Jake Young, Chapter 5 The rain subsided, relinquishing its relentless grip on the colony after an oppressive two weeks. Jake Young surveyed the aftermath from behind the sealed hatch, the stark severity of their situation reflected in his deep-set eyes. He stood motionless for a moment, observing the desolation where once the dome, constructed by the venerable Lancers, had crowned their aspirations. Only the skeletal remains of its twisted metal skeleton now marred the watery landscape, a testament to nature's indifferent might. Gone were the provisions they had meticulously stored within the dome; some had surrendered to the depths, while others aimlessly embarked upon the new aquatic terrain that blanketed the compound. The lake, born from the skies' ceaseless tears, lapped hungrily at the hatch's midpoint, as if eager to reclaim more of the land it had swallowed. A sigh escaped Jake's lips, not one of defeat but of resolve, and he reached toward the com-panel with a hand that belied the calm in his voice. His fingers brushed over the console with practiced ease, finding the button marked ‘Modules All’ without faltering. He pressed it with deliberate pressure. "Mr. Thomson, are you there?" Jake’s voice, though steady, carried an undercurrent of urgency through the static-laden silence that followed. He awaited a response, the faint echo of his own inquiry hanging like a specter in the damp air of the module. The static crackle of the com-panel broke the silence that pervaded Jake's module, a lifeline amidst the desolation. "I'm here, son," came the measured response from the elderly geologist, his voice a reassuring thread woven through the fabric of uncertainty. With his gaze fixed on the watery expanse beyond the glass, Jake's fingers tensed momentarily on the panel. "Sir, why are we half submerged in a lake, the rain stopped?" The question hovered between them, laden with the weight of their predicament. Thomson's reply would be pivotal; Jake knew that much. His own reflection stared back at him from the glass—a visage marked by the gravity of leadership thrust upon him. Raindrops continued to stipple the glass in a diminishing tattoo, a residual reminder of the deluge that had besieged them for weeks. Jake’s eyes, reflecting a determination that belied his youth, remained locked on the watery expanse that had usurped their land. The closed hatch stood as a barrier not just between him and the aquatic grave of their efforts but also as a testament to the resilience they were yet to muster. “The rain was the trigger event, but we’re likely the cause,” Mr. Thomson replied, his voice carrying over the com-link with a gravity that pulled at the edges of Jake’s resolve. Jake’s brow furrowed, a storm of its own brewing in the space between his thoughts. “What did we do?” he asked, the question a splinter thrust into the heart of their predicament. His mind raced, piecing together the fragments of every action they had taken since arrival, searching for the unintended catalyst of their current disaster. The silence that followed was filled with the weight of implication, bearing down upon Jake's shoulders like the very waters outside. Mr. Thomson’s response, when it came, would illuminate the path ahead, strewn with the detritus of their past decisions. Jake waited, knowing that whatever the answer, it would shape the course of all their tomorrows. Jake pressed his palm against the cool glass, tracing the rivulets of water that still meandered down its surface. The panorama beyond was a testament to nature's unforgiving power, a landscape irrevocably altered. He felt an unsettling churn in his stomach—a mix of awe and guilt—as he listened for Mr. Thomson’s elucidation. "Nothing intentional," the elderly geologist began, his voice steady yet tinged with remorse. "We were a dwindling population, and then took three hundred kids out of cryo at once, which resulted in us encroaching on the wildlife’s territory with new farmlands." The room around Jake seemed to shrink, the walls closing in with the weight of their collective oversight. He imagined the throngs of children, awoken from their icy slumber, eyes wide with the promise of life, unaware their very revival would tip the fragile scales of their adopted ecosystem. "Seriously? We did this?" Jake asked, the words slipping from him like the last leaves of autumn falling to an early frost. His gaze shifted to the scenery outside, where flora and fauna had been displaced by an unforeseen flood, their harmony disrupted by human hands. "Yes," Mr. Thomson confirmed. "Our actions have always borne fruit, Jake. Sometimes, however, it's not the harvest we anticipate." The old man's words, laden with the wisdom of years and the sorrow of experience, resonated within the chamber of Jake's thoughts. A momentary silence enveloped the space between them, filled only by the soft patter of rain's final whispers against the module. Jake absorbed the gravity of their situation, the profound impact of their presence on this alien world laying bare before him. Jake traced his fingertips over the com-panel, its surface cold and unyielding beneath his touch. He wrestled with the notion that their well-meant efforts had birthed this chaos, an ever-expanding lake where a thriving colony once stood. The weight