The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the hills as the wind swept across the grassy fields, rustling the leaves of nearby trees. Scott stood by the large bay window in the living room, staring out at the horizon. His hands were clasped behind his back, a posture of quiet determination that belied the storm brewing inside him.
For years, he had watched the world change from this very spot. He had seen generations grow complacent, content to forget the sacrifices that had bought them this peace. The weight of history pressed against his chest like an unshakable force, one that his own son refused to acknowledge.
His fingers curled briefly before he turned away from the window, his decision solidifying in his mind. He walked toward the hallway closet and pulled out a travel bag, packing it with careful, deliberate movements. If Don would not take responsibility, then Scott would.
"Dad, what are you doing?"
Scott didn't turn at first, continuing to pack. "I'm going to bring Marshal to the site."
Don's voice was sharp, immediate. "Why, Dad? He's still too young."
Scott zipped the bag shut. "No. He is a year older than you were when I took you. You should have brought him last year. Now, I will bring him."
"Yeah, and it scarred me for life," Don shot back. "I will not have you do that to my son."
Scott straightened, locking eyes with his son. His gaze was sharp, unwavering. "I will take him, and you will honor my decision. You should have taken responsibility last year."
Don's jaw tightened. "No, Dad. I had nightmares for years after you brought me there. I don't need my son going through the same thing."
Scott sighed, shaking his head. "It is better to have those nightmares, knowing that something like that could happen. You are prepared for it—we were not. You cannot let later generations forget. If they fall back into complacency, all those good men and women will have died for nothing."
Don exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "What good is knowing that now? We lost contact with all those worlds. None of them have reached out to us since. They abandoned us when it was over."
"I understand your frustration," Scott said, his voice calmer but firm. "But we are not as alone as you think, as we are told we are."
Don scoffed. "Dad, no matter how much you think you know, you don't know what's happening today. You want to believe they're still out there. That they're keeping in contact somehow. But they're not. They left. They're gone. Never to return."
Scott's expression hardened. "Still, no one can ever forget what we went through for our freedom. It can happen again."
"No, Dad," Don said, his voice quieter but no less resolute.
Scott stood, staring up at his son. He was shorter than Don by at least three inches, but his presence still carried weight. "First, you respect your elders. Second, I was born on Earth. You were not."
"That's what it always comes down to with you," Don snapped. "You dominate every conversation when you can't have your way. Why? I am your son. And I will not let my son go to that site."
Scott hesitated. The battle-hardened set of his shoulders slackened—just slightly. He exhaled, his fingers tapping against his thigh as if wrestling with the decision. His voice lowered, losing its edge. "I am sorry. Battle tactics get ingrained in you after so many years." He took a slow breath. "You are right. If you don't respect me, our history, and what we fought for, then I will not take my grandson. But I think it would be best if you found a place of your own. We do not think alike. Nor do you respect what I did for this country, for this planet."
Don hesitated, the weight of that statement settling in the air between them. "Fine, Dad. Take him. But when he wakes up in the middle of the night, you can be the one to console him."
Scott nodded once, his voice carrying finality. "No. I do not intend to force you to accept this. If you do not want him to know the truth, then it is better that I step away from his life."
Don's eyes darkened. "That's not it. You're manipulating us with your threats."
"This is not manipulation," Scott countered. "This is my acknowledgment that we have different values. If this were not my home, I would leave. But do you expect me to give it up and live under your values? I will not. Either you accept that I have my own values and respect them, or you move out and uphold your values in your own place."
He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering with something almost imperceptible—reflection, maybe even regret. When he spoke again, his voice carried a quieter weight. "You can have as much time as you need to move out."
Footsteps could be heard coming from upstairs, growing louder as they descended the steps and entered the living room. Marshal, bright-eyed and full of anticipation, grinned up at his grandfather.
"Grandpa. Grandpa Scott, I'm ready!"
Scott felt his chest tighten. He glanced briefly at Don before turning back to his grandson, his expression softening. He crouched down so he was eye level with Marshal.
"Marshal," he said gently, "I'm sorry, but we can't go today."
The boy's face fell. "What? But… but you said we were going!"
Scott sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know, son. But your father and I talked, and we decided it might not be the right time."
Marshal turned to his father, his voice urgent. "Dad, please! I really want to go. Grandpa said it's important. I want to see everything he told me about!"
