The hum of the drop pod’s engine filled the silence as we drifted, weightless, just above the thin atmosphere of Narix-6. The planet beneath us was constantly ravaged by storms, choppy gray waves and streaks of lightning breaking across the one great ocean. It is a lifeless planet, just an acidic sea on a barren rock. The only trace of humanity or life in general coming from wrecked space stations, a graveyard of tech and steel from an age not quite forgotten. And here we were, diving right in.

Across from me, Diego sat with his eyes closed, fingers intertwined around a small wooden cross. He was murmuring something low yet fast, and in Spanish, probably a prayer. I’d seen him take on rigs twice his size back when we still did mining, quite the big guy, but he was still the only one of us who carried a cross. He wasn't the most stereotypical Christian, but what’s that to stop him? His lips moved silently, and though I didn't understand a word, it was familiar enough to me that I didn’t mind pausing to let him pray. 

Tom, on the other hand, was fidgeting. His thin fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest, like he was trying to tap out some melody. His glasses were stowed away in his locker since he’d be switching to contacts as soon as we hit the surface, but I could still see him squinting into the interface on his terminal, double-checking our trajectory.

“You sure the landing's gonna be smooth, Tom?” I asked jokingly. “I’d hate for our last job to end as a splat on a rock.” I let out a chuckle, “You know these drop pods are used all across the known universe, and yet you still worry, that type of stress is not good for your health.” I said this as if the stress was really the most dangerous part.

He looked up, the corner of his mouth twitching into a nervous smile. “I know, but as we’re coming through a soup of acid and lightning. It's a bit hard to not worry ”

Diego’s eyes flickered open, his voice a low rumble. “I know it's not exactly a comforting thought, hermano, pero todavía te preocupas demasiado!”

Tom paused, then shrugged. Tapping the screen, he sarcastically remarked, “Not much to worry about if we’re dead, right?”

“Solid optimism, Tom,” I replied, equally sarcastic. He grinned, and I had to admit, that little half-smile of his brought a bit of ease, but then his expression changed… alongside Diego’s.

“Tom… I made you repeat this twenty eight times, and now for the twenty ninth” Diego seemed disappointed.

Before I could ask what they meant, Tom sighed and recited “Cuando dices algo en español, debo responder en español.”

Knowing Tom, I shouldn't be surprised that he was taking Spanish lessons from Diego. Tom already knew so much, why not a little more. I guessed that what Tom said had to do with responding to Diego's Spanish with Spanish, and decided to end this conversation.

“Well time to switch off casual friends mode and turn on coworkers mode, we're heading down,” I stated, tapping my console, feeling the gravity beginning to push down as we entered the atmosphere slowing the pod's descent. The pod would handle the worst of the fall, but as soon as we hit that rocky island, we’d be on our own. I looked over at my two friends. Diego was fearless as ever, holding on to his calm like it was his lifeline. And Tom, well, although he was a genius, he was still a bit anxious, even after the conversation. 

“Alright, listen up,” I said, my voice loud enough to cut through the hum of the pod and the crash of my own thoughts. “We hit the ground, we suit up, and get straight to the sub. The longer we stay topside, the better chance the storm has to tear us apart. We don’t need a repeat of the Phyrex job.”

Please, spare us,” Tom muttered. He rolled his eyes, but I knew he remembered that mess as well as I did. “Just… aim better this time.”

“Noted,” I replied, smirking. “Diego, got anything to add?”

He glanced out the window, where Narix-6’s stormy horizon had become a looming reality, then looked back at us. “Sí,” he said, his tone dead serious. “Don’t land on the wrong island.”

We all snorted as we crossed into the planet’s upper atmosphere. The pod started to rumble, heat shielding flashing red on our consoles, and I felt the drag of G forces, pressing down on me in an unwelcome wave. The noise grew louder, drowning out all other sound, as though fading into the vibrating roar. Then, with a jarring lurch, we broke through the clouds.

The rocky outcropping we aimed for appeared in the dim light, a shard of jagged stone piercing through the endless acid sea. The view was unsettling, even though we’d been briefed on what to expect, dark waves crashed against the cliffside, capable of dissolving flesh on contact, and the sky turned with thick, toxic clouds, casting dark orange shadows over everything.

