image [https://i.postimg.cc/c4r5VM9n/cygnus-base-ee.png]

The sun was just setting below the crater’s rim as Elisa stood at the heart of the bustling base, watching the crane hoist stacks of prefab construction material from flatbed carriers. The clang of metal rang through the air as a new structure emerged in the center of the base: the reactor housing that would host their primary power source for years to come. Elisa was here to oversee the deployment — one that would house a low-tech but vital thorium reactor. It was a testament to the ingenuity of Ervin Sekhon and their new physicist Qian Shirong that a project of this magnitude could even be attempted with such limited resources. Elisa scanned the inventory one last time, ensuring every last panel and support girder was accounted for.

Ervin and Shirong stood a short distance away, deep in conversation over schemas and blueprints displayed on a portable holo-table. Their design for a simple thorium reactor was ambitious, relying on the local supply of refined thorium ore that the colony hoped to secure in the coming weeks. Instead of a high-tech pressurized-water system, they opted for a solid-fuel approach with passive cooling channels—a cost-effective arrangement that used thick-walled modular components to contain the fission reaction. Key to their plan was a series of natural convection loops, circulating coolant through a network of sealed tubes to bleed off heat without requiring excessive pumps or electronics. This low-tech approach, while crude compared to the storied reactors of Earth or Proxima, would be produced in a much shorter timeframe.

Elisa couldn’t help but admire their determination. Even the choice of materials for the reactor building spoke to their resourcefulness: prefab panels fashioned from repurposed alloys, lined internally with scavenged ceramic insulation that offered rudimentary radiation shielding. Every step of the plan had been vetted for maximum survivability with minimal complexity. As the loaders finished securing the cargo, Ervin caught Elisa’s eye, giving her a small nod of confirmation. They both knew this reactor was the colony’s best bet at a sustainable power supply—and a future beyond the daily fight for survival.

Elisa turned to the chemical plant, where final preparations were underway for the expedition. Rows of incendiary devices were lined up on makeshift pallets, each canister marked with warning labels and rigged to the new, compact turrets they had engineered. She watched the assembly teams at work, checking pressure gauges and twisting valves shut. Every so often, she called out an instruction or asked for a status update, her voice echoing across the high-ceilinged room. Outside, the second rover idled in the yard, ready to carry the corpsec trio, Mei and biologist Casimir Stephanov to the rest stop.

The plan was set. Once the incendiaries and turrets were brought over, the expedition would converge on the thorium site — a vital resource they urgently needed. Yet the specter of an all-out fight with the alien creatures loomed over Elisa like a dark cloud. In the distance, she spotted the corpsec men, crisp uniforms standing out amid the dusty surroundings. Casimir Stephanov, a slight and unassuming figure, conferred with them about safety protocols and route logistics.

As the activities wound down, Elisa found herself drawn away from the bustle of the base. She slipped past the perimeter and made her way to the alien grove. The giant red stalks towered over her and their pale white stems almost seemed almost bioluminescent. She paused near the patch where the first branch of strange fruit had grown, stalks now present and fruiting on many of the plants, giving the appearance of an otherworldly orchard.

Here, away from the noise and the demands of leadership, she let herself breathe. Anxiety coiled in her chest as her thoughts spiraled. She wasn’t sure she would ever felt the weight of her decisions so keenly, decisions that might send people to their deaths, decisions that could make or break the fragile future of their colony.

There was no denying that resources were finite and scare, and their long-term survival depended on her doing something neither he nor Maximilian could anticipate. Yet here she was, with no answers, just a growing sense of inadequacy. In a day, maybe two, she would dispatch people to face certain danger. Some might die in order to secure the thorium that could keep them alive. The notion twisted her insides with guilt and dread.

ARI had chosen her because she was an unpredictable factor. It wasn’t a compliment — it was cold logic. Elisa hadn’t reached command through skill or brilliance. People like her, Tamarlyan had said, historically didn’t rise to power. She was a statistical anomaly, a long shot chosen out of desperation.

Her thoughts drifted to Earth, a place she hadn’t left behind by merit either, but by sacrifice. She had failed the Human Resource Cartel’s off-world assessments, failed to prove to the corpocratic powers that be that she was investable enough to leave a planet that was collapsing under the yoke of corporate greed and overexploitation. Her escape to Proxima had only been possible because of her father, who had given his life to buy her passage. She still didn’t know how he had done it, only that he had been declared a criminal and executed long before she arrived.

Her father’s sacrifice haunted her. He believed in me when no one else did, she thought bitterly. Every step she’d taken since leaving Earth had been built on the shoulders of others’ sacrifices: her father’s, the officers ARI had awakened to die, the colonists who were currently facing the harsh realities of this world.

Elisa’s gaze turned upward, toward the faintly visible auroras rippling across the alien sky. Is this all happening for a reason? she wondered. The planet they had landed on was barren and resource-poor, its secrets locked beneath hostile alien ecosystems and vast, unyielding deserts. The odds were stacked heavily against them. What could she possibly do that Tamarlyan or Maximilian couldn’t? They were brilliant strategists in their own ways—cold, efficient, and pragmatic.

