Orbiting 5,800 light seconds from its twin stars of the Menkalinan system is a frigid planet, known locally as Ixyam Six. This desolate celestial body is accompanied by a solitary frozen moon that orbits in a silent dance, enveloped in a shroud of perpetual cold. Beneath the moon’s glacial facade lies a treasure trove of natural resources, warranting the establishment of a mining outpost called Pahara Deep. At such extreme distances, warmth is a rare commodity, and solitude is abundant, the perfect spot for a secret test of the prototype’s capabilities.
Stationed in a languid orbit 1,025 light seconds beyond the grasp of Ixyam Six, the Artemis-class ship named Karl Jansky floated peacefully against a starry background, protectively escorting the smaller Von Braun on its maiden voyage. Inside the vessel, at the back of the bridge, the imposing hologram of Prefect Marcus Ovius flickered to life, his sudden appearance prompting Shreya to stand from her command chair and face him. Her posture quickly stiffened as she snapped a salute, declaring clearly, “Officer on deck.”
The bridge erupted into a flurry of activity as the crew quickly rose from their stations in unison, the sharp clicking of boots against the deck filling the air. Prefect Ovius’s stern gaze scanned the crew, his expression a mix of indifference and superiority. After moments of deliberate, tense unease, he offered a quick salute, breaking the stillness. “As you were,” Marcus commanded, his tone deep and terrible. Turning his judgmental gaze to Shreya, he quietly evaluated her uniform. She wore the official pure white nanosuit, prominently displaying the Ursaen Legion insignia on her right shoulder. Accentuating her decor was an ornate white belt and a knee-length silver half-skirt that swayed slightly with her movements. Although her uniform was within regulations, he silently disapproved of the added touch of individuality. Curtly, he ordered, “Sit Rep, Centurion.”
With a graceful motion, Shreya lowered her salute and placed her hands behind her back, her fingers interlocked. “Sir,” she began, making a conscious effort to mask her accent. “The Karl Jansky has arrived at the designated coordinates beyond Ixyam Six. We are currently orbiting the host star at a distance of 6,866 light seconds. We remain winged with the Von Braun, piloted by Den Nova. Our status is station keeping. Standing by for orders.”
She watched Marcus reach beyond the holo-projector to receive a tablet from an unseen assistant. His calloused fingers flicked through the information on the pad with excruciating slowness, deliberately forcing her to wait for a response. Shreya suppressed a sigh, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, and cast a fleeting glance toward her crew. When Marcus finally cleared his throat, that unmistakable deep growl that signaled his disapproval of her wavering attention, she snapped her focus back to his translucent image.
“Very well, Centurion,” he said dismissively. “Establish a secure communication with the Von Braun so that we may commence this test flight.”
Shreya glanced at Nathaniel Gallegos, who stood beside the communication console on the starboard side. She gave him a subtle nod, a sign of approval for the command. Nathaniel responded with the same gesture before turning his attention back to his station. Sitting in the ergonomic chair, his flight suit kept him anchored to the backrest as he slipped the headset over his ears and focused on the radio display in front of him.
The monitor displayed a sprawling star map, with delicate white lines crisscrossing various solar systems, resembling an intricate spider web stretched across the cosmos. Each line indicated the distance and strength of the communication signals between the orbital relay beacons of each system. It was evident that links exceeding 28 light-years showed significant deterioration in communication, as indicated by the fading brightness of the lines.
With a few keystrokes, the details of the Menkalinan relay beacon expanded into a comprehensive list of all ships and stations currently online in the network. His eyes moved quickly through the entries until he found the Karl Jansky and removed it from the public array, overriding security protocols with military access. As the link disconnected, the Prefect’s hologram flickered in and out of view, prompting Nathaniel to reroute the signal. Once Marcus’s image stabilized, he switched menus and initiated a secure ship-to-ship voice link directly with the Von Braun. Bringing the microphone of his headset closer to his lips, Nathaniel spoke clearly and assertively. “Von Braun, this is Karl Jansky. Over.”
Den’s clear voice responded, “Karl Jansky, this is Den. I mean Von Braun.”
“Braun, Jansky. How do you read me? Over,” Nathaniel continued.
“Uh…” Den hesitated, distracted as he checked his instruments. “Signal quality looks good.” A long pause kept the line open as he suddenly realized his lack of radio etiquette. “Crap, I’m sorry. I mean, Karl Jansky, this is Von Braun. Signal quality is 100 percent.”
“Braun, Jansky. Read you five by five. Secure communication established. Standby for further orders,” Nathaniel replied, finalizing the radio check with a calm demeanor. He turned to his commander, raising his thumb in a sign of affirmation.
