“Lunar Command, this is Horizon One, on final approach vector to Earth–L2,” Captain Verona said, her voice steady but edged with anticipation. Outside the viewport, the vast silence of space stretched endlessly, the abandoned telescope little more than a glint against the cosmic backdrop. Everything was routine. Almost too routine.

“We’re on schedule to pick up that strange data from the old deep-space telescope. Once we have it, we’ll do the slingshot maneuver back to Earth. How copy?”

A static-laced reply crackled from the lunar outpost.

“Acknowledged, Horizon One. We read you five by five. Stand by for final coordinates.”

Through the cockpit’s wide viewports, Earth lay like a distant blue marble in one corner, the Moon a bright sphere on the other side. Beyond them, near the invisible boundary of the L2 point, flickered the pinprick of the abandoned telescope.

Pilot Liam checked the navigation readouts while Verona fine-tuned the thrusters. The hum of the engines wrapped them in a low, comforting drone. The cockpit door slid open, and an attendant stepped in, balancing two steaming mugs.

“Captain, Liam—coffee, as requested.” Her voice was cheerful, well-practiced. She placed the mugs on a small console table between the two pilots.

“Thanks, Steph.” Verona glanced over and took a grateful sip. “How are the passengers?”

“Most are excited. A couple seem nervous about L2, but nothing a good view of home didn’t fix.” Steph offered a reassuring smile, then slipped back through the door, letting it hiss shut behind her.

“Horizon One, this is Lunar Command,” came the Moon Base’s voice again through their helmets. “We’ve confirmed your approach vector. We’re uploading the updated tracking data from the satellite. Stand by.”

The cockpit air felt surprisingly calm this far from home. Liam set his coffee aside to begin pulling the data feed.

“Captain, I’m seeing a handshake request from the satellite. Looks standard.”

A brief silence hung in the cockpit. Then the overhead lights flickered. A faint beep sounded—a minor system alert. Then another, louder and more insistent. The hum of the ship’s engines wavered.

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“Proximity alarm,” Liam said sharply. He tapped the console, frowning at the readouts.

“Something just popped up on our short-range sensors. Debris, maybe?” Another blare cut through the cockpit. This time, the entire cabin vibrated.

“What in the—?!” Verona shouted, twisting to look out the viewport. Her eyes widened. Outside, a faint shape shimmered, moving impossibly fast.

“Lunar Command, we’re picking up—” The rest of her words dissolved into static as Horizon One lurched violently.

“Horizon One, repeat!” The voice from Lunar Command crackled through the headset.

“Captain Verona, Liam—please repeat!” A sharp shriek of stressed metal tore through the audio feed. The cockpit rang with alarms, both pilots shouting over each other in confusion.

Then came a burst of static and a brief hiss of dead air. “Horizon One? Come in, Horizon One!”

The comms officer leaned forward, scanning readouts that showed the ship’s transponder blinking erratically—then winking out.

“Horizon One, respond.” Silence stretched in the control center as the ship’s beacon died.

Operators frantically rechecked equipment, trying in vain to re-establish contact. “Keep trying,” the flight director ordered, voice tight with worry.

“Don’t stop until we get them back.” But only empty static echoed through the lunar command center.

...

A shattered piece of hull, it's markings barely visible beneath layers of scorched metal, spun listlessly through the void. Shattered wires sparked briefly before fading, lifeless.

The wreckage tumbled through space, flung from the heart of the Sol system. Sparks and fluid spewed from broken cables and hoses as it scattered loose debris in its wake.

Entering the asteroid belt, it collided with passing chunks of ice and rock—some stuck to its torn metal, others bounced or shattered and drifted away.

Gradually, the battered remnants lost momentum. As time passed, more and more layer of dust and ice accumulated over the twisted metal, transforming the mangled artifact into a steadily growing mass.

It slid through the fringes of the system, eventually slipping into the Kuiper Belt to join countless meteors, asteroids, and scattered refuse orbiting the Sun.

Time became meaningless as the object drifted onward, the star shrinking to a distant pinprick of light behind it. Upon reaching the inner edge of the Oort Cloud, the now ice-sheathed mass slowed to an almost imperceptible crawl—an inert tomb enveloped by the darkness between worlds.

Then, a surge of solar wind rippled outward, nudging the larger bodies within the cloud and sending them drifting farther. That cosmic breeze propelled the frozen wreckage outward, its layers of ice and rock compressing tightly around the ruined machinery hidden within as it was ejected into interstellar space.