Zach III, Chapter 7 Time crawled like a malfunctioning robot, each day stretching into the next with excruciating lethargy. Zach Hunter, his black hair tousled and eyes fixed on the flickering screens, could almost feel the seconds dragging their feet. At fourteen, he was already marked by an adventuresome spirit, but now, confined to The Trident's buzzing environment, he felt tethered, restrained by an invisible leash of inactivity. The Trident itself pulsed with life, its walls echoing the laughter and chatter of hopeful settlers. It was a brazen imitation of Dirk’s on Ceres—right down to the layout of the gaming pods that waited silently in anticipation. These were Zach's trophies from Belae, twenty-five sleeping dragons waiting for the breath of life when the game dome would finally spring into action. There were more, almost three-hundred, but Zach had executed a plan for their deployment that the game dome on Ceres had never considered. He had leased the game pods to businesses willing to pay–almost every business in town had a game pod, some more. The idea was that every business would have a game pod dedicated to their chosen champions. Many would, but it wouldn’t be necessary to travel to the game dome to play in the arena. You could fight from a game pod on the porch of General Store, or in the game pod at the Lumber Mill–anywhere the business was willing to sponsor the player. It would cut costs to the Arena, while setting up teams among the various corporations and businesses. "Boy, they sure didn't skimp on the copy-paste, huh?" Zach muttered to himself with a wry grin, eyeing the décor. The holographic cowboys dueling at the entrance might have been charming had they not seemed like pixelated ghosts of Dirk's more vivid characters. And who had breathed such dubious life into The Trident? None other than the Corporation once known for ferrying tourists through the wonders of Ceres. In the wake of change, they'd shed their old skin, desperate to carve out a new niche in this fledgling settlement. They offered little beyond muscle and sweat to the Ares community, but ambition thrived where skill did not. "Like trying to turn a cargo bot into a bartender," Zach chuckled under his breath, his gaze still locked on the screen showcasing the dome's status. He could imagine them, the corporate suits, huddled around a table, plotting their rise to fame, dreaming their name would one day roll off tongues with the same ease as 'Dirk’s' did. But dreams were currency here, and those without skill bartered with vision. "Guess we'll see if they can pull a rabbit out of a spacesuit," Zach mused aloud, his voice lost in the din of The Trident's eager crowd. He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. This was his interlude, a mere pause in the grand symphony of chaos that was his life. And soon, very soon, the melody would resume. *** Zach shouldered his way through The Trident's swelling throng, the chatter and clinks of glasses stitching a vibrant tapestry of anticipation. Dust motes danced in sunbeams that snuck past half-drawn shutters, casting long shadows over patrons whose eyes were fixed on screens depicting the progress of the distant dome in space as it was being prepared for its hyperspace jump to its new home on Ares. The establishment buzzed with the rugged charm of an old-time saloon, yet its walls held the slumbering promise of futuristic play: the dormant game pods stood like silent sentinels, waiting for a spark to jolt them to life. A far cry from the adrenaline-fueled escapades they would one day offer, they now served as stoic monuments to patience, their sleek surfaces reflecting the hopeful faces gathered around. Amidst the hum of excitement, Zach caught sight of a particularly animated patch of crowd. Two contenders were locked in digital combat at one of the makeshift video game tables, their fingers darting over controls with practiced ease. These relics of recreation, salvaged by Zach and his team from forgotten tech, had been granted new purpose here. Old computers, repurposed with upward-facing screens nestled in cradles of weathered shipping crates, now hosted virtual showdowns for restless souls. Zach paused, leaning against a rough-hewn pillar to observe the duel unfolding before him. Pixels clashed on the screen—a dance of strategy and reflexes—as the two players unleashed their skills upon each other in a game that had once captivated audiences galaxy-wide. "Bet five creds on the red player," a voice whispered in Zach’s ear, a resident taking advantage of the impromptu entertainment. Zach's lips quirked into a grin, but he shook his head without taking his eyes off the match. "Wouldn't be fair," he replied. "I coded part of that game AI, I know who will win by the moves they make." Laughter rippled through the bystanders, a shared