of responsibility bore down on him, as he considered the possibility that they might have irreparably altered the world around them. "Introduce even a minor change into a pre-existing eco-system, and yes, you can have unexpected and violent changes," continued Mr. Thomson. His voice through the com-link was steady, imbued with a somber undertone that underscored the gravity of their predicament. The response hung in the air, dense as the clouds that had only recently ceased their relentless weeping upon the land. Jake's gaze remained fixed outside, where water now reigned supreme over the terrain they'd so meticulously planned for agriculture and sustenance. "Is it permanent?" Jake asked, his voice betraying a hint of desperation. The query carried more than a need for information—it echoed the silent plea for reassurance that not all was lost, that there remained hope they could mend what had been broken. Mr. Thomson did not answer immediately, and in that pause, Jake envisioned the countless hours he had spent analyzing data, searching for patterns, a pursuit that now seemed to mock him with its futility. He knew ecosystems were complex, that each organism played a role in the delicate balance of life, but never had he imagined their actions could wield such ruinous power. As he awaited Mr. Thomson's reply, Jake considered the ramifications of their terraforming gone awry. They had sought to carve out a new beginning, yet had they sown the seeds for their own undoing? With each passing second, the reality of their situation settled deeper into his consciousness—a stark reminder that their existence here was but a precarious dance with forces far greater than themselves. Water, a once cherished resource, now surged around the legs of the derelict structures like an indifferent conqueror, oblivious to the history it submerged. Jake observed the relentless current from behind the glass, the unyielding flow redefining the landscape with every second that ticked by. With each ripple and wave, the world he knew receded further into memory. "Yes, the water is moving, but not diminishing," Mr. Thomson's voice crackled through the com-panel, a stark testament to their altered reality. "If it were a temporary flood, the water would be stagnant and slowly dropping off. The river has changed course and created a new lake in our farmlands." The revelation echoed within the confined space of Jake's mind—a space that had once been filled with equations and strategies, now flooded with the gravity of their predicament. He imagined the once-static maps they relied on being washed away, much like the hopes they'd pinned on terraforming success. His analytical brain grappled with this new variable, the unforeseen shift in the river's path, evidence of nature's indomitable will. "Thank you, Mr. Thomson," Jake said, his response measured and devoid of the emotion that threatened to breach the walls of his composed exterior. He turned away from the hatch, the weight of leadership pressing upon him, acknowledging the magnitude of their task ahead. They would need to navigate not only the physical waters that lay before them but also the uncertain currents of their future. Jake's fingers hovered over the com-panel, a starship captain poised at the helm of an uncertain journey. In that momentary stillness, he grappled with the gravity of command. The indecision that might have plagued another was absent from his demeanor; he understood the cost of delay, how quickly it could metastasize into chaos among those looking to him for direction. "George, Cameron, Thomas, we're evacuating," Jake's voice cut through any burgeoning murmurs of uncertainty. His instructions unfurled with precision, unspooling like the schematics of a well-crafted plan. "Each of you will take one-third of the command modules to one of the three space stations in orbit. Orion will fly the fleet." In the silence that followed, punctuated only by the soft whir of machinery and the distant lapping of water against what remained of their world, Jake's intent gaze swept across the control room. His eyes, usually repositories of quiet reflection, now blazed with resolve. "Make sure you split the Lancers up between you," he continued, his voice never wavering, "you'll need their expertise on the space stations.” There was no tremble in his speech, no crack of emotion to betray any inner turmoil. "Your mission when you get to space stations is to inventory what we have left, and rotate the space stations to face the planet." Each word was a stepping stone laid out across the floodwaters, creating a path forward. "We’ve been sending out homing beacons for 47 years and haven’t heard anything from the World Colony Ships. I'm done wasting three valuable resources." As he spoke, the finality of their situation settled over the crew like ash from a quenched flame. The loss of their terraformed dreams was palpable, the remnant of a half-century's labor now relegated to memory and the annals of history. "I want the space stations mapping the planet. Launch when you’re ready," Jake instructed, his words echoing the staccato rhythm of urgency. "Becky, you’re with me, we’re going to launch and scout for a new colony site." He glanced briefly at the aerospace engineer, noting the determined set of her jaw, the