I stole a glance at Quinn. Had she, too, experienced that soothing embrace of the ethereal white light during the warp bubble transitions? I hadn’t thought to ask her when we arrived at the Ixchel System to deploy the IRIS relay station—our communication lifeline to the lunar colony. I had been too impatient to read the message Pavani had sent. And what a message! A chronicle of all that had happened since I left the Moon lay within those digital pages. Luckily, IRIS was fully automated, unfolding like a magical butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, and Quinn, seeing how eager I was to get started reading, offered to run the diagnostics, to ensure everything was fully functional. Eight hours later, punctuated by a few begrudging visits to the tiny lavatory at the back of the shuttle and a handful of energy bars to quiet my demanding stomach, my eyes were burning, but my heart was soaring. She had been on her way to me! But now was not the moment to discuss our transition experiences.
Quinn broke the silence. “According to Marta’s calculations, we have fifty-eight minutes until the scotoma shifts and we’re exposed.”
“Not a lot of time,” I acknowledged.
“Expanding our sensors now.” She paused, studying the display screen embedded in the control panel, then said, “No spacecraft in our vicinity.”
“The Stargazers’ cargo ship should be here any minute.” I chewed on my lower lip, peering at the screen. “What radius is the setting?”
“Eight hundred kilometers.”
I stared at the display—one lone blue light pulsating in a sea of black. We were completely alone. “I hope they come,” I whispered, almost to myself.
“All we can do now is wait.” Quinn leaned back in her seat, but I could see the tension in her body and her jaw twitched.
“I feel like a sitting duck.”
“A what?” Quinn squinted at me.
I waved a hand in front of my chest. “Nothing.”
My thoughts spun like a tornado. IRIS was fully operational. In two weeks, the transfer shuttle Charm was scheduled to pop into lunar space for exactly two minutes, enough time to virtually exchange the data packets, or mochilas, as we called them, and return to IRIS, where the data would be uploaded to the relay station. Then, a second shuttle, Stagecoach Mary, would download the mochila from the IRIS memory banks and take it to the Amaterasu star system. Our very own interstellar Pony Express! But everything hinged on me getting the encryption key to Arcadia. Without it, the mochilas would be unreadable. Charm would come back every two weeks from then on, with the option to increase the frequency in the future. I hoped that with the initial relay, messages would be interchanged, but the idea was that the pattern would continue indefinitely, so if not on the first round, then maybe the second... I felt the ankle bracelet containing the encryption key pressing against my leg—a tangible reminder of the significance of this trip, and a symbol of the hopes and dreams of the Shambhala colony.
The digital clock on the console appeared to be in a state of suspended animation. Where was the Stargazers’ ship? We were running out of time—our window of opportunity growing smaller by the minute. Marta had initially estimated that we would have, at most, two hours before the fleeting blind spot shielding us from the watchful gaze of the World Military’s sensors shifted, but the reality was far harsher—we now had a little under thirty minutes. It was a race against time, and there was absolutely nothing we could do. We had devised a backup plan during our time on Shambhala, a strategy that involved piloting the shuttle directly to Stargazers’ orbiting base, Stellar Haven, utilizing state-of-the-art cloaking technology. However, the World Government's advanced surveillance system was practically foolproof, so our prospects were, to put it mildly, less than stellar.
Since its inception, one of the World Government’s tasks was to ensure that the Earth was pollution free, and that included the space surrounding our precious planet, which led to the comprehensive surveillance measures. For years, irresponsible companies had taken a cavalier and short-sighted approach to space debris, and eventually the high concentration of celestial trash made it almost impossible to position satellites, and even space stations, because of the risk of collisions. In fact, it was Stargazers Aeronautics who had played a pivotal role in leading the massive cleanup effort.
