A low rumble vibrated through the Solara Prime as its air brakes deployed, slowing the ship’s-controlled descent toward the landing pad. The glow of the heat shields, once searing red from atmospheric friction, faded rapidly as the cooling system kicked in. Outside the viewport, the endless black of space gave way to a deep indigo haze, then a muted blue that signaled they had officially returned to breathable skies. Reid Mercer exhaled, leaning back in his seat as the ship adjusted its trajectory, the thrusters firing in precise bursts.
He felt the faint jolt as the landing arms extended and gripped the outer hull. There was a slight shudder, and then gravity, in all its unforgiving weight, reminded him of its presence. His knees wobbled as he stood, bracing himself against the chair.
“Looks like gravity still works,” Reid muttered, shaking off the weakness in his legs. “I knew I should’ve pushed harder during my workouts.” He winced and rolled his shoulders as if that would help ease the strain.
Elena chuckled, stretching her arms above her head. “I feel fine, it’s only been a year.” She took one confident step, only to lose her balance and grab onto the bulkhead. “Well, maybe not that fine.” She laughed softly, steadying herself. “Remember that hangover feeling—it’ll be your best friend for the next few days.”
Kieran and Amir rose from their seats next, both veterans of these transitions. Kieran grunted as he straightened up. “Never gets any easier. But hey, at least now we can breathe real air.” Amir smirked. “It’s all real air. The oxygen back on the base is probably purer than anything we’ll get out here.” Reid glanced at his crew, letting a small smile break through the exhaustion. “Technically true. But nothing beats the smell of fall—the dirt, the trees, even the damp.” His gaze lingered on the viewport as if he could already picture the crisp autumn breeze.
With a groaning hiss, the ship’s landing arms lowered them onto the waiting platform, the connecting bridge extending and latching securely. The airlock door emitted a soft thunk as the pressure equalized, followed by the familiar hiss of release. The door slid open, revealing sunlight filtering through scattered clouds and the landing crew making their way toward them.
Reid stepped out first, savoring the rush of fresh air even if it carried the faint tang of machinery and oil. The man leading the group met him halfway, his boots clanking against the metal bridge.
“Hope your flight wasn’t too rough. We weren’t expecting any visitors for a few more weeks.”
Reid smiled. “Flight was smooth—real scenic, too. I guess when you’re on the verge of a major breakthrough, the higher-ups figure a mandatory ‘vacation’ is the best kind of motivation.” He stopped walking and looked around at the port, “It was real generous of them. The only thing that could’ve made this better is if you all showed up with drinks sporting tiny umbrellas and transports ready to whisk us off to the beach.”
The man’s gaze flicked to the rest of the crew as they exited, stretching stiff limbs and blinking at the sunlight. “We’ll, you’re in luck, just so happens we have transport waiting for you.” The man turned and gestured towards the mag lev waiting nearby. Reid frowned. “Ah, the traditional post-flight welcome. Come on, everyone—let’s get prodded like lab rats.” He shot a glance over his shoulder, waiting for the inevitable groans. He wasn’t disappointed.
Kieran sighed dramatically. “Great. Just what I was hoping for.”
“Could be worse,” Amir said, shaking his head. “These scans are painless. Humans with checklists? Not so much.”
With shared grimaces and muttered complaints, they followed the man across the bridge, the familiar sound of boots on steel mixing with the distant sound of machinery. Reid couldn’t help but glance over the edge, where the landscape stretched out beneath them, brown earth plagued with dry cracks where solid concrete pads ended. It wasn’t perfect. But it was Earth. And for now, that was enough.
After walking a short distance, they arrived at the maglev train. With a low hiss and the buzz of charging magnets, the train sprung to life when they neared. As Reid stepped inside, the sterile, functional interior greeted him—gray walls with thin blue indicator lines glowing softly along the edges, hinting at the advanced tech running beneath the surface. He could feel the minor vibrations of the train through the floor, a constant pulse, like a heartbeat through metal. The seats were simple and utilitarian, padded but not meant for comfort. He sank into one near the window, sighing as he let his body relax, if only for a moment.
The door slid shut with a soft thunk, sealing out the ever-present wind from the landing zone. As the train eased forward, its acceleration was smooth and nearly imperceptible, gliding silently along the magnetic track as if it were weightless. Outside, the sprawling expanse of the port opened before them, its structured isolation as familiar as it was imposing. Reid let his gaze wander across the vast stretch of open ground and distant pads, each one a carefully controlled island in a sea of scorched earth.
Their pad faded into the background, its towering steel clamps still locked in their upright positions, awaiting for the next time the ship would depart. From here, the scale of the port was staggering. The nearest neighboring pad lay over four miles away, barely visible except for the faint silhouette of another set of towering arms. The distance wasn’t just for safety—it was a necessity. These ships weren’t like passenger aircraft. With their massive fuel stores and complex propulsion systems, one mishap could flatten everything within a mile radius.
