THE INTRUDER           . 

Alfonso turned on the television and sat back in his chair, which creaked beneath him. Large, colourful words ran across the shimmering screen and a loud, male voice rang out as the newscaster appeared.

“The Scientific American, now on TeleVision!

“Scientists have discovered a new planet in the Solar System!

“A new object has appeared in the solar system which puzzles experts!

“Recently, scientists and astronomers at the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, or as we know it, N.A.S.A., have identified a small singularity within the boundaries of our solar system. It appears, as they say, to be a small, round body, roughly half the diameter of our own Moon. It is orbiting in a hyper-elongated orbit, slanted at forty-five degrees parallel to the horizontal axis, around Jupiter. Dubbed ‘the intruder’, here’s what the team members themselves have to say about it.”

On screen appeared a bald man, dressed smartly in a white waistcoat. He held a notebook in one hand.

“‘We,’ said Howard Clyde, current director of N.A.S.A., ‘have stumbled upon a puzzling anomaly. The mass of the planetoid is, so far as we can see with our instruments, at least the mass of Neptune. 

“‘Only two weeks ago we have acquired private access keys from the Vermont Division of N.A.S.A. to the central antenna of the Deep Space Communication Center, or the DSCC, and we have aimed this antenna at the planetoid. The results of the past few months have shown us that Jupiter is no longer in a heliocentrastationary orbit and it appears to have deviated from its predicted path around the Sun. However, more research is required to further investigate that point.’”

Howard Clyde vanished from the screen and the newscaster reappeared. 

“In addition,” he said, “Clint Westfield has been monitoring the antennas in their use.” 

A moustachioed man dressed in green with a green tie appeared on the screen.

“‘In addition,’ says Clint Westfield, leader of the team assigned to work at the antenna and former N.A.S.A director, ‘the antenna picks up a high pitched “whistle”, as we have named it, precisely at twelve o’clock a.m. and p.m.. When the antenna receives the whistle, it starts to rotate away from it. We have a repair crew on site to correct the rotation when necessary, but we fear the worst. We too have noticed the apparent “wobble” of Jupiter, and as a matter of fact, it almost exactly coincides with the whistles. We are currently sending agents over to the Vermont Branch to ask them for permission to utilise the other antennas. No more from this end. Further research will have to be completed in order to gain a better understanding of this object.’”

Clint Westfield disappeared from the screen, and the newscaster appeared again.

“Meanwhile,” he said, “across the globe, in the rocky plains of the Gobi Desert, the Chinese government is also studying the object. In fact, as they say, they have even begun work on a probe designed to venture through the vastness of space to land on its surface. Here is Director Zhāng Wěi, director of the effort, to speak with us today.” 

A man, more hairless than bald, strode on. He had a thin nose, thin, pale eyebrows, and a somewhat pointed face. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and had on a light blue suit.

“如你看到的… [As you can see],” he said, “我們發現…[we have discovered]…物體…[the object, floating in space]…在木星表面…[over the surface of Jupiter. We too have found]…口哨聲…[the whistle, and efforts to build the probe are underway.]…正在進行中. 我們相信…[We believe that]…小行星將…[the planetoid will]…提供必要的…[provide the necessary knowledge to]…幫助更好地了解宇宙…[help better understand the universe and everything in it.]…以及其中的一切.”

Zhāng Wěi disappeared and the face of the newscaster appeared once more upon the screen.

“And there you have it, folks. All around the world, the scientific communities are racing to be the first to find out the true nature of this mysterious object. Deep in the frozen depths of Russia, a small team of government-funded researchers is firing a series of high-power ion beams, nicknamed ‘Shpaga’, into the sky at the ‘intruder’. In Brazil, weather-balloon-borne antennas are sent into the sky. In Africa, following the end of the civil war in the Congo, the Congolese states and several surrounding countries have joined together to create the African Scientific Confederation which has begun to fund a scientific research effort of its own, the details of which are still not known. The entire world has been stirred by this event. The excitement is in the air. The storm is about to break. Delegates from around the world are coming to N.A.S.A. to help build and succeed in the mission to reach The Intruder.

“Speaking of storms, here is the weather broadcast for next week brought to you by–”   

– T-minus 25 –

The telephone rang. Dalton West sighed and reached over to press talk.

“Yes?” he said, in a voice flooded with boredom. The voice that came through the telephone was sharp and hard. He recognized that voice.

“Hello? Hello! This is Howard Clyde speaking. Are you busy?” Dalton yawned and stretched his limbs, sloppily readjusting his glasses. How I hate that guy. Him and his effortlessly spotless shoes. And his sharp, querying, prying voice. And his perfect haircut. He runs this place like a—well, if I were in charge— He said none of this.

What he said was, “No, Howie. I’m not busy, at least not at this time in the morning. But in about two hours, I’ll be as busy as the demons in hell! Have you got any idea how many–”

“Not now, not now!” said Howard insistently. “And don’t you dare call me Howie! Ever again! You’ve not been employed long enough!”

“Well, sure, Mr. Clyde, sir, if that suits you.”

“It does. So, not busy, you say. Well then, do you think that you might be able to contact General Edrikson in an hour? If he asks, tell him that I told you to call him for me. I’ll try myself, just as soon as I get my papers straightened. Lousy clerks, good-for-nothing bast–”

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa, Ward. I’m a clerk, and I can hear everything you’re sa–”

“What did you call me?” thundered Clyde.

“Nothing, Mr. Clyde. I mean sir, Mr. Clyde sir.” Howard Clyde’s voice was barely above a whisper, and was filled to the brim with boiling suspicion.

“Good.” The line clicked and went dead. 

Dalton West sat silent for several moments, before suddenly standing up with a cry of “Whoopie!” Dalton shook his fist at the sky, yelling, “Yes! Yes!” A man from the neighbouring office pushed open the door a smidge and peeped inside.

“Um, Dalton? Is everything o-” he broke off, seeing the expression on Dalton’s face.

– 24 –

The President of the Republic of China stood on the podium, and addressed the superiors of his secret service. On the podium stood a large book which he glanced into occasionally. 

“[Brothers of the Holy Empire],” he said. “[Today, we gather here at this time to address the growing problem. I shall not deny that this problem has been very useful to me, and that I shall regret to part with it. But I have finally grown weary of it, and refuse to use it as a crutch any longer. Yes, I’m talking about the so-called United States of America!]”

Thunderous applause.

“[Little do these Americans know how they’ve beaten us and tortured us! We all know that America is really just another Britain! And the British have beaten us too, like poor little lambs in a pen].”

Slightly less applause, and a few puzzled faces. The guards standing beside the doors shifted from foot to foot, fitting and refitting the stocks to their semi-automatic rifles. 

“[But no more, and never again!]” yelled the President. Thunderous applause. “[Secret Service Commander Liao Ming! Bring me the letters!]” 

A member of the audience tentatively detached himself from the mass of black suits and hurried to the President’s side, passing a small parcel to the aide by the podium and hurrying back to his seat. One of the guards placed a hand on the man’s shoulder and the man stopped, standing with his back to the guard.

“ [Here],” said the President, holding up the parcel, “[are letters and messages detailing the building of a new rocket to reach this new heavenly body so-called ‘the intruder’!]”

Silence.

“[In here, is every schematic of their rocket, and every diagram of the flight path!]”

Some clapping.

“[But out of the sake of friendship, we will not create our own expedition, but rather, we will partner with them! Yes, the Enemy!]”

An even deeper silence. Somebody coughed.

“[But],” said the President, holding up a heavy, gold-ringed finger, “[It will not be their mission!]”

Many puzzled looks.

“[We will use the Americans! I have instructed our ‘resident rocket scientist’ to create a piece of the puzzle for them, that is, the rocket to the station! We will make sure that it is absolutely safe, for we wouldn’t want any unnecessary suspicion! We will have them fly the ship, and when the chance arises, we will pounce upon them and take the glory for ourselves! Yes, we will have Glory!]”

Thunderous applause rang out once more through the crowded hall. Slowly, a chant arose as all members of the audience rose to their feet, and punched the air with their fists in triumph:

“[Glory]!”

“[Glory]!”

“[Glory]!”

“[Glory]!”

“[Glory]!”

– 23 –

Adrian Barlowe sat at the mess table at Hickam Air Force Base, which was currently housing the 34th wing of the US Air Force. He twisted the stripped chicken bone in his fingers before dropping it back into his plate and turning to the man beside him, a dark, suntanned, swarthy man of approximately sixty.

“‘ey, Hassan. Busy day, yesterday, wasn’t it?” Hassan turned slowly and grunted in reply, his mouth full. His black military-buzz-cut hair stood up like a tightly clustered set of pins along the ridges of his scalp. Hassan hated it, and always wore his Navy cap, which he refused to remove under, as he said, his ‘code of honour’. “Yeah, at least we managed to fight them off! They’ll never be able to take us!” Adrian punched the air. The commandant, who was leaning against the door at the far end, happened to look up and saw him.

“Hey you!” he barked. “Hands down and eat quietly! This ain’t playtime for nobody!” Adrian’s blood was hot, and he was looking for a fight to pick. He leapt upon the chance.

“Says who?” 

“What?”

“I said, says who?”

“Says your enlistment papers, that’s who!” the commandant roared back with a glare and a scowl. Adrian reluctantly backed down. 

“Well, ain’t that just beautiful…” he mumbled to himself. Just as he was turning again to Hassan, the alarm blared.

SCRAMBLE! SCRAMBLE!

 The word rolled across the mess hall. The sirens flashed. The ringing of the alarms thundered through the base. Men rushed to their feet. Hassan stood up and ran for the door. Adrian did likewise, clutching his cap beneath his arm. Footsteps clattered along the concrete ground. Jets were being fired up. Adrian ran up to his and heaved himself inside. He pulled on the helmet, the gas-mask, and the compression suit. He flipped on several toggle switches. The canopy slid down. He buckled himself in and pulled the throttle. The idling engine began to roar and the exhaust  dilated. The jet started to move, and Adrian slipped into the line of waiting jets. The air was thick with fumes and exhaust. One by one the jets took off. Suddenly, it was Adrian’s turn. He slowly manoeuvred the jet onto the runway.

He said, “Takeoff clearance requested on runway 25 with right turnout. Code is 011629875.” He glanced at the control tower. A voice came in through his headset.

“Gotcha, Code 011629875. You’re clear for takeoff on runway 25 with right turnout.”

Adrian leaned back and pushed the throttle in. He breathed heavily as the jet began to accelerate. The dashed runway line started to flash like a strobe light, flaring in and out as he sped over it, black, white, black, white. He pulled back on the yoke and suddenly he was airborne. He pulled up sharply and started to climb. His afterburner thundered through the air, spewing red fire. Beside him pulled up a second jet. It was Hassan’s, and Adrian saw Hassan staring intently at the controls, his dark, brooding eyes transfixed with absolute concentration.

It was a clear day, but still some clouds were present as the jets continued to scramble, taking off one by one and turning to fly over the Pacific. 

From those clouds there suddenly came missiles, flying out over the jets and plunging into the water. Then, emerging from the clouds there came more jets, Chinese jets. Adrian held onto the trigger for dear life and bullets formed a cloud around the front of his jet. His yellings of rage, hate, and glory were smothered by the roar of the fight. All around him, jets swerved and tilted, deploying missiles and firing, the iridescent blue paint of the Chinese jets shimmering in stark contrast to the plain grey of the American jets. Suddenly, the first casualty. An American, hit by an errant missile, his wing burning and an engine blown out, plummeted into the deep waters below. Out of the corner of his eye Adrian saw Hassan look up, and he did too. Above the Wing, the commander flew in a larger aircraft, which was outfitted with a large, black dish on a raised leg. The White Dragon, as it was known at the base. Above the Chinese squadron, a similar plane flew. Suddenly, two more casualties. Two jets, an American and a Chinese, collided in midair and also plunged into the ocean. Beside Adrian, Hassan suddenly swerved as a Chinese jet flew between them. Hassan tilted and dipped away. Adrian’s blood roared in his ears as he spun around and was about to return fire when suddenly, the voice of the Commander came on over the radio. 

