Jake Young, Chapter 12 Jake strode through the sterile white corridors of the Celestial Colony, his long shadow stretching behind him as the artificial daylight dimmed in sync with the circadian lighting system. The city, once a haven of timelessness where days melded into nights without notice, now pulsed with vibrant life that ticked in rhythm with the restored passage of time. "Commander Young," a voice crackled over the intercom, "please report to the astrophysics lab. We have a... situation." With an exasperated sigh, Jake quickened his pace, navigating the maze-like structure with the familiarity born of years spent in every nook and cranny of this place. As he approached the lab, the clamor of raised voices and shifting furniture filtered through the door before it slid open at his approach. Inside, two scientists, their lab coats askew, were locked in a heated exchange, their faces flushed with the intensity of their argument. A crowd had gathered, forming a tight circle around them as if they were spectators at some ancient gladiatorial contest. "Enough!" Jake's voice cut through the din like a blade. With deliberate calm, he wedged himself between the quarreling pair. "You're fighting over telescope time? We’re immortal for heaven’s sake, is there suddenly a shortage of eternity?" The combatants, chests heaving, stepped back under his measured gaze, their anger dissipating as if ashamed by its own pettiness. "Yes sir," one muttered, sheepishly adjusting his glasses. "Indeed," the other concurred, smoothing down his hair. "Apologies for the disturbance." With order restored, Jake exited the lab, the door sealing silently behind him. He continued on his rounds, reflecting on the new challenges time had ushered in. His thoughts soon turned to the new Lancers, those children who had been birthed from the colony's most ambitious project yet. Each child, unique in growth and potential, reminded Jake of the unpredictable nature of humanity. Steward's robust frame now towered over many in the colony, his maturity settling upon him like a cloak as his twenty-fourth year marked the onset of his immortality. In contrast stood Elizabeth, forever captured in the delicate bloom of fourteen years, sharing the same perpetual youth as her brother. A sense of pride swelled within Jake as reports confirmed the success of the initiative. Five additional cohorts had followed, each bringing a fresh wave of energy and promise to the colony. Yet, as he observed them at play, their laughter echoing off the metal walls, he understood the wisdom in the decision to pause their creation. Sixty new souls were a bounty indeed, and the city needed respite to nurture, to teach, and to learn from these eternal children. As the sun dipped below the horizon of the city, casting long shadows and painting the sky with hues of twilight, Jake pondered the future. With the dream state lifted, the colony faced both the beauty and the burden of time—an endless cycle of growth, change, and renewal. Yet, the cessation of mortal time came without awareness as the last of the children reached immortality, and time was no longer needed for their physical growth. Peace again settled over the city. The serenity of the Celestial Colony draped itself over the populace like a gossamer veil, the seasons cascading one into another with seamless grace. Jake Young, reclined in the observatory's plush seat, had surrendered to this tranquility, the stars beyond the viewing pane his silent companions. Yet even the deepest peace is vulnerable to disruption—a sharp twinge in his wrist pierced the calm, dragging him from the reverie. Reality, with its inescapable sense of time, rushed back to him in an unbidden flood. His heart, which had pulsed quietly under the influence of the city's dream state, now hammered against his ribcage, demanding his full attention. The pain, a stark reminder of the corporeal shackles that bound him, intensified until his fingers curled involuntarily around the source—a bio-sync bracelet, glowing ominously at its edges–an invention of his sisters designed to wrestle the wearer back to the mortal realm. At the far end of the elongated table, bathed in the soft glow of monitor light, sat Beth and Becky, their heads bowed as though in conspiratorial discussion. The array of screens before them flickered with data streams and schematics too complex for a layperson to decipher. Their focus on the task was such that they resembled figures carved in concentration, oblivious to the passage of time and the world outside their digital fortress. "He's awake," Becky's voice, typically a whisper among the hush of machinery, cut through the observatory's silence with unexpected clarity. She did not turn to face him; her eyes remained fixed upon the screen, yet there was an unmistakable note of concern threaded through her words. Jake flexed his wrist, easing the tightness, as his gaze swept across the breadth of the room. It found the girls still ensconced behind the computer, their posture rigid with anticipation. Whatever awaited him beyond this moment held the weight of gravity—a pull he could neither resist nor ignore. "Congratulations," Beth said, her voice cutting through the hushed reverence of the observatory as she glanced up from the computer. The