Ethan emerged from the sleek black pod, his body stiff from the hours he had spent hunched over the simulator. The sharp fluorescent lights of the Mission Hall made him squint as he adjusted to the brightness. Rolling his shoulders, he tried to ease the ache that had settled in his muscles from the relentless focus of the past month. His fingers twitched with nervous energy as he ran them through his dark, slightly unkempt hair.
The Mission Hall buzzed with activity, its grandeur undeniable. The space stretched endlessly, its vaulted ceiling supported by towering columns embedded with shimmering, circuit-like patterns. Overhead, holographic banners floated in an organized chaos, cycling through announcements, accolades, and schematics. Ethan's eyes lingered on one display showcasing a sleek battleship prototype, its glowing thrusters radiating power.
The air was thick with the tang of heated metal and the faint acrid bite of soldering fumes. There was a mechanical rhythm to the sounds around him: the steady hum of machinery, the occasional sharp hiss of pneumatics, and the overlapping murmur of voices speaking in countless tongues.
Ethan moved cautiously through the throng of creators. A humanoid with translucent, jelly-like skin gestured animatedly at a floating projection of an energy core. Nearby, a reptilian figure with scales that shimmered like liquid metal carefully adjusted the wings of a miniature drone, its claws surprisingly delicate. The diversity was overwhelming. Here, creativity wasn't just a trait—it was a way of life, transcending species and cultures.
Ethan couldn't help but feel like a small cog in a vast machine.
The central submission terminal stood at the heart of the hall, its minimalist design contrasting sharply with the chaotic energy surrounding it. Soft blue lights emanated from its base, casting a faint glow on the polished floor.
He approached cautiously, his pulse quickening as the terminal's AI attendant activated.
"Welcome," it said, its voice smooth and neutral, devoid of any personality. "Submit your project for evaluation."
Ethan hesitated. His hand hovered over the device in his pocket, and for a moment, the weight of uncertainty pressed down on him. What if I missed something? The question was a persistent, nagging thought.
He had reviewed his design a dozen times, combing through every detail of the Aetherwing-Class Shuttle—and yet, the fear of an overlooked flaw lingered. Shaking his head, he inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. There was no turning back.
With deliberate movements, he slid the device into the terminal. The holographic display flared to life, projecting his creation into the air.
The Aetherwing-Class Shuttle wasn't flashy. It wasn't designed to turn heads or inspire awe. It was, instead, a compact workhorse, its dimensions—35 meters long, 12 meters wide, and 8 meters tall—optimized for agility and functionality.
Ethan had poured his soul into refining its features. The propulsion system had been reworked to improve responsiveness in zero-gravity environments, while the aerodynamics were tweaked to ensure stability in atmospheric conditions. An adaptive refractive coating provided moderate stealth, ideal for reconnaissance missions in high-radiation regions.
But the crown jewel of his design was the heat recovery system. He'd engineered a way to recycle waste heat into auxiliary power, pushing the shuttle's energy efficiency up by 10%. It wasn't groundbreaking by any means, but it was clever—and, he hoped, reliable.
"Submission received," the AI said. "Simulation testing underway. Estimated time: ten minutes."
Ten minutes. A short span of time on paper, but as Ethan stepped back from the terminal, the seconds stretched into an eternity.
Ethan couldn't sit still. The Mission Hall offered plenty of seating areas—curved benches with ergonomic designs, glowing tables where creators debated their work—but his nerves wouldn't let him rest. He paced instead, weaving through the crowd.
His eyes darted to a crystalline being whose body refracted light like a prism. They were bent over a shimmering hologram, adjusting minuscule components of what appeared to be a power grid. Nearby, a humanoid with cybernetic limbs argued with a group of insectoids, their discussion punctuated by the occasional clink of metal tools.
Everywhere Ethan looked, he saw creators consumed by their work. The sheer scale of the talent on display was daunting.
The details of the Aetherwing-Class Shuttle swirled in his mind. The design had consumed him for weeks, every adjustment and recalibration a test of his patience and ingenuity. The memory of late nights tinkering with the heat recovery system surfaced, his room dimly lit by the glow of schematics. He had agonized over that feature, trying to find the perfect balance between efficiency and durability.
As the progress bar crept upward on the terminal display, Ethan felt his chest tighten. At 87%, the bar froze.
The hologram flickered, and a cold, monotone voice broke the tension. "Evaluation paused. Propulsion simulation issue detected. Secondary diagnostics initiated. Estimated resolution: five minutes."
Ethan's heart sank.
"What kind of issue?" he asked, stepping closer to the terminal, his voice sharp with worry.
"Secondary diagnostics in progress," the AI replied, offering no further explanation.
Frustration bubbled up in Ethan's chest. His mind raced, running through every possible scenario. Had he over-tuned the thrusters? Was the heat recovery system interfering with propulsion output? He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
A sharp laugh broke through his thoughts. Turning, Ethan saw a tall woman with sleek green hair leaning casually against a railing. Her amused smirk was unmistakable.
"First submission?" she asked, her voice lilting with mild condescension.
"Yeah," Ethan replied, his tone clipped.
"Relax," she said with a shrug. "Simulations glitch all the time. If it bombs, you'll get another shot."
Her words weren't comforting. They were a reminder of what failure would mean—not just a loss of credits, but a blow to his confidence.
Failure isn't an option, Ethan thought, setting his jaw.
The progress bar resumed its crawl. When it finally reached 100%, Ethan held his breath.
"Evaluation complete," the AI announced.
Ethan's heart pounded as the holographic display shifted to reveal the results.
"Performance: Within mission parameters. Efficiency: 92.3%. Secondary diagnostics indicate no critical issues. Minor propulsion calibration recommended for optimal performance."
The tension in his body melted away, replaced by a surge of relief. He had done it.
"Mission success. Credits earned: 7,000 GSG. Funds transferred to your account."
Ethan stared at the results, his chest swelling with pride. His work had passed its first real test in the Galactic Domain.
As he left the Mission Hall, the weight of the past month began to lift. The challenges ahead still loomed large, but this victory—small as it was—proved he had the potential to thrive.
Back in his quarters, Ethan sank onto his bed, exhaustion washing over him. The hum of the station outside his window was a comforting reminder of the endless possibilities waiting for him.
He allowed himself a small smile as sleep overtook him. The stars—and his dreams—felt closer than ever.