I walk along a stone-paved path, built in an old-fashioned style. The trees, carefully trimmed, rise on both sides. In my hands, I carry a bouquet of flowers. It’s a slightly cloudy day for a picnic, but perfect for today’s visit.

  Lost in thought, I reach a fork in the path and stop.

  “We should take the path on the left,” a melodious voice says behind me. It’s a clear, soothing voice; just hearing it calms my mind.

  I turn to see a tall, slender figure. She’s dressed in a formal bck dress, very different from the cheerful colors she usually wears. The breeze sways the strands of her long chestnut hair, but she tucks them back in pce with a soft movement of her free hand; in the other, she holds a broom.

  “Thank you, I’d already forgotten the way,” I say as I take the route she suggested.

  We continue walking in silence. The path gently rises until it takes us to the top of a small hill, where a rge gravestone stands in silence.

  “You can pay your respects first. I’ll sweep the area a bit,” I tell her, handing her the flowers and taking the broom from her hands.

  “I should be the one sweeping. You can pay your respects,” she says, worried.

  “This time, I think it’s my turn to clean the pce,” I reply, beginning to sweep the fallen leaves.

  Time passes slowly. I can see her from a distance: she sets down the flowers, cleans the gravestone, then stands in front of it for a few minutes before finally bowing and walking toward me.

  “Thank you very much. I think it’s your turn now,” she says, taking the broom from my hands and going off to sweep the path, leaving me alone on the hill.

  With no other choice, I approach the grave and pay my respects. There isn’t a set way to do it. Some religions have funeral rites, but in my home, there’s no god to pray to, so I simply say whatever comes to me.

  “Father, Mother… it’s been a long time since my st visit. We’ve been well. Evelyn takes care of me, and I take care of her.”

  I don’t know what else to say. I consider myself a talkative man, but I’ve never known what to say in this pce. Maybe I could stay silent like Evelyn, but that’s not my style.

  “Not long ago, I met a man who served by your side. He told me how you saved his life. He told me, Father, that you were a strong and honorable man, but also cheerful, someone who looked after everyone. He told me, Mother, that you were a serious and beautiful woman; a bit strict, but only because you wanted to make sure everyone came back safely. He told me many stories about you, and said how proud I should be to be your son.” I look at the lifeless gray tombstone I’m speaking to, as if it could answer me. “And he wasn’t the only one. Many people, over the years, have told me about you: about your heroic deeds, about how you saved them. They introduce me to children who wouldn’t have been born if not for you. Sometimes the kingdom organizes an event in your honor and invites me. Everyone tells me the same thing: that I should be proud to be your son. And I am. I know you were great people in life, and that even in death, your sacrifice saved many. It’s just that…” I pause. I look at the slowly drifting clouds, searching within them for the words that express how I feel.

  In the distance, I see Evelyn still tending to her tasks.

  “It’s just that I wish I could have known you myself… I wish I could have had you by my side. I know it sounds selfish, but I wish you had escaped. That, when facing the enemy, you had put your own lives before everyone else’s. That you had abandoned all those people. You had a family waiting for you at home, too,” I finish, letting out everything I’ve been holding inside.

  I take a moment to pull myself together.

  “Tomorrow I’ll be setting out. In a way, I ended up following in your footsteps, but I don’t have your talent. I’m not a pilot; I’m part of the ship’s maintenance crew. I won’t accomplish great feats or fight heroically on the front lines, but I will put my life first,” I say, watching a figure walk up the path with a broom, “because there are people waiting for me back home.”

  ***

  I run quickly through the corridors of the Seeker, heading for the armor hangars just as the call instructed.

  We were close to finishing the mission, but in the end it seemed we would be seeing some action after all.

  I take one st turn and reach the hangars, where I’m met by the deafening noise of engineers shouting orders back and forth and the constant hum of machinery.

  “Rob! Damn it, you finally made it!” the department chief yells at me.

  “I ran as fast as I could. What the hell is going on here?” I ask as I put on my gear.

  “Something happened with one of the drones. I don’t know what; they haven’t shared any info. The thing is, the Lynx team is going out. We need to prep a drop ship and five armors within an hour, so cut the chatter and get to work. Take the Lynx 16, since it’s yours. Load the weapons and check the energy levels,” the chief orders before heading off to inspect the ship.

  The Lynx 16 is assigned to Alex. Looks like he’ll be deployed. I’d like to talk to him and find out what’s happening, but work comes first. I’m usually his mechanic, so I know the armor well and can get it ready quickly with the Handyman’s help.

