Welcome back. The Transcendence journey continues.
Chapter 7 – The Veil
March had melted the last patches of snow, but Elara still felt winter refusing to leave her bones. Four months of training had compressed themselves into muscle memory, a few bruises, and a stack of simulation scores she preferred not to think about. She needed a calm walk through the cool evening air before the comfort of her home, the hot shower, and the bed that knew her body best.
GAIA followed her precise movements, silently registering how carefully she conserved the little energy she had left. It almost broke the silence with a prompt, but disengaged in time. At this moment, her thoughts needed no guidance, only space and rest. When she finally lay down, GAIA dimmed the lights. A soft notification blinked once, silently, on the panel. “Good night, Elara.” Then the monitors went dark.
Morning came quietly. Steam curled from her teacup, thin as the last breath of winter. Sunlight warmed the terrace, but Elara’s hands still trembled from the final simulation run. Now, those months of drills, rotations, decompressions, and emergency protocols were finally behind her. And all of it led to one thing: leaving Earth in just two weeks.
But today, she had earned the day off. There was almost nothing to eat in the house. She had cleaned everything out before going into training. She thought about ordering something, but the idea of going to the compound entrance to pick up takeout felt unappealing. She could easily go to the Center’s canteen, of course, but she was not ready to meet colleagues and her team, to navigate their stream of questions.
There was a small diner not far from the compound, one she had been saying for a long time she would try. Without lingering too much on the thought, in case it might change, she went to the garage, still undecided. The car would be comfortable, fast, and easy. The bicycle would be refreshing and could make up for the skipped morning exercise; besides, the air was crisp and clear. But the thought of the ride back made it drop in her preferences. And then there was the motorcycle. An old, dusty Harley‑Davidson, with long handlebars and flames along the body, the only real keepsake from her father.
She opened the garage door, took a cloth, and began removing the dust with short, circular movements.
“Morning, Aunt Elara! My dad saw you coming home last night. He asked mom to prepare something for you. We were sure there’s nothing at your place right now. Where are you going? Wow… with this bike? Can I come?”
“Alma, dear…” she threw the cloth aside and hugged Alma, who awkwardly tried to hug her back while still holding the heavy bag of food.
“I missed you so much! And look at you, quite the young lady. I suppose the boys are already paying attention.”
“Boys? What boys? School? They need to grow up first.”
“OK, OK…. It smells so good. I’m starving. Let’s go inside,” Elara said, changing the subject and taking the bag from her.
A proper breakfast was exactly what Elara needed to feel whole again. And with Shai’s cooking, satisfaction was always guaranteed.
“Let’s have a chat and some tea on the terrace,” Elara said, rubbing her belly in slow circles.
The backyard carried the promise of spring, buds waiting patiently for the sunlight to welcome them. They sat at the table in silence for a while, listening to the morning’s concert of birds.
“So, what’s new with you?” Elara asked casually, taking a sip of tea. “
Yes…” Alma said, suddenly jumping off the chair and running inside, only to return seconds later with a tablet. “GAIA, load my project.”
“You have multiple projects, Alma. I require further details to access the correct one.”
“Machine Data Emergent Pattern. It was inspired by your data, Elara. I’ve been working on it since then. Look!” she said happily, handing her the tablet.
With every page turned, Elara grew increasingly uneasy. Not because of the conclusions, but because of the data itself. Data that… Alma shouldn’t have had access to.
“GAIA, data source.” Without answering directly, GAIA displayed a permissions document signed by Commander Min. It granted Alma access to the microbot farms, excluding the main server and CORE. But the data in front of her told a different story.
“Alma… did you access the CORE?”
“No need. I coded my own. And do you really think I could bypass GAIA? Look, I made them search each other,” Alma said proudly, playing a short video. The microbots had found a way out of the farms and created bridges between them using existing materials: glass, wood, soil, metal wires.
“Very… good… but… how?” Elara asked.
“It’s simple. Look, with ALMA,” she said, pointing to the tablet. GAIA displayed the words in large letters: Advanced Learning Micro‑Architecture.
The conversation shifted instantly. Elara asked about design choices, decision paths, and reasoning, while Alma answered with clarity and enthusiasm. It took a moment for Elara to remember that she was speaking to a fifteen‑year‑old, not a colleague with two doctorates. Pride overrode the guilt she felt for the torrent of questions. And the results… were terrifyingly close to those of CORE.