Shreya’s lips curled into a pleased smile, an expression of relief that quickly dissipated as she turned her attention back to the holographic display of Marcus Ovius. She watched his lips move silently and his expression animate, clearly distracted by an off-screen conversation. His deep-set eyes were always shadowed by his heavy brow, giving him a constant look of disapproval. However, when they acknowledged Shreya’s presence, they adopted an annoyed squint as he toggled the mute switch with one of his sausage-sized fingers.
“Sir,” Shreya announced, her back stiffening slightly, “secure communications have been established.”
“Copy, Centurion. You may proceed,” Marcus responded, his words cut off as he quickly muted the audio again.
Five thousand kilometers away from the looming silhouettes of the Ursaen ships, a Topaz Outrider-class vessel entered the sector with a brief flash of light. As the craft transitioned from faster-than-light travel to the tranquility of normal space, it was already rigged for stealth. The exterior lights were dark, and the heat vents were tightly sealed, merely a fleeting blip on any radar within range before vanishing completely.
Inside the cockpit of the Shizukana Kage, Parri moved swiftly, her slender fingers darting across the keypad, producing a rapid clicking sound as she entered shutdown commands for the subsystems to reduce the ship’s heat signature. A moment’s pause drew her attention to the power monitor, where the readings of the shield generator steadily dwindled to zero, accompanied by a soft, fading hum. “Shield generator, off-line,” Parri confirmed. “With only the chaff launcher and life support systems active, our external temperature is reading 2.9 kelvins and dropping.”
From the flight chair, Kai took a deep breath, relaxing his grip on the yoke as he focused on the twinkling white Dynasty ships floating in the darkness. With a slow, deliberate motion, he toggled the interior light switch with his knuckles, plunging the cockpit into a haunting dark red glow. Keen to spot any signs of a course change, he watched and waited while listening for the telltale ping from an IFF interrogation. Without shields or engine power, he felt like a cornered rat hiding in the dark, closely watching a predatory cat eager to spot the slightest movement. After a lengthy stillness, he ran his fingers through his tousled hair in an attempt to ease the rising tide of anxiety. “Keep the sensors active,” he instructed, his voice a strained calmness. “We’ll need to use the recording suite.”
“You got it, commander,” Parri replied, her fingers making more rapid click sounds.
Kai pressed the toggle switch embedded in the chest of his nanosuit, releasing the magnetic grip the flight chair had on him. As he floated free, he kicked away from the seat, executing a slow-motion back flip that brought him upside down. He halted his rotation briefly by slipping his foot between a pair of sturdy overhead pipes before propelling himself towards the sensor station located at the rear of the bridge. With one arm outstretched, he grabbed a handhold to pivot himself upright and slipped his foot through a rubberized loop anchored to the deck.
His gaze fell on a small metal box mounted against the bulkhead, labeled ‘HMD.’ Twisting the ‘T’-shaped handle, he opened the container to reveal high-tech eyewear inside. The sleek goggles, polished to a chrome finish and adorned with adjustable head straps, were connected to the console by a pair of slender wires. As he retrieved the headware, he activated the switch on the sensor station marked ‘SAT.’
Slipping the headgear over his eyes, the goggles activated automatically, flooding his vision with bright light that seeped through the tiny gaps between the equipment and his cheeks. Kai braced himself as the boundaries of the cockpit faded away, creating a disorienting pull on his senses that drew him out of the physical world. Within moments, he was in virtual control of the external telescope.
Blinking to adjust to his new perspective, he was suddenly greeted by a breathtaking panoramic view of the entire Menkalinan system in vivid clarity. It felt as if he were floating freely outside the vessel, unrestrained and immersed in the vastness of the universe. His eyes settled on Ixyam Six, and with merely a thought, he zoomed in on the awe-inspiring carbon dioxide geysers erupting dynamically from the planet’s ice-blue surface. A smile crept across his face as he admired the ice planet’s allure and the cosmos’ boundless splendor. Yet, his moment of peace was abruptly shattered by a distant voice bleeding through from the physical world.
“Okay, commander, the external hull temperature is holding steady at 2.7 kelvin,” Parri reported. “We should be invisible to thermal detection now.”
“A-firm,” Kai responded, his tone clipped and efficient.
Parri turned her attention to Kai, a look of confusion knitting her brows as she gestured toward the goggles on his head. “What’s that?”
Kai repeated himself with a hint of irritation, “I said affirmative.”
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Yeah, I heard you. I meant, what’s that device on your head?”
“Sonification Analysis Telescope,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“Son of a what?”
Kai took a deep breath and repeated, “Sonification Analysis.”
Parri’s lip curled with confusion as she blurted out, “Son of an anal cyst?”