In principle, I wholeheartedly supported the World Government’s STERRA—Space Traffic and Environmental Regulation for Responsible Astronautics—program, dedicated to keeping space free from contamination. STERRA strictly supervised and tracked all flights and satellites, both natural and human-constructed, and international law mandated that every flight itinerary from and around the Earth be meticulously logged, with real-time updates for any alterations. The consequences for non-compliance were hefty fines, and any companies foolish enough to allow even a stray bolt to escape into free orbit were essentially forced into bankruptcy from the mountain of lawsuits levied by the World Court. Thanks to these stringent policies, the amount of junk had been reduced to nearly zero. But at this moment, I wished the Government would adopt a slightly more indifferent approach.
Time continued to tick away. The pulsating rhythm of my racing heart thudded in my ears, intensifying my growing sense of unease. What if they didn't arrive? What if something had gone wrong? My mind spun with a flurry of disturbing possibilities, concocting catastrophes at the speed of light. Did they even get our message? Did they get the message and decide it was too dangerous? Was their ship having technical problems? Maybe there had been an accident? Or… had they been detained by the military?
“You okay?”
I jumped at the sound of Quinn’s voice and glanced at the clock. Six minutes until the scotoma shifted. Six minutes until we were exposed. And with the fresh warp energy signature concentrated at our position, we would be completely trackable. The military surveillance AI would immediately lock onto our location, and after that, there would be no escape unless we aborted our mission and used the warp drive. I desperately didn’t want that to happen! I gave Quinn a quick nod, though I was far from okay. Five minutes.
“In two minutes, I’ll launch our evasive maneuver protocol.”
I nodded again, mouth bone dry. The protocol was very good, Marta and her team were the best, but …
Beep, beep. The proximity signal pierced the silence, and a jolt of electricity seemed to course through my body.
“It’s them!” Quinn’s voice held a mixture of excitement and relief.
The Stargazers’ ship materialized before us in the expansive forward-facing window. What initially appeared as a mere speck gradually grew larger, revealing the sleek contours of the spacecraft—its metallic surface glimmering softly, reflecting the ambient light of the Solar System.
“Opening a channel now.” She flipped a switch on the control panel, initiating the communication link.
A voice crackled through the intercom speakers. “Stargazers Celestina Prime to Shambhala vessel. My name is Tamara.” I had never heard a more exquisite sound than her voice—confident and self-assured, carrying the melodic rhythms of her Indian accent—kindling a spark of hope in my heart. “Opening port door now. You have permission to come aboard. Do you copy?”
“Wilco,” said Quinn.
A solid door on the side of the hull slid open, revealing the spacious cargo hold within, partially filled with neatly stacked crates strapped to the floor. Quinn navigated our small craft toward the doorway, and with precision and finesse, she guided us through the entrance. Once we cleared the threshold, the massive door closed, sealing off the immensity of the cosmos. Quinn carefully set the shuttle down onto the electromagnetic locking system embedded on the ship’s floor.
“We're in a bit of a rush,” said Tamara. “So sit tight until we regain cruising velocity and the cargo bay is re-pressurized.”
“Roger that.” Quinn reached over to press the mute button before turning to look at me. “That was too close. To be honest, even though I have complete faith in Marta's brilliance, I didn’t want to put the evasion protocol to the test.”
“Same here.” I tried to slow my racing heart by taking a few deep breaths, forcing myself to unclench my fists. I sensed a slight tremor as the cargo ship accelerated. “Considering the world has had access to warp technology for months now, it's impossible to predict the advances they might have made in detecting and tracking warp energy signatures.”
“Sitting ducks, then?”
I gave a strained laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”
Quinn reached over to take my hand in hers, eyes brimming. “We made it, Calli!”
The anxiety I had felt moments before showed no signs of abating, instead the feeling intensified as worst-case scenarios for the next stage of our journey invaded my thoughts. What if the military intercepted us and Quinn couldn’t make it to Earth? What would happen with her prosthetic leg? My stomach clenched. And if I didn’t get to the Moon? If I was detained? If the encryption fell into the wrong hands? The harrowing memory of Pavani’s description of her and Fatima's desperate escape mere weeks ago flooded my heart with a chilling sense of dread. The echoes of their ordeal resonated within me, a stark reminder that danger still loomed. We're not out of the woods yet, my mind screamed. Despite my inner turmoil, I forced a smile and squeezed Quinn's hand.
