup with one of the doctors on the Broodmother, undergoing several tests and receiving some injections to minimize the effects of cryosleep. The doctor was astounded by how archaic the cryogenic methods of the Genesis program were. In his words, we were "lab rats being tortured by psychopaths," and I couldn't disagree. He also gave me a pair of temporary glasses, saying my vision could be corrected with surgery on Vielovento. As soon as I left the medical office, I rushed to the cafeteria—I had already seen the way when the brutes were dragging me around.

✹✸✶✸✹​

The crew of the Peregrina was already seated at one of the tables and waved me over to join them. I scanned the room for Alice, but no luck. I grabbed a tray and headed to the buffet.

The food felt strange to me. Everything looked appetizing and smelled good, but at the same time, nothing was familiar. The meats were fileted with a layer of fat on one side. The fibers were thick and loose, like beef ribs, but pink like smoked pork. I gave up trying to figure out what the food was and just filled my plate with anything that made my mouth water. And when I say "filled," I mean really filled—I even considered swapping my fork for a shovel.

I sat down with the rest of the crew.

"Man, people on Earth sure know how to eat well, huh?" Gulliver's joke was teed up and ready, and he just kicked it home.

"Nothing like a good nap to work up an appetite," I played along.

"Well, look at you, all dressed up in uniform," Tài chimed in.

I didn't want to know what the food was—I was more concerned with the fact that it tasted amazing. Or maybe I was just starving.

"I heard you're famous, Commander," I said, turning to Cirakari.

"Apparently, staying alive long enough is all it takes to get famous," she dismissed the compliment with a wave of her hand.

"I heard it's more than that. You've shot down four interceptors, right?"

"Yes, but that was Gulliver and Tài's doing," she said, pointing to them. "By the way, who have you been talking to for all this gossip?"

"I'm trying to fit in, and the easiest way to do that is by swapping rumors," I replied playfully.

"If I were you, I'd be careful with those rumors. There are a lot of conflicts of interest around here. One wrong word to the wrong person, and it could be the end of you."

I nodded as I stuffed my mouth with food. I didn't want to admit it, but she seemed right.

"So, how did things go with the Admirals?" she asked.

She had to wait until I finished chewing and swallowing to get a response.

"I don't think it went quite how they expected… I tried to help as much as I could, but the only thing I have to offer is general knowledge from 150 years ago—not exactly useful."

"They asked me if you could replace Louis..." she said, and suddenly the light atmosphere at the table darkened.

"We're just cogs in a big machine," Tài added.

"We don't have a choice, this is our reality," Cirakari responded. "If we were civilians, we'd be going about our lives, calm and unaware that hell is coming to TRAPPIST-1 in the next few weeks."

"I know that, but still, he was our friend," Tài said, leading into an unspoken minute of silence.

"Anyway, Fred," Cirakari said after the pause, "I told them about your performance patching up the Peregrina during the attack. I said you had a knack for it. I also mentioned you're an engineer with knowledge of fusion and fission."

"What exactly did Louis do?"

"Power Control and Maintenance, Heat, and Survivability Systems—or PCMHS, as we call it. Basically, your job would be to manage the fission reactor, hydrogen and coolant flows, and make emergency repairs, like you did on the Peregrina."

"Do I have the option to say no? I was never much into military stuff."

"I think if you don't want to join the space forces, they'll take you to Vielovento and try to put you to use in some other way."

"You said it takes months to train an officer. How would I be ready in just a few weeks?"

"Most of that time is spent learning how to live in space, do EVAs, decision-making, and all that," she explained. "And you already know how to do that. You'd just need to learn how the Peregrina works."

"My knowledge is 150 years out of date."

"Fission physics hasn't changed. You'll have to learn the new tech, but the basic physics is the same, right?"

"I don't want to seem ungrateful or anything, but is there a specific reason you prefer me over a trained and ready officer?"

"There is a reason," she said, locking eyes with me. "We don't have any trained and ready officers left. Between picking someone who's never stepped foot on a ship and a crazy colonist who spent over ten years studying, I'll take the crazy colonist."

"I don't think I'm really cut out for this. Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying getting to know you all, but I'm not suited for this kind of thing."

"You're probably making the right choice," Gulliver said. Cirakari shot him a glare with her obsidian eyes. "What? You know how I feel. We should surrender to the Overseers. That's what the people on Earth did, and as far as I know, it worked out for them."

"I don't want to hear you say that again, Lieutenant Gulliver," Cirakari retorted. "That kind of comment is how people end up slipping in the bathroom." She finished, subtly nodding toward the other tables.

"Understood, Commander Cirakari," Gulliver got the message.

✹✸✶✸✹​

After dinner, I headed to my quarters. Gulliver and Tài taught me how to use the terminal and manage the hologram projector. Unfortunately, there weren't any video games. I was scrolling through the news, trying to learn more about my new world, when my routine was interrupted by a live broadcast of the Genesis X rescue attempt. The transmission had a three-second delay, meaning it was happening about 900,000 kilometers away.

In the video, four Freedom-class ships, similar to the Peregrina, were attempting the rescue. Two Overseer's interceptors launched a suicide attack and managed to destroy the light frigates. Immediately afterward, a third interceptor made three attack runs on the Genesis X. Their goal wasn't to destroy the ship—that would have triggered the emergency systems of the cryo chambers. Instead, they were targeting light weapons directly at the chamber compartments. Even if someone had survived that attack, there were no more A.U.T.N ships nearby to rescue them.

The next morning, I went to Cirakari and accepted her offer to join the crew.

 

[rKlehm]

Chapter 06 – Learn

After Cirakari received the news that I was joining the Peregrina, she immediately went to talk with the Admirals. I sat in the waiting room and overheard a small discussion and argument. Apparently, some of the Admirals had other plans for me.

But at the end of the day, everything worked out. The whole situation reminded me of my days back on Earth, where corporate politics often determined assignments more than actual qualifications. Some things were universal constants, no matter which star system you called home.

"I think everything's settled now," said Cirakari after she had left the room. "I arranged it with Dr. Xuefeng, he'll start your training today." The way she emphasized "arranged" made me wonder if there were some small letters to this deal.

"Is there anything I should know about him beforehand?" I asked, trying to get a read on what I was walking into.

Cirakari pondered for a bit as she considered her response. "I think you'll like him, he's not military. He's responsible for the Broodmother's propulsion system." She paused, then added, "He's brilliant, but... particular about his methods."

"Shouldn't I be learning about the Peregrina's systems?" I questioned.

"Yes, and you will. He's perfectly qualified to teach you everything you need to know about the Peregrina." Her tone carried a hint of defensiveness that made me curious about the story behind this arrangement.

"Perfect. Should I wait for him at the Peregrina's docking port?" I asked, already mentally preparing myself for what would likely be an intensive training session.

"No, she's still under maintenance. He'll train you on the Virgo."

"Alice's ship?" I let slip, immediately regretting it.

Cirakari frowned a bit. "Actually if the Virgo belongs to someone, that someone is Commander Chen. But yes, Alice is part of the crew, have you already met her?"

"Yes, she helped me find the infirmary yesterday."

"That is good, she is the PCMHS of the Virgo. She can help you in your training."

"Oh… Really? I didn't know that."

Cirakari showed a concerned complexion. "Look, your instructor is Dr. Xuefeng, ok? If there's any problem, talk to me." she said. Only now I noticed she seemed a bit tense. "It's just that this whole situation with Dr. Xuefeng wasn't exactly what we were planning," she finished, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers.

"Sorry to intrude, but who would 'we' be?"

"Filandril," she answered like someone who had let slip something they shouldn't have. Her normally composed demeanor cracked slightly.

"I see. Admiral Baraka had other plans?" I ventured, putting together the pieces of the puzzle.

She was surprised by my observation, her head tilted slightly. "Yes, our plan was for you to do your training aboard the Hilgard with First Lieutenant Uriel. But Admiral Lánhuā forced her hand and called in some favors. She says you are not in the military, and therefore you should receive civil training."

"Look, I know there's all this political tension and everything. But I'm completely neutral in this story. I'm practically an alien to you all, I don't have any party affiliation." I tried to position myself as an outsider, hoping to avoid being drawn into whatever power struggle was playing out.

"There's no such thing as neutral, Fred," she retorted, her voice hardening slightly. "But I agree with you, you should avoid taking sides. However, everyone needs allies to survive in the labyrinth that is A.U.T.N."

I had already noticed that Cirakari had ulterior motives with me since we arrived at the Broodmother. But it was at this moment that I understood what they were. She was serving Filandril's agenda. I knew absolutely nothing about TRAPPIST-1 politics, but from what I know about humans in general, there is no "right" side when it comes to politics.

✹✸✶✸✹​

I headed to the location Cirakari had indicated. The docking trunk was in the center of the ship, where there was no gravity. I pushed off carefully from handhold to handhold, making my way through the zero-G corridor.

I positioned myself near Virgo's decompression chamber and waited for Dr. Xuefeng's arrival, using the time to study the external hull markings and comparing them to what I remembered from my Genesis IX training. The technology here was both familiar and alien—like looking at a great-great-grandchild of the systems I'd trained on back on Earth.

"Hello, Mr. Almeida. Forgive my delay, I got stuck in an important meeting," he said, bowing slightly before me. Dr. Xuefeng was a man of quiet intensity. His silver hair, neatly combed back, framed a face marked by age but showing no signs of fatigue.

"Hello, Dr. Xuefeng. No problem, I just got here," I replied, returning his bow somewhat awkwardly in the zero-G environment.

"Please, after you," he said, pointing to the decompression chamber.

I entered first and waited for him inside the Virgo. She was, not surprisingly, practically identical to Peregrina. Some things were in different places, others had different colors, but overall it was the same thing. Xuefeng entered shortly after, his movements were precise and economical, a sign of years of experience in zero-G environments.

"They told me you have experience with physics and mechanical engineering, correct?" he said.

"Yes, I trained for the Genesis IX engineering team," I replied, hoping my outdated knowledge would be worth something here.

"Then I imagine you're already familiar with how a Nuclear Thermal Engine works?" His tone suggested this was as much a test as a question.

"Is the core solid or gaseous?" I asked, wanting to ensure I addressed the right type of system.

"Solid." A slight nod of approval at my question.

"Yes, I'm familiar with it. The core is an enriched uranium matrix. The core temperature is maintained around 2750 K and the reaction is controlled by boron or cadmium rods. As a reaction mass, you inject hydrogen into the core which absorbs the temperature and is expelled at high velocity." I tried to keep my explanation concise while showing I understood the fundamental principles.

"Your description is correct, Almeida. Indeed, that was the classic operation of nuclear thermal engines." His eyes lit up with what I recognized as an engineer's passion for their subject. "However, there have been some significant advances since then, especially in thermal control and core temperature limits. Previously, one of the biggest challenges was managing the residual heat which, on long missions, compromised the engine's efficiency. Nowadays we use enriched uranium embedded in a graphene matrix. We can raise the core temperature up to 3800 K for intermittent periods," he paused to see if I was following. "As you must know, this significantly increases the specific impulse."

The enthusiasm in his voice was contagious. He was someone who truly loved his work, someone who saw beauty in the elegant solutions of advanced engineering. I found myself leaning forward, drawn into his explanation.

"Yes, I'm following. I know that the Peregrina uses a cluster of these engines. Still, the acceleration I felt was intense. Could this increase in temperature alone explain that level of force?"

"Not exactly. We use a variant of the regular NTR, called Liquid Oxygen Augmented NTR. We can inject oxygen into the exhaust plume if needed. This considerably reduces the specific impulse, but it also greatly increases the force produced." He smiled slightly at my evident interest. "It's a trade-off, but one that gives us significant tactical advantages."

"So these are the tanks I'll need to control? Oxygen and hydrogen at cryogenic temperatures?" I asked, already trying to visualize the system layout.

"Exactly. Plus the cooling fluid tanks, obviously." He gestured toward a nearby access panel. "Shall we take a look at the actual system?"

After the broader concepts, we began to delve into the details. The feeling was very strange, everything he explained to me I already had knowledge of, in a way. But at the same time, everything I knew was "almost right," or else, "yes, but now we do it differently." I was completely overwhelmed with so much information. It was like learning a new dialect of a language I thought I knew—familiar enough to be recognizable, but different enough to be confusing.

Some of this was my fault, I wanted to show that I knew what I was talking about. And this must have come across to Dr. Xuefeng as a sign that I was ready for the flood of technical details. But I wasn't. Each time I demonstrated understanding of a basic principle, he would launch into increasingly complex variations and improvements that had been developed over the centuries since my training.

The training lasted twelve hours in total, with only a thirty-minute lunch break. Even that was spent inside the Virgo, discussing the problem with tank 6's valve. Even our meals became teaching moments, with Dr. Xuefeng using his sandwich as a prop to explain fluid dynamics. After lunch, we dismantled Virgo's internal panels and inspected more than half of the piping.

At the end of the day, we had to put everything back together because the crew would be conducting training during the next shift. Xuefeng insisted on checking each connection three times, making minute adjustments that I could barely perceive. I left there exhausted, my head ached and throbbed from the effort to keep up with Dr. Xuefeng's encyclopedic knowledge and exacting standards.

I was dirty, with stains of grease, oil, and who knows what else was under those panels. My once-clean uniform now bore the marks of a proper engineering inspection, and it was in this state that I met Alice and the rest of Virgo's crew.

"Commander Chen," Xuefeng greeted Virgo's commander with impeccable formality, despite the long day. "We had a full day today, but I believe I've left your ship in perfect condition. If there's any problem, please don't hesitate to let me know and I will resolve it promptly." If there's one thing I had learned that day, it's that Xuefeng's perfectionism would NEVER allow him to let anything slip. The man treated each component like it was a priceless artifact that demanded absolute precision.

"Thank you very much," Chen replied with equal formality. "Crew, you may begin boarding, I need to speak with Xuefeng for a few minutes."

The crew formed a sort of line holding onto the corridor's inner wall, one at a time, they boarded the Virgo.

"Good to have you join us," Alice said, extending her hand to greet me. Her smile brightened the utilitarian corridor.

"I better not, my hands are filthy," I tried to be polite, showing my grease-stained palms.

"Stop being silly, I'm a PCMHS too, soon enough mine will be worse than yours." She grabbed my hand anyway, her firm grip suggesting she was no stranger to hands-on work. "Besides, clean hands mean you haven't done any real engineering today."

"Tell that to Dr. Xuefeng," I chuckled. "He somehow manages to stay spotless while crawling through maintenance tubes."

"That's because he's not human, he's actually a maintenance robot disguised as a person," she whispered conspiratorially, then glanced over her shoulder to make sure he wasn't within earshot.

"Had no idea you were a PCMHS, Cirakari told me earlier today."

"What did you think I was? A pilot?" She raised an eyebrow. "Though I suppose I don't fit the stereotype of the grease-covered engineer right now. Just wait until you see me after tearing the ship apart to find a goblin."