readiness in her green eyes that mirrored his own steely purpose. The announcement of their departure was not merely a directive; it was the first step in the long march toward survival. "I’ve got five kids with me that were stranded when the flash flood hit. They’ll be on our scout mission." "Orion, you’ll fly their modules and follow us," Jake commanded, issuing the order to the AI with the same confidence he extended to his flesh-and-blood counterparts. "As soon as we find dry ground, we’ll transfer them back to their modules, then we’ll fan out to scout the terrain. Alright folks, move out." The imperative hung in the air, a clarion call to action. It resonated within the confines of the control room, a stark contrast to the desolation beyond the hatch. In the dim glow of dawn's first light, Jake surveyed the cramped quarters of his module. The aftereffects of the storm were evident in the way the five teenagers lay scattered across the floor, their makeshift beds a testament to human resilience. Jake's gaze lingered on the haphazard array of limbs and blankets, each youth finding solace in sleep despite the chaos that had befallen them. Amongst the slumbering forms, Terry had stirred from the collective inertia, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of their predicament. He propped himself up on an elbow, ruffling his tousled hair as he squinted at Jake through the half-light. "We lost everything, didn't we?" Terry's voice cut through the silence, carrying a weight that belied his years. "I don't know what it was, but something loud collapsed last night." Jake nodded, the faintest etch of concern tracing his brows as he replayed the cacophonous crash that had intruded upon their fitful rest. "I heard it too," he affirmed, his voice steady, betraying none of the unease that churned within him. "I think it was the oven in the community kitchen falling over and taking the last wall with it." The statement hung in the air, a somber acknowledgment of the devastation wrought by nature's unforgiving hand. Terry's grin broke through the gloom, a crack of levity in the otherwise oppressive atmosphere of the module. He stretched his long legs, muscles stiff from the confinement of their temporary shelter. "Well, I'm tired of being cooped up in here, and your cupboards are empty." His words carried a lightness that belied the gravity of their situation, embodying the resilience of youth. He gestured wryly at the barren shelves where once there had been provisions aplenty. "Next time you throw a party, stock more snacks." The corners of Jake's mouth lifted slightly, an involuntary response to Terry's irreverent humor. There was wisdom in the boy's jest; the time for mourning their losses was not now. With the cessation of the rainstorm, opportunity beckoned beyond the hatch, a call to action they could not ignore. "I’ll remember that," Jake replied, stepping carefully over a tangle of blankets to reach the control panel beside the hatch. His fingers danced with precision over the buttons, the well-practiced motions of one who had spent countless hours interfacing with the technology that sustained them. The seal of the hatch disengaged with a soft hiss, a whisper of promise that beckoned them toward the unknown challenges of the day. "Orion, take us up, slow and steady, my mom is still asleep in her quarters. I think we want to follow the river east," Jake commanded with an air of quiet authority that seemed to emanate from his tall, lean frame. His voice, calm and measured, betrayed none of the turmoil that churned within him as he grappled with the scope of their predicament. “I’m awake, darling,” Dr. Young said, standing in the doorway dressed in a furry robe. “I’ve ordered an evacuation,” Jake said. “The decision is yours to make, we turned command over to you,” Dr. Young said. Jake nodded. “I’m sending everyone up to the three space stations to retrieve our emergency supplies. George is taking command of that mission, I’ll be leading a team here on the planet to find a new colony site.” Dr. Young looked down at one of the teens still waking up. “Steven, darling, did you read the anatomy lesson on the structures of the hand?” Steven was one of the three teens Dr. Young had chosen to study medicine. “Yes, Dr. Young.” “How many metacarpals?” Steven grinned. “That’s easy, five.” “And phalanges?” “Fourteen,” Steven replied. “And what does the synovial lining do?” Jake saw a moment of panic on his friends face as he tried to remember. Jake had sat up with Steven last night helping him study. “Come on, dude, you just have to wrap your brain around the answer,” Jake said, emphasizing the word ‘wrap’. “Oh yeah, the synovial capsules wrap around the joints to protect them from friction.” Dr. Young glanced up at her son. “Well, Jake gets an A for the day.” “Not me, Mom, I don’t want to be a doctor,” Jake replied as he moved to the control panel. “Alright, Orion, let’s launch, and make it gentle.” The module responded to Jake's directive, its engines initiating a gentle lift-off. He stood motionless, save for the subtle shifting of weight from one foot to the other, as he peered through the hatch window. The world outside, once familiar and yielding, now stretched beneath them—a vast canvas of ruin and rebirth painted by the relentless