Random distortions flash all around me—violent and oppressive. The light is overwhelming, like the sun is right in my face. At every turn, that same blinding intensity. There was no respite from it.
Amidst the rampaging colours, a shimmer of green flickered just ahead—a semblance of a horizon concealed behind the rich, tangible fog. At first, a faded glimpse, becoming sharper with each step, eventually clearing up to reveal the fabled world beyond.
A bright, blue sky—with a brush of clouds. Warmth returns to my arms as I take in the sight of this new world. Mountains towered in all directions, eclipsing the natural horizon. The resulting vale is isolated from the rest of New Eden, as reported in the briefing.
The ice on my visor quickly melts and leaves behind a misty sheen. I wipe it clear and take a few steps forward, already overwhelmed by the first impressions New Eden had imposed in this instance. The vale is lush, verdant and packed, its green monotony only being interrupted in the immediate vicinity by the various facilities making up mankind’s first ever presence on another world.
It really is just like Earth. This truly is a once in a lifetime opportunity.
Turning around, the Rift’s dazzling display is just as intense as it was back on the other side. Distorted figures flickered behind the Rift like gentle flames, the dark patches framed against an otherwise oppressive myriad of colours.
The team finally breaks through the veil. They pause and look around, just as stunned as I was. Douglas shakes his head and mutters something under his breath as he looks back to the Rift.
“God damn,” James murmurs as he steps up to me, soon after pointing at the buildings just ahead. “They’ve got the full set. Look, even packing some air power.”
I follow his gaze, soon picking out four large open pads on the vale’s opposite end. The pads supported several helicopters—at least two distinct types. Elsewhere it is mostly a scene of organized chaos. The hum of electric generators is mixed in with the occasional trotting of footsteps, not unlike that of an actual self-sustaining military outpost.
On second thought, it likely is considering the number of soldiers and military hardware present right out of the blue.
“Heads up, it’s one of ours,” Douglas calls out. The operative gestures to an incoming team, clad in the same distinctive battle dress uniform as us.
Of the four operatives, one of them issues a wave. “You must be Desert Team,” the man surmises.
I nod and introduce myself, extending a hand. “We are. Second Lieutenant Simmons. We’ve been briefed and ready to leg it. We can move out to survey the research team’s last known area of operation if you guys are ready.”
“Lieutenant Riley Sullivan, Saber Team” the operative answers with a firm shake. “I understand you folks are new. Wildlife’s nothing like back on Earth, we’ve got a few close calls in the first weeks. Just something to keep in mind.”
“Head of security said we’ll be dealing with indig’ though,” James interjects.
“We might be,” the Lieutenant shrugs, “but it’s mostly the local fauna we need to worry about—at least until we get to Grid A15. That’s where they last checked in.”
He gestures towards the landing pads and continues. “High chance it’s a recovery op. They went too far out this time.”
“Drone recon showed large scale indigenous activity to the north. Two main factions, which Cygnus command suspects are at war with each other. And those bozos still thought it was a good idea to march into all that,” one of the operatives from Saber Team adds as we set off towards the landing pads.
The comment makes me scoff, but also makes me reconsider my stance on New Eden. It still is stunning, but potentially dangerous in ways I have not considered yet.
“So, they had it coming then,” I look out to the jagged peaks, feeling a primal surge of anticipation—of wanting to see what lies beyond this mountainous cradle.
“Pretty much,” the Lieutenant shrugs.
Shortly after the conversation breaks off onto a few random tangents as we approach the landing pads, Lieutenant Sullivan briefly stops to notify a pair of flight technicians of our imminent departure. They both acknowledge and escort us towards our assigned helicopter.
After crossing the airfield, the Lieutenant sets a hard pace and gestures at our designated pilot to take his station across the short bound.
“Spool up, we’re good to go,” he instructs, firmly directing the pilot towards the cockpit as I step inside rotor wing.
“First in,” I call out instinctively as the others quickly filter in. The ascending roar of the aircraft’s engines fills the cabin and I take this moment to consolidate my thoughts.
“Everyone’s accounted for, we’re set,” Lieutenant Sullivan yells through the harsh ambience and shuts the door.
Everyone else keeps to themselves. Much of the sporadic chatter disappears as we ascend, and the ground below vanishes. Much like any regular prelude to a mission, things are quiet—almost peaceful, like the calm before every storm.
“What’s the rules of engagement again?” Robert asks from across the cabin interior, removing his helmet.
“Concerning wildlife, for anything big enough to be a threat, standing policy’s shoot on sight. For indig’ we’ll just have to see how it plays out. Ideally, we try to avoid them, if possible,” Sullivan answers.
