Chapter 2: Return to Home Base: Proxima-B Station

The Vanguard cut through the void of space, a battered yet resolute silhouette against the darkness. Inside, the Delta-S crew wore the exhaustion of their latest mission like a second skin. Sand still clung to the edges of their armor, and the scent of Drion-5’s toxic wind lingered in the air, a reminder of their narrow escape.

Nova, the ship’s skilled pilot, sat hunched over her control panels, her fingers moving in a practiced dance. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, flitted across the gauges, taking in every detail. With a practiced hand, she guided the Vanguard into orbit around Proxima-B Station. The station loomed ahead, a massive sprawl of metal and lights, appearing almost like a small artificial planet. It was home—a sanctuary and a fortress in the cold reaches of the galaxy.

Scar, the team’s unyielding leader, unclasped his helmet and let out a slow exhale. His dark hair clung to his forehead, matted with sweat and grit. “Nova, get us docked. The lieutenant won’t wait forever,” he ordered, his voice steady but lined with fatigue.

Nova didn’t respond, her focus unbroken. Her hands moved deftly over the controls, adjusting the ship’s speed and alignment. Her eyes, always calculating, betrayed nothing. She didn’t need words to convey her focus; she preferred to let her skill do the talking. The Vanguard’s engines roared to life, and she executed a perfect approach. The docking clamps locked in place with a satisfying thud.

Jefro, the team’s tech specialist, leaned back in his seat, rubbing his temples. His eyes were bloodshot from hours of stress, and a weary smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’d kill for a nap. Or, you know, something not involving imminent death,” he muttered, his voice tinged with a weariness that humor couldn’t hide.

Cyko let out a chuckle from across the cabin, adjusting the straps on his gear. His grin was all mischief, masking the tension beneath. “Sleep is for people who don’t have homicidal aliens and murderous robots on their tail,” he quipped. “Besides, when was the last time any of us got a proper day off?” He glanced at Nova, hoping for a reaction, but she remained silent.

Scar stepped forward, his gaze sharp as ever. “We debrief first. Then we rest. We need to stay sharp.” His tone left no room for argument, but his eyes softened slightly as he glanced over his team. He knew he was pushing them, but the stakes were too high to relent. They were the best, but even the best had limits.

The ship’s ramp lowered with a hiss, and the crew disembarked into the cavernous docking bay. Workers in maintenance suits bustled about, loading cargo and preparing ships for their own missions. The air was thick with the scent of fuel and ozone, a familiar aroma that filled the space with an industrial tang. Automated loaders glided past on magnetic tracks, carrying crates marked with the Delta Union insignia.

Nova slowed her pace, taking in the sights and sounds of home. Even after years of service, the station still felt both familiar and alien. The cacophony of voices, the clatter of machinery, and the ever-present hum of the station’s engines all blended into a symphony of organized chaos.

As they made their way through the maze of corridors, steel walls lit by bright overhead lights, Jefro spoke up, his voice low. “Anyone else feel like we’re just cogs in a massive, unsympathetic machine?” His tone was joking, but the weight behind his words was undeniable.

Cyko smirked, elbowing him lightly. “We are cogs, Jef. Just very expensive, highly trained ones.”

Scar didn’t comment, his eyes locked straight ahead. The command wing loomed ahead, a cold, imposing structure lined with the banners of Delta Command. Scar’s steps never faltered, but he could feel the tension radiating from his team. They were tired, but they were also loyal—to each other and to their mission.

The command room doors slid open, revealing the lieutenant. A figure of authority dressed in the stark, utilitarian uniform of Delta Command, he stood with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were a calculating blue, cold and sharp. No one knew his name; they just called him “the lieutenant.”

“Report,” the lieutenant demanded, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Scar stepped forward, his posture rigid. “Mission success. We secured the Cosmic Crystals. Encountered an Ambus creature but neutralized the threat.” His report was concise, devoid of any embellishment.

The lieutenant’s gaze shifted to each team member, assessing them with a detached curiosity. “And casualties?”

Scar’s jaw tightened. “None, sir.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed the lieutenant’s face. “Efficient, as expected. However, your next mission awaits. Rest is a luxury we can’t afford.” He pulled up a holo-tablet, projecting a three-dimensional map of the galaxy. Points of interest glimmered, and one in particular pulsed red.

The lieutenant’s voice was as impersonal as ever. “A crash site on Aldros-IV, a planet on the edge of the known sector. One of our cargo ships went down there. You are to retrieve the payload.”

“What’s in the cargo?” Nova asked, her voice breaking the silence. Her eyes narrowed slightly, searching the lieutenant’s expression for any hint of danger.

The lieutenant’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Classified. But it’s essential to our operations. Do not open it. Do not tamper with it. Deliver it to Sector-9 Command once you recover it.”

Cyko’s grin faded, and he crossed his arms. “Classified cargo. Great. Because that’s never gone wrong before.”

Scar shot Cyko a warning glance but held his own reservations in check. “Understood,” he said, though unease settled into his gut. Something about this mission didn’t sit right.

The lieutenant’s gaze lingered on Scar. “Your efficiency is why I chose your team. Don’t disappoint me.”

With that, the crew was dismissed. They made their way back through the station’s labyrinth, silence thick between them. The familiar clamor of Proxima-B Station felt different this time, like a reminder of the ever-present pressure they faced. They passed through corridors lined with recruitment posters and holo-displays broadcasting news updates.

Cyko broke the silence as they reached their quarters. “Classified cargo? That’s a bad omen. Calling it now.” He threw his gear onto his bunk, the metallic clang echoing in the small room.

Jefro sat at his workbench, fingers already tapping away on his wrist interface. “I’m not one for omens, but yeah. It doesn’t feel right.” He pulled up schematics of the Vanguard, checking for any repairs they might need before departure.

Nova leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. Her usually impassive face showed the faintest hint of concern. “We’re always thrown into things that ‘don’t feel right.’ Welcome to Delta-S,” she said, her voice flat but not without a hint of dark humor.

Scar stood in the center of the room, his eyes scanning the faces of his crew. He saw the exhaustion, the doubts, but also the unbreakable loyalty that bound them together. They’d faced death too many times to count, and yet, they were still here.

“Get some rest,” he finally said, his voice softer. “We leave for Aldros-IV at 0600. Whatever’s waiting for us there, we’ll be ready.”

Cyko flopped onto his bunk, folding his hands behind his head. “Rest, he says. As if I can sleep after that briefing.”

Jefro shot him a sideways glance. “Try. Your snoring’s the only thing keeping the nightmares away.”

Nova shook her head, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “You two are hopeless.”

Scar allowed himself a rare chuckle, the tension easing for just a moment. But even as he laughed, he felt the weight of the lieutenant’s words pressing down on him. They were cogs in the machine, yes, but cogs that carried the hopes of humanity.

The room fell into a heavy quiet, each crew member retreating to their own thoughts. The mission ahead was unknown, but they knew one thing for certain: whatever awaited them on Aldros-IV, they would face it together.