Chapter 56: Gut feeling
Chunkyboy descended gently through the atmosphere, Laia's clone guiding it with cautious precision. On the main ship, the crew watched the planetary feed anxiously, each face etched with varying degrees of uncertainty. The landscape beneath the lander was lush, vibrant, and infuriatingly normal. Sparkling rivers meandered lazily through dense, emerald-green forests. Broad plains stretched endlessly toward distant, snow-capped mountains. Wildlife scampered freely beneath towering canopies, healthy, abundant, and completely untouched by civilization.
And that was exactly the problem. There was nothing here with no ancient ruins, no abandoned settlements, not even a single trace of habitation. The planet was pristine, but suspiciously so.
"Landing site secured," Laia's clone finally reported. Her voice remained calm, and clinical. "I'll initiate a detailed planetary survey, but initial scans still show nothing unusual."
I frowned inwardly. Something felt off about this planet, despite how perfect it appeared.
"Let's hold tight," I said, looking around at my crew. "Wait for Laia's detailed scans. Maybe we missed something from orbit."
The wait was agonisingly slow. Minutes dragged into hours. Stewie was the first to break the uneasy silence, his voice tinged with cautious hope.
"If this planet really is safe... it's kind of perfect, isn't it? It has everything we've been looking for."
I nodded, reluctantly acknowledging his point. "You're right but that's exactly why I don't trust it."
"It feels important," T'lish murmured suddenly, staring at the screens intently. Her stare was distant, almost haunted by memories that weren't entirely her own. "I am certain there's a reason I remember this place so vividly. It matters somehow."
Her words echoed quietly in the silence that followed. Nobody voiced disagreement, but I could feel their shared uncertainty. Lynn, Kel, Mira, and Stewie, each wore an expression of cautious optimism battling quiet doubt.
It was several hours later when Laia reported the results of her clones scans, her fairy-like avatar appearing softly beside us on the bridge.
"Detailed scans complete," she announced, voice soft but steady. "There's still no sign of any civilisation from either the past or present. The planet is completely untouched."
My internal unease only deepened. I had said to always trust a human gut. I trusted that subtle tug of intuition that whispered in the back of my consciousness. Now, though, my instincts were tangled. Something was wrong. And yet, despite all our precautions and scans, we had found nothing dangerous. With T'lish gut feeling being the opposite of mine all we could do was move forward cautiously.
"Alright," I conceded slowly. "We'll continue to monitor carefully, but we'll proceed with establishing the forward base and monitor it for a few weeks to be sure. Anything unusual, even the slightest anomaly, and we stop immediately."
"Understood," they all replied calmly.
With a wary consensus, we turned our attention to our individual tasks. T'lish dove into preparations for growing the organic hull-bud. She had been anxious about its viability, concerned that delaying too long might degrade it. She carefully prepped nutrient mixtures and environmental controls, working tirelessly in her quiet, methodical way. She was just waiting for the all-clear to build it on the planet.
Kel was more restless. He volunteered for scouting duties, frequently piloting Chunkyboy across the surface. His daily flights brought back stunning imagery of rolling green fields, spectacular coastlines, and even some colourful local fauna. But each report was the same: beautiful, serene, and stubbornly empty.
Stewie and Mira, meanwhile, remained quietly suspicious. Growing up on New Horizon had taught them early to mistrust perfection. Every day, they kept one eye on the planet, clearly expecting the other shoe to drop. Mira openly voiced concerns; Stewie simply stayed quiet, often distracted and fidgety.
Lynn, ever practical, was busy cataloguing everything potentially useful. If this planet truly was safe, it would offer unprecedented opportunities. But even she seemed uneasy with her enthusiasm tempered by a subtle but persistent tension.
Despite my misgivings, I retreated to my virtual workshop to occupy my mind, determined to master the single-ship jump technology. Stewie had eagerly joined me, brimming with youthful enthusiasm for what he had dubbed our "jump buoys."
Jump buoys were self-contained units that could open up an exit window when requested. The idea is that they could be delivered throughout the galaxy by autonomous drones.
"These drones," he said excitedly, "could continuously travel to new systems, laying out jump buoys. Whenever we want to use one, we send a warp courier drone ahead, confirm timing, and jump in. Think about it, Laz if we wanted to we could even rent out jump windows. Lynn says this could make us a fortune!"
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Mira, lounging comfortably nearby, looked up with an amused smile. "He hasn't stopped talking about it for days. I think Lynn has him fully sold on the idea."
"It does have potential," I admitted, glancing at the schematic displays. "But we'll need thorough testing. Precision timing will be everything."
Stewie's expression turned serious. "We can handle that. Let's get to work."
Together, we refined the designs. Days blurred into weeks, my attention narrowly focused, carefully monitored by Mira to prevent another embarrassing temporal slip. Each evening ended with her gentle teasing, a constant reminder of how much I relied on them to keep me anchored.
Despite everyone's unease, life began settling into a cautious routine. Laia's clone maintained constant vigilance on the planet's surface. Kel continued exploring, while T'lish slowly built her carefully maintained growth pods. Lynn worked relentlessly, and Stewie stayed by my side, perfecting his jump buoy concept. On the surface, everything appeared fine.
