I pushed off the bulkhead, propelling myself towards my seat with as much urgency as weightlessness would allow. Grabbing my tablet from its holder, I ran a series of diagnostics on the ship's systems. The self-sealing mechanism had kicked in, stemming the flow of fuel for now, but the readings confirmed my worst fears. My eyes darted between the remaining fuel levels and our flight trajectories, and it became clear that we were in serious trouble.
"Hey, Sarah," I glanced at her, trying to keep my voice steady. "You okay?"
"Fine, Miles," she replied, her voice shaky. She looked pale and trembling. "Just peachy."
I looked around. The security guys looked fazed for the first time. The engineering team that had something to do was busy. The rest were pale and scared.
A subtle ding drew my attention back to the tablet. The numbers stared back at me, unforgiving. We didn't have enough fuel to land, and without the box fin, controlling our descent would be impossible. My heart began to race as I realized the full scope of our situation.
I clicked the coms to the command deck. "Commander," I said, my voice cracking, "we can't control our descent, and we don't have enough fuel to land."
"Understood," came his response, with near-perfect cool. "Contacting HQ for advice."
"Attention all hands," the intercom crackled. "Return to your seats. Make sure you're secure. Anything that can hurt needs to be tied down. Helmets on. Air on auto."
Fumbling with the buckle of my seat belt, I struggled to secure myself in place. Sarah saw my plight and, unbuckling herself, floated over to help. With deft fingers, she fastened the belt around me before drifting back to her own seat.
"Thank you," I stammered. I glued my eyes to the tablet, praying to anyone who would listen to make us land safely.
Zenthara's Perspective
The human ship was slow – painfully so. It took seven days to get to their home planet, and I spent the time on the bridge, feeling an inexplicable need to be there. Not that my presence was necessary; the ship took care of itself well enough, with the Mind stepping in where the ship's programming lacked. But something about relinquishing the helm felt wrong.
My CO was the same way.
As my unit finished preparations for our arrival, they retreated to their various rest modes. We had compiled a specific list of entities who would attend the diplomatic meetings, and the only one I rejected outright was the Mind. He had minimal mobility, which wouldn't do us any good during negotiations. However, he accepted my decision gracefully and offered an avatar for movement in his stead. I agreed. If the avatar was destroyed, it wouldn't damage my unit at all.
As we drew closer to Earth, I found myself comparing images of my creators' homeworld with those of the humans' planet. There was something undeniably beautiful about "natural" worlds, their vibrant colors and diverse ecosystems a contrast to the uniform gray of planets stripped for manufacturing and resources. I found it sad how life could slowly morph into a ball of resources.
The philosophers among my creators believed nature had its own inherent wisdom and structure, and to some degree, I agreed. We, the synthetic intelligence, mostly took what we had and maintained or manipulated it. Only a few new creations were of our making. Biological beings, however, were terribly creative, even if inefficient beyond reason or acceptable waste.
"Zenthara," my Second called, pulling me from my contemplation. "We are approaching Earth. Are you ready for our next set of actions?"
"I am," I replied.
Sanctuary Sought - Book 2 - Chapter 5
Start from the beginning
