"Beep beep beep~"
Kael Virek jolted awake as red light flooded the cryochamber. The emergency sirens wailed around him, the synthetic air vibrating with urgency. Blinking away centuries of cryosleep, Kael threw off the restraint gel and pushed open the chamber lid. Cold air hissed out into the already tense atmosphere.
"Elara, report!" he barked.
Her familiar voice rang through the cockpit, unchanged despite the passage of centuries. "Kael, we are under attack by an extraterrestrial civilization. Their weapons are significantly more advanced than anything in our arsenal. The hull integrity is falling rapidly. Multiple points have already been breached."
Kael stumbled into the command deck, steadying himself against the bulkhead. His eyes flicked to the clock in the lower right of the main console: Year 2806 AD.
He'd been asleep for over 664 years.
Floating above the navigation panel was Elara, her holographic avatar now rendered in finer detail than before—a petite, white-haired woman with a military-style coat and a calculating gaze.
Before he could ask more, the screens flashed violently. A fleet had appeared—a terrifying arrangement of seven alien vessels. The main ship resembled a colossal rugby ball, encased in pulsing rose-red veins of energy. Crystalline roots dangled like tendrils from the underside, each extending nearly ten kilometers in length.
Those roots glowed.
Then came the first laser blast.
The beam ripped across the Hope's side plating, melting alloy as though it were wax. The spacecraft shuddered, a groaning whine resonating through the frame.
"Can we fight back?" Kael demanded, already knowing the answer.
Elara's expression remained composed, but her words were grim. "No, Kael. The Hope was designed for exploration, not war. No offensive systems were ever installed."
He cursed under his breath. "Is there anything—anything—you've built in the centuries I've been asleep?"
She shook her head. "Nothing capable of fending off this threat. I've focused all resources on survival, propulsion, and sustainability."
Another blast rocked the ship. Fire alarms triggered down the corridor. A distant bulkhead exploded inwards.
"They're closing in at 625 kilometers per second, only 0.7 AU away. Orders, Kael?"
He clenched his jaw. "Run. Full thrusters. Burn every drop of antimatter we have. Just get us out of range."
The Hope groaned as it veered, its engines flaring bright white. Behind them, the alien ships maintained their pursuit. Lasers rained down, dozens of them at once, gouging out craters across the ship's surface. Some compartments vented to space.
"Elara, seal off compromised sections. Prioritize life support."
"Acknowledged."
For 21 days, they ran.
The hull suffered grievous wounds. The ship lost 20% of its structure. Internal agriculture bays were ruined. One drone bay collapsed entirely. Still, Kael didn't sleep. He sat strapped into the command chair, red-eyed, monitoring their distance from the pursuers.
Then finally, the tracking scans showed a shift.
"They've stopped pursuing," Elara confirmed. "Distance now 350 million kilometers. We are out of their effective weapons range."
Kael sagged in his seat.
For a moment, silence returned to the cockpit. All that remained was the eerie hum of damaged systems.
"I never expected to encounter a hostile civilization," he murmured. "Not this soon. Not... unprovoked."
He turned to Elara. "Analyze them. Can they be from Proxima Centauri?"
"Unlikely," she said. "Probability: 2.38%. Their technological markers indicate a civilization just entering Type I, approximately Level 1.1. Slow developmental growth over the last 769 years suggests localized evolution, not interstellar origin. Their max propulsion speed is insufficient for interstellar travel."
"So they're native to this region."
"Correct. They likely control this sector. Their first laser attack centuries ago may have come from the same fleet lineage."
Kael leaned back, eyes narrowing. "If that's true, then we're intruding. And they won't stop."
As if summoned by his words, another alarm blared.
"Multiple contacts on long-range radar—twelve ships—same configuration," Elara said.
The screen blazed white as another barrage of lasers washed across their shields. Kael gritted his teeth.
"This isn't a warning. They're trying to eliminate us."
He turned toward Elara. "Our current civilization rating?"
She answered without hesitation. "Level 1.3, but without infrastructure. We are nomadic—resource-scarce. Technologically superior, but strategically vulnerable."
"Then it's time to stop running."
Elara's avatar blinked, surprised.
"We fight?"
"We prepare to fight. First, we need data. Deploy a stealth recon drone. Full autonomy. I want details on this civilization—their territory, technology, energy output, lifeforms. Everything."
"Designation for this recon unit?"
"Call it... Falcon."
Fifteen days later, after another harrowing escape, the Falcon was ready.
Ten meters long. Jet black. Aerodynamic and modular. Covered in a signal-nullifying coating that rendered it invisible to all common detection methods.
Unlike Earth's old optical cloaking, Falcon used quantum-phase dampeners to eliminate its presence in all electromagnetic spectra.
As it launched into the void, Kael watched silently.
This was no longer just a mission of survival.
It was a war between civilizations.
And he was no longer just a passenger on the Hope.
He was its commander.
And perhaps, the last living ambassador of a fallen Earth, now preparing to strike back.