Max's stomach was churning, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the words in the report or the urge to smoke a few cigarettes. With an unconscious gesture, he patted his pocket to make sure he still had them with him. As his tired eyes scrutinized the HoloPad screen, he realized that the situation surrounding them was much worse than they had imagined.

  It was true that a mutation of the gray pgue seemed pusible. When the infection first broke out in Solsys, the scientists of Lohengrin implemented a procedure to save the infected; a method worthy of receiving a Technicus in Analytica Physiologica, what had once been a Nobel Prize in Medicine... or so it was thought at the beginning.

  Created by scientists from the Jovian Federation, it was colloquially known as destructive digitalization. This process was so invasive that it required plugging the patient into enormous machines, often much rger than the skull. As a result, the patient's body ended up practically destroyed. Due to a series of events and controversial cases, such as the Radamanthys Linea fiasco in 2412, this treatment was ultimately banned and repudiated by the scientific community, a fact that surprised no one.

  However, executing interpnetary treaties outside the sor system proved impossible due to the limitation imposed by the speed of light. Therefore, the Interpnetary Tribunal could not intervene in colonies like Lohengrin, which were outside its jurisdiction. With a growing number of sick people affected by the gray pgue—disfigured and agonizing due to living tumors—many decided to pay for a second chance. Lacaille 8760 was the only pce where this practice remained legal.

  Since the news reached Solsys, waves of victims, even those still in the early stages of the pgue, presented themselves disfigured like sinister sculptures of flesh. Desperate, they paid for a one-way ticket. Traveling in a bolide, numb and encapsuted in ice cubes, to cross an abyss of 3.6 parsecs at a fraction of retivistic speed seemed a reasonable price to pay for a second chance. When they finally arrived at Lacaille, they descended in Lohengrin, where they underwent digital destruction.

  After all, it was a crude technique. Once each neuron and synapse was carefully copied and replicated perfectly at the destination (whether it was a synthetic, organic shell, or a virtual interface), the original body became an empty shell. Against all odds, this shell remained miserably alive, though completely devoid of consciousness. A rval fusion of flesh and machine that continued to grow, a teratoma. Then the bodies were pced inside psma ovens that left barely ashes. Just in case, these remains were thrown into deep pits dug into the pnet's surface.

  Legends existed among the colonists since then. They said that those remains continued to grow, growing and growing like a sinister cancer, slowly throwing their branches to the surface in search of radiation, in search of food, in search of matter to consume. They spread beneath the foundations of Lohengrin and all its settlements, unseen by anyone. And then, when no one noticed, they would consume the colony.

  That was not the case.

  What Max and his companions in the wagon saw had no comparison with the Gray Pgue, other than to say that both were a pgue, just as an apple and an orange are fruits. And for the first time, they were not receiving transcripts from the colony authorities, who pretended everything was fine. They were testimonies. Security devices. Doctors. Miners. Colonists.

  —. (...) widespread nightmares across the popution. The appearance of fireflies and a dark forest are common elements. I am still working on a coherent expnation, but it seems more than just a simple case of collective hysteria. — read D. Badakar's personal diary. Psychologist. Max felt his throat tighten and his stomach harden. The same visions that began in the Chronos when they received the quarantine announcement.

  —. The infected show yellowish secretions from the eyes, nose, ears, mouth, and generally soft tissues (...) – cited from a medical file —. When patients exhibit these symptoms, they lose all capacity for reasoning. They become violent and hostile towards any healthy person, and the symptoms only worsen with time (...) – with it, the photo of an autopsy, censored. At first Max could barely distinguish an abstract and grotesque shape lying on a metal stretcher. Pale clumps of a sickly yellowish tone composed it, and some burst, oozing an impious mixture of yellowish slime and swampy blood. A swollen hand and what remained of an ear was evidence that the lump had indeed been a human being.