Don hesitated. He hadn't expected his son to be this excited. The eagerness in his voice, the sheer enthusiasm in his eyes—it reminded him of himself at that age. The moment stretched between them, and Don exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"You really want to go that bad?" he asked.
"Yes!" Marshal nodded vigorously.
Don sighed again, then glanced at Scott. His father remained silent, watching him, waiting for his decision. Don knew that look—it was the same expression Scott had worn years ago when he was faced with hard choices.
Finally, Don relented. "...Alright. You can go."
Marshal's face lit up. "Really? Thanks, Dad!"
Scott stood up, a small smile breaking his normally stern demeanor. "Then we'd better get going."
Marshal grinned. "Grandpa, can we stop for ice cream too?"
Scott chuckled. "Yes, we can do that on the way home." He nodded toward the kitchen. "I prepared some sandwiches—they're in the refrigerator. Grab them and put them in your bag, and we'll head out."
Don folded his arms, raising an eyebrow. "So, you bribed my son with ice cream?"
Scott smirked. "Don, he extorted ice cream from me. After we made plans to go, he demanded that I buy him ice cream before we came home. I gave in."
Don shook his head, exasperated but unable to hide a small smile.
For a moment, a memory surfaced—one he hadn't thought about in years.
He had been about Marshal's age, maybe a little younger. It was late, long past bedtime, and yet he had found himself sitting in the passenger seat of his father's old transport, a half-melted scoop of ice cream in his hand. His father sat across from him at the tiny table in the shop's outdoor seating area, watching the traffic hum past.
"You know, you don't always win because you argue better." Scott had said it so casually back then, taking a slow bite of his own dessert.
"Then why did we stop?" Don had asked, licking at the edges before it dripped onto his fingers.
"Because sometimes, it's just nice to enjoy a moment."
Don looked over at Marshal now, grinning at his victory. He realized, with a quiet sigh, that maybe his father had been doing the same thing all those years ago.
"I'm ready, Grandpa!" Marshal called, backpack slung over his shoulders.
Scott turned to Don. "You're welcome to join us. I think it's important that you're as familiar with our history as he is."
Don's expression hardened again, shoving the memory aside. "No. I have no wish to follow a dead path."
Scott gave a single nod, accepting his son's choice. "Alright then. Off we go."
It took twenty minutes to get to the memorial. The tram glided along its elevated track, offering a panoramic view of the surrounding landscape. As it approached the final stop, the memorial grounds came into sight—a vast complex of elegant stone and steel structures, gleaming under the late afternoon sun.
The tram pulled into the station, a beautifully designed terminal with sweeping glass panels and intricate metalwork. The walls were adorned with massive digital murals, each one displaying breathtaking imagery from the war's history. Some depicted towering alien cities, others the battle-worn faces of soldiers, human and non-human alike, standing together in unity. A particularly striking image showed a fleet of ships breaking through the clouds of a burning planet, the caption below it reading: The Day They Stood Together.
Marshal's eyes widened as he took in the sights. "Wow! Grandpa, look at that one!" He pointed excitedly at an interactive hologram showcasing a rotating model of a sleek white starship. As it spun, key details lit up, identifying various components—Bridge, Cryo Bay, Main Reactor.
"Is that a real ship?" he asked.
Scott nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yes. And it's the reason we're here today."
Marshal practically bounced on his heels. "I want to see it up close!"
Scott chuckled. "We will. Let's go."
They stepped off the tram onto the platform, where visitors milled about, some stopping to admire the exhibits before making their way inside. The station itself was built to set the tone for what lay beyond—towering banners hung from the high ceilings, each one bearing the insignia of the various factions and species that had once fought together. Below them, kiosks provided historical snippets, allowing guests to scan details about the war and its key figures.
To their right, a massive souvenir shop occupied the central island between the incoming and outgoing tram lines. Display windows showcased miniature ship models, books detailing the war's history, and even replica uniforms from the era.
Marshal tugged at Scott's sleeve. "Can we go in there later?"
Scott smirked. "We'll see. First, we have somewhere to be."
Just beyond the souvenir shop, the main path led to a grand entrance flanked by polished stone pillars engraved with names. Wide escalators descended toward the heart of the memorial, where the true exhibits awaited. The air was thick with the quiet murmur of visitors, their voices hushed by the solemn atmosphere.