moment of lightness amidst the weight of waiting. Here, within the wooden confines of The Trident, Zach found a semblance of home—a frontier outpost on the edge of tomorrow, bridging the gap between the void outside and the warmth within. Zach continued through The Trident, his gaze flickering to other battles being fought at his homemade arcade tables. He ambled past the throng clustered around one of his tables, where the frenetic dance of Asteroid Dodge enthralled its audience, and there, amidst barrels and burlap sacks, the old wooden planks bore witness to cheers and groans as asteroids were dodged or collided with. Mr. Johnston's cash register rang merrily, tallying up the sales driven by the magnetic draw of the game Zach had cobbled together from remnants of a bygone tech era. "Zachariah," called a familiar voice, cutting through the din. Eric, steward of the settlement's fledgling financial institution, gestured from where he sat—surrounded by empty chairs spared from the crowd's occupation. This was the Ares Corporation’s private table, reserved for senior members of the corporation. Zach slipped through the sea of bodies and dropped into the offered seat, the wooden chair creaking under his weight. "Anything new happen?" Zach asked, chin tipping towards the colossal screen that loomed over the establishment, broadcasting silent images of the dome lingering in the void. "Same old, same old," Eric said, a wry twist to his mouth. "But you know how it is, everyone's watching like the seasons will change with each frame." "Maybe they will," Zach quipped back, his eyes never leaving the screen, the big black void punctuated by the faint outline of what could become their new world. "Perhaps," Eric conceded with an easy chuckle, the sound much like the clinking of credits in his bank—a rare melody these days. Zach's gaze clung to the screen, the starkness of space casting a spectral glow across his intent features. His fingers drummed a silent cadence on the tabletop, a mimicry of his restless thoughts. "Cracked glass," Eric murmured, leaning in so only Zach could hear over the hum of anticipation that filled The Trident. "They're swapping it out with a backup from the storage holds." Zach's eyes narrowed at the mention, tracking the robotic arms on the other side of the screen as they maneuvered the massive pane into place. "And the rest?" "Armor plates are coming online. Sealing the whole thing up tight by nightfall." Eric’s voice held a note of admiration for the precision of the work being done lightyears away. "Good news then," Zach said, more to himself than to Eric as he raised his hand high above the heads bobbing around them, signaling for service. A waiter sidestepped a raucous crowd cheering at the nearby gaming table, quickly homing in on Zach's gesture. "Means they'll be ready to hyper-jump the dome in a few weeks," Zach stated, turning his black eyes toward the approaching figure, a spark of relief flickering within their depths. The prospect of progress was a balm to the idle anxiety that had gnawed at him during these stagnant weeks. "Indeed," Eric replied, following Zach's glance toward the waiter weaving through the throng with practiced ease. "If all goes to plan, we'll be watching the next phase from orbit." Zach nodded, his mind already leaping ahead to the myriad possibilities that awaited them once the dome was anchored to their new home. The image of the dome, encased in its newly powered armor, lingered behind his eyelids—a beacon of hope amidst the void. *** "Those tanker crews are wrapping up the refueling," Eric said, his voice cutting through the din. His gaze was steady, reflecting the gravity of their situation. "Mr. Gillian's ships from Belae have been busy. There's a flurry of activity at the bank—funds flowing out as fast as the fuel flows in." Zach tilted his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah," he acknowledged with a chuckle that didn’t quite reach his eyes, "Mr. Gillian is cashing in big time." Their eyes met, sharing an unspoken understanding of the delicate balance between survival and profit. As settlers invested their savings into the precious fuel that would power their vessels, Zach couldn't help but admire Mr. Gillian's foresight. The man had turned a dire necessity into a lucrative venture, and in doing so, kept the settlement moving forward. Eric's lips quirked in response to Zach's grin, a brief moment of levity amidst the weight of their circumstances. But the humor faded quickly, replaced by the sobering thought of what lay ahead. Zach leaned back in his seat, the creak of the worn leather mingling with the hum of conversation around him. The room buzzed with a nervous energy, the air thick with anticipation and the faint scent of old electronics. Each tick of the clock seemed to echo against the