What did she bring to the table? Empathy? A willingness to give people freedom? Those were intangible traits, and they wouldn’t power the refinery or forge the metals needed to survive. They wouldn’t save the colony if the thorium mission failed.

Elisa pressed her hands to her face, despair threatening to overwhelm her. “What am I supposed to be doing here?” she whispered to the grove, to the silent stalks that seemed to watch her with quiet indifference.

She thought of the people depending on her: Mei, whose alien DNA was being used for leverage in the upcoming mission; Pom, whose pain had been stoked by every hard decision; Otto and Sigrid, whose curiosity and ingenuity pushed the colony forward despite the odds. And ARI, the ever-present machine intelligence that both guided and haunted them.

If they’re still trying, Elisa told herself, then so can I. She clenched her fists and straightened, forcing herself to stand tall. The suffering and sacrifices weren’t hers alone—they belonged to all of them. And if she faltered now, they would be for nothing.

She took one last look at the grove, its alien beauty stark against the dim sky, and turned back toward the base. Her steps were hesitant at first, but with each stride, her resolve hardened. She might not have all the answers, but she wouldn’t let doubt paralyze her. If there was a way forward, she would find it. She owed that to everyone.

===

Mei was seated on a worn stool in the infirmary, meticulously labeling the newest samples of alien plants, when the door slid open with its usual soft hiss. She glanced up, expecting Pom, or possibly ARI’s drone, but instead found Casimir Stephanov stepping in. The young biologist was slight, with sandy-blond hair that fell into his eyes whenever he moved. He wore a crisp tunic, clearly new since it had yet to accumulate the dust that clung to everything else on this planet.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Excuse me, doctor Qi,” he said, clearing his throat. “May I... have a moment? I’d like to talk about your DNA samples.” His gaze flickered to the neat racks of test tubes at her elbow. Mei noticed his expression—somewhere between earnest curiosity and nervousness.

She arched an eyebrow, inwardly bracing. “Just call me Mei.”

“Oh, right. Mei,” Casimir corrected softly. “I’ve been going over the colony logs and noticed that you have... well, alien DNA. I was wondering if there was anything functionally different about you—extra stamina, altered immune response, anything that might help us. Especially with the big push coming up.”

Mei paused, gripping a test tube in her hand. “I’m not aware of any superpowers, if that’s what you are hoping for. The only thing of note is that I can safely consume the water and the oxygen-rich air no longer irritates my lungs.” She set the tube aside. “But if it helps your research, I can give you a small blood sample. And I emphasize ‘small.’”

Relief and fascination lit Casimir’s face. “Yes, of course. A small sample. Thank you.”

He prepared a syringe, clumsily dropping the sterile wrapper once before collecting himself. Mei let him draw some blood into a vial. After labeling it, Casimir placed it in a portable analyzer dock to begin the preliminary run.

As the machine buzzed softly, Casimir picked up his datapad to review some of the alien fruit data. “This fruit is extraordinary,” he murmured, scrolling through nutritional breakdowns. “It has everything: iron, calcium, antioxidants, even a complete set of essential amino acids. No wonder Tamarlyan thinks we should be studying it more.”

Mei looked back in understanding. “Ah, so he sent you? Well, regarding the fruit, it’s a fascinating find, but we extract the useful compounds safely. The fruit in its raw state has dozens of compounds with no obvious biological function.” She managed a wry grin. “I’d rather not become a test subject yet again.”

Casimir nodded distractedly, still scanning the datapad. “But what if direct consumption confers some advantage?”

She interrupted him gently. “Look, we already process the beneficial nutrients out of it. ARI handles the extraction. Plus, we’ve been able to incorporate some of its organic compounds into our standard nutritional solutions and medicine. Far safer than biting into a mystery fruit.”

Casimir gave a half-hearted laugh, clearly stalling. His hand shook slightly on the datapad, and his eyes kept flicking toward her face. Mei realized, with a faint flush, that he was looking at her, and not just as a subject of research. The awkwardness was palpable.

“Well,” she said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “shouldn’t you be checking your analyzer? The results might come faster than we expect.”

“Yes, right,” Casimir said, jolting as if from a daydream. He moved over to the small station where the blood sample was being processed. After a minute of fidgeting, he glanced her way again. “I, um… I really appreciate your trust, letting me—”

The infirmary door slid open, and Pom walked in. He wore the heavy boots and jacket of someone about to leave for an expedition — again. His face was lined with fatigue, but Mei caught the flicker of comfort in his gaze when he saw her.

Casimir jerked upright, noticing the immediate dynamic. Pom moved to Mei’s side, giving Casimir a look that was polite but hardly welcoming. No words were exchanged, yet the unspoken message was clear. Casimir cleared his throat and shuffled to the back wall, gathering his equipment.