"Find a goblin?" I got curious.

"You know, those squeaky, mocking little things are a pain to fix."

"Oh… Like a bug in software?"

"Yes, exactly."

"I think I'm going to need some tips from you" I said, trying to make sure Xuegeng wasn't hearing. "Mr. Xuefeng knows every centimeter of piping, but he's also very meticulous. At this rate, I'm going to need another 150 years to finish studying the ship," I continued in a playful mood.

"If you are up to a 24 hours-long training, then yeah a could help you" she said with a grin.

"I don't get it."

"You are using the Virgo to train and so am I. I believe we will be working on different shifts."

"Sunday maybe?" I tried my luck.

"By Sunday, we should arrive at Vielovento's gateway station. But with everything going on with the Overseer's Armada, there's a good chance that the Virgo will be deployed elsewhere," she explained, a hint of sadness clouding the mood.

It was already her turn to board the ship. "Well, let's see if we can figure something out by then," I said, giving her a parting smile.

"See you," she said, reluctantly preparing to leave.

✹✸✶✸✹​

I met the Peregrina's crew at the dining table, where they were exchanging playful banter and mockery.

"Hey, guys! How's it going?" I asked.

They nodded in response, their laughter from the last joke still lingering.

"Oh man… I feel sorry for you," Tài said with a grin. "Cira told us you spent the whole day with Xuefeng."

"It wasn't that bad—actually, it was pretty great," I said, catching their disbelieving expressions. "Seriously, he's a wealth of knowledge. Yeah, he's demanding, but that's what I expected from a three-week crash course to become a PCMHS."

"Well, in that case, I'm happy for you… I think," Tài replied, chuckling.

"I noticed almost everyone's in some kind of intensive training," I pointed out.

"Yeah, soon it'll be our turn," Cirakari added. "The Peregrina should be ready by tomorrow, and we'll be joining the group sessions."

"If the Peregrina will be ready, shouldn't I start using it for my studies?"

"Technically, yes. But as we discussed earlier, you won't be," she said. "Besides, if you did, we'd have to train on the second shift, and you still need Dr. Xuefeng."

"Shouldn't I be training with you too? I could barely keep up during those high-G maneuvers."

"You will, once you're done with Xuefeng's lessons. But you've already handled the patch-working pretty well. The combat training will mainly help boost your endurance."

"Cool," I said with a nod.

We chatted a bit longer, but after finishing my meal, I was ready to call it a night.

"Alright, guys, I'm heading out. I need some sleep—I'm exhausted."

 

[rKlehm]

Chapter 07 – Resist

"Mr. Almeida? Are you alright?" Xuefeng's voice pierced through the fog of my unplanned slumber, his words echoing slightly in the confined space of the ship's cabin. The metallic taste in my mouth told me I'd been sleeping with my jaw clenched again.

"Ah—Yes, sorry, I lost track of time," I replied, stifling a yawn that made my jaw crack. The harsh fluorescent lights above made my eyes water as I blinked away the drowsiness.

"It's been a difficult week, and you're making excellent progress." Xuefeng's typically stern expression softened slightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with what might have been approval.

"Thank you." I straightened myself in weightlessness, feeling the vertebrae pop one by one.

"Tomorrow's Sunday. Get everything organized, and let's wrap up the week here," he said with a shy smile—the kind that seemed foreign on his weathered face. Dr. Xuefeng was a man who wore exhaustion like a well-pressed suit, never letting it show. But over the past days he had become more and more tired.

"Won't this delay my training?" I asked, more out of politeness than concern. The thought of additional work made my muscles ache in protest.

"Don't worry, you're on track." He waved away my question with a hand wave.

"Agreed then."

"I'll let Commander Chen know he can use the Virgo earlier if he wants," he said while entering the airlock chamber. "Leave everything according to the standards we discussed. I don't want to be embarrassed."

"Will do, Mr. Xuefeng."

The Virgo's internal panels had become as familiar to me as the back of my hand. Each screw, each connection point, each subtle variation in the metal's texture—I could practically dismantle and reassemble them blindfolded. Xuefeng's standards were impossibly high, bordering on obsessive, but I'd learned to appreciate his attention to detail. Even so, I knew that no matter how meticulously I worked, his eagle eyes would spot some microscopic flaw. I gave myself one hour to do the best job possible.

Unlike the battle-worn Peregrina, the Virgo still carried that distinctive scent of newness—a mixture of fresh polymers and clean metal that tickled my nostrils. But according to Xuefeng, the recent wave of Overseer attacks had taken their toll on the fleet. The ships were accumulating wear not just from combat damage, but from shortened maintenance cycles in the Broodmother. Each vessel spent less and less time in the docks, pushing their systems to the limit.

Zero-g made the work easier, at least physically. I steadied an aluminum panel with my left hand while my right worked to arrange the maze of cables behind it. The free-fall sensation had become second nature to me, though my stomach still occasionally protested at sudden movements, especially after a long nap. Before securing the final plate, I ran my hand along the interior, checking for valve leaks. My fingers brushed against something loose.

"Shit... Just what I needed now," I cursed, watching my breath form a small cloud in the cool air.

I let the aluminum plate drift in the cabin's center, using both hands to navigate the twisted jungle of cables. The thought of dismantling everything again made me groan internally. I pulled a flashlight from my suit's breast pocket, it cut through the shadows like a sun. The sight made my blood run cold: the liquid hydrogen pipeline feeding one of the RCS blocks was exposed with its insulation blanket torned away.

"We worked on this yesterday... Did we do something wrong? Did I do something wrong?" Panic crept into my mind. The implications hit me like a physical blow. Without proper insulation layers, these pipes were essentially a bomb waiting to happen.

"Has it been like this since yesterday? If they used the ship this way, it only didn't explode out of pure luck," I muttered, trying to force logic through the fear. "No, it can't be—with all the maneuvers they do in training, this would have definitely exploded."

My hands moved with haste as I began dismantling everything. Time pressured me to take shortcuts—I left the aluminum plates floating freely instead of securing them to the floor. It wasn't protocol, but I was alone and I wanted to fix everything before Chen arrived. Four plates drifted around me like metallic clouds as I worked.

The damage to the blanket revealed itself fully under my scrutiny. The initial tear wasn't random or wear-induced—it seemed to be sawed, with frayed edges and loose pieces. My stomach tightened at the implications.

"Could this be some kind of hydrogen leak?" I wondered, running my gloved fingers along the pipe's surface. The metal felt uniform, offering no obvious clues.

Reaching into the toolbox that floated nearby, I grabbed what I initially mistook for a barcode reader—it was actually an ultrasound probe. I traced it methodically along the pipeline, searching for the distinctive signatures of hydrogen embrittlement. This insidious process, where hydrogen atoms infiltrate metals and weaken their structure, should have been prevented by the hybrid polyurethane membrane. Its incorporated microcapsules of reversible Diels-Alder bonds were designed specifically to self-heal and stabilize any hydrogen-induced cracks.

The ultrasound readings came back clean—both pipeline and inner membrane were intact. Switching tactics, I began hunting for any sharp edges that could have caused the blanket tear. I took a sample of the damaged material and tested it against various internal surfaces, but nothing matched the damage pattern I was seeing.

The airlock's distinctive hiss broke my concentration. "Must be Mr. Xuefeng," I thought, too absorbed in my investigation to turn around.

A hollow thud followed by a deep, angry voice proved me wrong. "What the hell!" Commander Chen's words reverberated through the cabin, accompanied by the sound of flesh meeting metal. I spun around to find him clutching his forehead, where an angry red welt was already forming.

"Commander?!" The surprise nearly made me lose my grip on the probe. "I'm sorry," I added hastily, propelling myself toward him with a push against the nearest wall.

"What are these damn plates doing floating around?" His face had turned almost as red as the injury, veins standing out on his neck.

"I found a problem with the ship and I'm trying to solve it." The words tumbled out quickly, professionally, despite my racing heart.

"Then secure the damn things where they belong, for fuck's sake!" His volume increased with each word, making the small space feel even more confined.

I scrambled to collect the plates, watching one still lazily rotating from its collision with the Commander's head. My fingers fumbled with the securing mechanisms, acutely aware of Chen's burning glare.

"What problem did you find? Mr. Xuefeng said you were done for today," he demanded, his hand still pressed against the growing bump on his forehead.

"I was doing the final inspection and noticed that the insulation blanket on one of the RCS pipelines was damaged. I had to remove all the plates to inspect it." I tried to keep my voice steady, professional.

"Let me see that," he growled, pushing off the wall with surprising grace despite his anger.

"Here, look at the state of the blanket." I gestured toward the damaged area, the flashlight beam highlighting the suspicious tear.

His eyes narrowed as he barely glanced at the components. "This shit is sabotage," he declared, the words falling like lead in the zero-gravity environment.

"Isn't that a hasty diagnosis? There are several factors that could have caused this. Besides, other than Dr. Xuefeng and I, no one else entered here, right?" I ventured, trying to inject some reason into the situation.

His face hardened, mouth curving downward in disapproval. "Yes, only you two and my crew have access to the ship."

"Then there must be a logical explanation for this that isn't sabotage." Even as I said it, doubt gnawed at the edges of my conviction.

"Try to find that solution then. I'm going to look for Dr. Xuefeng." He launched himself through the airlock with predatory efficiency, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the damaged blanket.

"Damn, why didn't I just close everything up and pretend I hadn't seen it..." The thought was tempting, seductive in its simplicity. Then the reality hit me: "If I had done that, the entire Virgo crew would be dead in a few hours."

I checked the exit chamber, finding it locked. Not that I had anywhere to go in the vast expanse of the Broodmother, but the confirmation of my containment made my chest tighten slightly.

✹✸✶✸✹​

The next fifteen minutes stretched like elastic, each second ticking by with excruciating slowness. I used the time to test every possible theory I could think of, examining the damage from every angle, running diagnostic after diagnostic. But each test only led me back to Commander Chen's conclusion—the tear had been created deliberately. The precision of the damage, the angle of the cuts, the consistent depth of the marking, they all pointed to intentional sabotage. The realization sat in my stomach like a block of ice.

The sound of the airlock cycling made me turn. The figure that emerged was exactly what I'd been dreading: a hulking form in black and red armor, moving with the mechanical precision of someone who'd done this countless times before.

"You're being summoned to testify," the figure announced, voice distorted by the helmet's speaker system.

"Alright, you don't need to use force, I'll go willingly," I responded, trying to keep my voice steady despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs.

He ignored my cooperation, seizing my arm with enough force to leave bruises and hurling me into the chamber. The decompression cycle seemed to take forever, the pressure changes making my ears pop painfully. On the other side, another armored figure grabbed me with equal roughness, their grip like iron through the fabric of my suit. The déjà vu hit hard, just days ago I'd been manhandled through these same corridors.

They marched me through a dimly lit room where I caught a glimpse of Mr. Xuefeng, his usually composed face drawn with worry, sitting across from another armored soldier. My escort didn't slow down, shoving me into a similar chamber next door. The space was claustrophobic—barely larger than a storage closet—with chairs that looked like they'd been designed to be uncomfortable and a table that wobbled with the slightest touch. They didn't bother with restraints; the armored guard's presence was constraint enough. What caught my attention, making my breath catch slightly, was their insignia: a red-eyed dragon, the symbol of Xīn Tiāntáng Wángguó, seeming to glare at me with malevolent intelligence. These weren't A.U.T.N soldiers.



The interrogation began immediately. I recounted every moment since first boarding the Virgo, trying to remember every detail, every conversation, every maintenance check. The armored figure's questions came rapid-fire, flat and emotionless, giving no indication whether my answers satisfied them or not.

"Do you believe Mr. Xuefeng carried out the sabotage?" The question cut through the air like a blade.

"No, why would he do that?" I shot back, perhaps too quickly.

The helmet tilted slightly, the red-tinted visor reflecting my own anxious face back at me. "If you have any information that would help us understand this 'case,' you'd better speak up now. The more you cooperate, the better our gratitude will be." The threat underlying the words was about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

"I understand this whole situation is delicate. But I had nothing to do with this, and I believe Mr. Xuefeng is innocent too," I insisted. True, I'd only known him for a few days, but in this place, that was true of everyone.

"You know that in the room next door, they're asking Dr. Xuefeng these same questions, don't you? If he chooses to rat you out before you rat him out, he's the one who'll receive our gratitude." The words dripped with calculated menace.

"If he does that, he'd be lying." I fought to keep my voice from shaking.

"Mr. Almeida..." The pause that followed seemed to stretch into infinity. "You came from another world. Of all those we tried to rescue, you were the only one we managed to save. You arrive here and start spreading all these stories about Earth, causing chaos in the admiralty council. What proves that you weren't only rescued because the Overseers wanted you to be rescued? What proves that you're not here serving the Overseers?"

The accusation hit me like a physical blow. A cold sweat broke out across my forehead, and my throat constricted until it felt like trying to breathe through a straw. The implications of their suspicions were far worse than I'd imagined. My mind raced, searching for a way out of this trap.

"Does the rest of the admiralty know I'm here?" I attempted to appeal to a higher authority, my voice was barely more than a whisper in the cramped room.

The helmet tilted again, and I could almost feel the smirk behind it. "A.U.T.N will know when it's time. Before that, you'll need to answer our questions."

The pieces clicked into place—this wasn't an official investigation. My heart rate kicked up another notch. "I refuse to testify further; you're trying to incriminate me. I'll only continue talking in the presence of A.U.T.N representatives." I tried to inject confidence into my voice, but the words came out shakier than I'd intended.

"Then enjoy this little room. Just try not to wet yourself." He turned and left, the lock engaging with a final, ominous click.

✹✸✶✸✹​

Time became meaningless in that windowless box. The harsh overhead light never dimmed, and the constant hum of ventilation systems played tricks with my mind. I counted seconds, then minutes, then gave up entirely. It might have been an hour, it felt like days.

The door burst open with enough force to make me jump. Before I could process what was happening, armored hands grabbed my arms with bruising force again.

"What's happening? Where are you taking me?" I shouted at the top of my lungs, hoping someone—anyone—would hear. The response was immediate and brutal: a steel-reinforced fist connected with my mouth. The taste of iron flooded my senses as stars exploded behind my eyes. The world went dark for a moment, then slowly swam back into focus.

Through my dazed vision, I saw they were dragging Dr. Xuefeng ahead of us. His normally pristine appearance was disheveled, his clothing wrinkled and his hair askew. The corridors of the gravitational ring echoed with chaos—boots on metal, shouted orders, the distinctive sound of armor against armor.

Behind us, I could make out what seemed to be A.U.T.N forces or perhaps troops from another nation, engaged in a violent clash with Xīn Tiāntáng's soldiers. The sounds of combat reverberated through the metal corridors like thunder.

They practically threw us through a doorway marked with Xīn Tiāntáng's flag. Below it, words were stenciled in stark white: "Sovereign territory, do not cross." Inside, they shoved us into another cramped room, not bothering with explanations or pretense. The door slammed behind us with finality.

