The gel receded with a slow, sucking pull, leaving Mereque's skin prickling in the sudden chill. His eyes opened to the dim amber glow of the recovery bay, the familiar haze of stasis lifting like fog from a long-forgotten dream. His body felt impossibly heavy—limbs leaden, joints protesting the centuries of suspended animation as if every muscle remembered the weight of time itself. The HUD flickered to life in his peripheral vision, a soft green pulse scrolling across his sight: vitals normalizing, stasis cycle complete, no threats detected.

  He drew a breath, dry and sharp, tasting recycled air laced with the faint metallic tang of the ship's systems. The pod hissed open around him, and he pushed himself upright, ignoring the familiar post-freeze burn that radiated through his muscles. He flexed his fingers, feeling the subtle hum of augments beneath his skin—responsive, reliable, good. For a moment, an unbidden flash crossed his mind: Senna's face alight with laughter as she watched his children chase each other through the dome gardens back on Leopold Seven, his son's shouts echoing while his daughter darted ahead, Sommer's hand warm in his own. The memory struck like a quiet ache, sharp and fleeting. Gone now. He pushed it down, as always. Duty first.

  The recovery bay was quiet, broken only by the soft beeps of other pods cycling through their sequences. Artemus Coreman leaned in the hatchway, his young face marked by eyes that had seen too many thaws. “Commander. Another smooth one?”

  Mereque grunted, swinging his legs over the edge. “Smooth as vacuum burn.”

  Artemus smiled faintly and handed him a robe. “Dreams again?”

  “None worth remembering.”

  He stood, steady despite the lingering heaviness, and tied the robe. “Bridge is buzzing,” Artemus added. “Earth in sight.”

  Mereque nodded. “On my way.”

  The corridor hummed with the ship's awakening life after long sleep, a vibration he felt through the deck plates as he walked. Duty pulled him forward, steady and unrelenting, while family waited light-years behind. Earth lay ahead—home, changed or not.

  Mereque walked the corridor, the steady hum of the ship vibrating beneath his boots like a familiar heartbeat after the long silence of stasis. Crew members were awakening around him, pods hissing open in rhythmic sequence as bodies stirred back to life. Qainori Coreman stretched in a doorway, her movements carrying the effortless grace of a pilot even in half-sleep. She nodded as he passed. “Commander. How was the sleep?”

  He grunted, the sound rough in his throat. “Fine. Pillow could have been better.”

  She laughed softly, the sound light in the recycled air, and let him continue without pressing further. Artemus passed by moments later, med-kit slung over his shoulder. “Vitals green across the board. Captain’s waiting.”

  Mereque nodded and kept moving. Ruger Logerrot leaned against a bulkhead ahead, talking low with Bethany, her hand resting on his arm in quiet intimacy. Their shared laugh was brief, warm. Ruger spotted him and clapped his shoulder hard enough to feel through the armor weave. “Security chief ready for paradise?”

  Mereque’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. “As long as no one expects beaches.”

  Bethany’s smile was warmer, genuine. “Would have been nice to bring the kids.”

  He paused and grinned, Senna’s face flashing unbidden—chasing them through the dome gardens, laughter echoing under artificial light. “It would have. But Senna’s got them. Safer with her.”

  His voice remained steady. The ache buried deep, as always. They understood. No more needed to be said.

  He moved on.

  The bridge hatch irised open with a soft sigh. Captain Pellon Hyderbrach stood at the viewport, broad shoulders framed against the stars, uniform crisp as ever. Antoinette worked beside him at the console, her fingers dancing across controls with practiced precision. Pellon turned as Mereque entered, offering a firm handshake and a shared nod—respect conveyed without words.

  “Commander. Good to have you.”

  “Captain.”

  Antoinette looked up, her warm smile directed at Mereque before shifting to an affectionate glance at Pellon. “Systems nominal. We’re on approach.”

  Pellon gestured to the viewport. Earth filled it now—a blue marble swirled with white, oceans vast and gleaming, clouds concealing continents, but unmistakable. Home.

  The crew gathered quietly around them: Artemus, Qainori, Ruger and Bethany, Tarcen and Eoah joining. All eyes fixed on the planet.

  Pellon spoke, voice low and steady. “Leopold Seven to Earth. Our ancestors’ dream.”

