Chapter 1 — The A.R.C.

  (The year 26,465)

  The gate chain hums through the ship’s plating, a low vibration that never quite fades.

  Inside, Arthur, Thomas, Anna, and Sarah argue—voices overlapping, sharp, contained only by metal walls.

  Arthur grips his head as if it might split apart, tension radiating off him in waves. He stops pacing. His glare cuts across the room.

  “What the hell are you thinking?” he asks.

  Silence crashes down.

  Anna crosses her arms, chin tilted—defiance unhidden.

  “We—were thinking it’s none of your damn business.”

  Sarah stares at her, eyes unblinking. Stunned.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Her voice hardens. “How could it not be?”

  She steps forward, heat rising, trying to anchor the moment.

  “It involves all of us. Remember last year?”

  She waits.

  Nothing.

  “When we set the ship down—on that moon—the one with the poisonous atmosphere?” Her hands lift, frustration spilling over. “Forget that.” Her voice drops, low and steady. “The Hunters will come.”

  Thomas raises his hands, reflex more than choice.

  “Look… we appreciate your concern. We do. We’ll leave, if that’s what you want.”

  Arthur steps closer. His voice lowers—quiet, controlled, sharper because of it.

  “We’re not saying you have to leave.” A beat. “In fact… please. Stay.”

  “We just know—” His voice falters. His eyes flicker, pain slipping through the armor. “It’s a hard thing to do. Under any circumstances.” He swallows. “Much less ours.”

  His gaze drops.

  “Thomas, you know—”

  The words hang unfinished.

  Silence grows heavy.

  —

  TWO YEARS LATER

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  The Mnemosyne drifts through blazing gates. Blue fire washes across its hull.

  Each jump hums steady and rhythmic—like a heartbeat in the void.

  Arthur sits at the console, a battered book open in his hands. Monitor light flickers across his face.

  Across from him, Sarah leans back, watching with quiet fondness.

  “So,” she says, smiling, “where are we running off to today?”

  Arthur lowers the book, a finger marking his place.

  “Someplace people won’t recognize us.”

  Sarah giggles.

  “They recognize us everywhere. You know that.”

  Arthur exhales a faint laugh.

  “Yeah. Sometimes we still get a week or two of peace before we have to move on.”

  The door hisses open. Thomas steps in, hair dripping wet, a towel slung over his shoulders.

  “Are we running somewhere nice today?” he asks, stretching.

  Sarah looks up at him, grin still in place. She winks.

  “We were just talking about that. Anna still asleep?”

  Thomas leans against the wall.

  “We were in the shower. She should be right out.”

  Arthur types across the console.

  The hum of the chain fades as the *Mnemosyne* slips free into open space.

  Engines cool.

  Silence fills the ship—thick and sudden.

  “We should be able to relax here for a while,” Arthur says. “I think.”

  The hatch slides open again.

  Anna steps in, damp hair clinging to her face, a towel draped around her neck.

  “So. Where are we running today?”

  Arthur smirks.

  “Did you three plan that?”

  Thomas laughs.

  “Someone else want to drive?” Arthur asks, eyeing them.

  Before anyone can answer—

  BEEP. BEEP. … BEEP. BEEP.

  A strange alarm pulses.

  Not frantic—but insistent. Wrong.

  Arthur frowns, leaning closer.

  “What is this?”

  The others gather behind him, drawn tight. The beeping continues.

  He taps a key.

  The alarm cuts off.

  Silence presses in—heavier than before.

  Anna steps to the viewport, brushing fog from the glass. Her breath clouds it again.

  “Guys…” she says quietly. “It’s a ship.”

  They rise to join her.

  Through the viewport—a shadow.

  Colossal. Silent.

  A massive vessel drifts nearby, vast and scarred. Its hull bears centuries of patchwork—plates welded over plates, survival written in steel.

  “And a big one,” Anna whispers.

  Arthur narrows his eyes.

  “What’s a ship like this doing out this far? It’s too big for most gates.”

  Sarah studies the faint glow pulsing along its seams.

  “The tech… it’s ancient. Older than almost anything we’ve seen still moving.”

  The viewport slides past weathered plating.

  Letters emerge from shadow:

  A.R.C.

  AMOR RELO COLONY

  The name lands heavy.

  Thomas steps back, glancing toward Arthur.

  “Wait. This ship launched before we were born.” He looks at Anna.

  “The originals, I mean.”

  Arthur exhales, steady, guiding the Mnemosyne into orbit.

  Anna keeps her eyes on the viewport.

  “Looks like the lights are on.” She turns to Arthur.

  Arthur reaches for the comm.

  “Let’s see who’s home.”

  He presses the button.

  “Come in, A.R.C. This is the Mnemosyne.”

  Static floods the room.

  “Do you read?”

  Nothing.

  Sarah places her hand on Arthur’s back.

  “Maybe no one’s home after all.”

  Then—a faint, distorted voice cracks through. Human. Straining to cross the gulf of time.

  Anna lets out a breathy laugh.

  “Or maybe we just needed to knock a little harder.”

  The console crackles.

  A voice from the A.R.C.:

  “…Mnemosyne… come in… we read you…”

  Arthur leans forward, wary.

  “We read you too.” He clears his throat.

  “You’ve been gone a long time. Can we help you in some way?”

  Static hums.

  A man’s voice answers—stiff, formal.

  —

  Aboard the A.R.C., its command crew crowd the comms station, anxious in the pale glow of aging screens. One of them motions sharply—quiet.

  “This is the first time our vessel has spoken with outsiders.”

  Arthur’s voice carries through, calm.

  “Yeah. No worries.”

  Static builds.

  The man continues.

  “It took us… a moment to figure out how.”

  A crewman nudges him, nervous. More hand motions. Silence.

  Arthur answers evenly.

  “A lot has changed since your ship launched.”

  Sarah leans in, warm but steady.

  “Can we come aboard and talk? It might be easier in person.”

  The man looks around the room.

  “Uh… I can’t make that choice,” he says.

  “Get Lina.”

  —

  Lina sits across from him, leaning on her arms.

  She doesn’t move at first—lets the silence stretch, imagining the walk here from wherever she was. It gives her time to think.

  She reaches out and presses mute.

  The comm goes silent. The crew tenses.

  Lina looks at each of them—a question hanging in the air.

  “You think they’re pirates?”

  Mary—middle-aged, a scarf tied into her hair—shakes her head.

  “Looks like it. Why do they always pretend they want to help?”

  Lina unmutes. Her voice turns smooth as glass.

  “Who is this?”

  “My name is Arthur Hammond. This would be easier if we talk in person.”

  —

  Back aboard the Mnemosyne.

  The comm crackles faintly. The family listens.

  Thomas leans back, taking Anna’s hand and pulling her close.

  “They’re stalling. I don’t like it.”

  —

  On the A.R.C., Lina mutes the comm again. Her eyes harden.

  She looks at each person in the room, one by one.

  “Pirates. Get everyone ready.”

  She taps a button—the comm goes live. Her tone softens, practiced.

  “Alright. This may take a minute… but you seem friendly enough.”

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