The Long Walk shuddered as Lathe cycled the launch protocols. A deep groan vibrated through the deck plates. His pilot's couch, a relic from a war he'd been born too late for, ground into his spine. The restraint harness clamped down with a familiar, whispering prelude to the pull. He nodded curtly to the corner of his cockpit where Irene's holographic form pulsed a faded cyan. She was two centuries old, still running on the same code that had outlived three empires.
Her reply scrolled across his HUD.
LAUNCH PERMISSION GRANTED. SCHEDULE DEVIATION: 4.7 MINUTES.
Lathe allowed himself a grim smile. “Heard there was trouble on 5B.” Another shortcut. Another risk weighed against the dwindling time to make his Armada application window.
MAGRAIL TUNNEL 5B: OFFLINE. CALCULATING ALTERNATE VECTOR… WAIT TIME: 24 MINUTES.
Before he could curse the delay, the docking clamp released with a hiss. Ahead, the magnetic rail loomed—a serpentine vein bored through the mountainside, curving into blackness. The ship lurched into the tunnel's maw. The G-Chaps tightened across his torso, their smart fibers constricting as the corridor walls blurred into streaks of sulfur-yellow light.
A new alert flashed, overriding all other data.
SOLAR FLARE ADVISORY: CLASS X-9 DETECTED.
Irene's glyphs flared with an intensity he'd never seen.
RADIATION ENVELOPE INTERSECTS JUPITER INBOUND TRACK. CORE TEMPERATURES RISING: +35%.
Lathe snapped his gaze to the nav-map where the flare's corona bled across the blackness, eclipsing Jupiter. He could already smell the sharp, metallic tang of ozone as Mercury's thin atmosphere frayed through the ship's compromised seals.
TRACK INTEGRITY COMPROMISED. RECOMMENDATION: JETTISON CARGO.
“Negative.” Lathe ground his teeth. “That ore is rated.”
His retort died in his throat. The ship groaned, metal screaming under stress. A new warning blazed across the HUD:
MAGRAIL CURVATURE: G-THRESHOLD EXCEEDED.
The tunnel was forcing them into a turn sharper than the rail was rated for.
“Irene, divert all power to—”
The magrail bucked. A structural fracture split the tunnel wall ahead, a jagged black seam spilling clouds of orange dust.
WARNING: MAGNETIC FIELD COLLAPSE IMMINENT.
The anti-inertia harnesses whined, straining against the G-load as his head slammed back into the couch. The remaining magnetic coils surged them forward in a desperate shove to clear the track before total failure.
SOLAR FLARE IMPACT: T-MINUS 127 SECONDS.
“Stars above.” Through the viewport, Mercury's horizon flickered like a warped disc, its surface blistering under a crimson wash. Below, the factories and refineries were fireflies, winking out one by one as the flare's maw consumed them.
STARBOARD WING TEMP: 2,300 K. RECOMM—
The sentence dissolved into digital noise as the rail gave one final yank.
“Dump it, Irene!” He fumbled at the cargo override. “The rear stores—damn it all—”
Her glyphs cascaded, a waterfall of failures. The cockpit lighting snapped to emergency red. The bulkheads radiated a heat that had nothing to do with the ship's engines. With a metallic crack, the magnetic lock shattered. The Long Walk tore free, its underbelly plasma-scorched and trailing fire.
For a moment, they were free.
Then the flare struck. The forward viewport imploded. Armored glass disintegrated into a harmless shower of static as waves of energy washed over the hull.
LIFE SUPPORT: CRITICAL. RECOMM— SHELT—
The glyphs degenerated into digital noise.
In the dying light of the HUD, Lathe saw his own reflection: the face of a fool who'd chased a promotion into the heart of a star. His glove brushed the Armada patch on his shoulder, its threads stained with a decade of rust and sweat. The deck heaved. His head struck the coaming. Black.
* * *
Sound returned first, an arrhythmic growl from the engines, the shudder of a ship tearing itself apart.
He tried to crawl, but his legs wouldn't respond. The air tasted of burnt plastic and blood.
Irene's glyphs flickered back from the void. She had rerouted to a backup power cell.
CORE FUNC... 7% PWR REMAINING.
The only light came from the viewport. Where Mercury had been, a wound gaped in the void, its planetary core exposed and bleeding fire.
Lathe kicked the console. Nothing. The G-Chap's diagnostic overlay flashed red across his vision, a string of error codes where his own vitals should be. He was a failing component in a dying system.
Irene's glyphs pulsed once.
ATTEMPTING NAVIGATION… NEAREST SAFE HARBOR: ASTEROID BELT. IRON AND SONS OUTPOST K-7.
The ship turned its scorched nose toward the distant, glittering expanse of the asteroid belt. It was a desperate, final gamble. The Long Walk, mortally wounded, began its last, shuddering journey into the void.