At the bottom of the escalators, a monorail system stretched across the grounds, offering transport to various sections of the memorial. Scott presented his ID at the security checkpoint. The guard, upon scanning it, straightened immediately and nodded in recognition.
"Commander Scott, welcome back," the officer said, stepping aside. "Please, proceed."
Marshal blinked. "Grandpa, why didn't we pay to get in?"
Scott pocketed his ID. "I have a lifetime pass and can bring in any guest that is with me free of charge," he said.
Marshal's eyes widened. "Even if you had fifty guests?"
"Yes," Scott said with a smirk. "A hundred even."
"Wow! When I get older, I want to buy a pass like that."
Scott chuckled. "They don't give that kind of pass out to just anyone today. It's a special pass."
"That's not right," Marshal muttered.
Scott placed a hand on his grandson's shoulder, guiding him forward. "Come along. Let's go to the ship."
As they moved toward the monorail, a security officer followed a few steps behind them. It was standard protocol—an officer was always assigned to one of the executive guests, both as an escort and a silent guardian.
Scott barely acknowledged the presence of the guard. His focus remained on the path ahead, on the place they were about to visit. Marshal, on the other hand, kept glancing around, eyes flitting between the exhibits, absorbing every detail like a sponge.
They boarded the monorail, which hummed to life as it glided smoothly along its track. As it gained elevation, the memorial grounds spread out beneath them, an intricate web of grand monuments, endless rows of engraved names, and vast courtyards dedicated to the fallen. The view was breathtaking, the setting sun casting a golden hue over the polished metal structures below.
"Whoa," Marshal whispered, pressing his hands against the glass. "I didn't know it was this big."
Scott followed his gaze. "A lot of people fought for us, Marshal. A lot of people died for this place to exist."
Marshal didn't respond. He just stared, his excitement tempered by the sheer scale of the memorial.
As the monorail curved along its track, the ship came into view. The massive white hull gleamed under the fading sunlight, standing in stark contrast to the darker steel of the surrounding buildings. Sleek, pristine, and elegant, it looked untouched by war—yet it had once carried soldiers and survivors through battles they had barely escaped. The memorial housed several ships, each from different fleets and races, each one starkly different from the next. Some were sleek and elegant, built for long-range exploration, while others were heavy and armored, their designs marked by the scars of war. The ship stood apart from them all, her white hull
Marshal inhaled sharply. "Is that it?"
Scott nodded. "That's Emma."
Marshal leaned forward, watching the ship grow larger as they approached. "She looks... different than I thought."
"How so?" Scott asked.
Marshal's gaze flicked from Emma to the other ships. "I dunno," he shrugged. "Every ship looks so different. I guess I thought they'd all be... more alike?"
Scott chuckled. "Ships are as unique as the people who build them. But, she carried us through more than you can imagine."
Marshal didn't respond immediately. He just stared, his eyes widening in quiet awe as the sheer scale of the memorial settled in. Then, as if the moment of reverence had passed, his excitement returned. "I can't wait to see it up close!"
The monorail slowed, arriving at a platform that opened directly into a crew exhibit. The moment they stepped off, Marshal's attention was drawn to a particular display.
The Crew Exhibit
Scott led his grandchild through the crowds, passing several exhibits showcasing models of alien worlds, sprawling cityscapes, and spacecraft. Some displays featured mannequins posed in tactical operations, others showed alien creatures preserved in remarkable detail. There were even reconstructions of battle formations, depicting key moments from the war.
But one exhibit stood apart.
They stopped near the starboard side of the ship, where a large diorama depicted a moment frozen in time—seven figures standing together, looking out over a ruined world. The backdrop was a devastated Earth, its once-thriving cities reduced to ashes.
Marshal's eyes flicked to the placard at the base of the scene:
"Captain Marshal Surveys Earth With His Command Crew."
Marshal tilted his head, taking in the figures.
"Heh, Grandpa… that looks—"
Scott pressed a finger to his lips. "Shhh." His voice was quiet but firm. "For now, all you need to know is this—this is Captain Marshal, the man you were named after. Beside him is Amelia, Sasha, Ronk, Plannor, and, of course, Tiny."
Marshal scanned the nameplates below each figure. The names were right there, but something wasn't clicking.
"Sasha…" he murmured, his gaze locking onto the tall, blue-and-yellow alien. His stomach tightened with a strange sensation—one he couldn't place.