“Stand down! Stand down! I repeat, stand down! Cease fire! This is no attack, but an errant scouting party! Cease fire. Stand down!” 

The bullets ceased flying, and the last missile crashed into the surface of the water. The two sides slowly disentangled and sped away from each other. The Wing quickly returned back to the Base. Adrian manoeuvred his jet off of the runway and into the parking area, where he disengaged the engine, pulled off his helmet and mask, opened the canopy, and dismounted, fuming.

“Would you believe it?” he said, to nobody in particular. “He called a ceasefire! And just when we had them in our grasp! The fight could’ve been ours! Ours! But we’re nothing but lazy cowards, not willing to spill our own blood to win! So what if it was a scouting party? They could’ve been lying! And we let them go! We still let them go!” The other pilots began to stare as he shook his fist at the sky from where the jets were still landing. Just as Adrian was about to return to the barracks and doze for several hours to cool off his temper, the acting sergeant ran up to him.

“The general wishes to see you immediately. The commander’s on his way, and he will escort you to him.” The sergeant pointed to the White Dragon, which was circling above, beginning its landing approach. Then, he pointed to the officers’ quarters. Adrian inclined his head stiffly, and the acting sergeant ran back to his post. 

Adrian slowly trudged towards the building, a large, squat structure of concrete, featureless all except for the high windows set into its sides. Suddenly, Adrian was buffeted by a large gust of wind as the White Dragon touched down and rolled to a halt at the foot of the runway. Adrian did not turn to look as the commander and several other black-uniformed men stepped out of the plane and started to walk towards him. He tensed. A headache started to pound in his head and he touched his hand to his temple. The men were almost about him. This was it, he thought. I’m in big trouble. However, the men only stepped around him and walked into the officers’ quarters, not even glancing in his direction. Adrian stood still, not knowing what to expect, and suddenly relaxed. Huh. 

Then, the door of the building opened, and the commander strode out, accompanied by the prior black-suited men. He clicked his heels together and saluted Adrian.

“Adrian Barlowe, Private 124 of the 34th Wing of the United States Air Force, come with me.” Adrian saluted instinctively and followed the commander into the building.

The room was a concrete box. It was completely unadorned and unfurnished, all except for a large metal filing cabinet in the far corner and a large solid desk, behind which sat a low, cheap plastic chair. The general was sitting in the chair, his head bowed in thought. Just before Adrian passed through the door, the commander held him back and placed a heavy hand on his chest.

“Stay here. After your prior antics, he may not wish to be bothered by the likes and behaviours of people like you.” So saying, the commander strode through the door.

The commander walked up to the desk and rapped on it, saying, “General Edrikson, Private 124 is here, at your request. Should we let him in?” The general slowly turned his head in the direction of the commander, not looking up.

“Let him in,” he said in a low, gravelly voice. The commander beckoned to his men and Adrian was led through the door. The commander placed a packet of loose papers on the general’s desk. The general slowly and painfully reached over and picked them up, but did not turn to look at Adrian. 

“You are…?” he asked,

“Adrian, sir. Adrian Barlowe.” General Edrikson flipped through the papers.

“And you have served in the Air Force, hm, let me see now, sixteen years so far?”

“Twenty, sir.”

“And you have how many hours in the cockpit, exactly?”

“Sixteen hundred hours, sir.”

“Mhm,” said the general, looking up. His eyes were bloodshot and set deep into his head. His skin was pallid and dry. His brows were thick, and his nose was crooked from being broken two times. He wore an old, soiled general’s uniform and over his right chest pocket hung a tattered ribbon. 

“I was wondering why nobody made you a lieutenant after so long a devotion to us when I suddenly remembered you throwing a cocktail glass at the commander when the subject came up. So,” he said, and paused for a while. He tapped the side of his head. “Ah, yes. I remember. Have you ever heard of Howard Clyde? Oh, no, of course you haven’t, I’m getting ahead of myself– Private!”

“Sir!” Adrian saluted sharply and pompously. The commander winced.

“I do not like to say this, but it is my solemn duty to relieve you of your post in the ranks of the Air Force–”

“Sir!”

“–and to transfer you to the South Branch of N.A.S.A.”

“Si–” Adrian stopped midshout as the words of the general sank in.

“N.A.S.A.?” he asked in a timid voice. The general nodded tiredly. “Why them? Aren’t they the space-guys? Why am I being transferred to them? What did I do to deserve–”

“Private!” It wasn’t a yell, but the singular word was said so forcefully that Adrian froze.

“Yessir?” he asked tentatively.

“Shut up.”

“Yessir.”

– 22 – 

The television buzzed and crackled when suddenly, the static cleared and the face of the newscaster appeared.

“In a recent turn of events, U.S. President William Fleming has declared that he refuses to fund the expedition and decides to instead relegate resources to ‘other fields of interest.’ N.A.S.A. has turned to the military to find help for the mission. Air Force pilot Adrian Barlowe has been recruited to be Captain of the mission, for reasons unknown. Further developments are awaited…

“In addition, according to various sources, rumour has it that China has rescinded funding for their space project. In a further study…”

 – 21 – 

Howard Clyde led the entourage down a long corridor. Huge vents, like gaping maws, stood open behind large grilles placed in the ceiling, and the floor was tiled in chequered marble. Their footsteps clicked metallically off of its surface. Behind Clyde walked a pair of men, black-suited and their hands hanging by their holsters, and between them walked Adrian Barlowe, who was wearing his Air Force uniform, which consisted of a single-full-body suit and a helmet under one arm and a gas mask under the other.

“And here,” said Clyde, gesturing to yet another open door as Adrian shook his head in bewilderment, “is the Conference Room. You will find several vacant chairs within. They will fill shortly. Come.” Clyde stepped aside and allowed the black-suited men and Adrian to pass before stepping inside himself and sitting down in a vacant chair. Around the table already were three older men, whom Adrian eyed as he hesitated by the door while the two men sat down on either side of Clyde before finally making up his mind and walking around the contour of the table and sitting down, facing the door.

The man sitting directly across from Adrian who, by the look of it, had been there for a while, waiting for the group, was a swarthy man of unguessable age, though he appeared to be around fifty, similar in appearance to Hassan but different, slightly broader, in a sense. He spoke in a low, rough voice.

“Moiy nayme is Kronos. Kronos Alexandros. Me mudder decided to nayme me after de Greek Goddof tiyme. Oiy dunno why, but shay did,” he said coarsely. His ruddy face, which was already quite red to begin with, turned a slightly darker shade of red with the effort. Adrian was silent, and, though there was a certain amount of small talk from Clyde, the mood of the room was generally subdued. Kronos muttered something under his breath. 

Suddenly, the door slammed open as several people entered the room. The first one introduced himself as Clint Westfield, and he wore a red suit-jacket. He immediately walked over to Clyde and shook his hand heartily and said something, though Adrian did not hear it. 

The second person was akin to a brick in his build. He was bald and his cheekbones were prominent. He staggered unevenly into the room, his head to one side and a small string of drool hanging out of his mouth, and muttered something incoherent before looking up from under heavy brows and then sitting down solidly, ever so often furtively glancing across the table at where Clyde sat. After several seconds he made eye contact with Adrian, and the expression in his pale eyes changed from covert distrust to open suspicion before turning his gaze away. 

The third man was thin, lanky, and with a pallid sheen to his skin. He introduced himself as Stephen Porter, keeper of the ‘Archive’, and he sat down across from Clyde, steepling his fingers and looking down at the table where there were several papers stacked. Adrian saw his lips move silently as his eyes slowly scanned the pages.

The fourth man, a thin, squat man in a large black mask, the last of the group, did not speak, and only took care to leave the door wide open before standing in the far corner of the room. From the corner of his eye, Adrian saw Clyde, wearing a puzzled expression, make a gesture akin to ‘sit down, please,’ but the man ignored him, and only scribbled something in a notebook. 

Howard said, “Who are you? I don’t believe we’ve met. Please sit down” and the scribbling man, after meticulously stowing away his notebook, bolted out of the room.

Howard leaned over to Clint and said something. Clint sighed and reached below the table, presumably pressing a button of some sort. 

For several moments, nothing happened.

And then, there was a sound like a muffled shout and through the doorway, which had been left ajar, Adrian saw two burly security guards leading away the scribbler.

“A spy,” Clint announced. “We get them around here sometimes though our work, as they fail to realise, is highly classified to a point that only the highest ranking staff can decipher it reliably. Anyway, we have gathered here to discuss the—”

“—intruder,” finished Clyde.

The man named Stephen stood up, spreading his hands on the table.

“Gentlemen and colleagues and acquaintances and–” he glanced at Adrian for several moments– “–fellow retired soldiers,” he began. Adrian groaned inwardly. Stephen’s high reedy voice continued. “We have gathered here today to discuss the mission to ‘the intruder’.”

“What mission?” called out somebody.

“The government has withdrawn funding! What shall we do?” cried another. The bald man stirred. 

“Haaaaahgh!” he roared, his cheeks, although already quite sunburned, flaring red. The talk subsided. Stephen looked at him and gave him a cool nod.

“Gentlemen,” he began again. “I have compiled a list. This list.” He held up his papers. “A list of what, you may ask? Why, a list of what we need to do. First off. I have contacted our vehicle manufacturers in southeast Georgia, Washington, and Texas, and they have agreed to help produce the parts. Now–”

“What about the rocket? That costs a billion US dollars at least!” shouted somebody.

“Hold on, I’m getting to that. I have contacted several other international space agencies to help us achieve the necessary funding, and China seems anxious to help.” Howard stood up.

“The bargain was settled between their director, Zhāng Wěi, and myself, and we have agreed that they would construct the journeyman rocket to the space station and that we would construct the actual voyager to the Intruder.”

– 20 –

Hu Jie looked up at the television, and raised his pencil to his lips. He reached over the desk and pressed a small button on the wall beside it. Far away, the tinny tinkling of a small bell sounded, muffled by the wall.

Several moments passed.

Suddenly, the director, Zhāng Wěi, walked into the doorway to the room. For several seconds, he dithered by the door, before suddenly striding in and leaning his hands, palms down, onto Hu Jie’s desk.

“[Did you receive a call from the Americans this morning?]” he asked. 

“[Yes, I did.]”

“[What did they say?]”

“[Nothing unusual, sir. All they did was send over another check for one million US dollars].” Hu Jie sighed. “[Like that’s worth anything around here].”

“ [There are collectors, and the President seemed keenly bent on obtaining these Dollars for ‘study’].” He shrugged. “[Anyway, are the blueprints ready?]”

“[Yes, sir. Additionally, since it has been ten months since your last visit to this building, the team has finally constructed the functioning prototype.]”

“[But haven’t I seen the prototype?]”

“[The mockup, sir. This time, it’s for real.]”

“[Show me.]”