“What is wrong with you?” he shot back, a wary sigh escaping his lips. “That wasn’t even remotely like what I said.”
She crossed her arms as if preparing for a debate. “Okay then, what’s it do?”
“It gives me real-time virtual control of the external sensors,” he explained, his head animated as it pivoted, looking at visions she couldn’t see. “Right now, I’m zooming in on the Ursaen ships so we can record this test flight of theirs.”
“That sounds fancy,” she said, pulling herself along the bulkhead to get closer. “Do all ships come equipped with a Son of a… whatever you call it?”
“For the most part, yes. They’re standard issue on any ship built after 2343. Although I had to install this one manually because the Shizukana Kage is a bit older,” he clarified, pride edging into his tone. As he explained, an unexpected proximity safety warning flashed inside his visor, alerting him to a nearby object. Kai hurriedly pushed the goggles up to his forehead, plunging himself into darkness for a moment as his senses rushed back to his body. Blinking a few times to clear his vision, he saw a button nose and a pair of lips alarmingly close to his forehead. With a sudden jolt, he jerked his head back, hitting the wall behind him with a dull thud. “Damn it, Parri,” he growled, rubbing the new sore spot blossoming on his scalp.
Parri pulled back, her eyes moving from the goggles to him. “When do I get to play with it?” she asked, her tone bright.
“Play with what?” Kai asked, still dazed from the unexpected encounter.
Parri pointed at the high-tech headgear. “The telescope thing.”
Kai let out a muffled groan, muttering under his breath, “Always right there in my face. No respect for personal space whatsoever.” He glanced at his fingers, relieved to see no blood, grateful for small mercies. When he refocused on his co-pilot, her wide eyes flicked with fascination between the goggles sitting on his head and his gloomy expression, her cheeks puffed as she eagerly waited for his reply. “I dunno. Maybe when you’re older,” he answered sarcastically.
“Older?” Parri whined, planting her hands defiantly on her hips. “You do realize I’m 22, right?”
Kai shrugged with indifference. “So?”
“So, that means I’m not a kid anymore!” Parri asserted, her tone escalating. “Why can’t I use the son of an anal cyst thing?”
“Stop calling it that,” he groaned.
“Come on, let me see it,” she pleaded, her fingers reaching for the headgear.
Kai instinctively jerked back, his head hitting the bulkhead again. While swatting her hand away, an irrational excuse slipped from his tongue like silk. “Whoa, whoa, be careful! This isn’t just some random junk you can play around with. The SAT is expensive equipment, and way too sophisticated. Especially for young violet-haired girls.”
His defensive hand slap caught her off guard, causing her to recoil in shock. Her mouth hung slack with a sharp gasp as she cradled her arm close to her chest. “That’s bullshit,” she shot back. “You let me play with your junk all the time. What makes this one so special?”
Kai raised a finger, ready to defend himself, but hesitated, his voice faltering. As his thoughts caught the double entendre, the corners of his lips quirked into a smile. His facial muscles twitched with mischief as he repeated her words, “You play with my junk?”
Dropping her shoulders in an exaggerated display of aggravation, Parri rolled her eyes. “Um… yeah, obviously.” Her voice rose in pitch and volume as she gestured broadly to the interior of the ship. “This is your ship, your junk, right?”
“Right, right, I own the ship,” he snickered, playing along and waiting for the punch line.
“Why are you giggling, and what’s with the shit eating grin on your face?” she demanded.
“It’s because of the way you’re phrasing it.” He gestured crudely around his groin. “All this talk about playing with my junk.”
Parri gasped, horrified. “Gross! You’re a disgusting old man.” Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red as she flailed her hands, desperate to explain, “I wasn’t referring to that, you sick pervert! I was talking about using your anal cyst equipment.”
Droplets of spit flew from Kai’s lips as he burst into a hearty laugh. Gasping for breath, he managed to utter, “That’s so much worse.”
“The telescope, damn it! I was talking about the damn telescope!” she clarified, frustration spilling over in her tone.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” he wheezed, patting the air as he took slow, deep breaths to steady himself. “Go tap into the Ursaen radio signal so we can eavesdrop on their communication.”
Parri let out an annoyed huff as she glided back to the communication console. “It’s probably shriveled and disgusting anyway,” she muttered. As she scanned the array of radio frequencies flashing on the screen, her eyes narrowed on a specific signal marked by the telltale signs of encryption. The challenging distraction piqued her interest as she cracked her knuckles and placed her fingers on the keyboard.
Meanwhile, Kai snugly adjusted the goggles over his face, his senses once again whisked away into the virtual eyes outside the ship. He reoriented the ship’s telescope toward the two white stationary vessels in the distance and carefully locked it into position before engaging the auto-record feature. Cautiously, he lifted the headgear from his eyes, bracing himself for another jump scare, but to his relief, Parri was floating on the opposite side of the small bridge. He returned the goggles to their metal box, closing the lid with a soft click, and glided back to the flight chair, inquiring, “Do we have ears on?”
