Through the observation bay, millions of stars shimmered against the black canvas of the universe. The contrast between the darkness and the speed of hyperspace was striking. Only the light of a nearby star managed to break through the void.
“Yeah… about two hours,” Adam replied quietly. “Hard to tell how far we’ve traveled…”
He buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed.
Kiran turned his gaze toward the viewport, silently staring at the vastness outside. For a brief moment, he ignored the blaring alarms and the emergency lights flashing throughout the cockpit. A fleeting thought crossed his mind.
“Adam… the detection system. Is it still operational?”
Surprised, Adam lifted his head, glanced at the feline, then turned toward his console.
“Uh… hold on, I’ll check. I didn’t even think about it.”
He typed rapidly for a few seconds, then looked up.
“It’s still active. Why?”
“That white glow in the distance… that’s a star, right?” Kiran asked, trusting the instinct telling him this detail might be crucial.
“Can you run a scan?”
Adam nodded and activated the scanners, adjusting the parameters to extract the most accurate data possible. A few minutes later, the first results appeared.
“Well, some good news at least… No sign of the Consortium,” Adam announced while reading the readings. “We’re definitely inside a star system. A G-class star, apparently… Wait, there’s more!”
“What is it, Adam?”
“There’s a planet in the habitable zone!”
“Seriously?!” the Neurorian exclaimed, a spark of optimism returning. “Can you get more details?”
“Unfortunately, no… The ship’s sensors are old and only partially functional. Our energy levels are too low to analyze the planet properly,” Adam sighed, slumping back into his seat.
“Forget it. We don’t have propulsion anymore anyway. There’s no way we can reach it.”
“Unless…” Adam muttered thoughtfully.
“Unless what?”
Adam didn’t answer right away. He resumed typing frantically on the holographic display, jumping from one menu to another, as if seized by a sudden revelation. Kiran watched him, intrigued.
“I might have an idea… but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“Say it. You never know.”
“The propulsion and navigation systems are dead, but there might be a way to force them back online. I don’t know if it’ll work, and obviously, the consequences could be—”
“Dangerous?” Kiran interrupted. “We’re already screwed anyway.”
“Not just dangerous. Potentially fatal. If it works, we could get enough thrust to put us on a trajectory toward that planet. But there’s a catch.”
“Spit it out, Adam.”
“We’re down to three percent power. To pull this off, we’d have to use everything. No shields. No life support systems. No inertial dampeners. No artificial gravity. Nothing. We won’t be able to slow down, and it’s going to be agony. And if it fails… we die anyway. Suffocation. Freezing. Decompression.”
“You think it could work?”
“Maybe… but I don’t have any other ideas,” Adam admitted with a shrug.
“So what, die now or die later? Might as well go all in. Let’s do it.”
“Alright. I’ll need about thirty minutes to prepare everything.”
Kiran was impressed. Adam had always been good with ship technology, but never at this level. They had stolen a few vessels from the Mazarie Institute before—earning themselves severe punishment. Kiran, the pilot. Adam, the engineer. But what the Terran was about to attempt went far beyond his formal training. He’d never studied anything like this. So how?
There was no time to question it. Kiran focused on calculating the optimal trajectory to intercept the unknown world. Habitable or not, he didn’t care. Die here or die there—what was the difference?
Adam got to work, his movements fast and precise, betraying both intense focus and an unsettling confidence. He left the bridge and headed for the engine room, rerouting power circuits, shutting valves, creating shunts and bypasses across the propulsion network. The damaged ship resisted, triggering alarms with every manipulation. Thirty minutes later, everything was ready.
“Reconfiguration complete. I’m diverting power to propulsion and navigation. We’ll get one shot—no more than a minute. On my signal, execute the maneuver while we still have juice. After that, it’s over.”
“Understood. Ready when you are.”
Adam adjusted the final parameters. Diverting energy was one thing, but manually controlling the flow into the engines was another. Too little, and nothing would happen. Too much, and the engines would implode. No margin for error.
“On three. Ready?”
“Ready!” Kiran replied, eyes locked on his instruments.
“Three… Two… One!”
Kiran slammed the controls.
The ship shook violently. All the lights went out at once, except for the pilots’ consoles, their glow fading by the second.
The engines roared.
Outside, the thrusters ignited, casting a bluish light into the void. Without a sound, the ship began its push, starting the interception maneuver.
