IV || [BL | MxM | Sci-Fi | Romance | Mystery]

Prologue| RS-107

"It might be beautiful, but they call it the world's tallest graveyard for a reason, darling."

Johanna turned away from the windscreen. The view was nothing similar, yet that conversation randomly popped up in her memory.

She was there. Twice. Mostly to prove a point - that was her way of doing things. Last time, her team lost the route and almost perished in a snowstorm. Still, the glacier on the top of the world would make a better grave than... something like this. 

They rarely talked, but unlike most of the crew, and herself, he had some spark... she couldn't put it into words properly, or maybe just didn't give it much thought until now. Dedicated to the job, surely. Perhaps too much at times. There was something else, though. He was here for a reason. 

They exchanged a few words before he left for this patrol; but if she could go back in time, she'd have had a few questions to ask. Most of them would have probably gone unanswered. Now, they will remain such forever. 

A system message popped up - the scanner picked up no signals from the ship again.

"Theseus, R-105 reporting," her own voice echoed in her head and inside the helmet.

"Yes? Did you find him?"

Ah, Amy.

Who let her take over the comms? Worse, it's been five hours since his ship went offline, but from Amy's voice, it was clear she was still hoping.

Johanna sighed. She saw them together the other day. They looked like a couple. 

What a cruel fate.

"What's your status? Any updates?"

"Scouted Sector 3. Now heading to Sector 2."

She turned the comms off before hearing the reply and glanced again at the giant rock soaring above the ship. A collision of peaks and valleys bathed in silver light; up close, it did resemble the snow-covered slopes of Lhotse. 

Or maybe it seemed so after you stared at it for too long.

A sudden rattling of computers woke her up from the memories. The drone zoomed in on the surface of the asteroid she was observing, and coordinates flashed across the screens. In a moment, the visuals caught up: a medium-sized scouting spacecraft, scratched registration number TH1170 on its side; one of the engines and a misshapen delta wing were lying next to the decompressed hull.

Both escape pods were still attached.

"Theseus, this is R-105. Transferring the coordinates of RS-107...."

They call space the loneliest graveyard for a reason, darling.