NOVEL NEXT Chapter 2: Into the unknown
The door hissed open, releasing a whisper of pressurized air into the dimly lit corridor. Dr. Elara Voss, her white lab coat a stark contrast against the metallic sheen of the spaceship's interior, stepped onto the bridge. The ambient hum of the ship's engines resonated beneath her feet, a constant reminder of the vessel's journey through the void.
The bridge was a symphony of blinking consoles and holographic displays, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the faces of the crew members stationed at their posts. At the center, elevated on a dais, sat Captain Throne. His command throne was an imposing structure of black alloy and leather, exuding authority. The captain himself was a figure of disciplined composure, his uniform immaculate, eyes sharp as they monitored the data streams flowing before him.
Noticing Dr. Voss's entrance, Captain Throne turned his attention toward her, a faint smile softening his otherwise stern features.
"Welcome aboard, Dr. Voss," he said, his voice carrying the weight of command yet laced with genuine warmth. "I trust your accommodations have been satisfactory."
"Thank you, Captain," Dr. Voss replied, inclining her head respectfully. "The hospitality has been exceptional."
Captain Throne nodded, pleased. "Dr. Hammel mentioned that one of your team wished to discuss the mission with me personally. Might I inquire who that is?"
Dr. Voss took a measured breath, the subtle scent of ozone from the ship's air filtration system filling her lungs. "That would be me, Captain. I have some concerns regarding the parameters of our upcoming operation that I believe warrant a direct conversation."
The captain's expression grew contemplative, and he gestured to a nearby console. "Very well, Doctor. Let's review the mission details together and address your concerns."
Captain Throne rose from his command throne, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He turned to his executive officer, Lieutenant Miller, who stood at attention beside the navigation console.
"Lieutenant Miller," the captain said, his voice firm yet composed, "you have the conn while I confer with Dr. Voss."
Lieutenant Miller snapped to attention, ers posture reflecting the discipline ingrained through years of service. "Aye, Captain," she replied crisply, acknowledging the temporary transfer of command.
Captain Throne nodded in approval before gesturing for Dr. Voss to follow him to the adjacent briefing room. As they departed, the ambient sounds of the bridge—the soft hum of machinery, the muted conversations of the crew—continued unabated, a testament to the seamless efficiency of the ship's operations.
In the meeting room, two individuals were seated: Dr. Elara Voss and Captain Throne.
"I trust, Captain, that you're already aware of what Dr. Hammel has conveyed?" Dr. Voss inquired, her expression curious.
Captain Throne leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady.
"Indeed, Dr. Voss," he replied. "Dr. Hammel has briefed me on the preliminary findings. However, I am eager to hear your perspective and any additional insights you might offer."
Dr. Voss nodded, appreciating the captain's openness.
Captain Throne furrowed his brow, considering the implications. "But we are currently positioned in the galactic north of that region, are we not?" he responded. "Due to recent warp turbulence, I'm afraid we cannot initiate a long-distance warp jump at this time, Dr. Voss."
Dr. Voss's expression remained resolute as she addressed Captain Throne. "Yes, Captain, I am aware of the challenges," she acknowledged. "However, the vital equipment essential for the success of the Webway project is located in the Perditus System."
Captain Throne considered her words, his brow furrowing. "Embarking on such a journey is exceedingly risky," he cautioned.
"What if we undertake a series of shorter warp jumps?" Dr. Voss proposed.
The captain sighed, contemplating the logistics. "The distance between our current position and the Perditus System is approximately forty thousand light-years. Given the recent warp disturbances, the safe range for each jump is limited to about five hundred light-years. This would necessitate at least eighty separate warp jumps," he explained patiently. "Moreover, each transition into the warp carries inherent risks, and I cannot guarantee the safety of every jump, Dr. Voss."
Dr. Voss nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I appreciate the complexities involved, Captain. However, the success of the Webway project is crucial for the humanity's future. Is there any way to mitigate the risks associated with multiple warp jumps?"
Captain Throne leaned back, deep in thought. "We could enhance our Gellar field generators and consult with our Navigator to chart the most stable warp routes. Additionally, we should perform thorough checks on all systems between jumps to ensure optimal performance. While these measures won't eliminate the dangers entirely, they could improve our chances of a successful journey."
"Then let's proceed with those precautions, Captain," Dr. Voss urged. "The potential benefits of the Webway project far outweigh the risks."
Captain Throne met her determined gaze and nodded. "Very well, Dr. Voss. We'll make the necessary preparations and set course for the Perditus System."
