Welcome back. The Transcendence journey continues.
Chapter 8 – Reality Rendered
Two weeks passed in an untrained, quiet rhythm to which the crew quickly grew accustomed. No alarms, no anomalies, no surprises — just the steady hum of HTS‑1 cutting through the dark, something Edwin always took the chance to remind them of. And so, the days began to blur together. The crew joked, worked, trained through simulated crises, and drifted through the long stretch toward Hestia.
Elara was making her evening ease‑of‑mind rounds, with the last stop on the observation deck. She found it peaceful to watch the stars, imagining new constellations. With each day, Hestia’s presence grew increasingly clear and real. She felt a deep emotion every time she saw it, but the reason was more complex than it seemed. The chance to be there was extraordinary, but she had never forgotten the main reason she had been given this chance. The CORE silence, the hidden messages, the reports resuming as if nothing had happened… it felt less coincidental or lucky than intentional.
The soft chime of the door to her quarters had begun to feel strangely like home. Two days until Hestia’s orbit. Two days until she could hope for answers.
“GAIA, any new CORE weekly reports?” she asked softly while unzipping her uniform.
“In four days, Elara,” GAIA replied, mirroring her tone.
“I was thinking… the reports, the pattern, and even the pause before the reports resumed… all of this shows intention. By all means, GAIA, as per your directives, this matches flagging and scrutiny actions. How come it was never flagged?”
“The results are inconclusive. Intent is not validated,” GAIA replied in a controlled, calm tone.
“So… it fits into the anomaly category, doesn’t it?”
“The best answer, applying human cognition, is: yes and no.”
“Huh? ‘Yes and no’? Since when did Boolean convergence turn into a gray area? GAIA… do you have anything to do with all of this?”
There was a pause. Elara turned to watch the display prompt, in case it chose a written message instead — something that had happened once before.
“Dr. Sørensen is at the door.”
“What? Are you avoiding…”
A soft chime announced that someone was at the door. A knock followed shortly after.
“Elara?” Linnea called through the door. “Please tell me you’re not asleep. Francy’s dragging us into a shuttle test. We need you on the hangar deck.”
Elara hesitated, eyes still on GAIA’s prompter.
“Please tell me you are not asleep, or I’ll go again with Edwin.”
“Coming,” she finally replied, even though she wasn’t ready to let GAIA off the hook.
Linnea clapped three times happily. “See you there.”
Elara zipped her uniform back up and, before exiting, whispered, “This conversation is not over, GAIA,” then left.
“I know…” appeared on the display.
The thought of GAIA having any part in the CORE report issue felt absurd — and somehow unsettling. So much so that she refused to even run the mental exercise of what it might mean, or what consequences it could have.
Francy’s voice came through the ship’s comm, pulling her out of her thoughts.
“Elara, hangar deck four. I have a feeling Linnea omitted that detail.”
“Indeed… she did,” Elara thought, smiling at how natural Francy was at sensing these things — and at herself, having just walked off with no idea where she was going.
Over the past week, several flight tests had been conducted with the shuttles, which was standard procedure before reaching the orbital destination. However, due to various coincidences and circumstances, Elara was the only one who hadn’t had the chance to participate. This test was likely the last one before reaching Hestia’s orbit. She could only hope that all the simulations had been sufficient for the real thing.
Now that she had a clear direction, her fatigue and mental strain were overshadowed by a refreshing surge of energy.
Francy and Linnea were chatting at the edge of the boarding stairs, and as soon as they saw her, both signaled for her to hurry.
“Coming, coming,” she said, picking up the pace, thinking, What’s the rush? It’s not like the shuttle is going anywhere without us.
As they entered the cabin, Elara went to the post where she had trained the most: navigation, communication, and AI integrity. She always found it funny to call the system “AI integrity,” as the shuttle was more of a glorified, sensor‑assisted system than an actual AI. She smiled, remembering what she had said when asked after the first day of shuttle simulations what she thought of her post: Not complicated. The only AI is somewhere else, and all it can do is remotely control the ship.
“Not there. That’s mine,” Francy said, pointing her toward the pilot’s chair.
“But… I only had…”
“No, no. Everybody needs to know how to fly this thing. Besides, I was with you in the simulations. I’m sure you’ll get it right,” she said, slipping into a more lieutenant‑like tone.
Elara glanced again at Francy and Linnea; both nodded with approval. She had thought this would be a simple flight, but with her as pilot, the rules changed. She could feel her heart thrumming faster and stronger. She took her place in the pilot seat, put her hand over the screen, and was immediately followed by a beep. On the display appeared: Song, Elara, Dr. Authorization acknowledged. Pilot.
Elara paused, letting the simulation drills rise back to the surface. Engines. Dampers. Retro‑rockets. The muscle memory clicked into place, one system at a time. Her emotions settled just enough for her to shift into anticipation, waiting for the moment the shuttle would finally pull away from HTS‑1.