Parri flicked a switch, activating the intercom and flooding the bridge with the buzzing chatter between the Ursaen ships. “Sure do, Commander Pervert,” she snidely replied.
“Alright, enough of that,” Kai said firmly, cutting through the levity with a pointed tone. “Let’s concentrate on the task at hand with a bit more professionalism.”
Parri let out a mocking chuckle. “That’s really funny coming from you. I’m not the one grabbing my crotch and cracking jokes,” she countered.
“Final warning,” Kai snapped, raising a stern finger.
Parri rolled her eyes and drifted closer to the speaker, mumbling under her breath, “I didn’t start it.”
As the flight chair locked Kai into the seat, he settled into a solemn silence, ears straining to catch the covert communication swirling in the air like an elusive whisper.
Shreya’s voice cut through the static hum of the radio as she sat upright in the command chair of the Artemis-class ship. “Von Braun, this is Karl Jansky. Over.”
The small speaker embedded in her command chair activated, and Den’s familiar voice crackled through, “Shreya?”
A warm smile spread across her face in response to her husband’s unprofessional radio etiquette. Subtly correcting his mistake, she smoothly replied, “Yes, Von Braun.”
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“Oh, sorry,” Den quickly adjusted his tone, “Karl Jansky. Read you. Over.”
“Braun, Jansky. We are entering phase two,” she stated, while silently acknowledging the hand signals from her crew with a gentle nod. “We have a solid position lock on you. Tracking is confirmed. Have you plotted the destination route? Over.”
“Jansky. Destination set.” The speaker was briefly filled with the rhythmic sound of keyboard strokes, an orchestra of clicks and beeps. “Capella system. Range 40.65 light-years.”
“Copy, Braun. We concur.” Shreya looked toward Nathaniel, whose hand gestures indicated the expected communication decline once the prototype reached its destination. She nodded in understanding and relayed the message to Den. “Be advised, voice clarity is expected to be 98 percent after arrival. Over.”
There was a brief static pause as Den hesitated and asked, “Jansky. Why would the quality degrade?”
“Braun. Because the secure ship-to-ship radio link will not be using signal repeaters to accommodate the distance,” Shreya explained, smoothly moving on to the next test flight procedure. “Please confirm the test flight itinerary. Over.”
“Jansky. After traversing black-space, I will call home to report my status.” There was a moment of hesitation as Den pulled up the schedule, the sound of his keystrokes filling the speaker. Continuing, his voice took on a noticeably frustrated and monotone cadence. “Step one: Establish adequate communication. Step two: Scan the system. Step three: Confirm position and relay telemetry data. Step four: Stand by for confirmation. Step five: Prepare for the return trip. Step five and a half: Wait for mommy to wipe my butt. Need I go on?”
A smile played on Shreya’s lips as the crew snickered. “Copy, Braun. Schedule confirmed. Standby. Jansky out.” She engaged the tiny keypad embedded in the armrest, holding the direction key with her thumb. The chair slowly rotated, aligning her gaze with the hologram of Prefect Ovius, who seemed oblivious to the importance of the test flight. Marcus was engrossed in a flurry of documents, signing and passing them off to an unseen assistant.
Assuming she was on mute again, she sighed, weariness in her tone. “Sir, pre-flight checklist complete. We are ready for phase three, the prototype tunneling test.” When the Prefect failed to respond, she nonchalantly swept her gaze over the bridge crew, her voice adopting a nasally condescending quality as she continued, “Do we have the green light to proceed?”
Without so much as a glance upward, Marcus responded in a gruff, no-nonsense tone, “Yes, Centurion, you may proceed.”
Taken aback, Shreya’s attention snapped to the glowing hologram, swallowing her shame. “Very well, Sir.” Her eyes shifted to the radio operator. “Mr. Gallegos, signal the Von Braun. We are go for the test flight.”
Nathaniel’s response was prompt and efficient as he turned to the console. “Aye, Ma’am.”
Den sat in profound silence, his gaze fixed on the console, a complex web of lights and indicators sprawling before him. His restless fingers curled around the flight stick as a surge of anticipation coursed through his veins. The thought of being the first to test the cutting-edge prototype stirred a swarm of jittery butterflies in his stomach, a nervous feeling magnified by the quiet hush of his breath echoing inside his helmet like an acoustic chamber.