Dr. Voss inclined her head in gratitude. "Thank you, Captain."
Captain Throne chuckled softly. "No need for thanks, Dr. Voss. Save your gratitude for the Warp and our Navigator once we arrive safely."
They shared a brief, lighthearted moment before Dr. Voss cleared her throat, steering the conversation to a pressing matter.
"Regarding the cargo," she began, "the blueprints for the Null Field Generator will be uploaded into the ship's core. We plan to conduct experiments with it later. Has your fabrication unit been upgraded to meet the necessary specifications?"
Captain Throne's eyes gleamed with pride. "Ah, yes. The adepts from Mars have assured me that our ship's manufacturing capabilities are second only to the forges of Mars itself."
Dr. Voss smiled, satisfied. "I'll take that as a yes, Captain."
After concluding their discussion, Captain Throne and Dr. Voss exited the briefing room and proceeded to the bridge.
"Lieutenant Miller," Captain Throne's voice resonated with authority, "signal all ships in our fleet. We are altering course to the Ultima Segmentum. Inform our Navigator and Lucus to chart the safest route to the Perditus System."
Lieutenant Miller hesitated, concern evident in his expression. "Sir, the Warp remains turbulent."
"I am aware, Lieutenant," the Captain acknowledged. "We will implement the short warp jump protocol to mitigate the risks."
"Understood, Captain," Lieutenant Miller responded promptly, her fingers dancing over the holographic interface. "The fleet has been informed of the new destination. The Navigator team has received the information, and Lucus will assist them in calculating the safest route."
Captain Throne nodded approvingly. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Also, please check our Void Shields and Gellar Field. We don't want that 'thing' breaking into our ships."
Lieutenant Miller's expression became more serious as she acknowledged the Captain's concern. "Understood, Captain. I will ensure that both the Void Shields and Gellar Field are operating at optimal levels to prevent any breaches."
As the fleet prepared for departure, Captain Throne stood on the bridge, his gaze fixed on the vast expanse ahead.
"Lieutenant," he addressed, "how is our Gellar Field status?"
Lieutenant Miller responded promptly, her fingers dancing over the holographic interface.
"Ferrum-pattern Gellar Field generator is operating at peak efficiency, Captain. The atomic Void Shield is up. We are ready to undergo warp transit."
Captain Throne nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Signal every ship in our fleet to close all external windows. Task Vice-Captain Stone with ensuring his forces are alert in case of any breaches from the Empyrean."
Lieutenant Miller acknowledged the orders, her expression serious.
"Understood, Captain. Orders will be relayed immediately."
As the fleet surged toward the Mandeville point, the vast void of space stretched infinitely ahead, cold and indifferent. The engines hummed, a deep vibration felt through the deck plating, as the ships closed the final distance. The Mandeville point—a nexus where the fabric of reality was thin enough to breach the immaterium—loomed on the horizon, its turbulent energies crackling and pulsing.
"All ships are in position, Captain," Lieutenant Miller called, her voice steady yet tinged with the tension of the moment.
Captain Throne stood tall, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes narrowing as he gazed upon the swirling rift in the distance. "Prepare for entry," he commanded. "Initiate warp transit on my mark."
The silence on the bridge was palpable, the anticipation thick in the air. Time seemed to stretch, each second feeling like an eternity.
"Mark."
The words were barely out of his mouth when the ship's engines roared to life. The void before them seemed to shimmer, bending and warping, as if reality itself were twisting under the immense pressure. Then, with a sudden lurch, the ship was thrust forward, tearing through the fabric of space.
The stars outside the viewport smeared into long, jagged lines of light as the ship plunged into the Warp. The ship trembled violently, its Gellar Field holding back the malevolent forces of the Immaterium that clawed at the edges of reality. The hull groaned under the strain, but the ship held firm, the powerful shields and the crew's training keeping them steady in the face of such chaos.
Inside the ship, the lights flickered, casting long shadows across the bridge as the crew braced themselves. The very air seemed to hum with an unnatural energy, as though the ship was surrounded by a thousand unseen eyes. The hum of the engines, now distant and distorted, vibrated through the ship's very bones, a constant reminder of the danger they were in.
"Navigator, keep us steady!" Captain Throne barked, his voice rising above the hum of the ship. "Lucus, monitor the shields. Ensure the Gellar Field remains intact!"
"Understood, Captain," the AI's voice crackled through the comms, distorted by the unnatural energies of the Warp. The eerie, otherworldly tones of the Navigators guided the ship through the storm of the Immaterium, their psyker abilities tapping into the currents of the Warp to steer the vessel.