deluge they had endured. The craft climbed effortlessly to an altitude of 500 feet, maintaining a deliberate pace that underscored the gravity of their survey. Below, the remnants of half a century's labor drifted away, small in the grand scheme of the planet's reshaping. The ascent of the module, so long rooted to the ground, was a testament to the resilience of human engineering—a contrast to the unforgiving nature that now reclaimed its territory. Jake's gaze lingered on the reflective surface of the floodwaters, a mirror to the vastness of space that awaited the modules destined for orbit. Their journey would be more abrupt, a forceful break from the gravitational bonds of the planet. But here, with Jake at the helm of this contemplative voyage, there was no rush—only the silent observance of change and the meticulous plotting of a course forward, guided by the meandering artery of the displaced river. The horizon unfolded before them, a tapestry of devastation and rebirth that only a cataclysm could weave. Jake's eyes swept across the landscape, searching for familiar landmarks amidst the chaos below. But familiarity evaded him; the scenery bore scars where none had existed before. His heart sank as he beheld what remained of the dome—a skeletal framework of contorted girders that now succumbed to the merciless embrace of the floodwaters. "I’ve spotted debris on the river bank ahead," intoned Orion, snapping Jake back to the present. "Show me," Jake commanded, his analytical mind shifting gears, ready to salvage what they could from the wreckage. On the display screen, images of scattered materials emerged—panels, containers, fragments of what was once whole. Like breadcrumbs, they traced the path of destruction left by the unyielding torrent. Each piece of debris held a story, a purpose lost to the ravages of nature's indifferent hand. "Go ahead and land," Jake instructed, his voice betraying none of the uncertainty that gnawed at his insides. The command was crisp, a stark contrast to the chaos that had besieged their world. The module descended, a silent sentinel in the aftermath of the storm. Its shadow skimmed over the waterlogged landscape, darkening the already sodden earth below. With the precision of a practiced hand—or rather, the artificial intelligence guiding it—the craft touched down upon a stretch of grass that, under normal circumstances, would have made for suitable terrain. But these were not normal circumstances. As though protesting the intrusion, the ground yielded almost immediately, swallowing the landing gear up to its mechanical knees. Inside the module, Jake's fingers tightened against the console, his height serving him well as he peered out to assess the situation through the window. The sight of the module's legs disappearing into the earth was sobering, reinforcing the reality of their new environment. "Unsuitable for landing," Orion declared, its voice devoid of the emotion that might have accompanied such a revelation from a human crew member. "Take us back up," Jake responded, his analytical mind already parsing through alternative solutions. He watched the thrusters engage, spewing jets of compressed air and expelling clumps of mud in a desperate fight against gravity and the mire. With a jolt that sent vibrations through the craft's frame, the module lifted from its premature grave, leaving behind only deep impressions as evidence of its attempt to settle. Jake observed the scene unfold with a quiet intensity, each detail etched into his memory—a testament to the fragility of their hold on this planet. Tension coiled in Jake's gut as he watched the module ascend, shedding clumps of earth like the remnants of a shed skin. His fingers hovered over the controls, the urge to retrieve the lost supplies gnawing at him with the persistence of an old habit. The scarcity of resources had always been a specter looming over their heads, a constant reminder of the delicate balance they needed to maintain on this alien world. "Jake, leave it," Becky's voice cut through his thoughts, her words coming from the com-link with a clarity that belied the static of distance. "I've got extra food, and those five modules you’re towing behind us haven't had anyone inside since the rain started; they'll still have plenty of food." With a sigh, he acknowledged the wisdom in Becky's words. The boys had indeed been eating his rations, and while solidarity had been a solace during the endless drum of rain against metal, now practicality had to prevail. Once they found terra firma capable of supporting them without protest, they would reallocate what provisions remained, ensuring equitable sustenance for all. The decision weighed heavily on him, the forfeiture of valuable stores akin to abandoning a piece of their survival. But like the tendrils of vines that clung to the monuments of forgotten civilizations, life had a way of persisting in the face of loss. Becky was right. They had to press on, leaving behind what could not be saved. "Good call, Becky," Jake finally replied, his voice a calm veneer over the tumult within. "We'll redistribute later." The acknowledgment was begrudging, but in his heart, he knew adaptability was the cornerstone of their continued existence on this unpredictable planet. Determined, he directed