Hu Jie stood up and pressed a small button on the wall, concealed by a sliding wall panel. A revolving door opened up in the wall and Hu Jie led Zhāng Wěi through and into a dark corridor. At the end there was a pair of double doors, which opened up onto a slightly larger atrium of sorts, at the far end of which was another set of double doors, only these were significantly taller and opened automatically as they were too heavy to move by hand. Beyond them was a vast chamber. In the centre of it there was a platform. It was tremendous. On its vast surface stood a tall, slim, silver cylinder, capped off with a small black cone. On its side were painted the words, “Tàiyáng Wáng” (Sun King).

“[So],” said Hu Jie. “[What do you think?]”

–  19- 

Clint stood up, spread his hands on the table, and looked directly at Adrian. 

“So,” he said, pulling out a clipboard. “Let’s see now. Due to your past experiences flying high speed aircraft, we feel that we can somewhat abridge the training process. So let’s see… you’ve been in zero-gravity before, correct?”

“Yes, but only briefly.” Clint scribbled something in his clipboard and ripped out a paper. 

“You’ve exceeded the sound barrier above Mach Two, correct?”

“Yes, sir–”

“How far above?”

“Mach 2.2, sir, but never faster–” 

“Why?” The question came as a surprise.

“My jet’s speed limit, sir.” Another ripped paper floated to the ground, upon which pounced Stephen Porter, who scooped it up and reverently tucked it into a folder which he produced from beneath the table.

“Are you married?” Adrian seemed to hesitate.

“A widower, sir. One son, sir. In the lumber industry,” he said. Clint nodded.

“So, let me see. We have to: perform training for speeds exceeding hypersonic speeds, we have to train for prolonged zero-gravity and stays in zero-gravity environments whilst not being held against any affixed surface, got that, got that…” His pen flew across his clipboard, and papers rained around him. Stephen was a blur, and in front of his seat a small pile began to steadily rise.

“Ah, yes, here we are. Protocol number 2615a. Good, good, good… so let’s see. As I said previously we can somewhat abridge the training, so…check, check, check, check, check…protocol number 2615aa, let’s call it that, why don’t we, yes, I think that’ll do it!” Clint slammed his clipboard onto the table. 

The clip shattered instantly and the papers sprang loose. Stephen calmly stepped in and caught them, placing them upon a separate pile beside the discarded-papers-pile. Clint placed his hands on the table and stared calmly at Adrian.

“Are you aware of the consequences of your involvement with the mission, mandatory as it was?” Adrian shook his head.

“Well,” said Clint. “You will be:” he put up his hand.

“Famous—” he closed a finger.

“Respected—” he closed another finger.

“Inducted into the scientific community as a hero—” he closed another finger.

“Given a pension substantially larger than the one you are entitled to already—” he closed another finger.

“—and you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you were one of the founding pioneers of the world.” Clint closed his thumb and lowered his hand. Then, conspiratorially, he added, “All provided that you do not die, abandon the mission, fail, or do anything else of the sort during the mission.” Clint winked, and sat down. Howard spoke up.

“Due to the aforementioned loss of funding, we have decided to ‘split the bill’ amongst however many corporations that we can. It was decided that our local facilities will construct the voyager designed to reach The Intruder itself, while our partner, an aerospace and astronautical construction and development facility in China, has volunteered quite willingly to construct the base rocket to reach the ISS, which we have determined will be a waypoint on our journey.” Howard turned to Adrian. “There is a truck waiting for us outside. It will take you to our centre which is based in Virginia. The drive is five hours long to our centre, which is at an undisclosed location. I will see you tomorrow.” With that, Clyde left the room. Stephen gathered the papers noisily and bounded after him. 

Clint looked at Adrian sheepishly before motioning to the bald man, who stirred with a growl. 

“This,” Clint announced, “is Parker. He works for Howard, and he is the instructor of new trainees in the centre. And that,” he motioned at Kronos, who had his eyes closed, “is Kronos, another that we selected to crew with you during the mission.” Parker stood up, his head to one side, the corner of his mouth hanging open, and listing slightly to one side. He opened one great pale-yellow eye and looked at Adrian. Very awkwardly, he stuck out a gnarled hand, and said, with his cracked lips almost glued together:

“m’P’rk’r.” Adrian took the huge hand delicately.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Parker.”

“N’! M’P’rk’r, j’P’rk’r.” Saliva leaked through the gaps between the lips of the man’s mouth as he spoke in his peculiar, slurred speech.  Some spittle landed on Adrian’s face. He struggled against the urge to wipe it off.

“Alright then, Parker. I look forward to working with you.” Parker gratefully lowered his hand and lumbered out of the door. Clint chuckled with hidden knowledge. When Parker was safely out of earshot, Adrian whispered to Clint, “What’s up with him?”

Clint said, “Born like that. Doctor said that he lacked several facial and body muscles and as a result could only talk and move like he does.”

“But he’s huge!”

“He was a big baby.”

“Also, why’re his eyes yellow?”

“Pigmentation defect and why so many questions? It’s quite rude, you know.” Clint tapped the side of his nose. Adrian gave up. Clint gathered up the rest of his papers, stuck his pen into his pocket, threw the broken clipboard into the garbage can which nestled in the corner, and walked out of the room, motioning for Adrian to follow him. Adrian did so, and after passing through what seemed like a labyrinth of cold, tiled, corridors he finally saw the front doors to the complex. True to Howard’s word, there was an armoured truck waiting. Clint beckoned for Adrian to climb inside the back, opened the driver’s door, and got in. Adrian climbed in. Inside, he found Kronos and Parker, both wide awake and attentive. Adrian sat down on the third bench. Clint’s voice grated through the loudspeaker.

“Welcome aboard. We will now be driving for five hours. If you need anything, there is a comms link beside each bench. Aside from that, good day.” The truck started to move, the gravel crunching beneath the large tires. Soon gravel path gave way to paved road, and soon that gave way to darkness as Adrian fell into a deep slumber.

– 18 –

When Adrian woke up he was greeted by the grinning face of Parker, who immediately picked him up as if he weighed nothing, set him roughly upon his feet, and pushed him out of the truck. He barely managed to keep his balance and only just managed to dodge as Kronos landed beside him. Parker leapt like a bear from the truck and, surprisingly quickly for his size, bolted the door to it shut and turned around again. In front of Adrian stood a huge concrete building, the uppermost floors wreathed in thin, wispy clouds. Suddenly, Adrian heard a cough and turned to see Howard walking from the main doors of the building, bouncing from foot to foot and clapping lightly.  He stopped at a fair distance.

“Good to see that you got here safely. Now, follow me right this way and expect a loud bang at any moment. They are testing the new hypersonic engines on the airfield out back.” Howard motioned with his thumb.

Adrian was about to nod when a tremendous double-bang echoed around the area, ricocheted off of the concrete walls, screamed through the air again, and then disappeared with a distant rumble. 

Kronos rubbed his ears and said, “Ouch.” Howard nodded knowingly.

“They’ll do that exact same thing in about fifteen minutes.”

“Why? A bang is bad, right?”

“Most of the time, yes. But this time, the bang means that it works.” By this time, they had reached the main doors. Howard pressed a glowing button on the wall beside them and they opened silently. A blast of air, much colder than the arid air outside, hit the company in the face. Adrian was not the only person who sighed with relief and he suspected that he heard Howard Clyde chuckle under his breath. The doors closed behind them as Howard led them through another set of doors, down a passageway, and out into the main atrium.

It was akin to a stadium in sheer size and magnitude. Huge glass pillars filled with bubbling water rose from the floor to the vaulted ceiling, and the walls were covered in a strange, cracked plaster which glowed from within. People, dressed in a huge variety of different outfits, bustled across the vast tiled floor. Howard led them to the centre, people parting before him, where a man waited. As the party neared him, it became apparent that the man was in fact Clint, beside whom stood a thin, wiry man whom he introduced as Zhāng Wěi.

“He is the director of the Chinese side of the mission,” said Clint. Zhāng Wěi bowed deeply. Howard motioned to Parker and then detached from the group, walked over to Clint, and left with him and Zhāng Wěi through a door in the side of the atrium. Parker moved to the group, and looked at Adrian squarely in the face.

“‘Lr’ght, l’s m’v.” Kronos nudged Adrian.

“Hvazyup widd’im?” he asked.

“Don’t ask,” said Adrian in a quiet voice, and stepped on his foot. Kronos’s only betrayal of the fact that he felt it was a slight tightening of the muscles around his jawline. Besides that, nothing about him changed. Parker motioned for them to follow and he slowly began to trudge across the atrium floor towards a set of high doors in the opposite wall. Once through, he turned around.

“L’zz’r tr’n’n’ st’rt.” He clapped his hands together, and stretched his cracked lips into the barest semblance of a smile.

– 17 – 

Parker proved to be, despite his physical and mental disadvantages, a ruthless instructor. He was also quite an unorthodox one. He would not give an inch for failure, coming up short, falling just before expectation, etc. If you crossed him or managed to mess up in any possible way, you got what was colloquially known as the Stick, which was effectively a set of two large, hollow steel-cored foam-coated rods that would be wedged behind your knees and elbows. You were then told to walk on your hands and feet around the perimeter of a given room for ten minutes with it, and if you fell Parker would increase the time to walk by an additional minute. He and the other trainers justified it as ‘exercise’. On occasion, Kronos would be away for thirty minutes at a time, and would only return much later in the day with large red marks on his arms from where the rods were.

Slowly, it became routine. Adrian was given a room in the centre where he spent most of the time that he had outside of training, sleeping on the small bed in the corner. Every day he would wake up at five in the morning to the sound of Parker’s bell, which he had installed into the room as Adrian was watching. He would then be escorted by a set of ‘butlers’ down to whatever Parker had cooked up for them that given day, would endure it for as long as his body would take, and would then fall asleep at the end of the day. All that Adrian remembered of the vast amounts of information that were plugged into his head were vague notions of where certain instruments existed in thirty six different possible control panel layouts, the shape of the tools needed for certain bolts, and the overpowering sense of nausea after being in simulated microgravity for too long.

Finally, the day came. It was a day like any other. Training went as normal when suddenly, just as Adrian was carefully adjusting a bolt on a ‘satellite’, in space-suit, at the bottom of the swimming pool, he felt a buzz through his radio and gently rose to the surface, where he, dripping water from every crevice, was met by Clint. Adrian unscrewed his helmet.

“What is it?” he asked. Clint stared past him, as if deep in thought.. 

Suddenly he asked, “Where’s Kronos?” 

Adrian shrugged. “I don’t know. I think he’s somewhere off in the east wing,” he said. 

“Wait here,” said Clint, who quickly sped off. Adrian looked at his instructor. Parker was in the south wing today. Adrian hadn’t seen him since the morning. Adrian’s instructor currently was a thin, wiry man by the name of Allenby. He had on a nervous expression. Suddenly, Clint reappeared leading Kronos, who was rubbing his arms, which had large red marks on them. Adrian guessed that he had gotten the Stick again.

“So wazza deal?” Clint rubbed his hands together.

“Today’s launch day, as we like to call it.” Adrian blinked.

“What?”

“Today’s Launch Day. Today is the Day.” Adrian was stuck, gawking at Clint. He knew that it was coming, he knew the date of the day for Pete’s sake godsdammit, but he, despite all this preparation, did not expect the date to hit him like a brick to the stomach.

“Today?” he gasped. Clint smiled.

Adrian did not remember removing his spacesuit, donning another one, and walking down to the truck, where he was greeted by Howard. He did, however, remember the rocket.

When it rolled out on the back of a huge crawler-vehicle, with the gantry on its back, Adrian saw the rocket. It was thin and silvery, wreathed in silver clouds of steam. It sighed, and stood still.