Reid’s gaze followed the landscape as they passed other pads, where maintenance crews worked with steady precision. One ship had its cargo bay open, automated cranes hoisting crates inside with rhythmic efficiency. A maglev train on a parallel track zipped past them, its flatbed stacked with cargo containers destined for a large transport ship docked in the distance. That ship—massive, with reinforced hull plating designed for long hauls—had a crew of engineers clustered around its rear thrusters, some inspecting components while others operated diagnostic equipment. Sparks flew from a welding torch on its side, casting flashes of blue light that flickered like fireflies against the dusk.
He spotted another ship farther off, its engines dismantled and laid bare for repairs. Mechanics swarmed over it, working methodically to replace worn components and patch areas of stress fractures on the hull. Even the ships that weren’t scheduled to leave soon were subject to rigorous maintenance. It was the rule here—Earth was the only place with the infrastructure to conduct thorough inspections and repairs before a ship returned to the stars.
The train hummed beneath him, a steady vibration that felt oddly soothing against the industrial chaos outside. Through the window, another maglev passed in the opposite direction, hauling fuel tanks toward the port. Their smooth, cylindrical surfaces gleamed under the floodlights, mirroring the stark glare of hazard teams escorting them. The workers moved with a practiced urgency, prepping the volatile cargo for transfer to a waiting ship near the perimeter.
Reid barely registered it. His mind was elsewhere.
The port disappeared long before the train finally slowed. The desert landscape flattened into a sprawl of pre-fab structures, rigid and unadorned. Efficient. Functional. Not meant to be lived in. The maglev passed under an archway, then into a building. There were no markings to indicate where they were, but Reid didn’t need them, he know it was the med bay.
He exhaled sharply, crossing his arms as the train settled into the loading zone.
“End of the line.” His voice was flat, a tinge of resignation creeping in. He stood, rolling his shoulders. “We may be grounded, but I still have the data.” Elena pulled a small data disk from her jacket and flashed it with a smirk before tucking it away. Reid gave a faint nod, but said nothing.
The doors whooshed open, and the sharp sting of disinfectant flooded the cabin. Keiran wrinkled his nose. “This is not what I had in mind when I said I needed fresh air.” Amir chuckled, stepping onto the platform first. “Depends on your definition of fresh.”
A man in a gray jumpsuit waited just beyond the threshold. A red cross patch stood stark against his sleeve. He barely spared them a glance. “This way.” He turned and started walking, assuming they’d follow. Elena arched a brow. “Rude.” Noone disagreed.
They were led through sterile corridors to a large, open room lined with twelve circular platforms. Blue light rimmed the edges of each, while the center pulsed white. Identical panels hovered ten feet above.
The medic stopped and turned to them. “Everyone knows the drill, but as a reminder: store your personal effects in the bins by your pods. Strip flight gear, keep civilian attire on. One person per unit.”
There was no room for argument. Not that it stopped them from grumbling as they complied.
Reid stepped onto his platform, and the blue light shifted to red, scanning for a presence. A soft chime confirmed detection. “Remember, stay as still as possible. T6, begin the scans when they’re ready.”
A monotone voice responded. “I will begin momentarily.” Reid sighed. Medical AIs were different from other systems—centralized, purely technical. No conversational nuance, just dry efficiency.
“This will take approximately five minutes,” T6 continued. “Please remain still, or you may be subject to a physical examination by an approved medical professional.” Reid glanced at the others. “Love this part. We’re all weak and told to stand strong.” Keiran let out a dramatic sigh. “It’s a test of endurance. Can you outlast the great and powerful T6?”
“Beginning.”
The rings around the platform shifted from red to green. A transparent field stretched from floor to ceiling, defining the scan area. “Do not breach the light area. This is to ensure a complete scan.”
Reid barely held back an eye roll as he let his head drop forward. His legs ached, muscles weak from the return to gravity. His back throbbed. Five minutes. It shouldn’t have been difficult, but exhaustion had a way of making the simplest things unbearable. “You’d think this would take seconds.”
Amir smirked. “It does. About three hundred of them. You could always opt for a personal touch.”
Elena chuckled but kept quiet.
“Scan complete.”
The scanning light collapsed inward, fading back into the platform. A moment later, T6’s voice returned, flat and clinical. “Please retrieve your belongings while I analyze results.”
No alarms. No warning signals. That was a good sign. The crew exchanged brief glances, each silently acknowledging the same thing—if something serious had come up, they’d already know. Whatever the scans had flagged—minor radiation exposure, muscular degradation, or routine health markers—would be logged into their personal files, available for review once they were cleared to leave. For now, it was just another box to check.