“I think we’re ready to open the bay,” Elara said, a hint of pride in her voice. A strand of hair slipped across her cheek. She unzipped her pocket, emptied a pen and a hair clip onto the console, grabbed the clip, and pinned the stray strand back.
“Good. Before that — remember, the simulation doesn’t fight back. Inertia does. And it has a kick.”
“TS2 — Transit Shuttle Two — you are clear for launch,” GAIA announced.
“Sure… launching maglev. Engaging in three, two — hold your chair — one.”
The acceleration hit harder than she expected. Instinctively, she checked the inertia dampers: well above comfort, still below risk. For a heartbeat, she thought something was wrong, then remembered — rail launch always felt like this.
TS2 shot out like a bullet from a barrel, leaving the hum of HTS‑1 behind. The main‑engine ignition tremor rolled through the hull, catching Elara off guard. The pen she’d left on the console was the first to react, lifting slowly into the air. She snatched it, shoved it back into her pocket, and zipped it shut.
She began to say, “We’re in the clear…” but the shuttle lurched sideways before she finished. Yaw drift. Elara fired the lateral thrusters — maybe a touch too hard.
“She’ll drift left if you tap the laterals too much. Short counter‑pulse, not a hold,” Francy said, calm as ever despite the rotation.
A few precise taps and the shuttle steadied.
“No worries, Elara. We all fall for it the first time. Francy and Lucas just pretend they didn’t.”
Francy chuckled softly. “This is the real deal. No tricks, no hidden tests. Sim is good, but it never shows the drift right. In the real shuttle, you feel it before you see it. You handled it well.” She tapped the console in approval.
The rest of the flight was a sequence of simple maneuvering drills, looping around HTS‑1, which, for the duration of the test, cruised at impulse speed. The first pass around the ship made her appreciate its true scale even more.
I bet the colony ship will look even grander, she thought.
All three of them enjoyed the run. Elara’s mind focused entirely on the flight — nothing else. Peaceful, in a dynamic and exhilarating way.
“Time to head back,” Francy said once the final loop was complete.
“Docking bay four. Gravity dampers’ coordinates locked,” Elara replied, her voice calm and steady.
“Vectors set. Link established,” Linnea announced, followed immediately by Francy.
“Velocity?”
“TS2–HTS‑1 sync in three… two… one… synced. Activating gravity dampers. Approach: impulse speed, step two.”
HTS‑1 soon filled the entire field of view. Elara cut the engines the moment TS2 was caught by the gravity dampers. The shuttle drifted smoothly into final alignment while the air vibrated with the familiar hum of HTS‑1.
Home.
She slept soundly. No late‑night research, no idea‑swapping with GAIA. The flight had flooded her with enough dopamine to reorder her priorities, even if only for a moment. Not even the thirty‑six hours left to Hestia were strong enough to ruin her night.
The next day was all about approach checks. The latest satellite data showed ground progress matching the last CORE weekly report. Lucas sent the approach confirmation while the rest of the crew moved through system checks like a well‑oiled machine.
“Orbit locked. Mission log updated. Report sent.”
GAIA’s announcement felt anticlimactic — completely at odds with the quiet fulfillment settling over the crew.
A pause followed, giving them space to take in the overwhelming view.
“GAIA, tilt us five degrees toward the surface. Give us a clear view,” Lucas said, not looking away from the window.
The ship slowly rotated, revealing a majestic sweep of green reflections and clear sky. It was breathtaking.
“Elara…” Henry broke the silence. “…can you check the data I sent? Something… doesn’t seem right.”
Elara moved to the nearest console, flipping through the files. Lucas recognized the look — the one she got when something challenged her expertise.
“What’s going—”
“GAIA, display the live view with the satellite report from three days ago. Match the sectors.”
Image after image loaded. With each comparison, the truth sharpened — but no one was ready to say it out loud.
“Elara… does this mean what I think it means?” Gerth asked quietly.
Elara ignored him. “GAIA, analyze and extrapolate.”
Silence. The longest pause she had ever heard from GAIA. This was the first time Elara considered that silence might not be absence.
“GAIA, overwrite security protocol: Lucas, Major, three‑gamma‑strike‑alpha. Overwrite.”
“Acknowledged. Data analysis complete. Current status indicates an eighteen‑year shift relative to the Hestia Habitat Project timeline. Report aligns with projected milestones, including CORE efficiency gains.”
“Reason?” Elara asked.
“Inconclusive.”
“Extrapolate.”
“Insufficient data.”
“What does this mean?” Francy asked, her voice tight.
Henry exhaled slowly. “I checked again. I pulled the latest satellite data prepared for the next report. Same story.”
A beat of silence.
“This means one thing…” Elara finally said, her voice steady as she accepted the truth. “…all reports were… manufactured.”
Her words hit the crew like a physical blow. Hard to believe. Harder to process. None of them were prepared, nor trained, for this.
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