The gantry-truck rumbled to a halt. The treads gouged huge ruts in the muddy ground. Howard drove the truck up to the side of the massive machine and pressed a button. A small door offset itself from the side of the gantry-truck and slid aside. A small set of ladder-holds glistened with morning dew mixed with dust. Parker stepped out of the van and held the door open as Howard, Kronos, and finally Adrian stepped out. Clint drove up in a small red car that had no roof. He opened the window.

“Good luck,” he said, and shook Adrian’s and Kronos’s hands. Then, he closed the window and drove off to the centre, which still stood in the distance like a huge block of concrete.

Kronos loped up the ladder, swinging, almost brachiating, from handhold to handhold before stepping into the truck. Adrian followed in a more structured climb. Inside, a small light hanging from the ceiling illuminated the entrance to the gantry, in which nestled a small elevator. Kronos accompanied Adrian as the elevator took them up to the top of the gantry where the hatch to the rocket capsule hung open. Kronos swung himself inside and Adrian followed him, ducking inside and closing the hatch. Over a dozen locks hissed into place.

The gantry rumbled back with a scraping noise and there was the sound of water as the tanks were opened. Somewhere, a valve was opened and the steam screamed out of it. There was a judder as the crawler stopped moving. Howard’s voice came on over the radio.

Attention. The rocket is currently being fueled. When I give the go-ahead, activate the flight computer. Ready…now! Adrian flipped on a set of switches and a row of screens lit up. Howard continued, Now, switch on the flight diagnostic systems. 

“Will do!” said Adrian. He pressed a row of buttons and a large gauge began to spin. Now press ‘send diagnostics’ when they finish running.

“Sending!” There was a whir and one of the screens went dark for a moment. Clyde said All good. You’re ready for launch. Adrian leaned back as the radio-voice rang out over the field. 

T-MINUS FIVE

Adrian clenched his teeth.

FOUR

Kronos fidgeted.

THREE

The rocket began to shake.

TWO

Adrian closed his eyes.

ONE–

The rockets fired.

The roar from the engines was tremendous. Adrian was pushed back into his soft, padded chair as the sky visible through the windshield began to turn black. The pressure on him was immense. He struggled to keep his eyes open. The pain in his head was incredible. His eyes felt like they were being pushed into his head. He felt himself sliding away, away…   

He passed out alongside Kronos, and slept deeply and peacefully as the rocket steadily rose through the Earth’s atmosphere and out into space.

“Yes! Yes! Hurrah!” cried Howard Clyde as the rocket steadily disappeared through the clouds. The raucous applause of the Mission Control crew as they witnessed their mission a success was deafening.

– 16 – 

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

A red light came on beside the main display and a metallic voice sounded through the speakers.

Main Fairings, Released.

Main Fairings, Released.

Main Fairings, Released.

There was a hollow thud that rang through the cabin as the main fairings covering the Tàiyáng Wáng detached from the body of the rocket and drifted off into space. 

First Stage Complete.

First Stage Complete.

First Stage Complete.

The rockets deactivated as they ran out of fuel and they stopped, dead.

Ejecting First Stage.

Ejecting First Stage.

Ejecting First Stage.

A deep rumbling resounded through the cabin and there was a tremendous jolt as the first stage and main body of the rocket detached and floated off into space, manoeuvring, in its death throes, down towards Earth, using the small auxiliary thrusters on its sides, designed for such a purpose. It started to fall, and within minutes, it was a tiny, red dot on the Earth’s sky as it shifted beneath them, the white clouds sliding like cotton over the serene surface. In the western hemisphere, the distinctive shape of a hurricane was slowly taking shape over the shimmering blue ocean. Adrian opened his eyes and immediately he felt the gentle prick of needles on his fingers. He turned his head and saw two small attachments on the front of his seat pricking small protrusions under his nails. His right finger twitched, followed by his left as the tiny jolts of static electricity were ‘injected’ into his finger. 

The attachments, having determined him to be alive, retracted back into the armrests of the seat, and the voice rang out, Good Morning, Captain.

Captain Adrian sat up with a groan, and rubbed his head. He looked around, puzzled.

“Where the hell are–” he stopped, as the memories came flooding back to him. He sat stunned for several moments before unstrapping himself from his seat and drifting over to the window. He moved gracefully in the low-gravity, almost like a fish in a tranquil pond of water. He rested his hand on the steel window frame and gazed down at Earth, marvelling at it. At that moment, the sun came up over the horizon of the Earth, and the blinding rays pierced Adrian’s eyes, forcing him to look away. He drifted back to his seat and sat down again, though he did fully strap himself down, and flipped on the main radar display.

Kronos sat up, his eyes blinking rapidly.

“‘ey! When’d we get ‘ere? It feels loike it’s been weeyks!” Adrian nodded sagely and continued to stare at the screen. Kronos and Adrian sat silent for several minutes. Suddenly,  the huge solar arrays of the ISS began to appear on the radar screen. Kronos noticed them first. “We’re ‘ere!” he cried. 

“Now, now,” said Adrian, “don’t get too excited. Yes, we’ve made it across the intergalactic gulf of space, but we still have quite a journey to go! Now, get into your space suit and strap yourself in tight!” The main body of the ISS was on the radar now, and Adrian could see the solar arrays through the window as the Tàiyáng Wáng drifted past it, tugging on his space-suit before sitting down and strapping himself in beside Kronos. The ISS was now in full view, both outside and on the radar, and Adrian could see a figure in a spacesuit waving to them from the docking point. Adrian grabbed the steering and slowly engaged the auxiliary jets, steering the craft ever so slightly to get perfect alignment.

Ten seconds.

Nine seconds.

Eight seconds.

Seven seconds.

Six seconds. Adrian could read the text on the inner airlock door now.

Five seconds.

Four seconds.

Three seconds. The cables latched on and the Tàiyáng Wáng suddenly stabilised.

Two seconds.

One second. The nose of the Tàiyáng Wáng fitted neatly into the docking port and the ship slowly came to a standstill.

The main nose-hatch slowly opened.

– 15 – 

 There was a hiss as the more highly-compressed oxygen on the Tàiyáng Wáng escaped and dispersed into the space station. A team of astronauts, scientists, and researchers, alongside Howard Clyde on a computer screen, greeted them warmly.

“Welcome to the ISS!” said Clyde from the computer. Kronos and Adrian drifted over into the ISS and the hatch slid shut behind them.

Adrian looked around with the professional air of a captain. The man holding the computer beckoned to him, and Adrian strode over to him. Clyde looked up from the computer display.

“Well,” he said. “Glad you made it! Not bad at all, not bad at all! After a five hour flight like that, how do you feel?”

Adrian shrugged. “Guess I must’ve slept through most of it. Five hours, though… Certainly didn’t feel that long.” Clyde nodded.

“If you’re wondering where I am right now,” he said, “I am currently standing on the top floor of the N.A.S.A. facility. Take a peek at the view!” The view on the computer shifted to show the large floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the top floor of N.A.S.A.’s headquarters. Through them, Adrian saw a blazing sunset. Suddenly, the voice of Kronos dragged him out of his reverie.

“‘ey Kommandur! Dey want you in de bridge!” Adrian turned and looked for Kronos, but he was already gone. Adrian turned back to the computer. The man holding it looked at him impatiently before setting it down on a nearby surface and walking away. Clyde went on.

“Your ship, named the Hercules V, is scheduled to dock at 9:15 tomorrow morning. See you then.” The screen went black.

“‘Ey, Kommandur! Kommandur!”

“Yes, Kronos?” Adrian turned around and, as if by pure chance, saw through the porthole the ship that was the Hercules.

– 14 –

The Hercules V Space Voyager was enormous. It resembled a long, pinched tube with three large contra-rotating rings spinning slowly around it. On one end, there was a large module which Adrian assumed to be the main engine module. Further such modules were placed equal-distances apart along the contour of the rings, which were lined with solar arrays. Windows lined the walls and on the front was a large fairing-enclosed lump. 

Clyde said, “See that module on the bow? In there is the lander. The deploy mechanism will not fire until you come within a set orbit of the Intruder. You will know when to fire the release.”

The group was sitting in the cockpit, which was largely taken up by a large round table, around which sat several people. Howard Clyde, who was now in the form of a video projection upon a transparent screen extending from the middle of the table, pointed them out one by one.

“Grigori Sergeiovich Archov, a delegate sent by the Russian Northern Regional Federation to take part in the project.” Adrian stuck out his hand.

“A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Andt a pleazhure to meet you.” All the while Howard’s voice rang in the background.

“–was trained originally in the field of mathematics and astrodynamics and has a history of working with aircraft. 

“Our Spanish delegate, Garcia Perez.” Garcia nodded to Adrian but did not shake his proffered hand. “He was first a member of the Spanish Intelligence Community. After that, he resigned and decided to run a golf club. He was later engaged in a scandal revolving around the theft of the Golfing Championship Trophy, shortly after the solving of which he turned his interest to aeronautics.

“Then last of all, our delegate from the Chinese community, Haoyu Fang, the son of the late emperor’s chief engineer, and his translator, lovely Madame Elyna Garnier.” Adrian reached out to shake hands with Haoyu. He looked at his hand, puzzled. Elyna whispered something into his ear and the light of understanding came into his face, and he tentatively shook his hand as though touching fire. He quickly withdrew after the handshake was completed and huddled to himself in the corner.

“The Hercules will depart tomorrow ‘morning’. The fuel transport will arrive whilst you sleep. The crew of the ISS will wake you. Until then, Godspeed.” The screen retracted into the table and the image of him vanished.

Adrian slept fitfully that night, constantly straining his ears for any sign of incoming transport craft or anything related to the Hercules but sadly, to no avail. In the ‘morning’ Adrian was woken by the deafening noise of the docking siren, which was blaring right over the docking bay doors, which were visible through the open hatch of Adrian’s sleeping pod. Adrian detached himself from the wall, floated down to the floor, and shook himself into his clothes. Then, strapping on Velcro shoes left by the entrance to his sleeping pod, he made his way over to the main room of the station. He was greeted by Grigori who, in his grogginess, was unable to speak but rather pointed. Through the window, Adrian saw a massive cylindrical ship docked to the Hercules at its far-end docking-port slowly detach. The alarms abruptly silenced and for several moments nothing sounded in the station. Then, there was a hiss as the air cushion that held the Hercules away from the ISS was deflated. The sound of locks sliding shut followed soon afterward as the Hercules was resecured to the station. 

Adrian hurried back to his bunk where he hurriedly shook himself into his space-suit and headed to the hatch of the Hercules. It was open, and Kronos was standing beside it, almost like a herald. Adrian bowed stiffly to him and moved through the hatch, drifting from handhold to handhold until the artificial gravity of the Hercules set in and he was able to keep his feet on the ground. He followed the lights which lined the corridor until he arrived in the cockpit once more, where the screen displaying Howard Clyde turned to him. He heard the breath of Haoyu as he stumbled, groggily, into the chamber. 

“Now that you are all here, I bid you welcome,” said Clyde, “to the Hercules Deep Space Voyager and Imaging Transport Craft, or HDSVITC for short, whichever you prefer. Now. The HDSVITC will complete its fuel cycle in approximately ten minutes, during which I can provide a tour of the ship and its components.”

The screen suddenly jerked and flickered as a robotic arm extended itself from the centre of the table and lifted up the screen, which was attached to a slot in the ‘palm’ of the hand. A section of the table swung open and a small trolley supporting the arm trundled out from under the table where it had been hidden. It rolled off down the corridor as Clyde spoke.

