Destiny Among the Stars - Scifi - LitRPG - Adventure

"And they shall rebuild the old ruins, raise up the former desolations, and repair the waste cities."

—Isaiah 61:4

The shuttle banked hard, sunlight flashing off the Tiber as Rome unfolded beneath them.

President James Anderson sat strapped in the forward cabin, one hand resting loosely on his knee, the other holding his tablet. The seat vibrated with the steady pulse of the engines as they descended toward the city's orbital landing zone, one of the new pads installed outside the old Leonardo da Vinci airport.

He hated flying. Even now, even in the most advanced craft humanity could cobble together, it felt too fragile. Too much depended on the unseen.

A notification appeared on his interface.

Anderson frowned slightly and pulled up the alert. For a moment, he'd thought it was another priority dispatch about the conference agenda. Instead, this was his personal interface.

For a moment, Anderson simply stared.

He focused on the interface, and the details unfolded:

Anderson leaned back slightly, feeling the faint pull of gravity as the shuttle decelerated.

He hadn't expected much from Marisol's programs. Certainly not from the kids she'd sent barreling toward Alpha Centauri. And now? He was glad they'd signed the charter. Because if they hadn't... they'd have gone anyway.

Yet here it was, progress; it was the beginning of something larger than Earth's endless headaches.

The kids. The nickname stuck in his mind now with a little more weight. They were making headway on goals he hadn't dared believe could be reached during his term.

He focused on his Professional Path. His Civic Diplomat progression bar ticked forward by a sliver, responding to the milestone.

Five years. That was the limit the System had set. Expand across the cosmos, or fail.

Anderson had already approved plans for a second ship, commissioned by the UER Interstellar Development department, earmarked for the moment another FTL drive was discovered or manufactured. Next time, it would be his crew, his people, and soon, with the FTL drive reverse-engineered, they would have Colony ships.

But credit where it was due, the Triumph kids were doing what no government, no scientists, no sanctioned program had dared to try. And they were pulling it off.

And for the first time in months, he allowed himself to believe it: Maybe they really would make it.

Outside the shuttle window, the City of Rome glinted in the late afternoon sun.

Tomorrow, he'd face the Economic Reconstruction Summit, hammer out deals, and rally investment for Africa's cities and broken coastlines. The work of saving Earth was far from done; what they needed was a high-speed transportation network to get people moving again, investment, and industry.

The continent had the terrain, flatlands, plateaus, and enough land to feed the world. But without transportation networks, reactors, and water systems, it was all just potential.

TL8 tech could make it happen. Fusion plants, filtration arrays, and automated farming systems, if they could afford it. The System Store sold everything they needed, at astronomical prices that bled development budgets dry.

It was all there, waiting. But so was everything else.

Warlords were targeting Town Control Towers. Extremist violence was spreading through Sudan and the Sahel. The first African fusion plant in Angola was already gone. An attack leveled it, killing over ten thousand and setting the region back a decade.

They didn't just need infrastructure.

They needed security. And higher-level teams willing to stay behind and hold the line.

Later, a private meeting with His Holiness. A reminder, perhaps, that humanity wasn't just fighting for survival anymore. They were fighting for their soul.

Perhaps if the kids made it back... no. When they made it back, they should do a World Tour. A Unity Tour. Karen Stevens might be convinced. The symbolism would go a long way toward folding more nations under the UER.

The shuttle touched down with a soft bump and Anderson rose slowly, gathering his laptop and his jacket.

One step at a time, he thought. First Earth. Then the stars.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

The shuttle docked with a soft metallic clunk, maglocks engaging as the walkway extended toward the Genesis Platform's forward bay. Inside, the air shifted, pressure equalized, and the scent of machine oil, recycled oxygen, and the faint tang of hot metal flooded the cabin.

Matteo Rossi unstrapped first, rolling his shoulders as the walkway's lights flickered green. Around him, his squad stirred, five tired figures in battered armor, helmets clipped to their belts, each carrying the bruises of another portal run.

"Bet you twenty creds the showers are still broken," Evan muttered behind him.

"You're an optimist," Jules said, shouldering his pack.

"If it's hot water, I'm proposing to it," grinned Samira, limping slightly but smiling.

Matteo chuckled and led the way down the gangway into the chaos of the Platform.

Shipwrights in pressure suits stalked the scaffolding overhead, welding sparks flaring like fireflies. Cargo ships buzzed past, hauling crates toward docked dropships. Voices crackled over the intercoms, status reports, landing clearances, supply requests, layered over the constant low hum of fusion reactors buried deep inside the station's core.

The station was a city, a forge, a frontier, and it felt like it.

"God, it's good to be back," Matteo said under his breath.

They hit the main concourse, where returning crews, mechanics, vendors, and security squads mingled in controlled chaos. Matteo was adjusting the strap on his chestplate when he saw the figure standing just past the security checkpoint.

"Finally," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "I need food and my bed."

Just beyond the pressure gate, a tall figure waited, arms folded.

"Shit," Evan breathed. "Is that...?"

"Yeah," Matteo said, smiling. "That's my dad."