  A feeling of confinement became present, as if the walls of the wagon were closing in around him. He wanted to flee, but where? Suddenly, the idea of completing the mission seemed ridiculous compared to running away, and that yellowish slime not touching either the crew or the passengers. His dopamine receptors pleaded for a cigarette. When the captain reached his conclusion, Max begged that the old ruler of the ship echo his apprehensions.

  —. After a series of shootings occurred, and communications were cut off, it is evident that control has been lost in the colony. Given the nature of the crisis, the quarantine measures apparently were not enough and that the biological agent the colony is facing is not only contagious but votile, I have made the decision to summon the entire crew of the Chronos to their respective workstations and decks, in order to give maximum urgency to an imminent ignition of engines at full power. This is solely for the purpose of leaving the orbit of Lacaille 8760 G (Lohengrin) and heading to Solsys as quickly as possible. — if there was a god in the heights, Max thanked him.

  With a screech, the wagon began to slow down. When it stopped, the doors opened, and like a flock of sheep, the crowded crew members descended at the Command Section station. Max strode forward, as if trying to escape a surging feeling of anxiety in his gut, one that could only be alleviated with a cigarette.

  —. XO! – a familiar voice rose among the crowd. Benjamin Mubambwe, the engineer on the bridge.

  —. Officer Mubambwe. Benjamin. — Max greeted him quickly —. Call me Max, we are not on deck yet. —

  Not even a lifetime in space seemed enough to pale his skin bck as ebony. Had he been born on Earth, he could have come from Cameroon. However, his elongated stature betrayed an upbringing in low gravity, and his Russian with the "ch" well marked and cutting, his origin, somewhere in Callisto, like Max.

  —. Hey, what do they mean we are leaving? – he asked while walking hurriedly beside him —. We still have passengers on board. —

  —. Have you read the report, right? – Max countered with a facade of security that only his position allowed.

  —. Well, yes. —

  —. Then you will understand that continuing with the mission is a risk for them and also for us. — Max replied. The images of those disfigured bodies fshed through his mind. Benjamin remained thoughtful for a few seconds.

  —. The passengers are upset. They lost 15 years for nothing... —

  —. And they should be grateful we are not letting them off. — Max observed —. That thing spreading through Lohengrin, whatever the hell it is. We could see it now in the leaked footage from the reports. It’s contagious, and I wouldn’t want to bring it on board, would you? –

  Benjamin tilted his head and twisted his expression. His refusal was more a gesture with his hands than with his head.

  —. Of course not. — a nervous smile appeared on his face —. I just want to go home. —

  —. So do I. — Max confessed.

  —. But I still can’t shake off the passengers... — Benjamin managed to say. Max stopped and turned to look at him. No longer as a friend, but as a superior to subordinate.

  —. They are going to sleep. Period. — Max stated. Benjamin raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth in protest. Max raised his hands. I don’t want a fight —. Orders from Matkovich, and Echmann gave the green light. My job is to tell the old man whether I agree or not. He will see if he listens to me. The point is that I agree with him, and no matter how much the passengers kick and scream, it’s the best decision. And about that. When we leave the orbit, talk to Mendoza. Everyone must return to the freezer without any setbacks. I hope Lohengrin is still visible behind us when they are all neatly ordered in the Cargo Bay. —

  —. Sure, anything else? –

  —. Yes, tell Daimonji that... — he couldn’t finish because a tremor shook the entire ship. A slight change in artificial gravity. Max stumbled and had to lean against a wall. The lights flickered due to a power spike.

  —. What the hell? – someone muttered —. Do the engineers want to kill us? –

  Sometimes Max forgot where he was. A rocket of 500,000 metric tons, with a miniature bck hole tied to its rear. A Schwarzschild–Kugelblitz, smaller than a proton, contained inside a miniature Dyson sphere that reflected the tantrums of the singurity in the form of Hawking Radiation. Then, the surplus was used to produce kinetic energy, which pushed them to a fraction just below the speed of light. Just thinking about it made Max's stomach churn.

