Jake Young, Chapter 7 Ashen remnants marred the landscape, a testament to the violence that Jake had rained down from the heavens. The scent of ozone mingled with the damp earthiness of the freshly charred soil, where the Terror Orb Defense System had met its fiery end. Jake peered across the desolation from the cockpit of his scout ship, his keen eyes tracing the patches of residual flames that flickered weakly before succumbing to the moisture-laden terrain. The control panel before him blinked with a constellation of indicators, but his attention remained steadfastly on the external view, vigilant for any sign of threat or anomaly amidst the pattern of devastation. Each scorch mark etched into the land was a coordinate, a piece of the puzzle he was determined to solve. A light wind rustled through the damaged environment, carrying whispers of displaced fauna and the subtle crackle of cooling embers. Jake adjusted the zoom on the visual magnifier, scrutinizing the edges of the fire's reach, ensuring each spot was indeed extinguishing itself without need for intervention. His mind, always questioning, began to assemble theories and strategies, contemplating the alien technology that Earth's descendants were only now beginning to understand. Though leadership was not his natural inclination, the necessity of survival had thrust it upon him, and he shouldered the responsibility with an earnestness that matched his intellectual curiosity. "Scout 4 to Scout 1, do you copy?" The voice crackled over the com-link, pulling Jake's attention back to the task at hand. "Go ahead, Scout 4," Jake responded, his fingers poised above the holographic interface that floated above his console. "I’m a hundred miles to your north. I’m seeing at least six laser strikes surrounding a small lake," reported Scout 4, his tone hinting at the gravity of discovery. "Orion really hammered this place." "Scan the lake," he instructed with deliberation, every word chosen with care to convey both command and calm assurance. "But if you don’t see anything right away, just mark the coordinates for later." "Understood," came the acknowledgment, tinged with the apprehension of potential peril. "And what are we expecting to find?" "If they put six of those Terror Orbs in that one spot, they were hiding something," Jake replied, his gaze drifting to the scattered scars marring the planet's surface. Scout 4 muttered an affirmation and signed off, leaving the com-link silent except for the soft whir of machinery. Jake's thoughts lingered on the images of the distant lake, its waters possibly concealing more than just aquatic life—a repository of ancient technology or a trove of knowledge long lost to the echoes of time. Jake's watchful eyes remained fixed on the view outside, the thrill of discovery coursing through him. In the silence of his cockpit, surrounded by the remnants of a battle fought without them, he resolved to press onward, to seek out the mysteries hidden beneath the surface of this alien world. For in those depths might lie the salvation or doom of his people—and he would not shirk from uncovering which it would be. Jake toggled the zoom on his viewport, bringing the scorched topography into stark relief against the dusky backdrop of an alien sky. Eerie silence filled the cockpit as he scrutinized the charred remnants where the Terror Orb Defense System had been destroyed under the wrath of the human space stations in orbit. The dampness of the soil had spared them from a wildfire's ravages, yet each blackened scar whispered tales of a warlike intent from a civilization long silent. “So far it’s been one every twenty miles,” Jake reported, his voice terse over the com-link. The pattern was too methodical, too precise to be anything but deliberate—a safeguard for treasures or secrets buried within the planet’s crust. “I don’t think we ever invented a psyop-weapon like those orbs,” came the faint reply from Scout 2, a hint of awe lacing the words that traveled through the vacuum of space to reach him. Becky’s voice cut through the static, her tone suggesting she was lost in thought, as was often her wont. “The technology isn’t more advanced than ours, just a different path than us,” she interjected, her insight painting her words with a somber hue of understanding. “We won against the Orb Sentinels because our technology went heavy into lasers and AI. If those things would have had an AI, I’m not sure we would have won.” Her statement hung in the air, resonating with the gravity of what could have been. Becky, the engineer to be whose mind danced among the stars even as her feet remained grounded in steel and circuitry, understood the delicate balance of their victory. Their adversaries had mastered psychological warfare, a stark divergence from the path humanity had chosen. Jake pondered her words, acknowledging the razor-thin margin between triumph and catastrophe. It was a sobering reminder of the fragility of their existence, of the precarious edge upon which the future teetered. A flicker of movement caught his eye—a shadow that danced across the horizon, casting doubt upon the assumption of an uninhabited wasteland. He logged the coordinates of the scorch marks and adjusted the ship’s trajectory, steering clear of any lingering threats that might still lurk unseen. "Keep your eyes open, people," he commanded, his gaze never leaving the view outside. "There's more to this world than meets the eye, and it's not giving up its secrets easily." With a final glance at the dissipating smoke trails, Jake set course toward the mysterious mountain range, his resolve hardened by the knowledge