Children of The Spheres

Chapter 21: Ground Zero

The search for sentient life beyond humanity's worlds has persisted since the Ancient Past, driving countless missions to explore uncharted systems and distant planets. Despite centuries of effort, no trace of intelligent civilizations was ever found. By the Age of Dawn, the realization set in—humanity stood alone in the vastness of space. While the question of extraterrestrial life remains, it has become largely accepted that, despite the boundless expanse of the cosmos, the only voices in the void are our own.

— Solitude Among the Stars, by Dr. Elias Korvath

***

The Morningstar drifts in silence as we approach Ground Zero, the moon's white surface stretching out beneath us like a blank slate. Lance is fully absorbed in the readouts at the helm. I had my doubts when he first replaced Kassian—there were big shoes to fill—but I have to admit, Okamoto's been doing a solid job so far.

Keira stands beside me, arms crossed, her crimson optical irises flickering as she stares down at the moon. She's quiet, but I can tell she's analyzing every detail, like I am.

The moon looms before us, a pristine, smooth sphere of solid white. There are no signs of life—not that I expected any. Salt moons, particularly those with high concentrations, are brutal on metal, making them nearly impossible to inhabit.

"Real quiet, huh?" Keira murmurs, but there's an edge in her voice. "There's nothing there."

"Run the scans," I say to Lance. "Let's see what we're dealing with."

The captain nods, his fingers gliding across the console. The Morningstar's holoscreen flickers on, projecting streams of data into the air before us. Topographical readings, atmospheric composition, and heat signatures all appear, detailing the moon's surface in precise, scrolling streams of numbers and visual overlays. Nothing but silence. No life. No movement.

Just us.

"We're completely alone," Lance confirms, his voice low. "The system's dead. Only the gas giant and the moon."

I glance up at the massive planet hanging in the distance, its deep maroon clouds swirling against the black expanse of space. It looms behind the moon like a forgotten god.

Keira tilts her head, eyes locked on the gas giant. "Is it me, or does this feel too easy?"

I don't like it, but she's right. The emptiness of the system stirs unease. Still, I was trained to handle fear. Evander's mantra echoes in my mind, a lesson drilled into me long ago.

"Fear is a weapon. Do not let it be used against you," I mutter, reciting it.

Keira overhears me and quickly forces herself to regain her composure.

The Morningstar glides in silence, circling the moon at a slow, deliberate pace. From here, Ground Zero looks like just another frost moon, but as we pass over the far side, I realize just how wrong that conclusion is. The pristine snow thins, revealing jagged red salt crystals beneath the surface. Broken lines of crimson slash through the white, like the moon itself is bleeding.

I feel Keira shift beside me, her bionic fingers tapping against her leg. Her tension stirs my own.

Then, the crater comes into view. It's not just big—it's incomprehensible. A massive chasm, spanning hundreds of kilometers, carved deep into the surface. The walls of the crater rise thousands of meters high, red salt shimmering like molten metal under the light of the system's star. It looks as though the ground has been violently torn apart, the moon's insides exposed, laid bare for all to witness—an inverted mountain, plunging so deep that it feels like we're staring into the heart of the core itself.