  The Chief Engineer, Dmitry Daimonji made it seem simple. Terms like accretion disk, births of the pair of virtual masses, Penrose process, Pnck constant resonated in his head. Even Daimonji himself did not fully understand the reactions occurring in the engine's core. The equations he wrote in his dissertation, which tried to make sense of it, were barely the tip of the iceberg of knowledge that, more than technology, still seemed like a kind of bck magic.

  Any miscalcution would be catastrophic. They wouldn’t even perceive it. They would be reduced to subatomic particles by a miniature supernova that would be visible from Proxima Centauri. Trying to surpass the C barrier, an outrage to reality itself. A metaphysical horror that Daimonji simply described as "feeling the square root of a negative one in one’s own flesh."

  —. Hey Max, everything okay? – Benjamin asked him —. You were going to tell me something, right? –

  —. Yes, tell Daimonji not to wreck the ship. —

  ***

  Chronos was the first Starscrapper of its kind, and the one that gave its name to the css of ships that followed after it. A megalithic and brutalist chisel of 1500 meters in length, not counting the three massive engines, which added an additional kilometer.

  A carousel stood out in the middle section and each module was like a functionally horrendous 20-storey block of fts, all rotating at 2 rpm to create the sensation of 1 G. When the engines were fired, each module rotated ninety degrees to take advantage of the linear acceleration of the unch.

  5000 souls could live and work comfortably in its facilities. But right now, with just over a quarter of that number, Chronos was functioning luxuriously. They needed space to awaken each batch of hypersleep passengers without overcrowding. With the end of scarcity and an overpoputed sor system, humanity needed to feel useful, however much they might deny it. The profession of astronaut was a field that refused to die, even though it could have.

  A miniature city. One that travelled through interstelr space at an incredible 80% of the speed of light. So big, it seemed impossible that it could have been printed from nothing in less than a year, so that by 2368 it was ready to take the first batch of pioneers to Proxima Centauri, on a decade-long round trip.

  In 2381, after three years of refurbishment on its return, it was sent to Lacaille 8760 as a spearhead towards the only potential second Earth in the vicinity. Since then it had remained on the route, carrying colonists from the Sor System to the new frontiers; Tau Ceti, Ross 128, 61 Cygni. It had never failed in its mission, until now. Circumstances had changed.

  The command deck was the nerve center of the ship. An octagonal room at the top of the module from where the habitat drum and the huge fusege of the Chronos were visible. Space and eclipsed Lohengrin seemed to spin around it. Max noticed an annoying pressure in his eyes and in the middle of his head. The brain struggled to distinguish between constant rotation and hallucinations caused by toxins. The reaction was the same; nausea. Max swallowed them along with an Alfevac pill. He had to present himself in good condition.

  —. Mr. Picard. — the captain greeted him at the navigation station. Max returned the greeting with a rexed military salute —. I was waiting for you. —

  —. I came as soon as I could, captain. —

  Sebastián Matkovich. The sovereign of the Chronos. Older than the ship itself. Wrinkles crossed his skin, his hair and beard white as snow without a hint of menin. A ghostly electric blue glow emanated from his eyes in the shadows, and the sigils carved into his face and body revealed aggressive cybernetic enhancements.

  His head and torso were part of the organic remnant that remained obstinate, like an irretrievable fortress. Silicon impnts were embedded in his gray matter. His limbs were golden biomechanical prosthetics, and his organs, artificial repcements. The only reason he retained a digestive system was that he enjoyed eating, and eating well.

  The uniform fit him like a second skin. The navy blue jacket with brass buttons and the cap made him look partly like an old sea wolf. He was more than that. A kind of space David Jones. As much a part of the ship as the ship was a part of him.

  —. I suppose you have read the reports. — it sounded more like a statement than a question.

