Welcome back. The Transcendence journey continues.
Chapter 9 – The Accomplice
The difference between reality and the reports they’d received for months was overwhelmingly clear. Elara’s words kept echoing in their ears while their minds refused to accept it — refused to believe a glitch could exist on this scale. Their hope hung by a thread. If it was a glitch, it could be fixed. A glitch meant solutions. A glitch meant control.
The silence grew long and heavy. Their expertise was stretched to the limit. Every bit of data was analyzed, every detail reevaluated. Elara asked GAIA to compare the incoming images with the satellite’s test samples, pixel by pixel, searching for signs of artificial rendering. The process took a while. When the answer finally came, she was not surprised. She took a note she wrote on a small piece of paper right after she asked GAIA: “No artificial rendering or altering will be identified.” She had been right, but she still didn’t know what to do with that truth.
Lucas walked quietly from one station to another, hoping someone would find something, anything, that could give them a reason or a direction. But the more they tried, the clearer it became that it was time to face reality. And it was his job to make them face it, even though, for the first time in his career, he wished it wasn’t.
“Attention, please,” he said, as calmly as he could. Everyone stopped. “It’s clear for all of us. We move forward. I’ve already asked GAIA to compile a report with the findings and send it. We wait for orders from SEET. GAIA, status.”
“Report transmission failed.”
“What? …What do you mean ‘failed’? Details?” Henry asked, tapping rapidly on his console. “Communication network is fully operational…”
“Send process is not operational. Signal blocked.”
“That’s not right… there are no issues with the transmission code,” Elara murmured, loud enough for GAIA, but not for the crew.
Henry kept tapping, stopping only to shake his head, then trying again. Finally, he spoke:
“I tried sending the report to CORE’s delivery stream. But when it reached the send stage… nothing happened. It’s like the report has a ‘do not send’ flag embedded.”
“Okay. How else can we try? Brainstorm.”
“What about the long‑range probes? Can they relay it?” Gerth asked.
Henry checked schematics, then shook his head again.
“No. The probes aren’t designed for data relaying”
A sharp burst of static scratched through the room. The main displays flickered.
“GAIA…” Edwin said, stepping toward the central screen.
“SEET incoming transmission. Connection unstable.”
Commander Min appeared for a second, vanished, reappeared for a few more seconds, no audio, then the signal died.
“Connection lost” GAIA announced.
“Did anyone catch what he said? He did say something, right?” Linnea asked.
GAIA replayed the transmission, emulating Min’s voice and adding subtitles:
“…we have… communication… waiting for the report. Details about… before… transmission…”
Everyone focused on the message. No one noticed that GAIA had acted without being asked. No one except Elara.
“Resend failed,” GAIA announced.
“Keep trying every thirty minutes,” Lucas said. “Henry?”
“I have no idea,” Henry admitted. “Everything here says the transmission should be flawless. It’s like the signal was muffled by something invisible… something that shouldn’t exist.”
Lucas exhaled.
“Look… the signal went through once. That means there is a way. We’ll find it. But not today. We’re all exhausted. We stop here and continue tomorrow with fresh eyes. No more digging. That’s an order. Do you need a hand with GAIA’s lockdown protocol?”
Elara looked and ran her hand through her hair,
“You do know that doesn’t work for us, right?”
The crew smiled, even laughed softly, for the first time in hours.
<< Sacrifice >>
The next morning was quiet. Every member of the crew was performing what they named the “arbitrary morning ritual”, only that now it was without spark or laughter. One by one they gather in the observation deck. It was not even a week since they left Earth when, without even talking, they started to use the observation deck as the place for meals and leisure. The breakfast was without even a whisper, just the ship ventilation soft hum and Hestia staring and taunting them.
Without rush and without orders, they eventually drifted back to the command deck, each returning to their station, revisiting the data with a fragile new hope. Another hour passed, and no one dared to break the silence of their thoughts. But Lucas knew the moment had come to move forward.
“Okay. Let’s see where we stand…” he began softly. “We can’t send any updates. SEET managed to push through a few seconds of transmission, but we don’t know if they have any idea what’s happening here. We can continue the mission and attempt the ahestialization blindly, not knowing what’s down there. Or we return, keep trying to contact SEET, and wait for orders. Let’s not go into pros and cons. You have ten minutes to think about these options or propose a new one. No judgment. We follow whichever gets the most support. Deal?”
They all nodded in slow, heavy agreement.
The ten minutes felt painfully insufficient for such a decision, yet they passed with agonizing slowness.
“Time’s up…” Lucas said, breaking the silence. “Linnea…”
“Me?… okay…” Her fingers twisted together in a nervous knot. “I dreamed of this moment. And we’re so close. My professional curiosity wants to go down there. But… I have to be logical. Hestia isn’t going anywhere. In two months, another expedition can be sent. So… I say we return.”
Some nodded. Some didn’t react. But everyone felt the weight of her choice.