But…this was not the moment to go deeper. Elara closed the tablet and placed it aside, the knowledge filed away, not solved, but waiting.
<< Orbital >>
The following two weeks of preparation felt almost easy compared to the past four months. Everyone was buzzing about the special upcoming trip to Hestia, excited that the crew consisted of colleagues they already knew. The excitement was so widespread that most forgot Hestia had gone silent. All except Elara’s team. For them, the journey felt far more charged.
The galaxy of questions shifted focus as well, from “What do you think happened?” and “Will this be SEET’s biggest failure?” to “Are you excited about Hestia?”, “How was the training?”, “Do you think I’d pass the tests?”, and even “Don’t you need someone with my skills? I’d give anything to go to space, to Hestia.”
But today, there were no questions. It felt like an ordinary day. And yet, today was the last meeting before departure to GODS‑2 station, where final briefings and checks would take place before their journey to Hestia. It was the last day they would see each other for some time.
Elara sensed their restraint, the respect for the mission, for her, and their understanding that before such mission, personal time is needed. And that was exactly what she needed: one final recalibration with her feet still on Earth.
The briefing was short and carried out with military precision, a style she had grown accustomed to during training. Commander Min presented the crew to the ground teams, then asked GAIA to deliver the mission overview, followed by pilot Major Lucas Makawao and co‑pilot Lieutenant First Class Francesca Martinez, who detailed the trajectory, timings, shuttle status, and backup plans. They ended with a small glass of champagne, actual alcohol, offered by Commander Min and Dr. deMatisse, the occasion special enough to bend regulations slightly.
The moment ended abruptly. Four army representatives entered in perfect synchrony, their salute too precise to be ceremonial. An order appeared on the central display, overlaying GAIA’s visuals: the crew was to be escorted to MOLD‑L32, Maglev Orbital Launch Distribution, Lane Thirty‑Two.
As the authorization propagated through SEET’s systems, countdown clocks lit up across the walls. HTS‑1: T‑12:18:32. No reference was made to time‑to‑orbit. That phase had long become routine. Alongside GODS, MOLD had become the backbone of orbital construction: efficient, reliable, and cost‑effective enough for continuous expansion.
Elara still remembered the documentary of the first test flight. Lane Zero, now a museum offering civilians zero‑gravity experiences, had been carved out of a decommissioned hadron collider, its exit tunnel punching straight through the mountainside.
The principle was deceptively simple. Magnetic resonance accelerated the capsule incrementally, building velocity until release into the launch lane became inevitable. Every parameter was calculated with precision, allowing direct orbital insertion without the violence of traditional ascent.
Reentry, by contrast, felt almost mundane, a long, controlled glide, more flight than fall. With the air‑molecule disperser active, thermal stress had become a solved problem. Elegant. Predictable. Quiet.
Elara rose with the rest of the crew, already feeling the shift. From this moment on, nothing was simulation. Hestia would no longer be a name on a screen, but a destination.
The gravicopter flight was crowded and awkward, the crew separated by a stiff military officers. Linnea caught Elara’s eye; they shared a smile, straightened their backs, and imitated the formality. Henry, Gerth, and Edwin followed suit almost immediately. Laughter broke out, to the visible confusion of the military personnel.
They were led into a large circular room, lined with five wide lockers bearing their names. Time to change into standard uniforms.
“Attention!” the lead officer barked, louder than they were used to. “Salute, astro‑travelers. “Safe mission,” they replied in unison, the room still echoing as the officers turned and departed before anyone could even say “thank you.” Edwin saluted instinctively, and they all burst into laughter again.
“Now what?” Linnea asked, neatly folding her civilian clothes.
“Wait… I suppose,” Gerth said, sitting down. “Look at us. Don’t we look impressive? I remember watching astroteams on TV, feeling envious. Looks like it’s someone else’s turn now.”
“There won’t be any publicity,” Edwin reminded them. “From the world’s perspective, this is just another HTS‑1 test flight.”
A short tone activated arrows along the walls, indicating a corridor opposite the one they’d entered.
“I have a feeling we’re meant to go… that way,” Gerth said, ushering them along.
At the far end, the corridor opened toward a junction marked L31 through L34.