As they journeyed deeper into the Warp, the turbulence grew. Shadows seemed to twist and writhe in the corners of the ship, fleeting glimpses of horrors that were never meant to be seen. The Gellar Field glowed a soft blue, flickering in response to the unnatural pressure. Each pulse of light seemed to ward off the grasping tendrils of the Warp, but only just.
Suddenly, a jolt ran through the ship—a powerful surge that rattled the crew. The hull groaned, and the lights flickered violently. "Captain, something's pulling at the Gellar Field!" a voice called from the engineering deck.
"Stabilize it!" Captain Throne commanded, his tone unflinching. "Lucus, double the output on the Gellar Field! We can't afford any breaches."
For a long, nerve-wracking moment, the ship was adrift in the howling chaos of the Immaterium, a tiny island in a storm of unimaginable size. But then, as quickly as it had come, the turbulence began to calm. The ship stabilized, and the stars outside the viewport began to straighten, their jagged streaks narrowing back into points of light.
"We're through," the Navigator announced, his voice a mix of relief and exhaustion. "Safe passage to the Perditus System, Captain."
Captain Throne exhaled deeply, a rare moment of tension leaving his shoulders. "Good work, all of you. Prepare for our next jump."
As the fleet emerged from the Warp, the dark, endless expanse of realspace stretched out before them. The distant stars gleamed coldly, a reminder of the dangers that lay ahead. But for now, they were safe.
Captain Throne stood in front of the large holomap that dominated the center of the bridge. It displayed the vast emptiness of the galaxy, pinpointing the positions of the ships in his fleet as tiny, flickering markers. A quiet hum reverberated through the deck plating as the ship maintained its steady course, the distant stars outside the viewport twinkling coldly. The hum was a constant reminder of the machinery that surrounded him—the heart of the fleet, beating in sync with the life of the men and women aboard.
He stood alone for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the readouts. The journey ahead was long, and the unknown dangers of the Warp still loomed, even though they were beyond the worst of it for now. He needed to ensure that everything was operating as it should.
"Lieutenant Miller," Captain Throne's voice was calm but firm, drawing the officer's attention from her console. "Report on fleet status. Where do we stand?"
Lieutenant Miller's fingers flew across her console, her focus never faltering as she processed the incoming data. "Aye, Captain. The fleet is still in formation, maintaining optimal distance from one another. No ships are out of line or showing any signs of distress. Void shields are operational on all vessels, and Gellar Fields are holding steady. No disturbances detected in the immediate vicinity, but we're maintaining vigilance."
Throne's gaze didn't leave the map, his eyes scanning the fleet's position. "What about the position of the fleet, Lieutenant? I want to know exactly where we are in relation to the Perditus System."
The bridge hummed with the quiet efficiency of a ship operating at peak performance, but Captain Throne's sharp gaze lingered on the sensor displays. His posture was rigid, his mind already racing through the potential implications of what he was hearing. Lieutenant Miller stood beside her console, eyes scanning the readouts as she delivered her report, her voice steady but with a faint edge of concern.
"Aye, sir," Miller said, her fingers moving across her console with practiced precision. "It looks like we've drifted farther than anticipated—approximately twenty thousand light years from our intended destination. Lucus and the navigators' calculations were… significantly off."
The flickering data on the holoscreens reflected the uncertainty of their situation. Captain Throne's brow furrowed as the gravity of the situation began to settle in. A miscalculation in the Warp was nothing new, but a twenty-thousand-light-year deviation was a problem beyond simple navigational error. It was as if they had slipped through some kind of cosmic rift.
Throne straightened, his voice cutting through the tension that had slowly begun to fill the room. "But what's more worrying… will be the fact that our comms are silent."
Miller didn't flinch; she was used to the captain's sharpness. But the unease in her expression was evident as she continued. "Aye, sir. We're currently on the far east of Earth's known space—an area that's normally filled with communication buoys and void ships. The comms here should be alive with signals, but… they're not. It's as if those systems have vanished entirely from our sensors."
The quiet in the room grew thicker, the faint hum of the ship's systems almost oppressive as the words hung in the air. Captain Throne's gaze shifted to the display, his mind running through every possible explanation, but none of them seemed to fit.
"Are we certain it's not a glitch?" Throne asked, keeping his voice steady but tinged with the weight of the question.