  I’m wiping the sweat from my forehead with a towel when the Lynx team arrives at the hangar. It’s not mission time yet, but teams usually show up early to inspect their machine or request special adjustments.

  I walk up to Alex, who’s already wearing his full pilot suit. The bright yellow of the uniform stands out, along with the crest of a lynx on the right side of his chest and the number 16 on the left. On his back, the kingdom’s emblem.

  “Alex,” I call.

  “Hey, Rob. How are the preparations going? I trust my Leonidas is ready for action,” Alex greets me.

  “Of course it is. Who do you think you’re talking to? It’s ready to go out there and kick some ass,” I joke. “But tell me, what’s going on? Why the sudden deployment?”

  “Things got a little complicated,” he replies, looking around to make sure no one is listening. “A few hours ago, we lost contact with recon drone 68, shortly after it reached its quadrant.”

  That was the drone I finished prepping earlier today. I don’t remember anything unusual about it.

  “After checking the data, command sent another drone, number 81, to coordinates a bit farther out to investigate…” Alex whispers.

  “And what did the drone see?” I ask, intrigued.

  “Nothing. We lost contact with it the moment it arrived. So command decided to send a manned mission to check the situation,” Alex tells me.

  “Isn’t that dangerous? If I didn’t trust command’s competence, I’d think they were sending you out as cannon fodder,” I say sarcastically.

  “Rex. We’re not going directly into that quadrant. We’ll be deployed in a neighboring one already scanned and confirmed safe. From there we’ll approach slowly. All we have to do is monitor, and we’ve been ordered to return if anything seems off,” Alex expins.

  His words ease my worries a bit, though not completely. If I always trusted leadership, I wouldn’t have turned my basement into a bunker.

  Seeing it that way, maybe joining the fleet wasn’t my brightest idea. I should consider changing fields… cssic ship restoration, maybe?

  Setting that thought aside, I’m still in shock. The kingdom hasn’t had a war in years, and my life mostly revolves around other engineers. Seeing a friend risk his life is something completely new.

  “Why did you join the military, Alex?” I ask, trying to understand.

  “I don’t know. Back home it’s just my mother, my little sister, and me,” he replies, a bit embarrassed. “I wanted to be able to help as soon as possible. During the exams, I showed a decent level of piloting skill, and they gave me the opportunity. Not everyone gets that chance. I felt that if I had the ability to protect my family, I should use it.”

  Ah, damn. I could feel the pure shine of his idealism burning my eyes. All of that sounded like cheap royal propaganda, but the problem was that Alex genuinely believed it. It wasn’t naivety; it was conviction. And that, for someone normal like me, was armingly… bright.

  Not that he was wrong, of course. I guess there are ideals worth fighting for, but next to him, I felt like a selfish cynic.

  “And you, Rob? What motivated you to enlist?” he asks.

  I think for a moment before answering. “The truth is, there weren’t any big decisions or values behind it. My parents were soldiers who died in the line of duty. The kingdom took care of my education. They sent me to the army academies.” I see his confused expression and crify: “It sounds like I was raised to be a soldier, but there were other professions. Even so, I always leaned toward the military. Maybe to meet expectations… or to honor them. I don’t know. I wanted to be a pilot, but I didn’t have the talent. So I went for something safer and ended up in engineering.”

  “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have asked,” Alex apologizes.

  “It’s fine. All of that is ancient history. Besides, I asked you first. As you can see, I’m not the most patriotic guy; I just went with the flow and ended up here, hunting for early retirement,” I answer.

  “I don’t really see myself that way either. I just want to do my part. Help however I can,” Alex says.

  I smile a little.

  “Be careful out there,” I warn him.

  “I will. But have a little more faith in me. My training isn’t just for show,” he replies confidently.

  “Lynx team, prepare for deployment,” the captain’s voice interrupts our conversation.

  “I have to go. Remember, I’m not going alone. My Leonidas is with me… unless you don’t trust your own work,” Alex says as he climbs into his armor.

  “Of course I trust my work. It’s the pilot I’m worried about,” I joke.

  “Expect my triumphant return. You’ll see, this mission will be the start of my great career,” he says as the cockpit closes.

  “You’d better bring me some juicy story for my channel!” I shout before he leaves.

  The technical staff clears the hangar to make way for the armors, which rise with remarkable agility. With the captain at the lead, they advance toward the deployment craft, already positioned on the lift. The side compartments open to receive them and, one by one, the Lynx units enter and take their pces. When everything is ready, the compartments close.

