Front Runner

22,690 AD

In Lunar Orbit, Near Center of the Galaxy

Eight hours passed in a blur of nervous energy as the crew made their preparations. Rosco could feel the collective tension in the air as they gathered in the docking bay, waiting for the final call to board the transit pods. The whole ship had an eerie, quiet buzz, a mixture of fear and anticipation for what lay ahead on the moon’s barren surface.

The docking bay doors opened, and a wave of cold, sterilized air swept over them. The pods lined up neatly in rows, small and unassuming, but enough to carry them down to the surface. Rosco exchanged a glance with Amadeus, whose face was pale, his jaw tight with anxiety.

“You ready?” Rosco asked, trying to sound casual, though his own nerves buzzed beneath the surface.

Amadeus gave a shaky nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

They stepped forward, entering the first pod, followed by Inez and Roland. The doors sealed shut behind them with a hiss, and for a brief moment, everything felt too quiet.

The transit pods hummed to life. Rosco felt the subtle shift in gravity as the pod detached from the bay, sending them hurtling toward the moon below. The view through the narrow windows showed nothing but a vast, yellowish rock, pocked with craters and jagged ridges. It looked almost sickly, as if the surface was plagued by some ancient disease, stripped of life long before they arrived.

Amadeus stared out the window, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t believe we’re actually going down there.”

Rosco couldn’t pull his eyes away from the barren landscape. “It’s… not exactly the most welcoming place.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Inez muttered, her voice clipped but steady. “But it’s better than staying up there, waiting to get shot out of the sky.”

Roland, who sat stiffly beside her, looked like he was trying not to panic. His eyes were wide, darting from the window to the others, as if expecting something to go wrong at any moment. “I just… I don’t like it.” he mumbled. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.”

“We’ll be fine.” Rosco said, though he wasn’t entirely sure himself. “We’ve got the machines, the materials. We’ll set up camp, get everything running smoothly. Before you know it, we’ll have habitats up and running.”

As the pod descended, the moon’s harsh surface came into sharper focus. The jagged landscape stretched out beneath them, barren and alien, bathed in the pale light of the distant stars. There was no atmosphere to speak of—no wind, no sound—just an oppressive stillness that made the emptiness feel all the more vast.

The pod touched down with a light jolt, its landing thrusters firing to steady the descent. As the doors slid open, they were greeted by the endless silence of the moon’s vacuum. The vast emptiness stretched out in all directions, the only movement coming from the faint dust kicked up by the pod’s landing.

They stepped out onto the surface in their vacuum suits, their boots leaving crisp prints in the soft, yellowish dust. For a long moment, no one said anything. They just stood there, taking in the stark desolation of the place.

“It’s… so quiet.” Amadeus finally said, his voice crackling through the suit’s intercom.

Rosco nodded. The silence was suffocating, the kind of silence that made you hyper-aware of your own breathing, your own heartbeat.

Then, the massive shadows of the fabrication machines descended from orbit, their hulking forms casting long, distorted shadows over the surface as they landed. One by one, the machines activated, their mechanisms whirring to life with a deep, mechanical hum that vibrated through the moon’s surface. Giant arms extended from the machines, already starting to dig into the rock, preparing to lay the foundation for the habitats.

A shuttlecraft landed not far from them, its cargo bay opening to reveal humanoid robots in neat rows. The robots whirred to life and immediately sprinted across the surface toward their designated tasks, their movements efficient and purposeful, as if they’d been waiting for this moment all along.

Rosco’s Link pinged, and the others’ suits buzzed with similar notifications. He glanced at the data flashing before his eyes, detailing his assigned duties for the next few days. They all had tasks now, everything from overseeing the habitat construction to ensuring the life support systems were running smoothly.

“Guess it’s time to get to work.” Rosco said, his voice more focused now. “Let’s split up and get this thing moving.”

Amadeus nodded, still looking a little pale but more determined now. “Right. Let’s get it done.”

The group split up, heading to their assigned areas. The next few days passed in a blur of activity. The robots worked tirelessly, piecing together the framework for the habitats, while the crew of Invictus oversaw the progress, assisting where needed. They communicated with the ship regularly, receiving updates on the situation in orbit, though nothing significant seemed to happen. The quiet was unnerving, but the work helped keep their minds occupied.