screen's light cast angular shadows across her face, highlighting a subtle, yet undeniable, expression of triumph. Jake, still processing the return to his mortal senses, nodded in response, though her accolade felt distant, like the echo of a dream. As he gingerly massaged his wrist where the bio-sync bracelet clung, the full scope of his accomplishment washed over him with the solemnity of a tidal force. His research, an arduous journey through the fabric of space-time itself, had borne fruit so profound that it bordered on the miraculous. They now wielded the power of near-instantaneous travel, an ability to traverse the cosmos in the blink of an eye. A memory surged, unbidden, vivid and sharp as if etched by a laser onto the canvas of his mind. The first test flight—his own vessel slicing through hyper-space, a sleek arrow shot into the unknown. Then, Earth, emerging from the folds of reality, a blue gem once teeming with life, now marred by the scars of war and desolation. Had he witnessed Earth’s transformation while anchored to time's relentless march, despair would have engulfed him whole. But within the waking dream state, where eons passed as mere moments, there was a buffer—a merciful detachment from the grinding grief of seeing one's birth home reduced to primordial roots. Those who survived the cataclysm, sheltered deep within the planet's embrace, had emerged into a new epoch, their technological cradle long since turned to dust. To consider Earth as anything but a relic of what once was proved an exercise in futility for Jake. That vibrant sphere of cultures and histories, the crucible of his own existence, had evolved beyond recognition. The thought of returning to witness such regression firsthand—to walk among the echoes of a civilization lost—stirred within him an aversion so potent it almost manifested as physical pain. "Never again," he murmured, more to himself than to his sister, setting his resolve like one would calibrate the true north of a compass. The future lay out there, among the stars and the possibilities they cradled, not in the rearview mirror of a path already traversed and trodden down by the heavy boots of time. The silence that swathed the control room shattered as Jake's voice, laden with a potent mix of confusion and accusation, reverberated off the sleek metal walls. "Why have you called me back to the moral realm?" The inquiry was not merely spoken; it resonated through every corner of the city, permeating the air like a shockwave from some distant supernova. At the terminal, Beth's serene posture gave way to sudden alarm. She stood, her chair scraping against the floor with an urgency that matched the distress in her voice. "Mom, his eyes are glowing." Her words hung between them, fraught with implication. Jake could feel the unnatural warmth radiating from his gaze, a searing reminder of the heavy mantle he bore. It was a sensation he’d felt before, a harbinger of power unchecked, a prelude to the god-trap’s seductive call. His sister's observation acted as the lighthouse beam amidst a churning sea of tumultuous potential, warning of the rocks that lay ahead. Their surroundings—a nexus of technology and ambition—remained untouched by his internal struggle. Screens flickered with data, silent sentinels to the drama unfolding within their overseer. Yet, in this moment of vulnerability, Jake was acutely aware of the paradox he embodied: possessing the capacity for monumental feats, yet ensnared by the very human fear of losing oneself to the darkness that such power could unleash. The luminescence in Jake's eyes dimmed as the footsteps of his mother, Dr. Young, echoed with determination across the cold, metallic floor. She approached, her presence like a vanguard against the encroaching tempest within him. With the precision of a surgeon and the firmness borne from years of practice, she placed a hand on his shoulder, a bulwark against the internal surge he fought to control. "Jake," she said, her voice resonating with an edge of steel wrapped in velvet concern. "Fight it, push it away." Her words were not merely a plea; they were a command—a directive from one who had navigated this precipice before. There was an undercurrent of a threat that lingered unspoken between them, as heavy as the gravity of the planet they had left behind. Her grip on his shoulder, unyielding as the gravitational pull of a neutron star, anchored him to reality. His muscles tensed beneath the pressure of her hand, instinct urging him to rebel, to shrug off the constraints of mortality that shackled his newfound power. Yet, he knew the consequences that lay down that path—consequences that would ripple through the very fabric of their existence. His resistance was a struggle against the siren call of infinity, a battle waged within the confines of his own psyche. "Don't make me do it again," she continued, her voice a harbinger of the potential for loss that lay in wait should he falter. The words, spoken with an unwavering resolve, carried the weight of history and the memories of interventions past. The glow within Jake's gaze flickered, caught between the brilliance of divinity and the shadow of his human frailty. He stood at the crossroads of eternity, gazing into the abyss that beckoned with whispers