The Rim Job - 1. Chapter 1

Lando Carbonara was a wanted man, one who was looking for a payday that would clear the debts of his past and set him up for the rest of his life. The deposit on the lakeside cottage on Ularah-18 would finally be a place where he could hide in plain sight, safe from Roco’s bounty hunters. If the old man’s story was true, and the information on the data crystal could still be read, then the key enclosed in the old man’s papers and box of nick-knacks would open the rumored vault to unimaginable treasures of a long-lost king. A horde of precious gems, coins, and untold bars of gold infused platinum.

But there was more at stake than just riches. Lando knew that if word got out about his plans, every syndicate from the Outer Belts would be after him in a heartbeat. Still, he couldn't help but dream of the freedom that awaited him, picturing the quiet mornings on the shore and the sense of security he'd never known before.

He had slightly less than forty-eight-hours before word of his arrival on Polonis Prime was made known. Roco’s network of informants were scattered all over the quadrant. All it would take was a confirmed sighting and they would be here like rats on a fresh bag of garbage. The misappropriated DNA identity card would only last a couple of scans before the owner reported their identity was compromised.

He ran his thumb absently over the edge of the crystal, nerves a live wire beneath his calm facade. The stakes were high and the risks higher, but for the first time in years, possibility shimmered just beyond reach. Lando wondered if he could trust the map tucked inside the faded envelope, or if it was another elaborate trap set by the old man’s old rivals.

Simeon, a hunter of lost legends and fortunes had spent a lifetime chasing the odd rumors of hidden and distant treasures. Years of living on the margins had taken its toll, no longer hale and hearty, what Lando saw in front of him was a wizened old man. One who knew the number of his days were few.

Lando had met the old treasure hunter in a tavern just like the one they were now sitting in. They had both been chasing clues of a fortunes squirreled away at a remote abandoned mining colony on an asteroid belonging to the Nectarian’s. It was a trap, neither had known the other was there at the time. A renegade Nectarian in need of credits to pay off a gambling debt. It had been rumored that the old man had a valuable map that led to unimaginable treasure.

Lando happened across the Nectarian beating the old man senseless and in short order the bandit would barely survive the day, let alone get off the asteroid. Afterwards Lando and the old man went their separate ways, occasionally keeping in contact with Lando making sure the old man had sufficient funds, especially as he slowed down over his last years. Years later, the old man having failed his physical, having been informed of a rapidly growing terminal illness reached out to Lando to meet.

Lando was given a map of indeterminate age and a contact to meet, this would have been the old man’s last job, but time robbed him the chance. He was to meet a contact; instructions would follow along with a data crystal.

********

As it was, meeting the old man’s contact at The Busted Pelican was dicey enough. The corner seat provided an unobstructed view of both the front door and the access door to the kitchen and yet provide some anonymity and shield him from all but the closest scrutiny.

The room around him was dimly lit, a quick glance at the data crystal gave a faint blue glow that cast strange shadows across the battered tabletop before he quickly secured it in a pocket. Lando glanced at the battered chrono on his wrist, every tick felt like a countdown, each second a reminder of the narrowing window he had to act. He steadied his breath, forcing himself to focus, and made a silent promise: this time, he would not let fear dictate his choices.

As he sat drinking his poor, fake substitute for beer, time was running out, his contact was already an hour late. Outside, the wind battered the neon-lit alleyway, carrying with it the hum of distant hovercrafts and the occasional shouts of late-night vendors. Lando’s mind raced through contingency plans, wondering whether his backup escape route through the kitchen’s service hatch would still be clear if things went sideways. He tightened his grip on his beer, determined to see the job through, no matter how many eyes might be watching from the shadows.

Time was slipping by another beer and in a half hour he would have to leave and try the second and last rendezvous location. He needed the Glockenspeil, nothing else could read the crystal, the map could only get him so close, and a lifetime of searching could prove to be fruitless.

He scanned the faces around the grimy tavern, searching for a sign, a subtle gesture, a passphrase, anything that would betray an ally or a threat. The waitstaff moved with practiced indifference, but Lando knew better than to underestimate anyone in a place like this. Hidden motives often lurked beneath blank stares, and alliances could shift with the clink of a single coin.

Signaling the waiter for another drink, he noted he’d been here long enough for a shift change, it meant he’d have to settle his tab and start another.

He shifted uneasily in his seat, the tension in the room growing thicker with every passing minute. An old jukebox flickered in the far corner, its battered speakers quietly humming out a forgotten tune that only added to the sense of unease. Lando kept his eyes peeled for the telltale sign—a flick of a comm band, a coded knock, anything to break the monotony and signal that his wait was finally over. He knew that one wrong move could mean disaster, but the promise of the vault’s riches kept him anchored to his spot, refusing to give in to impatience or fear.

Setting the fresh beer down in front of him, the waiter indicated that this one was on the house. Before he could react, he could see Roco over at the far end of the bar and heading his way. Forcing himself to stay calm, he scanned the room once again noting Roco appeared to be alone.

Lando recalled the last piece of intel the old man had slipped him, something about a red carnation pinned to the lapel and a whispered phrase: "The tide turns at midnight." He replayed the words in his mind, dissecting their meaning as the minutes dragged on. Every detail mattered now, and he couldn’t afford to overlook the smallest clue. If the contact didn’t show, he’d have to risk approaching one of the regulars, gambling everything on instinct alone.

He could smell Roco, that pungent sulfurous odor. It was obvious the Simalarian hadn’t bathed in some time.

He toyed with the idea of slipping out quietly, disappearing into the chaos of the night, but something rooted him to the worn leather seat. The memory of the old man's warning echoed in his mind: trust was a rare commodity, more valuable than the credits tucked away in any vault. As Lando weighed his options, he forced himself to appear relaxed, masking the coiled tension beneath a veneer of boredom, while his senses remained sharply attuned to every movement in the tavern.

Sliding into the seat on the opposite side of the table top Roco commented, “So…Lando we finally meet after all this time, and we have some unfinished business to attend to. It’s a shame I’m here by my lonesome but I believe I have the necessary incentive to hold your interest until we board my shuttle.”

Looking down Lando spotted the laser pistol carefully concealed by his hands. He’d have to think fast, the table was fastened securely to the floor, but the top had some wiggle to it. He needed to buy a few moments, get Roco to relax thinking he had the upper hand. “Roco, we don’t have any unfinished business between us,” he noted with a decided edge in his voice.

“Our business concluded when you took off and left me on Rigel-14 with just enough funds to get home! As I recall you owe me over two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand credits.” The heat of his anger notable in his voice.

“Ah, well you see,” Roco sighed, you were supposed to cut me in on the Stelaris job, My sources tell me you pulled that one off single handedly. That job netted you nearly a million credits. More to the point, the Benarians are pissed and the price on your head will go far to assuage my sorrows.”

Leaning back against the booth, Lando took a moment to truly look at Roco. By nature, Simalarian’s are empaths, they are healers and comforters, doers of good deeds. How in the heck Roco became so twisted was beyond him. Plenty warned him against doing ‘business’ with him. That he’d only come out the worst for it, mentally kicking himself for not listening. As repulsive as he smelled, he’d win no prizes in a beauty contest. It looked as in a troll mated with bull frog. Short in stature, bulging eyes, a mouth that could swallow a dinner plate whole, his slimy skin when agitated gave of that noxious odor. He couldn’t have been more than a meter and a half tall. And judging by the hairpiece, he had to be nearly bald, a sure sign that his best days were behind him.

Lando’s jaw clenched, but he forced a crooked smile. “If the Benarian’s want me, they’ll have to do better than sending you. Besides, you know as well as I do that nobody walks out of this place with their skin intact if they start shooting.” He let his gaze flicker briefly to the door, measuring the distance, calculating. “So, what’s it going to be, Roco? Are you going to hand me over, or are we going each of go about our own ways?

Roco’s lips curled into a thin smirk, his eyes never leaving Lando’s face. “Let’s not be too hasty,” he replied, voice low. “There are options here, and maybe—for old time’s sake, I might reconsider my approach. But first, I want to hear your side of the story about Stelaris. Convince me there’s something in it for both of us and maybe we walk out together.”