As the days passed, the settlement began to take shape. Habitat domes rose from the moon’s surface, connected by walkways and tunnels, all reinforced with the moon’s own rock. It was rudimentary, but it was functional. The crew’s spirits began to lift, even Roland seemed to be calming down.

“This might not be so bad after all.” Amadeus said one evening as they stood outside one of the completed domes, looking out over the new settlement. The lights from the habitats cast a soft glow over the barren landscape, giving the moon an almost serene quality. “We could make this work. Maybe this could be our first colony.”

Rosco glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah… maybe it could.”

For the first time in days, there was a sense of hope among the crew. They had survived this far, and maybe—just maybe—they could turn this desolate place into something worth calling home. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing.

However, everything was about to change.

Aboard the bridge of Invictus, Admiral Wang stood in rigid silence, his eyes scanning the vast emptiness outside the ship’s viewing port. The dim lights of the distant stars flickered against the pitch-black void. Their beauty—once so inspiring—had begun to shift into a reminder of all the setbacks they had experienced. Yet despite all of these setbacks, Admiral Wang and the rest of the bridge crew tried their best to remain positive and proactive.

Suddenly, the calm was shattered by a sharp, cold ping—a transmission that cut through the air like a knife. Unknown source.

“Send coordinates and heading data of all vessels in your fleet immediately. You have 300 seconds to comply, or your vessel will be destroyed.”

The words on the screen were devoid of emotion, but their intent was unmistakable.

Admiral Wang froze, his hand gripping the console tighter than he realized. His heart began to race as the other officers exchanged panicked glances. His mind was a whirlwind of calculations, possibilities, but none offered much hope.

“Who could they be?” One of the junior officers whispered.

Admiral Wang found his voice and quickly issued a response. “I am Admiral Jin Wang, chief commanding officer of this vessel. We are a science fleet, not an armed force, and we intend no harm. Please, may I ask who we are speaking with?”

For a few agonizing seconds, nothing came through. Just the empty silence of deep space. Then, another message arrived.

“It is irrelevant who we are. Send the coordinates.”

The coldness of the reply left no room for negotiation, no space for hope that this was anything other than a death sentence. Admiral Wang swallowed hard, his palms beginning to sweat as he tried to maintain his composure. They had only 280 seconds now.

He turned to the intelligence protocols. “What are the chances we can outrun the opposing vessel?”

“BASED ON RETROACTIVE SENSOR DATA REGARDING THE VESSEL’S APPROACH: ZERO PERCENT.”

A chill ran down his spine. Wang's mind raced through the limited options available. He began to wonder if the vessel was also aware of the burgeoning colony they had been building on the moon below.

Admiral Wang knew he was running out of time. The mysterious vessel was close—too close to evade. He looked to the bridge officers, their faces now pale and stricken, each grasping at the fleeting hope that their admiral might have a solution. Admiral Wang cleared his throat, his voice hoarse but determined.

“I have a plan.” He said, though the words rang hollow. He glanced back to the intelligence protocols. “Brief the crew. Have them board the escape pods. Now.”

“CONFIRMED.”

The officers shifted uncomfortably as Admiral Wang explained. “We may not survive this encounter. But if we play this right, we can at least save some of the crew. If we launch the pods while stalling, we might give some of our people a chance.”

Murmurs rippled across the bridge as the officers processed this grim reality. They could feel their mortality pressing against them like the coldness of space itself.

One officer spoke, voice trembling. “What about us? What about those of us on the bridge?”

Admiral Wang met their eyes, his expression heavy with the weight of his responsibility. “We’ll do our duty here. For as long as we can.”

Silence fell over the bridge. The officers understood the meaning in his words—escape was not for them. They would stay.

With 200 seconds left, Admiral Wang sent a reply to the unknown vessel. “We understand your demands and are preparing the data. Please, give us time. Our vessel is old, our systems slow.”

“We are familiar with your fleet’s specifications. Your deception has cost you 30 seconds. Send the coordinates.”

Admiral Wang cursed under his breath. He turned to the intelligence protocols. “Estimate their distance.”