“Gerth…”
“I… I was thinking that either way, we’ll have to explain how everything looks normal while it’s not. You know? So… I’m with whichever decision comes first.”
Abstaining wasn’t elegant or rational, but she wasn’t wrong. It was something all of them had lingered on at least once.
“Edwin…”
“Look, I’m an engineer, okay? I’m wherever the ships are. If we go, fine. If we’re the first to step on Hestia’s ground, I’ll make sure the TSs are up and running. What I’m saying is: I’m ready for any decision.”
Lucas wanted to push them, but he knew them too well. With this crew, abstaining never meant indecision.
“Henry…”
“Gerth is right. Either way, the communication is… what it shouldn’t be. Maybe with SEET’s equipment we can find something. I’d say returning is the right call.”
The balance tilted toward returning, but it brought no comfort.
“Elara…”
“Return,” she said calmly and firmly. No explanation. No hesitation. Just one word — and it surprised them all.
“Francy…”
Hearing Lucas use her nickname — on any other day — would have sparked teasing and comments from everyone. If only…
“Major, I’m with the crew’s decision all the way.”
“GAIA, what’s your take?”
“Major Makawao, both solutions are viable and objective. The decision is yours.”
“No, it’s not, GAIA. It’s ours. I think you all did the math; we’re returning to Earth. We’ll try contacting SEET on the way for new orders. Any objections or reasons to delay?”
Another round of nods, and everyone moved to their stations.
“GAIA, stations ready.”
“All stations ready and good to go.”
“GAIA, bring us level with the orbital plane. Roll ten degrees starboard. On my mark, ignite main engines and prepare for slingshot burn toward Earth.”
The slingshot maneuver had become a novelty ever since antigrav engines replaced the old propulsion systems. They didn’t need it anymore, not for speed, not for efficiency. But everyone understood Lucas’ decision. Going around Hestia wasn’t about physics. It was their way of saying goodbye.
The ship slowly aligned with the orbital plane, and a faint tremor announced the antigrav engines pre‑lancing. Then the hum faded.
“Engine ignition not responding,” GAIA announced.
“What now?” Edwin muttered, running a hand through his hair and tapping rapidly on his console. “Everything is…”
“…is okay,” Elara finished quietly. “Just like everything else here. GAIA, everything is okay, isn’t it?”
“Affirmative, Dr. Song.”
“And all diagnostics show no active issues, right?”
GAIA remained silent. Not because she was running diagnostics… but because the answer was already known.
Edwin kept working, muttering to the console, “Come on… give me something…” He tried again, slower this time, a check he had already repeated several times.
At last, he exhaled and let his arms fall, accepting the surrender the moment demanded.
“Report,” Lucas said, maybe too softly for what the moment needed.
“I… have nothing…”
“Are we… stranded?” Linnea asked, though she feared the answer.
Lucas opened his mouth to speak, but Henry beat him to it.
“I was thinking… maybe there is a solution…”
Everyone held their breath with new hope… but Henry’s pause stretched too long.
“Spit it out, for crying out loud. Damn it!” Gerth snapped in one breath, barely stopping herself from marching over to shake him.
“Yes… the TS. We could take a TS toward Earth. Its communication isn’t long‑range, but in about a month it’ll be close enough for a clear signal.”
Edwin shook his head immediately. “Technically you’re right, Henry, but those shuttles aren’t built for deep space. It’s a one‑way trip.”
“Can’t GAIA control it?” Linnea asked, clinging to the idea.
“Negative. TS is equipped only with limited AI support,” GAIA replied before Edwin could.
Lucas paced in silence for a couple of minutes.
“Any other option? Is it even safe to try sending the shuttle?”
“If we do,” Edwin continued, “I think I’ll be the one to go.”
“No… you’re needed here. I’m what’s needed. Communication. I can make sure I succeed. I’ll think of a way to boost the signal too.”
“Stop…” Elara said — not an order, not a plea, but a wake‑up call.
“GAIA, initiate pre‑launch for TS2.”
It took only seconds for the reply.
“Pre‑launch is not responding.”
“You all expected this, didn’t you? We must admit it. We are stran—”
A sharp crackle, the same sound as the commander’s earlier attempt to communicate, snapped their attention to the main display.
A text blinked into existence:
“Stand by…”
“Francy, Henry… check it. GAIA, locate the signal.”
“Message in 5, 4, 3…”
“Origin: Hestia’s Habitat coordinates.”
For a fraction of a second, the ship’s vibration dropped below its usual hum, not enough to trigger any alert, but enough for everyone to feel it in their bones.
“…1…”
A voice followed, calm, too calm, with clear inflections, too familiar and yet cold:
“Welcome to Hestia messengers of Earth. We were expecting you. Ahestialization in 36 hours. Please stand by.”
The message, written in each crew member’s native tongue, lingered on the display for a few seconds… then slowly faded away.
Ahestialization: T‑35:59:42.
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