his attention forward, where new challenges awaited their discovery and resolution. Jake's fingers danced across the com-panel, his movements precise as he acknowledged Becky's logic. The hollow feeling in his gut twisted tighter with each keystroke. For a moment, he let his gaze wander beyond the reinforced glass, to where the relentless waters had transformed their world into an alien tableau. His mind grappled with loss—so vast and complete that it threatened to overwhelm him. "Orion," he commanded, the decision threading through his voice with unwavering resolve, "this is a bust, forget trying to find our lost supplies, head east." The AI acknowledged with a soft chime, and the module shifted course, leaving behind the watery grave of their previous endeavours. As they traversed the alien landscape, Jake's gaze remained fixed beyond the glass, scanning for a sign, some beacon of hope on the horizon. His mind, ever analytical, pondered the probabilities and logistics, the chessboard of survival where each piece moved was a gamble against nature's unpredictable whims. Yet, in the silence of determination, Jake found clarity. This was more than a mere relocation; it was an opportunity to redefine their existence on this planet, to recalibrate their relationship with the wild, untamed lands they now called home. The module cleaved the atmosphere, its shadow gliding over the post-deluge terrain like a silent predator. Jake leaned forward, eyes narrowed as they darted across the expanse of sopping foliage below. "Landfall ahead," Becky’s voice came over the com-link. "Solid ground." "Confirmed," Orion's voice intoned, a touch of synthetic warmth in its otherwise clinical timbre. The AI deftly adjusted their trajectory, homing in on the coordinates specified by Becky's sharp observation. As the module descended, Jake felt the subtle shift in gravity, an unvoiced promise of imminent stability after weeks adrift amongst the clouds. They alighted with a grace born of necessity upon the rocky patch, the undercarriage sensors relaying the solidity of their new perch back to Jake's console. "Finally, I was starting to think the whole world was flooded," Jake exhaled, allowing himself the briefest moment of relief before the weight of responsibility settled back upon him. Becky, landing ahead of Jake, unbuckled her harness, her movements efficient and purposeful. She retrieved a compact datapad from a nearby storage compartment, its screen flickering to life with the swipe of her finger. The maps displayed were rudimentary, relics from the Lancers' initial surveys, more placeholders for ambition than records of exploration. Together, they stepped onto the alien soil, the crunch beneath their boots an affirmation of progress, of a new chapter yet unwritten. The scouting mission lay ahead, with potential and fraught with unknowns, but underpinned by the resilience of those who dared to look beyond the horizon. The roar of engines reverberated across the panorama of devastation, a chorus of hope ascending from chaos. Jake, his gaze skyward, witnessed the awe-inspiring tableau: command modules, like a swarm of mechanized locusts, soared into the burgeoning dawn. The com-link's static eruption preluded George's voice, crisp and triumphant through the speaker. “This is Command Module 2, we have achieved orbit. Making course for the Space Stations.” "Copy that, Command Module 2," Jake responded, his voice steady as he toggled the switch on the com-panel. A flicker of pride warmed him; George's dream of navigating the stars had morphed into reality far beyond the rudimentary scope of model rockets. In the ensuing silence, Jake fixated on the vacated firmament, reflecting on the magnitude of their exodus. With a deep breath, borne of necessity rather than tranquility, he pivoted and hastened back inside the module. It was time to resume their own terrestrial odyssey, to compose the cartography of survival and rebirth. The ensuing days unfurled in a cadence of purposeful activity, each sunrise heralding the continuation of their reconnaissance. They traversed the alien topography, the exploration modules casting an incongruous shadow upon the untamed landscape below. Each touchdown was methodical, the landings calculated with precision as they sought terra firma amidst the vestiges of the storm's wrath. Discussions ensued over potential sites, their voices a tapestry of cautious optimism and strategic foresight. "Elevation here would mitigate flood risk," Jake posited, his finger hovering above a raised plateau on the digital map. "Proximity to water sources must factor into our decision," Becky interjected, her scrutiny of the environs as intensive as the scans she ran. Her technical acumen, paired with Jake's analytical prowess, forged a formidable pathfinding duo. As they dissected the merits of each locale, Jake became acutely aware of the balance between the tangible and the theoretical. Their choices were etched not just in the physicality of soil and stone but in the abstract realm of what might be. "Resilience," Jake mused, the word lingering between them. "That's the cornerstone of this new colony." "Agreed," Becky affirmed, her eyes not leaving the screen as she initiated another scan. "Let us build upon it." Their venture, once constrained