that survival did not permit the luxury of hesitation. A hush cloaked the command module as Jake surveyed the vast expanse through the reinforced glass, his gaze dissecting the charred landscape below. Each scorch mark etched into the earth's flesh was a testament to their desperate struggle, a stark reminder of how close they had come to annihilation. "Hey, how come the Lancers never thought to use the lasers when they first arrived?" Scout 6's voice broke the silence, laden with curiosity and a tinge of frustration. Jake opened his mouth to respond, yet the answer did not come from him or Becky, as he'd anticipated. Instead, a voice rarely heard on coms chimed in, its timbre carrying the weight of experience and a touch of melancholy. From her quarters aboard the command module, Dr. Young imparted her wisdom. "The Lancers were scientists, not soldiers, and certainly not trained for colonization. It never occurred to us to rotate the space stations and use the lasers." Jake mulled over his mother's explanation. The notion that those who had paved the way for humanity's reach into the cosmos had been purely seekers of knowledge sparked a flame of respect within him. It served as a somber reminder of their current predicament—a juxtaposition of exploration's innocence against the backdrop of their own ferocity in the face of extinction. The scout ships' banter danced across the com-link, a symphony of camaraderie that wove through the static like a lifeline. Dr. Young's voice, usually cloistered within the quiet confines of her quarters, now threaded into the tapestry of conversation—a rare and comforting addition to the crew's exchanges. Jake allowed himself a small smile, reassured by the familiar cadence of comradery. As long as their voices continued to patter through the ether, he knew they were okay. Further along the horizon, a column of smoke billowed skyward, a blackened finger pointing accusingly at its assailants. One of the laser blasts had ignited more than just the immediate ground; it had sparked a conflagration voracious enough to defy the dampness that sought to stifle it. Jake observed the distant firestorm with clinical detachment, acknowledging the futility of intervention. Nature would eventually reclaim its dominion, suffocating the flames with the inexorable passage of time. The control panel before him blinked indifferently, a stark contrast to the devastation etched upon the world outside. Jake made meticulous notes of the coordinates for each scar the bombardment had left behind, documenting the silent cries of a once-violent sky. In his mind's eye, equations and trajectories mapped out the invisible arcs of energy that had rained down from orbit, each one a lethal sentence passed down upon the ancient defense system. Jake adjusted the focus on the command module's main viewport, peering through the ashen veil that draped itself across the landscape. The once-verdant terrain bore the scars of orbital wrath, a patchwork of blackened earth intermittently flaring with the dying breaths of spot fires. He could almost see the patterned order in the chaos—the precise spacing of destruction left by their unseen adversaries' last stand. "Attention all scouts," Jake's voice cut through the static of the com-link, each syllable enunciated with the clarity of command. "I have visual confirmation of the mountain range on the horizon. Converge on my coordinates and prepare for a consolidated approach. We must present a united front—just in case." A pause lingered in the ether, the silence pregnant with the weight of his directive. It was in this moment of quiet anticipation that Becky's response emerged, her words threading through the airwaves with an undercurrent of challenge. "Are we scouting for a new home, or conquering someone else's?" The question, delivered with the soft conviction characteristic of Becky's introspective nature, echoed in the confined space of Jake's command module. "Valid though it may be," Jake snapped in annoyance, his voice a whip-crack against the quiet hum of the command module's life support systems, "morality is a luxury we can no longer afford." His fingers danced across the com-link, a rhythmic tapping that belied the gravity of the situation. "They’re gone, Beck," Jake stated, each word deliberate, infused with the weight of his responsibility. A shadow passed over his face as he continued. "I have a little over three-hundred people that are here right now that are only a few weeks away from starving to death." The silence that followed was palpable, filled with the unspoken understanding of the dire straits in which they found themselves. In the void of space, amongst the stars that once held the promise of endless exploration, survival had whittled down to its most primal essence. Jake's fingers stilled on the control panel, the last vestiges of the conversation with Becky dissipating like the smoke from the fires below. The weight of command pressed down on him as he acknowledged that their survival might require decisions that would haunt him for lifetimes to come. Without another word, his hand reached decisively for the com-link. "Command Module 2, this is Command Module 1," Jake announced, his voice cutting through the static with steely purpose. The brief delay before a response seemed to stretch into an eternity, but then George's robust voice resonated through the speakers of Jake's command module. "This is Command Module 2," he replied, the undercurrent of loyalty in his tone unmistakable even over the digital transmission. In the compact space of the scout ship's control center, Jake could feel the tension