On the bridge, the lack of gravity and inertial dampeners made everything harder. Kiran struggled to maintain course while Adam desperately tried to stabilize the energy flow. The old vessel groaned under the strain, as if protesting.
Finally aligned, Kiran shut down the directional thrusters, leaving only the sublight engines to drink the last drops of power.
Then everything went dark.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
The engines fell silent. The consoles died. All remaining energy had been consumed in that final effort.
Ahead of them, the star’s light flooded the bridge, partially eclipsed by the silhouette of the unknown world they were now drifting toward.
“I think… we made it,” Kiran whispered.
“Yeah… one step at a time. But the ship is dead for good now.”
Lost in the freezing darkness and oppressive silence of space, the vessel continued its slow journey toward the habitable planet. With no power, the interior gradually became a metal tomb, the cold creeping in like an invisible specter. Every movement through the inert hull was now a challenge—without artificial gravity, even the smallest action required control and precision.
Kiran shivered. The air was cooling rapidly, and staying strapped to his seat wasn’t helping. With a decisive motion, he unclipped his harness and let himself float, drifting slowly through the bridge. The faint glow of the nearby star barely outlined the room, casting blurred shadows across the metal walls. Spinning gently, he grabbed the back of his seat with his claws, stabilizing himself.
“This is easier than I thought,” he said with an amused grin toward Adam. “You should try it. It’s actually kind of fun.”
Adam grunted, arms crossed.
“And where exactly do you think you’re going?”
“I can’t stand sitting still anymore… and honestly, I’m freezing my ass off. I’m going to look for blankets.”
“Yeah… I’ll just wait here.”
Kiran shrugged, feigning indifference.
“Suit yourself! You’re missing out.”
With slow, controlled movements, hindered by zero gravity, he pushed himself toward the bridge entrance. There, he opened the emergency locker and grabbed a flashlight, switching it on. The beam timidly pierced the darkness, revealing the deserted corridor ahead. With one last glance at Adam, he drifted into the hallway, disappearing into the metallic gloom.
Kiran moved slowly, numb fingers gripping the ship’s cold walls. The chill seeped into him like poison, making every motion harder. The oppressive darkness surrounded him, broken only by the pale beam of his flashlight. His breathing echoed softly through the silent hull, the only sound in the void. Suddenly, the light caught a cluster of floating crates—the expedition’s supply containers, suspended in zero gravity as if abandoned mid-motion. He reached out to push one aside, but it tipped and collided with the others, triggering a chain reaction. A metallic cacophony erupted as the crates slammed into the corridor walls.
Kiran froze, listening. The noise rang far too loudly in the ship’s absolute silence. He swallowed and carefully weaved through the drifting containers, avoiding further impacts.
When he finally reached the sleeping quarters, he stopped short.
In the dim light, Zena floated at the center of the room, her lifeless body drifting gently, arms hanging loose, her hair spreading in weightlessness like a shifting shadow. Her skin was disturbingly pale, and she seemed utterly absent, suspended in an unreal state. A chill ran down his spine. A knot of fear formed in his stomach. For a moment, he thought he saw her breathing.
“Zena?” he whispered hopefully.
No response.
His heart raced, but he forced himself to focus. He had to make sure she was stable, that she wouldn’t drift helplessly through the ship.
Without wasting time, he returned to the corridor and searched frantically through the crates. The first was empty. The second too. He opened the third, a hint of impatience creeping in.
“Bingo… a strap,” he murmured in relief.
Returning to Zena, he slid an arm beneath her floating body and guided her toward a bunk. Zero gravity made the task difficult—every movement had to be precise to keep her from slipping away. After several attempts, he finally secured her in place. He stayed there for a moment, watching her, making sure she was properly fastened. A small wave of relief washed over him.
Before leaving, he glanced at the other bunks and grabbed two blankets. Task complete, his heart felt slightly lighter. Zena was safe… at least as much as she could be under such extreme conditions. But the future remained uncertain. Taking a final breath, he turned back toward the bridge, ready to rejoin Adam.
Hours passed in heavy silence. Wrapped in their blankets, Kiran and Adam fought against the biting cold that seeped into their bones. Every passing minute made the air colder, more hostile. Then, something changed. The light outside slowly shifted, turning from a cold glare to a strange greenish hue. Intrigued, they looked toward the observation bay.