“Now, the chamber we just exited is the main cockpit and control/navigation room. All controls of the HDSVITC are located with it, all save for the diagnostic equipment. That is located in this room here, which is the technician’s station. In addition to all diagnostic equipment, this room also holds the access hatch to the centre ring, which was one of the three that you probably already noticed orbiting the HDSVITC. They hold, each, three pods of three auxiliary liquid-fuel rockets for use in manoeuvring or for providing additional power when necessitated. The ‘throttles’ for them are located in the cockpit, but override power controls are located here, in the technician’s station, and are accessed by this key here.” Here from a small slot in the trolley slid out a small green keycard, which Garcia, who had been silent while Clyde was speaking, swooped down upon and extracted from the trolley.

“…and here,” Clyde went on as the trolley rattled along, “is the main galley, where pre-prepared meals have already been stocked the night before. They are ready-defrost, and come with a small button on each container which, once pressed, will immediately heat up the objects within to a pre-coded temperature. Immediately following the galley are the bunkrooms which are your quarters, in addition to two stowable beds, one in the cockpit, and one in the technician’s station.”

“And here is the main hatch to the launch bay of the probe to set landing-legs onto the Intruder. Once this hatch opens, the pod is automatically armed for release. You will enter this bay at a predetermined point on your journey.” The screen turned around to face the company as the trolley rolled back to the cockpit.

Howard said, “And with that, my friends, let the voyage begin!” Everybody broke out into raucous cheering.

– 13-

Somewhere in the night…

A door was thrown open.

Somebody screamed.

Metal flashed.

Shots sounded.

Wood crumbled down.

There was a gurgle.

Footsteps on floor, and—

Silence reigned supreme.

The bar was deathly silent. Its customers, frozen forever in various stages of drinking and some with large cigarettes in their mouths, all lay either in their chairs or on the ground. The men, dressed from head to toe in black and wearing obscuring masks and scarves, strode through to the bar, roughly shoving aside the figures and the chairs and tables. The barman was wiping down the bar as though nothing happened, and looked up cautiously at the newcomers. The closest one slammed his hand down on the bar, and said nothing, glaring viciously at the barman. 

The barman returned his gaze and trundled over to a large barrel from which he poured a frothing drink. He slid it over to the man, who scooped it up and downed it in a single motion. He slammed his hand upon the bar again and gestured to his companions. The barman slid each of them a similar frothing drink and then, upon seeing the flash in the man’s eyes, slid him another drink as well before going to pour himself one as well. 

The men all drank in unison and one stuck out his cane, tripping the barman and barring his way to the barrel. The barman stood up, his dark brows furrowing in perplexedness, and crossed his arms. The first man spoke in a raspy voice, muffled by his face-covering.

“[We know what you are, and who you are. We know what you can do. We know that you have connections].” The barman did not move. One of the black men slammed down a large briefcase on the table. He opened it to reveal a single piece of paper. It was written in an unintelligible hand in an unknown script. The barman sighed and reached for it but a hand shot up and gripped his arm with the strength of an iron girder. The barman looked at it with a question in his eyes.

With his other hand, the man lifted up the bottom of the briefcase to reveal a second compartment filled with rows of neatly stacked and freshly printed US dollars.

“[With these],” he said, a touch nastily, “[I trust you can pull the right strings…]” The barman sighed.

“[Look],” he said in a resigned voice. “[I’ll see what I can do, judging by your eagerness to get it done. I can get my agents to rig the launch bay doors with explosives. They are the weakest and most crucial per vulnerability points.]”

The man pushed the briefcase over and released his grip on the barman’s arm.

“[Do it],” he said, and he and his companions left without any further words.

– 12- 

Deep space.

The Hercules had been travelling through the vast silence of space for a little over two weeks now. Adrian sat in the pilot’s chair, with his head cupped in his hands. Garcia sat a little to the left of him and was occasionally making corrections to the autopilot. The sound of Kronos’s loud, thundering snores, echoing all the way down from the technician’s station, came through the open hatch behind them. The rest of the company were nowhere to be seen. Outside was dark. There was no sun, only a dim red glow behind and Jupiter ahead. It seemed to be growing bigger by the day, if days even existed up here. Its great eye rolled lazily in its socket, gazing at the world.

Great clouds drifted across its vast surface, and rocks the size of our own moon were simple dust among them. The Hercules was nothing. So small was it, in the presence of so great a power, that it was simply nothing. Not even atoms. It was on the eve? of the thirteenth day into the voyage when Grigori had sauntered into the main cabin, exclaiming that he had found the Intruder. The following morning, that is, now, Garcia was finishing course alterations. Haoyu wasn’t due for another hour and Elyna was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, Garcia leaned back.

“Done,” he said. “Course adjusted by two-point-two degrees laterally and three degrees vertically. That thing moves mighty fast. We’d better hurry if we don’t want to go under it.”

Adrian stood up, stretching out his arms and yawning. The vastness of space was before him, and he stared out of the vast windows on the side of the cockpit. Then, an idea struck him, and he walked over to one of the windows, pulled out a small hand-held camera out of his pocket, and leaned against the window. There was a small snap and a small piece of paper-ish substance slid out of the top. Adrian took it gingerly and showed it to Garcia.

“Why,” he said, “it’s Earth!”

“Yeah. Ain’t them damn heavens-to-earth tiny? I mean- isn’t it small? Sorry, military banter.” Garcia waved the apology away.

“No worries,” he said. “You know, I also served in the military, once.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“So then what was the deal about the golf thing, because from what I’ve heard there’s nothing in your history that reads ‘MILITARY’. And I’ve been dying to ask, what was the deal about the whole trophy-scandal?”

“Oh, that?” Garcia waved a hand dismissively. “That was nothing. Some nobody thought he could get it, and when he didn’t, he stole it. The authorities found it tucked away in a broom closet, where he’d obviously left it for later collection. Anyway, there is nothing in my written history about the military because, um,” here he blushed a little, “I was court-martialed due to the fact that I talked back to the commander about his tactics. I was right, of course, and three of the five jets ended up being shot down. Nobody dead, thank the Dear Lord, but what could I say? The man was an idiot, and he sent them flying into the valley where, surprise, surprise, there was an enemy ambush! Now, who could’ve predicted that? ‘No, Sergeant, the Strategist told me that this was the BEST way, so don’t go telling lies.’ Lies, pfft.” Garcia spat contemptuously. “The best way to get yourself killed, yes. Anything besides that? No, sadly not. Unfortunately, the commander’s only been promoted, and there’s nothing we can do about that.” Garcia turned his entire body to me. 

“Look at me,” he said. “What am I?”

“You are a—” Adrian struggled for words.

“An enthusiast, a maniac, a hallucination, what am I?”

“I daresay that you are quite real, sir.” 

“You’re absolutely sure?”

“Quite positive, sir.” Garcia took Adrian’s hand and shook it heartily.

“Thank you, my friend. Sometimes I don’t feel quite real myself, and I thank you for showing me my wronghood,” he said with a smile that reached his eyebrows. At that moment, Kronos’s snoring stopped, and there was the telltale creak of somebody sitting up in an unoiled metal bench. Several seconds passed in almost absolute silence, the only sound being the sound of footsteps slowly retreating from the main cabin. After a time, Garcia relaxed and Adrian, having discovered that he had been holding his breath, released it. He opened his mouth to speak when suddenly through the hatch burst Kronos.

“Sur! Wazuh raydn’ on der yIntryudur?” he asked, in a voice slurred by recent sleep.

“We’ll arrive in two more days, Kronos my man! Two more days, and all the world will be over,” Garcia announced. Kronos nodded sleepily and left the cabin. A while later Grigori came striding in. 

“Vazze time?” he asked. 

“Eight of the clock in Miami right now, the next day in England,” replied Adrian, leaning back in a chair. Grigori’s lips moved as he mentally computed.

“Zho zat vould put uz at four in ze mornink in Amerika on Monday, right?”

“Yes, you are correct.” 

“Zho ven do vee arrive at ze intrudeir?”

“In two days, sir.” Grigori shook his head.

“I voss afraid ov zat. You vill be rong vith your calculations. Ve vill be arriving in five dayz.” Adrian stood up suddenly.

“Why?” he demanded. Grigori shrugged.

“Enjine number sree ov ze second modyul on ze sird ringk. It appearz to be dyink.”

“What?”

– 11 –

The receiver that sat on Howard Clyde’s desk buzzed. Howard, startled, reached over and pressed talk.

“Hello?” he asked.

Hercules here. Do you read me? Do you read me?

“Y-yes,” said Howard, taken aback at the severity of Adrian’s voice as it came through the speaker. He regained himself with an effort. “Yes Hercules, I read you loud and clear. This is Clyde. Over.”

Good. We’d like to report a failure on Engine Three of Module Two on Ring Three. Hercules, over.

Fear gripped Howard.

“What is the problem?” he asked tentatively. “Clyde, over.”

We haven’t located the problem exactly, but we seem to be losing power from the engine aforementioned. In addition, the neighbouring engine, Engine Two of the Second Module on Ring Three, seems to be failing as well. Hercules, over.

Losing power…losing power…though Clyde.

“Have you tried transferring fuel?” he asked.

Hercules. Yes, Clyde. Power returned briefly, but then it fell again. Hercules, over.

“Have you run the engine diagnostics?”

Hercules. Yes. We ran them five minutes before we called. We are basing our theories off of them now. We’ll be going outside soon. Hercules, over. A thought rose in Howard’s mind.

“How much does this impact your arrival schedule?”

We planned to deploy the lander in two days. According to the engine readings, that has changed to five days. Hercules, over. 

“You have a window of ten days in which to land. You should be able to complete the mission with three extra days spent on top of the original two. Leave this line open. I will report back to you if I find anything. Clyde, over and out,” he said. 

Hercules, over and out.

The radio clicked and the static stopped buzzing. Howard put his hand to his forehead. 

Power failure, power failure, losing power,  power failure…

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. He stood up sharply, knocking over his chair which fell over with a crash. He took no notice, and sped out of the room, throwing open the door and running out into the hall.

“Dalton!” he yelled. Dalton West stuck his head out of his door. 

“Yes?” he drawled, yawning.

“What did you do with the engine diagnostics that Mission Control sent?”

“Um, Mission Control didn’t send any diagnostics. You yourself told them not to.”

“Where’s Henry?”

“I don’t know sir, I’m nothing but a lowly clerk in hopeful search for a raise. How should I know?”

“You’ll be getting no raise with that attitude!” 

Dalton stopped for a moment before saying,“He’s on vacation.”

“What?” Howard’s roar thundered throughout the building. Dalton backed away.

“You told him yourself that he deserved a break. He’s in Miami, Florida.” Howard appeared to calm down.

“Can you call him?”

Dalton shook his head. “Nope. He said himself, ‘I’m not to be contacted by anyone, so I’m turning my line off.’”

“The idiot when’ll he…be back?” he asked. Dalton ducked into his office before reappearing several seconds later.

“He’ll be back on Thursday, sir.”

“And what day is it today?”

“Monday, I think.”

“Monday, I think, sir.”

“Sir, yessir.” Howard stroked his chin.

“That makes it…” his lips moved as he calculated. “Five days exactly! What luck!” he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He stepped away from Dalton, his mind racing. Absently, he patted Dalton on the head before ambling off down the corridor towards his office. 

“Er,” said Dalton, before retreating back into his office and sitting down in his chair, staring blankly at the far wall.

– 10 –

Adrian leaned back. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing for the whole of five days. And now we’ve arrived, so how much more can he do for us?” Garcia, who was sitting with his head in his hands, shrugged without looking up. Grigori raised his hand.

“Ven’ll ve be in ze right pozition to deploy ze lander?” 