And yet the feeling persisted, gnawing softly at the edges of my thoughts.
Weeks passed quietly, measured out in careful progress and gentle caution. The base was completed, a stark and solid nanite structure nestled neatly amidst the planet's untouched landscape, still unmanned but meticulously prepared. As days slipped by without any hint of threat or danger, the crew's initial anxiety gradually softened into cautious optimism.
I found myself standing at the virtual bridge, watching Mira eagerly preparing trays of seedlings for her garden below, humming cheerfully as she placed each delicate plant into small containers. T'lish stood nearby, inspecting environmental readouts and making careful adjustments, utterly focused on nurturing her precious organic hull-bud in the growth ponds.
The forward base was no longer just an abstract concept, it was becoming a real home, tangible and inviting and now fully manned.
But still, my gut twisted gently with unease. Something about the perfection of this place, the sheer emptiness, left me unsettled. I could have stopped them. I could have trusted that persistent inner warning. But T'lish's quiet certainty, her calm insistence that this world was safe, had slowly worn away my doubts. If she believed this place mattered, that there was something meaningful hidden here, who was I to deny her that hope?
And after all, we'd taken every possible precaution.
Down at the base, life slowly settled into a routine. Kel eagerly took charge of exploring further afield, mapping terrain, cataloguing wildlife, finding any reason to fly Chunkyboy around the skies. Stewie spent his time between the lander and our virtual workshop, tweaking the jump buoys until he was confident they were ready for real-world testing.
One morning, Lynn approached with a thoughtful expression, her eyes bright with a familiar intensity.
"Lazarus, I've been thinking about how we should handle the jump buoy project," she began carefully. "It's ready, and it's potentially very lucrative but we still need a way to keep NeuroGenesis off our backs."
"You've got a plan, don't you?" I asked, recognising that subtle glint of excitement in her eyes.
She smiled slyly. "Of course. What if we send the jump buoy prototypes to my parents? Kel and I haven't exactly done right by them, financially. This would let them 'discover' the technology through salvage. No one would trace it back to us, and NeuroGenesis won't come sniffing around. They'll just assume some lucky salvagers stumbled upon something special."
I considered this carefully, turning the idea over. It was clever and just the kind of careful obfuscation that would shield us from unwanted attention. "That could work. But we'd need to send someone who fully understands how they work. Someone who can carefully explain every detail,"
"Exactly," Lynn said firmly, nodding toward Stewie, who was currently engrossed in running final diagnostics. "He knows the system inside out. If anyone could teach my parents to handle the tech."
Stewie, who had clearly been listening closely, turned toward us. He hesitated only briefly before nodding. "Yeah. I can do it. But I'll need backup."
Kel raised his hand with exaggerated drama from across the room. "Volunteering as tribute! Someone has to keep him out of trouble. Plus I want to see my parents again"
Mira instantly chimed in, grinning broadly. "Well, if Stewie's going, I'm definitely going too. Someone has to keep an eye on you two."
Lynn laughed softly, but nodded. "Good. We'll all go. A family trip, I guess. My parents will probably appreciate seeing me in person for once."
T'lish had quietly wandered into the room, listening with detached curiosity. "I will stay behind. I have more work to do here."
Stewie's expression faltered briefly. "Are you sure you'll be okay, Laz? Staying behind? I know you can't just walk into human space at the moment"
I offered him a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine. Just don't take too long. I might get lonely."
"Aw," Kel teased gently, nudging Stewie with a grin. "He'll miss us!"
"I won't miss the noise," I said dryly, earning laughter from everyone.
But beneath the easy banter lay genuine anxiety. The thought of being alone here, without my humans, felt more unsettling than I wanted to admit. The silence would be deafening, the empty base a stark reminder of how much I relied on their presence.
I quickly shook away those worries, smiling softly to myself as I watched them eagerly preparing for the journey ahead. This was important for all of us and especially for Lynn and Kel. A chance to finally give back to their parents after all these years of hardship. And for Stewie and Mira, it was a chance to stretch their wings again, venturing back into human space as respected young adults, not desperate runaway kids.
The next few days passed in a blur of careful preparations, checks, and last-minute adjustments. Chunkyboy was loaded with carefully packed jump buoy prototypes, travel supplies, and even a few small gifts Mira insisted they bring for Lynn and Kel's parents.
Finally, the day of departure arrived. The crew gathered in the cargo bay, the mood cheerful but tinged with quiet anxiety. Kel double-checked Chunkyboy's systems, Lynn reviewed navigation plans, while Stewie nervously adjusted one of the buoys strapped down in the cargo hold. Mira hugged T'lish tightly, promising to return soon.
Stewie paused before stepping into the lander, glancing around the cargo bay. "You sure you're good, Laz?"
"Absolutely," I reassured gently. "I'll hold down the fort."
He smiled faintly, eyes suddenly serious. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
"Same to you, kid," I replied softly. "Fly safe."
Then they were aboard Chunkyboy, doors sealed. The cargo bay depressurised slowly, and the lander lifted gracefully, soaring out into the darkness toward distant stars. I watched them go, tracking their trajectory until the lander vanished from my sensors, off on their important mission.