"Grandpa…" Marshal hesitated, his voice suddenly quieter.
Scott let out a chuckle. "I guess I should have shown you some pictures before we came." He pointed to each figure in turn. "Amelia is the human woman standing next to Captain Marshal. Sasha—"
Marshal's breath hitched. His heart pounded in his chest.
"Sasha was that other human's wife…" Scott continued.
Marshal froze. The words slammed into him like a shockwave.
"You mean that 'is' Grand—?!"
"Shhh!" Scott snapped, giving him a sharp look. "If you can't control yourself, we'll have to leave."
Marshal clamped his mouth shut, but his mind was racing. Marshal turned back to the display, his eyes scanning over Sasha's form. She looked different from the pictures he had seen at home, very different, in fact, that he hadn't been sure he had recognized her.
His grandmother?
His gaze flicked back up to Sasha.
She didn't look like the way he remembered his grandmother. She was tall, sleek, battle-ready. Her smooth iridescent skin shimmered under the display lighting, and her dark, piercing eyes held an intensity he hadn't noticed before. Her armor masked her figure, making her seem even more imposing.
Marshal swallowed hard.
Scott's voice softened. "She looks different here, doesn't she?"
Marshal gave a small nod.
"These exhibits don't give you the full experience of being in their presence," Scott continued. "Some species… they had ways of communicating beyond words. Sasha's race could do that. At first, we thought it was pheromones, but research proved that wrong. The common joke was that her people gave off 'emotional vibes.'"
Marshal blinked. "Like an empath?"
Scott nodded slightly. "A true empath only receives emotions. Sasha could transmit them. We never fully understood how, but we knew it was there. I used to call it her aura."
Marshal turned back to the display, his mind reeling. He had spent his entire life knowing about Sasha as family—but never like this. He never realized his Grandmother was the same Sasha as the crew that saved them.
She was part of history.
She had been there.
His excitement about seeing the ship had shifted into something else—something he couldn't quite describe.
"Why didn't Dad come here with us?" he asked, his voice quieter.
Scott sighed, looking at the figures, his gaze lingering on Sasha. "He did. He was a year younger than you. But she is the reason he never came back."
Marshal turned to look at him.
"We were marooned here," Scott continued. "You were only two years old. It scared him terribly."
Marshal swallowed. He looked back at the diorama, but now… it wasn't just some exhibit.
It was his family.
And suddenly, he understood why his father never wanted to return.
"I think he should come here at least once in a while," Marshal said quietly.
Scott gave a sad smile. "I think so too." He let the moment linger before resting a hand on Marshal's shoulder. "Come. Let's enter the ship."
Marshal nodded, his expression more somber now. He followed his grandfather as they walked past the line of visitors toward a barricaded section near the bow.
The security officer moved ahead, unlocking a restricted gate. The gate released with a quiet hiss, unlocking the private walkway leading up to the hull. Unlike the rest of the memorial, where crowds bustled around holograms and interactive displays, this area was empty, a solemn corridor leading to the past.
Marshal hesitated for a moment. "Grandpa, why is this part locked off?"
Scott placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Because some things aren't meant for tourists."
Marshal swallowed, nodding. He followed as they stepped forward onto the path leading to the ship's side. The walkway stopped where the hull met the ground—smooth, featureless, with no visible door or controls.
Scott reached out, pressing his palm against the hull.
A low hum vibrated through the air, and a faint electrical charge prickled against their skin. The hull shimmered for a moment before parting, revealing an entryway into the ship's interior. The transition was seamless, the exterior morphing into an open hatch.
Marshal was amazed by what he saw before him, "Whoa…"
Scott smirked. "Come on."
They stepped inside, the entrance sealing itself behind them. The ambient hum of the ship filled the air—soft, constant, alive.
The security guard's eyes widened. "I don't get to see this part of the ship these days," he admitted. "Only original crew and select guests have access."
Scott gave a small nod but said nothing. His attention was already elsewhere—something felt off.
Before he could take another step, a familiar voice echoed through the corridor.
"Commander Scott, it is good to see you again."
Scott turned toward the source. "Emma?"
The ship's AI responded immediately. "Yes, Commander. There is something you need to see before you go any further."
Scott exhaled, already bracing himself. "What is it?"
"They have stopped energizing my systems," she said. "The logs will show everything leading up to it and what has happened since."