of absolute dominion. It was a path that promised transcendence but led only to isolation and desolation. "Mother," he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath that danced upon the threshold of audibility. The internal maelstrom subsided, and the iridescent light waned, retreating from the windows to his soul. He was no longer a vessel for unchecked might, but a son grounded by the steadfast love of his mother and the responsibilities he bore towards those who depended on him. In the stillness that followed, the air seemed charged with the remnants of the storm that had passed, and the silence bore witness to the strength of a bond that had weathered far more than the mere passage of time. The specter of remembrance cast its pall over Jake as he grappled with the resurgence of a buried truth. Samantha's gift, her curse to wield the equilibrium between mortality and eternity, had once before torn away his cloak of immortality. For five centuries, she'd made him trudge through time's relentless sands, each grain a stark reminder of life's fragility. Those years stretched out like an endless desert where every horizon promised salvation yet delivered only more arid desolation. Jake had danced dangerously close to the god-trap's precipice, seduced by a power that whispered sweet nothings of omnipotence. Dr. Young, his mother and anchor in this tempest of self-aggrandizement, had been his constant savior, plucking him from the brink of ruin—a Siren steering the ship clear of the rocks. He closed his eyes, seeking refuge in the darkness behind his lids. The temptation to succumb to the god-trap was a siren song that resonated within him, a perilous melody that harmonized all too well with the symphony of his own ambition. His role as Colony Commander bestowed upon him a mantle of authority, but the powers coursing through his veins sang of dominions far grander—those of an Olympian deity. Yet even as the power caressed his ego, inflating it with each passing moment, there lurked the shadow of a memory—the fall of the ancient Greeks, consumed by their hubris and brought low by the very greatness they sought to embody. In his mind's eye, he envisioned the ruins of Olympus, columns toppled and temples crumbled, a testament to the impermanence of godhood. With a concerted effort, Jake reined in the intoxicating allure of divinity that tugged at his consciousness. He could not, would not allow himself to follow the path of those who reached for the heavens only to plummet back to earth, broken and bereft of their former glory. "Focus," he whispered to himself, a mantra to guard against the encroaching tide of egotism. "Remember your humanity." Jake's eyelids fluttered open, a residual luminescence dwindling within his irises as consciousness returned. The world swam into focus around him, the sterile brightness of the laboratory contrasting starkly with the darkness that had cradled his mind in slumber. With the receding glow came clarity, and he straightened his spine, a quiet nod signaling his return from the precipice of omnipotence. "I'm okay now," he asserted, his voice steady yet lined with a hint of vulnerability. "Why did you leave me asleep for so long?" Across the room, Beth's silhouette leaned forward, her head canting to capture his gaze in hers. Her scrutiny was intense, searching for any trace of the tempestuous power that threatened to surge forth once more. Yet, in her eyes danced a playful spark, betraying her casual dominion over the situation. "It was only 10,000 years this time," she replied, her words laced with an undercurrent of mischief. A faint smile graced her lips. "And anyway, I like when you're in the god-sleep; you say yes to everything I want." As she spoke, the air between them seemed to charge with an unspoken understanding—a dynamic woven through countless cycles of awakening and slumber, where the lines between protector and dependent blurred in the dance of their complex bond. Lissome limbs unfurling in a languid stretch, Jake rose to his feet. The laboratory's cool air prickled against his skin as he arched his back, casting off the last vestiges of spectral sleep that clung to him like cobwebs. "So, what's going on, sister, or did you just want to say hi?" His tone was light, but his eyes held the gravity of one who had traversed aeons in the span of a heartbeat. With a fluid gesture, Beth summoned an image on the big screen that dominated one wall of the lab. Space stretched out before them, dotted with the twinkling lights of distant stars, but it was the anomaly within that canvas that captured their attention—a celestial tapestry disrupted by the unexpected. Jake's breath caught, and a low whistle escaped him, surprise etching fine lines across his forehead. "Well, after all this time…" He trailed off, lost for a moment in the contemplation of cosmic wonders long thought beyond reach. "Speaking of which, how long has it been since we arrived?" There was a yearning in his voice, the eternal question of a mind that sought to anchor itself amidst the drift of infinity. The siblings stood side by side, gazes locked upon the vastness before them, where silence reigned sovereign over the void, and time itself dared not whisper its secrets aloud. Jake glided across the room, his