walls of The Trident, amplifying the quiet anxiety that clung to his skin. His gaze shifted upward, black eyes fixating on the count-down timer suspended above. It loomed like an ominous promise, its digits frozen at zero. Yet, an electric charge hung in the air—a silent herald that soon those numbers would spring to life, ticking down to a future uncertain and fraught with risk. A flicker of movement caught Zach's peripheral vision as a waiter approached, a wooden plate balanced expertly in one hand and a glass of clear water in the other. With practiced ease, the waiter slid the offerings onto the table before Zach. "Your usual, Sir," the waiter announced, his voice carrying the faintest trace of a smile. The plate, unadorned save for its cargo, bore no signs of the anticipated meal. Zach prodded the twin cylinders of meat with a suspicious eye, their pallid exteriors glistening faintly in the dim light of The Trident. A frown etched itself between his brows as he realized the absence of the usual soft embrace of bread around them. He looked up, his voice laced with a hint of bemusement. "What gives? Where's the buns and my grape soda?" The waiter shifted uncomfortably, the apology already forming on his lips before Zach's question had fully hung in the air. "I'm sorry, Sir, we're out," the waiter confessed. His words tumbled over each other, betraying the chaos behind the scenes. "Kyle can't keep up with the demand for soda, and Mrs. Toth can't bake the hotdog buns fast enough." He paused, drawing a breath as if to brace himself for delivering the crux of the problem. "Mrs. Toth says she needs at least two more ovens." A ripple of laughter threatened to surface from Zach at the absurdity of it all—hotdogs without buns, a gamer without his favorite soda. But the laughter never quite made it past the tightness in his chest, smothered by the growing list of shortages. Zach's hand hovered above the steaming hotdogs, his appetite waning as he mulled over The Trident's predicament. Unsettled, he turned to his companion, searching Eric’s weary face for a sliver of hope. "Aren't there any more ovens available anywhere?" he asked, the question punctuated by an optimistic lift of his eyebrows. Eric responded with a slow shake of his head, the motion carrying the weight of finality. His voice was flat, resigned. "We've distributed what we have," he said. The next words fell like a hammer on Zach's fleeting hope. "And we can’t purchase any from off-world yet, our currency has no value off this planet." Zach's fingers tapped an absent rhythm on the table, his mind racing through possibilities as rapidly as the blips and beeps emanating from the nearby 2D game tables. He exhaled a frustrated breath that ruffled the napkin beneath the plain hotdogs. There had to be a solution hiding in plain sight; it was simply a matter of finding it. His gaze shifted from the empty space where buns should have been to the thrumming pulse of The Trident. He leaned in, his voice a low conspiratorial whisper aimed at Eric. "What about the money from tourists? We're accepting foreign currency from any planet," he said, a glint of hope threading through his words. Eric leaned back, rubbing a hand across his furrowed brow. His eyes, dark with concern, met Zach's. "It's going out as fast as it's coming in." He sighed, the sound heavy with the burden of managing an entire settlement's financial health. "The bank is barely keeping its head above water. The bank’s foreign currency reserve was $624.83 as of this morning." "You’re kidding?" Zach echoed incredulously, his eyebrows arching toward his tousled black hair. A flicker of disbelief danced in his dark eyes before being quenched by the gravity of the situation. "Not kidding," Eric confirmed, his tone somber. Zach's fingers halted their rhythmic dance upon the table, a silent signal of his shift in focus. He leaned forward, elbows propped and chin rested on interlaced hands, his young face etched with concern. The hum of The Trident, with its cacophony of voices and blips from the gaming machines, faded into the background as he concentrated on the man across from him. "Where did all the money go?" Zach's question pierced the veil of ambient noise, demanding an answer that could potentially unveil a path through their financial quagmire. Eric exhaled, a gust of breath that seemed to carry the weight of their collective worries. "The hospital," he said, meeting Zach's gaze with a frankness that bespoke the gravity of their predicament. "I had to purchase medical supplies from off-world." Zach's dark eyes widened ever so slightly, a flicker of understanding igniting within them. The necessities of life they'd taken for granted were now commodities more precious than the rarest metals. "We don’t have the ability to produce much more than a few jars of Aloe