Nahanath Territory

Massive screens mounted around the dining hall flared to life as the rocket began preparations for liftoff. Speakers relayed the communications from within the control center and the shuttle itself. The men and women coordinating the launch went on about flight checks and sequences as an announcer counted down.

External chatter quieted down as the announcer approached zero. “T-minus ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero. Liftoff!”

The leaders of Elysia watched with a variety of emotions – awe, curiosity, defeat, horror – as the massive construct unleashed a storm of fire and smoke from its engines and began its ascent. It soared to the heavens, soon disappearing from sight as it climbed higher and higher into a realm once known only to the gods themselves. The unshakeable rumbling in the distance shook the Elysian onlookers, who trembled as goosebumps began to form on their skin. The few Dragonian guests reacted similarly, despite having been informed of what to expect. Instead of goosebumps, their scales changed to a brighter hue.

Prince Cabal had seen the spectacular display before, on the introductory video shown Gesta’s people by the Americans. Yet, it was not enough to shake the feeling of insecurity that washed over him. He felt small, knowing that there existed a vast expanse up there that he was unable to access. He also felt powerless, knowing that the Americans possessed unimaginably advanced technologies that further diminished his father’s dreams of conquest. He only hoped that he would not be blind enough to ignore this, and would cease his greedy expansion while they had not yet drawn the ire of the Americans.

Curious about how everyone else was handling the insane demonstration, he glanced at the other guests. His own cohort seemed to be taking the news well, aside from Dallas, who looked like he was on the verge of fainting. Cielia and Gesta both shared defiant looks of determination, although a gut feeling suggested that they were determined for different reasons. 

Most of the other guests looked like they had seen incredible magic. He recognized this expression; it was the same one plastered across the faces of the Pagandans, Irnetians, Leiforians, and other natives they had come across. It was also the same expression that he wore when first encountering American technologies and visiting their mainland. 

Unlike the others, the Muans diverged from this shocked reaction. Rather, they seemed to be enthusiastically engaging in conversation with a group of Americans, one of whom wore a pin with a ‘SpaceX’ logo on it. Grateful to have such a powerful ally supporting them, they expressed their thanks to the Americans and discussed science with them.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, the Mirishial delegation bore expressions of concern as they talked with some Americans, who seemed to be explaining something to do with the launch. Watching the expressions of the Mirishials shift from concern to downright fear bothered Cabal. Unlike him, who was concerned about the growing influence of the United States, the Mirishials had nothing to worry about considering the fact that they are allies. What could possibly have frightened the Mirishials?

—-

Armstrong Space Center

President Lee stood in the center of the control room, watching the live feeds from the shuttle as it approached a derelict satellite. 

“No visible weapons platforms,” one of the astronauts said. “Signal is a match to the beacon and getting stronger.”

The shuttle drifted toward the structure, adjusting course using thrust vectoring. Nozzles placed around the shuttle spouted air, seamlessly guiding it into position and slowing it down until it came to a relative stop, matching the orbit of the satellite. The two objects drifted in space, circling the planet below while the astronauts aboard the shuttle prepared to analyze the object.

“This is Captain Findlay. I’m preparing myself for a spacewalk. Kurtz, Lei, and Richmond will stay behind,” he said as he prepared his suit and maneuvered toward the airlock.

Captain Findlay secured a tether to his suit and tested its integrity by pulling on it. Once he was satisfied with the setup, he opened the airlock and kicked away from the walls with minimal force, slowly propelling him toward the satellite. As he drifted away from the shuttle, he prepared a secondary tether, spending the time to identify a spot on the satellite where he could latch onto.

The satellite was similar in size to a large pickup truck, tumbling rapidly through the void. Aware of the danger that the spinning object presented, Findlay came to a stop, expending some of his air supply to slow down. “The satellite has a high rotational velocity. I’m deploying magnetic thrusters to bring it to a full stop.” 

Findlay fished some cylindrical devices from a bag, holding them in place near the satellite before activating their magnetic clamps. The thrusters quickly fastened themselves to the spinning metal hulk, sticking to its surface. “All thrusters are in place. Activating motion correction sequence now.”

The thrusters fired, spewing gas in the opposite direction of the satellite’s spin. The solution worked as expected, but sent the satellite drifting off toward the planet below. Taking action, Findlay boosted toward the artifact, catching it with a tether before it could tumble down to the surface of Elysia. “I’ve secured the satellite. Kurtz, activate the starboard-side thrusters to counter the velocity of the satellite.”

Gasses fired from the left side of the shuttle, relative to its front. Once the shuttle-satellite system was stabilized, Findlay began his work. Using a tablet, he conducted a three-dimensional scan of the satellite. Upon completion, he notified his shuttle team and the ground crew at the control center, “I’m relaying the scans to Mission Control for analysis. I noticed a placard on the side, probably for identification. Might be useful to get the linguists on this right away.”

“Mission Control reads you, we’re getting a team of analysts right now and will notify once they’re done with translations.”

“Understood. I’m continuing the assignment,” Findlay said, searching for a hatch. After he identified what he was looking for, he checked for screws. Feeling grateful, he updated his status, “I believe I’ve found access to the control panel. It’s got screws, so I don’t think I’ll have to use the cutter.”