Lando hesitated, weighing whether to reveal everything or hold back just enough to keep Roco curious. He leaned forward, careful to keep his hands visible, and spoke in a measured tone. “The Stelaris job wasn’t as clean as you think. There are still pieces in play, hidden caches, loose ends. Maybe there’s a way we both come out ahead, but it depends on several factors.”

He watched Roco closely, searching for any sign of softening in those bulbous eyes, knowing his next words could tip the balance between survival and betrayal. It was a gamble, a gamble to buy a few precious moments, to give him time.

“Why don’t you give me an outline of the issues that confront you, perhaps two heads and a fresh look at those loose ends might devise a path forward…Humm?” Roco was enjoying watching Lando squirm in his seat. Humans were always so simple he thought, to string along, play with them as one of their felines might with a mouse. And when the time was right, take what he wanted and just maybe, leave him stranded. Until he could be useful again.

Lando drew a steady breath, wanting to ask Roco if he carried toilet paper with him to wipe his mouth from the lies he was telling. Carefully painting the picture with just enough detail to keep Roco hooked. “The main issue is trust. We’re both sitting here with reasons to doubt each other, and every move from here on out requires we cover our backs. Beyond that, the cache itself is protected by a biometric lock—one I can open, but only with the right sequence. The Benarians aren’t the only players circling; there’s also an Intergalactic Recovery team sniffing around since word leaked about the what the job paid out.” He kept his tone deliberate, hoping to make Roco focus on the complexity rather than the immediate prize. “If we pool our resources, we might dodge both the Benarians and the Recovery team, but it’ll take coordination.”

Signaling the waiter, Roco asked for another round. Lando knew he’d have to pace himself, the beer might be crap, but the alcohol content wasn’t. The Intergalactic Consortium was all things to everyone, ensuring all of the various species of sentient life played by the ‘rules’. As much as he had reason to be worried about Roco, in this last encounter with the Intergalactic Consortium, Lando knew his cover story was the thinnest possible and he barely escaped with a small ‘fine’ to the ‘Adjuster’.

Lando sipped his nearly empty drink, eyes narrowing as he considered the tangled web of alliances and grudges. “Before we move forward, we’ll need leverage, something to keep both the Benarians and the Consortium at bay. I might have a contact who can supply us with temporary clearance codes but getting them will require a risky side trip to the Nebula Markets.” He let that hang in the air, watching for any hint of interest or alarm from Roco.

He watched Roco as he pondered this latest wrinkle as the waiter returned with their drinks. Sometimes things move quickly, even in places like The Busted Pelican. This was a different waiter, tall, dark, and very handsome he noticed. Judging by the scruff on his face they were close in age, so taken with this handsome man he nearly missed the red carnation pinned to his lapel.

Lando's attention sharpened instantly; the carnation was no accident. It was a signal, a subtle cue only he would recognize, a sign that someone else was watching, and perhaps the stakes had just escalated. His pulse quickened, but he fought to keep his expression neutral, masking the storm of calculations behind his eyes. With practiced ease, he nudged his glass aside, silently acknowledging the new variable in the equation, all while trying to gauge whether Roco had noticed the flower or remained blissfully unaware of the shifting undercurrents.

Lando’s thoughts raced, weighing the possibilities and dangers the carnation signaled. He had seen this marker only once before, back on Callisto Station, right before a team of shadow brokers turned a simple exchange into a bloodbath. The presence of the flower meant the rules were shifting, and his margin for error had evaporated. He glanced at Roco, searching for any flicker of recognition or alarm, but the other man kept his gaze fixed on the drinks, seemingly oblivious to the coded warning. Lando knew he had to tread carefully now, every word and gesture carrying the potential for survival, or disaster.

With his nerves taut as wire, Lando steadied his breathing, recalling the protocols for these situations. The carnation’s appearance could mean backup was incoming, or that a hostile third party now had eyes on their meeting—either way, improvisation was no longer optional. He shifted subtly, angling his body to keep both the waiter and Roco in peripheral view, mentally preparing contingency plans as the tension at the table thickened.

Time seemed to condense as everything seemed to happen in slow motion. As the waiter finished setting the drinks on the table a hypo pen appeared in his hand, and just as quickly was pressed against Roco’s neck.

There was a split second of utter silence, broken only by the faint hiss of the device. Roco’s eyes went wide with surprise and outrage, his hand half-rising to ward off the attack, but already his movements were sluggish. The effect was immediate—whatever was in that hypo pen was fast-acting, and Lando registered the chance for what it was: a window, narrow and fleeting. Instinct screamed at him to either bolt for the exit or press for information, but hesitation could be fatal. Around them, the ambient chatter in The Busted Pelican dulled, as if the very air itself sensed the balance of power shifting at their table.

Froken acting as if nothing untoward was going on, leaned forward as the hypo completed its delivery. It was a gamble, one he needed to take. The last instructions from his grandfather was to pass along the code words about the tide turning at midnight. He had committed the grainy image to memory; this was the person grandfather sent. Looking at the man sitting at the table he said, “The tide turns at midnight.”

It took a second for Lando to process and instinctively replied, “And lifts all boats.”

As the coded exchange hung in the air, Froken’s gaze flickered, confirming recognition. For a moment, the three men were locked in a silent triangle, each assessing the others anew. Lando felt the weight of new possibilities settling over him—whatever side Froken represented, he hadn't come as an enemy, at least not yet. The challenge now was to adapt, to see if the unexpected development could outweigh the threats that still prowled just beyond the edge of their table.

With some urgency in his voice Froken spoke to the need to move Rocco. He’d be compliant for another minute or so before the full effect took place. “Gentlemen, if you’d be so kind, the private dining room is this way. Please follow me if you will.”

Lando stood, masking his apprehension behind a veneer of calm. He slipped an arm under Roco’s shoulder, steadying him as the waiter, Froken led them past the din of the main bar and down a short, dimly lit corridor. Each step felt loaded, the muted hum of the restaurant now an insulating barrier between them and whatever lay ahead. The lighting grew softer, the walls adorned with faded nautical prints, giving the sense that they were stepping deeper into unknown territory.

Lando kept a tight hold on Roco, acutely aware of the limited time they had before the drug's influence fully took hold. The corridor's hush seemed to amplify every footfall, each echo a reminder that their path was being watched, possibly anticipated. He scanned for exits, for signs of surveillance, calculating how they might extricate themselves should the situation deteriorate further. Froken, moving with quiet authority, had already begun to check over his shoulder, confirming their privacy before unlocking a heavy wooden door at the corridor’s end.

Seeing a bed in the room Lando knew instantly what the room was used for, private assignations of the monetary kind. Laying Roco on the bed, Froken turned to Lando and said, “The old man you befriended was my grandfather. He knew his time was limited, years of trapsing the quadrant looking for rare archaeological finds took its toll.” With a husky voice, “Grandfather was appreciative of you seeing to his last years knowing he'd never survive the journey to Polonis Prime. Understanding that, he managed to send to me, the reader for the data crystal. The old fool had broken it down into its various components. The map you carry has the hidden instructions for reassembly.

Lando’s grip tightened on the folded slip of parchment tucked inside his jacket pocket, feeling the weight of its significance more than ever. Through veiled exchanges in dusty bazaars, cryptic transmissions, and coded messages, he’d pieced together fragments of the map, each segment a puzzle designed to keep the true path hidden from prying eyes. Now, with Froken’s revelation, clarity began to dawn. The instructions he’d gathered were not just hints, they were keys. Lando realized the map wasn’t meant to be reassembled by one alone; its reconstruction required trust and, perhaps, collaboration with those his grandfather had deemed worthy.

He glanced at Froken, a surge of begrudging respect stirring in his chest. It dawned on him that the old man’s careful planning had anticipated not only the dangers but also the necessity of forging bonds across uncertain divides. This was never a solitary mission; the pieces were meant to come together only through alliance and risk shared among trusted hands. As the tension in the room grew heavier, Lando understood that every choice from here would be a test, of loyalty, of deftness, and of whether he could place his faith in the grandson of his late friend. Someone who was awakening old, repressed urges.

While he never abused the hospitality of the old man, he never hid his sexuality. While living in that house, while he waited for the heat of his latest caper, the Stelaris job, one that had the Benarian’s tipping the quadrant upside down, he lived by his father’s code, one impressed at a very early age, “A good dog never shits in his own backyard.”