Vera cream," Eric continued, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration borne from limitations beyond his control. "We needed high-blood pressure medicine, cholesterol medicine, insulin, acid reflux medicine, lidocaine, influenza vaccine..." He trailed off, the list of essential medications hanging between them like a dire proclamation. Zach's mind raced, evoking images of the bustling hospital—a beacon of hope amidst the uncertainty of their new world, yet precariously reliant on the lifeline of supplies from distant stars. "And dozens of other high-demand medicines," Eric concluded, each word a testament to their vulnerability. "It’ll be at least another two years before our chemists can begin producing anything." Two years. The span of time loomed over Zach, a chasm to be crossed with ingenuity and resolve. His gaze drifted past Eric, settling on the dormant game pods that lined the walls of The Trident—silent sentinels awaiting the spark of life that would transform them into portals of escape and joy. But for now, reality held dominion, and it was a realm fraught with challenges. With a determined nod, Zach pulled back from the table, his chair scraping softly against the floor. "We'll figure it out," he said, his voice carrying an undercurrent of optimism that belied his youth. "We always do." "Can't we use a matter converter?" he asked, breaking the cadence of his drumming to lock eyes with Eric. It was a shot in the dark, but Zach clung to any semblance of solution like a lifeline. Eric leaned back, his chair creaking under the shift in weight. "We have one," he acknowledged, "but matter converters are not safe for food or medicine." His hands gestured vaguely, as if trying to illustrate the invisible risks of the technology. "The one we have is producing non-consumption supplies around the clock." Zach's brow furrowed, his mind racing through the implications. A matter converter could fabricate almost anything—except the very things they needed most to sustain life and health. It was a cruel irony that didn't escape him. "Your dad did sign an emergency order to authorize it to produce topical medicines, though," Eric added, a note of reluctant concession in his voice. "Topical medicines..." Zach repeated quietly, considering this small victory. At least they could treat surface wounds, prevent infections. It wasn't enough, not by a long stretch, but it was something. And right now, 'something' was a currency more precious than the foreign funds cycling through the bank's accounts. "We have a safety issue," he said, his voice firm but tinged with concern. He watched as a worker balanced precariously on a high beam as he changed a lightbulb, a single misstep away from disaster. "We’re having too many injuries." The hustle of the crowd muted the gravity of his words, yet Eric's solemn nod acknowledged the truth within them. "We used up our supply of anesthesia re-attaching Jeff Samson’s hand." His statement landed like a heavy weight, underscoring the risks they all faced amidst the bones of their burgeoning civilization. Zach frowned, his adventurous spirit battling with the responsible streak inherited from his father. The recklessness that so often sparked in his veins now gave way to a commander's prudence. He knew that for all his love of gaming and exploring, it was the well-being of these pioneers that would define their survival. "Then we need to tighten up safety protocols," Zach decided, his words slicing through the din of progress. "I don't want anyone else ending up on the med table because we got careless." "Agreed," Eric said, pulling a datapad from his pocket and tapping a note into it. "I'll schedule a meeting with the Board. We can't afford any more accidents—not with our medical supplies already stretched thin." Zach shoved the wooden plate across the table, the hotdogs rolling like logs on a river of discontent. "The logging accident, yeah, that was bad," he muttered, unable to shake the image of twisted metal and splintered trees from his mind. “I’ve lost my appetite.” Eric’s hand darted out, swift as a hawk snatching prey, his fingers curling around the plate with practiced ease. He peered at Zach, a glint of understanding in his eyes beneath the furrowed brow of worry. Yet, where concern furrowed, hunger smoothed, and Eric's mouth curved into a small, appreciative smile as he claimed the meal for himself. Their conversation—muted by the hum of voices and the clinking of glasses within The Trident—halted abruptly as a collective inhalation swept through the establishment. It was the sound of anticipation, laced with dread. Zach’s head snapped up, his gaze locking onto the massive video screen that dominated the room. Numbers flickered to life, glowing a harsh red against the backdrop of space. Sixty hours. The countdown had