My flight suit tugged against my ribs, fastened tightly into the seat with my crewmates. 41 others were in the same rocket, to be transported to the awaiting Legacy. While the entire crew list consisted of 126 individuals, functionally the ship had a crew of 42 at any given time. A smaller team meant it was easier and quicker to train them; it was far more attainable for an astronaut to get to know and work with 41 others, rather than 125 others. It also meant the ship didn’t need to be as large, crucially saving on mass which in turn, saved on fuel, ensuring a smaller ship, made more quickly and flying through space faster.

  The three groups would board the ship through three separate rocket flights. I was in Group 2, though only a third of the rocket I was in was also in that group– each flight was evenly divided into crew from all three groups. The reason why was the same reason the crew took three flights instead of one; redundancy. If a disaster were to occur on the pad and the crew were lost, no one group would be lost in its entirety. Group cohesion would be largely preserved, and only fourteen would need to be taken from the backup pool to replace them, per group.

  The reality with crewed space launches is that the vast majority of the time leading up to launch is spent just waiting for the go-ahead. Even when a launch proceeds with absolutely no delays or issues, which is already rare on its own, at least an hour is spent sitting in our seats, unable to move around or rest, instead waiting for all inspections and procedures to finish. This wasn’t new to me of course, I had been on my fair share of crewed missions, and was EVA certified. I had much time to myself, to think, and reminisce. This would be the last time I saw Dayden, after all…

  We didn’t actually tell everyone about what we found. It was agreed that making the information public would only cause harm, as the people back home would be powerless to stop it, or may attempt to stow away to escape the coming extinction. Astronauts and volunteers were only told the truth after they were already only a couple months before launch, when it would be too late for the revelation to affect their training. It was better if everyone outside thought we were just trying to spread the species out, nothing more.

  Our mission plan was to leave our star system behind, forever, and colonize a new one. Once stable there, and we had a healthy population living on the planet, a portion would embark yet again, to the star system neighboring them… Iretol. The source. The expectation was that whatever force was causing planetary extinctions could not be halted by a mission there… but if we did not at least try, what could we truly call ourselves, other than cowards? If… no, when, really, the mission to Iretol fails, we would build ourselves up as best we can, and then leave yet again before the next wave, venturing to a further star, for as long as we needed to in order to survive.

  Seven…

  Six…

  Five…

  Four…

  Three…

  Two…

  One.

  /////

  Several days had gone by, and in that time the Commander had spent almost every minute conversing with the aliens, only ceasing twice to sleep, while other crew heads continued in his absence. We learned a lot from them during this time, in particular, names. Criah was called Sol, Criah-3, which we intended to name once we had landed, was in fact what they called Earth, and the alien species were called human.

  The humans did in fact see us coming– apparently they first discovered us during our aerobrake maneuver. The accompanying engine burn was extremely visible, and since then had been carefully observing us and preparing a vessel to reach us. Beyond that however, our commander was keen on keeping specific negotiations to himself, holing up in his private quarters for the final day of deliberation and discussion. He spoke for the crew, and we trusted his judgement.

  In time, communication had ceased, and the human craft deorbited, entering the planet’s atmosphere and disappearing in a controlled fireball, down safely to the surface. Riys finally emerged to address the crew not long after.

  The entirety of my crew group was gathered around to hear what he had to say. After a moment, he spoke.

  "I have just finalized the conditions of our surrender."

  There were quiet gasps and murmurs from the crew.

  "As Commander, my job–first and foremost, is ensuring the safety of this crew. The people of this world have quarantine facilities, and with the loss of our hab equipment, cooperating with them is our best chance to ensure the survival of everyone. They have space travel and medical technology that would be capable of working with ours. So, in exchange for the complete surrender of our ship and our technology, and the complete cooperation in our landing area and living conditions, we will be provided with shelter and the assurance we will not be harmed, to the best of their ability."

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Quietly, he lifted up a notebook he had been transcribing their communications inside.

  "We've been given coordinates for a landing zone and specific instructions for our flight path. We will be isolated from the local biosphere, and kept in a secure location until our bodies are not at risk. We have 120 hours, so we will be waking up groups 1 and 3 immediately and preparing for our exit. Everyone will be leaving for the surface, with the exception of the core maintenance team and my second in command, Taida. They will be staying on ship to ensure its continued stability… and to transfer ownership to the humans."

  "This is non-negotiable," he continued. "Wake up the rest of the crew and prepare for egress and reentry. We will be leaving this ship within five days."

  /////

  84 tubes lined the wall, each one with a sleeping crew member suspended inside. A small LCD displayed the name, role, and medical status of each, and one by one, they were carefully set to release. A naked body, tightly packed into each pod like bodies in a morgue, pipes down their mouth, covering their breathing spiracles, and more down toward the end of the tail. Each one slowly retracted, like someone had reversed the process of worms consuming a corpse, as they were released from their grasp and prepared to regain consciousness. Each pod was flooded with a saline solution, which drained, before a single electrode gave the person inside a small electric shock, waking them.