As they stepped off the platforms, the red glow faded back to blue. Elena pulled her flight suit over her shoulders, frowning slightly. “Creepy how these things scan your DNA without even needing a sample.” Amir shrugged. “It’s efficient. The system maps every layer—skin, muscle, bone—until it gets to the cellular level. It’s how they catch abnormalities before they become problems.”
She sneered, “Yeah, yeah. Remarkable technology. Doesn’t make it less unsettling.”
Reid pulled his suit on and rolled his shoulders. “Well, at least if we start growing extra limbs from radiation exposure, they’ll catch it early.” Keiran smirked. “Don’t jinx it. I could use an extra hand.”
Amir clapped him on the back. “Knowing your luck, you’d grow an extra appendage on your face.”
Reid exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. This wasn’t where he wanted to be. His thoughts drifted back to the reactor—the near-loss of the core, the six months spent picking apart what went wrong. He was grateful for his team. Elena, always overanalyzing, often saw what the rest of them missed. He trusted her instincts, even when she didn’t.
A few days of rest would’ve been ideal. But that data she pulled? That was going to be invaluable during their unwanted “vacation.”
A voice cut through his thoughts.
“Reid Mercer.”
He turned. A slim figure in a blue military suit stood just inside the doorway, shoulders squared, tone clipped.
“Who’s asking?” Reid replied, though he already had a feeling.
“You need to come with me. We have some questions.”
Reid sighed, raising a hand in surrender. “Alright, alright. Let’s get this over with.”
The team instinctively moved to follow, but the woman’s hand shot up. “Only you, Reid.” Her gaze flicked between them, unwavering. “The rest of you will need to submit reports before leaving. If we need you further, we’ll be in contact.”
A quiet tension settled over them.
Reid turned to his team, reading the unease in their expressions. “You heard her. None of this is on you. I made sure Braxton put everything on me.”
They started to protest. He cut them off with a shake of his head, raising both hands. “I said, get your reports filed and head out.”
No one looked convinced. Still, they didn’t argue as he turned and walked toward the woman.
As he approached, his eyes flicked to the shield-shaped badge on her chest. Three vertical silver bars embedded in its surface, their cyan glow pushing through the material. Lieutenant Commander. His gaze dropped lower as her name pulsed into visibility. ‘Lt. Cmd. Jenson.’
Reid exhaled sharply. “Didn’t realize I’d earned such high praise.” Her expression remained unreadable. “That little stunt you pulled has some people worried.” She gestured toward the door. “If you’ll follow me.” He arched a brow. “Clearly, ‘follow’ doesn’t mean the same thing here.”
He stepped into the hallway—and stopped. Ten officers, all in the same blue military attire, were waiting. The front four turned, moving ahead. Two positioned themselves at his sides. The remaining four fell into step behind him. Jenson brushed past, taking the lead.
Reid let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he walked. “Didn’t think I was some high-level criminal.”
No one responded.
His team stood at the doorway, watching in silence, their concern unspoken but heavy in the air. Something about the way they stood—hesitant, uncertain—made it clear they felt the weight of this, too.
The officers escorted him through the halls in rigid silence, their boots tapping a steady, unyielding rhythm against the floor. Jenson led them through a series of turns, past checkpoints and deeper into the facility. Not toward an office. Not toward a standard debriefing room.
Reid frowned. His gut twisted. This isn’t right.
A security escort would’ve been enough. Maybe two officers. Three at most. But ten? A Lieutenant Commander? He had delayed an order, not disobeyed one. There was a difference—a big one. If he was getting chewed out, fine. But this? This felt like something else entirely.
Still, no one spoke. And he was starting to suspect that even if he asked, they wouldn’t answer.
By the time they stepped into the hangar, his pulse had started to pick up. A VTOL sat on the pad; engines hot, ready for immediate departure. Not a transport to another sector of the base. Not to an office. To somewhere else entirely.
His steps slowed. “Where are you taking me?” Jenson barely glanced back. “I told you—we have some questions for you.” She stopped at the ramp and motioned for him to step inside.
Reid hesitated. He had gone along with this so far, but something about stepping onto that VTOL made his instincts scream. Questions don’t require an armed transport. The officers behind him didn’t push, didn’t force him forward. But they didn’t move aside, either. The message was clear.
Get in.
His jaw tightened, but he complied, stepping onto the VTOL. The officers followed, taking positions inside. Jenson was the last one up the ramp, pressing a few controls on the panel. The hatch hissed shut behind her, sealing them in.
Reid’s gaze flicked around the cabin. No windows. No insignias. No indication of where they were going.
His fingers curled into a fist on his knee. Is this a court martial?
Jenson’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Strap in. We’ll be airborne for a while.”
Reid pulled the harness over his shoulders; his pulse was on his throat, but outwardly he remained calm.
The VTOL roared to life. A second later, the inertia pressed them back as the engines pivoted—lifting them off the platform and pushing them forward, fast.
No one spoke. No explanations. No destination. And the longer the silence stretched, the worse it felt.