September 27, 2201 – Bridge of the UNS Cortez
When
we entered orbit around Barnard's Star, the initial view was rather
unspectacular: a relatively calm red dwarf star, a few sparse asteroid
fields, and a handful of small, unremarkable rocky planets. I was
sitting at the navigation console, routinely running through the current
sensor data, when a quiet humming sound broke the concentrated silence
of the bridge.
"Captain
Twardowska, we've detected an unknown object," the sensor officer
reported tensely. "It appears to be drifting aimlessly above the second
planet."
My pulse immediately quickened. I leaned closer to the holo-display and asked, "Size?"
"Just under 300 meters in length. The shape is unclear, but the sensors show huge, sail-like structures."
A
ship with sails in the middle of space? I needed a moment to grasp the
image in front of me. My curiosity was piqued—and I knew there was no
time to lose.
"Set a new course!" I ordered decisively. "I want a closer look at that object."
As
we slowly approached, our sensors revealed more and more details: The
hull looked old, heavily weathered by centuries of cosmic radiation. But
the truly fascinating feature was those enormous sails—thin metal foils
that might once have harnessed the solar wind to propel the ship. A
slight smile crossed my face. Whoever had constructed this vessel
possessed an extraordinary sense of engineering.
"No energy signatures, Captain," my officer reported. "The ship appears to be dead."
"Good,"
I replied, my gaze still fixed on the shimmering sails. "Then we have
enough time for a thorough analysis. Begin systematic scans of the outer
hull and any possible entry points, and take initial material samples."
An
expectant silence spread across the bridge. We all felt that we might
be witnessing a historic moment—not just a technical find, but an
encounter with a culture that, like us, once dreamed of reaching the
stars.
At that
moment, the communications link from Geneva sounded. President Aisha
Kaita's voice rang out clearly and with an idealistic tone over the
speakers:
"The
discovery at Barnard's Star could revolutionize our understanding of
interstellar civilizations. What we have found here is more than mere
technology—it could be the legacy of a culture that, just like us, once
strove for unity and knowledge."
Her
words echoed within me, resonating deeply. But before I could pursue my
thoughts further, Defense Minister Skobeleva's stern voice intervened:
"I
urge caution. With all our enthusiasm, we must never forget that
contact with the unknown can always be dangerous. Our security takes top
priority—vigilance is more important now than ever."
I
watched some crew members exchange uncertain looks while others nodded
resolutely. In the midst of the tense silence, another hologram lit up:
Xiu Wan, who was on her own research mission, spoke with factual
enthusiasm:
"These
solar sails could be technologically revolutionary! The composition and
structure of the material could significantly advance our spaceflight. I
strongly recommend detailed analyses!"
State
Minister Swanepoel's calm voice added prudently, "But let's always keep
in mind the consequences of our actions. Every technological advance
must serve all of humanity—no one should be left behind."
As
the debates from Geneva continued through the speakers, I turned
pensively to the young science officer next to me. "What do you think
we've just discovered here?"
He
hesitated briefly before answering. "Perhaps a reminder that we're not
alone—but possibly also a warning not to overestimate ourselves."
November 28, 2201 – Geneva
I
lean back and let my gaze wander over the glass facades of the
government district while outside the Geneva sky slowly awakens in rich
shades of blue. The morning sun sparkles on the silvery rooftops of the
research labs that only a few years ago rose from old slums—a constant
symbol of the importance of never leaving anyone behind.
Suddenly,
the holo-terminal on my desk emits a soft hum. I activate it, and
several faces immediately appear on the display: President Aisha Kaita,
Defense Minister Ljudmila Skobeleva, and Research Director Xiu Wan, who
is connected from a distant star region.
President
Kaita opens the session with her usual idealistic tone. "What Captain
Twardowska discovered at Barnard's Star could significantly advance our
society. We must not hesitate now but move boldly into the future.
Founding colonies, researching new technologies—these discoveries show
us that our path to the stars is no longer just a fantasy but reality."
I
recognize in Kaita's words the same excitement I myself feel. Yet a
familiar thought sneaks in: progress, yes—but not at any cost.