commenced, its silent tick-tock reverberating louder than any physical sound. Zach shot to his feet, his chair scraping against the floor with a sharp noise that cut through the hum of anxious conversations. "Everyone, stay calm," he commanded, his voice booming across the crowded room of The Trident, silencing murmurs and drawing all eyes to his youthful but assertive presence. He swept a glance at his wristwatch, the digital numbers coolly indifferent to the tension hanging in the air. "We have two and a half days, plenty of time. Go home, pack your bag, and be at your assigned evacuation ship tomorrow by noon," he instructed, his tone steady despite the flutter in his chest—a subtle betraying of his usual composure. "Off-worlders, report to The Sovereign—that's the really big cargo ship that towers over all the other ships." He gestured vaguely toward the spaceport, as if painting an image of the massive vessel in the minds of those gathered. We've already prepped it with plenty of bunks. You can board your assigned ship early if you like." A murmur of assent rippled through the crowd, a mixture of relief and residual fear, as they took comfort in Zach's confidence. They began to disperse, their motions slow and hesitant, yet driven by the urgency of his words. Eric reached out and laid a hand on Zach's arm. The gesture was grounding, a silent reminder of camaraderie amidst the chaos. “And you?” His voice carried the weight of unspoken concern, a testament to the bond shared between them. Zach turned to face Eric, his black eyes holding a spark that belied his composed exterior. A smirk teased the corners of his mouth, hinting at the irrepressible spirit that refused to be dampened even by the gravity of their situation. "Me?" he said, the humor in his voice a fleeting reprieve from the weight of command. "I'll be where I need to be, as always." Zach's gaze lingered on the horizon, a line that seemed to promise both hope and doom. He turned back to Eric, his stance resolute amidst the growing clamor of The Trident's crowd. "I can't just watch from some ship in orbit, not when this was my idea," Zach said, the edges of his voice fraying with raw emotion. "I already told you, I had a huge fight with dad over it." His hands, callused from hard work, clenched into fists at his sides. "But if something goes wrong, and I destroyed the only world they had a chance for a future, you know what the mob will do to me. It’s better to end it on my terms." Eric's eyes softened, understanding flickering within their depths. "You'll be at the beach then?" he asked, though it wasn't really a question. "Yeah," Zach confirmed, a mix of determination and dread seeping through the facade of bravado. "I’ll be there when the dome lands." *** The following days transformed the settlement into a hive of frenetic energy, residents and tourists alike swept up in a tide of urgency. Supplies were packed, lists checked and rechecked, as the community braced for an exodus born of necessity rather than desire. Zach watched as the first of the evacuation ships lifted off, its thrusters painting the sky with brilliant hues of blue and orange. Across town, makeshift signs directed people to their designated vessels, each step choreographed to ensure no one was left behind. Amidst the chaos, rumors swirled like dust devils, each whisper adding momentum to the collective anxiety. Word had arrived, carried on the airwaves like a sinister melody, explaining the hastened timeline for the dome’s relocation. A fleet of ships adorned with pirate flags had been sighted, a specter of vengeance from those who had suffered under Captain Hunter's decisive strike against Belae. "Looks like they're after some payback," muttered a settler, his eyes darting skyward as another ship roared into the atmosphere. Zach nodded, his mind racing with strategies and contingencies. The possibility of facing off with the vengeful fleet from Belae added another layer to the already precarious situation. But in this game of survival, Zach was determined to ensure that every piece, every player, made it out alive. Zach Hunter's silhouette was etched against the sprawling canvas of dawn that draped over the beach. His black pilot's uniform, crisply ironed and adorned with the insignia of his rank, contrasted starkly with the pale sands beneath his boots. Strands of hair, usually rebellious, now lay subdued—a testament to the gravity of the moment. The constant roar of engines thundered behind him as evacuation ships clawed their way into the heavens, one by one piercing the atmosphere. Their fiery trails lingered in the sky, a fleeting reminder of humanity's urge to flee from impending disaster. Zach watched, his gaze unwavering, where the vessels would wait in orbit to find out if they had a world to return to. In the solitude of the