I briefly wonder what exactly would happen in the likely event we stumble across them. At worst, it would immediately devolve into outright hostilities similar to what happened with Expedition six. The odds of peaceful contact did not look good.
“You know, this whole thing’s still hasn’t sunk in yet,” I interject, addressing my disbelief at everything that has happened so far. “I’m curious to know what the indig’ look like.”
“There’s a few write ups you can wrestle out from the researchers. Technically restricted docs, but they don’t mind sharing,” Lieutenant Sullivan promptly answers.
I nod, filing that suggestion for a later date. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” I say.
The rush of anticipation slowly fades as time goes on. So far, nothing but calm silence. Every so often, streaks of clouds would glide by the porthole, partially obscuring my view of the newest frontier known to man.
There is so much to discover—an entire world and its mysteries for us to unravel. I had plenty of questions, not just about the Rift but also the mission. If the North really is an active warzone, then we shouldn’t be here.
Considering what likely happened to the researchers, is search and rescue really the right call?
=======
-1334 Military Hours
-Approaching Grid A15 airspace
Only a few minutes left before it really begins. Outside, the land comes into view—a lush, endless sea of greenery spread generously like the Amazon forests of old South America. Several trees towered over the canopy, easily dwarfing the rest with their reach extending well past what could be considered normal.
‘Eden Redwoods,’ I silently mouth. Although the name is inspired by their visually similar counterparts on Earth, these giants are clearly in a class of its own. It made me wonder how old those things are, and if the ones outside constitute the limits of how tall they could get.
While entertaining the speculation, the intercom issues a chime. “Attention, we’re on final approach. Clear landing up ahead, will proceed with touchdown,” the Pilot announces.
The momentum swings as the helicopter descends, soon sinking below the canopy where a large clearing is present. Turning back to face the interior, I opt for one final check on my equipment finding each part in serviceable condition.
I grab my rifle from the compartment above and fish out a fresh magazine from my frontal pouches, slotting it into the rifle’s well just as a sudden jerk resonates throughout the entire cabin.
“Finally,” James murmurs as he springs up, shifting over to the door. The Operative disengages the locking mechanism and slides it open as everyone stands up.
Douglas and Robert make the first move and step out onto the landing zone, separating after a short bound to assume a defensive position on the helicopter’s portside as the others quickly file out with some taking the initiative to cover the opposite end.
The constant downwash kicks up a considerable amount of detritus as I gaze beyond the clearing. Barely anything could be seen through the thin fog of dirt and flickering vegetation.
Then, a flash of movement erupts beyond the green veil. I snap towards the unknown figure, weapon up, quickly bouncing my observation to the rest through our shared channel.
“Movement, movement portside!” I announce as my heart begins to race at the prospect of first contact right out of the gate.
Standing up, I note the presence of a few operatives on either side, their rifles pointing in the same vicinity as we advance a few steps in unison, stopping just shy of the clearing’s edge.
“I don’t think it’s indig,” one of the Operatives from Sabre remarks. James chimes in with a similar sentiment as I breath out a sigh of relief.
The figure’s unassuming height and slender build quickly fades but not before I manage to catch a rough glimpse through the dense curtain of greenery. It was definitely not human, or humanoid, just some kind of quadruped—no taller than a metre, and certainly not big enough to pose a threat.
“Might be a kind of boar, or something. Heard a squeal as it ran off,” James adds with a laugh.
“False alarm then,” I call out, turning around and dropping back to my original position just as the others did the same.
I continue monitoring my area of responsibility as the Pilot announces his departure. The helicopter’s downwash quickly fades as it retreats back up the canopy. Its rotors whirred in the distance, but soon falls away. All that is left is the natural ambience, which did not consist of much.
Douglas soon breaks the newfound silence. “We all set?” he asks.
I look around assessing both teams' readiness but responding only with respect to my own. James nods while Douglas and Robert opt instead to spare me a quick glance. It is all I need to confirm what is already obvious.
“Desert Team’s ready,” I respond, awaiting my counterpart to do the same.
“Sabre’s good as well,” Lieutenant Sullivan answers, the brief pause followed by another tangent from the operative, “Keep an eye out just in case, don’t know what else is hiding in these woods.”
“Understood,” James promptly acknowledges.
Both teams continue to maintain the discussion over on our shared channel, once again briefly going through the general aspects of the mission. It did not take long for it to conclude and we soon are on our way trekking deeper into unexplored terrain.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Leaves rustled above the canopy—a soft rolling whisper. Chirps and howls occasionally add to the ambience, disturbing that eerie calm that seemed to be a constant within the forest. I look around every so often, slowly coming to terms with where I am.