  Antoinette’s voice was softer. “Finally seeing blue oceans instead of dome skies.”

  Mereque watched in silence. Quiet awe filled the room, a shared reverence for the world growing larger before them. His own chest tightened with it. Home—changed or not.

  A faint console beep broke the moment. Artemus frowned at a side panel. “Odd interference. Nothing major.”

  Mereque noted it, then dismissed the concern. Space noise. The planet grew larger still, drawing them in. Hope swelled in the quiet, shared across the bridge.

  The observation deck hummed with subdued voices as the crew gathered at the viewport, their faces bathed in the soft glow of the approaching world. Earth dominated the view now, a breathtaking sphere of vast oceans that glittered like scattered jewels under the distant sun, vast cloud formations wrapped much of the world. Bright white. Beautiful. Yet it was the blue that commanded attention—so much blue, endless and alive, evoking memories of ancient archives and half-forgotten dreams.

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  Mereque stood near the back, watching in silence as the others drew closer together. Captain Pellon addressed them quietly, his voice steady and without flourish, speaking only the truth that needed no embellishment. “We’ve come far—from Leopold Seven to here. Our ancestors left Earth chasing stars. We’re coming home.”

  Antoinette leaned against the console, her eyes fixed on the planet, her hand brushing Pellon’s in a subtle, private gesture of shared wonder and quiet reassurance. Ruger and Bethany stood close, her head resting on his shoulder as they murmured together. Qainori and Artemus shared a look—pilot and medic, partners in more than duty.

  Tarcen and Eoah stood a little apart from the others, their heads close together as they murmured about the altered landmasses below. Eoah traced a finger along the viewport glass, outlining something he couldn’t see. “Those greens... they're wrong,” she whispered, voice laced with scientific curiosity edged by unease. “Too vibrant. Too spread out. Too few. Like something scattered them.”

  Tarcen nodded slowly, his archeologist's eye narrowing. “And the water, there’s much more than I expected. This isn't quite the same as our archives detailed. Wish the clouds would move, get a better look at the land.”

  Their words hung in the quiet excitement, a subtle ripple of doubt amid the shared awe, yet no one challenged it. The planet simply grew larger, beautiful and challenging.

  Mereque felt it too, that inexorable draw toward a lost home, even if strange, even if unknown. He allowed himself a deep breath, the ache for Sommer’s laugh, the sounds of the children—long silent—easing just a little in the shared reverence of the moment.

  Artemus glanced at a side console and frowned. “Minor interference spike. Probably solar flare echo.”

  No one worried overmuch; space was full of such noise. The planet grew larger still, cloud swirls dancing across its face, oceans gleaming with reflected light, a few islands edging into clearer view. Pellon smiled—a rare, genuine expression—as he gave the order. “Prepare for orbital insertion.”

  Antoinette’s fingers danced across controls. “Course locked.”

  Mereque watched Earth fill the viewport completely, wonder rising in the quiet, shared across the bridge as hope swelled in their hearts. Yet beneath it lingered a subtle uncertainty, unspoken, like a shadow at the edge of light.

  The ship hummed on, drawing ever closer to the blue and beautiful world below—somehow not quite right, waiting.

  The alarms shattered the quiet like glass under a boot, sharp and insistent, red lights strobing across the bridge in frantic pulses that painted every face in blood. The ship lurched with a deep, bone-jarring shudder that threw crew from their stations, consoles sparking in violent protest as power conduits overloaded.

  Artemus swore under his breath, fingers flying across his panel. “Energy surge—unknown source! Shields collapsing!”

  Pellon’s voice cut through the rising panic, calm and commanding. “Damage report!”

  Antoinette’s hands danced over controls, her face pale but focused. “Multiple hull breaches! Core unstable—we’re losing integrity fast!”

  Another impact rocked the Cazues, the deck tilting sharply as crew stumbled and grabbed for handholds. Mereque braced against a rail, his HUD flaring crimson warnings across his vision: hull integrity critical, power failure imminent, evacuation protocol engaged. There was no time for questions, no time for anything but survival.

  Pellon’s command rang clear above the chaos. “All hands—abandon ship! To the pods! Now!”