Right on cue, Skobeleva speaks up, her typically cool, uncompromising voice echoing:
"I
agree that we should expand—but we must be prepared for unknown
dangers. This alien ship at Barnard's Star clearly indicates that we
don't know what awaits us in the depths of space. We urgently need a
stronger fleet to protect ourselves against potential threats."
Skobeleva's
militaristic stance makes me uneasy. I'm aware that security is
important, but my thoughts revolve around something else. I recall how
it was, back in my home village: We had to stabilize our homeland before
we could invest in new technologies. It's futile to reach too far if we
forget the people on Earth in the process.
Xiu
Wan joins in with sober scientific reasoning: "This discovery at
Barnard's Star could open the door to incredible technological advances.
The material of these solar sails alone could enormously expand our
knowledge. We must retrieve and research it as quickly as possible."
I
nod silently, but images of my home village flash through my mind—the
faces of people who once looked skeptically at my new cultivation
methods, and their relieved, hopeful expressions when those innovations
finally bore fruit and improved their lives. Progress must not leave
anyone behind.
"Before
we expand too quickly, we should ask ourselves what consequences our
decisions will have for the people here on Earth," I say. "I agree that
we absolutely must continue researching this discovery. But we mustn't
forget that every technological revolution also brings social
challenges. Who will benefit, who might be left behind? We need to
address these questions now, not later—when it might be too late."
Kaita
nods slowly, while Skobeleva only presses her lips together briefly.
Xiu Wan smiles slightly, as if acknowledging the importance of my words.
I
lean back again and look out at the awakening city. Lake Geneva lies
calm and gleaming before me, a silent reminder of how far we've come—and
how fragile everything we've built truly is. In this moment, I feel the
full weight of my responsibility: The future of humanity is not decided
solely out there among the stars; it begins right here, in the streets,
cities, and villages of our Earth.
"Technology
must not be an end in itself," I finally say quietly. "Every decision
we make today will affect the lives of future generations. Let's make
sure that we don't just reach the stars, but that we bring all of
humanity along with us."
On
the display, I see President Kaita smiling in agreement while Skobeleva
furrows her brow in thought. Xiu Wan merely nods respectfully. I know
this debate has only just begun—and that we'll have many more to come
before we truly arrive at our shared future. Yet deep down, I know that
this is precisely my task: to ensure that the progress we dare to pursue
benefits all people equally—on Earth as well as among the stars.
"Our
discovery at Barnard's Star is not just a gift to science—it confirms
that our journey to the stars is on the right track. It's our duty to
keep going, to colonize new worlds and research new technologies.
Standing still would be our greatest mistake."
Approving
murmurs fill the room. The progress enthusiasts—young scientists and
committed engineers—nod eagerly. I see in their eyes how much they yearn
to venture forth and make their dreams a reality.
But
then Defense Minister Ljudmila Skobeleva speaks up in her firm, almost
metallic voice. "With all due respect, President Kaita, I see the danger
of overreach. Our resources are limited, and our home is still far from
as stable as we'd like to believe. Before we spread ourselves too thin,
we need to ensure that Earth and our solar system are secure."
Several
military advisors nod solemnly, reinforcing her words with determined
looks. The mood shifts noticeably. I can feel the atmosphere in the room
grow heavier, sensing the formation of two clear camps.
President
Kaita responds calmly but insistently. "I understand your concerns,
Minister Skobeleva. But the foundation of our security is not solely
provided by military strength. We must foster peaceful coexistence and
mutual understanding—and exploring space gives us that very
opportunity."
Xiu
Wan, connected via hyperlink from her research station, supports Kaita's
argument with scientific fervor. "Our first colony ships will be ready
for launch soon. The solar-sail ship could give us enormous
technological advantages. If we hesitate now, we might lose years of
potentially crucial discoveries."
My
thoughts wander back to my childhood in the harsh South African
landscape. I experienced firsthand what happens when progress arrives
too quickly and not everyone benefits. I know from experience that we
should indeed break out to the stars—but only if we don't leave anyone
behind.