by the limits of their forebears' aspirations, now stretched towards horizons unmarred by past failures or fears. Within this embryonic world, every ridge surveyed and valley crossed stitched a patchwork quilt of possibility over the scars of a history not their own. A week had passed since the momentous exodus, and the flatlands below stretched out endlessly, a verdant sea with shifting herds of creatures as its tide. In the cockpit of Command Module 1, Jake's gaze lingered on the buffalo-like animals that roamed beneath them. Their presence was a testament to the planet's resilience, a living metaphor for the colony's potential rebirth. The thrusters' low murmur provided a steady backing to his thoughts, a reminder of their ceaseless search. The com-link's static intrusion sliced through the cabin's relative silence. "Command Module 1, this is Command Module 2," George's voice echoed with unmistakable urgency. Jake's fingers danced over the control board, responding to the prompt. His posture straightened, muscles tensing in anticipation of whatever necessitated George's immediate tone. "Command Module 2," Jake replied, his voice a resonant counterpoint to the crackle of communication lines, "go ahead." With the transmission bridging the gap between the scout team and those orbiting above, Jake felt the weight of every decision he had made thus far. Each choice, like a calculated move on a chessboard, brought him closer to checkmate against nature's unpredictable gambits. He awaited George's next words, ready to pivot strategy if necessary, to ensure the survival of their displaced community. The horizon unfurled before Jake, a canvas of undulating greens and browns painted with the swift strokes of nature's own hand. He leaned closer to the module's viewport, his reflection a ghostly overlay upon the wild tableau below. The com-link's static-laced silence had shattered moments ago, now George's voice hung in the ether, expectant. "Jake, umm… you’re not going to believe this.” A chill traced the length of Jake's spine. His fingers tightened involuntarily around the edges of the console, betraying a flicker of anxiety. The myriad possibilities that could prompt such a preface from George coalesced in his mind, each more fantastical than the last. Jake's history with puzzles, an affinity for unearthing solutions where others saw mere chaos, now thrusted him into the role of deciphering George’s cryptic message. He waited, his breath caught in the gravity of the moment, for the revelation that would soon spill forth from the void. The silence aboard Command Module 1 stretched, a taut ribbon between the known and the unknown. Jake's pulse tapped an insistent rhythm against his temples as he waited for George’s next words. The space around him felt charged, pregnant with anticipation. There was a beat, then George's voice crackled over the com-link, tinged with a disbelief that seemed to warp the very airwaves it traveled upon. “We got the space stations rotated to face the planet, and we’re getting some great mapping images, and… something else.” Jake stilled, his mind racing to catch up with the implications of George's statement. The rotation maneuver had been routine, yet now it yielded something extraordinary, something beyond the scope of their meticulously laid plans. It was as though they had peeled back the veil of the heavens to glimpse a secret held close by the cosmos for eons. Jake's fingers tensed around the com-link, a conduit for the apprehension that had swiftly taken root. "What is it?" he demanded, his voice steady despite the torrent of questions flooding his thoughts. There was a pause, a brief interlude in which the anticipation seemed to coalesce into something tangible within the confines of Command Module 1. Then George's response sliced through the ether, each word etching itself into the air. "Orion just found something," George said, an edge of wonder lacing his tone. "I'm looking at the image now, but it's so overgrown with vegetation I can't tell." A pause punctuated his sentence, conveying the weight of his next words. "But, Orion says its deep infra-red scans are showing a city built into a mountain, like that ancient mountain city in Italy on Earth." The revelation hung between them, a specter of past civilizations whispering secrets from beyond the veil of time. Jake leaned closer to the viewport, as if proximity could grant him a clearer understanding of the marvels invisible to his naked eye yet illuminated by technology's gaze. Jake's fingers drummed against the console, an unconscious echo of his racing thoughts. His gaze was fixed on the hazy image on the main screen, where tendrils of vegetation clung to the outlines of ancient structures. The possibility of a city, hidden and forgotten, tantalized him. "People?" he started, his voice betraying only a sliver of the turmoil within. The radio crackled with a brief silence before George's reply cut through the static. "No, there's no people anywhere on the planet, we've got the initial scans of the planet, and we're the only ones here." A mix of relief and disappointment washed over Jake, a complex cocktail of emotions that left him momentarily adrift in his own mind. No survivors or natives meant no immediate threats, but it also meant no answers from