that had accumulated over the past few hours begin to ebb away with George's reply. It was the sound of steadfastness; it was the sound of Earth and iron, of resolve forged in adversity. There was a comfort in knowing that when George spoke, his words were devoid of artifice, as tangible and reliable as the ground beneath their feet had once been. Jake's fingers tensed around the com-link, a lifeline to the orbiting bulwarks of humanity's last hope. His gaze drifted towards the murky horizon where the ancient city lay shrouded in mystery and potential menace. The weight of impending decisions bore down upon him, each as heavy as the colony’s survival. "George, target the city with all three space stations," he commanded, his voice exuding a calm that belied the roiling storm within. “If we come under attack, light them up.” On the surface, his directive was precise, but underneath it flowed the undercurrent of desperation—a river threatening to breach its banks. There was a momentary pause on the line as if the vastness of space itself held its breath. Then, George's reply crackled through, tentative yet laced with the unspoken understanding of dire circumstances. "Umm… understood," he said, the hesitancy in his voice painting a stark contrast to the decisiveness of the order. In the dim light of the control center, Jake's silhouette might have been carved from stone, his resolve unwavering despite the tremor he detected in George's response. This was the burden of command—issuing orders that could ignite the inferno of war or stave off the cold embrace of extinction. Outside, the stars blinked indifferently against the velvet backdrop of space, their light reaching across eons, untouched by the plights of those who gazed upon them in search of guidance or respite. The silence on the com-links hung in the control center like a shroud, suffocating in its totality. Jake's posture remained rigid, an unyielding figure against the array of blinking consoles. His brown eyes, normally pools of contemplation, now simmered with a frustration that threatened to boil over at any provocation. A few minutes stretched into an eternity before the door slid open with a sharp hiss, breaking the quietude. Dr. Samantha Young entered with purposeful strides, her aged frame still athletic, cut through the tension as if it were tangible. The once blonde hair, now gone to white, was tied back in concentration that now framed her face with a certain defiance to order. "Jake, darling, that was a little harsh," Samantha began, her voice a firm but gentle reprimand that filled the space between them. Her green eyes met his with an intensity that conveyed more than words alone could express. "Becky posed a reasonable question, and everyone on the space stations heard your reply." Her statement lingered in the air, an irrefutable truth that demanded recognition. Jake turned to face her, his expression softening incrementally at the sight of her concern. She stood beside him not just as a leading scientist, but as a beacon of wisdom and empathy in their quest for survival among the stars. Jake's fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the metal armrest, echoing the pulse of his mounting irritation. He swiveled in his chair to face Dr. Young squarely, his posture unyielding. "Mom, she shouldn’t have challenged me on a public com-link," he replied, his voice level but taut with underlying ire. Dr. Samantha Young regarded her son with an unwavering gaze that had quelled many a rebellious student in her lecture halls. She perched herself gracefully in the empty seat adjacent to Jake, her movements deliberate and controlled. The soft whir of machinery filled the silence as she leaned forward slightly, bridging the gap between personal concern and professional critique. "Perhaps," she conceded, her tone suggesting she would indeed address the matter with Becky. She paused for a moment, allowing the weight of her next words to gather momentum. "But did you choose her to be one of the leaders of the colony because you need intelligent minds that will remind you when you’re straying too far over the gray line, or because you want sycophants flattering your ego?" The question hung suspended in the air of the control center, mingling with the faint glow of holographic displays casting their light upon them both. Jake felt a constriction in his chest, not from the confines of the cramped space, but from the penetrating insight his mother wielded with such surgical precision. Her query was not merely a probe into his leadership decisions; it was a mirror reflecting the essence of his command, challenging him to confront the nuances of his authority. His eyes, those windows to a soul steeped in analytical rigor, flickered briefly to the viewport where the vast tapestry of stars lay indifferent to human quandaries. The cosmos, with its infinite expanse, seemed to mock the pettiness of their terrestrial struggles. Yet here, within the metallic womb of the scout ship, the enormity of their situation dwarfed even the stellar void. He turned back to his mother, her expression composed yet expectant. In this crucible of leadership, Jake understood that the measure of his character would not be taken by how he weathered the storm, but by how he navigated the stillness that followed. Jake's fingers traced the contours of the tactical screen before him, each movement an echo of the tension that had taken root within his chest. The blinking icons, representing the last vestiges of their survival, seemed to pulse with a life of their own—a reminder of the dwindling time and resources at their