We spend over two hours traveling towards the last known location of expedition six, stumbling across a few of New Eden’s exotic animal life as well as several prominent sites that held strong indications of indigenous activity.
Dated weapons—spears, scattered pieces of armour, and what seemed to be abandoned refuse dotted each site in startling abundance. There was no doubt now about what happened to the researchers.
At best, they were likely captured. If not that, they are all dead and have been for some time now.
======
-1603 Military Hours
-Grid A15
Slowly as we went, the overall density of trees increases. Still nothing so far as to the whereabouts of the researchers. Not a single blip or clue in the past three hours. The majority already had low expectations concerning the outcome, but being here, trudging through difficult terrain with nothing to show for our efforts further exacerbates that frustration.
Visibility gradually worsens, and our pacing slows to a crawl. Lieutenant Sullivan gestures for both teams to form a single file after one of his men trips on a pothole. The operative falls face-first into a set of shrubs but fortunately is protected from harm by the helmet shielding his head. Other than a lightly bruised ego, he was fine.
Douglas holds up a fist, stopping the eight-man procession as he pans ahead. “Another site up ahead,” he remarks.
I peer over his shoulder, being the second in line. “Any locals?”
He responds with a quick glance back. “Negative—empty.”
I nod and relay the message behind as Douglas sinks to a knee—rifle nestled in his right arm as he points ahead. “I think it’s recent,” he adds.
I turn around and signal the others to disperse. Lieutenant Sullivan takes his team and breaks off, covering our right as I waited. The gentle rustling of foliage betrays the movement of each operative, no matter how subtle.
The thick vegetation stung as I shift several metres over to the left, giving time for my team to form into a loose wedge with me acting as the lead element. All around, the unseen tension rises. This was roughly where the research team’s last known call took place. Still nothing but trees all around, and that suspicious clearing up ahead which may not even hold any clue as to their whereabouts.
It was disheartening to imagine the final hours leading up to their demise. Did any of them oppose such a risky venture, considered the possibility of hostile first contact? All too often, such teams would proceed without armed escorts owing to the current lack of manpower. Maybe now, standing regulations will be tightened and future deployments would be met with increased scrutiny.
Nothing in New Eden is worth dying for. That much should have been obvious the first time.
The next bound takes both teams past the clearing’s edge. We cross into the open expanse, and pace ahead in two distinct wedges, weapons up and on full alert as we each covered our respective sectors of approach.
“Tents up over here,” Douglas calls out, his weapon jutting towards the suspicious cluster as we disperse into a looser formation. Most had partially collapsed and were in a state of serious neglect. Only one stood out in reasonable shape—the largest, and most prominent.
The team slowly advances as one unified front, later identifying the point of entry based on the flaps present on its left side. After crossing the short distance, Robert takes the lead and moves up to the entrance, gesturing the team to prepare to execute the breach on his signal.
Registering his intent, I quickly form up behind and motion Douglas and James to take up rear security. Both operatives nod and shift their stance, ready to assume their roles on our teammate’s call.
“Breaching!”
With a sudden explosive burst, Robert swats aside the curtains and hurtles through the thin flaps. I follow closely behind, weapon up, swerving left to identify—and if necessary, engage any threats in the vital first seconds following ingress.
The darkness gives way to an eerie calm as I carefully skim through my area of responsibility. There was no one.
“Clear left,” I sound out, noting a strange acrid scent hanging in the air.
“Clear right,” Robert likewise answers.
I move to the table on one end, sweeping a hand across its surface to clear the thin sheen of dust. Papers lie underneath, most of them are burnt to a crisp. Then the revelation hits me. All that dust and the smell, it came from the papers.
Anything else that was remotely useful had been destroyed or taken away. Symbols of a peculiar variant adorn the tent’s interior walls—a stylized crown flanked on both sides by two swords, their blades cresting inwards to form a cross just above its rim.
“You think it’s some kind of coat of arms?” I turn around, combing across the interior for anything of particular interest.
Robert shrugs and picks up a surviving stack of papers from the ground. “Could be, might explain why it’s also on some of these docs. Here, look on the bottom,” he says, referencing the same symbol with a pointed finger.
I nod, noting his findings before skimming over the page. The script is foreign and structured in a way that hinted it was meant to be read from left to right, but in ascending order. Each letter flows right onto the next with few breaks in between. It reminds me of cursive, but that comparison is a stretch.