“Well, I’ll just... check these results and update you later,” he mumbled. “Thank you again, Mei.”

“Sure,” Mei replied, trying to keep her voice neutral. She watched as Casimir slipped out, the door sliding shut behind him.

Pom exhaled, setting down his satchel. “He bothering you?”

“Not bothering, exactly,” Mei said with a small smile, turning to face Pom fully. “More like being overenthusiastic. We can’t afford to scare off a bright mind, even if he’s a bit awkward.”

Pom’s mouth twitched in the faintest of grins. “As long as he keeps his focus on the job.”

She moved closer, resting a light hand on Pom’s arm. “How soon do we leave?”

“Soon,” he said, voice taut with both determination and something deeper — an unspoken longing for peace in a place that felt perpetually on edge.

===

Tamarlyan sat in the subdued light of his quarters, the single lamp casting flickering shadows across the bare walls and the small table scattered with datapads. Stacked along the side were yet more pages of raw genomic data, courtesy of Casimir Stephanov, detailing Mei’s altered DNA. The lines of code and gene expressions on each pad felt like an indecipherable puzzle, one he had been trying to crack for hours.

From a corner of the room, ARI’s drone remained patient as always, offering no sign of frustration at Tamarlyan’s repeated questions. “I have already provided all available comparisons with standard references,” the AI said calmly. “No further correlations suggest a method to communicate with the plants using Mei’s DNA sequence.”

Tamarlyan sighed, slumping back in his chair. “Which leaves us with no new source of resources or insight into the crater’s ore deposits.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I was hoping we could, I don’t know—tap into the plants’ root systems to locate veins of metal. But I’ve found nothing.”

He cast a sidelong glance at the drone. “What about me? Can I integrate you directly with my implants? Maybe we can cross-check my neural capacity with your processing?”

A moment passed before ARI’s measured reply. “That is not possible. Your proprietary Federoff implants are incompatible with the Company-standard interfaces I possess. Additionally, your personal devices and spares were recycled long ago for raw materials. The Dolya required extensive repurposing during transit.”

Tamarlyan tightened his hands. He remembered those small metal devices, and the promise of future upgrades. “So you are saying, the implants I was supposed to get as I aged… they are gone? My skull and brain structure will continue to grow, and if they are not supported by the next generation of implants, there might be complications — fatal ones.”

“There is no reference to those devices in my databases,” ARI confirmed. “Without their specifications, it is impossible to reproduce them. The only solution is to remove the existing implants.”

“That’s not acceptable,” Tamarlyan snapped, then lowered his voice. “Fine. Not your fault, I guess.” For a moment, he stared at his own gloved hand. “So I’ve only got a few years before I start… degenerating. Great.”

He sat on the edge of the cot, running a hand through his pale hair. He couldn’t escape the sense of inadequacy gnawing at him. The others thought he was a top-tier mind, the heir to a powerful family line—but he knew the truth. Much of his knowledge, his mental acuity, came from forcibly injected data and cybernetic augmentations. He never earned it through raw intellect or perseverance.

“All this technology,” he muttered, more to himself than to ARI, “the stuff we let ordinary people never touch. We hoarded it for ourselves, or our families did, for fear that empowering everyone would breed competitors that would undermine our power base. And look where it got us. We found no thriving human colony here,” he said wearily. “No shining city or sign of a stable civilization that beat us to this planet. Maybe humanity is gone. Maybe these plants are all that was left behind. Or maybe it’s still out there, as fractured as ever, too busy tearing itself apart to spread across the galaxy.”

The room felt oppressive, his prospects bleak. He was just a minor scion of the Federoffs, a family overshadowed by the great five families and countless others. They had wonders he would never see.

After a long silence, Tamarlyan lifted his head, meeting the AI’s optical sensor where it peeked through its mount in the ceiling. “ARI, if I only have a few years of these implants left before I lose them, or they kill me, maybe I should use that time to figure out how to replicate them. Share it with everyone. Human resources are one of our primary bottlenecks. People need real capabilities. Right now, most of them can’t handle advanced computations or process complex data about this planet.”

“That is one possibility,” ARI answered. “Should you seek to replicate your implants, I will facilitate research where possible.”

Tamarlyan snorted. “Better to break open the black box and let others benefit, too. I can’t monopolize an advantage that is going to vanish anyway.”

He sat back, remembering how the strict greed of Earth, Proxima, and the rest of humanity’s enclaves had led to this. “Maybe if the great families had done that, we wouldn’t be in this mess. But here we are.”

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the shelter’s air filtration system. Tamarlyan exhaled slowly. He was done for now — no breakthroughs, no epiphanies. Just a cold reminder of how precarious their future remained.

He stood, switching off the overhead light. “Thanks, ARI,” he said, voice subdued. “For listening.”

“You are welcome,” the AI replied. “Good night, Tamarlyan.”

He shut his eyes, hoping that tomorrow might bring better answers—and maybe, just maybe, a way to build a better future.