those who might have built an entire city into the side of a mountain. The module's systems hummed—a sound distinct from the silence of the void outside, a reminder of their isolation on this enigmatic world. Jake's eyes remained anchored to the screen, watching the ghostly forms of the city emerge and recede with each sweep of the infrared scan. "Understood," Jake finally responded, his words clipped and measured. He turned his attention to the banks of blinking lights and toggles surrounding him. Each one represented a function, a capability of this vessel—a ship designed not just for travel, but for discovery. With a deep breath, Jake refocused his efforts, channeling his curiosity into determination. They were alone, pioneers on an alien shore. Whatever secrets this planet held, they would uncover them together, as a team, as humanity's farthest-flung children. "Orion," he called to the AI, his command clear, "Let me see the images George is looking at.” The scans download to Jake’s monitor. "Where’s this city?" Jake asked, his voice steady but tinged with an explorer's fervor. “I only see a mountain covered in vegetation.” George's response crackled through the com-link, a distant echo across the void. "You’ll need to go verify if something’s there. Head west, about 3,000 miles. You’ll see a mountain range, the city is in the mountains." Jake’s fingers danced over the console, plotting the course on the navigation system, his eyes flicking to the coordinates that emerged like stars in the dark sky of the display. "Hey… hold on," George interjected, a pause in his voice as if he were deciphering some cosmic riddle. "Orion just found more possible structures–roads. I don’t know, they’re so overgrown I can’t verify they’re roads. Orion says they’re really old, maybe more than a million years." A silent gasp hovered in the cabin, the weight of history pressing upon them all. Roads—arteries of a civilization long since bled into obscurity. The module banked gently westward, responding to Jake's guidance as he processed the staggering implications. Roads, silent sentinels of progress, lain by hands—or perhaps not hands at all—that had shaped their contours before humanity's ancestors had even dared to dream of stars. "Orion, set a course," Jake instructed the AI, his resolve hardening like steel tempered in the fires of curiosity. "We’re going to verify this in person." The module surged onward, propelled by more than just engines—by the indomitable spirit of discovery that had fueled every odyssey, terrestrial and celestial. Jake peered into the horizon, where the sun cast its waning light, painting the skies with hues of fading gold and deepening blue. Westward they journeyed, toward the enigma of stone and silence. The cabin remained silent, save for the distant whir of machinery and the soft murmur of breaths held in anticipation. The air itself felt charged with the electricity of revelation, each molecule vibrating with the promise of secrets veiled by time's relentless march. Dr. Young entered the command center and sat in a chair next to her son. "Jake, if that city is over a million years old, it wasn't built by humans." Her declaration hung suspended in the air, a truth too vast to be confined within the walls of their vessel. With the weight of history pressing against them, Jake could not help but feel the stirrings of an ancient lineage coursing through him—an inexorable link to the enigmatic architects of this forgotten world. "Why didn’t the Lancer’s map the planet?" Jake asked, his voice a placid current steadying the turbulent sea of exhilaration that threatened to engulf him. “We had different priorities at the time. Our focus was getting the Lance ships on the ground, setting up the space stations, protecting your cryo-pods. The call for scientific discovery had to wait, and in the face of survival, we never got around to returning to the space stations.” The words danced through the cabin, a spectral waltz of what-ifs and might-have-beens. They painted a stark portrait of the Lancers first days, months, and years on the planet. It was time of loss, uncertainty, and raw survival. A flicker of movement outside the window caught Jake's eye—the vast expanse of stars stood as silent witnesses to their endeavor, a celestial audience to the drama unfolding within the confines of their vessel. A solitary star seemed to wink at him, an affirmation from the cosmos itself, or perhaps a challenge laid bare before them. "I understand," Jake conceded, his tone imbued with the gravity of what the Lancers had gone through a half-century ago. "Jake, I'm seeing some anomalies in the scans," Becky interjected, her voice tinged with a scientific hunger that matched his own. "There's a pattern to this chaos, a design that speaks of intention." "What are you seeing, Beck?" Jake asked “We’re still a long way from that mountain range, but look below us. Have you ever seen trees grow naturally in a perfectly straight line?” “A road?” Jake surmised. “I don’t see the road, but it might be overgrown,” Becky noted. “I think we should land for the night, we don’t want to fly through mountains we don’t know at night.” “Alright, everyone land,” Jake agreed. “It’ll give us a chance to check out those trees and find out if there’s a road down there.”