He remembered those days with a mixture of fondness and regret, the quiet evenings spent cataloging artifacts and sharing stories over cups of strong tea. There was a sense of belonging, a fleeting sanctuary from the chaos that always seemed just one step behind him.

Now, in this tense hush, Lando felt old instincts awaken, the ones honed during years of evasion and negotiation, skills that had kept him alive in the shifting loyalties of the quadrant. Every gesture, every word exchanged in this small, secretive room would shape not just their immediate escape, but the larger fate awaiting them after they left Polonis Prime. The stakes had never felt so personal, nor the trust required so fraught with uncertainty.

They needed to get off the planet and quickly, having arrived in a interplanetary shuttle, transport was a concern. The gamble was Roco, did he have his own transport?

He broke the silence first, voice low but steady. “So, what exactly does your grandfather expect of us now?” Lando asked, his gaze flicking between Froken and the limp form of Roco. The gravity of what had just been revealed settled between them, but beneath it, a flicker of hope, perhaps for resolution, or at least a way forward, began to grow. Froken’s eyes softened a fraction. “He wanted us to finish what he started. To trust one another, at least enough to see if the pieces fit.” The words hung in the candlelit air, a promise of cooperation that could become something else. Still, it was more than Lando had dared hope for when he walked into the bar that afternoon.

It was time to make some fast decisions, that they would have to work together if they wanted to survive the next few hours. “I hate to say it Froken, but we need to strip Roco, empty his pockets and see what we’ll find.

With tense efficiency, they moved to Roco's side, aware that every second counted. Lando gently patted down the man's coat and trousers, careful not to overlook any concealed compartments or hidden seams. Froken watched, his expression unreadable but his posture alert, ready to intervene if anything unexpected surfaced. As Lando began to empty Roco's pockets, he found a handful of credits, a battered comm device, and, tucked deep inside an inner lining, a slender piece of circuitry that looked out of place among the usual assortment of personal effects. It was the master key for Roco’s starship.

A rush of relief mingled with suspicion in Lando’s chest. He turned the circuitry over in his hands, inspecting it from all angles, while Froken leaned closer, brows knit in concentration. “Is that what I think it is?” Froken whispered, voice edged with urgency. Lando nodded, his mind already racing through the implications, if this really was the master key, it meant their window for escape had just cracked open, provided they could find and access Roco’s ship before anyone else caught on.

There was only the laser pistol for their defense, asking Froken if he knew anyplace they could get a bit more firepower before they left the building. Lando knew a bar, especially like The Busted Pelican, would have some equalizers in case of trouble. First they needed to ensure Rocco was down for the count, an adjustment to the hypo spray would see to that.

Leaving the room, Froken’s mind quickly piecing together possibilities. The regulars were rough, accustomed to dealing in favors and arms for the right price. Froken caught the eye of a familiar face behind the bar, a woman named Lelka who had a reputation for discreetly moving contraband. If anyone could supply them with additional firepower, it would be him, provided they could barter the right currency or secrets. Hesitating only for a moment, Froken whispered, “Let me handle this,” before heading toward Lelka, hoping he remembered old debts and a handful of credits.

Lando lingered near the doorway, watching Froken navigate the delicate barter with Lelka. The air in the bar was thick with tension, the hum of quiet conversations punctuated by the clink of glass and the low thrum of distant music. It seemed every patron sizing them up, aware that something was unfolding but uncertain of its shape. Lando kept his hand close to his coat pocket, fingers brushing the cold metal of the laser pistol, acutely aware of how little separated them from disaster.

The patrons weren’t fools, they knew the true purpose of the bar, a place where forbidden things could be bought or sold, including living, breathing flesh.

With every step and transaction, the line between business and complicity blurred further. Patrons had to move quickly and quietly, the wrong glance or careless word could bring the authorities, or worse, draw the attention of rival smugglers who’d relish a chance to profit from their desperation. The air tingled with possibility and risk, reminding Lando that in places like this, trust was more valuable, and more dangerous, than any weapon or coin.

Signaling for a break to the bar manager, Lelka had Lando and Froken discreetly as possible follow after her to another back room.

He weighed the odds, glancing once more at Froken, and felt a steely resolve settle over him. In moments like these, hesitation could be fatal; momentum was everything. As Froken negotiated, Lando scanned the room, memorizing exit routes and calculating the distance to where Roco’s docking card said the starship would be located. The plan was simple, secure the weapons, keep a low profile, and move fast before anyone else caught wind of their intentions. Every second spent in The Busted Pelican increased the risk but also sharpened their focus on the only thing that mattered: survival.

Lando wasn’t in any mood to prolong negotiations; time was of the essence. At best they had a couple of days before the ‘rent’ on the ‘bedroom’ they stashed Roco in would run out. And they needed to be as far form Polonis Prime as possible. But a data disk left in Roco’s hidden pocket, when found by the authorities would ensure Roco would be enjoying the hospitality of the Benarians.

Lando’s nerves were stretched thin, but he refused to let anxiety dictate his next move. He glanced at the battered key device again, wondering if Roco had set any silent alarms or contingencies. As Froken’s eyes flashed with a signal, Lelka was willing to deal, but wanted assurances they wouldn’t turn on her if things went sideways. Lando nodded in agreement, silently hoping their luck would hold long enough to get them out of this mess.

Lelka produced a tattered, beat-up old duffle bag easily a meter long. Judging by the way her arms were strained it wasn’t close to empty.

She set the bag down with a thud, the contents inside shifting with a metallic rattle. Lelka flipped the zipper open just enough for Lando and Froken to glimpse a scatter of gleaming weaponry, blasters, energy cells, and a few grenades tucked beneath a ratty blanket. “This is the best I’ve got on short notice,” she murmured, her eyes darting to the hallway. “You take it, and you forget my name.”

He reached into his coat for the compact data pad, double-checking the encrypted map Roco had left behind. If the coordinates were accurate, they’d have a narrow window to reach the ship before the next patrol cycled through the docks. Lando felt the weight of every decision pressing against him, one misstep, and they’d lose not only their chance at escape but possibly their lives.

Looking at the credits they had, augmented from emptying Rocco’s wallet and hidden pockets they were running short, just over half of what she was asking for. Letting out a sigh, “I know you have a line on someplace worth digging into. You wouldn’t be going through all of this just to find a place to hole up and canoodle. The bag is yours’” she continued, the harshness in her voice softened and looking at Lando, “ You take care of this boy, I’m fond of him, he’s a hard worker and keeps his nose clean. You bring back to me what you think this bag is worth, and we have a deal.”

Lando hesitated only a moment before sliding the bag closer with his boot, his mind racing through the checklist—weight, shape, the telltale jangle of energy cells. Froken, head bowed in apparent deference, kept one eye on Lelka and the other on the door, tracking the rhythm of footsteps outside that might mean trouble. Every movement was rehearsed, each gesture calculated not just for speed but for plausible deniability if things fell apart. The three shared a brief look, silent confirmation that there was no turning back now; the deal was struck, and their escape depended on the docks before the patrols did their sweep.

Adrenaline buzzed through Lando’s veins as he slung the duffle bag over his shoulder, feeling the burden of trust and expectation settle along with the weight. Froken gave a barely perceptible nod, and Lelka’s gaze lingered a second longer, as if memorizing their faces just in case. I have a friend here; he’ll bring you to the dockyards. Just show him the docking card and he’ll know where to take you. Just be sure to show your appreciation when he drops you off.

Outside the back room, the muffled roar of patrons and clinking glasses reminded them that the world was still turning, indifferent to their gamble. With the plan set and the cargo in hand, every step toward the alley would test their resolve and the fragile alliances they’d forged in the shadow of The Busted Pelican.

********

For those who made a living in and around the dockyards on Polonis Prime, there are the official points of entry, and those points of entry that are a bit less known. Every facility such as this one transshipped ‘delicate’ cargo and packages. Where entry was on a wink and a nod basis, favors exchanged for favors returned.