“Folks back home would be happy to look over these,” I say.
“For sure,” Robert agrees as he neatly folds the papers, stowing the assets inside one of his frontal pouches.
After several minutes of salvaging additional indigenous contrabands, we both agree to step back outside. Nothing much changed and the coast is clear on all directions.
“Anything?” Douglas asks.
“Grabbed a few samples of indigenous scripts,” I report, stopping to address a growing a concern upon noting the absence of our counterparts, “where’s Sabre at?”
“Trekking eastwards,” James thumbs behind, “said there’s a few tracks over there they want to look at.”
“Alright,” I nod and gather the team into a rough circle before continuing, “we’ve got enough in our rucks to sustain ourselves for five days at least. As it stands, we’re to continue the search for at least that amount of time. Honestly, I don’t think we’ll find anything even we spent the whole damn week out here.”
“So, we cull the Op?” James interjects, to which I shrug.
“Maybe, we’ll see how it goes. If by tomorrow we find nothing, I’ll hit it up with Sabre’s Lieutenant. Chances are, they feel the same as us.”
After concluding our discussion, we resume and comb over the rest of the encampment. Soon we pause over the northern clearing where several mounds of dirt rose a few inches from the ground, their positions formed into a grid-like pattern. Each of them was staked with a simple wooden cross, some with items partially embedded in the dirt.
“These are,” I pause, slowly getting a firm read on what these might possibly be. It would take only a few minutes of digging to confirm my suspicions. Could there be bodies buried underneath? If so, this could be my first opportunity to really see what the indigenous look like in person.
A pair of armoured figures stop on either side, snapping me out of that train of thought. With sunlight peeking through the canopy, the scene now came with a tinge of sadness as I count the number of crosses—fifteen. For a while, the team observes a respectful silence, as though standing guard for fallen comrades at arms after an operation gone awry. None dare to break the peace, until the loud crackle over on comms pulls us back to the present.
“Desert Team, this is Sabre, are you receiving, over?” The Lieutenant for Sabre team challenges over comms.
Robert pushes back, his gaze venturing eastwards to where the other team had went. “Reading you clearly Lieutenant, team’s present, send,” he says.
A tense moment ensues as we all look at each other. Douglas briefly steps up, his tone hushed. “First contact?”
I frown, sharing the operative’s concern. “Hope not.”
Just as the speculations get wild, Lieutenant Sullivan chimes back. “We… found evidence of team six—personal artifacts, clothing and all. But no bodies. We’ll need some extra eyes to sweep the area.”
“This is Simmons—we copy. Bouncing my team over now,”
“Follow the tracks heading east from the camp. We’re two hundred metres out,” the Lieutenant advises over local comms.
“Roger,” I reply, concluding the dialogue while the team prepares to move out.
“Set,” Douglas highlights, leading off at a steady pace.
I match his speed, veering off slightly to take up flank security for the team’s left as Robert does the same on the right. James then takes the rear, the team’s designated medic trailing steadily as we march into the dense thicket, visibility dropping sharply as we cross the threshold back into forested terrain.
Everyone adheres to an unspoken silence as we travelled. I keep up the vigil across the left, chasing shadows and specks of movement—anything to quell that pit of unease in my gut. It was a constant struggle to lock down that fear, of possibly meeting the same fate as the researchers we are tasked to find even though we had the means to defend, and if necessary, retaliate with lethal force.
Once the team passes a sharp curve, a dark figure emerges from the foliage its immediate features obscured by the dim light filtering through the canopy. Just as the surge of adrenaline rushes in, the Lieutenant’s voice booms over the channel.
“Check your aim,” Sabre’s team leader calls out, his voice echoing from both comms and helmet’s external speakers.
“We see you,” James answers, conducting a final sweep before lowering his weapon, “where’s the rest?”
Lieutenant Sullivan thumbs back. “Holding the fort, come on,” he intones, directing us into a file and leads off.
Along the way, he further explains in depth his team’s findings, giving us the clear cut on what they have found and its associated implications.
“Some of the larger pieces of clothing show signs of thermal damage—practically melted them into a dark slag,” he explains, stopping to gesture ahead where three of his operatives stood on guard.
The sun’s rays trickle in from above, barely of use in helping us identify what lay beneath the dense thicket. I turn on the helmet’s auxiliary lights to help assist in the search, later prompting the rest to follow suit.
Subtle hints of what had transpired littered the entire area. In a few places, the foliage has been stripped away, burnt to the ground with only barren shrubs remaining. After probing the area for over ten minutes, an unnatural gleam catches my interest—a grey object, partially jutting out the soil at an odd angle.