  The first day after waking was always the hardest. It was fraught with headaches, stomach pains, and especially tail soreness. Everyone who was woken was encouraged to get something to eat, and to get some rest (outside of a pod, of course). We decided not to tell them about what had transpired, as the shock and stress could exacerbate problems. We would tell them the next day, once everyone was in a better state of mind.

  It was a lot to fill them in on, from the loss of our cargo, to the inability to contact our sister ship, to the discovery of an intelligent species on the planet. Most were very confused, but there was no time for them to slowly take it all in. We needed to get them ready and fly down to the surface.

  /////

  We were crammed into our entry shuttles, descending to the planet below. One would leave before the other, so that if one failed, some of us would survive, and human craft would pick them up. The spacecraft were thoroughly tested of course, and every minutia was inspected before leaving, but the moment was still flooding with palpable fear, and I felt as though my chest might explode. We were all wearing our EVA suits, both for when we exited… and in the event we lost cabin pressure. Many of my fellow crewmates shut their eyes tight as the craft rumbled, entering the planet's atmosphere.

  There were no windows along the body of the craft, only at the very front at the cockpit; there was no practical need for them elsewhere. Passenger views are just wasted resources, especially when they can make for more failure points than necessary. The downside of course was that this left the view of our reentry up to our imaginations, not helping the occasional scratches and creaks we heard from the shuttle.

  The rumbling ceased, and we had survived atmospheric entry. After only a few more minutes of flying, our craft softly landed.

  "Everyone check your suit seal!" Commander Riys shouted.

  We all checked each other's life support, ensuring everyone was ready. Once we were, the cabin pressure was balanced with the planet's, and the hatch opened, ramp lowering onto the ground, sunlight flooding inside, as we emerged into this bright new world.

  /////

  The world we emerged onto was sandy, and windy. Dust billowed in the distance, and the sun was so, so very bright. I had to lower the sunshade on my visor, as did many others, to protect our eyes from its rays. The planet’s atmosphere may have protected the surface from radiation, but it did little to stop the sheer volume of light from a star that was several times larger than our own. This was a planet with fauna that thrived under its star, as opposed to our people, who even before the collapse had days that were relatively dim by comparison. Our eyes were simply not attuned to it, and spending several years in a carefully controlled spacecraft did not help. The area surrounding us was barren and flat, with little of the green and none of the water we saw in the photographs, the only blue being the great big sky. I would have felt betrayed, if not for the understanding that we were landing in a remote location, for quarantine purposes.

  A safe distance away was a green and gray building, a gaping, cavernous door open, with a human at either side. There were humans everywhere, actually. Every one of them was covered in garments that made it impossible to see what their bodies looked like underneath, much like before. The ones closest to us wore bright orange, who nonverbally ushered us in the direction of the building’s entrance, and I reasoned this must be the underground facility they would be keeping us in. At a distance surrounding the site were more humans, wearing a seemingly thinner, but sturdier garment the same color as the sand around us. They had unsettling, bug-eyed faces; large circular windows accompanying a long trunklike hose that winded around to a backpack. Each of them wielded a long metal device, almost certainly some kind of weapon, pointed at the ground, but ready to rise at a moment's notice.

  Scientists and soldiers, respectively I deduced. We were uninvited visitors to their planet, and whether they felt positively about our presence or not, they likely assumed we were an unknown and unpredictable variable, and were appropriately prepared. The engineer in me wanted to take a look at the weapons they were holding, and see exactly how they worked, examining every component. Just how militant was this species?, I thought to myself. Did they war with each other, like we had? Do they have the capacity to destroy it all, like we did? Or maybe they’ve never known war, and these weapons exist only out of desperation to ensure their safety. Maybe they aren’t weapons at all…, a flowery vision of humans as a peace-loving, perfect society grew into my brain before I dismissed it. Don’t get carried away, I reminded myself. I had to set realistic expectations, and besides, this area was probably an old military installation, judging by its subterranean nature, and just how tough the material it consisted of appeared. That flapping sheet of fabric atop that pole must be an identifier of some kind…

  We quietly slithered into the entrance of the underground bunker. The humans watched us carefully, sections of us ushered into a heavy airlock, just a few of us at a time, before the next batch. As me and my fellow crewmates were brought inside, we were introduced to an interior of sterile walls and harsh white light. Only after every crew member was brought inside, and the door sealed, were we allowed to take our suits off. A suited human was visible standing at every wall, every corner, every hallway. After leaving a hot, dry planet's underground cities for the promise of a better world among the cosmos, we would once again be living under the hot sands, in a complex not dissimilar to the spaceship. But at least the ship had windows.

  As my helmet released with a click, I allowed myself to breathe again, and my ears popped as my body adjusted to the lower pressure. This was not the landing mission any of us had expected, but if it meant we were all safe, and could eventually message the Admiralty before it was too late, it would all be worth it.

  Here we are.

  END OF ACT ONE