"Did they torture you?" Xuefeng asked after noticing my bleeding mouth.

I probed the cut with my tongue, wincing. "No, this was just now because I was shouting," I managed to say through swollen lips.

"Did you tell them anything?"

"I told the truth, of course. I have nothing to hide."

"They told me they had a recording of you talking to the Overseers inside the cryogenic chamber on Genesis IX." He wouldn't meet my eyes.

"If they have any recording of me, it'll just be me vomiting perfluorocarbon and cursing. This doesn't make any sense." I tried to laugh, but it came out more like a cough.

"I checked everything before lunch, the blankets were intact." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"I can't explain what happened either. They're trying to incriminate me at all costs. I'll only speak in the presence of other A.U.T.N representatives." The bravado in my voice felt hollow even to my own ears.

Xuefeng's response carried the weight of terrible certainty: "In here, A.U.T.N can't do anything. They won't let you leave, and neither will they let me." His words hung in the air like smoke, choking off any remaining hope of a simple resolution.

The sounds of conflict outside seemed to grow more distant, or perhaps that was just my imagination. In this moment, trapped in a box within a box, surrounded by forces we couldn't control or understand, the vastness of space had never felt so oppressive.

 

[rKlehm]

Chapter 08 – See

The metallic clang of the door latch echoed through our cramped cell, making my muscles tense involuntarily. High Admiral Lánhuā strode in, her presence commanding the room. I might have been more surprised if Dr. Xuefeng hadn't warned me of this possibility.

What did catch me off guard was Commander Chen's hulking presence beside her. They settled into the chairs across from us—Lánhuā's face would make any poker champion proud, while Chen was like a guard dog straining at its leash.

"You caused quite a commotion out there, especially you, Mr. Almeida," Lánhuā's voice was low and measured as she methodically peeled off her leather gloves, one finger at a time.

"What happened?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

"A minor confrontation between us and A.U.T.N," Chen grumbled.

"I thought you were A.U.T.N," I shot back.

Chen's face contorted with disapproval. "You know nothing about us, boy!"

"That's not why we came here, Chen." Lánhuā's voice cut through the tension like a knife through silk. "Please, play the recordings."

Chen's mouth twisted downward as if he'd bitten into something bitter, but he complied with the High Admiral's order. The recording filled a holographic screen, showing me entering the Virgo for the first time six days ago. The footage was an edited time-lapse, fastforwarding through the mundane moments before slowing down to normal speed at points of interest. The first pause came during our initial inspection of the rear bulkhead panels.

"Chen, enhance the image," Lánhuā commanded. "Apply the image processing."

The grainy, low-contrast footage transformed before our eyes. What had been a pixelated mess became crystal clear, as if we were watching through a window into the past.

"How is this possible?" I blurted out. "That information wasn't in the original footage—you can't create information from nothing!" I knew arguing with an interrogator was about as wise as juggling plasma containers, but if they were using some AI algorithm, it couldn't possibly stand up as evidence.

Lánhuā's lips curved into what might have been amusement. "You've been frozen for a long time, Mr. Almeida. But being the empathetic person I am, I'll explain how it works." Her eyes locked onto mine. "We have extremely high-quality mapping of all our ships' interiors. By analyzing the difference between the pixelated image and what we expect to find in the video, we can make extremely precise inferences about things that shouldn't be in the video."

"But you could manipulate the video to put whatever you want there," I pressed.

"This algorithm doesn't allow that, Fred," Xuefeng's calm voice beside me felt like a splash of cold water.

"Thank you, Dr. Xuefeng," Lánhuā said. "Now, back to what really matters... On your first day, pipeline CD-PL-006, segment X02, was in perfect condition, with the insulation blanket perfectly adhered. Do you agree with this statement?"

"Yes," we answered in unison.

She continued her methodical questioning, walking us through various technical points from our first day of work. She was establishing a baseline to have something to compare to later. Luckily both Dr. Xuefeng and I were ready for any technical questions she might throw at us. What I wasn't prepared for was the external recording. My heart sank as the camera focused on my conversations with Alice.

"Shit..." Was the only thing I could think of.

"As we'll see in other recordings, Mr. Almeida frequently stopped to talk with Lieutenant Alice Jīnfēng during shift changes—"

"Jīnfēng?!" I was surprised. "In all the times I spoke with her, until now I hadn't stopped to think where she was from. Could she be from Xīn Tiāntáng too?"

"—We don't have audio from these cameras, but we can approximate through lip reading," Lánhuā concluded.

And there lay my terrible crime. During every shift change, we would make jokes and exchange glances. We only had a few minutes between shifts, so it ended up becoming one of those playful flirtations that you know will never come to anything. Most of my attempts to make her laugh had involved poking fun at Dr. Xuefeng, which earned me his first look of genuine disappointment and shame.

"Nobody I knew is alive anymore, I need to make new friends somehow," I tried to defend myself. "As far as I know, we were both off duty and didn't do anything wrong."

"You're right," Lánhuā conceded, though her tone suggested this was far from over. "But the fact that you spoke with her during every shift change, and that both were responsible for the same systems on the Virgo, makes her a suspect as well."

"Lieutenant Alice has served with me for five years," Commander Chen interjected. "I've never had any reason to distrust her."

"I don't understand where you're going with this," I said, fighting to keep frustration from my voice.

"Chen, continue the video," Lánhuā ordered.

The recording continued. Each time we appeared near that cursed pipeline, they would freeze the frame and launch into the same battery of questions. The result never varied—the pipeline remained intact. This continued until yesterday's footage. We watched ourselves open the rear bulkhead, work on several reactor valves, and break for lunch. The camera followed as I consumed my boxed lunch and drifted off to sleep in zero gravity while Dr. Xuefeng left the Virgo.

For the first time, we witnessed the image reconstruction algorithm's true capabilities. While I floated there, blissfully unconscious, something sinister climbed the pipeline like a mechanical spider. It created the tear in the protection blanket, then attempted to conceal its handiwork with a carefully arranged tangle of cables.

"What was that?" Dr. Xuefeng lurched forward cracking his usual composure to get a better look at the footage.

"That is why I'm here," Lánhuā responded. "Our algorithms estimate it's a remotely controlled automaton. It should be around five centimeters in diameter." She paused again, studying us like specimens under a microscope. "We've gone through all our images, frame by frame, but couldn't locate how or when that thing entered the Virgo. Our most concrete theory is that it came with your tools."

"Then if you already know we're innocent, why are we still being held here?" I challenged her.

"It's too early to grant you total innocence. Alice is considered one of the main suspects; she's being interrogated at this very moment." The words hung in the air like toxic gas.

"This is a witch hunt..." I muttered.

"Mr. Almeida, if you have knowledge about anything, this is the best time to speak," Lánhuā's words filled the room with a suffocating silence. Commander Chen had taken to glowering at the walls as if they might confess. "The only reason I've spent all this time here with you, telling you much more than you should hear, is because I think you're truly innocent, but I need you to help me find the culprit so this story can end quickly."

"I wish I could help you, but I have nothing to contribute," I responded.

"Dr. Xuefeng?" Her gaze shifted to my professor, who sat with his head bowed and eyes closed, looking like a man carrying the weight of worlds.

"I..." he started. "I noticed the device in my tool case," he finally admitted, each word seeming to cost him something.

"And you did nothing about it?" Commander Chen's incredulity radiated from him.

"I thought someone had placed it there by mistake—it had been there for about two days. I even asked around in the corridors about who owned it. You can check the cafeteria cameras from Thursday and Friday, you'll see." Dr. Xuefeng's words tumbled out like he was trying to outrun them.

"And when you didn't find the owner, you simply left it in your bag?" Lánhuā questioned.

"I had no idea what it was, it looked valuable. I was keeping it until I found the owner," he defended himself.

"With all the respect you know I have for you, Dr. Xuefeng, but you're one of the most renowned physicists and engineers in all of Vielovento. How could you not recognize an automaton?" Lánhuā maintained her pressure.

"When you see it moving, it's easy to recognize. To me, it was just a flat metallic disc."

"And you didn't think to open it to see what was inside?"

"Yes... But the routine with Fred didn't allow me time for that."

Lánhuā and Chen continued their relentless questioning, but Dr. Xuefeng had nothing more to offer, like a star that had burned through all its fuel.

"Mr. Almeida, you're released for now. We'll pass the investigation to A.U.T.N. You can wait in freedom while this proceeds." Lánhuā's words should have felt like relief, but something in her tone made them feel more like a stay of execution. "As for you, Dr. Xuefeng, we'll need to keep you and Alice here for a little longer."

✹✸✶✸✹​

As soon as I left, anxiety propelled me through Broodmothers's labyrinthine corridors in search of Peregrina's crew. I searched the cafeteria and the common areas, without success. I decided to go to each of their dormitories, I didn't remember exactly where they were and I kept trying, but I couldn't find them either. Finally, I resolved to go to Peregrina itself. I approached the external communicator.

"Peregrina, this is Fred, requesting permission to enter."

I waited for a few seconds before Cirakari's familiar voice crackled through the speaker, "Fred, you may enter."

After six days of growing accustomed to Virgo's interior, the Peregrina's cabin felt oddly foreign. The crew was scattered floating in its interior, their faces etched with concern that didn't match their relaxed postures. No signs of physical training were visible; the active displays suggested they'd been running combat simulations instead.

"What happened yesterday?" Cirakari asked.

I recounted the whole story, watching as their expressions shifted from curiosity to disbelief. By the time I finished, they looked like they'd seen a ghost materialize through the bulkhead.

"Should I be worried, Cira?" Tài asked.

Cirakari's mouth quirked into a sardonic smile. "Were you the one who planted the robot in Dr. Xuefeng's luggage?"

"No..." Tài's face darkened. "But this smells like separatism to me. The kind that gets people killed."

"We need to focus on the four Overseer cruisers that will arrive here in a few weeks," she responded gruffly. "All this squabbling won't amount to anything when we're staring down their gun ports."

"Forgive my frankness," Tài said, leaning forward, "but I think you're wrong."

"I always said you'd contradict me at any chance, and I'm standing by that." Cirakari crossed her arms. "But explain to me why you think that way, Tài?"

"Xīn Tiāntáng will see A.U.T.N as a weakness rather than an advantage in the fight against the Overseers." He gestured expansively. "It's much easier for them to control their own people than to depend on everyone's cooperation. Especially with the growing wave of officers favoring surrender."

"Xīn Tiāntáng only has that old Huánglóng relic," Cirakari countered. "Without a decent cruiser, they won't stand a chance against the Overseers."

"A.U.T.N won't stand a chance either without our frigates to fill the Broodmother's docks," Tài shot back.

"You think they plan to take this fight to the ground?" I interjected, trying to understand the full scope of their concerns.

"It's a possibility, yes," he continued. "Take the battle to the surface and try to negotiate favorable surrender terms while they still have something to bargain with."

"We should do the same, folks," Gulliver chimed in from his station. "They outnumber us, have more resources, and better technology. It'll be a massacre whether A.U.T.N is united or not."

"'In interstellar warfare, the defender always has the advantage,'" Cirakari recited, as if quoting from some military expert.

"We threw a bunch of rocks in their path, but what if that doesn't work?" Gulliver's voice carried an edge of desperation.

"Whoa, wait a minute," I interrupted. "They're traveling at near-lightspeeds, right? If you managed to put obstacles in their path, they won't be able to dodge or destroy them. It should be a hit-kill at those speeds."

"It's more complicated than that," Cirakari intervened, calling up a holographic display showing trajectory paths. "We detected the cruisers three years ago. When we spotted them, they had already started their deceleration burn. The encounter with the first rock we threw was a year and a half ago. By then, they had already decelerated to 0.80c. We're not sure how much damage we caused, but apparently it was minimal. Currently, they're at 0.20c and should be entering the supersaturated zone."

"Supersaturated zone?" I leaned closer to examine the hologram.

"Yes," she manipulated the display, showing a cloud of tiny points along the approach vector. "We spent several weeks launching gravel-sized rocks along their approach trajectory. Our hope is that this will cause enough damage to pierce their shields. Even at 0.20c, small particles still carry enough energy to destroy the cruisers."

"But if it doesn't?! We'll have to face all four cruisers head-on," Gulliver added.

"We'd still have the advantage," Cirakari added. "Even if all four cruisers arrive intact, we'll still be able to choose how, when, and where we fight our battles. We're literally sitting next to our natural resources; they'll only have what they managed to bring on their journey. Antimatter is extremely efficient, but it's not infinite." She paused, her eyes sweeping across our faces. "Do I think it'll be a massacre? Yes, I do, for both sides. But I'm fully convinced we can defend ourselves."

"We need four Freedom-Class ships to take down a single interceptor. Imagine four cruisers full of them," Tài added.

"Those interceptors come on suicide missions; they're disposable," Cirakari countered. "That's why they're so aggressive—they can't maintain that pace forever. They burn bright but brief."

"I think it's really cool how you allow this kind of discussion among the crew, regardless of rank," I commented, impressed by the open exchange.

"If I imposed a hierarchical regime, you'd discuss this without me knowing." Cirakari's features softened slightly. "I prefer to participate in the discussion and know my crew well, as long as it doesn't interfere with operations."

Tài and Gulliver nodded in agreement. "This really changes my view of military life," I admitted.

"This varies from commander to commander, but it's important to know that everything we say here stays within this group," she concluded.

"Understood," I affirmed.

"Well..." Cirakari straightened, reaching in her chair, signaling the end of our discussion. "Let's wrap it up here. You've had quite a week, Fred." She paused briefly, checking something on her display. "We'll be arriving at Vielovento soon. Let's rest—maybe I can get a resupply run to show you the planet."

 

[rKlehm]

Chapter 09 – Land

The cafeteria buzzed with energy as the crew of the Peregrina gathered around the long metal tables. The aroma of synthesized coffee and freshly prepared nutrient packs filled the air, mingling with the sound of laughter and lively conversations. It was Sunday, and everyone was celebrating their day off. Though I was still adjusting to feeling part of the group, I found myself easily sliding into the seat next to Gulliver, who was playfully recounting his latest training session.

"...and when I told the instructor he needed to apply more torque, he just looked at me like I was crazy!" Gulliver laughed, slapping his palm on the table. The others joined in the laughter, but it faded when Cirakari entered. Taking Sunday off required Cirakari's formal approval, and until we heard from her, the day's plans were up in the air.

"Alright, everyone, calm down," she said, her voice firm and clear. "I have news."

Everyone leaned in, eager to hear what the rest of the day would be like.

"As I mentioned before, I've managed to secure a resupply mission to Vielovento," she announced, with a hint of pride in her voice.

Tài and I cheered, while Gulliver huffed. "How can you celebrate work on a Sunday?"

"When the alternative is being stuck on a ship with drunks and stoners, a little outing on Sunday doesn't sound so bad," Tài justified.