“BASED ON RESPONSE TIME, THE ENEMY VESSEL IS APPROXIMATELY FOUR HUNDRED THOUSAND KILOMETERS FROM OUR POSITION.”

He clenched his jaw. “How long after being fired would it take a particle beam to reach us?”

“ONE POINT THREE THREE FOUR SECONDS.”

The seconds were ticking away far too quickly. There wasn’t enough time to get everyone into the escape pods. “How many crew members have boarded the pods?”

“TWENTY PERCENT HAVE BOARDED. HOWEVER, VIOLENCE BETWEEN CREW MEMBERS IS SLOWING THE PROCESS.”

The ship was falling into chaos. The thought of death and destruction was cracking the crew's morale, turning them against one another. Admiral Wang clenched his fists. “When thirty percent have boarded, launch the pods. Send them in every direction possible. Have the crew disable all communications and immediately enter cryosleep. We need to get rid of any kind of heat and signals.”

“CONFIRMED.”

Thirty percent. It wasn’t enough, but it was something. He had to do what he could.

“Send the enemy false coordinates for the fleet. Buy us some time.”

“THEY WILL LIKELY DISCOVER THE DECEPTION.”

“I know. Just send them.”

The following seconds dragged on like a nightmare. Admiral Wang could feel the air growing heavier as the countdown loomed closer and closer. Sweat dripped down his neck as he watched the final desperate moments of the crew unfold. The once orderly and disciplined atmosphere of Invictus had devolved into chaos. Fights broke out among the ranks. Fear was turning them into animals.

Finally, the intelligence protocols pinged.

“THIRTY PERCENT OF CREW HAVE BOARDED ESCAPE PODS. PLEASE APPROVE LAUNCH.”

Admiral Wang hesitated for only a moment, his heart heavy with the weight of the decision. “Launch.”

“CONFIRMED.”

In the stillness of space, unlit escape pods shot out from the ship, scattering like grains of sand into the void. Silent, cold, and alone, they drifted into the black, their crews entering cryosleep, their fates now left to the uncaring galaxy.

On the bridge, the rest of the officers looked to Admiral Wang. There was no more hope in their eyes, just resignation. The Admiral addressed the Protocols. “How long?”

“FORTY-FIVE SECONDS.”

He closed his eyes, willing the time to stretch, but it wouldn’t. His final message to the enemy was a desperate one. “We have sent you the coordinates. We’ve sold out our own fleet. This act in itself brings us great shame. Please, spare our vessel.”

The reply came like a death knell.

“Your shame is of no concern to us. We are processing the data now.”

Admiral Wang swallowed hard, trying once more. “We pose no threat to you. We’re not armed.”

“Then you are fools.”

The words were the final blow. Admiral Wang turned to the viewing port, staring out at the cold, distant stars. His mind emptied of everything except one thought: Had he done enough for his crew?

The bridge lights flickered ominously.

“A PARTICLE BEAM HAS BEEN FIRED.” The protocols informed the bridge, emotionless.

Admiral Jin Wang felt a wave of regret and sorrow wash over him.

He turned to his officers.

“I have nothing but respect for this—”

“IMPACT.”

The protocols interrupted.

The particle beam pierced straight through the hull of Invictus, an incomprehensibly luminous explosion quickly followed as the vessel’s relativistic engines imploded inwards and then immediately sent a massive pulse of energy outwards. Energetic waveforms from the explosion emanated outwards into space at incredible speed, jostling the silent escape pods. Invictus was destroyed—completely and utterly eviscerated. Admiral Jin Wang, the bridge crew, and seventy percent of all who had remained on board—-were now lost.

On the moon below, Rosco looked up from where he sat. Invictus hadn’t been visible from the moon’s surface but now it was. He saw an impossibly bright explosion in the air. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Amadeus then jumped up, seeing what Rosco had.

“What the fuck is that?”

Amadeus whispered, completely filled with trepidation.

Rosco could hardly bring himself to speak. His lips began to quiver as he forced himself to verbally acknowledge what he was seeing.

“That’s Invictus.”

“But—how is that possible?”

“I don’t know, Amadeus.”

Rosco turned to face his terrified and confused friend.

“We’re out here alone now.”

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