Lost in Time, Chapter 3 Eli's fingers danced through the air, weaving patterns of command into the holographic interface that shimmered with an ethereal blue glow. The Wayfarer's systems hummed and flickered in response, acknowledging each of his expert adjustments. His brow creased with focused determination, a silent testament to the urgency of their predicament. He had always been one to thrive under pressure, finding clarity when the stakes were highest. Yet now, as he scrutinized the diagnostics, a cold unease settled in his chest. Navigation and communication arrays blinked back at him with green indicators—they were operational, so they claimed. But space remained eerily silent; no pings returned from distant ships, no beeps from navigation beacons. They were alone, adrift in the vast expanse, tethered to reality only by the vessel’s life support systems. While Eli worked to restore function to the Wayfarer, Mara was engrossed in her calculations, scribbling equations on a digital notepad with rapid strokes. Numbers and symbols flowed from her like a language she spoke more fluently than words, her mind a crucible of logic and probability. Determining their position was a puzzle she was set on solving, her unwavering resolve anchored in the mathematics that never lied. Jonas and Ada hovered over the table strewn with star charts, their edges worn, a stark contrast to the high-tech environment. Jonas’s hand hovered above a sextant, his expression a mix of bewilderment and nostalgia. "I wish I'd paid better attention how to use these during that two-week star navigation class last year," he mumbled, regret lacing his voice. He had always been more interested in the stories of the cosmos than its precise mapping, but tales of adventure offered little guidance in the current void. Ada, with her innate curiosity unsullied by the gravity of their situation, traced constellations with her finger, her imagination filling the gaps between the dots. She was too young to grasp the full extent of their isolation, but her presence brought a sense of normalcy, a reminder of the small joys amidst the chaos. The family—each locked in their own struggle against the unknown—were united in a singular quest for survival, their skills and spirits intertwined in the daunting dance of the cosmos. Eli strode into the common room, his eyes instantly finding Jonas and Ada amidst a sea of celestial maps and ancient tools. "Any luck in here?" he queried, fingers still twitching from his recent dance with the holographic controls. Jonas glanced up, pinching the bridge of his nose, fatigue etched on his features. "They taught me in that class to use the navigation laser to determine the distance and trajectory to the nearest star, and then do a resection to a known point to determine our position." He gestured helplessly at the star charts. "I'm using the nearest star, which should be the New Titan star, but the hyperspace lanes are gone, and without the navigation computer, I have no idea if it's actually the New Titan star or not." Eli furrowed his brow, leaning over the table to peer at the map sprawled out before them. "How far away is the star you're using?" he asked, a hint of skepticism lacing his voice. "Four light years," Jonas replied, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Eli's head shook almost imperceptibly, disbelief clouding his judgment. "We can't possibly have gone that far." From the corner, Mara looked up, her gaze piercing as she offered her insights, born from numbers and calculations. "The ship sensors say we were traveling at 23.4% the speed of light for 32 seconds. We could very well have gone 4 light years from where we left the hyperspace lane." She tapped the data pad, her finger underscoring the hard truth. "In real space, it would take us 83,000 years to reach that star." His frown deepened, Eli's mind grappling with the enormity of their displacement. "We could use our emergency cryo-pods," he mused, more to himself than to the others, "but I'm not willing to wake up 83,000 years out of our time." Silence fell, heavy and foreboding, as they each confronted the reality of their situation—a flicker of history adrift in an uncharted sea of stars. Eli's eyes narrowed as a constellation of brilliant lights splayed across the common area, casting everyone in a ghostly glow. The holographic display swelled into being, stars pulsing with life above the table. Orion's voice, cool and steady, broke through the hum of the Wayfarer's systems. "I have scanned the observable sky," Orion announced. "I want to show you something I have observed." The celestial map revolved, bringing two prominent red stars into focus above them. Eli's gaze was drawn upward, his trained eye assessing the familiar sight with a twist of bewilderment. "Twin red stars, not uncommon," he allowed, though his voice carried an edge of uncertainty. "In our sector, there is only one set of twin red stars," Orion rebutted, as if reading the doubt that coiled in Eli's chest. Jonas leaned forward, his finger hesitantly reaching out to trace the luminous orbs hanging in the simulated sky. "Yeah, the Dragon constellation, but that isn't the Dragon constellation, the stars are all wrong." "Stars don't just move on their own," Eli mumbled, more to himself than to the others, his mind racing for explanations. From the periphery, Ada's small form clambered onto a chair, her movements quiet but determined. She held fast to her stuffed rabbit—a relic from a world suddenly feeling very distant—her tiny fingers gripping its worn fabric. "Silly Orion," she chided lightly, tipping her head as if contemplating a puzzle only she could see. "You put the stars in the wrong places." A little hand pointed assertively toward the hologram. "That one goes there, and that one over there, and that one next to that one." Silence reigned for a heartbeat as Jonas stared at the misplaced stars, then realization dawned like sunrise on his face. "Hey, she's right," he exclaimed, a mix of surprise and admiration coloring his tone. "If those stars moved over a little, it would look just like the Dragon Constellation." Eli exchanged a look with Mara, the implications of Ada's innocent observation settling heavily upon them. Their circumstances were far from simple, and yet, perhaps they had just gleaned a clue from the most unexpected of navigators. Orion's voice, smooth and precise, cut through the tension like a knife. "That is because it is the Dragon Constellation," he said, prompting the stars in the holographic display to commence a dizzying dance. The celestial bodies whirled across the projected sky, blurring into streaks of light as they accelerated through millennia in seconds. Eli leaned forward, eyes locked on the shifting constellations, his mind trying to keep pace with the unfolding cosmic ballet. The movement halted abruptly, leaving behind the familiar pattern of the Dragon Constellation, now perfectly aligned. