Special notes: I'm ending the Tinman story, there are missing chapters needed to close a few plot arcs, but I'm done with it for now. The entire story started with 'Destiny', then went on to 'Aurora', then 'Cody', then 'Zach', and finally 'Tinman'. They were all in order on the timeline, but now I'm going to do the prequel to 'Destiny". Jake Young, Chapter 1 Amidst the shimmering spires of Earth's most advanced metropolis, where buildings stretched like silvered fingers towards a blue sky, the Young family stood on the cusp of a voyage that would inscribe their names into the annals of history. The Lance Project, heralded as the zenith of human ingenuity, beckoned them to its heart—the launch platform that thronged with fellow pioneers, each a testament to this unprecedented era of exploration. Jake, his gaze locked on the vessel that would soon bear them beyond the known, felt a surge of anticipation electrify his veins. Designed to traverse the uncharted void, these ships were marvels of engineering, sleek avatars of humanity's relentless quest for knowledge. His parents, Tim and Samantha, shared silent glances that bespoke volumes of pride and the weighty responsibility they bore as part of the three hundred chosen families. "Remarkable, isn't it?" Tim murmured, more to himself than to his companions. "The culmination of every scientific dream." "It’s big," Jake responded, his voice tinged with the gravity of their undertaking. As the shuttle approached their assigned spacecraft, the sheer scale of their mission crystallized in Jake's mind. This constellation of star-bound explorers would soon disperse to the galaxy's furthest reaches, unfurling their craft into stations that would stand sentinel at the edges of the cosmos. Each node in the network stood ready to weave a tapestry of data, a cartographer's dream rendered in the cold precision of space. "Can you imagine the intricacies of the grid once operational?" Samantha asked, her eyes alight with the fervor of one who had dedicated her life to the advancement of medical science and now found herself on the threshold of safeguarding the future of interstellar voyages. "Every star charted, every planet pinpointed," Tim said, allowing the magnitude of their task to fan the flames of his own curiosity. "It's like we're drawing the first maps of a new ocean." "We’ll be further from Earth than anyone has ever been," Jake trailed off, unable to contain the awe that swelled within him. *** The firm grip of Jake's hand wrapped around the racket's handle translated into a decisive swing, the ball careening over the net with an unstoppable force. A crisp thunk resonated as the rubber met the strings, sending the neon orb streaking beyond reach. "That's game!" Jake's voice pierced the court, his breath forming visible clouds in the cool air. Trevor met him at the net, his own breaths uneven from exertion. Their hands clasped in a shake that marked more than the end of their match—it signified the culmination of countless sets played out on this weathered court. "Good game," Trevor offered, tipping his head in acknowledgment of Jake's skill. "Last game," Jake said, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon his shoulders. Trevor's tone held a wistful note, his words echoing the reality they both faced. Under the bright arc-lights that bathed the court in an artificial day, the two boys stood. Here was a place where victories were measured by love and faults, where friendship had been forged between volleys and serves. Yet now, with the Lance Project beckoning, the familiar bounce of the ball against concrete would soon give way to the silence of the stars. Jake scooped up the fluorescent ball, its fuzz worn from the hours of play, and tucked it into the pocket of his shorts. He glanced across the net at Trevor, the court's overhead lights casting long shadows that stretched between them like invisible ties soon to be severed. "We report for launch tomorrow morning"," Jake confirmed, his voice steady despite the tumultuous mix of anticipation and sorrow within him. The cool metal of the racket handle felt alien now, a stark contrast to the warmth emanating from the impending goodbye. He twisted the racket in his hand, watching as the mesh of strings caught the light with every turn, a web of potentialities about to unfold. Trevor shook his head, disbelief etched in the creases of his forehead. "You’ll be in cryo for three-hundred years. That’s insane." His voice barely rose above a whisper, as if the very thought could disturb the fabric of reality they knew. A faint breeze swept across the court, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and a hint of the season's change. Jake watched a solitary leaf pirouette through the air, twirling on currents unseen before settling on the green surface—an echo of the journey he was about to embark upon. The afterglow of the setting sun painted the sky in hues of