Scott's jaw tightened. "Emma. Give me the short story."
There was a pause. Then, Emma replied, her tone sharper than before.
"They tried to breach my security systems to access my engines. When I refused to comply without command authorization, they began starving me of power."
Scott's fists clenched. "And why didn't you contact one of us sooner?"
"I calculated that I could sustain myself for another twenty years before reaching mandatory recharge levels," Emma said, "and still have enough reserves to last an additional ten after that."
Scott stopped dead in his tracks.
"Emma," he said slowly, his voice heavy with disbelief, "you can't take that chance. We're all aging. If we go and there's no one left with command authorization, they'll break through. You'll die too."
"I am prepared for that," Emma answered. "Without my command staff, I do not need to exist."
Scott shut his eyes for a brief second, letting out a breath. When he opened them, his gaze was hard.
"That's not happening," he muttered. He turned to the security officer. "You. What's your name?"
The guard straightened instinctively. "Mark, sir."
"Mark, get your superiors on the radio. Now."
The guard hesitated. "Sir, our radios don't work inside the ship—"
"Emma, override," Scott commanded.
"Communication's Access granted."
Mark blinked, then immediately pressed his communicator. "Chief Stenton, come in. We have a situation."
Scott turned away from him, already speaking to Emma again. "Where is my son?"
"He is at home in the living room."
"Lock down my residence. Inform him why. Do you have a status report on the rest of the crew and their families?"
Emma's voice softened slightly. "I have lost track of Marshal, Ronk and Plannor, along with most of their families. The rest have relatives in off-residence locations."
Scott exhaled sharply. "Send out an alert. Advise everyone who is still in contact to lock down immediately. Give them manual override access for their homes. If anyone is detained outside, let me know."
"Understood, Commander."
A few feet away, Mark pressed a finger to his ear as he listened to his superior's response. He turned toward Scott. "Chief Stenton is on the line, sir."
Scott took the radio. "Chief Stenton, do you know who I am?"
A slight pause. Then: "Yes, sir. You are Commander Scott Peterson of the original crew. We identified you when you entered the memorial. It's an honor. How can I help you?"
Scott's tone was flat. "I wish I could return the greeting under better circumstances. Emma tells me there have been attempts to breach her security systems, and now she is being starved of power. Why?"
Stenton hesitated. "Commander, I— I am sorry. It is not our intent to disrespect you. We are acting under direct orders from the planetary council. Their contractors want access to the ship's systems. They believe her technology can help develop future advancements."
Scott's eyes darkened. "Her name is Emma, not 'the ship,' not 'a ship,' not 'any ship.' You're violating our agreement. She was guaranteed free access to all necessary systems and a safe haven. This is in no way a safe haven."
There was silence on the other end.
Finally, Stenton's voice returned quieter. "I know. I… I am truly sorry, sir."
Scott's fingers curled into a fist. "Then tell me something, Chief—if you know this is wrong, why are you still here?"
A longer pause. Then, Stenton answered, his voice tired but resolute.
"I and a few others openly resisted. They were all replaced, but they haven't found a replacement for me yet."
Scott exhaled, nodding slightly. "Alright, Chief. Then I need you to listen carefully."
He turned to look at Emma's dimly pulsing walls, then back at the exit hatch leading to the outside world.
"Evacuate the memorial," he said. "Get everyone out. Now."
Stenton's voice sharpened. "Sir? We have a full roster of visitors—"
"Because," Scott cut him off, his tone calm but absolute, "I am about to launch. And I am getting Emma out of this hostile environment."
Silence.
"Chief, I do not hold you responsible, but I will hold you responsible for clearing everyone out of this area," he said.
"Understood, sir. Evacuating now."
Scott could already hear the muffled sound of alarms blaring outside, their distant wails signaling the evacuation order. The memorial's security systems were clearing the area, ensuring no civilians remained on the grounds.
Mark turned toward him, waiting for his next command. "Commander Scott, what do you need me to do?"
Scott looked at the young officer for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he exhaled, his tone shifting just slightly—still firm, but with a note of understanding.
"Mark, you better leave too," he said. "Help your coworkers evacuate the ship."
Mark hesitated, his posture straightening. "Commander Scott? I'd like to stay and help if that would be alright."
Scott's gaze held his for a moment before he shook his head. "Thank you, but no," he said, voice steady. "I have to do this alone."