“Why do I feel like we’re in an airport?” Elara said, already heading for L32.
“I wonder where L34 goes,” Linnea added, following her.
“Attention please,” came a voice from the overhead system, freezing them in place. “All passengers for destination GODS‑2, connecting flight HTS‑1, please proceed to gate L32.” GAIA’s flawless imitation sent them into laughter.
“That was a good one, GAIA,” Elara said, giving a thumb‑up with both hands. At the end of the corridor, they stopped beneath a sign reading: L32 – Boarding in progress. Please proceed.
“Well,” Edwin said, twisting his hands, “I guess this is it. Ready to see Hestia in all its glory? Anything you want to leave behind on Earth?”
“I have a feeling this trip will be more than sightseeing,” Henry said with a smirk.
“It will be,” Gerth replied, gesturing at the doors. “Otherwise, the math doesn’t add up. And we are at L32, not L0. Shall we?” She bowed theatrically.
The doors opened with a hiss, sealing behind them as they entered an elevator‑like chamber whose movement was neither vertical nor horizontal. Thirty seconds passed, longer than expected. Another set of doors opened to reveal Lucas and Francy.
“Here you are! Lucas. Francy,” Elara said, hugging Francy as she waved her over. Major Makawao had taken some time to accept first‑name familiarity. Protocol had eventually yielded, except for one rule he still enforced strictly: no nicknames. The crew, of course, considered this less an order and more a challenge.
“You two are driving the shuttle to GODS‑2?” Linnea asked.
“Flying. Flying, not driving,” Lucas corrected, barely containing a smile.
“And no. That honor belongs to GAIA. Isn’t that right?”
“Affirmative, Major Makawao. Please take your seats. Orbital launch in T‑00:03:00,” GAIA replied.
As they settled in, seat restraints secured them from above and below. They had just enough time to admire the system before GAIA’s voice cut through.
“Pre‑acceleration in five… four… three… two… engaged. Maglev exit in four minutes, twenty‑eight seconds. Time to destination: twenty‑six minutes. G‑dumpers nominal. Enjoy your flight.”
“You do realize we’re essentially inside a guided bullet,” someone muttered.
“No worries,” Francy said. “I’ve done this trip hundreds of times. Perfectly safe.”
As the shuttle streaked into the sunset, only Lucas and Francy spoke. The others stared silently through the round window at the sun refusing to set and the black eyes of space approaching.
“Approach engine ignition in five… four… three… two. Ignition. Approaching Dock Fifteen on GODS‑2. T‑five minutes to final docking. Artificial gravity engaged,” GAIA announced.
GODS‑2 came into view: vast, silent, overwhelming. No briefing or simulation had prepared them for its presence. It grew with every second, and for the first time they realized that knowing the dimensions had never truly meant understanding the scale.
A faint, almost imperceptible tremor signaled docking. “Docking complete. Welcome to GODS‑2 Station,” GAIA announced.
The restraints were released, and the door opened with a soft hiss.
“Welcome,” said Dr. Salvadore Alamina at the entrance, the station’s senior astrophysicist. Once a military post, the position had evolved after SEET redefined GODS’ purpose. At fifty‑five, he wore his grey hair and long moustache with pride.
“Let’s move, my stellar wanderers. The briefing awaits. Commander Min and Dr. deMatisse have been waiting and I think they’ll burn the displays if we’re any later.”
He led them through a maze of corridors, narrating like a seasoned guide, sharing the purpose and history of each section, including which celebrity or Nobel laureate had once passed through. By the end, maybe only Lucas and Francy would have found their way back unaided.
“Here we are. Come in.” The room resembled an observation deck more than a meeting space. Commander Min and Dr. deMatisse filled the screens. “Apologies for the low‑tech conditions,” Salvadore said. “Holoprojector issue. OK. Crew is here, safe and sound.”
“Good,” Commander Min said. “Hestia crew, you are ready. Remember: this mission may be logged as a test flight, but when the first colony stands, the world will know you were the first to touch Hestian soil. Godspeed.”
Dr. deMatisse added, “I’ve uploaded the latest data analysis to the ship’s systems. Light reading until arrival. Smooth gravity waves to you.”
“Thank you both,” Salvadore said, cutting the feed. “All right. Time to board. Pre‑launch awaits.”