melancholy as Jake and Trevor exchanged their final farewell. A handshake transformed into a tight embrace that spoke volumes more than words ever could; it was an acknowledgment of the vast gulf that would soon yawn between them, a chasm not just of space, but of time itself. As Trevor's silhouette receded into the dusk, Jake turned back to the house that was no longer a home but a husk of memories waiting to be sealed away. Inside, the echo of emptiness reverberated through the barren halls. The movers had done their work with efficiency, leaving behind only the essentials for their last night on Earth. Jake surveyed the spartan living room where a bedroll lay unfurled—a makeshift nest amidst the disarray. He hoisted his tennis racket, still damp with the exertion of his final game, onto a mound of cardboard boxes designated for storage. His gaze lingered for a moment on the web-like strings before he turned away, his mind already racing towards the future. His fingers brushed against the cool, polished surface of the tournament chess set, its pieces neatly arrayed as if awaiting command from unseen generals. This artifact of intellect and strategy, his companion during countless solitary hours, would travel with him, a token of Earthly pursuits in an existence that would soon be anything but ordinary. Perhaps, he mused, the ship's AI would prove a worthy adversary, or his parents might steal moments from their scientific endeavors to join him in this ancient game. Dinner that evening unfolded beneath the soft glow of ambient light in Jake's favorite restaurant, a place redolent with the aroma of spices and nostalgia. Words came sparingly, trepidation wedged between the clink of cutlery and the subdued murmur of fellow diners. Each exchange felt like a dance, a delicate step around the enormity of tomorrow’s departure. Jake's mother's eyes brimmed with unshed tears, her pride warring with the maternal instinct to hold her son close. His father offered stoic smiles, the creases around his eyes deepening with each attempt to lighten the mood. Despite his readiness, the weight of the impending journey bore down on Jake, a silent specter at the table. To leave behind everything familiar, to slumber through centuries—these were the sacrifices etched into the very contract of his existence. The thought that when he next set foot upon Earth he would be twenty-four years old in real time, but over six-hundred years would have passed on Earth. He would be a man shaped by experiences unfathomable to those he left behind. Everyone he knew would be long gone–a memory of what had been. It was a contemplation too profound for the dinner table. "Here's to new horizons," his father finally said, raising his glass in a toast that held more gravity than the wine it contained. "To the stars and beyond," Jake replied, his voice a steady timbre that belied the tempest of emotions within. Their glasses chimed, a crystalline note that hung suspended over the table, a fragile promise of return. Afterward, they walked home under a tapestry of stars, each one a distant beacon in the dark—the very same stars that beckoned Jake toward the unknown. Jake's eyelids fluttered open and closed in the darkness, his mind a tumultuous sea of anticipation and unease. He lay still on the hard floor, the ceiling above a blank canvas upon which his thoughts painted scenes of the voyage ahead. Rest eluded him as he turned over on his makeshift bed, the sleeping bag crinkling beneath him like the whispers of time slipping through his fingers. In a silent concession to his restlessness, Jake rose, his movements almost ghostly as he navigated through the sparse room. The cool night air greeted him as he stepped outside, the grass dew-kissed beneath his bare feet. With practiced ease, he scaled the side of the house, finding footholds in the familiar grooves, and hoisted himself onto the roof. There, he perched on the shingles, a solitary figure under the celestial dome, contemplating the vast tapestry of stars that arced overhead. "Couldn't sleep either, huh?" His father's voice, a soft baritone, cut through the quiet as he joined Jake on their rooftop sanctuary. Together they sat, shoulders touching in silent camaraderie, gazing upward. "Remember when we found Andromeda up there?" His father gestured to a patch of sky where the distant galaxy resided. "You were so amazed that you could see another galaxy with your own eyes." Jake nodded, the memory a warm ember in the coolness of the night. "I wanted to chart every star," he said, his voice barely louder than the whisper of the wind. "Your journey will take you beyond what we've seen through any telescope." His father's pride was palpable, even as it mingled with the unspoken knowledge of the years they would lose to cryo sleep, to the abyss of space between them. As dawn approached, the first tendrils of light began to creep across the horizon, signaling