"I've been frozen for 150 years to start colonizing Vielovento. I can't wait to see what the surface is like," I replied.

"Where are we landing?" Gulliver tried to share in the excitement.

"Zhynka, in Sucron," Cirakari replied, sitting down with us and starting her meal.

"Lucky you, Fred," Tài continued. "It's right in the twilight zone, pleasant climate, well-developed and cosmopolitan city."

"As if you'll be able to see any of those things, right?" Gulliver said, waving his fork dismissively. "We will be working, not visiting."

"Why do we need to land a military ship for a resupply run after all?" I asked.

"We have shuttles and haulers to do the heavy lifting. But we can use the lower deck to carry munitions and other dense materials. It is not efficient at all, but we are in need to get the Broodmother ready as soon as possible" Cirakari explained.

"This is like using a battle tank as a supply truck" I mocked.

Cirakari cleared her throat, cutting through the jovial atmosphere. "Before we make our departure, we have work to do. We need to prepare the Peregrina for atmospheric flight. This means we need to place thermal blankets on the exposed tanks, retract the LANTR engine assembly, and store the radiator panels. Since this can only be done from the outside, get ready to spend a good few hours in a vacuum suit."

Despite the light mood, two things were still bothering me. "Do you know anything about Alice and Dr. Xuefeng?"

"They've been released. Dr. Xuefeng is preparing to leave on the next shuttle. Alice is also likely getting ready to depart, as the Virgo is refueling with the last of Broodmother's hydrogen," Cirakari explained.

I got up from the table, leaving my plate half-finished. "I'm going to say goodbye to them."

"Remember what I told you, Fred," Cirakari said, raising her index finger like a tutor training a dog.

"It's true, Fred. It's easier not to get attached to crews from other ships," Tài added. "Especially after all this sabotage mess."

"You're right. I just want to say goodbye," I agreed. "Do you know their dorm addresses?"

✹✸✶✸✹​

The first person I looked for was Dr. Xuefeng. I searched the first dormitory, workshop, storeroom, reading room, and every corner I could think of. Unsuccessful, I decided to visit Alice next.

Navigating through the corridors of the Peregrina, I changed my speech at every turn. I had gone through more revisions and rehearsals of the dialogue than I could count.

I reached her door, hesitating for a moment. Taking a deep breath, I knocked. After a brief second, the door slid open, and there was Alice, looking as radiant as ever.

"Fred," she said, seemingly surprised by my visit. "What brings you here?"

"I wanted to talk," I said. "May I come in?"

"Uh," she hesitated, shrugging. "Yes, of course."

Her quarters were, unsurprisingly, almost identical to mine. The small space was cluttered with equipment, personal items, and tools, yet it was cozy.

"About what?" she asked, crossing her arms, a hint of suspicion in her tone.

"About everything," I began, already veering off the script I'd created seconds ago. "This little uncommitted flirting game of ours and the mess I got you into with this whole sabotage story."

Alice's brow furrowed, and she let out a soft sigh. "I'm sorry, Fred. Talking to a guy from the past had its charm at first," she admitted, blushing slightly. "But we're in a military environment, we can't act like teenagers."

"You thought I was charming?" I said with a mischievous smile, trying to make a joke.

"Yeah, why else would I be flirting with you?"

"Sorry, you're right. The reason I came here is to say goodbye."

She looked away for a moment, puffing her cheeks as if she were about to burst. "Damn it, Fred," she finally said. "It's not safe for us to be close right now."

"Exactly," I said softly. "Look, we've only known each other for a few days. I'm still trying to figure out what my life will be like from now on. And to add to that, there's this whole thing with the Overseers," I said, moving a bit closer. "When this all blows over, let's start over, the right way. What do you think?"

She leaned in and pressed her lips against mine. The kiss was gentle, hesitant, a fragile mix of confusion and longing as if, for just a moment, we could forget the world outside. Time held its breath, letting everything else—war, chaos, uncertainty—fade into silence. A part of me wished it could last forever. But just as quickly, reality hit back. She pulled away from me, both of us blushing and awkward. "It's a good idea…"

I pulled her back to me, this time the kiss was the opposite of the first. Warm, long, and intense. "I wish I'd met you under better circumstances," I said, regret in my voice.

"I know," she interrupted, stepping back as if the distance could somehow protect us from what we'd just shared.

"Right," I replied. "Let's just... keep our focus on the mission from now on."

She nodded. "We should get back to work. The crew will be waiting for us."

"Yes, of course."

We exchanged one last look, a shared understanding that this moment would remain just ours. With a heavy heart, I turned and left her quarters, knowing this fragile connection would have to remain unspoken.

✹✸✶✸✹​

Back at the Broodmother's anchorage, the crew was already immersed in preparing the Peregrina for landing. Cirakari directed operations with the sharp efficiency of a commander who had done this a thousand times before.

"Fred, you're late," she said, leaving no room for excuses. "You and Gulliver will be responsible for the thermal blankets."

"Sure!" I replied, hurrying to the suit storage area.

"So, did you find Dr. Xuefeng and Alice?" Gulliver asked as he helped me with the suit's seals.

"I didn't find Dr. Xuefeng. I've turned this ship upside-down."

"And Alice?" His grin was visible even as he sealed his face behind the helmet.

I secured my own helmet, continuing the conversation through the radio. "Yes, I did find her. I don't want to talk about that."

"Great," Cirakari's voice cut in, making me jump inside my suit. "Because you are on an open channel and I'm expecting you to focus on your job."

"Sorry commander," I replied.

We stepped out into the void, methodically anchoring lifelines from ring to ring until we reached the Peregrina's tanks. Together, we worked to secure the thermal blankets over the exposed fuel tanks. The Peregrina's armor could handle reentry with subsurface cooling, but the tanks needed reflective layers to keep the cryogenic contents stable. The catch was that this reflective surface would melt faster than ice in a furnace during atmospheric reentry. That's where the blankets came in—designed as ablative shielding, they would sacrifice themselves layer by layer, carrying away the deadly heat.

"Make sure to double-check those straps," Gulliver instructed.

"I got it," I replied through the radio. The thick gloves were definitely a pain in the ass, but at least it was much better than the monstrosity I was used to back in the GIX. I knew this procedure from countless hours studying the Virgo's manuals, but this was my first time putting theory into practice. "Done," I announced finally.

"I'm done as well," Gulliver echoed.

"Nice work guys," Cirakari's voice carried approval. "Fred, I need you to dismantle the laser reflector turrets. Gulliver, help me retract the LANTR engine cluster."

Despite my expertise with engines making me the most qualified for that task, retracting the engines was mostly about pressing buttons and watching actuators do their thing. My assignment, however, was a different story. Loosening bolts, dismantling complex components, handling extremely sensitive fiberglass and mirrors—all while having to watch for floating nuts in zero-g. The job took longer than I'd like to admit, but eventually, both turrets were safely disassembled and stored.

"Well done, Fred!" Cirakari's praise crackled through the radio.

"Can I ask for a raise now?" I joked, flexing my tired fingers.

"Maybe if you manage to finish the job before I turn into a grandma next time," Cirakari shot back.

✹✸✶✸✹​

With preparations complete, we assembled in the Peregrina's control deck. Cirakari took her position at the helm. "Broodmother, this is Commander Cirakari from the Peregrina. I'll be handling the ship and therefore I'm entitling First Lieutenant Gulliver to speak on the Peregrina's behalf, do you acknowledge?"

"Acknowledged, Peregrina," the Broodmother's operator replied.

"We are ready to initiate undocking procedures. Requesting confirmation of authorization for separation," Gulliver communicated as Cirakari's hands moved over the maneuver controls.

"Understood. Authorization granted. Confirm manual disengagement mode is activated."

"Confirmed. Manual disengagement mode activated. We will initiate lateral thrusters for controlled distancing to minimum safe distance," Gulliver replied.

"Copied, Peregrina. Move to 250 meters, then proceed with deorbit burn at your discretion. Atmospheric entry window for Zhynka's landing pad opens in 22 minutes. Gravitational assist vectors will be sent in 5 seconds."

"Trajectory data received. Executing final vector alignment checks. Peregrina's navigation and orientation systems are all green," Tài confirmed.

"Heat exchangers prepared and nominal pressure. Radiators ready for retraction sequence," I reported, fighting the knot in my throat and wiping my sweaty palms on my suit. I'd performed de-orbital flights before, but never in a military-grade armored brick powered by bomb-grade uranium for engines.

"Confirming lateral separation in progress. Separation speed maintained at one-tenth meters per second," Cirakari announced.

"Separation at one-tenth meters per second confirmed. Maintain clear lateral thrusters until reaching 150 meters."

"Copied, Broodmother. Moving to 150 meters, speed maintained," Gulliver acknowledged.

"Tài, confirm portside frontal thruster vector is stable?" Cirakari requested.

"Confirmed. Thrust is stable, monitoring residual vibrations," Tài responded.

"Separation verification at 150 meters... complete separation. Reorienting for deorbit trajectory," Cirakari reported.

"Separation at 150 meters confirmed, good separation, Peregrina. Safe travels, and we'll see you soon," Broodmother control concluded.

"Thank you, Broodmother. Initiating rotation for deorbit burn alignment," Cirakari replied.

"Broodmother clear, systems green. Aligned with Zhynka entry vector, confirming angle at -5.3 degrees," Tài reported, his voice steady despite the mounting tension.

"Executing deorbit burn in 5... 4... 3... 2... ignition," Cirakari counted down.

The ship shuddered as the engines roared to life. "Main engine at eighty-five percent power. Heat levels within expected range, thermal shields stable," I reported, frantically darting between the cooling system monitors.

"Altitude at 210 kilometers," Cirakari announced, her voice cutting through the engine's rumble.

"Velocity vector confirmed, 2.1 kilometers per second and decreasing," Tài said.

"Burn complete," Cirakari confirmed.

A knot formed on my throat as an alert flashed across my screen. "Commander, there was an anomaly on the heat-sink," I reported, trying to keep my voice steady. "Its efficiency is three percent lower than expected."

"Can we continue? It's your call Fred," Cirakari said.

"In normal conditions, this shouldn't be a problem," I tried to reason. "But with the recent sabotage on the Virgo, could this also be a sabotage attempt?" The go-nogo window was closing fast—there was no time for debate. "Yes, we can continue."

The external cameras displayed a mesmerizing, almost deadly layer of plasma wrapping around the ship as we plunged into the atmosphere. Less mesmerizing were the temperature gauges climbing at an alarming rate as the heat-sink's efficiency continued to deteriorate.

"Commander, we may have to use active cooling," I announced, already fiddling with the emergency controls. "The issue with the heat-sink is becoming a real problem."

"Proceed, Fred."

I activated the emergency protocols, and the external surfaces began weeping coolant fluid like a metal giant sweating in a furnace. We were losing all our fluids, yes, but the droplets would create a buffer separation layer between the ship's surface and the plasma, turning to steam and carrying away the deadly heat.

"Ionization layer detected. Surface control communications may drop soon," Tài warned.

"Understood. Everyone in position, prepare for peak G-forces," Cirakari instructed.

The ship's vibrations intensified, rattling every bolt and panel around us. Through the external cameras, we could see the hull glowing cherry-red as rivers of plasma carved their way around our reinforced shields.

"Hull temperature at 1350 degrees Celsius. Remaining within limits," I reported, darting between multiple sensor displays. "G-force currently at 3.1 and rising." The force pushed us deeper into our seats, making every movement feel like lifting weights.

"Speed reducing—3.8 kilometers per second," Tài announced.

As we pushed through the atmosphere's denser layers, the ship groaned and shuddered like a living thing. "Thermal load is decreasing. We're out of the critical layer," I informed, relief flooding through me as the readings began to stabilize. The violent vibrations gradually subsided to a more manageable rumble, though the constant force of deceleration still pressed us firmly into our seats.

✹✸✶✸✹​

"Altitude at 12 kilometers. Approaching final descent," Tài announced, his fingers moving across his console with renewed confidence.

"Activating landing thrusters... now," Cirakari declared. "Switching from main engines to vertical descent profile."

The Peregrina's fission thrusters came to life with a controlled roar, providing the final kick to our landing burn. The timing had to be perfect—we needed to activate the LANTR engines at the last possible moment to ensure their radioactive plume would be safely contained by the radiation bunker beneath the landing pad.

"Landing hooks deployed, tower is "go" for catch. Power flow nominal," Tài informed.

With a grace that belied its massive bulk, the Peregrina settled onto the tower. The hooks were grabbed by the tower as a giant hug with a satisfying thud. For a moment, nobody spoke. We sat in our seats, the weight of planetary gravity settling over us like a heavy blanket.

Through the camera feeds, I could see the first hints of Zhynka's skyline in the distance, a testament to humanity's determination to build a home among the stars. The eternal twilight of Vielovento's terminator zone painted everything in perpetual sunset colors, creating an alien yet somehow familiar landscape. After 150 years of frozen sleep, I had finally arrived at my destination—though in a way I never could have imagined.

 

[rKlehm]

"Fred, a complete debrief on the heatsink problem. Now," Cirakari said. Her voice had that distinctive edge it always took on when she switched into Peregrina Commander mode—clinical, precise, leaving no room for excuses.

"I'll start the analysis right away," I replied, fighting the urge to unlock my harnesses, my mind was already racing ahead to what waited outside. I forced my fingers to stay on the console. Professional first, tourist later.

The heat modeling software's interface filled my screen, and memories of Dr. Xuefeng's endless critiques flooded back. "Your discretization is too coarse, Fred!" "These boundary conditions are amateur work!" His voice echoed in my head as clearly as if he were standing behind me. The fundamentals hadn't changed—finite element modeling was still about breaking down complex systems into manageable chunks and applying physics equations to each piece. But modern software designers had apparently declared war on user-friendly interfaces. The screen before me was a minimalist's dream: sleek, stark, and about as welcoming as a criminal interrogation room. For experts like Dr. Xuefeng, those stripped-down commands were a speedway to solutions. For me, trying to navigate the interface felt like attempting to solve a puzzle in the dark while wearing oven mitts.

I pulled up a standard assembly template, dancing my fingers in uncertainty across the haptic keyboard. Adding boundary conditions to match our anomalous readings took thirty frustrating minutes of menu-diving and parameter-tweaking. Every time I thought I had it right, I'd spot another variable that needed adjustment. The governing equations took fifteen minutes of painstaking configuration. By now, Dr. Xuefeng would have not only finished his simulation but probably written a paper about it too.

When the simulation finally ran, the results made my stomach drop. The virtual heatsink's performance matched our real-world disaster perfectly—starting with that slight degradation in heat absorption, then spiraling into those terrifying temperature spikes within seconds. The model was working exactly as it should, which meant there weren't any large discrepancies between the virtual heatsink and the real one. The knot in my stomach tightened.

"Well, Fred. Any news?" Cirakari's voice made me jump slightly in my seat.

