Go ahead. Say it. Everyone does.
“You’re too young to be a captain.”
They’re not wrong. I am too young. And too inexperienced. And too stubborn, too rash.
And look where it’s gotten me.
Who am I kidding?
I’m not a real captain. I’m just a kid with a ship and nothing to lose.
“Warning: unable to maintain course.”
The ship gives a rumble, the engines protesting against the heavy load of sustained effort, and I grab the dash to steady myself. I look at the mapping display on the control panel at the back of the bridge. The course I’ve plotted has us sheering slightly away from the signal origin, eschewing the point at which Chrys has calculated the rogue planet’s gravity would be able to overtake our engines. But the engines are already straining under the burden of the gravimetric distortion, and our projected trajectory now puts us dangerously close to the planet.
Just a little further, I tell myself. Just a little further, a little closer and maybe we can get a message through.
I’ve tried to put it out of my mind, but it’s time I face the reality of what I just witnessed. That was my ship back there. It was Chrysanthemum—there’s not a trace of doubt in my mind. I know they were here, and I know where they ended up.
My eyes instinctively move to the map, to the rogue planet lying just off course.
The question I have to ask myself now is whether I’m willing to doom myself to the same fate.
I want to run while I still can. I want to get the hell out of here and never look back, to forget I ever came here. But how can I, knowing what I know, knowing that my ship is down there? How could I just leave and abandon them?
I let out a sigh of frustration. There has to be a way to save them. I just haven’t quite figured it out yet.
“Warning: unable to maintain course,” Chrys says again.
“I know, I know,” I reply. “But just a little further. How’s my engine doing?”
“Engine functionality at 58%,” Chrys answers.
Damn. That’s way lower than I was hoping. It might be time to get the secondary engine system back up and running. I study the display and chew my lip, trying to come up with some sort of plan.
The speakers rattle with static.
“Incoming hail from unknown vessel,” Chrys says.
I look up in surprise.
“Put it through,” I say. I check the radar display, and sure enough, there are two ships, their signals faint but steady.
Byer? I feel my heart skip a beat. I never thought I’d be so anxious to hear the sound of his voice. But if Remus is one of those ships, Omen must be the other.
I wait for a response, but the line is mostly static, and the broadcast is all but unintelligible.
“…to Chrysanthemum…can’t…out…” the words come through grainy and broken. I can’t even make out whose voice it is.
“Chrys, is there any way to clean up the comms?” I ask.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
More static.
“…out…Omen…come back…”
I shake my head.
“This is Chrysanthemum,” I say, speaking each word loudly and slowly. “I do not read you. I repeat, I do not read you.”
Nothing.
I sigh in frustration. I hope it wasn’t anything important.
The ship gives another rumble.
“Warning: engine functionality at 52%.”
I can’t afford to let the engine systems keep suffering like this. If functionality drops below 50, I’ll be in serious trouble. But we’re so close. I can’t just turn tail and run now.
I check the map.
Just a little further.
Suddenly, the ship shudders, knowing me to the floor, and a loud crack rings out.
“Shit! What was that?” I ask, panicked, ears ringing.
“Critical damage to EM rod 4,” Chrys says.
Someone must be firing us. Omen. I guess his patience finally ran out.
I curse under my breath as I pull myself to my feet.
As much as I’d love to return fire, I have to focus on staying ahead of them.
“Warning: engine functionality at 49%,” says Chrys, as an alarm begins to blare over the speakers throughout the ship.
No, not now! Not when we’re so close.
The ship rumbles, and the hull lets out a horrible groan. I pull up the navigational display and look in horror at our course trajectory, which now deviates so drastically from our plotted course that it veers off in the other direction, heading us right for the planet. If we stay on this path, we’ll end up at the exact location of the signal origin.
My heart drops as I realize the terrible truth. That little planet with the gravity of a sun has us in its grip now, and I don’t know how we’re going to get out.
“We gotta do something, Chrys,” I shout. “We gotta get out of here!”
If only I had my secondary engine running, I kick myself. I don’t have time to go all the way down to Deck 4 right now, and our plasma weapons won’t give us much to run an EM pulse through.
I chew my lip. I don’t have time to think, I have to act.
The ship rumbles again and again as the force of the gravimetric distortions tugs mercilessly at the engines.
“I want exhaust ports open, Chrys—all of them!” I shout over the din of the alarm.
“All available exhaust ports open,” Chrys replies.
“Good! Now let’s drop the exhaust speed and reroute through the shunt,” I say. “I want it all going right back into the accelerator.”
I’m hoping we’ll get enough extra thrust to break away. My hands tremble as I navigate the engine systems, manually correcting Chrys’s work to maximize the effect. This is my only viable idea. I just hope it works.
“Now double our fuel uptake!” I shout.
The floor vibrates with the engine’s increased effort.
“Come on,” I mutter, under my breath. This has to work. “Come on!”
The ship continues to shake, but slowly, we begin to break away. Warm tears of relief begin to roll down my cheeks as the mapping display confirms that our projected course no longer leads us to the planet.
We’re going to make it.
I fall to my knees and let out a few deep, heaving breaths.
We’re going to make it!
But the sweeping relief is interrupted by Chrys’s voice.
“Warning: engine functionality at 22%.”
I panic anew. It looks like I have no choice now. I sprint to the lift, heading for the secondary engine room on Deck 4. I run down the hallway, practically tripping over my own feet, and into the BioFilter room, kicking boxes out of my way. My hands shake as I fumble with the door locks, and the second I’m in, I run to the control panel to start the engine initiation procedures.
If my primary engine system fails before I have the secondary one up and running, I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of making it out of here. We may have escaped the planet’s grav pull for now, but the moment the engines let up, we’ll be doomed.
I drop to the floor and sit with my back pressed against the wall as I wait for the initialization process.
Time feels like it’s moving in slow motion. I don’t like being down here—I need to get back to the bridge. But I can risk something going wrong during engine initialization.
I bounce my leg impatiently.
“Incoming hail from unknown vessel,” Chrys says.
The comms crackle to life with static, but once more, I’m unable to pick out more than a few words.
“…santhemum…warn…out…”
What are they trying to tell me?
“Chrys, hail Remus,” I try. I wait—but nothing.
My heart begins to race.
What if it’s Byer—what if he’s in trouble and he’s trying to get through to me?
I’ve been so worried about my own damn self, so wrapped up in my own problems that I didn’t even consider that he might need me instead of the other way around.
“Where are we at, Chrys?” I ask.
“Secondary engine functionality at 50%.”
“Good enough for me,” I say, pushing myself to my feet and heading back for Deck 1 at full tilt.
I step off the lift onto the landing and make for the bridge.
“Warning,” Chrys says over the speaker.
“Warning, what?” I pant as I sprint down the hall.
But Chrys doesn’t answer.
“Chrys!” I shout in desperation. “What’s going on?”
An eerie stillness settles over the ship. It’s quiet. Too quiet.
I stop where I stand and listen for the low, steady hum of the engine, the almost imperceptible sound of fine-tuned machinery and automated systems.
But it’s not there.
A strange feeling of hollowness, weightless comes over me.
And then, everything goes dark.