The ship, suspended in the darkness of space, was a spectacle of subtle lights and metallic reflections. The internal walls, covered with brushed aluminum panels, emitted a bluish glow. Each console, adorned with multiple buttons and touch screens, was the stage of incessant, yet silent, activity. In the center of the main room, a large holographic table projected rotating star maps, unnoticed by anyone.
In the narrow corridors, a diffuse hum seemed to emanate from the machines and circuits lining the ship, a constant and muted technological symphony. The intermittent lights on the ceiling cast fleeting shadows on the smooth surfaces, creating an almost spectral effect. Occasionally, an access panel would open automatically with a hiss of compressed air, revealing the complex innards of cables and luminescent conduits.
A glassy eye opened, slowly adjusting to the dim light of the cabin. A leg twitched slightly, a sign of the reactivation of neuromuscular systems after a long cryogenic sleep. Vocal cords creaked, emitting a rough and discordant sound during the first attempts to speak. The awakening process, though controlled, remained a trial for the human body.
Gradually, the figure on the reanimation table began to move more confidently. Clenched hands relaxed, instinctively exploring the nearby environment. The room, saturated with a mix of antiseptic and warm metal odors, resonated with small mechanical clicks and intermittent beeps.
The figure tried to sit up, struggling against the weakness still chaining his body. Around him, robotic arms should have deployed to assist, but strangely, none reacted. All systems seemed to be failing, and the surrounding screens, which should have displayed diagnostics and instructions, began to flicker erratically. An abnormal silence enveloped the cabin, only disturbed by the intermittent buzz of alarms.
— I am alone, what happened to my team? the man let out.
The man, gradually regaining his strength despite the surrounding confusion, began to assess the situation with increasing clarity of mind. His gaze fell on the flickering screens, hoping to find some clue about the fate of his comrades, but they offered few answers, oscillating between fragmented images and cryptic error codes.
He slowly slid off the medical bed, his limbs still numb from prolonged inactivity. Each movement was a challenge, but the need to understand what had happened aboard the ship pushed him to surpass his physical limits. Leaning on the surrounding structures to maintain his balance in zero gravity, the man laboriously made his way to the command room nearby. Around him, personal items and technical equipment floated in a silent ballet, evidence of the shutdown of the artificial gravity system.
It took him a few minutes to reach the command room, each movement an effort in the weightless environment. When he finally arrived at the holographic table, he gripped its edge firmly to stabilize himself.
As he scrutinized the projected data, searching for clues about the ship's status, a beeping sound was heard. An emergency message appeared, confirming the collision with a field of space debris and indicating critical damage to several key sections of the ship.
Without clear memories of what had preceded his hibernation, he found himself disoriented, trying to piece together the events that had led to this critical situation. The oppressive silence and empty corridors testified to the absence of other people, adding to the urgency of understanding and responding to the current distress of the ship.
---
— They have all been destroyed... all of them! Jeks stammered, his eyes fixed on the radar screen where small, glowing dots, representing the debris of ships, were slowly fading out, one by one.
All around him, the cockpit vibrated slightly from the engines, but these usual tremors couldn't mask the heavy silence that had settled in. Jeks wiped a cold sweat from his forehead, a trembling hand passing over the now useless controls.
He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. The mission had been a total failure. What exactly had happened? The last few minutes had been total chaos, with red alerts flashing as the ships were pulverized one after another.
He realized the danger too late. It was only when he tried to reach the cryogenic capsules that the debris struck his ship, which had been relatively spared until then.
---
He had finally managed to successfully initiate some emergency procedures. The external robotic arms were still functional and were working to seal the outer breaches with emergency membranes. Other robots were repairing the artificial gravity system.
The air renewal system still needed repair, so he had to wear a mask for now. Fortunately, the ship was still powered; the backup circuits had taken over while he was in cryogenic sleep, giving the robots time to repair the main system.