The landing was hard, but the pod held, slamming into the rock like a punch to the gut. Even with the safety harness’ cushiony texture, it still cut a bit into my collarbone. It wasn’t just me, we were all jostled around, straps digging into our shoulders, and I heard Tom curse as his helmet fell from its place and rattled against the floor. The parachutes on these things were solid but always were only just enough to soften the landing to go from fatal to jarring, and nothing more, little things like that are how the big suits cut corners to make more money. For a few breaths, no one moved. Just silence, the distant rumble of waves, and the pounding of my pulse.

“Alright, team,” I said, unstrapping myself with a sigh of relief. “Let’s get suited.”

We each moved to our lockers, pulling out the thick, reinforced suits designed for environments like this. The fabric was dense and layered with composite materials, designed to resist the acid just long enough to get us from here to the sub, which should have better suits. I don’t understand why that was done, but it probably had to do with cost. I watched Tom fumble with his helmet, then slide it over his face with a little more caution than usual.

“Got it?” I asked, tugging my gloves on.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, voice slightly muffled. “Just hoping this suit’s as acid-proof as they say.”

Diego smirked, clapping him on the shoulder. “Only one way to find out, amigo.”

I slid my helmet on, feeling the familiar pressurization and hearing the slight hiss as the suit sealed. “Stay close, and keep chatter to a minimum,” I said through the comm. “The faster we get out of here, the better.”

The doors opened with a set of mechanical clanks, and the outside storm slammed against us like a wall. Acid rain splattered against our helmets, leaving streaks that hissed as they slid off, eating away at the dust and other materials that stuck to the suits when we were in the pod. We trudged across the rocky island, following the route Tom had plotted toward the sub’s beacon. The whole area was treacherous, but thankfully our path was short. Just a few hundred meters. It was enough.

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The hatch to the sub was already exposed when we reached it, the metal entrance barely protruding from the jagged rock. Tom went straight to the control pad, fingers flying over the buttons.

“Almost… there,” he muttered. “It’s secure.” The hatch hissed open, and we all slipped inside, relief flooding through me as we finally left the open storm behind.

Inside, the submarine was dimly lit, the stale air thick with a faint, metallic odor that went through the suits air filters. It was a military vessel, sleek, but it wasn’t just the bare essentials, even though we knew our current mission status wouldn't let us use them, the weapons were still there. The on board AI's voice greeted us, surprisingly calm in contrast to the harshness outside.

“Welcome aboard,” it said. “The system diagnostics are complete. I am awaiting your command.”

Diego let out a sigh. “Gracias a Dios. Safe at last.”

“Safe,” I echoed Diego.

Tom settled into the navigation seat, typing away at the console to bring up the latest coordinates. “Our mission intel’s still limited, but I’ve pinpointed the last known location of the missing crew. Roughly four kilometers down and ten clicks west. Remember we are looking for a spacecraft with tech that is no more than 1 year out of date.”

Diego raised an eyebrow. “And they couldn’t have given us a clue about who we’re looking for?”

“Just ‘two high-ranking personnel,’” I replied, scanning through the mission briefing again. “Their ship was designed to be able to handle combat, so unless something went majorly wrong, they should still have oxygen and generally be alive.”

Tom looked thoughtful. “Or they could be stranded, injured, or worse. And with all that junk at the ocean floor, wrecks, old parts of space stations, we could be looking for a needle in a scrapyard.”

The sub rumbled to life beneath us, and I felt the familiar hum of antimatter reactors kicking in, though only two of them, it was standard procedure to limit power on non military operations.

I turned to the main console, pressing the intercom to address the AI. “We’re restricted to two reactors, so what functions are we able to do with this limited power?”

“All necessary functions for this mission, you have the basics like life support and environment scans,” the AI replied smoothly. “Weapons systems are offline however, as additional reactor usage is unauthorized.”

Diego’s brow furrowed. “So if something goes wrong, we’re just… down here, with limited power.”

“I may authorize further power usage if needed.” The deep masculine voice of the AI chimed, paused, then continued, “Although on a mission like this I’m certain that won't be necessary.”

With the submarine’s systems ready and the route set, we began our descent. The AI adjusted our course, and soon, we were sinking steadily into the acid. Outside the windows, the ocean was a murky green-gray, thick with sediment and the corrosive metals of all the vessels at its bottom. This was a graveyard of technology, the planet was essentially a dumping ground for decommissioned spacecraft and space stations that once orbited distant planets, now reduced to twisted metal and decayed systems, left to rust on the ocean floor. 