"I'm going to need a bit more time," I said, wrestling with the self-doubt clawing up my throat. If the model predicted exactly what happened, then either the ship's software had failed us, or... "Could I have made a mistake? This can't be right!" I tried to hide that thought.

"I see. We need to meet with the Hammerstar people soon, and it would be good if you could be there to, you know, provide technical insight."

"Of course, I'll just run a few more scenarios and should be wrapping up," I said.

"Fred, is there something we should be worried about? We've never had to eject all the coolant fluid like that before." Her tone carried a weight that made the question feel more like an interrogation.

"The simulations aren't giving me the results I expected, but so far it's nothing serious." I wasn't lying yet, so far there was no imminent danger.

"Alright, we have about one hour left," she concluded.

I turned back to my screens, trying to ignore the sweat beading on my forehead. This time I modeled a cross-leak between the hot and cold loops—my leading theory during the incident. My fingers moved faster now, more familiar with the interface's quirks. Thirty minutes later, I stared at results that might as well have been a signed confession of my incompetence. The cross-leak simulation showed completely different behavior than what we'd experienced during reentry.

I spent the remaining time trying a final simulation—the template exactly as it came from the database, untouched and unmodified. It worked flawlessly, of course. This was just to make sure I wasn't doing something wrong.

"Nothing yet, Fred?" Cirakari's question felt like a judge asking for a final statement.

"No, I think I'll need to do a physical inspection of the pipes and heatsink tank," I said, grasping at the only straw left—time. The pipes would need hours to cool to safe inspection temperatures. Hours I could use to figure out how to explain that I might have nearly turned the Peregrina into a very expensive shooting star.

"Can you do it now?"

"No, I will have to wait for the piping to cool down."

"Ok, let's meet the surface then."

✹✸✶✸✹​

The Peregrina's airlock had always been a tight squeeze, but experiencing it under gravity was a special kind of torture. Imagine trying to thread yourself through a pipe barely wider than your shoulders while someone's sitting on your chest—that's about half as uncomfortable as it actually was. "I was expecting a more romantic way to meet a new world," I thought, trying to ignore how my knees protested every movement.

The landing tower's interior greeted me on the other side, mercifully empty except for the crew.

"Graceful as a duck," Gulliver quipped with grin visible even in the tower's dim lighting.

"Very funny, making fun of the elderly," I shot back, accepting his offered hand up with a gentle shove to his shoulder. "Speaking of which, do you actually have ducks here?"

"Yeah, we do. I mean, I don't know about Zhynka, but the Great Lakes definitely have them," he said, steadying me as I found my balance.

Tài's eyes lit up with that familiar enthusiasm he got whenever he could share technical knowledge. "Zhynka is considered an engineering marvel, you know? Like most cities in the terminator zone, Zhynka was one of the first to be built."

"Really? What's so special about it?" I asked, genuinely curious as we gathered our gear.

"It was built with Overseer's technology," he explained. "The historical structures are made of a graphene matrix with added tantalum-titanium alloy. They were constructed by robots just a few years before the first colonists arrived."

"You haven't been able to replicate this material?"

"Yes, it's not really my expertise, but I know it takes a lot of machinery and money to make it nowadays."

Gulliver raised his eyebrows, wagging his finger in that insufferably knowing way of his. "We'd take hundreds of years to produce what the Overseers used in a single city."

"Don't exaggerate, Gulliver," Tài protested. "It would be a few decades, not centuries."

"Folks, enough of this topic," Cirakari cut in. "Shall we?"

My heart rate picked up as we approached the exit. All those years on the Genesis, I'd imagined needing pressure suits and breathing apparatus to step onto Vielovento's surface. Instead, the Overseers' engineered plankton and cyanobacteria had transformed the atmosphere, turning the carbon dioxide into oxygen. The green lakes Gulliver had described were living proof of their success.

The door opened, and I took a deep breath, ready for my first taste of alien air. What I got instead was a face full of sand-laden wind that felt like being punched by the last airbender. The micro-particles stung against my exposed skin as I squinted through the assault. My crew mates' laughter echoed off the tower walls, adding insult to literal injury.

"What's happening?" I managed to sputter.

"Welcome to Vielovento," Gulliver wheezed between laughs.

"You didn't know about our iconic wind gusts?" Cirakari added, not even trying to hide her amusement.

"Yes, but for some reason I thought it wouldn't be this bad," I grumbled. The science was basic enough—everyone on Genesis knew about it. TRAPPIST-1 F's tidal locking created a permanent hot side and cold side, driving massive air currents in an endless cycle. Hot air rose on the day side, creating low pressure that pulled cold air from the night side. Simple physics, much less simple to experience firsthand.

I fumbled for my protective glasses and covered my face with my hands, finally able to take in the view properly. We stood at the hill's crown, and below us, Zhynka spread out like a bioluminescent creature. Streets traced patterns like glowing veins through the valley, connecting buildings that looked more grown than built. Their aerodynamic shaped organic curves caught the wind, turning what could have been brutal force into gentle whispers around their faces. Above it all, the aurora painted the sky in sheets of ethereal green adorned with the twinkling stars in the twilight. The sight knocked the breath from my lungs more effectively than any wind gust.

We followed the external staircase to the tower's hangar, taking shelter from the elements. Its vast space carried its own presence. Our footsteps echoed off the walls in an arrhythmic percussion, the ceiling so high above that the sound seemed to get lost before returning. The entrance matched the Peregrina in height—clearly designed for vessels rather than people. We settled into what passed for a waiting area: five mismatched chairs that looked like they'd been salvaged from five different offices, arranged around a table that had seen better decades.

When the Hammerstar representatives appeared at the far end of the hangar, the space created an almost comical moment. The distance was just right to force eye contact while being far too far for comfortable interaction.

"Damn... I'll have to meet them halfway," Cirakari muttered, straightening her uniform with a resigned sigh.

 

[rKlehm]

Chapter 10.2 – Think, Cirakari

I left the crew in the waiting area as I walked toward the Hammerstar representatives. They were slick and polished against the gritty background. This polished formality reeked of something foul, like oil over polluted waters.

"Commander Cirakari," greeted the taller of the two, a man with a smooth, striking face and a head shaved to perfection, dressed in a fitted coral-blue suit that felt oddly out of place in this hangar. "I trust your flight was smooth?" He offered a hand.

"We made it," I replied, giving his hand a firm shake. "I was told Vice President Alexey would be here. Grand Admiral Baraka specifically mentioned his involvement."

He glanced sideways, adjusting his cuffs with polished ease. "A small complication kept Alexey away. I'm Thomas, head of logistics for Hammerstar Zhynka's branch, and this is Tyco," he said, nodding toward the other man. "He's our sales and operations planning manager."

Tyco gave a quick nod, silent and calculating. Short, thin, and with a demeanor as unobtrusive as his plain gray suit, he looked the type to fade into a crowd if you blinked.

"Then let's not waste time," I said, crossing my arms. "The Grand Admiral assured me everything was ready. I'm here to collect our shipment, nothing more."

Thomas offered a carefully tempered smile. "Commander, we should discuss a few logistics before we load. We've arranged a meeting room for us to talk in a more comfortable setting."

"Comfortable? These two corporate smooth-talkers had planned this all along," I thought. "I prefer to handle things here," I replied. "Whatever needs negotiating was already settled with Alexey. I'm just here for the cargo."

Thomas's smile wavered, but he recovered quickly. "Very well, then," he said. "As it stands, Commander, we can only supply half of what was initially requested."

I stiffened. "Excuse me? This is a military operation on behalf of the Alliance of United Nations of Trappist. You have an obligation to supply what was promised."

Thomas remained cool, a classic trait of political corporatism. "We understand our commitments, but the Alliance's constant delays in transferring funds have created insurmountable cash-flow issues. We couldn't afford to pay the overpriced costs to deliver you a full cargo."

Tyco's expression was unreadable, almost daring me to lose my temper. "We'd be far more comfortable discussing the complexities in a more private setting," he pressed with barely veiled irritation.

"Half the supplies are unacceptable," I snapped. "Baraka warned me about this. He mentioned Alexey was…testing boundaries. I can assure you, he won't appreciate a repeat."

Thomas stood firm in his mediator persona. "We're simply asking for cooperation, Commander," he said smoothly. "Our resources are stretched thin, and it's an unfortunate reality of our financial constraints. But the A.U.N.T is the main culprit for this problem."

"Then you'll have to deal with the Admiralty." I matched his gaze, unyielding. "If you thought I'd step around the chain of command, you misjudged me."

Tyco glanced around as if to check who might be listening. "There are ways to handle this more efficiently, Commander," he replied, shifting into that passive-aggressive tone that made my skin crawl. "All we need to do is form a compelling case to present to the Admiralty, this might prevent unnecessary delays."

"Do you understand what's at stake?" I said, fighting the urge to raise my voice. I've had my fair share of this corporatism bullshit. If I would like to get shipment, I would have to at least try to work with them. "You know what, nevermind. I'll call Baraka and ask to solve this 'delay in transferring funds' problem. Meanwhile, you two get to work on ways to bring me a full shipment."

Thomas placed a hand lightly on my arm. "Commander, the situation is…larger than just debt payment. Debt clearing alone won't be enough. We're talking about survival, not just logistics."

I pushed his hand away. "What the hell are you talking about? This is starting to look like a conspiracy deal—"

"No conspiracy, Commander," Thomas interrupted, his face pale. "The Alliance is pooling the taxes of all the Vieolovento's nations, and yet, they manage to delay every single payment. This raises questions, how can we confide all of your military ships in the hands of a fragmented Alliance? Our concern isn't merely financial—it's strategic."

"So your plan is to hoard ammunition?" I said, incredulous. "And sell it off to the highest bidder? This is beyond conspiracy, this is treason!"

"Careful, Commander," Tyco said quietly. "We're talking about securing the resources to win. An asset too poorly managed is no asset at all."

I exhaled slowly, reining in my temper. "Our conversation ends here," I stated. "The Grand Admiral will know exactly how you've tried to twist this arrangement. And the Admiralty doesn't take kindly to games."

Thomas's eyes narrowed. "We aren't playing games, Commander. But we would appreciate it if you allowed us to make our case directly. It could expedite things."

"If you had a case to make, you should have made it to the Admiralty."

Thomas and Tyco exchanged glances before Thomas finally conceded, "We can get the full shipment in the following days. But we don't want to transfer it directly to the Alliance, we want to sell it to your nation, Fillandril."

"Fillandril?" I repeated, aghast. "So this is your plan? You want to avoid the debt of the Alliance by billing an individual nation?"

"Again, this is not only about finances. This is about winning the war. We want to make sure that Fillandril will receive the best possible supplies. It is a steady and reliable nation with an impressive record of Admirals. We believe you would be ideal for maintaining this…partnership," Tyco replied, his voice oozing with corporate finesse.

"Exclusive shipments to Fillandril's ships," Thomas added, as though that were a trivial condition.

"You're willing to undercut the A.U.N.T. for this?" I replied, my voice seething.

Thomas remained unfazed. "We want to win the war, and success requires strategy. We need strong nations to defend against the Overseer's incoming attack."

"A moment," I cut in, my voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "Did you say 'nations'?" I stepped closer, watching Thomas's polished facade crack slightly. "How many others are receiving this deal? Is that why our shipment is halved?"

Tyco dropped his head, visibly frustrated with his superior's loose tongue. Thomas shifted uncomfortably, giving away just enough. "We can't put all our chips on a single horse."

I'd heard enough. "Then I suggest you find a way to load up those supplies. Every single tiny bit of it. Or else, the only 'case' you will manage for me to present to the Admiralty is how we are gonna nuke your damn fucking headquarters."

Thomas's mouth twitched, but he nodded. "Very well, Commander. But do pass along our… ideas to Admiral Baraka. I'm sure he will see reason behind our actions."

I turned, letting the tension hang in the air. "I'll inform him of everything. And I strongly recommend transparency—unless you want the Alliance's full scrutiny on every operation you run here."

 

[rKlehm]

Chapter 11 – Guilt

Although my brain still insisted on connecting the golden sunset to the end of the day, the reality was that the clock hadn't even reached noon. The perpetual twilight, once a fantasy, now grated on my nerves, adding a surreal sense of limbo to each hour.

We watched from an elevated walkway, our arms crossed in a mix of expectation and idleness, while Hammerstar's machinery performed Peregrina's maneuvers. A symphony of steel and gears that masterfully handled the heavy work.

Meanwhile, Cirakari, seizing the moment of tranquility, decided to update us on the intrigues and conspiracies bubbling behind the scenes.

"...and then, I called Grand Admiral Baraka and explained the whole situation," she concluded.

"What magnificent sons of bitches," Gulliver added, with his traditional grace.

"And how did Baraka react?" I asked.

Cirakari faked a laugh and shook her head. "He told me to close the deal, said it was better to have ammunition in Fillandril than no ammunition at all."

"And what about the rest of the Admiralty?" I continued asking. I didn't understand anything about Vielovento's geopolitics, but I wanted to help somehow. "Have they learned about these parallel negotiations?"

"The Admiralty is composed of five nations," she began explaining. "Xīn Tiāntáng is the largest and most influential, then comes Lilone and Delcroix, both democracies with significant military might. The other two nations with seats in the Admiralty are there for strategic reasons; Fillandril because of our academies and traditionalism in space combat, and Uzoil because of their orbital shipyards—they built the Broodmother."

"Right... But that doesn't really answer my question," I said, as she implied there should be some pattern to understand in the explanation.

"They must already be negotiating with Xīn Tiāntáng," Tài intervened. "Grand Admiral Lánhuā must have ordered them to clean out their stocks."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Cirakari dismissed Tài's alarm. "They might be looking for a big shark in the deal, but I think it's much more likely they've approached Grand Admiral Drika..."

"I don't remember her," I interrupted.

"Drika is the Admiral representing Uzoil," she added. "The city-state of Uzoil is strategic, stable, and has the capability to rebuild our fleet if the Alliance manages to lose it."

"But that doesn't make sense," I tried to follow the logic. "They told you they're interested in winning the war, and they're going to do that by allying with two city-states that can barely form a flotilla?" I had recently learned the term meant a small group of light vessels.

"They're businesspeople. For them, everything comes down to risk versus return on investment," she said, turning away from the machines working in the background. "According to Baraka, they're betting on a scenario where both fleets, the Alliance's and the Overseers', mutually destroy each other. If that happens, they'll have secured an alliance with Fillandril and Uzoil, the two nations capable of rebuilding the Alliance Fleet, or whatever takes the power vacuum left by it."

"You already know what I think," Gulliver threw in with his classic know-it-all face.

"I swear if you talk about surrendering again, I'll lock you outside the ship and use you for armor," Cirakari said, serious and frowning. Everyone started laughing while I stood there, lost to the joke.

"Actually, I was going to say it's already lunch time and the Hammerstar folks are just stalling."