"President
Kaita is right," I begin carefully. "The stars beckon us all, and we
shouldn't shy away from colonizing new worlds. But we must never forget
whom we're bringing along. Who will travel on these colony ships? Only
those who can afford it—who are privileged and educated? Or also those
who've hardly had a chance so far to prove themselves?"
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Some
delegates turn to me, their expressions thoughtful, almost surprised.
An older man, a representative of the traditional faction, speaks
hesitantly: "Mr. Swanepoel is correct. We should think carefully
about who will settle on these new worlds. We don't want to see the same
inequalities and tensions reemerge out there that we've worked so hard
to overcome here on Earth."
An uneasy silence follows. President Kaita nods thoughtfully. Even Skobeleva seems more pensive now.
"We
might find a solution," I suggest at last. "Let's fill the first colony
ship with people who represent Earth's diversity—researchers and
engineers, as well as those who've hardly benefited from innovation up
to now. At the same time, we could agree to build several new corvettes
so as not to neglect our defense."
Skobeleva
looks satisfied, Kaita smiles in relief. The atmosphere visibly
relaxes. It seems we've found a plan that unites both sides.
"That's
how we'll proceed," Kaita confirms. "One colony ship will be built,
with people from all social strata on board. Additionally, we'll bolster
our defense with several corvettes. We'll invest in security without
giving up our vision of peaceful expansion."
I
lean back a bit while the soft hum of the holographic displays envelops
us like a distant heartbeat. Quiet whispers drift through the hall,
accompanied by the nervous rustling of documents, as the holo-projectors
show images of otherworldly structures: ring-shaped space stations
drifting through virtual space like ghostly skeletons, gigantic ruined
constructions—merely theoretical models of what might await us out
there. I sense a different kind of tension building.
President
Kaita raises her voice again, calmly. "What we discovered at Barnard's
Star might be only the beginning. There could be many more mysterious
relics out there. We should proceed cautiously—we do not want to appear
as conquerors but as respectful explorers."
Next
to me, Defense Minister Skobeleva crosses her arms firmly. Her voice
cuts sharply through the air: "Cautious, fine—but we can't be naive.
Unknown artifacts could be dangerous. We must protect ourselves."
Some
generals and fleet officers nod, their expressions cool and
calculating. I feel that familiar unrest rising in me once more—progress
and security, curiosity and caution; we're dancing along a very narrow
line.
"We want to use
our knowledge, not destroy it," Xiu Wan interjects resolutely, her
voice passionate yet determined. "These artifacts could be incredibly
important for our technology."
I
clear my throat and raise my hand to get attention. Instantly, all eyes
are on me—curious, some skeptical. In my mind's eye, I briefly see an
image of my home country: the parched South African soil, dusty fields
where I once stood with my family, watching helplessly as our livelihood
withered under the scorching sun. Back then, the introduction of
hydroponic technology brought us hope—but I also vividly recall how some
villagers eyed the new installations with suspicion, fearing they'd be
left behind.
"Technology
is valuable," I say firmly, "but only if it benefits all people
equally. These artifacts are messages from the past—a mirror for us. We
should approach them with humility so that we don't repeat the mistakes
of past civilizations."
President
Kaita smiles in acknowledgment. "That's exactly what it's about,
Sibusiso. Every discovery we make out there reminds us how small we are
in the universe. Let's keep that humility."
Skobeleva frowns slightly. "But vigilance remains paramount."
"Of
course," I reply calmly. "But vigilance must not mean closing ourselves
off from the unknown. We need to find a balance—between progress and
responsibility."
I
see Xiu Wan, still connected via hologram, nodding in agreement.
"Exactly. That's the core of our mission. Let's recover these relics
with respect. Future generations will judge us by how we handle these
testimonies of the past."
A
brief silence follows. I sense that each delegate is searching
internally for the right words, each lost in thought. Finally, President
Kaita speaks again, her voice warm and conciliatory:
"So
we agree: our approach to alien artifacts will be cautious. Humanity is
to appear as peaceful explorers, not conquerors. That sets a clear
precedent for who we want to be."
A ripple of agreement spreads through the room, quiet but unmistakable.