the end of their final shared night on Earth. They descended from their perch, carrying with them the silence that had settled over the household. The bus, nondescript but for the insignia of the Lance Project emblazoned on its side, rolled to a stop at the curb while shadows still clung to the world. Jake stood at the threshold of his childhood home, casting a lingering gaze upon each familiar contour now shrouded in the predawn gloom. Without fanfare, he stepped away, the door closing behind him with a soft click—an understated adieu to a life paused. At the Lance Project Base, the commander of the project stood before the assembly of astronauts, his voice imbued with gravity and hope. "Today marks not an ending, but a beginning," he intoned, his words meant to inspire those about to embark on humanity's most audacious odyssey. Yet Jake's focus wavered, his thoughts adrift amid possibilities and uncertainties. The commander's speech became a distant drone, the significance of the moment overshadowed by visions of what lay beyond the sky above—beyond the very limits of their known universe. His gaze drifted upwards, where the first blush of morning painted the sky a palette of pinks and oranges. His reflection stared back at him, a young man on the precipice of the infinite, and in his eyes burned the unquenchable curiosity that had brought him here, to this precipice of tomorrow. The first tendrils of sunlight breached the horizon, casting a silvery sheen over the sleek hulls of the Lance Ships as they aligned in the silence of space. Jake’s gaze, held in rapt attention by the view from the shuttle viewport, and traced the elegant curve of each vessel. They were like arrows nocked to the bowstring of Earth’s ambitions, awaiting release into the cosmos. The enormity of the project loomed within him, yet his heartbeat remained steady, a testament to his resolve. Amid the gentle shudder of the shuttle docking, Jake absorbed the details of their approach: the precision alignment of structures, the seamless integration of technology and design. Each ship, an encapsulation of the Golden Age's pinnacle, stood ready to unfurl its secrets at journey's end. He thought of the Destiny, the progenitor colony ship taking form on Ceres, and how it signified the future homes of humanity amidst the stars. The Aurora would follow, emerging from the red dust of Mars, each ship a beacon of hope for generations yet unborn. Once the Lance Project was completed, centuries from now, the Destiny and the Aurora would launch, not into the unknown, but following the paths the Lance astronauts had laid before them. If all went well, he would return to Earth just in time to see the completion of the two moon-sized colony ships and join the science team aboard the Destiny. As the shuttle connected with the Lance Spacecraft designated for the Young family, Jake disembarked with a sense of ceremonial finality. The interior of the command module enveloped him, the control panels aglow with a constellation of indicators. He could almost envision the space station, dormant within the confines of the ship’s body, awaiting the signal to expand into a complex capable of sustaining life far from Earth’s nurturing cradle. Though, there were limits even to current level of Earth’s advanced technology. The space station only had enough resources to sustain life for three people for ten years. Then, they would return to Earth in the Command Module. Automated drones would eventually resupply the Lance Space Stations for future scientists. Beneath Jake’s touch, surfaces felt cool and unyielding, the metallic scent of the air mingling with the faint odor of lubricant and electricity. As he settled into the pre-launch routine, he allowed himself a private reflection on the marvels of human ingenuity that encased him, marvels that would soon be left behind to serve as silent sentinels in the void. The chill of the command module pervaded Jake's senses as he floated weightlessly at the hatch between the shuttle and the Lance spacecraft. The sterility of this environment contrasted sharply with the warmth of the embrace he shared with his parents, an embrace that would need to sustain him across centuries. "See you on the flip side," Jake said, the words hanging between them, more for himself than for his parents sealed the hatch with him alone in the command module. The shuttle would take them to their own access points–his father a half-mile away at the ships mid-point, and his mother a mile away in the stern. They would sleep the centuries separated from each other to ensure that if a disaster did occur, at least one of the Lance’s astronaut’s would survive to continue the mission. Beyond the command module, the cosmos sprawled in silent majesty, galaxies and nebulas painting swathes of color against the black canvas. Here, within the silver cocoon of technology, Jake stood at the precipice of humanity's boldest