"True..." said Cirakari, checking her watch and doing some mental calculation. "Well, let's have lunch then, in the afternoon we'll dismantle the airlock chamber and load all this junk."

We walked to the cafeteria, which was located next to the hangar. As we settled in, the engines of the tower supporting the Peregrina came to life with a roar, vibrating with a vigorous hum. Unlike the traditional diesel engines still used in heavy machinery on Earth, electric motors predominated here. Petroleum had never formed on Vielovento's once sterile surface.

"They must be doing this just to mess with us..." Gulliver said with his mouth full.

✹✸✶✸✹​

With our bellies full and the clock marking mid-afternoon, Tài and I prepared for the next step of the operation: dismantling Peregrina's airlock chamber. I felt the weight of the rappelling equipment on my back, a familiar sensation that reminded me of the climbing I used to do on Earth. Vielovento's gravity was friendlier than Earth's, but still required caution and precision.

"Ready, Fred?" Tài asked, already beginning his descent.

"Always ready," I replied, giving one last pull on the ropes to ensure they were well secured. "Let's go."

We descended to the middle of the ship, which was still in vertical position. In an analogy with the human body, the decompression chamber would be at navel height. It was a robust piece, designed to withstand atmospheric pressures and space temperature variations.

Cirakari and Gulliver were already positioned inside the ship, ready to operate the controls that would release the internal latches. It was a boring, time-consuming, and procedural job. The piece weighed more than half a ton and had connections to various pneumatic, hydraulic, and electrical systems of the ship.

"Everything's ready in here," I heard Cirakari's voice through the radio. "Gulliver is checking the last sensors."

"Great," I said, looking up where the Hammerstar operators were positioning the cranes to capture the chamber once it was released.

"You can start loosening, Fred," she said.

I instructed Tài about which bolts and in what order I needed him to loosen. Meanwhile, I worked with the external pneumatic connections, investing long minutes in this seemingly simple task.

After the initial disassembly, I entered the chamber and, with help from Gulliver on the inside and Tài on the outside, completed the dismantling. Like the previous day's landing, my knowledge of the airlock chamber's disassembly came solely from Dr. Xuefeng's theoretical classes. Obviously, it wasn't possible to land the ship or open the airlock in orbit.

"We're ready, the chamber is loose," I announced over the radio.

The Hammerstar crane lowered to the chamber's level, and Tài secured the hooks from the outside. I stayed inside, making final adjustments as they moved it outward, then exited and waited outside, suspended by the rappelling rope.

"3, 2, ..." a countdown came through the radio.

The chamber began to detach slowly, and I felt sweat running down my forehead under the helmet. I held tight to the rope, guiding the chamber's descent with careful movements, while Tài did the same from the other side.

"Perfect, Fred. Everything's disconnected in here," said Cirakari, with a calm and controlled voice. "Good job, team!" she finished when the chamber came out completely.

"Tonight I'm buying a round for you all," Cirakari promised. "By local time it's still Sunday," she finished with a laugh.

The operation was a success, and despite the heat and effort, I felt genuine satisfaction. I was looking for a place to rest inside Peregrina while the Hammerstar personnel would finish the loading. That's when my satisfaction went down the drain.

"Fred," Cirakari called me. "Now that everything's done here, you can do that inspection on the heatsink, we won't take off until we resolve this."

I stood up, contemplating the work ahead. But I already knew the answer, I would just be delaying the inevitable, or worse, looking for someone to blame. The great truth was that I had made a mistake, and had very nearly killed the entire crew.

"Cira..." I stammered. "I gave a second thought about the simulation results, I don't think the physical inspection will bring much new information."

"But you have a verdict then? How do we solve the problem?" she asked anxiously.

"I..." I stammered again. "I think I screwed up."

Her expression transformed from restlessness to disbelief faster than the chain reaction of a nuclear bomb. "What the fuck, Fred," she said, now with notes of anger too. "You thought stalling and acting like this wasn't your problem was a solution?"

"It's just that I..." I tried to explain.

"Fucking no! It was just nothing!" She shouted so loud that even the Hammerstar people stopped to listen. "I talked about this shit with Baraka today," she reduced her tone to a whisper. "Told him about the suspicion of sabotage and said that the fucking colonist I had put in as engineer was working on it."

I was stunned, I expected a scolding, but not like this. I stayed quiet; if there was anything I learned about military life from movies, it's that you don't contradict an enraged superior. She paced back and forth in the tiny space, practically walking in place.

"Are you absolutely certain this was your mistake?"

When she put it that way, I noticed that I couldn't state with absolute certainty that it was my error. "No, it could have been a problem with the ship's software too, or there might actually be something in the physical inspection."

"Alright..." She said, running her hand along her chin. "Go down there, open everything that needs to be opened and check every square inch of piping. You're not coming out until you're absolutely certain the mistake was yours. Understood?"

"Yes, commander," I replied, head down. "And regarding the software analysis?"

"I'll ask someone to run an analysis from the Broodmother."

"Understood, I'll start then," I said while pointing to go down the stairs.

"Fred..." she interrupted me. "I know you're not military, and you didn't even want to be here, I'm the one who dragged you in," she covered her face while trying to regain her composure. "But you're not in college or graduate school anymore. If you made, or think you made, a mistake, I'm the first person to know."

"Understood."

"There's no problem in making mistakes, we all do, but hiding this? It's reckless, and it endangers every one of us. There's a lot of shit happening in high command because of this error of yours."

I was tired of repeating "understood," nodded my head and continued the descent. I leaned on the rear bulkhead and started loosening the bolts. I was immersed in a spiral of anger and shame about what had just happened. I indeed didn't want to be there, but once the challenge had been accepted, I could never accept failure.

I started carrying the aluminum plates; in Vielovento's gravity, this was much harder than in its absence in orbit. Tài noticed my effort and came to help.

"Relax, man," he said with an empathetic smile. "You never forget your first dressing down. Especially if it's from Cira."

I don't know how, but he managed to make me laugh. "Thanks. But I won't let this happen again."

"Good thing you're on a Fillandril ship, if this was Xīn Tiāntáng you'd be screwed," he said, taking the plate and carrying it to the side.

"Is Xīn Tiāntáng that bad?" I was intrigued. Tài was Tiāntángren, but he was also always the first to throw stones at his country.

He sighed, shaking his head as if weighing the answer. "Actually no, quite the opposite, if you look at crime rates and development indices you'll see that Xīn Tiāntáng is one of the best countries in Vielovento," he said, suddenly with a glimmer of pride and patriotism in his eyes. "A defensive mindset had always been part of my people's identity; we never attacked, only protected what was ours," he added, with pride.

"But why do you..."

"Since early on I always felt like a foreigner," he cut me off. "My father was military, and my whole family wanted me to follow that career too. I never wanted to, but when rumors of the Alliance started, I thought it would be an opportunity to make my parents proud and at the same time experience different cultures. As soon as I joined, I demanded not to be allocated to any Xīn Tiāntáng ship, went through about three until I landed on Peregrina."

"Wow, it must be tough for you having to serve on a ship from another nation," I commented, feeling sympathy for his situation. Although, my nation was from 150 years ago and probably didn't exist anymore.

"Not really, I like Peregrina a lot, and among all foreign nations, Fillandril is the one I sympathize with most..." he paused, as if remembering some detail. "At least in Fillandril you can almost blow up your crew, spend the whole day lying to the commander, make her look like a fool to the Admiralty and still keep your head attached to your body," he said, holding back laughter. I wanted to feel sad, but seeing him holding back laughter was something uncontrollable, we burst out laughing.

I continued working, Tài helped me for a while, but soon after Cirakari called him for other activities. Night arrived—according to the clock at least—with that damned sunset still staring at me, beautiful, perfect, but irritating and unbearable after almost twenty-four hours.

The crew went out drinking for the night, Cirakari insisted that I go too, she said it would be good for morale. I remained enclosed within Peregrina's entrails, swearing to myself I would only leave when I was absolutely certain the ship was safe for takeoff.

The crew returned and went to sleep in the Hammerstar quarters. I worked for a few more hours, reassembling everything, checking three times as Dr. Xuefeng taught. Exhausted, with the path to the quarters seeming impossibly long, I slept right there on Peregrina's rear bulkhead. Where it all began.

 

[rKlehm]

Chapter 12 – Perspectives

I awakened from morning noises in the Hammerstar's high bay, my neck stiff from sleeping against Peregrina's bulkhead. The ship's lights had shifted to morning mode, casting an odd contrast against the eternal twilight beyond. My tablet showed 0630 local time, and my body felt every minute of yesterday's marathon inspection.

"Guys! I've found our engineer!" Tài's voice rang out as he descended to the lower deck, tossing me a pastry that vaguely resembled a croissant. "The undergrads at Zhankya University know how to party. You missed a hell of a night."

I stretched, wincing as my joints protested. "Someone had to make sure this bird wouldn't blow up mid-flight," I quipped, hoping humor would mask my exhaustion.

"While you were tinkering with pipes, we were living it up," Gulliver added, following close behind Tài. "There was this one girl who could recite the entire periodic table while doing handstands. Now that's what I call talent!"

"Sounds... educational," I said, taking a bite of the surprisingly good pastry.

"Educational? It was legendary!" Gulliver's eyes sparkled. "They had this drinking game where you had to match molecular structures. Every wrong answer meant a shot of something they called 'neutron juice.' I still can't feel my tongue."

Tài shook his head, grinning. "You should've seen him trying to explain quantum entanglement after his fourth shot. Pretty sure he invented a new branch of physics."

"My personal favorite," Gulliver interjected, brushing off Tài's teasing with a casual wave, "was this AI game where it projects your memories onto a wall. Everyone tries to guess the story behind them."

"And why, exactly, would anyone want to do that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"In theory, you pick what to share," Tài explained. "But after a few drinks, it turns into the galaxy's most efficient self-shaming machine."

The morning banter continued for a few minutes while I enjoyed my breakfast. Tài and Gulliver climbed back to their stations while I remained on the lower deck finishing the report.

Cirakari was the last one to enter the ship, looking impossibly fresh despite presumably joining last night's debauchery. Her sharp gaze found mine, and I instinctively straightened.

"Report, Fred?"

I cleared my throat. "I've completed a thorough inspection of the entire thermal management system. Every component is within specifications, and there's no sign of physical damage or wear." I pulled up the diagnostic data on my tablet, holding it steady as I presented the findings. "The piping network, heat exchangers, and all auxiliary systems are functioning normally."

Cirakari nodded slowly. "The software analysis from the Broodmother came back clean too. No anomalies in the control algorithms or system protocols."

"Then it's confirmed," I said, meeting her gaze. "The failure was entirely my error."

A brief silence settled between us, broken only by the distant murmur of Tài and Gulliver's voices drifting down from the upper deck.

Cirakari broke the quiet with a softer voice than usual. "About yesterday—"

"No need," I cut in, standing a little straighter. "You were right. I should have come forward immediately when I suspected my mistake."

She tilted her head slightly in an unreadable expression. "It wasn't just about protocol," she said evenly. "Mistakes happen. But the sooner we confront them, the easier they are to correct."

"I understand," I replied. "It won't happen again."

Something flickered in her eyes—respect, perhaps, though fleeting—but she kept her composure. Her gaze swept across the room, gathering the attention of the rest of the crew.

"Guys," she began. "We've got news from the Broodmother. There's heavy resupply traffic up there, and we're looking at a delay of at least eight hours before we get a docking slot."

Tài groaned from his seat at the console. "Eight hours? Fantastic. More time to contemplate life's mysteries while staring at metal walls."

"Or," Gulliver chimed in, a grin creeping across his face, "we could finally settle the debate about who's better at predictive orbital plotting—me or the ship's AI."

"The AI," Cirakari answered dryly, without missing a beat.

Gulliver feigned a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. "Cirakari, I'm wounded. After all we've been through, you'd side with a machine?"

"I side with efficiency," she shot back with a faint smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

Tài nodded to me. "What do you think, Fred? Gulliver's ego or cold, hard algorithms?"

I shrugged, grateful for the lighter tone in the room. "As an engineer, I have a soft spot for cold, hard algorithms."

Gulliver threw up his hands in mock exasperation. "Even you, Fred?"

Cirakari raised a hand, silencing the banter. "Eight hours is not much, but since we already have everything settled here…"

"More shore leave?" Gulliver perked up hopefully.

"More shore leave," Cirakari confirmed. "Tài, Gulliver, show our engineer around. He's seen enough of Peregrina's innards to last a lifetime."

"The First Habitat!" Tài exclaimed, suddenly animated. "I've always wanted to see it."

✹✸✶✸✹​

As I descended into Zhynka, the distant hill view dissolved into an immediate, living landscape. The glowing veins I'd seen from above were pedestrian walkways, softly lit with bioluminescent strips that pulsed in rhythm with the city's heartbeat.

Up close, the buildings proved more organic than imagined. Their surfaces radiated a subtle warmth from integrated thermal systems. Plants weren't mere decoration but a symbiotic network, as Tài explained excitedly, they were genetically modified to mass produce oxygen.

The air carried an earthy sweetness, cut with ozone from the twilight aurora. Citizens moved like a fluid through pipes, their clothing echoing the city's natural aesthetic. A vendor's bio-synthesized cart offered steaming spiced roots, while children played in the parks.

"First stop," Tài announced as we approached a massive structure that dominated the city center, "The original lander," Tài explained, talking like a tour guide. "When the Overseers first sent colonists here, this was their shelter. Everything else grew around it."

"Hard to believe this thing carried three hundred people," I mused, staring up at the structure.

"Three hundred and twelve," Tài corrected. "Plus supplies, equipment, and enough genetic material to start a civilization." He was in his element now, gesturing enthusiastically as he spoke. "See those marks on the hull? Those are from the atmospheric entry. They kept them unrepaired as a reminder of the journey."

We entered through the original airlock, now converted into a modern entrance. Inside, holographic displays showed scenes from the early days of colonization. Tài provided running commentary, his knowledge seemingly endless.

"The first five years were the hardest," he explained as we passed a display showing the initial construction of atmospheric processors. "They had to establish basic life support while building the infrastructure for expansion. Every breath of air had to be manufactured, every drop of water recycled."

"Look at these life support systems," I marveled, examining the machinery. "They were using technology that would have seemed like magic on Earth, but compared to what we have now..."

"Progress marches on," Tài agreed. "Though sometimes I wonder if we've really progressed or just complicated things unnecessarily."

Gulliver, who had been suspiciously quiet, finally groaned. "One more historic air filter, and I'm chucking myself out an airlock"

As we left the museum, I decided to address something that had been bothering me. "Gulliver, why are you so quick to suggest surrender? Every time things get tough, you bring it up."

He shrugged. "Look around you. People living their lives, working, studying, falling in love. You think they care who's in charge? This war, it's just powerful people playing games with our lives."

"That's... surprisingly philosophical coming from you," I admitted.

"The average person just wants to live their life," he continued. "Whether it's the Alliance or the Overseers calling the shots, gravity still pulls down, and bills still need paying."