As they exited into the narrow alley, the neon haze painted sharp shadows across cracked pavement, every echo a possible threat. The friend Lelka mentioned, a wiry man with a patchy beard, waited by a battered hovercart, eyes scanning for trouble. Lando handed over the docking card without a word; the man nodded, motioning them aboard with brisk efficiency. With each block they crossed, the tension mounted, but so did their sense of hope, the docks were almost within reach, and so was their chance to slip away before anyone realized what they’d taken.

Once in the dockyard properly there was little chance of trouble and no one would bother them, provided Roco had come alone. The irony was that starships had to be standardized across the quadrant, too many unique civilizations to allow for individuality in starship design. There was much money to be made outfitting new neighbors to star travel.

Economy in scale from ship design to spaceports and dockyards ensured, actually prevented catastrophic accidents. The vast majority of starships were meant to be flown autonomously as cargo transports. And there were those which could ferry tourists, miners, settlers to new untapped planets. And then those like Roco’s were outfitted for many different purposes. And before they knew it as they came around a corner, they were in with a nudge and a wink.

Even as they moved deeper into the dockyard’s labyrinth, the uneasy alliance between the them held firm. Flickers of light from nearby welding torches cast surreal patterns on the walls, briefly illuminating faces obscured by tension and grit. Somewhere in the distance, a siren blared, a reminder that their window for slipping aboard the ship was closing fast, and every second counted.

While the hovercart hummed quietly beneath them, Froken kept a hand wrapped around the bag’s strap, ready for anything. The air was thick with anticipation, every distant shout or mechanical hiss adding another layer of unease. Lando glanced at the encrypted map again, mentally plotting their route as they made their way through the maze of freight containers and service tunnels.

A row over a dockyard patrol had swarmed a starship along with customs enforcers. It boded well that they would be occupied as they progressed towards their destination. Shortly after their driver slowed to a stop, inserted their docking card into a handheld scanner. “All is good friends of Lelka, the card shows just one person brought it in. While it has clearance codes for departure, there are two things you will need to do.

In your bag is a new ships transponder. Once you are cleared to depart and pass the first moon, unplug the ships transponder and quickly plug the new one in giving you a new identity. You can then travel as you wish and go where you want without hassle from officious bureaucrats, and the ships computer will assign new identities. The second thing you must do is to eject the old transporter out the garbage disposal.

As they pulled up to Roco’s starship the driver had one request as they went to pay him. “Friends of Lelka, my deal is the same as Lelka’s. When you come back, you can pay me what you think this ride was worth. I wish you safe travels between the stars.” And handed the docking card back.

Roco nodded appreciatively, sensing the urgency and camaraderie that colored these exchanges. The process was routine yet carried the weight of trust built over these quiet dealings and shared risks. As the two prepared to board, a fleeting moment of relief washed over them, knowing the hardest part might now be behind.

Roco nodded, grateful for the gesture, and tucked the docking card securely inside his jacket. The trio exchanged brief glances, understanding that their fortunes now depended on keeping a low profile and moving quickly. Shadows shifted as another patrol passed nearby, but the driver’s confidence seemed to shield them, at least for now. With the procedure for swapping the transponder clear, they stepped onto the ramp, acutely aware that every action, every hesitation, now the difference between success or failure.

Entry to the ship went off without a hitch. Entering the docking card into the main navigation console, the ship began to power up. From this point forward, until they passed the first moon all systems were automatic and governed by the dockyard. Data on the docking card showed that the minor repair to the auxiliary thrusters was completed and the starship was cleared for takeoff.

Froken double-checked the contents of the bag, feeling the cool metal of the new transponder and the faint hum of the emergency beacon nestled beside it. Lando, meanwhile, initiated a silent diagnostic on the ship’s systems, ensuring no lingering traces of their previous identities remained in the logs. The hum of the engines grew steadier, echoing the resolve that bound them together for this escape.

Liftoff was imperceptible, just the sounds of the docking clamps releasing along with the dockyards umbilical. There was a noticeable hum as ships power came up, and environmental systems kicked in.

As the ship's interior lights flickered to life, a low vibration signaled the final systems check. They exchanged tense smiles, each acutely aware of the stakes. With the ship sealed and launch protocols engaged, a sense of cautious optimism replaced the earlier anxiety, fueling their determination to see the plan through. The soft glow from the console screens painted their faces with blue and green hues, underscoring the high-tech environment that now sheltered their hopes and secrets.

Outside the viewport, the dockyard's labyrinth of activity receded into a blur of lights and distant shadows. Lando took a steadying breath, feeling the transition from ground-bound uncertainty to the fragile freedom offered by open space. Every beep and status update felt like a small victory, each confirming that their ruse remained undetected and their plan intact.

********

Shortly after passing the first moon, having replaced the transponder and emergency beacon they found a hidden second silent transponder. One that would only activate when a coded message was sent over an obscure frequency. A thorough inspection of the rest of the ships systems failed to turn up any more.

Despite the tension that lingered over them, their teamwork proved invaluable during these crucial hours. Each small task, whether recalibrating navigation or monitoring the distant patrol signals, became a collective effort, building trust as they settled into the rhythm of flight. The silence aboard the ship was punctuated only by soft exchanges, veiled and cautious, as they navigated the early stages of escape with measured confidence.

They had been looking at the clues on the map and the hidden instructions to rebuild the Glockenspeil so they could read the data crystal. Once they believed they had it assembled, they tested it against a spare navigation star chart data crystal. It worked much to their delight, and they found themselves hugging. Froken held on to Lando as he tried to pull away, his lips crashing onto Lando’s. The warmth of the embrace lingered long after they separated, infusing the command center with an unspoken intimacy that made the silence between them feel less daunting and more like a quiet promise. Their recent success with the device gave them a rare moment to savor hope, each drawing strength from the other’s presence as they prepared for the next uncertain phase of their journey.

For the next several days maintained a disciplined silence, each absorbed in their own tasks to reinforce their new identities. Froken rechecked navigation parameters against the coded instructions, while Lando monitored external sensors for any irregularities that might betray their altered signature. The ship’s artificial gravity hummed steadily, a reassuring sign that, at least for now, everything was proceeding according to plan.

Occasionally, distant chatter from other ships communications would filter in, hinting at traffic and dockyard activity far beyond their immediate concern. Still, they remained focused, relying on silent gestures and the subtle interplay of newly practiced routines to keep their true intentions concealed. The weight of the anticipation pressed against them, yet every completed step fostered a growing sense of shared purpose.

Late one evening, as Froken recalibrated the device yet again, a faint anomaly flickered across the ship’s sensor readouts. Lando caught it immediately, his fingers flying over the controls to isolate the signal. They exchanged a silent glance, both recognizing the possibility of a probe scanning for vessels with altered transponder signatures. Tension spiked, but their synchronized efforts quickly masked any irregularities before the signal faded as abruptly as it appeared. Relief washed over them, though they knew it wouldn’t be the last test of their resolve.

From the old map Lando had, they had been able to ascertain the general direction they had needed to head towards. From deciphered vague clues as to what they were seeking, the last remnants of a civilization that vanished millennia’s ago. That these ancients themselves were travelers among the stars, leaving the both of them wondering what could have forced the demise of such peoples.

That night, as the ship glided through the quiet void, Froken studied the crystal’s etched patterns, tracing their lines in the low light. Lando joined him, both considering the implications of what they might discover. According to the decoded instructions the time was nearing to insert the data crystal into the Glockenspeil. A sense of awe tempered their apprehension, knowing that the answers hidden within the data could reshape their understanding of history and of themselves. The unknown destination ahead seemed less like a threat and more like an invitation, beckoning them to uncover secrets long buried by time.

Tension was building as they neared the far edges of their quadrant, unexplored space consisting of multiple galaxies. The time was nearing to take that last step; everything now had been the fortune of chance, that they had made it so far was testament to their perseverance and the roll of fate’s dice.

With all preparations complete, they gathered in front of the navigation array, the data crystal glowing faintly in Froken’s hand. The air felt charged with anticipation, every movement deliberate as Lando verified the sequence one last time. Together, they slid the crystal into its slot, holding their breath as the device powered up and a cascade of encrypted symbols began to scroll across the display. For an instant, the cabin was bathed in pale blue light, the ancient script casting shifting patterns on their faces, a silent message from a civilization lost to memory, waiting to be understood.

********

Lando looked up from the navigation screen, pressing a button as the hologram began floating in the middle of the ships cabin.