As we dropped deeper, the light from above faded quickly, swallowed by the dark, corrosive waters. Diego leaned forward, peering through the thick glass, eyes narrowed as if he could make out more details in the gloom. But out here, visibility was next to nothing, and the only hints of anything man made were the occasional shadows of scrap debris, floating idly or slowly sinking to the depths.

“Look at all this,” Tom murmured, almost to himself, as the sonar picked up more echoes of twisted metal and fractured hulls. “Whole space stations, just left to rot down here. And they say Narix-6 is ‘off-limits’ for dumping.” His voice was bitter, and I couldn’t blame him. The corporation’s hypocrisy was clear as day.

“Off-limits is just a suggestion to them,” I replied dryly. “This place is a corporate landfill disguised as a ‘restricted environment.’ They don’t care about cleaning up. They just dump and forget.”

A few more minutes passed in silence, the hum of the engines steady and reassuring. Suddenly, Diego pointed toward something just visible through the murk, a glint of metal suspended mid-water, unnatural and out of place.

“Stop the sub,” he said, eyes fixed on the object. “What’s that?”

Tom adjusted the controls, slowing our descent until we were level with the thing. It was a battered message beacon, drifting on its side. Its once-sleek casing was mangled, with scratches, dents, and torn plating exposing the inner mechanics. We could see where thick, reinforced armor had been affixed, now barely hanging on, as though it had survived an intentional assault.

“That’s a scrappers’ beacon,” Diego observed, frowning. “But… why’s it all smashed up?”

I tapped a few buttons, pulling up the data scanner. “It’s been put here by scrappers, alright. These things are homemade, they’re used to transmit messages to any device within range. But this one’s too damaged to send anything out.”

Tom squinted at it, his curiosity clearly piqued. “Wonder what kind of message they wanted it to send. And who would beat it up like this?”

I shrugged, but my thoughts were racing. The beacon’s armor was heavy, much more than you’d see on a standard scrapper device. It had been fortified, built to survive the harsh environment and, apparently, even an attack. But someone had wanted it offline enough to batter it beyond repair, leaving it floating here like a discarded shell.

“Must’ve been transmitting something important, something that someone didn’t like,” Diego said, voice low as he examined the damage. “But the acid didn’t get it, did it? These marks, they’re all blunt force, maybe even some tool marks.”

“Maybe someone didn’t want anyone else getting the message,” I replied, a sense of unease prickling at the back of my mind. “The kind of stuff these scrappers find, you never know what’s in it, old corporate secrets, classified tech…”

“Or worse,” Tom added with a grimace. He snapped a picture with his helmet’s interface, and we drifted slowly past, the broken beacon fading into the darkness as we continued our descent.

The deeper we went, the more the wreckage thickened around us. Twisted metal beams, crumbling parts of hulls, and shredded pieces of machinery drifted past in a surreal, stunned silence. This graveyard of space-faring vessels had all ended up here, their stories lost to corrosion and decay. It was eerie, but it was also a reminder of just how many lives and fortunes had been left to rust down here, a large portion of these ships were living vessels, with owners that had moved on.

“Whatever we’re looking for,” I said after a while, “it’s down here somewhere. Somewhere in all this mess.”

The AI’s voice chimed in, calm as ever. “Estimated time to target: fifteen minutes. Descent rate will remain steady.”

Diego gave a short nod, crossing his arms. “Let’s just hope we find our people before they end up as part of this floating graveyard.”

As we continued the descent, I kept an eye on the scanner, watching as it pinged with the remains of more ships and stations. Each signal was a reminder of just how vast and abandoned this place was, and how little it took for something to disappear into these depths, leaving only rusted bones and broken circuits behind.

Then, as if the beacon’s presence wasn’t strange enough, the lights from the sub’s external cameras highlighted what looked like the remains of a command module from a cruiser. It was tilted on its side, the windows shattered, and the logo barely visible through layers of grime and acid stains suggested it had once belonged to a major corporation.

Diego’s voice broke the silence, softer than usual. “It’s a graveyard, all right. Everything from personal shuttles to big rigs down here. Stuff no one even remembers anymore.”

We each fell silent again, lost in our own thoughts as we sank deeper into the darkness.