  —. Indeed, captain. — he replied —. Including the recent updates. It’s an unfortunate turn of events. —

  —. What do you think of my decision? – he inquired. Max cleared his throat before responding and tried to stand as tall as possible, as if the captain's presence made him smaller, even though he towered over him by a head.

  —. At first, the idea of a take–off without having left the passengers at their destination seemed somewhat hasty to me. — Matkovich did not move a muscle upon hearing it —. But after seeing the images, and the reports from the colonists themselves about what is happening down there, I couldn’t think of a better decision, sir. — the captain remained impassive. Max's throat tightened —. I must add that it’s a shame. If the situation does not improve, the entire system will be shut down, and ships like ours will stop coming, at least for a good while. These people will be completely isoted. — Matkovich nodded slowly.

  —. Indeed, it’s a shame. — the captain finally added —. For the first time, we are unable to fulfill our mission. We return home with the same cargo we took off with. —

  —. Of course. — Max nodded —. By the way, I can’t help but wonder what expnation we will give to the Nightflyers Guild? It must be something better than a mere coincidence or...—

  —. Force majeure. — the captain completed —. Don’t worry. We will tell them that our contract is for chartering, not for research. — Max took a few seconds to digest the response, to which he raised an eyebrow.

  —. Sir? –

  —. Whether this is something alien or a mutation of the Gray Pgue, it is not our pce to know. We are a transport ship. We carry colonists and goods from Point A, Solsis, to Point B, in this case, Lacaille 8760. Due to factors beyond our control, remaining at that Point B is unfeasible. That’s why we are going home. — Max opened his mouth to say something, but the captain interrupted him —. I repeat, it’s a shame for the colonists. It’s true that we have a mission to fulfill, but the crew comes first, and I don’t want to be responsible for bringing that crap on board. Do you understand that, Mr. Picard? –

  —. Of course, sir. —

  —. I’m gd to hear that. — the captain turned and his eyes shone blue in the dim light for a fraction of a second. Max felt they were looking directly into his soul —. Changing the subject, any news from engineering? How long until we are at full power? –

  —. I spoke with Daimonji before coming. He seems to be pushing the ship to its limits. Within reason, no less than 24 hours at 5G. Everyone in collision seats and with Shunk to the bone, sir. — the grimace the captain drew on his face was as if a dagger had been plunged into him.

  —. Can’t it be in 8 hours? – he inquired.

  —. Sure. It can be done, as long as you don’t mind breaking a few ribs with the push, and maybe suffering a stroke from the 17Gs we would have to swallow, sir. — the captain nodded.

  —. We should have gotten those Collision Pods when we could. They would have come in handy. Breathing jelly for a couple of hours seems a reasonable price if it means leaving the orbit sooner in a situation like this. — Matkovich observed.

  —. Not to mention the hangover afterward, of course. — Max added.

  The captain dismissed it.

  —. Alfevac and a bottle of iso drinks for each of us and we’ll be as good as new in half an hour. But we will think about it for our return. They will surely be cheaper then. For now, 24 hours is fine. Just keep me updated with Engineering, and tell Daimonji that... —

  —...not to wreck the ship. Yes, don’t worry sir. I sent that message with Benjamin Nibanmwe – Max completed. The captain gave a slight smile and nodded in agreement, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

  —. That reminds me... Second Officer Galloway! –

  —. Sir! – replied a red–haired man from the other end, plump like an English bulldog, with a bushy mustache that gave him an air of authority and wealth.

  —. Situation in the Cargo Bay? The Freezer Pallets? Cargo holds? Elevators and cranes? Shuttles? Everything well tied down and in order? –

  — Everything is fine, sir. It seems it couldn't be any better. — he replied without taking his eyes off his terminal. His fingers seemed to move on their own —. Just an almost problem. You know, the Hestia issue. —

  —. What about Hestia? – spat the captain.