Just beyond the canopy to his left, the Karl Jansky loomed—a magnificent vessel shaped like a predatory bird in flight. Smooth, curved panels seamlessly extended from the aft engine cowl, wrapping around the sweeping wings like gentle fingers. At the tips of its wings sat sleek, arrowhead-shaped nacelles, a distinctive feature of Ursaen design. The navigation lights twinkled like distant stars, creating a mesmerizing dance of red and green that captivated his gaze.
The tranquility of the moment was shattered when the radio chirped, snapping Den’s eyes back to the flight controls. “Braun, Jansky, Phase three is a go. You are cleared for the Prototype tunneling test. Over,” the speaker announced.
He straightened his posture, took a deep, steadying breath, and tapped the console to start the sequence. “Jansky, Braun, Copy,” he responded, his tone betraying his excitement.
He glanced at the subsystems menu on his right, the green indicators a reassuring sight, before his attention shifted to a crude, gray box he had personally installed on his left. Although it lacked elegance, the box prioritized function over form, featuring old-fashioned mechanical switches and plainly labeled lights. He worked through the boot-up sequence, flipping each toggle switch one by one, noting how the hum of the drive escalated an octave higher as he progressed.
Halfway through the process, a low rumble coursed through his chair, reminiscent of distant thunder. He glanced at the subsystems again, eyes fixed on the steadily rising status bar labeled ‘LAT drive.’ As the bar filled, the vibrations grew more intense. He pressed the acknowledgment button below the warning notice regarding structural integrity and continued flipping switches until the drive reached full power, emitting an electrifying growl throughout the ship.
Den placed his palm firmly on the throttle and eased it forward. The ship responded with a shudder, gradually pulling away from the Karl Jansky as he tilted the vessel toward the Capella system, the destination a glowing indicator on his heads-up display. Tentatively, he reached for the LAT drive lever next to the throttle, his gaze fixed on the speed indicator, waiting with bated breath as the ship’s velocity reached its peak. Shoving the lever forward, the prototype engine thrummed with power, a deep rumbling like an avalanche that rattled the bones of the craft.
Over the speakers, the semi-autonomous AI matrix, SAM, activated with a calming male voice, simply announcing, “Lentz Alcubierre Tunnel Drive charging.”
When Den felt a deep, ominous rumble vibrate beneath his feet, the hair on the back of his neck bristled. The accompanying noise was strange and unsettling, like the relentless clicking of a beetle, punctuated by the low, cavernous growl of a rumbling stomach—a sound no ship should make. A knot of unease tightened in Den’s chest as he shifted his focus to the prototype readout, but the data remained within operational limits.
Turning back to the canopy, his eyes widened in disbelief as an astonishing scene unfolded before him. Instead of the expected warp in space, where stars would bend and twist around a central point like a cosmic funnel, he was faced with an inexplicable black sphere forming ahead of the ship. The edges appeared hazy and indistinct, shrouded in an ethereal black cloud. Periodic bursts of electric blue energy danced around the orb, crackling like lightning within a foreboding storm. The mass slowly expanded, sending ripples of prismatic distortion that spread outward, warping the fabric of space as it drew closer.
Aboard the Karl Jansky, Shreya’s heart pounded as her eyes widened in terror at the mysterious object forming before the prototype ship. She jolted forward to the edge of her seat, her mind fighting against her training to remain at her post instead of leaping to her feet in panic. “Ms. Haas?” she called out, her voice filled with unmistakable concern.
At the sensor station, Megan Haas was already engrossed in the deluge of data flooding her display. “Yes, Ma’am,” she replied, her fingers swiftly moving across the controls as she tried to interpret the alarming information. “Sensors confirm, there’s an anomaly in space directly ahead of the Von Braun. I’m detecting gravitational waves and a massive amount of energy. Also, detecting dark matter annihilation occurring in the center of that thing.”
Panic won out, and Shreya sprang to her feet. “Mr. Gallegos,” she commanded, her eyes fixed on the anomaly. “Instruct the Von Braun to abort.”
Nathaniel pulled the microphone closer to his lips, steadying his voice despite the building tension. “Von Braun, this is Karl Jansky. Abort, abort, abort! Cancel the tunneling test immediately. Over.”
A crackling response came over the bridge’s speaker, thick with static. “Negative,” Den replied, “All systems are reporting as normal. This is expected. I am okay to go.”
“Expected my ass,” Shreya muttered under her breath, spinning back to the command chair. Slamming her finger down on the transmit button, her voice grew louder, “Braun, Jansky. That was an order, not a suggestion. I’m commanding you to abort. Do you copy?”
Before Shreya could release the button, the prototype ship vanished, pulled into the massive black sphere like a speck of dust sucked into a vacuum. The crew’s collective gasp made her spin back toward the canopy, her worst fears manifesting. Barely contained rage flickered through her fingers as they clenched into a tight fist. The atmosphere on the bridge grew heavy with an eerie silence, broken only by the faint squeak of chairs as the crew shifted nervously, all eyes fixed on her for leadership.