lanky frame casting elongated shadows that danced with the pulsating lights from the array of monitors and consoles. The big screen beckoned him closer, a window to the cosmos that never ceased to intrigue his inquisitive mind. Each step seemed to draw him further from the ethereal slumber that had cradled his consciousness in oblivion. "260,000 years in the mortal realm, uncounted millions in the celestial realm," Becky's voice cut through the silence, her words precise, spoken with the careful enunciation of one who revered the weight of time. "Where has the time gone?" Jake murmured, his gaze fixed on the screen, the vast expanse of space unfolding before him like an ancient scroll. The reflection in his eyes mirrored the celestial display—a testament to the insatiable curiosity that marked his character. Becky's fingers danced across the keyboard, a ballet of precise movements that wove the threads of information into a coherent tapestry. Jake leaned forward, his tousled hair casting shadows over his intent features as he peered at the screen. The image before him was mesmerizing—a colossal cylinder spinning through the void, its vastness dwarfing the constellations that served as its backdrop. "We've been busy," Becky said, an understatement so stark it bordered on the comical. Yet her tone bore no hint of mirth; instead, it resonated with the gravity of their long vigil in this celestial watchtower. "Busy" hardly encapsulated the breadth of their work—the construction and deconstruction of theories, the meticulous crafting of algorithms that could make sense of the chaotic dance of the cosmos. But now, the fruits of their labor approached in the form of a monolithic vessel from the distant past, its surface catching the light of distant stars. Jake squinted, trying to discern any identifying markers through the slow rotation of the ship. "Do we know which one it is?" he asked, his voice betraying nothing of the torrent of thoughts racing through his mind. “It’s the Aurora,” Becky replied, her voice a whisper of certainty that sliced through the charged silence of the command center. A flash of recognition sparked in Jake's eyes. Memories unfurled within him like sails catching the solar winds. He remembered the day humanity had laid the foundation for what was now approaching them—a testament to their ingenuity and ambition. “Did you go to the ceremony when they laid its first rib?” Jake asked, his tone laced with nostalgia for a time so long ago it was barely a memory. Becky's fingers paused above the keyboard, suspended as she delved into the reservoirs of history stored within her mind. Her eyes met Jake's, green orbs reflecting a shared past of triumphs and traumas too numerous to recount with mere words. Becky's head gave a gentle shake, her gaze unfocused as she traveled back through the annals of her memory. "No, I saw the Destiny." Her voice was a whisper, carrying the ghosts of that grandeur now lost to them. Jake's eyes lingered on the Aurora's image, the behemoth of hope and technology drifting serenely through the void. A sigh escaped him, its sound dissipating into the vastness of their control room. "Think of it, if the war hadn’t happened, we would have been on that ship." His voice bore the weight of centuries, the wistfulness of paths not taken. Around them, the sterility of metallic surfaces and the soft glow of monitors bore silent witness to Jake's rueful contemplation. The Lance Project had promised much—adventures amongst the stars, discovery, a new dawn for humanity. Yet history's cruel hand had swept them aside, leaving them adrift in an expanse both magnificent and indifferent. "Recall our fleet," Jake commanded, his tone shifting from introspection to the assertiveness that marked his leadership. He approached a console, fingers dancing across the holographic interface with precision. "I want to see that ship before it arrives in our solar system." The control room leapt to life at his touch; lights blinked in acquiescence, distant engines roared silently in the black sea of space, responding to the call of their commander. Becky's voice, a soft but unyielding murmur in the vastness of the control room, carried the weight of her news. "I already have," she replied, her gaze locked onto the monitor displaying the tactical formation of their fleet. "All but two that were on the other side of the galaxy have returned. We have 52 heavily armed Lance Ships in orbit ready to go." "Well then," Jake said, the words cutting through the silence with resolve. He stood, his lanky frame rising like a tower above the consoles and screens that served as their windows to the cosmos. The faint light from distant stars cast angular shadows across his contemplative features. "I suppose I should go greet our guests. When our last two Lance Ships arrive, put them on defense." His eyes, dark pools reflecting the myriad pinpricks of light, flicked back to the screen that held their future in its pixels. "Those World Ships are armed to the teeth. If it attacks, I don’t want any stray missiles hitting the planet." The gravity of his statement anchored Becky's thoughts, pulling her from the refuge of analysis into the stark reality of potential conflict. Her fingers, adept and precise, flew over the interface before