The
next item on the agenda appears on the holographic displays: economic
issues. I hear the rustling of documents intensify as President Kaita
addresses us again:
"We
now face the decision of how to use our limited resources. Do we invest
first in mining stations to strengthen our economy, or do we focus on
rapid technological advancement?"
My gaze drifts to the delegates once more. Some appear thoughtful, others tense. I decide to speak up:
"I
clearly remember what it was like when we switched to modern farming in
my village. The people who received support right away thrived—but
those who couldn't keep up were left behind. I don't want the same fate
to befall us in space."
I
inhale deeply and look directly at the assembly. "Let's first establish
stable mining stations in the Alpha Centauri system. That will not only
provide an economic foundation but also lay the groundwork for
interstellar trade, which will ultimately benefit everyone—on Earth and
in any future colonies."
Skobeleva nods appreciatively. "And it strengthens our security."
"And promotes technological progress in the long run," adds Xiu Wan with a smile.
A
murmur of agreement fills the room as President Kaita speaks up again:
"Then we're in accord: first build economic stability, then pursue
additional steps."
I
lean back, a gentle sense of relief washing over me. The future lies
ahead—full of opportunities, but also risks. Yet today, it seems we've
shown that we're prepared to shape that future together: cautiously,
with idealism—but above all, united. Because only together will we truly
reach the stars.
September 26, 2202 – UNS Gagarin"Things are rarely what they seem—especially out here among the stars."
I
gaze pensively through the large panorama window on the bridge.
Outside, the alien ship hangs silently in the darkness, a damaged wreck
brimming with sinister mysteries. As the UNS Gagarin slowly approaches, I
feel my pulse quicken. I bend over my data pad, scrolling through the
reports. Between the lines, I sense the nervousness of our leadership.
These "Grey Disciples"—a fanatical sect whose true intentions remain in
the shadows.
A quiet
humming resonates on the bridge. Holographic displays flicker faintly,
revealing blurry images of the alien ship. Its hull is severely damaged
from a previous battle, and strange symbols glow eerily on its exterior.
A cold shiver runs down my spine. What are these cultists doing out
here?
"Elena?" Xiu Wan's calm voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Shall we start the scanners?"
"Yes," I reply softly, tension edging my voice. "I want every detail scanned before we so much as move closer."
As
the scanners power up, I take a seat at an empty console. The holograms
pulse gently, showing the damaged contours of the alien ship's
exterior. A young scientist beside me clears his throat nervously, eyes
riveted on the display.
"No energy signatures so far," he reports in a shaky voice. But before he even finishes, a warning symbol lights up in red.
"Wait, we did find something," he corrects himself hastily, "a faint energy pulse inside. Something is still active."
A
murmur of unease spreads across the bridge. I feel my heartbeat racing.
"Launch a reconnaissance drone team immediately," I decide firmly.
"Understood,"
replies Xiu Wan, her tone clipped and professional. "The drones are en
route. Then leadership will decide about an away team."
The
hum of the launching drones fills the air. From the large panorama
window, I watch them detach silently from the Gagarin's hull and glide
like glowing specks toward the dark ship. My fingers dance over the data
pad, documenting every movement and sound—this might become the pivotal
story of our journey so far.
"Sometimes, the wreckage of past deeds can be the key to our future," I murmur quietly as the drones disappear inside the wreck.
I
stand with Xiu Wan in the lab as she points to the flashing
holo-displays. Hovering before us are 3D models of alien technology
fragments taken from the Grey Disciples' ship.
"Incredible,"
says Xiu Wan, eyes glowing with excitement. "Our analysis shows that we
really could salvage usable technology from the wreckage. Take this
tactical combat computer, for instance—highly advanced, clearly designed
for space battles."
My eyebrows rise involuntarily. A combat computer suggests danger, an unknown target. Xiu Wan seems to sense my concerns.
"Of
course, we don't know what they used it for," she admits calmly, "but
just imagine what we could do with it—not only militarily but also in
the civilian sector. It could save us years of technological
development."
A young
technician approaches, nervous but enthusiastic. "We were also able to
retrieve shield and energy systems. Our teams are already predicting
massive insights."