A deep frown formed on Shreya’s brow, and her lips pressed into a thin, tight line. Steadying herself, she calmed the weightless billowing skirt dancing around her legs and interlaced her fingers across her stomach. Taking a deliberate inhale through her nose, she settled into the command chair, crossing her legs at the knee as a sign of confidence amid the chaos. “Ms. Haas,” Shreya said, her voice tinged with a solemn despondency, “please track the Von Braun, and alert me the moment it arrives at the destination.”
Megan pivoted in her chair, her gaze transitioning to the sensor display. A vast 100-light-year bubble of star systems flickered on the screen, with a simple white dot at the center representing the Karl Jansky. She quickly set the countdown timer on her console to exactly 11 minutes and 13 seconds—the precise time it takes a ship to travel from one system to another. When she selected the Capella system on the map, the display zoomed in, showing a graphical view of the orbits. As she waited for the tracking signal to reappear, the rhythmic beeping of the timer filled the bridge. After a tense 12 minutes had passed, Megan looked back at Shreya, worry etched on her features.
On board the Shizukana Kage, Kai’s bewildered gaze fixated on the empty space where the anomaly had once been, a sense of foreboding sloshing around in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, his attention shifted to the galaxy map as he ran his fingers over the controls to add the frequency of the tracking device. The absence of a signal reflected the uneasy radio silence among the Ursaens, prompting an involuntary frown as he leaned back into the flight chair.
Intrigued by the unfolding events, Parri tilted her head like a curious puppy. She pushed away from the radio station, her limbs floating effortlessly as she glided over to the map display beside him. The soft aroma of honeysuckle followed her presence as she leaned over his shoulder, eyeing the display with a similar perplexed frown. “Guess the Ursaen didn’t make it,” she whispered, her breath brushing the nape of his neck.
Kai visibly shuddered, gradually pulling away from her as he brushed his nose with a muffled snort. He shot an irritated side glance and took off his glasses, holding them gingerly in front of her. “Here, take these.”
With delicate fingers, she plucked the eyewear from his hand. “Why do you want me to hold your glasses?”
“Based on how you’re always hovering over my shoulder, I figure you need them more than I do,” he quipped sharply.
“What?” she scoffed, feeling offended. “I’m not blind.”
“Well, I’m not deaf either,” he shot back.
She huffed, a dramatic eye roll punctuating her words. “Sometimes I wonder.”
“It feels like you’re two seconds away from jabbing your tongue down my ear every time you have something to say.”
“What the hell? I never… My tongue’s nowhere near… I don’t do that,” she protested, her cheeks blazing a vivid shade of pink from embarrassment. Flustered and feeling a surge of defiance, she grabbed the flight chair with both hands and dove in closer. “You want something to complain about?” she threatened, her tongue sticking out from her lips like a missile, ready to launch a playful retaliation.
With quick reflexes and wide eyes, he caught her forehead, stopping her from moving forward. His neck tilted back, pulling away as she pressed on, her antics turning into a childish display of frantic air licking. “What are you doing? Put that thing back in your mouth,” he commanded, trying to hide the humor in his tone. “Stop messing around. We have a job to do.”
Parri sucked her tongue back into her mouth with a slurp and leaned back, pulling her head away from his hands. “Then stop complaining about how close I am,” she countered.
Kai groaned as he grabbed his glasses, snatching them from her fingers. His hesitant, narrow eyes lingered on her for a moment before shifting back to the galaxy map.
Back onboard the Karl Jansky, a flicker of determination crossed Shreya’s face as she turned to Nathaniel. “Mr. Gallegos, signal the Von Braun again,” she commanded. Releasing her nanosuit from the command chair with a subtle click, she floated free and gently nudged her foot against the polished floor. Gliding gracefully towards the sensor station on the port side, she caught herself against the back of Megan’s chair. Leaning in, she scrutinized the sensor display, searching for any sign of the missing ship.
Megan looked up at her commander, her features shadowed with concern. “I apologize, Ma’am. The Von Braun has not exited black-space yet.”
“Ms. Haas, expand the search area to the maximum range,” Shreya instructed, her voice steady but tinged with urgency. “Check to see if the prototype accidentally emerged in another system.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Megan replied, her fingers rapidly moving across the console as she entered new commands.
Shreya turned her gaze back to the communication station, her heart pounding beneath layers of regulation and military decorum. “Mr. Gallegos, do we have radio contact?” When Nathaniel solemnly shook his head, a regretful sigh escaped Shreya’s lips. Shifting her gaze toward the almond-shaped canopy, she noticed how the circular support at its center resembled an eye watching over a tapestry of twinkling stars, a haystack of possibilities where her husband was the needle.