The planet finally came into view—massive and enigmatic. A gigantic pale-green sphere dominated space, its shape blurred by a thick gray atmosphere. Vast clouds streaked its surface, partially concealing dark, shifting expanses resembling deep green oceans. What appeared to be continents emerged here and there, covered in vast dark regions interrupted by imposing gray formations reminiscent of mountain ranges.
Kiran was the first to break the silence.
“Adam… at least it’s not a fireball.”
“Yeah…” Adam admitted, mesmerized. “Looks like there are seas, forests, mountains… that’s a good sign. But… I don’t see any cities.”
Kiran frowned.
“A primitive world?”
“Probably. And if that’s the case… we might be stuck here forever.”
A growl of frustration escaped Kiran’s throat.
“Damn it…”
Adam looked away from the viewport, his expression grim.
“Before worrying about that, we still have to survive atmospheric entry… and the crash.”
Silence fell again as the green world grew inexorably larger in the observation bay.
At last, the ship began its atmospheric entry. Without shields, with a damaged hull, no power and no thrusters, the descent was suicidal. Adam hoped the atmospheric friction would slow their fall—that the atmosphere would be dense enough to brake the wreck they were piloting. There was no turning back. This world was their last chance at survival, and all they had left was luck.
The ship started to shake violently under increasing pressure. The air heated up at an alarming rate. The already weakened hull became a furnace as compressed atmosphere formed a burning plasma beneath the frame. Inside, the temperature shifted brutally from freezing cold to suffocating heat. Vibrations intensified, rattling every rivet, every panel, every centimeter of worn metal.
Strapped to their seats, Adam and Kiran absorbed brutal impacts, their bodies slammed against the harnesses with each jolt. The air reeked of burning metal, melting plastic, and overheated ozone. Piercing screeches echoed around them—a rising inferno of sound that betrayed the ship’s agony. Then the screeches became groans. Metal plates twisted, structures failed under immense pressure, and a sinister sound echoed like a funeral howl.
A violent jolt shook the bridge. Sections of bulkhead cracked, some panels burst apart from thermal expansion. The observation bay spiderwebbed with fractures, shards of glass spraying into the cockpit. Then, suddenly, the plasma sheath dissipated. The temperature dropped slightly.
“We survived!” Kiran gasped.
He celebrated too soon.
Their speed was still far too high. Though slowed by the atmosphere, the ship continued its deadly plunge. Gravity asserted itself, mercilessly crushing them into their seats. Without inertial dampeners, every meter lost pressed them deeper into their harnesses.
The landscape finally emerged through the shattered windows. Torrential rain obscured the horizon, but beyond the downpour, jagged mountains and a dense, dark-green forest came into view. The surface rushed toward them like an unforgiving wall, ready to crush them.
“Adam, we’re going too fast! We can’t land like this!” Kiran shouted, panic in his voice.
“I know! But the ship is dead! There’s nothing we can do!”
A dull metallic boom echoed through the hull. An entire section of the fuselage tore away, hurled into the void. A massive breach opened on the port side as air rushed in with explosive force. Then, with a deafening crash, the observation bay gave way. Glass exploded outward, icy rain slashing across their faces as a howling wind flooded the bridge.
Impact was imminent.
And then it happened.
The first impact was a wave of destruction. The hull slammed into a rocky peak, ripping part of the ship apart like aluminum foil. The collision tore the vessel in two, a metallic scream ripping through the air. The severed halves split violently, hurled in opposite directions. Adam and Kiran were thrown brutally against their seats.
Kiran felt a flash of pain rip through his right hand—something had deeply slashed it. But there was no time to focus on the injury.
The right half of the ship, where Adam was, spiraled toward a mountainside. It smashed into the slope in a storm of destruction, tearing through centuries-old trees, uprooting the forest in its path. Trunks flew like matchsticks. The metal structure twisted and screamed under the strain until, in an explosion of debris, it came to a brutal halt.
On the other side, the left half, with Kiran aboard, met a similar fate. It slammed violently into the trees, pulverizing branches and rocks before stopping amid a field of smoldering wreckage.
Then silence.
A terrifying silence.
Only the wind whistled through the torn carcasses, while rain hammered against the scorched debris. Columns of smoke drifted lazily into the moisture-heavy air.
The ship was gone.
Chapter 19 is now out!