her, orchestrating the silent symphony of defensive maneuvers. The ships, each a testament to human ingenuity and resilience, shifted in response—guardians poised at the edge of anticipation. "Defense protocol initiated," she confirmed, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried the authority of one who had faced the abyss and found within herself an unshakeable core. The chamber's air tingled with an electric tension as Jake surveyed the room one final time. His eyes, portals to a soul that had seen epochs unfold, lingered on each familiar face. They were his comrades in this vessel of salvation—this city adrift among the stars. The device at his wrist, no larger than the compasses he used to toy with during those endless science fairs, now held dominion over space itself. With a decisive swipe of a finger, reality buckled around him. In an instant, where once stood their commander, only the echo of departure remained—a distortion in the air that settled like the last note of a symphony fading into silence. The room, once animated by his presence, felt hollow in his absence, as if the very essence of possibility had vanished with him. *** Ethereal currents of hyperspace wrapped around Jake as he reconstituted in the cold void between worlds. Stars, mere pinpricks from within the protective cocoon of the city, now blazed with unbridled fury against the obsidian tapestry. This was the realm of gods and cosmic entities, where distances collapsed and the impossible became trivial—an existence measured not in years but in thoughts. As the kaleidoscope of color retreated, yielding to the stark reality of space, a panorama of metal and might unfolded before him. The Lance Ships, their hulls glinting like daggers in the starlight, formed a serrated halo around the incoming World Colony Ship. It was a breathtaking display of martial splendor, yet beneath its veneer lurked the specter of annihilation. "Status," Jake commanded into the void, his voice a ripple across the interstellar ether, reaching out to the minds of his crew with practiced ease. "Perimeter secure, Commander," came the response, a thought-beam fracturing the silence. "Awaiting your orders." "Maintain position," he instructed, his words deliberate as he considered the balance of power before him. "I will engage our visitors personally. Ensure the defenses stand ready, but hold fire. We shall not be aggressors today." With a flick of his wrist, Jake summoned the interface of his personal ship, The Odyssey, its sleek form materializing from the fabric of space-time. He entered, taking the helm as naturally as one might slide into a well-worn chair. The controls responded to his touch, alive with anticipation, as he set course for the behemoth that dared to encroach upon their sanctuary. As The Odyssey slipped silently through the void toward confrontation or communion, Jake could not help but reflect on the infinite paths that had led him here, to this moment of reckoning. Each step forged from curiosity, each victory tempered with humility. Now, as the future unfurled before him, he readied himself for what lay ahead, his heart a crucible of hope amidst the eternal dance of the cosmos. *** Exhaustion clung to Captain Maximillian Archer like a second skin as he was jolted from his slumber. The sleep-pod's lid retracted with a hiss of releasing pressure, and the sterile light of the ship's interior assaulted his senses. Master Sergeant Brock loomed over him, an unwavering sentinel whose sharp features were carved from concern. "We have a problem," Brock declared, his voice a baritone crack against the silence. Archer's hand shot out, his fingers grazing the sleep-pod's chronometer. The numbers there spoke of a future still distant, their glow steady in the dimness. "We still have another 12,000 years before we reach the edge of that solar system where the signal originated. What's happening?" His words came out measured, each syllable carefully weighed in the balance of his disciplined mind. The urgency in Brock's stance suggested a puzzle demanding immediate attention, a disruption in the finely tuned machinery of their mission. Archer's mind, ever the strategist's, began sifting through possibilities, discarding the improbable and embracing the likely. Whatever the issue, it had breached the sanctity of his rest and the regimented march of time itself. This was no small matter; it was a clarion call to which they must respond with precision and alacrity. "You have to see this," Brock insisted, his tone brooking no argument as urgency shimmered in his eyes. In a fluid motion that belied the stiffness of long slumber, Captain Maximillian Archer peeled the thin blanket away from his chest and sat up. Legs swinging out of the sleep-pod, he planted his feet firmly on the cool metal floor. The boots, aligned with precision at his berth's edge, accepted his feet with a familiar embrace. A shiver coursed through him, not entirely from the pervasive chill that the ship's heaters battled in vain to dispel; it was a shiver of anticipation, a prelude to the unknown that awaited his command. Close to 50,000 years had elapsed since last he navigated the streams of consciousness—since last his body contended with the gravity's subtle tug and the air's gentle