shoreline, with the tang of salt heavy on his tongue, Zach's thoughts turned inward. The game of chance he so often relished in had escalated beyond screens and joysticks; this time, the stakes were an entire world, a gamble with nature itself. "Alright, dome," he murmured to the horizon, "it's just you and me now." Anxiety gnawed at him, a gnarling beast caged within his chest, its claws scraping against his ribs. He imagined the dome—his gargantuan bet—suspended in the void of space, poised for its descent. If calculations held true, it would kiss the ocean's surface with the gentleness of a lover's touch. But should they fail... Zach clenched his fists, feeling the grit of sand between his fingers. A plume of water, colossal and unforgiving, might erupt from the depths, heralding a wave that could scour the land clean. Ten miles high, it would be a liquid mountain rolling across the planet, obliterating every trace of life, every dream, every memory. "Please," he whispered to no one, to everyone, to the universe itself, "let us win this one." He imagined the ghostly image of the dome, safe and serene upon the sea, its arrival unnoticed by the slumbering waters. It was a vision of hope, fragile as the glass that composed the structure he longed to see intact. "Make it a good show, at least," Zach said, offering a wry grin to the empty air. The humor felt hollow, but it was a shield, as ever-present as the blaster at his hip. As the sun rose towards the deadline, the beach grew still, save for the rhythmic lapping of waves that whispered promises and warnings alike. Zach stood sentinel, his eyes fixed on the point where sky meets sea, where fate would soon unfold. "Still as a statue, aren't you?" The voice was familiar, tinged with the warmth of shared history and battles fought side by side. It rumbled softly in the quiet that blanketed the beach. Zach didn't turn, sensing the presence of others joining him on this vigil. "Dad?" His voice betrayed a sliver of surprise, laced with a relief he wouldn't have admitted aloud. "Did you think I’d watch from orbit while my son stares into the eyes of the beast?" Captain Hunter said softly, standing now at Zach’s side. The man's shadow melded with his son's, two generations of indomitable spirit facing the unknown. "I kinda hoped you'd be safer up there," Zach replied, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Safe is for cargo bays and board meetings." Captain Hunter folded his arms across his chest, his gaze mirroring his son's—one trained on the distant point where destiny would soon unveil itself. "This right here? This is living." "Living on the edge," Zach quipped, the humor a thin veneer over the pounding of his heart. Zach's gaze shifted from the horizon to Mr. Gillian, whose sturdy build and weathered face spoke of a lifetime navigating the stars. Beside him stood Mr. Steward, his sharp eyes missing nothing, and Eric, whose quick wit often lightened the weight of their survival. These men, pillars in Zach’s world, had assembled on the sand like sentinels guarding a sacred ground. "Mr. Gillian," Zach nodded, respect threading his voice. The man's hands, rough with experience, clasped behind his back as he surveyed the scene with calculated calm. Mr. Steward offered a curt nod, his presence both reassuring and commanding. And there was Eric, managing a half-smile that held more bravery than mirth. "Didn't expect a party," Zach said, the attempt at humor falling flat in the heavy air but earning a brief chuckle from Eric. "Wouldn't miss it," Eric replied, his tone light but eyes serious. They were the architects of his character, silently promising guidance without uttering a word. In their silent company, Zach found a measure of comfort, a quiet acknowledgment of the challenges faced and yet to come. The gravity of the moment pulled him closer to his father. His voice, barely above a whisper, carried the weight of unspoken fears. “Will it hurt?” Captain Hunter turned towards his son, eyes reflecting the rising sun. "You've got the heart of a Hunter," he said, his voice firm and steady. "And Hunters face the storm head-on." Zach drew a slow breath, finding solace in the shared courage that bonded them. Together, they would face whatever came next, anchored by the steadfastness of those who stood with him. Zach's fingers curled into fists at his sides, the knuckles whitening, a physical manifestation of his internal grip on reality. The world around them held its breath, the waves whispering secrets only the sands could hear. He glanced down at his wrist, the watch ticking in defiance of the stillness that enveloped them. "Is it over, did it land yet?" Zach asked, hope threading through the taut wire of suspense that tethered them all to the present moment. His father simply shook his head, eyes trained on the same