Miller's fingers flew across her console as she double-checked the data. "Negative, sir. It's not a malfunction. We're receiving no signals from any known sources—void ships, navigational beacons, nothing. The sensors are operating normally, but the absence of any communication… it's not just unusual. It's impossible."
Throne exhaled slowly, his jaw tight. This wasn't a simple anomaly. There was something else happening here. Before he could ask further, one of the officers at the deep sensor station spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like a cold blade.
"Sir," the officer said, his hands moving quickly across the controls, "the deep sensor scan shows something even more troubling. We are currently within the Aurus Sector, Captain. The nearest system should be the Ryza system, but… there's nothing. No signals, no trace of any void ships, no planetary activity—nothing at all. We're in a dead zone."
A cold shiver seemed to pass through the crew, and even the officers at their stations became visibly tense. The Ryza system was one of the most important systems in the Segmentum—an industrial powerhouse with a bustling trade network. For it to be silent, for there to be no signal whatsoever, was unthinkable.
Throne turned toward the tactical station, his voice low but firm. "Do a full sweep of the area. Expand our sensors to maximum range. There has to be an explanation for this."
"Aye, Captain," the officer replied, quickly adjusting the sensor parameters.
Throne's mind raced, but he knew better than to jump to conclusions without facts. Something was terribly wrong here, and he needed to understand what it was before they found themselves in a situation beyond their control.
He straightened, his eyes locking on the display of the fleet's position. "Lucus," he said, his voice carrying the weight of command. "Give me a status update on the fleet's location and trajectory."
From the holo-projector near the captain's console, the glowing blue outline of an advanced AI interface materialized, Lucus's form an intricate, ever-shifting configuration of light. The AI's voice, calm and synthetic, echoed across the bridge.
"Captain Throne," Lucus said, its tone unhurried and precise, "I have analyzed the current warp signature. We have indeed deviated from the planned course. The discrepancy exceeds the typical margins of error, and the current coordinates indicate we are far from our intended trajectory. My calculations suggest we are situated in a sector where no navigational markers or beacons are present, and the data suggests the nearby systems, including Ryza, are inactive."
Throne turned fully toward the AI, his eyes narrowing. "Is it possible we've entered a Warp anomaly or a region where the normal laws of space-time are distorted?"
Lucus's digital avatar flickered for a moment, processing the data at a staggering speed. "While I cannot definitively confirm the presence of a Warp anomaly, the data is consistent with previous encounters in unknown regions. The lack of any signal from the Ryza system or surrounding systems is highly irregular. I recommend recalculating our trajectory and initiating further scans for anomalies."
Throne turned back to Miller, his mind already calculating their next move. "Lieutenant, prepare the fleet for further analysis. I want every ship to be on full alert. No one leaves their posts. There's something in this sector that we don't understand, and I want to know what it is."
Miller gave a quick nod. "Aye, Captain. I'll relay the orders immediately."
Throne looked out toward the cold expanse of space beyond the viewport. The stars, once familiar, now seemed distant and alien. This wasn't just a minor navigation error. Something far darker was unfolding, and the captain knew that the silence they were experiencing could very well be the calm before the storm.
"Lucus," Throne said, his voice low and steady. "Keep scanning. We need answers—fast."
"Acknowledged, Captain," Lucus replied, its voice unwavering as it began recalculating the ship's trajectory.
The bridge of Throne's ship was eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of the ship's systems working tirelessly beneath their feet. The vast expanse of space beyond the viewport stretched infinitely, distant stars shimmering like cold, indifferent sentinels. Captain Throne stood at the command console, his mind grinding through the growing sense of unease that clung to the air.
A low hum filled the space as the ship's immense computational systems began to process the vast amounts of data sent in from every sensor array. The holo-screens flickered, displaying a cascade of readings: star positions, distortions in the Warp, empty spaces where communication should have been, all interwoven into a single, incomprehensible puzzle. The moment the final report appeared, a tension swept over the crew.
Lucus's avatar appeared before the captain—an intricate, shifting web of light, its digital voice calm and measured, though even its synthetic tone could not mask the gravity of its words.
"Captain Throne," Lucus began, its voice cutting through the stillness like a blade, "I have analyzed the data gathered from our deep scans, star positioning, Warp fluctuations, and the absence of any communication signals. The likelihood of a computational error is negligible—almost zero."
Throne didn't respond immediately. His fingers clenched the edge of the console, eyes narrowing as the ship's AI continued, its voice holding the chilling weight of its conclusion.