"That's
huge," I reply softly. Tension between euphoria and caution hangs in
the air. "But remember where this technology comes from. We don't know
what the Grey Disciples intended with it."
Xiu Wan nods gravely. "Exactly. Progress is good—provided we don't repeat the same mistakes as these fanatics."
I quickly jot down a few notes for my next report. Progress, yes—but with vigilance and responsibility.
Now
I gaze out at Earth's blue glow. Next to me, a tense silence prevails. I
hear the faint beeping of the scanners, the nervous drumming of fingers
on consoles, and feel the cool air creeping along my neck. In front of
me, live feeds and radio transmissions flicker across the consoles, and
my heart is pounding so loudly I can almost hear it.
"Heavy
resistance!" Lieutenant Moreau's voice suddenly blasts through the
loudspeakers. "The cultists have improvised barricades and are firing on
us!"
I grip the edge
of the console instinctively, breathing shallowly as if I were
physically present in the cramped, gloomy corridors of the cultist ship.
"We're pushing forward—slowly, disciplined. We have our first prisoners in custody!"
The
crew around me exhales collectively, but the relief lasts only seconds.
After a brief pause, Moreau reports again, sounding more tense:
"Some cultists escaped! Someone mentioned an escape pod. We've found an airlock—it was definitely used."
My
breathing stops for a second. Once again, elusive traces, hints of a
larger threat. I suddenly feel vulnerable, just an observer able only to
report what is happening. As a journalist, I sense a strange mix of
responsibility and helplessness. Every report I write could shape the
future—and the weight of that responsibility is almost overwhelming.
Later, in the subdued light of the research lab, Xiu Wan steps up to me. Her tone is serious, pragmatic.
"Elena,
there's more to this. The prisoners speak of a flagship, of a
'prophetess.' There may be a much larger fleet behind them."
A chill runs down my spine. I nod slowly. "Where might this prophetess be? What are her goals?"
Xiu
shrugs, looking momentarily tired, almost exhausted. "They haven't
said. Or they speak in riddles. They call it a 'holy mission.' Whatever
that means."
On the
lab screens, fragmented images of symbols and modified technologies
appear. A technician mutters anxiously, "Some of these systems could
really advance our technology. But do we really want technology from
fanatics?"
"Technology itself is neutral," I say quietly yet resolutely. "It's up to us how we use it."
Suddenly, a sharp, determined voice comes through the comm device—Defense Minister Skobeleva, succinct and uncompromising:
"These terrorists must be stopped—now. No compromises!"
I
take a deep breath, once again feeling the tension that pervades the
Gagarin. We stand at a crossroads—I can almost sense it. Ahead of us may
lie a conflict whose scope we can hardly predict.
A
few hours later, back on the bridge, I silently stare through the
panorama window. Earth's familiar blue glow appears tranquil before
us—seemingly peaceful, seemingly safe. Yet now, with the knowledge of
hidden dangers and invisible fleets, I sense that the greatest threat
may not lie out there but rather among us.
I lift my data pad and begin typing, this time with an emotional heaviness I've rarely felt:
"September
26, 2202. Who were these cultists? What were they really after? Why did
they attack us? Soon we'll have answers—or new questions."
Xiu
Wan approaches me once more. She gently places a hand on my shoulder.
"Elena, you should take some leave on Earth. Get some rest, gather your
thoughts. I'll send you all the relevant data."
I
nod, feeling both relieved and tense. "I'm sure people down there have
plenty of burning questions about what we're doing out here," I say with
a weak smile.
She
returns the smile briefly, a serious determination in her expression.
"That's exactly why we need you. No one understands better than you what
these discoveries mean for all of us."
As
I send my report, the hectic activity resumes on board—the hurried
footsteps, the faint whispers, the frantic tapping on consoles. The
prisoners are being interrogated, security protocols updated. Our
scanners are already searching for clues about the mysterious flagship.
I look once more into space. Mars lies below us, red and silent, almost like a mute witness to all these events.
"Whatever awaits us out there," I murmur to myself, "the Grey Disciples are far from finished. And neither are we."