  The bridge erupted into controlled frenzy. Crew ran, shouts echoing down corridors, boots pounding in desperate rhythm. Mereque moved on instinct, reaching Antoinette as she staggered from her station, her eyes wide with the same fear gnawing at him. He gripped her arm, steadying her. Pellon’s voice followed behind, steady as ever. “Go! Both of you!”

  Mereque pulled her toward the corridor, the ship groaning around them like a dying beast, metal screaming in protest. Lights flickered and died, plunging them into emergency red that bathed everything in hellish glow. Another shudder rippled through the hull, a bulkhead buckling nearby with a shower of sparks. He shoved Antoinette ahead. “Run!”

  They sprinted through corridors filling with running crew, faces pale, some crying out, others silent and focused. A blast rocked the passage, a wall rupturing with a howl of escaping air. Mereque’s HUD screamed decompression imminent, pod bay two hundred meters. They reached it together, pods lining the bay in neat rows, crew piling in with practiced urgency.

  Mereque guided Antoinette to the nearest open pod, helping her inside as alarms wailed and the ship lurched again. She gripped his hand, eyes locking with his—no words, just fear and trust in equal measure. He strapped her in quickly, his own heart pounding. There was room for one more. He climbed in beside her, sealing the hatch as the bay shook with final violence.

  The pod jettisoned.

  Everything went dark.

  The planet rushed up below—blue oceans, white clouds, beautiful and burning.

  The Cazues gone behind them.

  Mereque came to in darkness, his body a map of agony. The world tilted and spun, or perhaps it was he who spun within it. Pain throbbed in his skull, a relentless drumbeat behind his eyes, and every breath tasted of smoke and scorched metal. The pod—his escape pod—lay crumpled around him like a crushed shell, its interior lights flickering weakly before dying altogether. He tried to move, but restraints bit into his chest, and something heavy pinned his legs. Panic flickered, quickly suppressed. Discipline first. Always.

  His HUD stuttered to life in fractured bursts, amber warnings scrolling across his vision: structural integrity compromised, life support failing, external atmosphere breathable but contaminated. He reached for the release mechanism with numb fingers, fumbling in the gloom. Sparks showered from a ruptured panel overhead, briefly illuminating twisted bulkheads and shattered consoles. The pod had hit hard—too hard. He remembered the jettison, the final lurch of the Cazues, Antoinette's hand in his as they sealed in together. Where was she?

  With a grunt, he forced the harness free. Metal groaned as he shifted, shoving aside a fallen beam that had pinned his thigh. Pain lanced through him, sharp and bright, but he welcomed it—proof he still lived. The hatch was jammed, warped from impact. He braced his shoulder against it, augmented muscles straining, and pushed. It gave with a tortured screech, spilling him into humid air thick with the scent of crushed vegetation and ozone.

  He crawled out into twilight. The pod lay half-buried in a swampy shore, steam hissing from rents in its hull. Strange trees loomed around him, their bark bleeding slow rivulets of crimson sap that pooled like blood on the ground. The sky above was bruised purple, unfamiliar stars beginning to prick through. Earth—but not the Earth of archives. Changed. Wrong.

  Mereque rose unsteadily, every joint protesting. His suit was torn, exomesh compromised in places, but augments held. He scanned for Antoinette's signal—it should be here. Nothing. Only silence and the distant roar of something vast moving through the air. He limped toward a debris field nearby, heart tightening with each step.

  There—more wreckage, torn up worse than he thought. A piece of a hatch. Some burnt fabric. No movement.

  He reached the pile, pulled wreckage aside with shaking hands. And found her.

  Antoinette lay still amid the ruin, one arm outstretched as if reaching for him. Her eyes stared sightless at the alien sky, as if searching for the blue oceans they had dreamed of together on the bridge. Blood traced from her temple, already cooling.

  Mereque knelt.

  Touched her hand—held it.

  Cold.

  The world narrowed to that single point of loss. He cried.

  Not again.

  The thought struck like a silent wound, echoing Sommer's memory: her hand warm in his, then gone forever in Leopold's cold corridors. Another light snuffed out before he could reach it.

  He bowed his head, tears blurring his vision. No time for this—not here, not now—but the grief clawed anyway, raw and unrelenting.

  Eventually he stood.

  Alone with his friends corpse. The planet had welcomed them with death.

  And he wasn't sure if this even WAS Earth.