  The lift rises along the same route the drones took toward the stelr catapult. I head to the monitoring room.

  The central projection shows the craft ascending to the catapult. Once in position, the unch sequence begins.

  Before departure, a voice sounds over the communicators:

  “Gentlemen, you know your mission. Proceed with caution and stay focused. Report any anomalies and avoid conflict. Concentrate on gathering information. May the Radiance guide your return home. Begin unch.”

  With those words from the captain, the catapult begins to glow. The ethereal tunnel forms and, like a shooting star, the Lynx team is unched toward their duty.

  ***

  “Begin the unch,” I utter those words with the weight of responsibility they carry.

  The weight of five men’s lives. All I can do now is watch as they disappear from sight to fulfill their mission.

  A few hours ago, we lost contact with probe number 68, assigned to quadrant 88. The cause of its disappearance is unknown, so after checking all instruments to rule out malfunctions, and following protocol, I deployed a backup probe—number 81—hoping it could crify the situation.

  Most likely, it was some kind of interference caused by cosmic radiation sources, sor fres, or perhaps the signal was blocked by a rge celestial body.

  There was also the possibility that the probe had been destroyed by meteor impacts or astronomical phenomena such as supernovae or gamma-ray bursts.

  But, to my surprise and that of my crew, we lost contact with the second probe as soon as it entered the quadrant. We quickly contacted the probes in the adjacent quadrants, but they reported no anomalies.

  With no other choice, I decided to send a manned mission to investigate the incident, as we can’t afford to keep losing more probes.

  “Everything’s ready, captain. If you’d like, you may return to your cabin and I’ll notify you of any updates from the team,” Martínez suggests.

  I’ve been awake for several hours, and my body is beginning to feel the exhaustion.

  “No, I will remain at my post until we receive word from the Lynx team,” I inform Martínez.

  “Understood, Captain,” he replies, then stands silently beside me.

  After that, the chatter ceases. The entire bridge is focused on their work and on monitoring. Minutes pass slowly.

  I think I underestimated my fatigue; this body is no longer that of a young man. I try to stay awake, but drowsiness is getting the better of me.

  Just as I’m about to drift off, Martínez arrives with a coffee.

  “Here you go, Captain. I think you could use it,” he says with his usual unshakable demeanor.

  I don’t even know when he went to get it, only that he had it ready when I needed it.

  “This is exactly what I needed. Thank you,” I say, gratefully accepting the drink, which brings my focus back.

  “May I speak frankly, captain?” Martínez suddenly asks.

  “Go ahead. I promise the worst that’ll happen is a night in the brig,” I reply with a small occupational joke.

  “I thought that, with your years as captain, you’d be more accustomed to situations like this,” he says, looking at me with curiosity.

  I take a moment to reflect on his question. I suppose staying awake on the bridge waiting for results is unusual behavior for someone of my rank.

  “A long time ago, when I was a young officer on the Star Mist, I asked my captain a simir question during an extremely complicated mission,” I tell him, reminiscing.

  “And what did he say?” Martínez asks, intrigued.

  “Waiting for the result of a mission is always difficult for the one in command, and everyone has their own way of coping with it. Some want to monitor everything down to the smallest detail, and others distract themselves so they don’t feel the pressure. But, at the end of the day, all captains must do the same thing: wait, because our job is to give orders and make decisions. Once they’re given, everything rests in the hands of the men we entrusted them to. There is no regret here, no guilt; we can only accept the results and move forward. That is the job of a captain,” I reply.

  Martínez falls silent, reflecting on my words.

  “And how did that mission end?” he asks after a while.

  “That day we lost more than half the crew, including the captain, and our ship was destroyed,” I answer.

  He looks at me somewhat incredulously. Well, so he is still human.

  “It sounds like he didn’t make the right decision,” he says.

  “He did make the right one. Sometimes the right decisions bring terrible consequences, but he accepted them and gave his best until the end.” I pause to take a sip of coffee. “That’s what it means to be a captain.”

  Martinez’s still looking at me.

  “That’s why I’ve decided to stay here. Maybe it’s no longer in my hands, but I’ll remain at my post to witness the result of my actions, and do whatever I can for the team if they need me,” I crify.

  “‘Sometimes the right decisions bring terrible consequences’…” Martínez murmurs. “I suppose that’s true,” he replies, now with a resolute expression as he returns to his station.