stride into the unknown. The Lance Ships, with their unfolding stations, were designed not just for scientific endeavor but as future sanctuaries, cosmic lighthouses guiding Earth's children through the star-strewn sea. He propelled himself toward the forward cryo-pod, maneuvering through the narrow corridors with practiced ease. His fingers traced along the cool, sleek walls, feeling every rivet and seam that bound together this marvel of human ambition. The design was such that each component, each module, might one day serve as a beacon or a bastion for explorers who would ply these routes long after his mission had ended. Inside the command pod, Jake let his gaze linger on the empty cryo-pods meant for his father and mother during the return trip, their presence implied by absence. He slid into his designated sanctuary, the contours of the pod embracing him with an almost sentient anticipation of its purpose. With a sequence of commands executed with unwavering precision, he initiated the pre-sleep procedures. "Commence cryo cycle," Jake instructed, his voice steady, betraying no hint of the trepidation that fluttered in his chest. As the pod’s lid sealed him off from the world he knew, his last view was of the stars—those beacons of both science and myth, now his silent companions on a journey beyond the borders of time itself. "Systems nominal," the AI announced. It was an unnecessary confirmation—but it filled the space with a semblance of normalcy. He hesitated a moment longer than necessary, allowing himself the indulgence of a deep breath. His mind flickered back to that nauseating training flight, the visceral memory of hyperspace's grip souring his stomach. A shiver ran through him despite the controlled temperature of the chamber. "Better asleep than sorry," Jake quipped quietly, the humor lost on the AI. "Initiate pre-sleep sequence," he commanded, the words crisp in the stillness. Around him, the machinery obeyed, its servitude invisible yet palpable. The pod began its transformation, encasing him in a cocoon of technology, a solitary chrysalis adrift among the stars. This would be his vessel through the void, his silent guardian against the relentless march of time. Above him, the lid of the cryo pod closed with the finality of a tomb sealing, yet it was not death that awaited him beyond its embrace. It was the future—a tapestry of dreams and distant shores unwinding in the cosmic expanse. In this vessel of sleep, he would traverse the unknown, his course charted by the hands of those who dared to dream alongside him. Jake settled into the cryo pod's embrace, the contours of its interior molded to accommodate his lanky form. With practiced ease, he pulled the lid over himself, feeling a wave of resolve wash over him as the last sliver of light from the command module vanished beneath its edge. His fingers danced across the control panel, each press a deliberate step towards the vast silence that awaited him. "Commence cryogenic cycle," Jake murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, not needing the volume in the confined solitude of his pod. The command was a mere formality; the machine required no verbal cue, responding instantly to the input, its programming flawless—a symphony of precision in a vessel bound for the stars. A chilled hush enveloped him as the cryo cycle initiated, tendrils of cold creeping along his skin and weaving through the fabric of his suit. There was no shudder of machinery, no clank of metal—only the softest susurration of air as it circulated within the sealed chamber, a ghostly caress against Jake's cheeks. His breath fogged in the diminishing warmth, every exhalation a cloud dissipating into frigid nothingness. The frost began to claim the edges of his vision, a crystalline vignette that drew tighter with each heartbeat, which itself grew slower, more measured, as if in deference to the grandeur of their undertaking. In this quietus, Jake felt an odd kinship with the chess pieces from his treasured set, now stowed away among his belongings. Each move on the board had been a prelude to this—the ultimate gambit, where time itself was the opponent, patient and insurmountable. Yet here, in this frozen moment, he would outlast centuries. The finality of the pod's enclosure brought a stark clarity. This was his gambit, his sacrifice on the altar of progress. The dreamless expanse before him offered no solace, no hint of the wonders he would one day behold. But within the void, there lay a promise—a future sculpted by human hands, a canvas stretched wide across the fabric of space. Darkness encroached fully now, a gentle descent into the abyss of suspended life. The last thing Jake perceived was the faint glow of the status indicator, a solitary beacon affirming the start of his voyage through the unyielding night. And then, even that faded, surrendering him to the long dreamless night that began its silent vigil.