She ran both hands down her face, hiding the emotions of despair threatening to break through her composed exterior. As minutes passed, she simmered in desperation, the radio silence amplifying her unease. Suddenly, the ship’s speakers crackled to life, a disruption to the static that ignited a spark of hope within her chest. She snapped her attention back to Nathaniel, who was frantically adjusting dials, immersed in the new transmission.
A distorted voice broke through, garbled but unmistakable. “Karl Jansky, this… Von Braun… have… system… Tunneling…”
“Von Braun, Karl Jansky. Copy two of five,” Nathaniel promptly responded, relief in his voice as he accessed additional information. “Your signal quality is only 21 percent.”
“Mr. Gallegos, what’s his position?” Shreya interjected, her eyes darting to the sensor station, which still showed no sign of a transponder signal.
Nathaniel obeyed the request, nodding quickly as he probed, “Von Braun, please confirm your location. Over.”
“Checking,” came the fragmented reply, followed by a lengthy, nerve-wracking pause. “Jansky… Braun. I’m… trouble… readings… Every time I… the equipment… strange clicking sounds. The trip… damaged… Over.”
“Damaged?” The urgency in Shreya’s voice escalated as she firmly placed her hand on Megan’s shoulder, anchoring both of them in the moment. “Ms. Haas, expand the wider galaxy view and bring up telemetry data.”
The intercepted transmission from the Ursaen ship was brief yet packed with significance as Parri brushed aside a few strands of violet hair from her amber eyes. Her focus shifted to Kai, who stared up at the ceiling with a distant expression as his fingers carefully counted an invisible tally. Parri couldn’t help but let her gaze flick upward, knowing full well Kai wasn’t interested in the myriad of pipes running through the bulkhead. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“The signal was degraded,” Kai answered, his tone brimming with confidence that suggested a sudden realization.
Parri raised an eyebrow, the significance lost. “Okay? And?”
Clearing his throat, he explained, “Tunnel comms utilize second-generation LAT drive technology. That means any communication beyond 28 light-years starts to break down.”
With an exaggerated sigh, the muscles in Parri’s face settled into a mask of boredom. “Get to the point, old man,” she urged, her eyes narrowing.
Undeterred, Kai continued, “Given that the Ursaens didn’t utilize orbital signal repeaters, a loss of 79 percent in the transmission indicates that the prototype ship is sending a signal from over 800 light-years away.”
“That’s impossible,” she replied, dismissing his theory with a sarcastic scoff.
“I completely agree, but just in case, let’s adjust our search area.” Kai manipulated the three-dimensional galaxy map, expanding the search radius to include all star systems within 800 light-years of the Menkalinan system. A moment later, a blip appeared on the screen near the Witch Head Nebula. Quick to refine the scanner, he carefully narrowed down the origin point. With a proud flourish, he pointed at the bright dot flickering on the display. “Found it.”
“Really?” Parri leaned closer, squinting to read the system’s name. “Rigel?” she parroted. “How did the prototype end up in the Rigel system? That’s literally the middle of nowhere.” Her lip curled in disbelief as she reviewed the data, the distance to the star reading as an astonishing 817.6 light-years away from their current position. A bemused laugh escaped her lips as she tapped the screen playfully. “Your calculations were off by 17 light-years.”
Kai huffed, rolling his eyes. “I was estimating.”
“But still wrong,” she teased, playfully tapping his shoulder with the back of her hand.
He instinctively rubbed his arm, a deep frown forming on his face. “Hey, don’t punch me.”
“I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Oh, come on, that was barely a nudge. If I actually wanted to punch you, it would look more like this.” She balled up her fist, eyes sparking with mischief as she cocked her arm back.
Kai raised his forearm to block her strike casually, but pulling punches was not a skill Parri possessed. The wild haymaker she threw barreled through his weak defense, hitting his ear. With a loud pop, his head jerked to the side, as he howled, “Son of a bitch!”
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, the color draining from her face as she covered her mouth.
Kai grimaced, hissing through his teeth as he cradled the side of his head. “I can’t believe you punched me in the ear. Of all places, why did you aim right where my glasses are?”
“I didn’t mean to. I thought you were going to block me.”
“So this is my fault because you can’t pull your punches?” he challenged.
Parri cast a sheepish glance to the side, deflecting blame with a subtle, nervous smile. “Um… Kinda.”
As he pampered the tenderness of his red ear, his eyes drifted to the sturdy, locked metal gun case beneath the flight console, jokingly asking, “Where did I put my pistol?”