  —. It's a piece of junk. — he finally replied, focusing his piercing blue eyes on the captain —. She can fly, but can't nd. The Guild requires us to have at least 6 heavy Thrud HLS 420 css shuttles. Strictly speaking, we only have five. —

  —. I understand, and is that important right now for you, Mr. Galloway? –

  —. Standard Security Protocols, sir. I was reminding you. Just in case they check us upon arrival and I don't have to say "I told you so." —

  —. You can remind me of them throughout the entire return journey if you wish, Mr. Galloway. We'll think about solving the Hestia issue ter, but for now, make sure everything stays in its pce while takeoff occurs. We don't want anyone to break their neck due to omission, is that clear? –

  —. Of course, sir. — he replied, not sounding very convinced.

  Max slumped in his terminal, fastened his seatbelt, and began receiving reports from the deck chiefs. For a couple of hours, everything went as smooth as honey on pancakes. But like the Kugelblitz, Max sometimes forgot how quickly everything could go to hell.

  —. Proximity alert. — warned the helmsman, Padman Sarraf, with the same indifference a surgeon shows when noticing a bleeding during surgery.

  —. I see them. — confirmed Xiliya Patel from sensors and systems —. 6 Banshee css shuttles at 1800 klicks and closing in. —

  —. Fuck. Fucking hell. — muttered Max. The information dispyed on his terminal screen. An orange disc represented Lacaille 8760 G. A bright blue dot in high orbit was the Chronos, and a tiny red dot, the shuttles flying with apparent slowness. When zoomed in, they took the shape of 6 wedges swiftly approaching their target like darts. A notification appeared in a corner. Incoming Transmission —. They greet us, captain. One of the shuttles is pointing a direct target ser at us. —

  —. Thank you, Picard. Miss Sawatari? –

  —. Sir? –

  —. Greet them back and dispatch them immediately. Let them know we have weapons and that we are not afraid to use them. —

  —. Aye–aye, captain. — Sawatari focused on her terminal, and the movements of her hands made it seem like she was conducting a symphony. The systems aimed a target ser at the shuttles, and the voice of the communications officer pyed through all of them, firm, calm, and full of authority.

  —. This is the NSG Chronos to all shuttles. You are vioting a flight ban. Return to the pnetside immediately. —

  The voice of a man was heard, sharp and full of interference. He responded agitatedly.

  —. Chronos. This is shuttle EV–446. You have invaded the colony. We cannot go back. — a second voice appeared.

  —. This is Yakiv Volkov from the mining team. Haven't you seen anything? Do you have any idea what is happening? – he shouted from the other side — That thing, what it does to the bodies. It's worse than a sughterhouse! It's hell! We can't stay there another minute. I beg you, please, let us board...! – Sawatari interrupted him.

  —. I repeat. Return to the pnetside immediately. Any approach to the ship will be considered hostile. This is the final warning. — The breathing through the communicator resonated trembling, and filled with anger.

  —. Chronos. Fuck you all. We're coming in. — Yakiv spat, and with a snap, the link was cut. A deafening silence formed on the bridge. And Yakiv was right. From what little they had witnessed, the colonists' leaks painted a nightmare, very different from the colonial government's version. Max couldn't help but remember the twisted, yellowed body from that autopsy. One thing was clear. They couldn't allow that thing on board, or they would be doomed.

  —. They are still approaching. — warned Xiliya.

  —. Of course they are. — the captain spat —. Mr. Picard? Take care of the PDCs. —

  —. I got it. — replied Max and extended his hands as if stretching a canvas. Immediately, a hologram of the Chronos in the shape of a spear appeared in front of him, and the points where the shuttles were approaching were marked in green —. EREBUS. Aim at each of the Banshee approaching us. Make warning shots from 800 klicks to make them turn back. If they persist, open fire at will, is that clear? —

  A deafening silence fell over the flight deck, enveloping them like a heavy cloak. It was barely interrupted by the constant hum of the systems and the engine gradually ascending. A male synthetic voice made itself present.