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, the gesture an anchor in the chaos of possibilities. "How far forward did you advance the star positions?" Eli asked, his voice steady despite the undercurrent of incredulity that threatened to surface. "Twenty-five thousand years," Orion replied, the AI's voice betraying no hint of the extraordinary nature of its statement. "This is the position of the stars as we know it," Orion declared. The stars shifted once more, returning to their previous, disconcerting arrangement. "And this is the sky as we are currently observing it." "Time travel?" Eli echoed, his skepticism surfacing despite the evidence before him. It was a concept relegated to theoretical physicists and science fiction authors—not the reality of a ship's captain navigating uncharted space. “That can't be, time travel is just an academic theory," he stated, almost willing it to be true. Orion's response came with an air of electronic gravity. "That is not exactly correct. During the Nova bomb test, time travel was observed when the black hole they used to detonate the device moved six light years. The incident was classified, but I was there with your great-grandfather to keep the hyperspace lanes closed during the experiment." Eli felt a chill run down his spine, the past intermingling with the present in a way he could have never anticipated. The AI's revelation painted a picture far larger and more complex than any problem he had faced before. Time travel wasn't just a theory—it was potentially their reality. Eli’s lips curled into a wistful smile as he gazed at the shifting constellations, the memory of his grandfather tugging at the corners of his mind. "I miss Grandpa George," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, his voice a soft echo in the quiet of the common room. "At least he had a few years with Jonas before he passed." Jonas, sprawled across the table amidst the scattered star charts and manual navigation tools, turned his head toward his father, confusion knitting his youthful brow. "I don't remember him," he admitted, a hint of regret in his tone. Eli's eyes met his son's, a glimmer of warmth lighting them up. "You were only three years old when he died," he said gently. "He adored you. He would turn the artificial gravity down and carry you over his head like you were flying." The revelation seemed to flick a switch in Jonas's memory, his face suddenly alight with recognition and a boyish grin. "Hey, I remember flying through the ship. That was Grandpa George?" His voice carried the spark of rediscovered joy, the kind that could momentarily eclipse their grim situation. Eli nodded. “Grandpa George was the Wayfarer Fleet Commander for 30 years. Over 600 Wayfarer ships attended his funeral.” Mara, who had been silently scratching numbers onto her datapad, looked up, her eyes distant yet filled with reverence. She leaned back in her chair, cradling the instrument of her calculations in her lap. "I wish George were here now," she said, her voice bearing a weight of respect for the absent legend. "He was a genius." Her gaze lingered on the holographic stars above, as if trying to connect with the wisdom of the man who had once navigated these celestial mysteries with nothing but his brilliant mind and a heart full of adventure. Eli’s gaze shifted from the flickering holograph of stars to Mara, his mind churning with the weight of impossible realities. "Let's assume for now we got pushed back 25,000 years by the hyperspace lanes exploding. Mara, what was happening 25,000 years ago?" His voice echoed softly in the common area, a question heavy with the gravity of their predicament. Mara's hand paused mid-stroke on her datapad, her fingers hovering in the air as she mentally sifted through historical data encoded into the very fabric of her being. Lines of thought etched themselves across her brow as she delved into the annals of time. She answered with an academic precision that belied the tumult of implications behind her words. "That would have been the height of the Phoenix Wars. Orion Prime, the progenitor of all modern Orion AI's, was created around that time," she started, her tone sobering. "But it was too late for humanity and the next 5,000 years saw the complete collapse of humanity back to the Stone Age." Eli watched her closely, searching her expression for more than just the recounting of history – for the glimmer of understanding that they were potentially marooned in an era alien to them. He could see the sparks of intellect in her eyes dim with the grim realization. "It took us 10,000 years to crawl back to an age of technology," Mara continued, her voice now a whisper lost in the magnitude of their situation. "And then another 10,000 years to recolonize the galaxy." Her hand fell to her side, datapad forgotten. The room felt suddenly colder, the shimmering constellations above them no longer a tapestry of beauty but a map of their isolation, a stark reminder of how far from home they could truly be. Eli's fingers stilled above the holographic interface, the flurry of his movements ceasing as he absorbed the implications of their predicament. He turned away from the blinking lights and inscrutable readouts, the weight of their isolation settling heavily upon him. "That would explain why I can't raise anyone on the com-link, most colonizes will have either already collapsed, or retreated back to Earth," Eli said, his tone edged with frustration. The communication array, once a lifeline to the sprawling human civilization, now served as nothing more than an artifact of their helplessness. Mara's gaze followed the drifting holographic stars, her mind undoubtedly racing through the historical archives she carried in her brilliant brain. "They could be standing outside the window and you still wouldn't be able to talk with them," she replied, her voice tinged with the sobering truth. "We're the second iteration of the human species; we don't speak any of the languages of the first iteration." The revelation hung heavy in the air, an invisible barrier as daunting as the vacuum of space itself that separated them from any semblance of familiarity or aid. Silence enveloped the crew for a moment—a silent acknowledgment of the chasm of time and evolution that stood between them and any other souls who might exist in this era. Eli's jaw clenched at the thought, his innate resolve pushing against the tide of despair. "Be what it may, we can't sit here forever," he declared, his leadership asserting itself despite the unknowns. He turned back to the interface, the captain within him taking command of the situation. "We can plot a course to New Titan now... or should I say, plot a course to old Titan, and see if the ancient colony is still there."