“If you look at this Froken, it’s a map of the stars nearly three thousand years ago,” as he excitedly pointed out several familiar star clusters. “I think what your grandfather was trying to tell us, in the clues he left behind, was to overlap our current star map to see how things had moved!” His excitement clearly visible as he gestured to various points.

“Bringing up our current holocharts now Lando, I think we need to let the computer adjust for the differences and see if a course can be plotted to the location grandfather indicated.”

With a few deft commands, the ship’s computer began overlaying the ancient star map with the present-day chart, lines and coordinates shifting as epochs of stellar movement were calculated in real time. Slowly, a highlighted path emerged, connecting points that had altered over untold centuries but still formed a recognizable route. Froken’s breath caught as a new, uncharted system blinked at the intersection, a possible remnant of the civilization they sought. Both watched as the computer mapped a trajectory, their destination suddenly tangible, no longer just a distant hope but a real place waiting to be discovered.

For a moment, neither spoke, captivated by the implications of their discovery. The blinking coordinates on the map seemed to pulse with promise, as if inviting them forward. Lando’s fingers hovered over the controls, and Froken nodded, determination sparking in his eyes. With the course set, the ship adjusted its heading, engines humming softly as they prepared to venture into the unknown. Each wondered silently what mysteries and challenges awaited them on the path ahead, knowing that with the crystal’s guidance, they were closer than ever to unlocking the secrets of a long-lost world.

As the last coordinates snapped into place, a low chime resonated through the cabin, signaling that the navigation solution had finally resolved. The path illuminated before them felt almost surreal, each waypoint a ghostly echo from a forgotten era, now guiding their course through the star-studded abyss. They exchanged a glance filled with both trepidation and exhilaration, realizing the magnitude of the journey they were about to undertake. One that would take them to the furthest reaches of the galaxy known as Orion’s Rim.

********

With the destination now revealed and the last pieces of the puzzle aligning, a wave of awe washed over them. It wasn’t just the promise of discovery that compelled them onward, it was the sense that every decision, every risk, had led them precisely to this moment. The unknown system glimmered on the display, a beacon amid the darkness, urging them to embrace the uncertainties ahead. As the ship surged forward, hope and curiosity mingled, forging a bond that would carry them through whatever awaited in the depths of their discovery.

Outside the cabin, the vast expanse of Orion’s Rim sparkled through the observation port as they drew closer, its swirling nebulae and scattered star fields hinting at both danger and promise. The hum of the ship’s systems blended with the quiet anticipation that filled the room, underscoring the gravity of their decision. As Froken and Lando settled into their respective stations, a silent understanding passed between them, the threshold they were crossing would mark the beginning of a story no one had ever told, with each star ahead a page waiting to be written.

Somewhere in one of the approaching star clusters was a planet, the one they were looking for, the one that held the answers to the quest that began so long ago with grandfather’s coming across the map and data crystal.

As the ship slipped into the calculated trajectory, Froken adjusted the viewing scope to bring the mysterious system into sharper focus. The stars seemed to shift and dance, their unique patterns echoing the stories Froken had heard as a child, whispers of civilizations lost, and technologies forgotten. Lando quietly recalibrated the sensors, hoping to catch the smallest hint of artificial signals or anomalies that might confirm their suspicions. Every detail mattered now, as they ventured bravely toward a world veiled in legend and possibility.

Despite the growing sense of urgency and anticipation, it was time to slow down and investigate the neighborhood. It didn’t make sense to go charging in blindly, there were several planets that could support life, and to run up against another, smaller spacefaring civilization would greatly upset the best of their plans.

With caution guiding their every move, Froken initiated a detailed scan of the nearby planets, searching for biosignatures, water sources, and energy readings that might indicate intelligent life. Lando cross-referenced the sensor data with the ship’s historical archives, determined to avoid any diplomatic missteps that could arise from unexpected contact. Their approach was deliberate and measured, each step taken with respect for the unknown and an understanding of the stakes involved.

While Froken was running the planetary scans, Lando began to check out the weapon systems. The ship’s best defense was it’s speed. Roco spared no expense on outfitting his ship. There were a few modifications cleverly hidden in plain sight that would give Roco the means to leave the scene of the crime, quickly should things go sour.

There were changes to the ship’s weapon systems as well. While the firepower they could bring to bear could give them the ability to deliver a few quick, punishing blows, they wouldn’t allow them to withstand a protracted engagement. Another ‘improvement’ Roco had installed was an illegally concealed stealth system. Using it, the ships computer noted would affect the speed they could travel.

The delicate balance between stealth and velocity weighed heavily on their minds. Lando toggled through the ship's interface, watching as the diagnostics mapped out the trade-offs: enabling the stealth field would veil their presence from most sensors, but at the cost of maneuverability and precious escape speed. Froken glanced up from the scan data, catching Lando’s eye, a silent question passing between them. Was the risk of discovery greater than the need for a quick getaway?

After a moment’s hesitation, Lando switched the stealth system to standby, ready to activate it at the slightest sign of trouble. Froken double-checked the external sensor sweeps, ensuring that nothing, no stray transmission or energy surge, would go unnoticed. They operated in near silence, their actions coordinated by mutual trust. The ship glided quietly on its approach, every system poised for whatever the uncharted world might reveal.

As the minutes ticked by, faint readings began to emerge on the monitors, subtle fluctuations in the background radiation, and a curious spike in the infrared spectrum that hinted at geothermal activity on one of the nearer planets. Froken magnified the image, contrasting it against the star chart, picking out the faint glimmer of city-like grids beneath cloud cover. The ship’s computer flagged the anomaly, correlating it with unusual atmospheric patterns and a faint, repeating transmission just at the edge of detectability. Both explorers felt their pulse quicken; this could be the breakthrough they had been searching for, or the first sign of an encounter they were not prepared for.

After a brief discussion it was decided to park on the largest moon orbiting the planet, giving them time to survey the surface and the ship a bit of rest.

Froken initiated an atmospheric scan, focusing on the planet’s weather systems and surface composition, while Lando monitored for any electromagnetic signatures that might suggest active technology. The data trickled in slowly, painting a picture of a world both familiar and alien—patches of dense forest, winding river systems, and strange, geometric patterns embedded in the terrain. They exchanged a tense glance as the computer isolated a region where the repeating transmission originated, its cadence suggesting purposeful design rather than natural phenomena.

They’d come so far not to rush into carelessness. It was time for the ship’s computer and AI to puzzle out what they were seeing. They’d been operating in little and scant rest, neither getting a good night’s sleep. Standing up, Lando walked over to Froken’s station, noticing how absorbed he was in the reams of incoming data, it was time, heck, it was well past time they explored their feelings towards each other. An hour, a day, or even a week away from their stations wouldn’t affect them at all.

Lando hesitated, then broke the silence with a gentle, uncertain laugh. “We’ve been dodging danger together for so long, I think we deserve a moment to just be ourselves.” Froken looked up, his expression softening, and nodded in agreement. For the first time since their journey began, the prospect of quiet companionship felt more vital than any sensor reading or tactical maneuver. As they powered down the nonessential systems, the hum of the ship faded into comforting background noise, allowing space for long-suppressed feelings to surface. In the quiet moonlight, they found themselves ready to rediscover what had been buried beneath duty and distance.

Lando hesitated, the tension between duty and desire settling into the quiet hum of the ship. The cosmos outside might be teeming with unknowns, but inside their small vessel, the mysteries were no less profound. Froken finally turned from the console, his expression softening, and for a moment, the world they’d come to explore faded into the background as they faced each other, the weight of unspoken words bridging the space between them. Walking over to Lando, placing his hands on his shoulders, and with a gentle, tentative kiss, turned the both of them towards their shared sleeping quarters.

At last, the boundaries they’d upheld for so long quietly dissolved, replaced by a genuine sense of connection. They let the silence of space cradle them, hearts slowly opening to the possibility of something more than mere survival or a fortune to be discovered. The uncertainty of the world beyond their ship lingered, but for now, that uncertainty was no longer theirs alone to bear.

********

He couldn’t place the alert a first, in the space between deep sleep and a waking awareness, he thought it was his morning alarm. What in his dream like state he thought was his morning alarm, he reached out to shut it off only to find his arm was blocked by something, no…somebody was blocking his path. And his legs intertwined with whoever was sharing his bed.