caress. His senses, now sharpening from hibernation's fog, cataloged the ambient chill that clung tenaciously to every surface. Each breath he drew was a testament to the resilience of life amidst the void's eternal winter. "Lead on," Archer commanded, his voice a low rumble that resonated with authority born of countless trials weathered and tempests endured. Brock nodded, pivoting on his heel with military precision and making for the corridor that would take them to the heart of the crisis. Archer followed, muscles protesting mildly against the sudden call to action. As they moved, the weight of responsibility settled once more upon his shoulders—a mantle he bore with stoic acceptance. Whatever the enigma was that caused the AI to wake them early, it was now his to unravel, his to confront with the acumen and resolve that had seen him through the aeons. With each step, the soles of Archer's boots met the cold metal floor, the echo a stark reminder of the solitude that space imposed. Brock led with urgent strides, his shoulders taut like coiled springs ready to release at the slightest provocation. They traversed the narrow corridor, its walls lined with conduits and cables—a metallic artery pulsing with the lifeblood of information and energy. Upon reaching the Bridge, the panorama that greeted them was one of chaos held at bay by flickering screens and flashing consoles. The usual serenity of the command center had been usurped by an orchestra of alarms and the staccato of warning lights. Data streamed across holographic displays, each vying for attention, while the Weapons Station stood out as the most insistent of all, its alerts cascading into the dimly lit expanse. "What are those?" Archer's baritone voice cut through the clamor as his eyes fixated on the view screen. The image before him defied immediate comprehension—a tableau of celestial bodies that did not adhere to any familiar catalog of shapes or designs known to human explorers. These entities hung in the void, silent sentinels whose purpose and origin remained shrouded in mystery. Brock's jaw clenched as he delivered the assessment, his voice the auditory equivalent of a blunt instrument. "I don't know, but they're big, at least a mile long each, but that's only a guess. Our attempts to scan them slip off their hulls like butter. I don't visually see any weapons, but they have us surrounded." The bridge of the Aurora had become a crucible, the heat of their predicament palpable in the air. Archer's fingers moved with precision over the computer screen, each tap an orchestrated effort to glean more information, to find an edge where none seemed to exist. "There's 52 of them," Archer announced, his tone betraying no hint of the concern that knotted his stomach. "But they’re too big to land on our flight deck, so unless they have shuttles, they aren’t boarding us anytime soon. Prepare for a full engine burn, we might be able to outrun them." Archer watched as the anticipation of action brought a gleam to Brock's eye, a silent testament to the man's unyielding resolve. They had traversed the cosmos together, weathered storms of stardust and navigated astral maelstroms, yet this was a challenge unlike any they had faced before. "Initiate sequence," Archer commanded, his voice steady despite the gravity of their situation. The bridge responded with quiet efficiency, the pulsating glow of control panels casting an ethereal light. Yet, nothing happened. The massive engines remained silent. The tranquility of the Bridge, a sanctuary of strategic thought and command, shattered with the intrusion of an unexpected voice. "You would need this, wouldn't you?" The words, casual and unperturbed by the urgency that had taken hold of the room, sliced through the atmosphere like a comet cleaving space. Archer's head whipped around, his instincts honed by years of navigating celestial dangers snapping to the forefront. Beside him, Brock's posture tensed, the musculature of a soldier ready for confrontation. They turned in unison to confront the anomaly now within their domain—a boy, seemingly plucked from adolescence, striding onto the Bridge with the confidence of a seasoned star pilot. In the boy's hand glinted the cube, its surface catching the ambient light of the control panels—a beacon of power and possibility. The quantum key, the very heart that pulsed life into the World Ship’s massive engines, now rested casually between the slender fingers of youth. "Who are you?" Archer demanded, his tone a blend of incredulity and authority as he assessed the intruder. A child on the bridge was improbable enough, but one holding the key to their escape verged on the impossible. In the sterile glow of the bridge, Archer's pulse quickened as the boy cradled the quantum key with a reverence that seemed almost theatrical. "This thing is really something," the boy mused, his voice suffused with a blend of admiration and nostalgia. "It’s a beautiful antique." Archer, muscles tensed and mind racing through scenarios, watched helplessly as Young nonchalantly flipped the cube into the air. The moment stretched, time itself appearing to pause in deference to the audacity of the act. Instead of succumbing to gravity's insistent call, the cube disassembled mid-flight—a constellation of