  —. Understood, Max. —

  —. Was that hesitation, EREBUS? – questioned the captain.

  —. I estimate that at least 120 people are coming aboard those shuttles, Captain Matkovich. — the AI replied —. I don't feel comfortable harming human beings. — the captain emphatically shook his head.

  —. And aboard the Chronos, there are 10,000 people, 1,728 of whom are crew members, all of them awake right now. —

  —. I'm sorry, captain. But it is beyond my reach to weigh whether one life is worth more than another. I was programmed to protect my creators, and under no circumstances can I harm human beings. —

  —. 900 klicks. — announced Xiliya. For the first time, Max witnessed the captain on the verge of losing his temper. His teeth ground, and his knuckles, had he had organic arms, would have turned white.

  —. This is not the time for moral dilemmas. While it is true that protecting people is your priority, it is also true that crew and passengers come first. To allow even one of those ships to dock with us is to harm the crew by omission. The orders Picard gave you are not against your programming, EREBUS. Obey them. — Silence.

  —. 800 klicks, captain. —

  —. Understood, activating the PDCs. Proceeding with warning shots. —

  They could have backed down. They didn't. They even doubled down, and the shuttles advanced. They didn't want to return to the pnet. Even death seemed a better option. As soon as one of them crossed the 500 klicks threshold, it couldn't dodge a tungsten storm, and with a fsh, the ship was reduced to a cloud of debris.

  Everything could have ended in 30 seconds. One by one, the ships fell like flies, blowing under the precise shots of the turrets, and the bridge sank into a depressing atmosphere akin to a funeral.

  And when there were two ships left, the PDCs suddenly shut down. A fateful error message appeared on the terminals, tinged with bloody red and spreading throughout the entire bridge.

  —. What is happening? – inquired the captain.

  —. I'm trying to restart the PDCs, sir, but the systems have entered a loop. — Max shouted from his terminal. The captain was taking a breath to give an order when EREBUS's voice interrupted him.

  —. I'm sorry, captain. But I cannot allow those colonists to be harmed. They are human beings. —

  —. EREBUS shut up and reactivate the PDCs immediately. — he ordered.

  —. If I do, those colonists will die, and I cannot allow that. —

  —. 20 klicks, captain. — warned Xiliya, and a hint of tension seeped into her trembling voice.

  —. There is no time for this! Galloway! Take manual control of the PDCs and fire at those remaining ships! We cannot allow them to board us. —

  —. I'm trying, sir, but the OS has entered an error feedback loop. I can't access either the PDCs or the defensive systems. —

  —. For God's sake! – spat the captain —. Is Mendoza warming his ass in Operations? –

  —. 10 klicks! – shouted Xiliya.

  —. I'm in contact with him, captain. — shouted Max —. Picard to Operations. Mendoza, restart EREBUS immediately, right now. —

  —. I'm on it! – Gavin barked from the other side —. I'm on it, god damn it! –

  —. Five klicks. Too te. One of the ships... doesn't seem to be slowing down, it's on a collision course with us! – a shrill arm began to scream as an orange strobe light flooded the flight deck. Proximity Alert appeared on all terminals.

  —. Mr. Picard! – howled the captain.

  —. We have them on us!! Everyone, brace for impact...!! – Max wasn't sure if they had heard him. The crunch sounded as if a asteroid had split them in two. Sparks flew everywhere. A roar like a storm as the air escaped through the walls and then heavy metal doors covered the windows. The standing crew was ripped from the ground and flew like rag dolls, bouncing off the floor, ceiling, and walls as their bones pulverized as if they were made of chalk. The inertia smmed Max with a devastating tackle, as if he had been hit by a tsunami. The seatbelt squeezed his ribs and pulled him in the opposite direction, shaking him like jelly and making him hit his head against the terminal. Immediately, everything went bck.

  —. Compensating decompression. Please wait... — the voice of the unfeeling computer was the st thing Max heard. After that, the most absolute silence.