However, he had abandoned hope of navigating for the moment; the data from the holographic table seemed scrambled, and he had been struck by severe dizziness, forcing him to lie back down.
---
A month had passed. The ship had drifted silently, long since leaving the debris field. Out of danger, it now floated peacefully in the darkness of space, like a sleeping giant, meticulously self-repairing as if in hibernation.
The hull no longer had holes, sealed by extremely strong, though temporary, synthetic membranes. The artificial gravity system had been operational for ten days, and the air was now fresh. The ship was self-sufficient without any issues.
He finally woke up. He examined his limbs: the robots had tended to his wounds, stitched some, shaved, washed, and kept him breathing.
The lights gradually came back on in the room. He was now in full health, completely healed.
— What happened...? he muttered, heading towards the holographic table.
He saw that the entire ship was indeed repaired. The enormous breaches had been sealed, and even though the membranes were temporary, they allowed the ship to travel considerable distances for months and withstand relatively powerful impacts. All indicators were green.
— Mr. Jaxon Rhylis, glad to see you're well! said a metallic voice.
— Hello, Nate, give me a report on the situation, please.
A hum was heard for a few seconds, then the holographic table lit up slightly, revealing a detailed projection of the ship and its immediate surroundings. Animated diagrams showed the recently repaired critical sections, from internal corridors to the outer hull. The ship's AI, Nate, began its report in a neutral, almost reassuring tone.
— Mr. Rhylis, the ship's structure has been stabilized. The damage sustained during the collision with the debris field has been effectively sealed. The artificial gravity and atmosphere systems are once again fully operational.
Nate's voice resonated in the cabin, a metallic echo softened by the room's acoustics.
— The debris field caused the loss of 85% of our auxiliary modules, but the main systems are intact. I am currently maintaining a controlled drift to move away from the Moon to avoid further collisions.
Jaxon slowly nodded, absorbing every detail of the report. The holographic projection showed the path the ship had taken since the incident, tracing an elegant but sinuous drift trajectory in deep space.
— Nate, describe what happened with the squadron, he ordered firmly.
Nate's voice echoed in the cabin, a narrative metallic tone that gave an almost solemn air to its report.
— We were on a surveillance mission near the Moon, protecting the colonies' mining operations. Our squadron was taken by surprise. The enemy ships, using advanced cloaking technology, appeared without any warning. They opened fire almost immediately after their appearance. They were equipped with disruptive weapons that neutralized our defense systems. The speed and efficiency of their assault were... devastating.
Jaxon clenched his fists, his face marked by the gravity of the situation.
— What was the outcome of this assault?
— The squadron was quickly overwhelmed. Allied ships were hit one by one, their failing systems rendering them incapable of retaliating or maneuvering. Many were destroyed on the spot; others succumbed to the sustained damage and disintegrated, becoming part of the debris field we later encountered.
— And how did our ship survive the attack?
— Thanks to our experimental shield systems, we withstood the initial assault. However, the emergency jump I initiated to escape caused significant damage to our infrastructure, leading to a momentary loss of control and our accidental entry into the debris field.
Jaxon nodded, absorbing every detail. The situation was worse than he had imagined. They had survived by chance, but at a high cost.
— Thank you, Nate. Keep this information on record and continue to monitor for any suspicious activity. We must be ready for any eventuality.
— Of course, Mr. Rhylis. I remain on alert.
The captain slowly turned around, observing the vast expanse of stars through the porthole. The silence of space was deceiving, masking hidden dangers and invisible threats that loomed at every moment.
He knew absolutely nothing about these mysterious attackers, as no analysis system had managed to gather any information about them. In 2056, Earth and the Moon, both part of the United Human Nations, had no known enemy factions, and war was not a common occurrence. The mining installations had probably been completely devastated by these unknown ships, leaving little hope of finding survivors. He himself seemed to be the only survivor of the attack. The destruction was total, and there were absolutely no witnesses to corroborate his story.