"Based on my analysis, I hypothesize that we have somehow traveled forward in time. The spatial distortion in the Warp, combined with the anomaly in star positions, strongly suggests a temporal shift. While this is not a confirmed outcome, the overwhelming evidence points to this scenario." Lucus paused for a fraction of a second, as if the weight of the situation lingered in its digital mind. "However, given the absence of all communication—no signals from Void ships, no beacons from navigational buoys—it is equally plausible that we have traveled into a future where humanity no longer exists. Should that not be the case, then we may have… traveled back to a time before humanity had even emerged."
A chill settled over the bridge, and the crew exchanged uneasy glances. The captain's heart skipped a beat. Lucus was a sophisticated AI—rarely wrong, calculating with precision and cold logic. If Lucus was even considering this possibility, it meant the data couldn't be ignored. For a moment, time itself seemed to slow down as the enormity of the situation took hold of every officer on the bridge.
"Is it possible…?" Captain Throne's voice was low, a heavy weight pressing down on every word. "Could we have actually traveled back to a time before humanity? Or is it more likely that we've reached the end of it all?"
Lucus's avatar flickered in response, calculating, pondering. The machine had no emotions, no fear, but its response was as unsettling as any human's could be.
"Uncertainty remains, Captain. The absence of all communication and the stillness in the systems suggests an extinction-level event. However, I cannot definitively rule out a temporal anomaly where we have arrived before humanity's emergence." Lucus's projection pulsed faintly. "It is a paradoxical situation—both outcomes are equally plausible given the current data."
A heavy silence descended upon the crew, the cold hum of the ship's engines now filling the air with an unsettling cadence. The absence of answers was almost as deafening as the vast silence outside. No voice, no system, no signal—just the black void of space staring back at them, as if it had swallowed everything that once existed.
Captain Throne felt a tightening in his chest. A bead of cold sweat formed on his brow. He glanced at his officers, each one stiff, their eyes wide with disbelief. Was this the end of humanity? Or had they stumbled upon a point in time where their ancestors were yet to be?
The silence on the bridge was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the ship's systems. Then, a junior officer's voice rang out, sharp with urgency.
"Captain! I used an old signal receiver pattern, and... it worked! I'm picking up data and communication from the Ryza system!"
Captain Throne's head snapped toward the officer. His piercing gaze seemed to cut through the dim lighting of the command deck. "What kind of communication?"
The officer's fingers flew over his console as he replied, "Mostly encrypted, sir, but it's old—pre-spacefaring era protocols. I managed to decrypt some. What's surprising is… it's binary machine code interlaced with human language. After a brief translation, it's unmistakably human, sir."
Throne's brow furrowed, and he leaned closer. "Ryza hasn't fallen, then. What about Earth? Can you pick up anything from Terra?"
"Aye, sir. Initiating a deep scan now." The officer's hands moved deftly, his face a mask of concentration as the crew held their breath.
Moments stretched into what felt like hours before the officer spoke again, his voice tight with astonishment. "Sir… I've intercepted signals from Earth. Both binary machine code and human languages, primarily English and Latin."
Throne exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable as he processed the revelation. "Interesting. So humanity still endures… but in what state? Should we risk making contact?" He spoke aloud, half to himself.
Lucus, the ship's AI, interjected. His voice resonated across the bridge, calm yet layered with an almost human cadence. "Captain, I must caution against immediate contact. The intercepted signals are low-power and rudimentary, possibly relics of a technologically stagnant society. It's uncertain whether they even possess the capacity to receive or comprehend our transmissions."
Throne's gaze shifted toward the nearest interface node, where Lucus' presence often manifested as a faint glow. "Are you suggesting they've regressed?."
"Not entirely, Captain," Lucus replied, his tone analytical. "The dual usage of binary and classical languages suggests a cultural reliance on ancient practices. However, the lack of sophisticated encryption implies their technological infrastructure is… limited. There's also no guarantee of their disposition toward us. Historical records indicate humanity's tendency toward fear and hostility when encountering the unknown."
Thrond nodded slowly, the weight of Lucus' words evident in his tense posture. "You're right. But sooner or later, we'll need to establish contact. We can't avoid this forever."
Lucus responded smoothly. "A logical course of action would be cautious reconnaissance. Dispatch a small, stealth-capable team to Ryza. Gather intelligence before revealing our presence. This minimizes risk while maximizing potential insight."
Throne considered the proposal for a moment before giving a decisive nod. "Agreed. Miller, establish contact with the SFN Thunderstrike and SFN Retributor. They are to proceed to the Ryza system under full stealth protocols. Their mission is simple: gather intelligence and report back. No direct engagement unless absolutely necessary."