They split into two groups in the MPP—Maglev Personal Pod—which carried them through GODS‑2’s skeletal core to HTS‑1’s loading bay. The bay was immense, wrapped in an invisible field that offered a panoramic view of space.
“There,” Salvadore said pointing the starry space. “That’s Hestia. Path looks clear. Smooth sailing. This is as far as I go. Good luck, and we’ll catch up on comms.” He boarded the pod and vanished silently.
HTS‑1 ship was larger than imagined, sleek, radiant, and imposing. As the Sun rose behind it, glare forced them to shield their eyes until the automatic filters adjusted.
Once inside the ship, awe gave way to familiarity. The bridge mirrored their training perfectly, and one by one, they took their stations.
“Welcome home,” Edwin whispered, brushing the console lightly before beginning his checks.
“T‑00:05:00. Pre‑launch checks initiated,” GAIA announced, the countdown hovering over the darkness of space. This time, it felt different. Sharper. More real. Iminent.
“All right,” Lucas said calmly. “Let’s begin. Station status.”
“Navigation, gyro, antigrav lenses: green across the board,” Francy replied.
A pause.
“Dr. Heitzmann?” Lucas prompted.
“Oh, right! Power, energy, field modulation, antigrav converters: all green,” Gerth said hastily.
“Edwin… Henry…”
“Signals, relays capturing, Hestia satellites, all green” Henry replies and winked at Edwin,
“Engines nominal. Hull integrity green. Cabin pressure green. Oxygen mix green. Scrubbers … green.” “
“And cabin gravity?” Lucas asked.
Henry tapped a sequence. A soft hum followed as Linnea and Elara drifted a few centimeters upward.
“Seriously?” Gerth said, gripping the console while they rotated gently.
Edwin corrected the setting, gravity returning smoothly. Linnea and Elara landed with soft thumps.
“I’m calling that green,” Elara said.
“Very green,” Linnea agreed.
SEET’s central room erupted in smiles and laughter. Commander Min leaned toward Dr. deMatisse. “Look at them. We doubted four months would be enough. We were wrong.”
“If you’re done orbiting each other,” Lucas said, barely suppressing a grin, “communications and AI?”
“Green,” Linnea and Elara replied together. “
Vectors?”
“Locked,” Francy said.
“Engage antigrav engines.”
“Engaged.”
“Confirm docking arms disengaged.” Francy tapped both panels. The clamps released with a soft vibration.
“Ship cleared.” “SEET Control, HTS‑1 is checked, locked, and ready.”
“You are Go,” Commander Min replied, cheers audible as the channel closed.
GODS‑2 faded as HTS‑1 moved into the departure corridor. Station lights gave way to navigation beacons marking safe passage.
“Corridor green,” GAIA announced. Inside, lighting shifted to transit mode. The hum deepened as the antigrav core charged. Pressure built faintly behind their ears.
“Field envelope clear. Long‑range engines on your mark.”
Commander Min raised a steady hand. “Mark.”
The ship didn’t surge, it unfolded. Space thinned, and they drifted forward as if caught in an unseen current. GODS‑2 disappeared, and the route to Hestia opened like a dark ocean.
<< Space >>
“Morning, Francy,” Elara said, stretching as she walked onto the bridge. “Are we there yet?”
“Morning. We passed the halfway point six hours ago.”
“Sweet,” Linnea said, handing coffee to Lucas and Francy. “Closer to Hestia than Earth. Still can’t believe that sentence makes sense.”
“Halfway already?” Edwin said, checking the panel. “I slept through history?”
“Relax,” Gerth laughed. “You’ll catch it on the return trip. No one will know. Wait… we’ve got a message from Commander Min.”
“On screen,” Lucas said.
“Hestia‑1,” Commander Min began, “good news. At sixteen hundred hours today, we received Hestia’s weekly status report. All systems appear back to normal. GAIA’s initial analysis shows no issues. The missing weeks were also included. Al, reports should be uploaded now to HTS‑1. Considering, we discussed aborting the mission but, in the end, agreed visual confirmation would be valuable. Godspeed, Hestia‑1.”
A new type of energy rippled through the ship. What had been an emergency had quietly become a reconnaissance journey.
In her quarters, Elara frowned. “GAIA, load the recovered CORE reports and run our algorithm.”
A soft tone followed. Code deciphered.
“Complete. Waiting. Message.”
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