disposal. "Mom, we're in real trouble," Jake said, his voice a low rumble that fought to conceal the urgency threatening to fracture its calm veneer. With deliberate focus, he avoided the freckle-dusted reflection staring back at him from the glass interface. "If I don't find a place for the colony right now, we’re not going to have enough time to get crops planted." Dr. Young, her gaze fixed upon her son, remained unflinchingly serene amid the storm of concerns battering the scout ship's control center. "I’m aware," she replied, the wisdom in her voice painting her as the anchor amidst their tempest of uncertainty. "But I’m also aware that you have George, Thomas, and Cameron in charge up on the space stations, and if I know those boys, they didn’t wait for your orders; they’ve already have a crop planted in the hydroponic gardens." Her words were like droplets of rain on parched soil, seeping into Jake’s consciousness and urging a reluctant bloom of hope. It was this foresight, this penchant for anticipating needs and taking initiative, that Dr. Young had instilled in her team—a trait that served not only as the sinew binding their community but also as the very essence of their continued existence. Jake took a moment, allowing the potential implications of her statement to percolate through the fog of his apprehension. If she were correct, the buffer provided by the hydroponically grown sustenance would grant them the precious currency of time—time to search, to plan, to breathe. Fingers poised above the console, Jake activated the com-link with a deliberate press, the mechanical click of the button punctuating his resolve. "Command Module 2, this is Command Module 1." Static crackled briefly before George's voice, clear and steadfast, cut through the ether. "This is Command Module 2, go ahead," he replied. In the confined space of the scout ship's control center, the communication between the two leaders stitched together the abyss that stretched vast and cold outside the hull. The connection was more than a mere exchange of words; it forged an invisible tether, a lifeline to the colony's orbiting heart where George, among others, kept diligent watch. "George," Jake began, his voice firm despite the gnawing uncertainty that clawed at his resolve. "Did you plant a crop in the hydroponic gardens?" The silence that followed stretched taut, charged with unspoken fears and the echo of decisions past. It was a void that swallowed seconds’ whole, leaving behind only the electric anticipation of George's response. Finally, George's voice traversed the void, his words deliberate, betraying neither hesitation nor regret. "I know you ordered the hydroponic gardens to be packed up and ready to transport to the surface. I take full responsibility for disobeying the order, but there was no telling how long it would take you to find a new colony site, and we’re dangerously low on food." A pause punctuated his confession before he continued with measured conviction. "I ordered our fastest crop to be planted. We’ll have a harvest of radishes in two more weeks. It’s not a great meal, but it will augment our remaining rations." George's admission lingered in the air between them, a tangible testament to the initiative born of dire necessity. In the quiet of the control center, surrounded by the vestiges of technology that were both their salvation and their burden, Jake let out a slow exhalation—a silent acknowledgment of the wisdom in George's insubordination. "Good call, thank you," he breathed out, the words flowing into the com-link like a concession to his own hubris. The viewport in front of him offered a sliver of serenity against the backdrop of space, one he now sought to preserve. "Disregard the order to attack the city. If anyone is there and attacks us, we’ll make every effort to negotiate a peace." His eyes lingered on the digital terrain model, tracing the potential threats and promises it held. Jake's voice softened, the steely edge of command giving way to the vulnerability of admission. "Becky, I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’d like you to be our primary negotiator if needed." Across the static-infused channel, Becky’s reply came, her tone even, betraying neither resentment nor triumph. "I can do that, no problem." Her assurance cut through the tension that had coiled within the cabin of Jake's scout ship, unwinding the tight spring of apprehension. It was clear to him, through her brief response, that she possessed a reservoir of resilience; the kind that allowed her to rise above conflict and focus on the task at hand. Acknowledging her acceptance with a nod, Jake leaned back in his seat, letting the silence settle around him like dust after a storm. The myriad stars beyond the transparent alloy seemed to twinkle in approval, each one a distant sun nurturing worlds unseen, worlds untouched by the harshness of survival—or so he hoped. The mountains ahead stood as silent sentinels, their jagged profiles a testament to the enduring strength of this alien world—a world that had just borne witness to the razor-thin line between aggression and survival that Jake had tread. The shadows within their crevices seemed to hold secrets of an epoch long gone, tales of the planet’s former inhabitants perhaps, or the echo of battles waged in silence against the relentless passage of time. "Admitting fault is not an act of weakness but an affirmation of growth," Dr. Young's voice broke through the reverie, her tone imbued with the wisdom of one who had walked many paths and learned to navigate the contours of both heart and mind. "Well done, darling," she added. Her