"Aye, Captain," Miller acknowledged, her fingers already dancing across his console to send the orders.
The SFN Thunderstrike and SFN Retributor were marvels of engineering, exemplifying the cutting edge of stealth warfare. These Errant-class heavy cruisers stretched 10 kilometers from bow to stern, with a formidable 4-kilometer width that housed a labyrinth of advanced systems and weaponry.
Each ship was equipped with an invisible field generator, a technological masterpiece that rendered their immense forms undetectable to conventional sensors and invisible to the naked eye. This allowed them to infiltrate even the most fortified enemy lines, their presence felt only when it was far too late.
For long-range engagements, the cruisers carried four neutron laser lances, their precision and destructive power capable of crippling targets from astronomical distances. Mid-range combat relied on five turrets, each mounting triple-barreled nova destruction cannons, capable of launching searing plasma warheads at near-light speeds. These projectiles didn't merely destroy—they tore spacetime itself, creating brief but devastating miniature black holes.
But their true ace lay in their superweapon: the gravitic disruption cannon. With an eerie, almost silent discharge, it unleashed an intense gravitational field that could twist and rupture an enemy ship's superstructure, leaving it shattered and adrift. While the Thunderstrike and Retributor weren't as heavily armed as other heavy cruisers of their class, their unparalleled stealth capabilities more than compensated for the lighter arsenal. They were the shadows in the void, lethal and unseen.
Once the order was given, both ships activated their cloaking fields, vanishing into the star-dappled darkness of space. Their sleek hulls blended seamlessly with the void as they accelerated toward the Ryza system.
On the Aegis of Eternity, the tension was palpable as one of the officers broke the silence. "Captain, the Thunderstrike and Retributor are on course. Estimated arrival at the Ryza system in three hours."
Captain Throne nodded, his expression unreadable as he leaned against the armrest of his command chair. "Good," he said, his voice calm but heavy with thought. "Let's hope there's no bloodshed—no unnecessary conflict between whatever future or past humanity we encounter and ourselves."
He sighed, the weight of millennia and the unknown bearing down on him. For a moment, the hum of the bridge systems was the only sound. Then Lucus, the ship's AI, spoke with measured precision.
"Captain, it is wise to prepare for every outcome. The stealth capabilities of the Thunderstrike and Retributor should minimize risk, but we must remain vigilant. There is no guarantee the humanity of this time will welcome us."
Throne gave a small nod, acknowledging the AI's calculated words. "We'll take it one step at a time, Lucus. Let's pray their first sight of us isn't one of conflict."
As the stars outside the viewport seemed to stretch and shift, Throne's gaze lingered on the holographic map displaying the path of the two cruisers. The Ryza system loomed like a question mark in the darkness, holding secrets of a humanity they had yet to meet.
"Inform our guest about the current situation, Miller," Throne said, his voice firm but laced with weariness. "I'll be in my chamber resting. Call me if anything urgent arises."
"Aye, sir," Miller nodded, already turning to relay the order.
Throne stepped off the command deck, the weight of command easing slightly with each step. The corridor ahead shimmered faintly as he approached the teleportation chamber. The familiar hum of the system filled the air as it scanned his bio-signature, and within moments, he was enveloped in a soft, blue light.
The disorientation passed quickly, and he found himself standing before the door to his quarters. The automated locks disengaged with a soft hiss, and the door slid open to reveal his personal sanctuary—a stark but functional space designed for both comfort and efficiency.
Twenty days without rest. Throne's augmented body allowed him to push the limits of human endurance, but even enhancements couldn't erase the longing for sleep. The fatigue was like a ghost, ever present and impossible to ignore.
He sighed, stepping inside and letting the door close behind him. The quiet enveloped him, broken only by the faint hum of the ship's systems. His thoughts drifted as he crossed the room, peeling off his coat and draping it over a chair.
"What a journey…" he muttered to himself, rubbing his temples. "And what's next? Fighting another human?" He scoffed bitterly, his tone laced with resignation. "Well, that's Stone's responsibility."
Stone. The thought of the head of tactical operations brought a flicker of reassurance. If anyone was prepared for a confrontation, it was him. But Throne's own burdens were no less heavy.
He lowered himself onto the bed, the mattress adjusting to his frame with a faint whir. Glancing at the chronometer on the wall, he noted the time: 20:20.
"An hour and a half," he murmured, setting an internal timer. "21:50. That'll have to do."
.
.
.