He blinked, disoriented, as the soft light of the cabin filtered through the half-closed hatch. The persistent alert finally cut through the fog of sleep, demanding his attention just as he became acutely aware of Froken’s arm draped securely across his chest. Lando shifted slightly, careful not to wake him, as the reality of their changed relationship settled in, a quiet comfort against the uncertainty outside.

Lando blinked into the dim light, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar warmth pressed against his side. Pieces of the night before flickered through his mind, shared laughter, gentle touch, the comfort he'd long denied himself. As reality settled in, he realized the alarm was not a warning or an intrusion alarm, but of new information to review and digest, and as he turned to see Froken beside him, a sense of calm overcame the remnants of his groggy bewilderment.

Despite his best effort, in trying to disentangle himself from Froken, it was all for naught as he was pulled closer. Running his fingers through Froken’s hair and for a fleeting moment, Lando considered ignoring the alert altogether, clinging to the rare peace they’d found. But the persistent tone carried a sense of urgency that couldn’t be dismissed. He drew a deep breath, relishing the simple intimacy, before finally extricating himself and sliding from the bunk, mindful not to disturb Froken’s restful slumber. With a final glance at the quiet vulnerability on Froken’s sleeping face, Lando padded barefoot across the cabin, steeling himself to face whatever the universe was sending them next.

It was for lack of better words, all systems go. The planet below had standard gravity, a breathable atmosphere and no signs of intelligent, bipedal life. There were scattered animal lifeforms, from mammalian to avian and life in the waters. On the whole, it would seem there would be no conflicts so long as they stuck with the plan. A plan yet to be fully developed, and that was a concern, just where they would

find the supposed treasure that brought them all this way. This job, all the way out on the furthest edges of Orion’s Rim was more than he ever thought it would be.

As he studied the cabin’s control panel, a new display flickered to life, lines of unfamiliar code scrolling across the screen. Lando squinted, trying to make sense of the cryptic symbols—some looked almost like letters, but others were entirely alien. The ship’s AI chimed in softly, “Incoming data packet matches the transmission source. Preliminary analysis suggests encoded instructions.” Lando’s pulse quickened; another puzzle, another invitation to unravel the secrets of this world. He glanced back at Froken, as he felt his arms wrap around him, feeling the delicate balance between their newfound closeness and the persistent call of exploration. A quick peck on the lips, ready to decode whatever mysteries awaited them.

Lando paused at the console, scanning the preliminary planetary data while his mind wandered to the night’s quiet revelations. The world below shimmered with promise, untouched and wild once again, its surface marked by broad forests, winding rivers, and misty mountain ranges. He made a mental note to suggest a survey of the northern valley, where mineral readings hinted at something unusual. What they were missing Froken noted, was the lack of any discernible structures to go with the grid-like patterns the had noted earlier.

The ship’s AI chimed in with the announcement that the translation was now complete, it was a greeting, “I think we’d best take this in the main cabin,” Froken noted. Lando agreed and quickly saving the relevant schematics and data, his curiosity now firmly awake. Together, they walked quietly to the main cabin, the gentle hum of the ship underscoring their anticipation. Froken glanced at him, a trace of nervous excitement in his eyes, as they prepared to interpret the greeting and unravel the next step in their journey.

As they settled into the main cabin, the console projected a shimmering holographic glyph above the table—a stylized spiral surrounded by intricate geometric shapes. For a moment, neither spoke, captivated by the evident purpose behind the transmission. Lando reached out to adjust the focus, revealing subtle shifts in color that hinted at layers of meaning embedded within the design. He exchanged a thoughtful glance with Froken, both recognizing that this greeting was more than a simple message; it was a message of a lost world and civilization.

Lando tapped a command, letting the AI project the decoded message onto the main display. The screen shimmered, then resolved into a simple phrase: “Welcome, seekers. You stand at the threshold.” Both of them stared, absorbing the implication that an arrival had been anticipated, perhaps orchestrated, by an intelligence no longer seen. For a moment, the air in the main cabin felt electric with wonder, as if every choice they made from this point forward would open doors or close them forever.

The screen flickered again as it went dark the cabin lights dimmed and a hologram glimmered into life. As the hologram took its final shape They looked on in astonishment. “Please bear with me as I link with your ship’s AI to ensure our last message is clearly understood.”

Froken grasped Lando’s hand, griping it firmly. “I get a sense of unease here; did you see the expression of sadness on that face?”

Concerned Lando replied, “Something isn’t right here, I’m feeling a sense of loss, something just doesn’t feel right.” As the hologram took shape again.

Soft, melodic tones accompanied the hologram’s re-formation, the light shimmering with a poignant blue hue. This time, the figure before them seemed almost translucent, its features etched with a deep sorrow. Patterns along its cloak shifted like ripples across a pond, echoing a history weighed down by regret and hope in equal measure. A soft, resonant voice echoed through the cabin, layered with echoes of countless generations: “Our world’s legacy is entrusted to you, not as a burden, but as a beacon of hope, our legacy. We ask only that you remember.” Froken grasped Lando’s hand once again, their apprehension mingling now with an overwhelming sense of responsibility for whatever would come next.

We are the Argulan, once a proud space-faring species. It has taken a moment for this message to become compatible with your systems and language. Our time in this universe ended some three thousand years ago, in your measurements. Like you, we were a curious, driven to explore species as our technology allowed us to. We were proud and self-assured, indominable. There was nowhere we could not go or conflict we could not overcome.

As we explored the worlds in this sector we found many who were on the way to interstellar travel, but they were not and could not pose a threat to us, we simply observed and kept records of our discoveries. It was when we explored even further still believing there was nothing, no challenge we could surmount.

How wrong we were. Where you have divided the space around you into quadrants, we were exploring far beyond that, stretching ourselves to the very limits of what was possible. We were convinced that we were at the epoch of what was possible. Where you measure distances in light years and have not yet mastered the technology to travel those distances, we were able to, much to our everlasting regret and demise.

We weren’t alone nor invincible and the Qaburs soon disabused us of that notion. It was in the vast unknown, beyond the mapped and familiar regions, that we encountered forces and phenomena we could neither comprehend them nor withstand. Unyielding mysteries tested the limits of our understanding, and our greatest advances became our undoing. What began as triumph soon gave way to humility, as we realized the cosmos held secrets meant to be approached not with arrogance, but with caution, reverence and care.

We thought we could deal with the Qaburs from a superior position of strength, not realizing they were every bit our match and possibly better. There wasn’t any negotiation or communication with them. They were a rapacious species and their armaments formidable.

Despite our achievements, we failed to recognize that knowledge without wisdom can lead to peril. The Qaburs challenged everything we believed about our place in the cosmos, forcing us to confront truths we were unprepared to accept. Our civilization’s fall was sudden—it was not a gradual unraveling brought about by our refusal to heed the signs before us. In the aftermath, we understood that survival depended not on domination, but on respect for the forces beyond our grasp.

How it started is beyond conjecture, was it an error in judgement, a stumble, or a response to a significant threat, we will never know. Their warship opened fire and we responded. In our response we matched blow for blow. A message was sent to our leaders on Argulan as we were in what you would call a dogfight. In short order a fleet would join us giving our mastery of what is called faster than light transport.

As we fought we managed to land a few significant blows to their ship and we played a game of cat and mouse as we followed their wounded ship. Mind you, they were still able to bloody our nose. As we got closer to their home world, we could see the damage their actions had on the worlds around them. Countless habitable planets had been, for all purposes, destroyed, stripped of anything of value.

Their home fleets raced to join the ship we had been fighting with as ours joined us. What had been a ship-to-ship action now was two powerful fleets going after each other with everything both had. As more of our ships entered the fray the tide was turning. We kept broadcasting a willingness to cease hostilities, and the response was for their ships to irrationally target our ships on suicide runs. In the end it was simply carnage. While our losses were high, we would survive. Inexplicably, when their tactics against us failed they broke off combat and turned towards their home world. What followed was horrifying and by the time it was over, the planet was a burning husk as the rest of their fleets joined them in the inferno.