She inhaled sharply, her eyes widening in disbelief. “You would shoot me over something so trivial?”
A smirk flickered across his lips. “The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Are you being serious right now? Because that’s total bullshit.” Her tone shifted quickly from self-preservation to accusatory mocking as she folded her arms across her chest. “You’re just embarrassed that your weak-ass defense didn’t stop me from clocking you in the head. Maybe next time you won’t be such a baby when I tap you on the arm.”
Kai raised his hand, signaling a moment of silence, as the radio intercepted more Ursaen communication. “Quiet,” he whispered. “They’re transmitting again.”
Nathaniel held the microphone close to his mouth, his voice clear and distinct. “Von Braun, Karl Jansky. We have located your transponder in the Rigel system. Do you copy?”
The response that came back was distorted, a jumble of static interspersed with the words, “Jansky… barely… Over.”
Shreya drew her arms tightly across her chest, her face marked by intense thought as she paced restlessly. The sheer magnitude of the journey accomplished by the prototype was awe-inspiring and terrifying at the same time. She sought answers, but her primary concern was her husband, and a return trip was a risk she refused to take. “All right, everyone,” she declared with authority, “record your station logs. We need to investigate what went wrong.” She pointed firmly at the pilot. “Mr. Frost, chart a course to the Rigel system.” Her hand swung to the communications officer. “Mr. Gallegos, inform Den we won’t be risking a return trip and to await our arrival.”
“Belay that,” Prefect Ovius barked. “Proceed with the prototype test as planned. We lack the luxury of time to go gallivanting across the galaxy to fetch the Von Braun. The Leonis Kobala Party is expecting results, and we must deliver.” Turning his deep gaze on Shreya, he spoke to her directly, his tone condescending. “Centurion Nova, as I’m sure you are well aware, the Rigel system and its surrounding stars lie within a restricted sector of space, which we do not have the necessary authorization to enter.”
“Sir?” Shreya turned to face the holographic figure, confusion etched across her features. “I must object. There are too many unresolved variables that need answers. Having Den attempt a return trip under these conditions would be reckless.”
The Prefect’s steely expression drew colder, daring her to escalate the confrontation. “Are you refusing my order, Centurion?”
“No, Sir. I was merely—” she paused, sensing the weight of eyes upon her. Flicking her gaze across the bridge, she noticed the crew’s rapt attention on the escalating dispute between their superiors. She straightened her posture, hands clasped behind her back, and adopted a strict military stance. “Sir, we have not yet completed our assessment of the situation to ensure a safe return trip at this time.”
“Noted,” Marcus replied vaguely, his gaze shifting to the radio operator. “Order the Von Braun to prepare for a return trip.”
Nathaniel hesitated, nervously glancing between the two officers. “Um… Yes, Sir,” he stammered.
The Prefect resumed speaking, his voice rising with bravado. “If the prototype can achieve another successful trip like before, it will demonstrate to the Leonis Kobala Party that this project exceeds expectations. Remember, you are the Ursaen Legion, and we are held to higher standards. Our sacrifice paves the way for success.” Raising his fist, his commanding voice repeated the motto, “For the Ursae Dynasty. Long may the noble Vitoricus family reign.”
Defeated, Shreya sank into the command chair, a heavy silence hanging over her like a dark cloud. Although her military training compelled her to obey the order, she was overwhelmed with frustration on the inside, a scream welling up in her chest. She slowly placed her hands in her lap, fingers entwined, and took a deep breath. Stuffing her emotions deep down, her expression shifted from despair to a stoic resolve.
Moments later, the speaker crackled again, relaying Den’s fragmented voice, “Jansky… Entering… coordinate… Menkalinan… calculating… tunnels; One. Engaging… Aligning trajectory… throttle. Picking up… unexplained… sounds like before.”
Shreya’s ears perked up as she caught a key phrase in Den’s report. “Sounds like before? You never mentioned anything about unexplained sounds,” she mumbled.
The transmission continued, “LAT… complete… tunnel forming… three… one.” The communication abruptly cut off, leaving a lingering low hum of static in its wake.
Megan watched as the blip representing the prototype’s transponder flickered and disappeared from the galaxy map. She turned to report, but Shreya’s hand was already raised, a mixed gesture that both acknowledged and suggested she wanted to avoid more terrible news. Slowly, Megan nodded and returned her attention to the display, her expression grim as she set the clock for 11 minutes and 13 seconds.
Question for the Comments: We went from Kai and Parri arguing over "playing with junk" and "anal cyst equipment" to the Prefect ordering a potentially fatal return flight for Den. Which part of the chapter stood out more to you: the hilarious banter on the Shizukana Kage, or the chilling "Long live the Dynasty" speech from Marcus?
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