Tài shook his head. "You're assuming the Overseers want to rule us. I don't think that's their game."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Think about it. TRAPPIST-1 is 42 light-years from Earth. Maintaining control over such distances is impractical, we need 84 years to send a message and hear its response. No, if they win, they'll probably just destroy everything here."

The thought sent a chill through me. "But why?"

"Because we exist," Tài said simply. "We're proof that humanity can survive without them. That's enough of a threat."

"I mean… why did they colonize TRAPPIST-1 in the first place?"

"Well, I wish I had the answer," he replied.

We continued to wander around, visiting more landmarks and tasting different kinds of street food. Our tour was interrupted by Cirakari's voice over our comms. "Time to wrap up the tourism, people. We've got clearance for launch in ninety minutes."

✹✸✶✸✹​

Back aboard Peregrina, the atmosphere transformed from casual to professional in seconds. Cirakari's voice carried through the ship's communication system, crisp and authoritative.

"Pre-launch checklist initiated. All stations report status."

"Navigation systems online," Tài reported from his station. "Flight path calculated and verified."

"Weapons systems secured and locked," Gulliver added. "All ammunition properly stored."

I ran through my own checks, this time making sure I was following the right procedures. "Engineering reports all systems nominal. Thermal management system showing green across the board."

"Hammerstar Control, this is Peregrina actual," Cirakari's voice was steady and professional. "Requesting clearance for vertical launch."

"Peregrina, Hammerstar Control. You are cleared for launch on Vector Seven. Weather conditions optimal, winds at three knots from the northwest."

"Auxiliary engines nominal," I reported, watching the power levels climb steadily. "Thermal systems responding normally."

"Ten seconds to launch," Cirakari announced. "All hands, secure for acceleration."

The countdown proceeded in my head as I monitored the engine parameters. The familiar vibration built through the ship's frame, but this time I knew exactly what each tremor meant, what each gauge should show.

Peregrina lifted off with a controlled surge of power, rising steadily through Vielovento's twilight sky. The eternal sunset finally began to change as we climbed, the atmosphere thinning around us until stars became visible in the monitors.

"Trajectory nominal," Tài reported. "Ascending through fifty kilometers."

"Thermal systems performing as expected," I added, allowing myself a small smile of satisfaction.

The ascent continued smoothly, and soon we were in orbit, approaching the massive form of the Broodmother. As we maneuvered toward our assigned docking port, Cirakari received a message.

"Well," she said after closing the channel, "it seems Grand Admiral Baraka wants to discuss our next assignment personally." She turned to face us. "Whatever happens next, you all performed excellently today."

"Does this mean we get another shore leave soon?" Gulliver asked hopefully.

"Let's see what the Admiral has to say first," Cirakari replied, but there was amusement in her voice.

As the docking clamps engaged and the ship settled into its berth, I reflected on the past few days. I had made mistakes, yes, but I had also learned from them. More importantly, I was starting to understand my place in this crew, this ship, this strange new world I found myself in.

"Hey, Fred," Gulliver called out as we secured our stations. "Next time we're planetside, I'll show you the real attractions. None of that historical stuff."

"As long as it doesn't involve quantum physics drinking games," I replied.

"No promises," Gulliver smirked. "But I heard there's this place where they serve something called 'positron punch'..."

Cirakari's voice cut through our banter. "Alright, people. Secure your stations and prepare for debrief. Something tells me our next assignment isn't going to be a milk run."

Looking around at my crewmates—my friends—I realized that despite all the challenges and uncertainties ahead, there was nowhere else I'd rather be. The perpetual sunset of Vielovento was behind us now, but somehow, I knew we'd be back. After all, every sunset, even an eternal one, promises a new dawn.

 

[rKlehm]

The Broodmother's briefing room felt smaller than usual, especially after Cirakari activated the holographic display. The familiar blue glow cast shadows across our faces.

"Two Overseer interceptors," Cirakari began, "detected on an inbound vector toward the Brando mining cluster." The hologram shifted, showing a complex orbital plot. Red markers traced the interceptors' trajectory aimed at the outer asteroid cloud of TRAPPIST-1.

"Another suicide run?" Tài asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

Cirakari nodded grimly. "Analysis confirms no return capability. Standard Overseer playbook: maximum damage, zero survival intent."

Gulliver leaned back and his chair creaked. "Classic, burn everything and call it a strategy. I don't know how they convince these guys to do those attacks."

My throat tightened as memories flooded back from the chaotic battle during my rescue, the stomach-churning acceleration, the bone-deep certainty that death was moments away. The room seemed to spin slightly, and I gripped the edge of my console to steady myself.

"Aren't the mining stations spread across hundreds of asteroids?" I asked, forcing my voice to sound steadier than I felt. "How can just two interceptors do any significant damage?"

Cirakari glanced at me. "In all our encounters with them, we never managed to empty their missile magazines. So we assume they can bring a hell of a lot more." She tapped a control, bringing up a detailed sheet with known data about the interceptors. "And with those rapid-fire coilguns, they could flood the mining bases with clouds of projectiles. It's still a stretch for such small vessels, but it's the leading theory."



"Fantastic," Gulliver muttered, "because a standard apocalypse wasn't bad enough."

"The Broodmother is going to deploy four Freedom-class frigates for interception," Cirakari continued, either not noticing my distress or choosing to push through it. "That includes us. Mission parameters are strict: the Broodmother will slingshot us to the encounter zone. We will coast our way through with minimal RCS adjustments. We will have just enough Delta-V for the fight and our burn back to the Broodmother."

"Translation: no fancy flying," Gulliver quipped, but his usual levity felt forced.

"More like no second chances," Tài countered. "We miss, we drift, we die."

The hologram expanded, showing detailed thrust vectors and intercept calculations. Numbers and trajectories filled my screens, blurring together as my pulse quickened. The familiar weight of panic settled on my chest, making each breath a conscious effort.

"Fred," Tài's voice broke through the haze. "You good?"

I blinked, realizing everyone was looking at me. My hand was white-knuckled on the console. "Yeah," I lied.

Gulliver's hand landed on my shoulder, solid and reassuring. "Relax, you've got the easy job. Just keep the engines running while we do all the hard work."

"Right," Tài chimed in with a warm smile. "And if anything goes wrong, we can always blame the quantum fluctuations or something like that."

Cirakari's gaze held for a moment before she turned back to the display. "Focus. The interceptors will reach the Brando cluster in four and a half days. From now on, we're entering full combat mode—intense training and simulations. That goes double for you, Fred."

"Guess I'll skip breakfast," Gulliver said with a forced laugh, but no one joined in this time.

"Any other jokes?" Tài said dryly. "Or are we done pretending this isn't a suicide run too?"

"We're not them," Cirakari snapped. "Have you forgotten who's piloting? Have any of you ever died with me at the helm?" She let out a short, sharp laugh, and after a beat, Tài and Gulliver joined in. I wasn't so sure, but I managed a faint smile of my own.

✹✸✶✸✹​

The following days blurred into a relentless cycle of preparation. My world narrowed to diagnostic screens and emergency procedures, each hour bringing new lessons in combat engineering. I couldn't help but wish for Dr. Xuefeng's guidance. The ship's simulator became my second home, running countless scenarios until my fingers moved automatically across the controls. Surprisingly, I found myself becoming a fan of the minimalistic interface.

"Thermal spike in engine three!" Gulliver once shouted during one of the drills, timing my responses. "What's your move, hotshot?"

I raced through the procedures, redirecting coolant flow, adjusting power distribution, all while monitoring a dozen other systems.

"Too slow!" he barked on a bad run, smacking the console for emphasis.

"If you keep yelling in my ear, the ship might explode just to spite you," I snapped back once, earning a rare laugh from Tài.

Sometimes I succeeded. Sometimes theoretical deaths accumulated. Always, I learned.

Between drills, the crew swapped overly exaggerated stories during hurried meals.

"So there we were," Gulliver once began, gesturing dramatically in the mess hall. "Only four missiles left, five incoming. The cap asked what we could do."

"Let me guess," Tài interrupted. "You just happened to be a secret missile multiplier?"

"Naturally," Gulliver replied with a perfectly straight face. "Not to brag, but I've been credited with inventing spontaneous ammunition duplication. Classified tech, you wouldn't understand."

Cirakari, seated across from us, tried to suppress a smile but failed. "You're an idiot, Gulliver."

"An idiot who's still alive," he countered, grinning.

These moments of levity were brief but vital. Back in the simulator, Cirakari pushed me harder. "Fred, you're micromanaging too much. Trust the system. It's designed to support you."

"Trust the system?" I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow. "Easy for you to say. You don't have a habit of blowing up in these simulations."

"I don't," she agreed with a smirk. "Because I listen. Less hesitation, more instinct. Do it again."

By the second night, exhaustion began to creep in, though the others showed no signs of slowing. During a rare quiet moment in the mess hall, I accidentally vocalized a thought. "Have any of you heard anything from the Virgo?"

The question hung awkwardly in the air.

Cirakari raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean: 'Has anyone heard from Alice?'"

"Well... She's part of the crew, so—"

"She's aboard the Huánglóng cruiser now," Cirakari interrupted, her tone clipped. "The Virgo is on a classified mission."

Her answer was final, a clear signal not to press further. Still, Tài gave me a sidelong glance as if to say, Don't take it personally.

On the final day, as we prepared for undocking, I realized something had changed. The fear was still there, my ever-present companion, but it no longer paralyzed me. Instead, it drove me to triple-check every system, every connection, exactly as Dr. Xuefeng once taught me.

The training was over. The real fight was about to begin.

✹✸✶✸✹​

"Undocking sequence initiated," Tài announced as the massive clamps released their hold on Peregrina. Around us, three other Freedom-class frigates—Jal-Gabon, Thunderborn, and Münster—detached in perfect synchronization.

"Attack group, form up," Cirakari commanded across the tactical channel. "Maintain delta-v awareness at all times. We're operating on a tight fuel budget."

The frigates moved into a precise diamond formation, each ship five kilometers apart. As soon as we detached from the Broodmother, it began a retrograde burn, pulling itself out of the projected encounter zone. Its massive bulk dwindled as we drifted further away, leaving us alone in the vastness of space.

"Every time I see her leave, it feels like someone just shut the door on us," Gulliver muttered, breaking the silence on the internal comms.

"More like locked it," I replied, unable to keep the unease from my voice.

"Quit the dramatics," Cirakari cut in sharply. "Focus on your stations. We're not out here to philosophize."

Three days carried by the Broodmother brought us to the coasting phase, five hours still remained until the encounter, but the combat itself would unfold in a handful of deadly, bloodthirsty seconds.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much to do but endure the five hours of near nothingness before the combat. I found myself staring at my console, running yet another diagnostic on the coolant system, despite it already passing every check twice over. The monotony stretched on.

"Status report on Jal-Gabon," Tài called out, breaking the silence.

"They're solid," Cirakari replied, glancing at the tactical display. "All systems are nominal. Same for the others. Keep your focus on Peregrina."

Gulliver leaned back in his chair, his voice casual over the comms. "You know, this part always gets me. All this effort, months of prep, and then the whole mission comes down to a blink-and-you-miss-it firefight."

"That's why you're supposed to not miss it," Tài replied, deadpan.

"Thanks for the advice, Dad," Gulliver shot back.

Cirakari's voice cut through their banter. "Keep the channel clear unless it's mission-critical."

The hours crawled by. Cirakari made every effort to keep us sharp, rotating between system drills and quick tactical quizzes, but even she couldn't hide the tension seeping through her usually calm demeanor.

The tactical display suddenly pinged, pulling everyone's attention.

"Preliminary target acquisition," Tài reported. "Two heat signatures at twenty-five light-seconds out. Looks like—a burn?"

"What are they doing?" Cirakari murmured. She leaned closer to her console, scanning the data. "Make no assumptions. Gulliver, cross-check against known Overseer configurations. Fred, prep thermal systems for combat load."

"Got it," Gulliver and I said in unison.

The once-boring coasting phase was replaced by a suffocating tension. My hands hovered over the controls, running through the same sequences I had practiced countless times in the simulator. Yet, this time, there would be no reset button.

"Contact divergence!" The warning came from Thunderborn's tactical officer. "Overseer interceptors are altering course."

The tactical display updated, showing the enemy vessels veering away from our calculated intercept point. The sudden shift sent a ripple of unease through the fleet's comms.

"They've never avoided engagement before," Münster's captain noted. "Could be a trap."

"Or they've learned," Jal-Gabon's commander countered. "Either way, we need to decide: pursue or protect?"

The debate escalated quickly. Pursuing meant burning precious fuel, potentially stranding us far from the Broodmother. But abandoning the intercept would leave the mining cluster exposed. The stakes couldn't have been clearer.

"They're forcing us to show our hand," Cirakari said. "We can't just sit here."

"We also can't risk an empty tank," Gulliver muttered, half to himself.

As the argument played out across the tactical channel, I turned my attention to the numbers. I cross-referenced engine specifications, fuel consumption rates, and Dr. Xuefeng's theoretical limits. A possible solution emerged, unconventional but feasible.

"Captain," I said, surprising myself with the steadiness in my voice. "I have a proposal."

Cirakari turned to me, one eyebrow raised. "Go ahead, Engineer."

"If we jettison our excess LOX reserves and switch the LANTR engines to efficiency mode, we can extend our range significantly." I pulled up the calculations on the main display. "We'd have less oxidizer for high-g maneuvers, but the mass reduction would compensate."

Cirakari studied the numbers. "And the return trip?"

"Strip everything non-essential after engagement," I explained, warming to the idea. "Dump empty tanks, excess armor panels, unused ammunition. Between that and efficiency mode, we should have enough delta-v to make it back."

"And what if they have enough delta-v to keep avoiding the encounter?" Cirakari pressed with evident skepticism.

"Then we would be in the endless possibilities scenario," I replied, pulling up projections. "If they perform another significant maneuver, we'd have to keep chasing the encounter, but if they keep running, we'll have no choice but to retreat."

Cirakari's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing at the display. "Fine. I'll send it to the Admiralty." Though she didn't look convinced, she forwarded the plan up the chain of command. "Admiralty is reviewing the proposal," she announced after a moment. "Hold position and stand by."

"This is crazy," Gulliver muttered over the internal channel, though there was a hint of admiration in his tone. "Crazy enough to work, maybe, but still crazy."

"Sometimes crazy is all we've got," Tài replied philosophically. "Besides, when has anything about this job been normal?"

I stayed glued to my station, monitoring the engine readouts and triple-checking my figures. The plan would work. The math was solid. But math couldn't account for the chaos of combat, the thousand unpredictable things that could go wrong.

"What's the mood, Fred?" Gulliver asked, leaning back in his seat as though we weren't standing on the edge of disaster.

I glanced at him. "Somewhere between hopeful and terrified. You?"

"Eh, leaning toward terrified," he said with a grin. "Hope's overrated anyway."