Haoyu, who had been sitting by the door, said, “我們五分鐘後就到了。”

Elyna placed her hand beside Haoyu’s shoulder and said, “‘E says zat we’ll be zere in about three minutes.” Garcia stood up.

“Well,” he said, “It’s no good just sitting around. We can at least suit up. Three minutes, you said?” Elyna nodded.

“Yes,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye. “I agree vis you, Garcia. I sink also zat it vill be better to get suited up now.”

“Adrian pressed a button on the wall and the hatch swung open. The room beyond, the airlock, was dark and had a musty smell. Adrian leaned his head inside and flipped a switch. The lights came on instantly and Adrian blinked several times before pushing down a lever and lowering their brightness.  

“Garcia!” he shouted. “Can you run diagnostics again?”

“Yes, sir!” Garcia’s voice, muffled and ‘grained’ by the comms, echoed from the recesses. There was a grinding of gears and the whir of a fan somewhere within the wall-mounted electronics system. Suddenly, a wall-mounted screen lit up, displaying a long series of numbers and values ending with a single green ‘100%’ sign at the right bottom corner. Adrian held his finger over it and it transformed into a small green checkmark.

Elsewhere on board the Hercules…

The door slid open. Haoyu was at the bridge, gently manoeuvring the spacecraft as it drifted through space. The light glinted off the barrel of a gun. The hatch swung shut with the hiss of steam and a small clang as metal hit metal. Haoyu took no notice, his brows scrunched up with concentration as he sought perfection among the myriad of the most minute corrections.

“‘old it, ‘aoyiu.” Haoyu did not raise his hands, but stopped moving, his limbs stiff. Elyna took a step forward. “If you open ze doors we’ll all be killed. Zere are ‘igh-potency explozives zat might go off…if you don’t land zis zing now.” She flashed a meaningful look at the gun. Haoyu ignored it and moved his hand across the dashboard, flicking a switch labelled ‘Enter Launch Bay’.

“Quickly, quickly,” muttered Adrian as the large hatch swung inwards. The capsule hung from steel cables within the launch bay and a thin catwalk led to a small hatch on its side. The lights on the vast fairing doors were still red. Adrian released the button and motioned for Grigori to go in first. He, with a sheepish look at Adrian, lumbered across the catwalk before pulling open the hatch and squeezing himself through it. Kronos followed them and then came Adrian. The hatch clanged shut behind him and the hiss of bolts shooting into place was like a cold reminder of where he was. Adrian fumbled around a bit and fished out a radio from under his seat. He pressed talk.

“Haoyu!” he said. “We’re safe and in the capsule. On my command, arm the pod bay doors to release the module.”

“What was that?” asked Elyna suspiciously. Haoyu ignored her and said:

“Standing by to arm the release on the pod bay doors.”

“What?” 

Adrian leaned closer to the radio. “On my command, arm them!”

“[Arming!]” Haoyu flipped a switch and a fresh set of panels lit up with a red glow. 

Elyna resteadied her hand on her pistol and said in a wavering voice, “I will shoot! Your companions will die!”

“She won’t, and we won’t. Open the doors!”

“[Opening the doors!]” Haoyu deftly ran his thin hand over the immense board of switches and a green light came on on the overhead panel. An alarm started to blare. “[And…released!]” Elyna cocked the gun to shoot and—

A large wrench ricocheted off of the doorframe and struck Elyna’s head. Her arms flailed for a handhold as she fell and the gun fired at an off angle, the bullet striking the ceiling and ricocheting back towards her, striking her in the upper part of her right arm and sinking deep. Elyna screamed in pain and suddenly passed out. Garcia stepped out from behind the door frame, holding a second wrench in his other hand.

– 9 –

The radio suddenly buzzed. Adrian picked it up and recognized the voice of Howard. But the voice that came through the speaker was not friendly or formal. It sounded panicked.

“Adrian!” shouted Howard. “Do not launch the pod! Do not launch the pod! I just spoke with Henry. It has been SABOTA—” There was a terrific explosion which blasted open the doors with a great bolt of fire. The air was instantly sucked out of the chamber and an antenna on the top of the pod was ripped off, silencing all communication. The door of the airlock bent in the middle but stayed firm. Silent alarms started to flash red lights into the chamber. Kronos pulled in the detach lever and the pod jerked violently as it was sucked out into space. The Intruder suddenly seemed to loom over them, growing bigger and bigger as the capsule approached.

Ten.

Nine. 

Eight. 

Seven. 

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One. Kronos hastily engaged the deceleration rockets as the pod met the ground.

Impact. The large, disk-shaped feet of the lander hit, none too roughly but none too gently all the same, the rough, rocky surface with a large plume of dust. Grey particles rose up like a large cloud before being whisked away by the vacuum. For a long time, everything was silent. Then, an inaudible click, and then the silent hiss of pipes as oil seeped in between them, propping them up and opening them. Slowly, the outer ramp folded outwards and softly landed in the grey dust. Inside, Adrian locked on his helmet and stepped into the small airlock. He gave Kronos a thumbs-up. The inner door closed ponderously, and air was slowly sucked out of the airlock. The outer hatch was opened and Adrian stepped out onto the barren world.

His first impression was that he was on the Moon. After all, he had seen enough pictures to know what it looked like. However, on second glance, he noticed that the dust, which had previously appeared like grey moon-dust, was actually a shimmering silvery colour. He took out a small bag and spade and scooped up some of it into the bag, which he placed in his pocket, which he then zipped up.

Suddenly the voice of Grigori came over the comms announcing that he had also stepped outside and was dictating his first impression to the entire universe. He announced:

“It iz liek ze moon, only smahller, yet vahster. But it feelz yunger. Vhen I touch a moon rock, I feel itz azhe andt vizdom. Zis planetoid impartz none of zat to me. Instead, it gives an impression of diztanze travelled, like a vast zhip. It zeemz dead andt lifeless, but even more zo for ze sun, at zis diztanze, haz merzhed vis ze rest of zpaze.” Adrian found himself nodding despite his being occupied, and looked over to see Grigori setting up a small lab station under a loose tarp held down by two large rocks. Arian wandered over and watched for a couple minutes before walking back to the capsule where he pulled out a small drone vehicle from a side compartment and set it on the ground. Immediately a small claw opened up on the machine and it scooped up a small sample of the sand. It then trundled over to Grigori, who looked mildly surprised but took the sample and placed it in a rack beside him.

Adrian turned on his comms and said, “Let’s take shifts. Two men out, one man inside taking care of the capsule and monitoring its systems.” Grigori looked up and nodded. A grating ‘yes’ rang out in his helmet as Kronos agreed as well.

And so in this fashion several hours were spent researching and cataloguing the silent riches of the small planet. Ever so often Kronos would exchange places with Adrian, who would then sit, his back hunched, staring with one eye at the systems monitor and with the other eye out the porthole at Grigori. Kronos, in the meantime, revealed his aptitude for archaeology and spent long hours sifting methodically through the fine sand, searching for anything worth searching for. After a while, Adrian glanced at his watch. Kronos was due five minutes ago. Adrian pulled on his spacesuit and stepped outside of the capsule, remotely opening and closing the airlock as he went. 

Grigori sat over a small tube, through the plexiglass sides of which Adrian could see a dull red glowing mass. Grigori looked up as he approached, and stood up. His voice crackled over the intercoms.

“I haf foundt ze reazon for ze extreme veight ov zis planet. Ze duzt iz ov a very rare ozmium-uranium compound vich gives it itz extreme denzity.”

“How did you find out?” asked Adrian. Grigori gestured to the tube.

“I vos meltink down ze duzt. Ze elements zeparated by zemselves. It vos the zheer veight ov ze compound, combined vis Jupiterz immenz gravity zat held it togezer.” 

“Fantastic. Make sure to save a sample. Where’s Kronos at?”

“Zomevere over zat ridge. I zaw him go over it approximately five minutz ago.” Adrian nodded and headed off in the general direction that Grigori had pointed. He found Kronos sitting over a small pile of dust and sprinkling it around him in a circle.

Adrian said, “What are you doing, Kronos?” Kronos looked up, startled.

“I vos observink duh duzt andt itz be’aevyore wi’ itshelf. It appeahs to be pho’ic to i’self. Meaning, it doesn’ loike to be nea’ i’self. It runs away. Oi think dats why we ain’t dyin’. It’s pho’ic to us as well.” Kronos rubbed his fingers together, and a small dust cloud formed around them as the particles scattered in all directions..

Suddenly, Adrian noticed a unique pattern of scratches in the sand. He leaned over to examine them when whoosh! A piece of rock mixed with dust, hardly bigger than a large grain of sand, suddenly penetrated, sizzling at the contact points, through the shielded visor of Adrian’s space-suit and made contact with his head. It was instantaneous, and the sand rose up to meet him as he fell face forward onto the surface of the Intruder.

– 8 –

Adrian opened his eyes, his mind dazed. All around him were empty grey plains. He turned to his left. The capsule was gone. A raging thought rose up in his mind. 

They left without me! How dare they! I’m their comrade!

Suddenly, a contrasting thought rose up as well.

What if something struck the capsule! Where is it? Where are the others? Are they alright? What happened to them?  

And then, a third thought arose in his mind.

Hey– where am I? I don’t recognize those mountains, or these plains. 

Adrian stood up. Immediately, the world shifted. The blackness of the void suddenly became a bright white.

Adrian turned, and the white shimmered with thousands of colours.

He took a step forward, and his foot started to sink into the grey sand as it formed a whirlpool before his feet. Startled, he withdrew his foot, and suddenly the sand stopped swirling and rose up before him like a great grey cloud. Adrian tentatively reached out with his hand to feel the rising sand. 

At the exact moment that his hand touched the sand, it stopped swirling and started to form into a shape, like a sculptor sculpts his clay.

First the nose appeared. A straight nose, with a pimple on one side and growing acne in the crevasses around its base.

Adrian touched a hand to his own nose. The figure did the same, five fingers forming on each hand as it did so. His fingers.

Then, the eyes formed, and though they lacked all colour, Adrian recognised their shape. His eyes’ shape.

Adrian took a step forward and reached out to touch the figure. The figure did the same, and the moment that their fingers touched in the centre of the space between them, the dust rose up, changing in colour and texture to form a mirror-like wall running through the point of their fingers touching. The white of the sky plunged to a deep black. Adrian stepped back, and the mirror rippled. His own form shifted to the form of somebody else.

It was a woman of motherly proportions, smiling lightly but with a strict overall expression on her face, though there were ample laugh lines about the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her eyes were oval-shaped, and were pointed at their corners. Her lips were pursed, and her hands folded.

A tear came to Adrian’s eye as he gazed upon his mother, who had died in a freak car accident. Beside her formed another figure, slim and mischievous. Adrian again recognized him, as his little brother Timothy who had died of tuberculosis at the age of six. 

Suddenly a wind swept through, and Adrian shielded his eyes. Through between his fingers he saw the mirror ripple and heave, before becoming still once more. Adrian looked into it, and still saw his mother and brother.

But now their faces were haggard and unfriendly, sunken eyes looking out from under heavy brows. Timothy raised his finger at Adrian, his gaunt cheeks flushed, his eyebrows dark and angry. Suddenly, he dissolved, the particles of sand flying around Adrian as he stood paralyzed. Then, the world shifted again, and the ground dipped down. Adrian fell into the funnel of grey ash and smoke. He twisted from left to right, clawing for a handhold, but his fingers slipped through the sand as it poured down. 

Suddenly, he stopped, and into the haze walked his first, eldest, and only son, David. But it wasn’t David. It wasn’t the kindhearted man that Adrian used to know, but more like his darker form. 

