Chapter 11: Who will live and Who will not?

The Vanguard drifted in the shadow of a colossal gas giant, hidden from prying eyes in the swirling maelstrom of blue and violet clouds. The crew needed time to recover, and more importantly, they needed answers. Scar had ordered the ship into a stationary orbit, giving them a moment to catch their breath and regroup.

Jefro sat hunched over his workstation, running diagnostics on the shields and engines. The ship was holding together, but barely. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the console, the only sound in the tense silence of the cabin.

Nova leaned against the bulkhead, her blaster strapped to her hip. Her eyes flicked from the readouts to the viewport, then back again. She was alert, as always, but there was a weariness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Even Cyko, who usually filled the quiet with jokes and sarcastic remarks, sat silently in the corner, cleaning his rifle with an uncharacteristic focus.

Scar stood in the middle of the cabin, his gaze shifting between his crew and the boy sitting in the corner. Arlen. The child’s presence was a puzzle, one that had already cost them dearly. Yet Scar couldn’t shake the feeling that Arlen was the key to everything. He had a responsibility to his crew, but he couldn’t ignore the boy’s plight.

Scar exhaled slowly, then walked over to Arlen. The boy had his knees drawn up to his chest, clutching a worn, cloth-bound notebook so tightly his knuckles were white. His dark eyes were wide and shadowed with exhaustion, but they held a resilience that belied his age.

Scar knelt down, his voice gentle but firm. “Arlen,” he said, trying to make eye contact. “We need to know everything. No more half-truths. If we’re going to survive this, we have to understand what we’re dealing with.”

Arlen swallowed hard, his small hands trembling. He looked at each member of the crew before settling his gaze back on Scar. “I… I told you some of it,” he said, his voice cracking. “My father discovered that Proxima-B is dying. The orbit is decaying, and soon the planet will be too close to the sun. But there’s more—things I didn’t know how to explain.”

Scar’s brow furrowed. “More? What else is there?”

Arlen’s eyes flickered with pain and fear. “Delta Command knew,” he whispered. “They’ve known for years. But instead of preparing to evacuate, they developed something called Operation Genesis.”

Jefro, who had been monitoring the ship’s systems, looked up sharply. “Genesis? That sounds ominous. What is it?”

Arlen hesitated, his whole body tensing. “They’re building a new society,” he said, his voice thick with grief. “Only the elite, the people loyal to Delta Command, will get to leave Proxima-B. Everyone else… they’re going to be left behind to die. My father tried to warn people, but Delta Command… they silenced him.”

The words hung heavy in the air, pressing down on each of them like a physical weight. Scar felt a surge of anger and disbelief. Delta Command had always represented order and survival in a galaxy filled with chaos. He had dedicated his life to that cause. But this… this was a betrayal he could hardly process.

Nova’s jaw tightened, her dark eyes narrowing. “So they’re playing god,” she said, her voice cold with fury. “Choosing who gets to live and who doesn’t.”

Cyko slammed his rifle down on the table, his usual humor replaced by a rare, smoldering rage. “And we’ve been following their orders like good little soldiers,” he spat. “Well, screw that.”

Scar straightened, his hands balling into fists. “And your father?” he asked, his voice hard. “What happened to him?”

Arlen’s shoulders hunched as he clutched the notebook even tighter. “He… he tried to make the truth public,” he said, his voice breaking. “He believed humanity deserved to know what was coming, to have a choice. But Delta Command found out. They took him, and I never saw him again.”

Scar felt a lump rise in his throat. The boy’s pain was raw and real, cutting through the chaos like a blade. Arlen had lost everything—his family, his safety—and was now burdened with secrets that could change the fate of humanity. Scar’s anger at Delta Command flared hotter, but he forced himself to focus.

Jefro got to his feet, his brow furrowed as he studied Arlen’s notebook. “This… this could be invaluable,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “Your father’s research includes star charts, wormhole physics, and detailed calculations. If these are accurate, we could use the wormhole in the Cordillera Expanse to find that new world.”

Nova crossed her arms, skepticism etched into every line of her face. “But can we trust these calculations?” she asked. “What if this is some kind of setup? Delta Command isn’t known for playing fair.”

Jefro’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t some Delta Command trick. It’s real science,” he said, tapping the notebook. “And unless you have a better plan, this is our best shot.”

Scar’s mind raced. They had a possible way forward, but it was full of risks. If Delta Command really was willing to let billions die, they would stop at nothing to keep their plans secret. The Vanguard was already battered, and the crew was exhausted. But they had to keep moving. They had to survive.

Scar took a deep breath, steadying himself. “All right,” he said, his voice firm. “We use Arlen’s data to navigate to the Cordillera Expanse. If there’s even a chance of finding that new world, we have to take it.”

Cyko’s lips twisted into a bitter grin. “Another day, another desperate gamble. Sounds about right for us.” But there was no mirth in his voice, only determination.

Nova’s gaze softened as she looked at Arlen. Her voice, usually hard and clipped, held a rare gentleness. “We’ll protect you,” she said. “But we need you to be honest with us from now on. No more secrets.”

Arlen met her eyes, a flicker of hope breaking through his fear. “I promise,” he whispered.

Scar turned to Jefro. “Get to work on plotting that course. Nova, make sure the Vanguard is ready for whatever comes next. Cyko, check our weapons and defenses. We don’t know what we’ll face out there, but we need to be prepared.”

The crew nodded, each of them moving with a renewed sense of purpose. They had been pushed to the brink, but they still had a fighting chance.

As the crew scattered to their tasks, Scar took a moment to himself, standing at the viewport and staring out into the endless expanse of space. The swirling clouds of the gas giant below reflected shades of blue and purple, a beauty that belied the cold indifference of the universe. He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of every decision pressing down on him.

Nova approached quietly, her presence steady and calming. “We’re with you, Scar,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “No matter what.”

Scar turned to her, his expression softened by gratitude. He didn’t have to say anything; the trust between them had always been unspoken. “Thank you,” he said finally, his voice low. “We’re going to need that.”

Nova nodded and turned back to her duties, her movements as precise and efficient as always. But Scar could see the cracks in her armor, the fatigue and doubt that they all carried. They were fighting against a force so much bigger than themselves, but they couldn’t afford to give in.

Jefro was at his station, meticulously plotting the course to the Cordillera Expanse. Lines of data scrolled across his screen, and he muttered under his breath as he made adjustments. Cyko stood beside him, tinkering with a small EMP device.

“You think we’ll actually make it to this wormhole?” Cyko asked, his voice gruff but curious.

Jefro didn’t look up. “Honestly? I have no idea. But I’d rather try than sit here and wait for Delta Command to find us.”

Cyko’s grin returned, this time with a hint of genuine humor. “You’ve got a point there. Besides, where’s the fun in playing it safe?”

Jefro rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. They both knew the odds were against them, but that was nothing new.