The tension stretched, the moments dragging until a new voice cut through the comms, crisp and authoritative.

"All ships, this is Admiralty actual. Proposal approved with modifications. Implement efficiency protocols immediately. Weapons free upon intercept. Good hunting."

The words seemed to echo in the silence that followed.

"Well, there it is," Tài said softly.

"And so it begins," Cirakari added. "Fred, initiate the protocols. Gulliver, keep tactical updated. Everyone, be ready."

"Let's see who's crazier," Gulliver muttered.

The hunt was on.

 

[rKlehm]

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IxG4ATLFLAs

Chapter 14 – The battle of the Brando Cluster

Every maneuver we executed was met with a methodical response from the Overseers. In the vast void of space, a rendezvous between two ships isn't a given, it's a negotiation, one that only happens if both parties agree on a time and location. A single burn could nudge the trajectories enough to turn the closest approach into a separation of thousands of kilometers.

Yet, for all their tactical brilliance, the Overseers were trapped by their own strategy: they had no way to return. Eventually they would have to yield and accept an encounter, otherwise they would just waste all their delta-v and drift away in the void.

"Jal-Gabon, extend your burn by 4.36 seconds. Over," Cirakari's calm voice carried authority as she issued her orders.

"Jal-Gabon burning for 4.36 seconds. Copy," came the commander's prompt response.

And, as expected, the Overseers promptly responded.

"Thermal bloom detected," Tài's voice cut in. "Overseer interceptors preparing primary burn."

Cirakari's hands moved across her tactical interface. "Jal-Gabon, Thunderborn, adjust lateral vector."

With that, another set of calculations landed on my station. The numbers cascaded across my console; delta-v calculations, fuel consumption rates, thermal signatures. Not that I was personally crunching the numbers, my job was to feed the right data into the software and ensure it spat out something actionable.

"Cira," I said as soon as the simulations were done, "by my estimates, we can afford two, maybe three more long burns."

"I was expecting that—"

"Enemy course change," Tài cut in.

"Fred," Cirakari turned to me, "can we keep chasing?"

I glanced at the readouts. "They're already overshooting the Brando Cluster by thousands of kilometers."

"What do you mean?" she asked, but I could see her face behind the visor already processing what I was trying to say.

"You said they've never avoided confrontation before, and now they're acting like they don't care about their original target. Maybe—they're trying to drain our delta-v reserves to survive a direct encounter. If they succeed, they could launch a suicide run on the Broodmother itself."

"Even if that's true, we have no choice but to pursue them," she replied. "If we hold at the Brando Cluster, they'll get a free flyby toward the Broodmother. If we protect the Broodmother, Brando is doomed."

"Not necessarily," I countered. "If we coordinate with the Broodmother, they can adjust their orbit to align with a defensive position that encompasses both the Broodmother and the cluster."

Cirakari frowned. "That would effectively put the Broodmother on a combat trajectory. If the Overseers get past us, both the Broodmother and the cluster would be at risk."

"Yes, this plan only works if we contain the Overseers at all costs."

Silent lingered on our internal comms, suddenly broken by Cirakari communication via the tactical channel.

"Admiralty, this is Peregrina. We have a new plan."

✹✸✶✸✹​

Rather than continuing the pursuit, we used our remaining delta-v to position ourselves so they had only two choices: accept our encounter or drift irretrievably away. After a few more maneuvers on both sides, we zeroed on an encounter. The closest approach would bring us within 10 kilometers from each other, scheduled for four and a half hours from that point.

Later, we named this tactic the "mating net," borrowing from chess: a strategy where pieces work in harmony to trap the opposing king in an inescapable checkmate. Convincing the admiralty to adopt a name tied to an ancient, obscure game in a world where chess had long been forgotten wasn't easy. But in time, they came to appreciate the elegance of the concept, and its fitting symbolism.



The interceptors appeared on the tactical display, two sharp crimson points slicing through the void.

"Range: ten thousand kilometers," Tài reported.

Cirakari straightened, like a predator poised to strike. "All units, update ROE. Set hammerlock range to one thousand kilometers. Assign two missiles per enemy vessel and one per incoming missile. Acknowledge, over."

A chorus of acknowledgements crackled through the comms.

"Next: update EMCON. Effective immediately, restrict to direct beam communications and passive sensors only. Active radar is authorized only if an incoming missile breaches one hundred kilometers. Acknowledge, over."

"Understood," came the synchronized replies.

The interceptors were closing in. If we failed to contain the Overseers, they would have a clear shot on both the Brando Cluster and the Broodmother. Each a vital piece of the TRAPPIST-1 war effort. We traded delta-v for a single point of failure.

✹✸✶✸✹​

"All units, this is Jal-Gabon, we are hammerlocked. Firing at will." The voice came over the comms. I felt my guts knot and my jaw tightened, this was it, no longer a simulation, but a real fight.

The first missile volley from Jal-Gabon lanced through the void, completely invisible for us on the Peregrina; we could only rely on the orbital diagram in our consoles. The enemy ships reacted instantly, splitting apart and facing the incoming trajectories. Each Overseer Interceptor had four front-facing laser point-defense; the two missiles for each ship that the Jal-Gabon launched had no chance of ever hitting them. The detonations lit the darkness, brief flashes of light as soon as they entered the enemy's effective laser range.

"Miss," came Jal-Gabon's report.

"Expected," Cirakari replied coolly. "Jal-Gabon, hold your fire, wait until all of us are hammerlocked."

Peregrina surged forward, following Thunderborn as we tightened the noose. My screens flooded with alerts: proximity warnings, radiation spikes, debris trajectories. We were waiting for the Münster hammerlock when Cirakari spoke.

"Missiles detected, six contacts vectoring for intercept, designation hostile," she informed as the six dots lit up on our displays. "Thunderborn, you've got four inbound; Peregrina has two. All units, synchronize point-defense coverage."

The early missile exchanges were more of a probing strategy than actually meant to cause damage. Each side was interested in measuring the enemy's efficiency.

"They're setting us up for CQB again," Gulliver muttered, his tone laced with frustration.

"What makes you so sure?" I asked, glancing at him.

He sighed. "They always do this. At long range, we're on basically equal grounds, we can hit them with our missiles and rely on synchronized point defense to intercept theirs. But once we're in CQB, everything changes. They'll save the bulk of their payload for when we're packed too tight to coordinate effectively, and that's when they'll try to overwhelm us."

"Gulliver," Cirakari cut in sharply. "Still no viable firing solution?"

"Best we've got has less than a 10% hit probability," he replied.

"That's good enough. Upload the solution to the attack group." She switched to the tactical channel. "All units, override ROE. Fire immediately using the uploaded solutions, then hold your fire and await further orders."

My display lit up with a chaotic storm of forty-eight missiles with erratic and inefficient trajectories. Gulliver claimed it was meant to complicate the enemy's use of anti-missiles, though I wasn't entirely sold on his theory, especially when the two enemy ships launched an identical barrage in response.

Despite my doubts, Gulliver's firing solution proved effective. Most of our missiles slipped through their anti-missile defenses, dodging the initial wave of countermeasures. But as they closed the distance, the enemy's point-defense systems came alive, systematically taking down each missile of our offensive. Out of the twenty-four missiles loaded onto each Freedom-class frigate, only six remained in our magazines.

I turned my attention to the readouts, searching for any sign of advantage. While we lacked detailed knowledge of the enemy vessels, physics doesn't lie. Their radiators were reaching maximum theoretical temperatures.

"Their radiators are at 4000 Kelvin—they're overstressed," I reported, keeping my voice steady despite the tension.

"At least this wasn't a complete waste," Cirakari replied.

✹✸✶✸✹​

After our attempt to overwhelm the enemy with missiles, the battlespace fell eerily silent. Both sides drifted, facing each other as the distances shortened. Conserving the remaining munitions for the inevitable chaos of CQB.

"Incoming coilgun signatures," Tài reported. "They're charging primary magnetic coils. Estimate penetration capability at seventy-three percent against standard hull plating."

I cross-referenced the data against our modified engine configuration. The jettisoned liquid oxygen reserves had reduced our mass by 17.3%, giving us marginally improved maneuverability. Every fraction of a percentage point mattered here.

"Coilgun discharge imminent," Tài announced. "Estimated time to first projectile: seventeen seconds."

The universe seemed to compress into those seventeen seconds. All of Peregrina's probability algorithms flickered across my screens, each potential trajectory was a mathematical gamble of survival. The enemy's coilguns streams of molten tungsten flowing directly at our location.

The first volley arrived. I was slammed hard against the right side of my seat as Peregrina executed a violent evasive maneuver. A split second later, my vision blurred, and my head throbbed painfully as blood surged upward—negative g-force was a bitch. But we made it. The first volley missed, threading past us like death itself grazing the hull.

"Evasive sequence alpha," Cirakari commanded. "Minimum RCS adjustments. We burn only when absolutely necessary."

The Peregrina shuddered as our coilgun spat their three tungsten slugs. The capacitors couldn't handle more than a triple burst, and at slower velocities than the Overseers' advanced systems. It made hitting the target more challenging, but their ships had an unavoidable weakness: oversized radiators, necessary to sustain their energy-hungry systems. And that's precisely what we were aiming for.

"Heat sink at sixty-three percent capacity," I reported, darting across thermal management controls. "Redirecting coolant flow to compensate for coilgun heat."

Gulliver's voice came through. "Tactical suggests the Overseers are probing our formation. They're not committed to a full engagement yet."

"They're learning…" Cirakari muttered.

The battle wasn't just a physical confrontation, it was an algorithmic chess match, played out across thousands of kilometers with computational reflexes that measured response times in nanoseconds.

Another volley. Another near-miss. The dance continued, mathematical precision and technological brinkmanship.

And we were just getting started.

"Missiles detected!" Cirakari shouted. In CQB range, the rules changed entirely, what would've been minutes at long range was now a matter of seconds. Point-defense alone couldn't handle it. In a desperate bid for survival, we emptied the magazines of all the Freedom-class vessels, releasing a barrage to intercept the overwhelming wave of enemy missiles.

The Overseers focused their fire on the Thunderborn and Münster, and while we managed to intercept most of the payload, five missiles slipped through.

"Damage report?" Cirakari barked.

"Thu$#erboRt is crip$le_, they#hit oVr fuel tank—" came a garbled, glitch-ridden voice over the comms.

"Jal-Gabon, do you have visuals?" Cirakari demanded.

"The Thunderborn is split in two," came the grim reply, "cut straight down the middle. Emergency power's all that's keeping her alive. The Münster's frontal plating is gone, and all signals are silent."

Reality hit me like a hammer. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and the memories of my rescue surfaced. The silent weight of that moment wrapped around me like an unyielding vise, and I could feel my heart pounding furiously, echoing in my ears.

"Fred! coolant temps rising," Gulliver called out. "I need more juice to keep firing."

"I see it," I snapped, already rerouting the heat load. The ship was groaning under the strain, but the systems held steady.

Now with only two active ships, the interceptors broke formation, each one focusing on one of our ships.

"Jal-Gabon, engage the lead," Cirakari ordered. "We'll cut off the straggler."

The distance between the ships closed faster than our brains could comprehend. The closest approach was mere moments away, and every passing kilometer increased the weapons' accuracy and deadliness.

The Jal-Gabon fired its volley.

"Confirmed hit," Jal-Gabon's captain reported. "Target is crippled but still active."

Before Cirakari could respond, our automatic evasion system jolted the Peregrina in an erratic maneuver, but it was not enough. Just like during my rescue, the sensation of being hit by an Overseer barrage was like standing under a flimsy aluminum umbrella while molten metal rained down. Each impact reverberated through the ship, the sound traveling through the hull and into my seat, before reaching my ears like a heavy thud from deep inside the ship.

Fortunately, this time the ship wasn't pressurized. We were all sealed in pressure suits, ready to avoid the mess of patching up a hull breach. And, as expected, the breaches came in plenty. Red hot glowing holes opened all around us, creating our own star deco.

"Fuck it, Fred! The temps again, I need to fire this thing!" Gulliver shouted over the comms.

"We're losing coolant pressure. I'll need to repair," I yelled back, already unstrapping myself from my seat. Using my arms as a slingshot, I shot toward the rear bulkhead, my body tumbling through zero gravity until I landed, awkwardly, on the uneven surface.

"Hold it, Fred!" Cirakari's voice came through.

I reached for the nearest handle I could find, gripping it as my arms felt ready to rip from their sockets. The pressure suit's reinforced joints were the only things keeping me in one piece.

Luckily the system's automatic response preventively sealed the pipes, but Gulliver was not so happy with the Peregrina's caution.

"For all that's holy, I need to FIRE! We're gonna miss the closest approach!" Gulliver's voice crackled again.

I secured myself against the bulkhead and pulled up the diagnostic interface on my suit's forearm display. The coolant system schematic flickered to life; a crimson web of warning indicators cascading across the holographic readout. Two primary coolant lines had been compromised: a twelve centimeter puncture in the secondary return line and a critical fracture at the junction where the main distribution manifold connected to the coilgun's heat exchange system.

"Thirty seconds to closest approach," Gulliver's voice kept the pressure.

I grabbed the emergency repair kit. The first priority was sealing the primary. I located the fracture point, a spider-web of microfractures radiating from a central impact point. Standard hull-grade ceramic composites had splintered like glass, tearing down all the thermal blankets.

"Fifteen seconds!" Cirakari's voice was a razor-sharp command.

I fumbled for the micro-welding tool, a sleek device that adjusted atomic structures to bond materials at a molecular level. I spread a powder over the surface, and applied pressure with the tool. The result was a temporary seal, strong enough to withstand high-pressure coolant.

"Ten seconds!" Gulliver's voice was pure tension.

The secondary repair required a different approach. I injected the high-pressure ceramic sealant directly into the twelve centimeter puncture. The material would expand, crystallize, and form a plug more resilient than the original hull plating.

"Five seconds!"

A final diagnostic sweep across the coolant system. Pressure stabilizing. Flow rates returning to acceptable parameters. Heat dissipation curves nominal.

"FIRING!" Gulliver's shout coincided with a massive tremor that rattled through the ship, threatening to throw me from my precarious position.

The repair held, but barely.

"Hit! Target neutral—"

Gulliver's report was abruptly cut off by a sharp evasive maneuver, followed by another hail of molten slugs tearing into the hull.

The comms went dead for a moment, then Cirakari's voice broke the silence. "Damage report?"

I snapped back to reality, pulling up the display on my suit's forearm. "Multiple warnings and system logs, but everything's still nominal."

She turned to the tactical channel. "Jal-Gabon, report."

"Second target neutralized. One friendly casualty. We've taken heavy damage and lost two external tanks."

A brief, fragile sense of relief spread through the crew. The immediate threat was over, but the tension didn't lift. I let my body float, hands trembling from the adrenaline. The battle was done, but we still had three crippled ships to rescue—and no time to waste.