He stood some distance from Adrian, cold malice and anger in his eyes, saying, “Father, I am leaving you. Do not expect to see me again.” 

He stepped back into the mist and disappeared. Adrian whirled around blindly and confusedly. Then into his vision loomed the tax collector, accompanied by the realtor. 

The realtor spoke first, his words distorted in the fog. “I am pleased to inform you that your house has been sold to Jamie Dendrox. You have three days before they come.”

 “House?” Adrian blurted. “What house? My house?”

 The realtor grinned broadly. “Yes!” He exclaimed. “Haven’t you heard? Your son had turned in the release papers this morning!” 

He faded away with the tax collector. Your son… your son…  Then suddenly he stood on the sidewalk. Down the street walked a couple, or girlfriend and boyfriend. The girl had on a fluffy pink dress, and as they drew nearer, Adrian recognized the boy’s face. His son! David’s face turned from a content smile to a scowl when he saw Adrian. Adrian watched himself, but not himself, almost as if seeing himself in third person, leap upon him in a half conscious state, not seeing his own actions, blind to them entirely. 

His eyes were swimming in a pool of red, and his knuckles were crusted with David’s blood as Adrian stood transfixed, watching himself rain blows into David until at last the neighbourhood constable had to call the troops to pull Adrian off of him. Houses and people flashed before his eyes and suddenly he found himself behind bars, and the warden was looking at him with a keen yet bored air of contempt and general dislike. Adrian pounded at the bars and suddenly he was the warden, looking at himself in the cell as he pounded on the bars. He reached for his keys to let himself out but at that moment the bars melted away and he sprang at himself, morphing into a lion, the kind of lion that he had seen in the zoo when he was young. Adrian ducked and the lion passed through his head, morphing into a gleaming fighter jet, with Hassan inside. Then, the sky, which had been clear, and the sun bright, suddenly clouded over and a dense fog settled, making all vision impossible. Adrian looked down and suddenly found himself inside of the jet, and from the clouds before him roared his Wing, pointed at him, all missiles firing at him. He looked down and saw that his jet was marked bright red. He looked up, and the missiles slammed into his jet with a roar. 

The jet disintegrated into a fine dust and Adrian fell down through the darkness, the world collapsing around him. Suddenly, he hit bottom, and all was pitch black. Then, a light turned on to reveal a huge podium atop which roosted a squat figure bedecked in the robe of a judge. More lights were switched on, and Adrian felt something drag across him. He looked down and found that he was bound to what he now saw was a chair. The space was fully illuminated now and he saw that he was sitting in a courtroom, the stands and seating filled with a vast crowd of people, a crowd so vast that under normal circumstances it would have required an entire state to hold it. The vaulted ceiling sagged and twisted, impossibly high over Adrian’s head, and the walls receded into darkness. Adrian looked up and the Judge towered over him on the podium, The walls seemed to lean in and the stands rose up above Adrian, and in them he saw his family. He looked up and saw that the judge was the general, General Edrikson. General Edrikson loomed over him and reached out with his hand, grasping Adrian in a gargantuan fist and lifting him up in front of his eyes, which spanned across Adrian’s entire field of vision.

The general then opened his mouth, and said in a tremendous, booming voice, “Well, well, well. PrivateAdrian Barlowe of the 34th wing of the United States Air Force–” The rest was drowned out by the roaring of the wind as it was sucked in and out of the enormous abyss of the mouth. White teeth, pointed, and made from white steel glinted in the light of the piercing light. The lips and tongue were red and were salivating, the pores engorging with stored fluids as the mouth prepared to digest, but couldn’t, staring at a tantalising meal just outside of its reach. The tongue stirred like a great worm-beast, and Adrian heard words once more. “TO STRIP YOU OF YOUR DUTIES IN THE AIR FORCE–” Adrian tried to press his ears to his shoulder but couldn’t, his back frozen rigid. “–FOREVER.”

Adrian craned his neck and saw that the entire audience had risen, and that they were all holding flaming brands and pitchforks. Not of his accord, his head was suddenly wrenched around to stare into the cavernous mouth of the general. The general continued:

“AS A RESULT OF YOUR FAILURE, YOU WILL DIE…..die….die…die….” The words of the general reverberated around inside of Adrian’s mind. His skull threatened to burst with the pressure of the weight of the tremendous knowledge of his failure, and of his impending doom.

The crowd stood up and raised their weapons. From the corner of his eye, Adrian saw the general raise his hand. The crowd flung the weapons at Adrian. The tongue shot forward, saliva spraying from its sides and surface. The teeth shone with grease. What was soft flesh became hard concrete as the general lifted Adrian up and placed him on his tongue.

Adrian turned, and his vision was filled with flaming brands and burning pitchforks. He screamed, and the general swallowed.

The world faded to black as Adrian fell down, down, down an infinitely long expanse. Around him, universes were born and died, were born and died, and were born and died as he fell. Far below him, he saw his crew, standing around his body. He tried to call out, but couldn’t.

“I’m right here— I’m right here—!”

Suddenly, he hit bottom, and—

Adrian woke up.

– 7 –

Adrian opened his eyes, and stared at nothing. He laid for a while in this state. Then, he began to notice dark shapes crowding over his vision, and his eyes darted to focus. The one of the shapes spoke.

“Iz ‘e alive?”

“I sink so.”

“Check ‘iz pulz.”

“I can zee him breazing.” Adrian tried and failed to sit up as the concerned faces of Grigori and Kronos swam into view. He broke into a fit of coughing. He looked up to see a piece of duct tape on his helmet. A red light was beeping into his ear. 

“What…happened…?” he managed. Grigori looked down and Kronos spoke.

“De planet doz not liek yiou.” He chuckled sourly, gratingly. “So it sendt a velkokimgk gift.” Kronos opened his hand to reveal a small pile of pebbles, each the size of five dust grains coalesced into one.

“A rain ov zeez star’ed zhor’ly avter we touched down,” said Kronos, pocketing them. Adrian tried to stand up but Grigori placed a soft but firm hand on his shoulder. 

“Get your ztrenths back first. You’ve taken a nazty blow to ze head.” Adrian complied and laid still for, according to his watch, approximately five minutes before Grigori removed his hand from Adrian’s shoulder and Adrian stood up. He swayed for a second before restablising himself and taking a mostly firm step in the direction of the capsule, which thankfully was still present. Whilst walking, he noticed that the small experimentation site which Grigori had set up had been meticulously packed away into the small duffel bag out of which it had first come. Upon reaching the side of the craft, he pressed a button on the side of his helmet and the main hatch swung open. Adrian, followed by Grigori and Kronos, clambered groggily up the short ladder and seated himself into a wall-mounted chair inside. Grigori followed suit. Kronos sat down heavily and pulled shut the inner airlock hatch. Then, he pressed a button on the command panel and there was a grinding noise as the outer door slowly slid shut.

“I sink,” said Grigori, after a long pause, “Zat it vill be better to keep ze helmetz on, az ve do not know vot vill be avaiting uz back at ze ztation.” Adrian nodded in agreement, and Kronos grunted in reply, being lost in thought. Grigori turned around in his seat and began activating the launch sequence. Soon, a dull hissing noise was echoing through the walls as the fuel was cycled through the engine modules. Then, a click, a short hiss, and suddenly there came a shout of “Hold on tight!” from Grigori’s direction as there was a sudden roar from the engines and the capsule kicked off into the void of space, leaving nothing but three ‘footprints’ and a large area of scuffed sand to mark its former presence upon the small, desolate planetoid. Adrian looked up and watched through a porthole in the side of the capsule as the massive bulk of the Hercules drifted slowly into view. Before long, it was directly above them as they drifted into the shell of what was the launch bay. The main doors had vanished, blown apart into dust by the explosion, and several panels flapped loosely in the emptiness. Adrian saw Kronos take a deep breath.

– 6 –

Suddenly, the screen of the television flashed bright with colour.

“Breaking news!” said the red letters as they ran across the screen. The newscaster appeared.

“Late last night, a masked assailant, a ninja cloaked all in darkness, attempted to assassinate our President. Just as the President, unknowing of the impending doom, was about to take his last breath as he lay in peaceful, untroubled sleep, the alarm was raised and the police were alerted. 

“According to witnesses, they said that it was like a shadow, flying through the rooms as it sought to escape what would soon be its prison.

“Thankfully, the assailant was caught, but unfortunately, before we could rip off his mask and reveal his true dark identity, he suddenly cracked open a pill and swallowed it like a great whale. Though further studies revealed this, at the time we knew little about the fact that that pill contained a highly potent version of cyanide mixed with several grams of plutonium 239. From the outside it is harmless, but when ingested, it is deadly. Too deadly. Almost instantly he was frothing at the mouth. He died within three seconds, and only God can reach him now. After the mask was removed, it was also discovered that the poison had an intense disfiguring effect, fully locking away the identity of this man in the vast archives of the unknown.”

The view changed to show a street filled with the flashing lights of ambulances and police cars, all huddled around a group of paramedics holding a stretcher. 

“On another note, it has been discovered that the man managed to infiltrate us by using the dollars paid by America for their space project. All ties to China are currently being cut. The world is on the brink—”

– 5 –

The locks clicked and there was a long, drawn out rasping sound as the cables pulled the capsule into what remained of the launch bay. A jet of compressed air hissed through the air and the airlock opened. Adrian drifted out into the vast empty launch chamber, where he pulled himself via the cable attachments over to the command panel and entered in a code. There was another hissing noise and the airlock hatch swung open. Beyond was only darkness. Kronos, who by this point has drifted to the other side of the chamber, flipped a small switch in the wall and a searing white light activated in the ceiling. After blinking out afterimages, Adrian gestured to Grigori, who had also by this time risen from the now-airless capsule, clutching a small bag including all of the samples that were obtained from the Intruder. Grigori nodded and started to drag himself along another cable connecting the capsule to the Hercules, slowly edging forward towards the airlock. Adrian looked over and saw Kronos kick off of the far wall and slowly tumble, head over heels, in Adrian’s direction. 

Adrian counted to five and, once the three of them were safely within the airlock, he closed the hatch, locked it, and released the air valves. Instantly oxygen rushed into the chamber, and after several seconds Adrian unscrewed his helmet and sighed. He heard a click as Grigori did the same, shortly followed by Kronos, who, upon doing so, opened his mouth and yawned.

“Foist good time I got ta yawn. How longsit bin?” he asked.

“Too long,” muttered Adrian under his breath before turning to the inner airlock door. He walked over to the side of the door and placed his hand on a pad beside it. A blue light on his watch flashed in unison with a blue light on the pad, and the door slowly opened, at the command from the watch computer. Inside, all was quiet, save for the ever-present grinding of the gears moving the rings. Kronos stepped inside and made a beeline for the technician’s station, into which he disappeared. Grigori slowly walked towards the galley and the cabins and Adrian was left alone in the airlock, one foot over the threshold into the station, and the other foot still in the airlock. He looked around him. All of the doors were shut. There was a scuffling sound coming from Kronos’s direction, but otherwise, silence. Adrian thought for a moment before striking out towards the cockpit. He tentatively slid along, his back to the wall, and peeked around the door. Nothing. 

– 4-

A gruff hand was placed on his shoulder and a raspy voice said, “Hold it right there. Turn around slowly.”

Adrian felt something hard pressed into the back of his head and he slowly turned around to face who he now saw was Garcia. Garcia blinked, and sheathed the gun that was in his hand, his face turning a deep red.

“I am so sorry, commander. I am being paranoid. After all, it was only Elyna that I had not talked to–”

“Elyna? What Elyna? What’d she do?” the words burst from Adrian’s mouth before he could stop them.

