Anthea's Hope--chapter nine

 9

     Anthea’s Hope cut through the folded fabric of space. Its silver hull streaked with starlight. Inside, the cabin was a stark contrast to the cosmic chaos outside. Silent. Sterile. Oppressively still. Newton sat near a narrow viewport. His pale hands clasped tightly. Staring into the void. Musk sprawled across a makeshift command chair. A tablet flickering with diagnostics in his lap. His foot tapping an erratic rhythm. The novelty of their interstellar leap long faded into a grinding tediousness.

     Newton’s mind churned with unease. The propulsion system, his own design, worked flawlessly. Bending space to shrink the light-years. Yet he couldn’t shake the dread. 

     What if Anthea was beyond saving? 

     He’d left decades ago. A younger version of himself. Promising his people he’d return with water. Now, his body frail from Earth’s comforts, he feared he’d collapse under his home planet’s heavier gravity. Or worse, that his people had already perished. Leaving him a savior of ghosts. 

     He glanced at Musk, whose restless energy filled the cabin like static. 

     “You don’t feel it, do you?” Newton murmured. “The weight of this.”

     Musk snorted. Not really listening. 

     “Boredom’s the real killer out here,” he answered. “Weight’s just physics. I can deal with that.” 

     But beneath his bravado, doubts gnawed. 

     The tech was alien. Untested by his standards. What if Newton’s technology crapped out before they reached Anthea? Stranding them in a cosmic limbo? Or if Newton’s drought planet turned out to be a bust? A dead rock not worth the fuel. 

     He’d gambled big before, and won, but this was beyond Mars. Beyond anything. Failure wouldn’t just tank SpaceX. It would be his epitaph. The needs of the many may outweigh the needs of the few–or the one–but that didn’t make the possibility of a no-win scenario easier to take.

     “You sure your folks are still kicking?” he asked, half-joking. 

     Newton’s silence was answer enough.

     Time and space dragged on. Punctuated only by the hum of the ship and their sparse exchanges. Newton retreated into memories of Anthea’s lost rivers. Questioning if he’d miscalculated his capabilities or overestimated Musk’s resolve. Musk, meanwhile, fidgeted with simulations. Muttering about thrust ratios and water payloads. Privately wondering if he’d bitten off more than even he could chew. The silence between them grew heavy. Each man wrestling with his own specters. Newton with death. Musk with failure.

     A chime broke the stillness.

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     Anthea’s Hope’s sensors flared to life. The ship slowed. Space unfolded around them. Musk sat upright. Tossed the tablet aside. Newton turned to the viewport. His eyes wide. There, against the infinite black, hung Anthea. A small, dusty planet. Its surface a patchwork of cracked brown and faded gray. From this distance, it looked fragile. Almost lifeless. Yet it pulsed with a strange, haunting beauty.

     “Holy shit,” Musk breathed, leaning forward. “That’s it?” 

     Newton nodded. His eyes locked on the planet. It was smaller than he’d remembered. More scarred. Doubt flickered anew. Was there anything left to save? 

     Musk, though, grinned. Doubts evaporating in the face of the real. 

     “Looks like a fixer-upper,” he said. Laughing, he clapped Newton’s shoulder, jarring the thinner man. “We made it, Thomas. We made it.”

     Newton forced a thin smile. His gaze still fixed on Anthea. Relief battled fear as the planet loomed closer. Its desolate face a mirror to his own uncertainties. Musk, oblivious or defiant, was already plotting the descent. The boredom of space was behind them. Ahead lay the unknown. Neither could turn back now.

     “Anthea’s atmosphere detected,” Grok informed them. “Preparing landing protocols.”

     They breached Anthea’s thin atmosphere, the planet sprawling below. A cracked, arid wasteland dotted with the ruins of a once-thriving civilization. 

     Grok’s voice cut through the tension. 

     “Surface conditions critical. 2% humidity. Temperatures averaging 50°C. I suggest deploying the orbital condensers HAL modeled. Plus localized hydro-extractors. I’ve adapted the plan with real-time data. Efficiency up to 72%.”

     They landed near a crumbling Anthean outpost. Its spires jagged against the blood-red horizon. The starship’s landing gear, touching down on Anthea’s parched surface, sank slightly into the cracked, crimson soil. Behind them, the rest of the fleet descended.

     Elon Musk and Thomas Jerome Newton stepped out into the stifling heat. The horizon shimmering with dust and the skeletal remains of civilization. Newton inhaled painfully. His lungs straining against the dry air. 

     “Home,” he whispered.