unfathomable distance that held Zach captive. The answer lay beyond their sight, in the hands of time and tide. "Look!" The urgency in Mr. Gillian's voice sliced through the thick air of anticipation, pulling Zach from his silent vigil. Zach's gaze snapped upwards to see a shimmering distortion ballooned over the harbor, a pulsating dance of light and shadow. Within it, a massive quantum bubble swelled like a soap bubble reflecting a stormy sky, its surface swirling with iridescent colors. "What the heck?" Zach blurted out, the words bursting from him as if they could pop the anomaly before them. He took a step forward, his feet sinking into the cool sand as he stared, incredulous. "No! It’s supposed to land out in the ocean." Captain Hunter placed a firm hand on Zach's shoulder, grounding him. Despite the chaos of thoughts racing through his mind, Zach felt a sliver of reassurance from the touch. But his eyes remained fixed on the spectacle unfolding before them. The enormity of the quantum bubble seemed to mock the very laws of physics, its colossal presence a stark contrast to the expected trajectory. Captain Hunter, his eyes narrowed as he assessed the situation, spoke in a tone that brooked no argument yet conveyed a tinge of disbelief. “So, it would seem that Captain Archer’s equation had a hidden agenda,” he noted, the words hanging between them like a verdict yet to be decided. Zach's heart raced, his thoughts a whirlwind. The unexpected was part and parcel of life on the edge of civilization, but this—this was beyond even his father's tales of the wild expanses of space. He glanced sideways at the man who had charted countless courses through the stars, searching for some sign of what they should do next. But Captain Hunter's gaze remained fixed on the spectacle before them, as if willing the universe to reveal its secrets. Mr. Gillian stepped closer, his own face etched with lines of concern and contemplation. “Or maybe he wanted us to watch our destruction," he added, his voice a low rumble amidst the rising tide of whispers and speculation. The suggestion hung in the air, a dark cloud over their heads. Zach tried to muster a smile, an attempt to inject some levity into the direness of their predicament. "Well, if he did," Zach quipped, his voice barely above a murmur, "he surely underestimated our front-row seats." The joke fell flat, dissipating quickly into the salt-tinged breeze. Even humorous defiance seemed insignificant against the backdrop of the unknown. They stood together, a band of pioneers on the shores of their new world, staring into the heart of uncertainty. A shimmering veil of iridescence quivered in the air, a mirage birthed from the raw edge of science. Within the heart of the quantum bubble, the dome emerged like a leviathan from the depths of an otherworldly sea, its vastness dwarfing the sands upon which they stood. It was a behemoth of glass and steel, a testament to human ingenuity—so massive that it could engulf several of Mr. Gillian's massive cargo ships with room to spare. "Stand steady, men," Captain Hunter's voice cut through the awe-stricken silence, deep and resonant. His eyes, those pools of onyx that had seen the rise and fall of countless ventures, now reflected the colossal structure that unfurled before them. “We can’t change what is about to happen. It has been a pleasure to serve with all of you.” The words were few, but they carried the weight of shared hardships and victories, the unspoken camaraderie of souls who had ventured beyond the familiar embrace of celestial bodies. They stood shoulder to shoulder, not as individuals lost in their own reveries, but as a brotherhood forged in the crucible of space's endless frontier. Zach, feeling the gravity of his father's words, leaned against his father as he had when he was little and his father seemed to be the rock that held the universe together. "Thanks for being here, dad–together to the end." Captain Hunter's arm wrapped around Zach, a silent acknowledgment of their bond. “I couldn’t have asked for a better son.” They remained statuesque, a tableau of anticipation against the backdrop of an operation that teetered on the brink of history or catastrophe. The dome's silhouette solidified within the quantum cocoon, a promise of future safe harbors or the precipice of annihilation. Whether it was the end or merely the beginning, they faced it together, the fate of their world hanging in the balance, suspended on the cusp of reality's curtain call. And here ends Zach, Book III. I don’t know if there will be a Book IV, a spin-off, or something new. I did write more to this chapter, all the way to a definetive conclusion, (it's saved, just in case I decide to ever use it), but during the editing, I got to that last sentence and realized, this is it, this is where the story ends.