“The waitress/translator, remember? She always stopped and waited outside of your door whenever she did the rounds. Thought it was funny, but then again, all things French tend to be strange.” This sentence hung in the air for some time before he continued, “Anyway, I saw her holding Haoyu, the co-pilot, the other guy, remember? Well, I saw her pointing a small handgun, this one in fact–” he reached into his pocket and took out a small metal firearm. 

It was covered in a curious silvery-grey material and bore an illegible inscription. “–and, you see the small silvery stuff covering it?” Adrian nodded. “Well, that’s granulated lead. Very good against x-ray machines, or so I’m told. That solves how she got it in. But why? That’s what I was asking myself. Come with me.” He took Adrian by the arm and led him to what Adrian knew to be Elyna’s compartment, though he never saw her enter, leave, or even hang around the entrance to it. Inside, he saw several unopened letters on a small steel protrusion that served as the desk/bed, all of which stamped with a mark resembling a zodiac spiral, at the centre of which was a mark that he could not make out. Beside them laid a small stack of US dollars along with several small bronze coins. On the floor, spreadeagled and face down, was Elyna, clearly out cold. Haoyu was nowhere to be seen. Garcia turned to face Adrian. He opened his mouth to speak when suddenly Grigori stepped around him and into the room. He looked around, taking everything in, before turning to Garcia and Adrian and stating:

“I zee. Vell, glad zat’s zorted out.” Garcia closed his mouth, and opened it again.

“You see, I had nothing against Elyna, and it was only after I had the unpleasant job to knock her out with a spanner that I had the fortune to get a peek through her door–which I had noted to be locked at all times before that, mind you–and I discovered this. There was one open letter which, luckily for me, was written in English. The other letters, from what I can tell, are in standardised Mandarin script. I have the letter here,” he produced a worn piece of slightly yellow-pigmented paper. “It reads: 

– 3 –

“My lord, I am aboard the ship. All is secure. The faulty valve has been inserted into the engine whilst it was refuelling. I did it myself under the guise of a worker repairing the engine. Ha. They know nothing, the imbéciles. Haoyu, my subject also knew nothing. All was according to plan. We were heading perfectly, too perfectly, in fact, and I had my doubts about whether they were actual crewmembers, or ‘officers’ as vous, for lack of the appropriate English term, do call them. Yesterday the valve gave out, according to plan,” here Garcia paused and nodded at the ring engine modules, which were visible through the small porthole. ““But the crew, against all of your venerable predictions, my lord, reported back to base, though  did manage to coerce one of them, the fool Haoyu, to not do so, which was relatively easy, given that his English is quite bad. Tomorrow is Haoyu’s shift, and I feel him to be the weakest of all of us. Especially when compared to that pig-headed fool Adrian, who thinks and actually does own and command this mission. Tomorrow is the day. I will force him to land the Hercules upon the surface of the Intruder so that you (through me) will be the first true foot upon its surface. So that you, my venerable lord, will be remembered forever.”

– 2 –

 Garcia stopped reading with a grimace.

“Sick,” he said, and put down the paper. Adrian stooped to pick it up. Just before his hand touched it his radio buzzed,

Hello? This is Clyde. Where are you at? Over. Adrian looked at Grigori, who gestured to the radio. Adrian unhitched it from his belt and put it up to his mouth, keeping one eye on the recumbent form of Elyna. 

“Yes? This is Hercules. We read you. We are currently in semi-orbit around the Intruder. Over.”

“Clyde. Good. But remember you only have enough fuel to return to the ISS. If you wait any longer you might not have enough and we can’t guarantee a supply mission. Over. Garcia’s face assumed a concerned look and he quickly headed off in the direction of the engine room. Several seconds later there was a subtle jolt as the main engine unit was engaged. Grigori blinked as the floor restabilized. 

Adrian looked out of the porthole and saw the stars begin to shift as the Hercules began to pick up speed. Within only twenty minutes they had circled the tiny moon and were now facing the sun. Garcia’s voice crackled through the loudspeaker.

“You better find something to sit on. I’m gonna try and jump through the orbit.” Grigori sat in the doorframe. Adrian sat down on the desk/bed. At that moment, Kronos sauntered into the room with his arm around Haoyu’s shoulders, who looked sheepish.

“This man,” announced Kronos, “is de best engineer dat I haf ever met.” Kronos held up a small valve. “Dis is a faulty valf dat he foundt in von of de enjine ringk modyul operator panels. Turns out, it vos vot vos stoppingk us andt draining our power.” He stopped and looked from Grigori’s face to Adrian’s.

“I see dat dis is not new newz to you,” he said after a while, and sat down on the floor. Haoyu dithered and just as he was about to take a step the whole of the Hercules jumped forward as all power was diverted to the main engine units. Through the porthole the company saw the Intruder slowly start to and then, picking up speed, dwindle away until it was nothing but another speck, albeit slightly larger and brighter, among the stars.

Several days passed with almost no idle conversation as everybody on board dedicated themselves to their task. Elyna woke up on the second day and was from there on locked firmly in her room with a camera trained upon her from a suitable vantage point. Haoyu once again took over the post of pilot and Adrian spent most of his time pacing the ship, making sure that everybody and everything were in a stable position. Kronos was almost nailed to the technician’s station and Garcia rarely appeared from his place in the galley or, on certain days, patrolling the door to Elyna’s room. It was a Saturday, according to Earthian calendars, when the ISS finally came into view. Haoyu went into his room and Garcia took over the controls. The ISS slowly came closer and closer until suddenly, a yellow light came on in the cockpit and a light came on under the plate labelled “docking sequence”. Garcia’s voice came on over the ship’s speakers.

“This is it,” he said. “In just thirty seconds, we will be back on familiar ground. Everybody be ready, I’m beginning the docking sequence.” Adrian ran to the technician’s station where he found Kronos, Haoyu, and, though under careful observation, Elyna, all struggling into space suits. Kronos looked up and wordlessly motioned to one of a pair still hanging from hooks on the wall. Adrian donned it with little trouble and marched solemnly over to the main nose hatch. Over the comms came the voice of Garcia.

“For the last time, maybe forever, I solemnly bid farewell to this vessel of danger, adventure, betrayal, and hope. In ancient Greek mythology, Hercules was a giant of a man who could do anything he wished. This vessel has proved the same, and thus worthy of such a name. I bid it farewell and may it have long life more to live.” 

The sound of glove on metal came through the speakers as Garcia (as assumed by Adrian) patted the seat of his chair in the cockpit. Then he said, with great reverence and solemnity, “Docking sequence initiated.”

Immediately, several large cables latched onto the front of the Hercules and it was pulled towards the ISS. Locks fastened onto the front hatch and there was a loud creaking noise as the outer airlock door opened. Adrian placed his hand on the scanner beside the door and the inner hatch opened. Grigori took a tentative step into the ISS where he was suddenly greeted with a chorus of joyous cheers of their return. Adrian, Kronos, Haoyu, and Elyna (in between them) soon followed, tailed by a sweaty and red faced Garcia. Somewhere, somebody brought out a glass of champagne and had passed it around so as all of the crew found that a glass had been thrust into their hand and they had been bid drink to their health and to the success of the mission.

One man produced a computer on which the face of Howard Clyde was displayed. He was even more rubicund than Garcia, and rather more joyous as well.

“My fine fellows! You have returned at last! I bid you all to pray hasten back to the headquarters so that I might be able to talk with you all personally! But that will all be in time. In the meantime, take a seat! Relax! Your return ship will be fueled within thirty minutes. Good luck!” The microphone clicked and the screen went dark. Everything passed by in a blur. Most of it was celebrating anyway, so Adrian did not bother trying to remember the details. Either way, at the end of it he scrambled into his space suit and hoisted himself along with Kronos back into the Tàiyáng Wáng. Grigori waved to them as the outer airlock door slowly swung shut with a definitive clang.

– 1 –

The locks clicked and the inner nose hatch was shut. Another lock clicked, and there was a hiss as fresh oxygen was filtered into the cabin. Adrian strapped on his helmet, and sat down in his seat, buckling himself in. Kronos did likewise. Through his window, Adrian saw Grigori again,  gesturing at him, this time clothed in a spacesuit.

“Sho, dis is dur end,” mused Kronos. Adrian nodded and unstrapped his helmet, holding it in his arms and staring at it intently,

“Yeah,” he said, distantly, “this is the end. My God, after this, I’m never going to space again.” He turned and looked at Kronos. Kronos stared at the floor. Suddenly, the radio buzzed and the voice of Garcia came through.

You’re due to depart in five minutes. Helmets on, report to me with the engine diagnostics.

“Roger,” said Adrian, leaning over and flipping several switches. A light came on under the words “Engine Diagnostics; Run” and there was a rumbling from the fuel tanks as the fans spun. Then, they abruptly stopped, and a small display above the “Diagnostics” sign lit up, displaying a long list of numbers and statistics. Adrian nodded to Kronos, who reached over and, with a heavy hand, pushed down the “send” button. Adrian glanced at where the radio was and right on cue, Garcia’s voice came through it.

Received diagnostics. Go ahead, all units functioning perfectly. Over and out.

There was a clang as the connecting cables holding the Tàiyáng Wáng disconnected and fell back, and suddenly the capsule jerked back as the reverse thrusters fired automatically. The craft was pushed backwards for several seconds before the thrusters shut off, leaving the craft drifting. Adrian placed his helmet on his head and screwed it in place. Kronos did the same. Adrian flipped a series of switches and the thrusters engaged again. The International Space Station rapidly grew tiny against the vast inky black canvas of space as the Tàiyáng Wáng sped backwards away from it, the station, the spidery contraption of metal which made the mission possible. Slowly, the air inside began to heat up. A bead of perspiration rolled down Adrian’s forehead. Slowly the blue sky of Earth turned into a sheet of roaring golden fire, licking the surface of the capsule as it plummeted down towards Earth. Then, the fire cleared and below them the great blue ocean stretched from horizon to horizon.

Five seconds. The accelerometer’s needle pointed to 100 mph. There was a jerk as the drogue parachutes were released.

Four seconds. The needle moved to 50 mph.

Three seconds. The needle reached the bottom of its capability and a screen turned on, displaying 30 mph. There were two more jerks as the two main parachutes opened.

Two seconds. 23 mph.

One second. 15 mph. The flotation ring around the base of the capsule began to inflate.

And—

– 0 –

—Splashdown.

The hatch slowly opened, and the world disintegrated. All that Adrian later recalled of the landing was the feeling of lifting up and then the feeling of many hands on him. After that, he maintained, he remembered nothing. It was some time after the victorious voyage that the members of the crew were called together by the President of the United States to award them the Medal of Honor for their deeds for the country, and for the world. And until the end of his life, Adrian vowed never to return to space again. Instead, he became a ground crew sergeant-commander for the Air Force, and earned fame and renown in that field. Same happened to all of the other members of the mission, who had all survived the true test of fate—

– Liftoff— –

“According to tests done upon the samples brought back by the crew of the HDSVITC, it has been found that due to the immense gravitational forces upon the planetoid from both itself and Jupiter, there will be nothing left of it in the near decades to come. And as for the mysterious whistle, it is a magnetic fluctuation as the solar winds from the sun touch the surface of the Intruder. The rotation of the telescopes has been identified as a technical fault brought on by high energy data packet reception, such as receiving the remaining energy from the whistle. And now we interrupt this program to bring to you our sponsor—”

Alfonso stood up, bones groaning, and switched off the television before snatching up his half-finished drink that stood on the table and heading up the stairs to bed.