  I really am turning into an old man who lives reminiscing about past stories. Who would’ve thought.

  As the hours pass, we begin receiving updates from the team. They reached quadrant 87 without any issues, and nothing seems out of the ordinary. The deployment ship was equipped with a probe scanner to monitor and alert the team to any anomalies. So, while the Lynx team carefully approaches quadrant 88, everything appears normal.

  “This is Captain Reiner. The team has reached the limits of quadrant 87. No anomalies detected on any device. Requesting permission to enter quadrant 88.”

  Reiner’s voice reaches us clearly, with only a slight dey due to the distance, but nothing that hinders effective communication.

  “Martínez, anything on the sensors?” I ask.

  “All clear, captain,” he replies after checking the data.

  “Lynx team, you have green light to enter quadrant 88. Proceed slowly and stay alert for any irregurity. If you sense danger, withdraw to the ship and initiate an emergency stelr jump.”

  After a moment, their reply arrives.

  “Copy that, command center. Beginning entry.”

  The team cautiously enters quadrant 88. Silence reigns both there and on the bridge; everyone is focused on their screens and instruments, searching for even the slightest anomaly.

  Hours go by, and little by little, the tension begins to ease. So far, the most interesting thing the team has found is a pnetoid rich in rare minerals.

  I’ve been awake for several hours now. If it weren’t for all the coffee Martínez has brought me, I wouldn’t have managed to stay conscious.

  Suddenly, my ear catches something on the channel. An interference. I try to focus and shake the sleep away, but the sound persists.

  “Amplify the signal. Lynx team, be on alert,” I order, wasting no time.

  Suddenly, communications begin to cut out due to the interference. I issue orders to check the instruments, but nothing shows up; the signal is simply weakening, as if something were blocking it.

  The Lynx team forms up around the deployment ship, but they see nothing.

  “Have them fall back. Begin the jump,” I finally order. “Reiner, get your men out of there.”

  Suddenly, the interference sound spikes. My ears begin to hurt, and I have to cover them with my hands.

  “Retreat, get out of there!” I shout through the communicator.

  As if guided by my words, the sound abruptly stops, and the channel falls silent.

  “Status report,” I command. “Lynx team, do you copy? This is Captain Mason. Fall back, that’s an order. Return to the ship and begin the jump,” I tell them over the communicator.

  “Captain, nothing on the instruments. We’ve lost the team’s signal,” Martínez informs me.

  I quickly turn toward the projection. There should be five small dots and one rge one, but there’s nothing.

  “Check the health readers. I want to know if they’re alive,” I order, searching for answers.

  “There’s nothing. We lost the signal, but there was no indication of injuries or damage. They just… shut off,” an officer reports.

  “Boost the antenna power to maximum. We need to reestablish communication,” I order the communications officer.

  The minutes of radio silence only stretch on. We try several channels, but we can’t reach the Lynx team.

  “I found something, Captain. It’s being picked up by the drone in quadrant 87: a weak signal that could disappear at any moment,” the communications officer informs me.

  “Put it on speaker,” I order, growing impatient.

  Everyone falls silent to listen. There’s only static, but at least it’s something. In the background, something can be heard.

  I order them to move the drone to the edge of quadrant 87 without entering 88. The signal gradually becomes clearer.

  “Surrounding… us…”

  “Speed up… we must… reach…”

  Broken voices fill the bridge. We can barely understand their words, but they seem to be transmissions from the squad’s channel. We can feel the urgency and fear in their tones.

  “…twelve… behind…”

  “Captain… damage… power…”

  Suddenly, a loud explosion is heard through the transmission.

  “Lynx!… damn it… alert… Seeker…”

  Little by little, the signal weakens.

  “Can’t we talk to them?” I urge the officer.

  “No, we can’t reach them. We’re barely receiving them as it is,” he answers.

  “Warn… danger… found… flee…”

  With that final message, the signal vanishes completely, leaving only static.

  The entire bridge falls into a sepulchral silence. We can’t understand what happened to the team. We know some of them are still alive, and that they’re facing great danger. We must send support, but the st message doesn’t bode well. Warn of what?

  What did they find? What filled their hearts with fear?

  “Captain, your orders,” Martínez’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I must lead this ship. I must do what’s best for the entire crew.

  “Send all information back to the kingdom and prepare the ether jump,” I order with a firm voice.

  “Destination?” the navigator asks.

  “Quadrant 87,” I reply.