components orbiting each other in an elegant aerial ballet. Archer knew the quantum key was their lifeline, the pinnacle of their technological achievements. Yet there it danced, untethered and unfettered, while the boy regarded the spectacle with the detached curiosity of a scholar dissecting a long-dead language. With a motion so fluid it seemed choreographed by the cosmos, the boy beckoned the pieces to coalesce. They obeyed, swirling together before snapping back into a singular form as if they had never parted. In an eyeblink, the reconstituted cube vanished, only to reappear upon the leather armrest beside Archer—an impossible trick that defied not only gravity but reason itself. “My name is Commander Young of the Celestial Colony, welcome,” he announced. His tone carried an edge of surprise, a twist in the narrative he hadn't anticipated. “This isn’t what I expected to find. I’ve read your logs. You stole this ship and are now roaming around the galaxy on a pleasure trip.” Despite the calm exterior, the boy’s words were an accusation wrapped in velvet, a revelation that pierced through the facade of the World Ship's command. The celestial intruder stood in stark contrast to the disarray of the bridge, his demeanor as composed as the chaos was rampant. “That is true, but grossly out of context,” Archer replied, his hand dropping to his sidearm, only to find the holster empty. With a casual flick of his wrist, the boy—Commander Young—gestured toward the far side of the bridge. "It's over there on that table," he said, his voice tinged with an indifference that belied the gravity of their situation. Archer followed the trajectory of Young's dismissive motion to the indicated table where his sidearm lay inert, as if mocking him with its impotence from across the room. He studied the boy, taking in the lanky frame and the tousled dark hair that framed a face marked by freckles and the ghost of adolescence. The boy’s poise was eerie, his control of the room complete with an economy of motion that spoke of untold power. "Are you human?" Archer found himself asking, his voice a mix of incredulity and curiosity. The question hung between them like the distant echo of a time when such inquiries were unnecessary. "Your accent is ancient Earth, like the first generation colonists." The inquiry lingered in the sterile air of the bridge, waiting for an answer that would anchor the surreal encounter in a reality Archer could comprehend. "That's a good question," the boy replied, his voice carrying the weight of centuries in its timbre. "I was on Mars when they began construction of this ship. It’s very sad to see the shape it’s in now." With an air of finality to the brief exchange, the young commander shifted his stance slightly, the light from the bridge consoles dancing across his freckled face. "Well, that's enough chit chat for now," he continued. "I’ve decided you’re not a threat. My ships will enclose yours in a hyperspace bubble and jump you into orbit around my planet. You and your friend will be transported to lodgings. We'll talk more then." Before Archer could process the implications of being deemed 'not a threat' or fathom the technological marvel of a hyperspace bubble, the boy’s form wavered like a mirage dissolving under scrutiny. In a blink, where the boy had stood, there was now only empty space. Archer, momentarily lost in the void left by the commander's absence, turned to Brock, concern etching lines into his forehead. "Are you okay?" His words cut through the tension that lingered like static in the bridge's chilled air. As Brock's rigid form teetered on the brink of collapse, his face a mottled canvas of exertion and bewilderment, he lurched forward with an unexpected burst of momentum. Muscles that should have responded with preternatural swiftness now betrayed him, yielding to an unseen force that left him gasping for air. "That's never happened before," he managed to rasp out, his voice strained as if dredged from the depths of a murky well. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, his chest heaving from the effort. "I'm a genetic hyper-speed, but he had me completely immobile." Archer, maintaining his composure despite the surreal encounter, acknowledged the gravity of their predicament. His mind, usually a fortress of strategic contemplation, struggled against an invisible torrent that sought to anchor him firmly in the present. "I know," he said, his tone laced with a mixture of awe and concern. "I kept trying to enter hyper-thought, to give me time to analyze the situation, but something kept pushing me back to real-space." He paused, ruminating over the implications of what they faced. "And he said he was going to jump us in hyperspace? Nobody has that technology, and even if they did, can you imagine what it would take to jump a ship with this much mass?" Archer's gaze drifted toward the expanse beyond the viewport, stars stretching into the infinite. "That would be like hyperspace jumping a moon. Whoever they are, they’re millions of years more advanced than we are." The silence that followed hung between them like a shroud, each man grappling with the enormity of their new reality—a universe where rules they had known were rendered obsolete by the whims of forces beyond their reckoning.