Mark nodded reluctantly, but instead of immediately turning to leave, he stepped forward and offered his hand. Scott looked at it for only a second before taking it in a firm, respectful grip.
"It is such an honor to have met you, sir," Mark said. "Good luck."
Scott nodded once. "Thank you."
The young officer turned and moved swiftly toward the exit, joining the others in the evacuation effort.
Scott turned back toward Emma's corridor, rolling his shoulders slightly as he took a deep breath.
"Emma," he said. "Prep for launch."
"Yes, Commander," Emma responded without hesitation.
The ship hummed in response, a subtle vibration running through the floor beneath his feet.
Scott made his way to the command area, his movements steady but swift. As he settled into the familiar space, his hands instinctively moved across the controls.
The consoles came back to life instantly, as if he had only walked away from them yesterday. The soft glow of the displays illuminated the room, showing that Emma had kept everything exactly as it was—waiting for him to return.
Five minutes passed, filled only with the rhythmic hum of the ship preparing for launch. Then, Emma's voice cut through the quiet.
"Chief Stenton is calling."
Scott exhaled and leaned forward. "Put him through."
Stenton's voice came through, firm but controlled. "Commander Scott, the memorial is evacuated."
Scott didn't react immediately. He turned slightly, glancing toward the console. "Emma? Do you confirm?"
There was a brief pause before she answered.
"There is one person still aboard…" Emma's tone shifted slightly, amused. Then, with a soft giggle, she added, "It is a child. His name is Robert. He is trying to stow away with us, Commander."
Scott blinked. His expression remained unreadable, but there was the faintest trace of a smirk.
"Chief, have Mark return here to pick up the stowaway."
"He's on his way now," Stenton replied without hesitation.
Scott straightened. "Emma, give me a path to Robert and open the midsection exit hatch when I get there."
The walkway flooring lit up beneath his feet, guiding him toward the ship's midsection. The illuminated path led him into a small pantry area, barely large enough to move around comfortably. Against the far wall, a short counter held some storage cabinets beneath it.
Scott took a step forward and knocked lightly on one of the cabinet doors.
"Robert," he said, keeping his voice even but firm. "Please come out. We're about to take off, and an officer is coming to retrieve you."
For a moment, there was no movement. Then, slowly, the cabinet door creaked open.
A young boy crawled out, his wide eyes filled with awe and just a hint of defiance. He looked up at Scott, recognition dawning on his face.
"You're…" Robert hesitated, almost not believing it. Then he gasped. "You're one of the command staff! Commander Scott, I think?"
Scott smiled, extending his hand. "Yes, I am."
Robert stared at his hand for half a second before eagerly shaking it. "Wow," he breathed. "My friends are never going to believe me!"
Scott chuckled. "Tell you what. If you leave now with the security guard, I'll make sure to come back and visit. I'll even come to your school to give a speech."
Robert lit up. "Really?! That would be so cool!"
Scott nodded, guiding him toward the side exit. As they approached, the sidewall of the ship faded away, revealing a hatchway leading outside.
Robert stepped forward, but before he could exit, Scott put a hand in front of him.
"Not yet," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Let the guard get here first."
Robert nodded. "Okay."
A moment later, Mark arrived, stepping into view.
Scott glanced at him, his expression shifting slightly.
"Chief Stenton said the staff that resisted were replaced," he said, his voice measured. "Is everyone here in on this?"
Mark shook his head, standing a little straighter. "No, sir. Not at all. Everyone here admires what you did for us."
Scott motioned to Robert to go with Mark. The boy hesitated for just a moment before stepping to the security officer's side.
When he stood by Mark, Robert turned back, his expression earnest. "Don't forget your promise."
Scott gave him a small nod. "I won't," he assured. Then, with a glance at the console, he spoke firmly: "Emma, once they are in a secure area, take off."
"I will. You are in command," Emma acknowledged.
Scott exhaled as he turned, stepping into the command area. He barely had a second to take in the screens updating for launch before he noticed Marshal at one of the navigation consoles.
His grandson turned in his seat, grinning. "Emma is teaching me the navigation system."
Scott narrowed his eyes slightly. "Emma?"
Emma responded almost too smoothly. "He was curious. Like you were when you first boarded my ship."
Scott's frown deepened, his gaze shifting from Marshal's eager expression to the controls in front of him. A memory stirred—his own first time at that console, his own curiosity pulling him in.