“Found something,” I call out, dropping to a knee to retrieve the strange oddity, gloved hand churning away at the dirt.
Grime stuck to every facet, but I make good progress in unearthing the unknown object. After a minute of digging, it is free—the thing is rigid, and metallic, with a distinctive shape. Excitement surges through me. I bring it up for closer inspection. This could be it—our first hint into the fate of those researchers.
Operatives from both teams gather around and form a loose circle around my latest finding. A few voice their speculations and reach similar conclusions based on their observations.
“Looks like a camera,” Douglas concludes likewise, prodding at the dark lens situated on one side, somewhat visible through the film of dirt.
“Decent shape—might still be working,” one of Sabre’s operatives chimes in.
I swipe a finger across one side to remove more dirt from the device. Its identity quickly becomes apparent after the quick brush. “Definitely a GoPro, or something like it,” I comment, managing to locate its power button.
With a gentle push, the screen—still heavily caked with dirt flashes to life. A list of videos and pictures springs up, displayed in chronological order. At the very top—dated to the 27th of March, is the final recording. Officially, the team was declared missing the next day. This video might be the next best thing to understand what happened.
With that in mind, I navigate to the latest video and start it. The screen flickers for a moment before morphing into the perspective of someone treading through the forest. The video slowly reveals the identity of all members of expedition six as the next several minutes unfold. They all looked as though they had seen better days.
They soon paused beneath a small breach in the canopy and begin listing their recent findings, later discussing the team’s next course of action in the temporary lull in movement. It soon devolves into a debate with some arguing in favour of continuing further north in-spite of the risks—including the person serving as our perspective.
The camera sinks to a map he held, his fellow colleagues meanwhile continuing to argue on whether to proceed with what was obviously a reckless decision.
“We’re already too far north, I don’t agree with this,” a researcher hissed in the background, “Drone recon’s already confirmed significant indigenous activity in our grid the other day.”
“Just one more bound, promise. Then we turn back,” the man answered, his gaze barely straying from the map, “we’ve already told the folks back home we’ll be out for two more days—might as well make use of it.”
“What a dumbass,” James scoffs as he shifts closer, his attention fully immersed on the recording.
After a brief pause, the camera abruptly jerks back up. The tension rises and those watching lean in as the scene unfolds with panicked voices and screams. Several researchers yelled as gleaming figures emerge from the thicket, each one fully dressed in metallic armour.
For a moment they stood still, their weapons pointed at the researchers—intricately carved rods that swelled lightly near the tips. A single bright crystal decorated the ends, no larger than a small fist. They pulsed with a suspicious blue glow. Rhythmic, like a heartbeat.
“It’s them, contact!” Someone called out.
One of the locals approach, taking a few steps forward before raising her voice, the sharp tone flushed with an air of authority. Whatever she meant to say was lost as l listened, the language just an incomprehensible mix of soft vowels and consonants.
Her question—assuming it is, was answered with silence. A heavy frown stains the woman’s face. She turns around, barking out another fierce command. The others behind her tense, and in a sudden surge, rush forward weapons raised and glowing—their figures a blur of armoured silvers and reds.
A few researchers had the sense to draw out their pistols. Gunfire chattered in the background as they tried in vain to defend themselves. The shoots numbered only a handful before they fell silent and a searing blaze came upon the camera with a final, agonizing scream. Nothing follows after that.
This all but confirms their fate. All six are presumed killed by the indigenous at first contact.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” Douglas scoffs.
“I’ll… radio Cygnus on our find,” Lieutenant Sullivan remarks, shaking his head.
After pocketing the camera inside an empty pouch on my chest, I gather my wits and turn around. By a stroke of luck, we have the evidence we needed to confirm what happened to the researchers. There is no more point in sticking around.
“We’ve got our ticket, recommend culling the Op,” I say.
“Agreed,” Sullivan promptly answers.
Everyone is on edge. Both teams form into a defensive circle. I take a knee and settle into the foliage, senses keenly sharpened by newfound adrenaline. The longer we stay in this grid, the more likely it is we encounter them—the soldiers draped in silver and red.
“Too far out, I’ll get a relay drone up to height. Wait one,” Robert says.
“Okay,” I reply.
While waiting for contact to be established, I wonder about the United Nation’s long-term goals here. New Eden will take years to understand, which meant this is going to be a long hustle. Contact with the indigenous at some point in the future is inevitable.
Based on today, I am not looking forward to that first formal encounter.
===end==
Curiosity killed the cat.