Everywhere we went in this part of the universe, wherever we found the presence of the Qaburs they had self-destructed. Our mission was to find and capture any that remained alive. After many unsuccessful efforts we were able to capture the crew of a small research vessel. Having failed at crash landing the crew was stunned and unable to offer any resistance.

What knowledge we gathered from the captured crew was unsettling. Their accounts spoke of a society shaped by endless conflict and a relentless drive for resource extraction, a culture where self-destruction became the last act of defiance. Our scientists worked tirelessly to decipher their technology and language, hoping to glean insights that might prevent a similar fate for others. Yet, in every analysis, we found evidence of a civilization that, much like ours, had once believed itself untouchable, only to be undone by its own excesses.

Placed in isolation we monitored the captured crew, they were kept in light restraints as given the chance, their capacity for self-harm was too great to ignore. Given time we were able to communicate with them in their own language. They were intransigent, unwilling to consider any other point of view. The inculcation was too great to overcome.

The more we learned, the more we realized that our adversaries were not monsters, but the tragic products of a history shaped by desperation and fear. Even in captivity, their actions were driven by instincts deeply rooted in survival and suspicion, making any attempt at reconciliation nearly impossible, that death was preferable, to die before dishonor. Yet, witnessing their unwavering resolve and the scars of their civilization forced us to reflect on our own choices and vulnerabilities. In their story, we saw a mirror of our potential future…a cautionary tale of what might become if vigilance is replaced by hubris and compassion is abandoned for conquest.

Somewhere there was a breach in protocols in dealing with these four Qaburs. They had stopped eating when they realized the depths of their plight. They assumed that they would learn from us, find a weakness to exploit, it was their only hope. When the reality of the situation was painfully clear that death was their only option. As the first started to fail, our containment fields were breached in an effort to save that dying soul.

It was then we caught the virus.

There wasn’t a cure and it had spread far and wide, long before we discovered it two of your years later. Within a year half later the planet was dead, it had spread to our fellow citizens living off world or serving in our fleets and interstellar ships. It was engineered to hide in plain sight and by the time we developed a vaccine it was too late. The uncontaminated few were now immune, but there was less than a dozen of us. Our world had ceased to be. We would never reach that lofty pinnacle ever again. We have committed ourselves to stasis pods, how long we last is anyone’s guess.

Our story, therefore, is both a warning and a hope. In the face of the unknown, we urge you to tread carefully, to value curiosity tempered by humility. Let your discoveries build bridges, not barriers, and remember that true wisdom lies in knowing the limits of your power. With this message, we entrust you with our greatest lessons, may your journey be guided by caution, empathy, and the unwavering pursuit of understanding.

********

The hologram flickered out, the only sounds in the command center was the sounds of the ship as it went about its normal routine. Both Lando and Froken sat there trying to comprehend what they had witnessed. As the hologram spoke, all around him were scenes of what he spoke of, haunting images of ruined cities, desperate faces, and the silent drift of empty ships through space, the rise and fall of the Argulan’s, the worlds discovered and the growth of their technology.

The silence that followed was heavy, as if the very air in the command center mourned the loss described. Lando finally broke the quiet, his voice barely above a whisper, “We have to make sure we don’t repeat their mistakes. Just what have we discovered?.”

Froken nodded, “We need to figure out where in that valley the beacon is coming from. I’ve scanned our surroundings, nothing untoward turns up. We need to get closer to the surface.”

“We need to have the atmosphere and the surface air scanned, and analyzed, to confirm that the virus is no longer present.” Lando noted as his fingers flew over the console at the science station.

For a long moment, neither spoke, each lost in the enormity of what the message implied. The weight of the Argulan’s history pressed upon them, the stark reminder that even the greatest civilizations could fall victim to their own flaws. Lando finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper, “Do you think there’s anything left for us to learn from them?” Froken, eyes still fixed on the fading glow of the holoprojector, replied, “Perhaps the lesson is not just in what they lost, but in how we choose to move forward, together.”

********

Systems were repeatedly checked and recalibrated. The planet was scanned again, focusing on the northern valley where valuable minerals and the signal originated. As the minutes stretched, the ship's systems hummed quietly, their sounds suddenly seeming foreign in the wake of the revelation. Froken adjusted the sensor array, determination flickering in him gaze. “If there’s anything to be salvaged from Argulan knowledge, we’ll find it,” he said softly, resolute. Lando offered a faint nod, the gravity of their mission settling between them like a silent pact ,they would proceed with care, armed now with the wisdom and warnings of a fallen world.

The command center’s dim lighting played across their faces, highlighting the tension and uncertainty lingering in the air. Froken took a slow breath, glancing at the environmental readouts that blinked steadily on the console. “We should prepare a secondary containment protocol, just in case. No risks, no matter how small,” he said, his words steady but edged with caution. Lando nodded in agreement, beginning to outline a plan that would keep the them safe while they investigated further.

It was time as the ship gently lifted off the moon, and shortly after enter the planet’s atmosphere. The scans continued, a faint tremor pulsed through the ship’s hull, an almost imperceptible shudder that made both exchanged wary glances. Lando leaned closer to the console, watching for anomalies, while Froken activated additional sensors to detect any changes in the valley’s atmosphere.

The external cameras revealed a scarred landscape, dotted with the remnants of ancient structures barely visible beneath the shifting dust and overgrowth. The valley sprawled below, the secrets hidden beneath layers of history and ruin. Froken adjusted the ship’s trajectory, voice steady as he announced, “Approaching the signal’s coordinates. I’m switching to manual piloting for the final descent.”

Lando monitored the bio-readouts, noting subtle fluctuations in atmospheric composition. “Keep the filters at maximum sensitivity,” he advised, eyes narrowed in concentration. Both knew that every precaution mattered, and as the planet’s surface loomed closer, a sense of anticipation mingled with unease filled the command center, questioning what their next steps would reveal answers, or awaken dangers long forgotten.

As the ship descended, the valley’s terrain grew sharper in detail, revealing tangled pathways carved by forgotten hands and the skeletal remains of vessels that seemed to watch their approach. The atmosphere readings fluctuated briefly before stabilizing, prompting Froken to run an additional diagnostic suite. Every calculation was double-checked, the team acutely aware that the smallest oversight could have dire consequences. The beacon’s signal pulsed steadily, drawing them ever closer to the heart of Argulan history and for the first time in three thousand years, a space craft such as theirs would land on a forgotten planet.

Froken glanced at the navigation display, his hands steady on the controls. “Set landing gear to standby. We’ll touch down at the edge of the valley and proceed on foot once we have confirmation of a stable environment,” he instructed, his tone calm but layered with urgency. Lando activated the external sensors, initiating a sweep for biological hazards and radiation spikes, his eyes scanning for any anomalies that might threaten their safety. They both understood that the answers they sought might be intertwined with risks neither could fully anticipate, but the pursuit of knowledge outweighed their apprehension.

********

It had taken some effort to figure out exactly just where they were in relation to the fragile old map. Converting a hand-held scanner took a moment to celebrate as a direction finder. After landing the ship as close as they dared, all they had once off the ship was a general idea of the direction they needed to go.

Before disembarking, Froken recalibrated the hand-held scanner, aligning its ancient interface with the ship’s current data. Lando checked the airlock seals and confirmed that the environmental suits were fully charged, their visors reflecting the uncertainty beyond the hatch. They exchanged a final nod, only the quiet understanding that each step forward was a step into the unknown. With tools gathered and protocols reviewed, they stepped onto the planet's surface, senses sharpened by the weight of history and the promise of discovery.

In a sense it was anti-climactic, the hardest part had been done in the effort that it took to finally arrive here on the Argulan home world. Ahead of them lay faded but distinct paths, once roads that lead in the general direction they needed to travel. Reminders that nothing lasts forever were all around them. Indistinct mounds, the shapes of what things that once were. Few skeletal remains, survivors undisturbed for eons gave few clues. What possibly could have once been a mighty space ship or building but in reality, it was anyone’s guess as to what once was.

Froken paused, kneeling beside a weathered stone fragment jutting from the soil. “Look at this,” he murmured, tracing a finger along the faded etchings that hinted at a forgotten script. Lando joined him, adjusting the scanner to capture the glyphs, hoping to glean context from the cryptic symbols left behind. Every detail seemed significant, each clue a fragile thread connecting them to the planet’s long-lost inhabitants. Shaking his head, “I get the feeling of tremendous sadness, I can’t help wondering what the Argulan’s must have felt as they saw this and all they achieved come to such an end, the helplessness they had to have felt.”