The squad straightened instinctively, a few exchanging wide-eyed glances. Athan Rossi wasn't just the owner of Genesis Platform. He was the guy, the one who made this floating city possible, who gave independent crews a real shot after the System's arrival.

Athan Rossi stood like a wall, a little older now, grayer than Matteo remembered from the last time he was home, but his eyes were warm.

Matteo didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, and like he always did, he asked:

"Any word from Luca?"

Athan's mouth lifted into a small, tired smile. "Come on. We'll talk at the apartment."

Evan bumped fists with him on the way past. "See you tomorrow, boss."

"Get some sleep," Matteo said as the rest of the squad peeled off, quiet nods, a few murmured goodnights, each heading toward their quarters, armor clinking with every step.

Matteo walked beside his father, the rhythm of the Platform around them, boots on metal, shuttles landing, announcements buzzing through the overhead speakers. They passed bays filled with half-built dropships, workers welding frames into place, and supply corridors stacked with cargo modules bound for Mars, other platforms in the belt, and the Moon.

The habitation module was quieter. Industrial steel softened by artificial lighting, trees in glass cylinders lining the corridor, oxygen recycling with a hint of mint. They passed the observation deck, the stars stretching beyond them in stillness. The doors slid open at their approach.

Athan's apartment wasn't large, but it was home. Clean. Lived in. Matteo unstrapped his armor and kicked off his boots at the entry, leaving them in a clattering heap.

"Shower first," Athan said, already moving toward the kitchen. "You smell like Moon dust."

Matteo stripped down and disappeared into the bathroom. The hiss of the water began, followed by a long sigh of relief.

By the time he returned, towel around his waist, hair damp, the scent of cream and garlic was thick in the air.

"Linguini alfredo?" he said, grinning.

"Your brother's favorite," Athan said.

They sat together at the small dining table. Matteo piled on a second helping before the first bite.

"Alright," he said, mouth half full. "You said you had news?"

Athan nodded, fork spinning through the pasta. "Luca's team identified a viable planet."

Matteo blinked. "Wait, like a real one? Habitable?"

"Apparently so. Word came through Karen. President Anderson called her personally to confirm it."

Matteo froze mid-bite. "Holy shit."

"It's the real thing," Athan said, voice thicker now. "Alpha Centauri. Not just exploration, but settlement viability. And Luca's team did it."

Matteo leaned back, staring like he could barely wrap his mind around it. "He's really out there," he muttered. "Not just flying around... he's doing it."

Athan let out a slow breath, almost a laugh, almost a sigh. "Yeah," he said softly. His hand curled once around the fork on the table, steadying himself. "He always does. Stubborn little bastard."

His smile didn't fade, but there was something behind it now.

Eventually, Athan asked, "And you? How was the Moon?"

Matteo wiped his mouth, then shrugged with a lopsided grin. "Portal was tougher than expected. Level 41 mob boss, some armored lizard. Kicked the shit out of Evan, but the IFC medics were on standby as usual. They got him before he bled out. Got some good materials and a few items."

"Everyone alright?"

"Yeah," Matteo said. "Exhausted, but fine."

Athan nodded. "Good. Just don't get cocky."

"I'm not Luca."

"No," Athan said, smiling again. "You're more cautious. It'll probably keep you alive longer."

Matteo looked at his father for a moment, then shook his head. "I miss him. Even when he was annoying as hell."

"He misses you, too."

They ate until their plates were cleared, the news settling heavier than the food.

Matteo wiped his mouth, leaned back, and stretched. "How's Alessio?"

Athan gave a small grunt. "Still down in Meredith. Staying with your grandparents."

He tapped his fork lightly against the plate, thoughtful.

"Already level twelve," he said. "Turned sixteen last week. First thing he did was charge into the local training portals, scared your grandmother half to death."

Matteo smirked. "Sounds about right."

Athan grimaced, not quite smiling. "He'll be up here soon enough. Needs to get back to classes. And maybe-" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Maybe learn a little patience."

"He'll catch up," Matteo said, then added with a grin, "We all do."

Athan didn't answer for a long moment, just fiddled with the pasta bowl, eyes distant.

Finally, Matteo pushed his chair back with a scrape. "The squad's thinking about taking a break. Not long. A few weeks."

Athan raised an eyebrow. "Well... I could use another pilot."

Matteo snorted. "You say that like I have a choice."

"You don't." Athan stood and ruffled his son's still-damp hair. "But you get pasta, so it evens out."

Matteo stretched and let his head rest back. Luca was out there breaking the galaxy wide open. Alessio was charging ahead, trying to catch up.

And him? He was right here, somewhere in between trying not to screw it up.

The lights dimmed automatically to station-night. The distant hum of engines and air recyclers filled the apartment.

Athan paused in the doorway, watching his son, already half-asleep.

The weight of the System, the stars, the future... all set aside, just for a little while.

He turned out the lights and stood there a while longer, listening to the quiet hum of the station, the soft sound of his son's breathing from the couch.

The apartment felt too still.

Maddie would have said something by now, told him to sit down, told him not to worry so much, told him Luca would be fine, that all their boys would be fine; she would have taken out their Neapolitan cards for a game of Scopa.

But the room stayed quiet and the cards stayed in the drawer.

And Athan, as always, stayed standing.