999 OCTILLION SOULS, June 17, 2024
I FLIGHT 43
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TRANSLATOR'S NOTE:The following information is derived from Information Seed 40 and received by the Gravitational Wave Observatory. I and AI performed a frequency analysis on it. IE edited certain parts to make them more 'readable'. (He might have overdone it.) Please feel free to comment.43
Despair, a suffocating hand, squeezed Legume's heart. The faint glint on the horizon, the flicker of hope that had momentarily banished the bleakness of their situation, had morphed into a cruel mockery. It wasn't a ship. It wasn't their salvation. It was just another carcass, another victim of the killer cloud.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. Every ounce of energy that had fueled her for the past few days – the desperate hope and prayers to St. Trillian – drained away, leaving a hollow emptiness behind. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the already-distorted image of the wreckage. How long could they hold on? Their meager rations were dwindling, the recycled air growing thick and stale. Charlotte, oblivious to the crushing weight of despair settling on her mother, whimpered softly in her sleep.
de_tech_G: praying is indeed useless
A bitter aftertaste flooded Legume's mouth. She had allowed herself to believe, to hope for a miracle in the face of overwhelming odds. Now, what could she offer Charlotte? Empty promises? False reassurances? The future stretched before them, an expanse devoid of any glimmer of light.
malek_I_am: she just needs a bit of therapy
But amidst the despair, a spark flickered – a stubborn ember of defiance. She wouldn't give in. Not yet. Charlotte needed her, her strength, her unwavering love. Legume straightened her back, a silent vow forming on her lips. They were survivors. They had escaped the Ore Seeker. They wouldn't succumb now. This derelict ship, a symbol of their dashed hope, would become their next challenge. Perhaps it held salvageable parts, a way to extend their meager life support or a distress beacon they could jury-rig.
luo_ji: really?
Drawing a deep breath, Legume forced a smile for Charlotte when she stirred. "Rigardu, hon," she said, her voice hoarse but determined. "See that ship? Maybe it has something that can help. If St. Trillian wills it." The words tasted like ash, but they held some truth. This wasn't the end. It was another obstacle, another hurdle to overcome. And as long as she had Charlotte, she would find a way. Legume wasn't ready to give up. Not by a long shot.
44
LATE 2070s, EARTH
The holo-message flickered out, leaving Frank Big staring into the empty stretch of his private Malibu beach. The California sun beat down, a cruel contrast to the ice forming in his gut. Two months. That's all they had left. Their dream, their blood, sweat, and countless sleepless nights poured into the sleek, experimental X-1 Odyssey space plane, teetered on the precipice.
hatmaker_H: back to the hard-working billionaire, boss
cosmos_boss: it was about time
"Two freakin' months, Ernie," he said, scrubbing a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. A moment later, a worried Ernest Kawamoto materialized beside him, his kimono rippling in the breeze.
gwo_fr_5: why is he wearing a kimono?
Ernest, his best friend since their engineering days at MIT, was a picture of calm on the surface. But the worried glint in his onyx eyes betrayed him. "What did the consortium say?"
ru_mikhail: onyx?
translator: in this context a mix of multiple colors as found in gemstones
"Same song, second verse." Frank sighed. "They want a demonstration flight. Two months, or they pump their billions into Petrovski's monstrosity."
Petrovski. The name hung heavy in the air. The ruthless, oligarch-backed Russian aerospace company that had been their shadow since day one. Their Kosmonaut-3 was a brutish, brute-force design, fueled by Cold War paranoia and rubles. The Odyssey, on the other hand, was a marvel of elegance and efficiency. It was supposed to usher in a new era of clean, sustainable space travel.
ru_mikhail: oligarch worse than billionaire
Except, it wasn't quite ready.
"The engines are still finicky," Frank said, kicking at the sand. "We need more time for fine-tuning."
Ernest nodded slowly. "And the life support systems haven't undergone a full test run."
Two months. It felt like a death sentence. Frank had envisioned a grand unveiling, years of meticulous testing culminating in a flawless demonstration. Now, desperation gnawed at him. A dangerous flight, a technical hiccup, and it would all be over. Their dreams would be swallowed by Petrovski's leviathan.
cosmos_boss: move fast and break things
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the rhythmic crash of the waves. The weight of their hopes, their investors' trust, and the fate of their dream child, the Odyssey, pressed down on them.
gwo_fr_5: c’est la vie. merde se
Finally, Frank straightened up, a steely resolve hardening his gaze. "We can't let them win. Not like this."
Ernest met his gaze, a spark of defiance igniting in his dark eyes. "No, we can't."
builder_7: onyx eyes
They may not have had time, but they had each other. And perhaps, Frank thought, a little ingenuity and a whole lot of duct tape could make the impossible, possible.