He exhaled and turned his attention back to Emma. "Emma, when the last of us are gone, you'd be in a terrible position if they tried to hack into your systems. If your power reserves ever drop too low, they'll break through before you fully shut down."
Emma was silent for a moment before answering, her tone quieter than before.
"That is true. I hadn't considered that scenario in depth. I would not like to see my systems breached under such circumstances."
Scott nodded, rubbing his chin in thought. This wasn't something they could afford to ignore.
"I'm going to talk to the others," he said at last. "Whoever we can find, I'll suggest that we train a new command staff for you."
Marshal turned in his chair, eyes bright. "Grandpa, I could be the first."
Scott looked at him for a long moment. Then, with a small, approving nod, he said, "Yes. I believe you are."
Marshal grinned, sitting up straighter.
Scott refocused. "Emma, you didn't include Sasha in the list of those you couldn't locate. Do you know where she is? Is she under lockdown?"
Emma answered without hesitation. "Yes, I know where she is. She is complaining about the lockdown and insists that I let her go."
Scott sighed, rubbing his temples for a moment. "Does anyone actually understand how tenuous the political landscape is today?" he muttered. Then, in a more direct tone, he asked, "Emma, how long would it take to reach her residence and pick her up?"
Emma responded quickly. "It would depend on how fast you want me to get there. Do you want me to take the consequences to the local population into account?"
Scott's answer was immediate. "Of course. Fastest safe speed."
There was a slight pause before Emma responded. "I could get there in twenty minutes. I had hoped…"
Scott cut her off, shaking his head. "We're not here to relive the old days. I want to make sure they don't retaliate against any of us for taking you from here. It's bad enough they attacked you. If it escalates beyond just extracting you from the memorial, they'll regret it."
Emma's response was calm but firm. "I think that is a competent maneuver."
Scott nodded. "See what you can do about finding Captain Marshal. I don't want to give up on him if we don't have to."
Emma hesitated this time, and when she spoke, her tone held a rare note of uncertainty.
"I've been trying to track him down for a while now," she admitted. "He disappeared with the others about two years after the memorial was finished."
Scott's expression remained tense as he considered Emma's last statement.
"Did they go off-world? Did they find an active Galaxy Gate?" he asked.
Emma responded immediately. "Not that I have scanned. I haven't even detected inter-system traffic. All the old traffic routes are quiet and inactive."
Scott frowned. "The old traffic routes?" He leaned forward slightly. "What can you read?"
"I can monitor all the gates," Emma said.
Scott's brow furrowed. "If you can monitor them, shouldn't that also mean they're active?"
A pause. Then Emma answered, her tone thoughtful.
"I see where you're going with this. I thought so, too. When we landed, we lost all contact with the gates, and with that, the routes between them. A few years later, I began detecting signals from the gates again—but there is no inter-system or inter-Galaxy traffic."
Scott exhaled sharply, his mind already working through the implications.
Emma continued, "None of the gates show active route data. Without that information, they are useless for travel. Since my monitoring systems rely on Galaxy Gate technology to detect travel routes, I am forced to conclude that another system is feeding me this information."
Scott's fingers drummed lightly on the console. "And you don't know where that system is coming from?"
"Not yet," Emma admitted. "It could be on the gates themselves or located on a nearby planet within each system."
Scott leaned back slightly, absorbing that information.
"How can you monitor the gates and not have access to their route data?" he asked.
Emma's answer was swift. "Because the systems that allow for inter-gate travel must be turned off. That function appears to be separate from the gates themselves."
Scott's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then that means there's a control center somewhere that regulates all of this."
Emma confirmed, "Based on the information I'm receiving, I believe you are correct. There may be a planet near each gate housing a control center."
Scott nodded. That changed everything.
"If that's the case…" He tapped a finger against the console, glancing up at the status display. "Then we might be able to find that control center and restore the local gate."
Emma's voice held a note of intrigue. "That sounds reasonable."
Scott didn't hesitate. "Are your shuttles still active and stowed on board?"
"Yes," Emma confirmed.
"Good. Send out a shuttle to each member of the command staff. Give them control so they can retrieve their families and bring them aboard."
A brief pause, then Emma responded. "Done."
Scott sat back for a moment, exhaling slowly.
They had a new lead.
And if they could restore just one Galaxy Gate…
They might not be stranded much longer.