The silence pressed in around them, broken only by the distant whisper of wind stirring the dust. Each step forward felt weighted not just by the planet’s gravity, but by a sense of new responsibilities, an obligation to honor the mysteries and memories embedded in the ruins. As they documented the stone fragment, Froken and Lando exchanged theories about the civilization’s final days, the evidence before them echoing with the unresolved echoes of Argulan culture.

They set out across the weathered ground, boots kicking up fine dust that glimmered faintly in the filtered sunlight. Each footfall was measured, careful not to disturb more than was necessary, as they followed the faint guidance of the recalibrated scanner. The surface a reminder of the eons that had passed since these ruins last felt the presence of explorers. Overhead, the pale sky stretched unbroken, silent witness to their progress, they were close now, just ahead of them was a copse of trees, a verdant collection of greenery. As they drew closer what appeared to be a fountain. The dichotomy could not have been any stronger. In the midst of all the desolation surrounding them, was a living testament to the power of life. As they drew closer the hand-held scanner stopped beeping. In the center of all this lush landscape was a large stone, plinth covered in vines.

They approached cautiously, the hush of the grove amplifying the sound of their footsteps against the mossy earth. Lando knelt beside the plinth, brushing aside a curtain of vines to reveal intricate carvings, shapes and motifs unlike any they had seen on the journey in. “This must have been important,” he whispered, awe threading through his voice as he traced the outline of an emblem that seemed to pulse with meaning even after millennia of neglect. A faint trickle of water from the fountain echoed in the background, a gentle, persistent reminder that even here, in the heart of the ruins, something endured.

Froken took a slow, steady breath, letting himself absorb the tranquil anomaly before them. “I didn’t expect to find anything like this,” he admitted softly, his gaze drifting over the resilient foliage and the way sunlight dappled the ancient stone. The contrast between the devastation outside and this quiet oasis seemed almost miraculous, a fragment of hope surviving in the aftermath of so much loss. For a moment, the mission's tension eased, replaced by reverence for what still persisted here against all odds. As they worked to fully clear the vines from the ancient pedestal the data crystal started to hum.

Startled, Lando urged Froken to trace the outline of the stone wonder with the Glockenspeil. As he neared the center of the plinth it began to vibrate harmoniously

Startled, Froken and Lando exchanged a quick glance, the faint vibration of the crystal resonating through their gloves. Pale blue light began to emanate from its core, casting shifting patterns across the worn carvings. They instinctively stepped back, unsure whether the activation was a warning or an invitation, but compelled by curiosity, they watched as the ancient artifact responded to their presence.

A shimmering light emanated from the grooves, bathing their faces in a gentle glow. Slowly, a pattern emerged, the carvings aligning with the scanner’s readout as if responding to their presence. The humming intensified, resonating with the Glockenspeil’s subtle notes, and for a moment, it seemed as though the pedestal itself was awakening echoes of the Argulan’s craftsmanship reaching out across the ages. Lando and Froken exchanged astonished glances, An opening began to appear in the stonework beside them. A huge slab dropped and began to slide back, revealing an illuminates staircase leading down at the same time a hologram appeared as if projected from the base.

Welcome fellow travelers from amongst the stars, and then the hologram flickered uncertainly at first, then sharpened into focus, revealing the spectral form of an Argulan elder clad in ceremonial robes. The eyes, rendered in pale, shifting hues, regarded them with a gravity that transcended time. An ancient language flowed from its lips, melodic yet indecipherable, but as the scanner’s translation protocols kicked in, words began to overlay the image in their native tongue. "To those who find this sanctuary," the voice intoned, "know that you walk among the final memories of our people. May you seek understanding, not possession, and honor what remains."

“Our material treasures had long since dissipated in the struggle to find a cure for this insidious virus. What endures are the painful lessons of our hubris. Contained in the sanctuary are the repositories of the collected knowledge and wisdom of our history. Those who come to desecrate our final resting place will find only heartache and sorrow as they will forever be bound here and join in dust of our destruction.”

“For those few of us who survived and joined the stasis chambers, time was our final enemy. Nothing lasts forever, and what is left is the last of our energy that powers our communications. We long at last joined our ancestors in eternal sleep. Those of you will heed our request, to share of our fate and warnings, our greatest treasures, will find in the sanctuary our gifts to you along with what little is left of our fortunes to ease the dissemination of this information.”

“The time this sanctuary will remain open to you is limited to one of your days. We ask you treat with respect and reverence our story. We wish you the greatest joys as you go forth among the stars, go forth and prosper”

As the last echoes of the elder’s words faded, a profound stillness settled over the sanctuary. Both Froken and Lando felt a shiver run down his spine, not from fear, but from the weight of being entrusted with the Argulan legacy. The hologram lingered, its gaze gentle yet unwavering, compelling them to tread with respect. For a long moment, neither spoke, each grappling with the enormity of what had just been revealed. It was clear this place was not merely a remnant of history but a sacred trust, a beacon cast into the future in hope that someone, someday, would understand.

For a brief, electric moment, the air in the chamber seemed to hum with possibility, as if the Argulan ancestors themselves watched from beyond the veil of time. Froken and Lando exchanged glances heavy with responsibility, silently vowing to preserve the secrets and wisdom granted to them. The glow from the hologram faded to a soft radiance, illuminating the way forward, and the newly revealed staircase beckoned, promising deeper revelations and new challenges within the sanctuary’s heart.

At the bottom of the stairway, they found themselves in a chamber larger than they anticipated. Evidence of the haste in which it must have been built was in the structure and design. Rather than a complex series of rooms and passageways it was a simple vaulted room with a nave containing the stasis pods of the last of the Argulan’s. In each of them were the desiccated remains dressed in their funereal garments. On the walls and the ceiling were depictions of Argulan history, culture and evolution.

As they stepped further inside, the air grew cooler, carrying a faint metallic tang that hinted at both age and preservation. Carefully, the pair advanced past the silent sentinels, their footsteps echoing softly over the polished stone. Though the atmosphere brimmed with solemnity, intricate mosaics shimmered in the low light, telling stories of triumph, loss, and the relentless quest for healing that defined the Argulan’s final days. The artistry spoke not only to a rich heritage but also to the hope that their wisdom would someday spark understanding in those who followed.

The center of the chamber was dominated by a raised dais, upon which rested a crystalline archive, its facets catching the faint light and scattering prismatic colors across the room. Approaching it with reverence, Froken extended the scanner, which pulsed in recognition as it interfaced with the ancient Argulan data core. Gradually, translucent glyphs began to swirl above the surface, offering glimpses of celestial maps, genetic codes, and fragments of personal journals. Each display reflected both the ingenuity and vulnerability of the Argulan civilization, inviting the travelers to learn from the lessons etched in memory and light.

In the nave across from the pods they found what the Argulan’s left for them. A container with individual data crystal readers and data crystals and two small chests of rare and precious gemstones. The final chest contained pressed bars of valuable metals. Lastly were a few large books also containing the same history as the data crystals.

It took but a few hours to transfer what had been left for them, the last to go was the crystalline archive and as it saw the light of day for the first time in ages, the ground beneath their feet rumbled as the giant slab began to close with a resounding thunk as to underscore its permanence.

Back on the ship, sitting on the surface of the planet’s moon, their hands trembled slightly as they examined these relics, recognizing not just the material wealth but the symbolic gesture of trust passed down through the ages. Each object seemed to carry its own story, a tangible link to the Argulan legacy that now rested in their care. Froken and Lando understood that the true value of these treasures lay not in possession, but in the knowledge and warnings they were entrusted with and meant to convey.

With the archive secured, Froken and Lando paused to reflect on what they had uncovered. The enormity of the Argulan sacrifice pressed upon them, inspiring a newfound determination to honor the trust placed in their hands. Reverently, and mindful that they were now stewards of a civilization’s final hopes. A silent promise passed between them: the stories of the Argulan’s would not be lost to time but carried onward as a guiding light for all who sought meaning among the stars.

The job on the rim of Orin’s belt was far, far more than they had ever expected.