words were a balm, soothing the raw edges of uncertainty that had frayed within him. Jake offered a wry half-smile, acknowledging the truth in her statement. His mother's presence was a constant—a guiding star by which he could chart his course when doubt clouded his judgment. "Thank you, Mom," he replied, his voice steady yet reflecting the gravity of his recent decisions. He felt the weight of his role, the leader of this desperate exodus, tasked with the survival of hundreds. It was a mantle he wore uneasily, knowing that each choice carved the future of his people into the bedrock of history. The scout ship glided towards the ancient city, a silver shard slicing across the azure sky. Jake's lanky form was hunched over the console, his fingers ghosting over the controls with practiced ease. The dark hair on his head seemed to reach for the stars they had left behind, while the freckles on his cheeks spoke of terrestrial yearnings. "Approaching the coordinates," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, though he knew Dr. Young would be listening intently from her position beside him. The surface of the planet unfurled beneath them, a tapestry of history and mystery woven together in an intricate pattern of greens and browns. But as they neared the designated location, it was not the lushness of untamed wilderness that greeted them but the stark outlines of an ancient metropolis, its architecture defying time and elements. "What the heck?" Jake's voice broke the stillness, a mix of awe and incredulity undercutting the usual calm he exuded. "Mom, are you seeing this?" Dr. Young leaned in, her own gaze reflecting the astonishment that danced in her son's eyes. Her voice, when she spoke, was a whisper meant only for the confines of their vessel. "I am, and it's... nothing short of remarkable." The scout ship hovered, a sentinel bearing witness to the grandeur of the past as Jake and Dr. Young contemplated the enigma laid bare below. This city held answers, and perhaps, the future of their people. Jake toggled the ship’s controls, steadying their course as they drifted closer to the mysterious cityscape. The ruins unfurled beneath them, a labyrinth of structures and boulevards that whispered of a civilization both grandiose and enigmatic. His mother, Dr. Young, leaned over the console, her seasoned eyes scanning the panorama with an archaeologist's hunger for discovery. "It’s not what I was expecting," she murmured, more to herself than to Jake.. Jake's gaze lingered on the horizon, where the skeletal silhouettes of the ancient city clawed against the sky, each edifice a silent testament to the planet's forgotten legacy. Becky’s voice crackled over the com-link. "Someone tell me I'm not crazy and that looks like Mount Olympus," came Becky's voice over the com-link, an edge of incredulity lacing her tone. From Scout ship 3, a response cut through the silence that had momentarily ensnared them all. "I was just thinking the same thing," the voice confirmed, mirroring the awe that had settled in Jake's chest—a resonance of myth and reality converging. As the landscape unfolded, it revealed more of its secrets to Jake's discerning eyes. Towering pillars stood as sentinels over ruins that seemed to mock their own desolation with remnants of splendor. The architecture bore the elegance of monumental ambition, the kind found in the annals of Earth's own antique texts. Jake felt the weight of his responsibility press against his temples; here lay the potential salvation for his people, wrapped in enigma and majesty. He allowed himself a moment—just one—to marvel at the sight, to let the scholar within collide with the leader he had become. Then, with a deliberate breath, he banished the wonderment, knowing that amazement served no one on an empty stomach. Duty called, and he would answer. "Alright everyone, eyes open," he instructed, his voice resonating with an uplifted spirit through the com-link. The command module hummed with life—the electronic heartbeat of their survival pulsating in every console and screen. "Let's land next to that lake and go say hi to Zeus." “Jake,” Becky said. “If Zeus is down there waiting for us, I’m going to lose it.” *** These... humans, they tread upon sacred ground with such naivety. Do they not tremble at the thought of awakening slumbering gods? What fate shall I design for these wanderers? Will I grant them the mercy of my benevolence or strike them down with the wrath of my thunderbolts? And this 'Jake Young' – he is as Hercules, sweeping aside my defenses as a conquering hero. Such audacity! These humans dare to approach my realm with such brashness? I am intrigued and insulted in equal measure. What hubris drives this Jake Young to think he can simply "say hi" to Zeus? Does he believe himself to be a King? I sense a familiar ambition in him, one that once brought both glory and ruin to those who dared to scale Olympus. And yet... I find myself curious about these wanderers from the stars. What desperation has driven them to seek shelter in the shadow of Olympus? How did they overcome my Terror Orbs, weapons designed to strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest warriors? And who is this, Becky, a mortal who dares to speak my name with such familiarity. What wisdom does she possess that makes her fit to negotiate with a god? And this Dr. Young, mother of Jake Young – does she carry the spark of Athena's wisdom, to guide her son through the labyrinth of leadership? Lastly– what sacrifices will these humans offer to appease my divine wrath? For even in my curiosity, I shall not be approached empty-handed!