Carefully picking up the small screwdriver in his bag, he gently slipped the tool into his bulky, gloved hand. Despite the easy nature of his task, Findlay still felt nervous due to how slow he was forced to complete it. He adjusted his grip every time he twisted the screw, resulting in a very tedious, but safe pace. After six grueling minutes of labor, he took a break to go back to the shuttle and replenish his supply of air. 

He returned to the satellite and resumed his work, gently taking off the panel and securing it within his bag. Taking a look back at the panel, he cursed at what he found. “Mission Control, there seems to be a screen, and some buttons here. How should I proceed?”

“Hold on, Artemi.”

President Lee watched as the managers and directors huddled together, deciding what to do. Before long, they reached an answer and relayed it to the team above. “Artemis, this is Mission Control. You must hold a magic gem to the blue activation rune and then await further instructions.”

Captain Findlay grabbed a small magic gem from his bag and held it to the correct rune, causing the screen to turn on and display a set of options. “It looks like there’s a list of options here. What next?”

“Prepare to receive live feed from the surface. We will translate as you go along. Please wait thirty seconds for confirmation from our linguists, in case they have made a mistake in translations.”

A set of English words popped up in Findlay’s Heads Up Display, showing respective translations for each of the options present on the alien screen. 

“Captain, use the keyboard’s arrows to navigate toward ‘Internal Systems’, then select it using the key that shows a circle inscribed into a square. That’s their version of the ‘Enter’ key.”

Findlay closed his eyes in relief, thanking God that the Ravernal systems weren’t overly complicated. He followed the instructions, causing a new set of options to appear. He waited patiently until new orders came up.

“Check the ‘Diagnostics’ option.”

Findlay repeated the same process and selected it.

“Click ‘Power Core’.”

A screen displaying the satellite’s power levels popped up, showing a remarkable sturdiness in whatever kept this satellite functional for so long. Unfortunately, this option was a dead end. 

Mission Control then issued a rather disappointing, yet expected objective. “We’re going to need to sift through the options until we find a way to access the device’s data core. Even better if we are able to eject it and take it home for analysis.”

“Understood,” Findlay said, diving into the new work. He spent an hour repeating the selection process, which only got easier over time as the linguists below picked up on the new language and the satellite’s operating system. Finally, he was able to isolate access to the satellite’s data core.

“Excellent work. Let’s take a look at ‘Communications’.”

Findlay checked it and found a log of all communications sent from the satellite. Some transmissions were sent to other satellites, while others were sent to beacons located on the planet’s surface. Unlike the beacon found in Calamique, which only had constant communication with a handful of satellites, this one was in touch with the entire network. As ordered, Findlay scrolled through the list of active satellites connected to this one, until the analysts below were able to record their coordinates and designations.

“Good work, Captain. Let’s check the other data available before we attempt to eject the data core. We want to get as much information as possible, in case something goes wrong when our researchers take a crack at the core later.”

Findlay complied, making trips and rotating shifts with his crew until they recorded all the information located in the satellite. Thankfully, the chronological data was logged yearly, which significantly reduced the time they had to spend scrolling through the data. Unfortunately for the crew, it still meant they had to sift through thousands of entries, up until the initial deployment of the satellite.

Soon, they finished their repetitive work. Mission Control gave the all clear to retrieve anything that could be ejected from the satellite – any components worth taking home. Findlay and his crew extracted numerous drives, sensors, and the satellite’s power source, leaving a deactivated, empty metal husk to drift endlessly. Findlay re-entered the shuttle and placed all the components into a secure capsule. Once the capsule was deployed and sent to the surface, the team on the ground congratulated Findlay’s crew. “Mission success, Artemis.”

The tired employees erupted into cheers. President Lee joined the celebration, accompanied by Secretary Hill, who praised the implications of this victory. “I hope we’ll be able to make a map of all their equipment now.”

“Yeah,” Lee agreed, sharing Hill’s sentiment. However, a small consideration stopped him, “Wait, Robert, I saw that there were thousands of satellites up there. Do we even have enough missiles to take them all down?”

Hill responded, “No, not at the moment. We can start taking them down, but some of them appear to be military installations.”

Lee asked for clarification, “Military installations as in spy and targeting satellites, or does that mean WMD’s?”

“Not sure, sir. My analysts have been able to detect dozens of different profiles, and if the genocidal tendencies of the ancient Ravernals are anything to go by, I wouldn’t be surprised if they do have weapons platforms lingering up there.”

“Damn,” Lee muttered, seeing the risks of triggering a hibernating Ravernal threat response system. “What should we do? We can’t just leave the Ravernals with all their toys once they come back.”

Hill gave the issue some thought. “I think it would probably be better to wait until we build up our supply; enough to guarantee a kill on all of their targeting satellites and weapons platforms – however many there are. We’ve got a few thousand missiles, but I think we should spend a few years building up the supply. If the Ravernals have guns up there, they’ve probably got some means of intercepting what we throw at them.”

“Alright. Put whatever you need on the new budget proposal. We’re doing whatever it takes to ensure that the Ravernals can’t put a single finger on our country.”

——

Author’s Note: 

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