[ALERT, ALERT!]

  [ALERT, ALERT!]

  [ALERT, ALERT!]

  A loud, intermittent noise forces my eyes open. I feel cold metal against my cheek and immediately realize I’m sprawled on the floor. My face is sticky; it seems I’m bleeding.

  I try to move, but it’s harder than I thought. My whole body aches, and my limbs feel like they’re made of concrete. But, hey, at least they’re all still there. That’s something.

  I’m dazed. Maybe it’s from the head wound.

  How did I get here?

  [ALERT, ALERT!]

  [ALERT, ALERT!]

  [ALERT, ALERT!]

  The alarm doesn’t stop for even a second. I’m coming, I’m on it.

  With great effort, I barely manage to drag myself to a wall. I let myself slump against it, completely spent. Only then do I manage to look around, trying to understand what’s going on. This is… a control room? It’s in shambles. Sparks burst everywhere, liquids drip from the ceiling, smoke blankets the place. Everything is chaos.

  On one wall there’s a large observation window looking into a bigger chamber. At its center, a gigantic machine spews smoke; totally wrecked and dead. You can tell it gave everything it had.

  [ALERT, ALERT!]

  [ALERT, ALERT!]

  [ALERT, ALERT!]

  The alert keeps blaring and seems to be growing more urgent by the second. I need to find a terminal to figure out what’s happening.

  I scan the room, searching for one. It doesn’t take long to spot it; of course, it’s against the far wall.

  Once again I have to drag my battered body across the room while the alarm hounds me without mercy.

  “All right, I’m coming. Shut up already,” I shout at it.

  At last I reach the terminal and manage to pull myself up, leaning against it.

  The display flickers, but it still responds; beaten and barely alive… like me, yet still giving everything it’s got.

  Without wasting any more time, I check the dozens of warnings filling the screen:

  [OVERHEATING. CATASTROPHIC FAILURE. FIRE. HULL BREACH. DECOMPRESSION.]

  A long list of alerts fills the display, every single one of them capable of killing me on its own.

  Among them all, only one draws my attention: a blinking red signal with black lettering that stands out from the rest. My body goes cold just from seeing it; my breathing quickens.

  “Easy, Rob. Don’t jump ahead.”

  Red alerts with black letters are reserved for events of a mortally catastrophic nature.

  And, of course, my mind jumps straight to the worst possible option: an event with a survival rate of 0%. The very death of those who sail these stars.

  “It could be anything else. I’d have to be incredibly unlucky to run into the most improbable of the—” my words die in my mouth as I read the final alert.

  [ALERT, ALERT! ENTERING THE RED STORM. ALL PERSONNEL, EVACUATE THE SHIP.]

  “Damn it…”

  Those words hit my confused psyche like a bomb, stirring scattered memories, fragments of images…

  The exploration mission, the Pantheon of the Princesses, a lost probe, the Lynx squad.

  I lose my balance and collapse to the floor once more.

  At last my mind fills with red; a deep, savage red threaded with dark tendrils.

  A cracked shield, the escape pods, a blinding light.

  I cover my eyes, trying to stop the flood of information, and take a breath to calm myself.

  “How could this have happened?” I decide to start from the beginning.

  ***

  Night Infiltration at the Royal Castle: Thief Escapes with Stolen Artifact, Kingdom of Altar on High Alert.

  I’m reading the kingdom’s bulletin in the break room when that headline catches my attention.

  “I think it’s about time for me to retire,” I blurt out, honestly.

  “What are you talking about, kid? You’re the one with the least time in service in the entire department” a voice echoes.

  I turn toward it and find old Jacks, with his typical worn-out fifty-something look: poorly kept beard, tangled dark hair, tired eyes, and a bit of a belly starting to show. Overall, he wouldn’t look that bad if it weren’t for his obvious neglect of personal hygiene. He’s wearing his usual worn-out coverall, stained with oil. Not that mine is in any better shape, but he could at least bathe more often.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Looks like being part of the kingdom’s military won’t be very safe from now on, not even for engineering staff,” I say as I hand him the bulletin.

  He glances at it and laughs.

  “Ha, ha, ha! You youngsters think every little event means the end of the world. It’s just some thief who managed to get into the castle. They’ll find him and catch him right away; I don’t see why that should affect your retirement.”

  He’s got a point, honestly. Though it is impressive that someone managed to break into the royal castle and, even more, escape with one of the precious artifacts stored there. In general, it shouldn’t affect our lives that much.

  Maybe they’ll send our ship to patrol the borders so the thief doesn’t leave the kingdom, but our job in the engineering department should stay the same: repairing and maintaining the ship and the onboard armors.

  The ones in total chaos right now must be the officers on the capital planet, especially those at the royal castle, since an artifact is valuable enough to justify wars between nations, something that has happened many times throughout history.

  But as long as no foreign nation is stupid enough to openly claim responsibility for the theft, we military personnel won’t have anything to do with the incident… I hope.

  “I’m not talking just about this incident. This is merely the last piece in the approaching puzzle of destruction,” I tell old Jacks, alarmed.

  “Please, don’t start again with one of your crazy theories,” the old man groans, undoubtedly tired of hearing knowledge that his small, sleepy mind cannot process.

  Even so, I can’t stop trying to enlighten his existence, even just a little.

  “Let me explain the delicate situation we’re in so you’ll understand the imminent danger we face. Besides, you’ll be the first to see the new projection for my channel before I upload it to the EtherNet” I say as I turn on the room’s projector and link it to my portable device. “I haven’t added audio yet, but I’ll narrate it live.”

  “You know, I think I forgot to perform maintenance on Lieutenant Teylor’s armor,” he says, trying to stand and leave.

  “Don’t worry, old man, your kind colleague here took care of that for you. Now sit down and relax” I say, pushing him back into his seat and starting my presentation. “Many millennia ago, on old Earth, there was an astronomer who proposed an equation meant to estimate how many extraterrestrial civilizations might exist in our galaxy using nothing but mathematical data.”

  The projection shows a blurry image of an equation.

  “Though his theory was flawed, it introduced a powerful idea that survived the passage of time. Millennia later, the Kingdom of Altar —which back then was nothing more than a small human settlement lost at the Man's Rim— revisited that concept with a different question: would it be possible to understand the universe through data analysis, and thus prepare for anything it could throw at us?” I pause for a moment to catch my breath.

  Old Jacks, still in his seat, shifts a bit as if trying to get more comfortable.

  “From that idea, they built a machine with a computational capacity outrageous for its time: a supercomputer so absurd that, according to legend, its servers took up an entire planet (probably false, but it sounds good).” I pause my explanation for dramatic effect. “And that’s how the Quantum Oracle was born.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, your psychic robot prophet” an ill-mannered voice interrupts me.

  “Don’t call it that,” I protest. “It wasn’t magic, just data, mountains of data. The Oracle analyzed all the kingdom’s data and created equations to predict encounters with other civilizations, human expansion, relics yet to be found, even the wars and nightmares to come. For centuries, its predictions guided the kingdom. Thanks to it, Altar stopped being a forgotten corner and became one of the powers of the Rim.”

  “Until it started failing, right?” the old man cuts in.

  “Yes… The predictions became blurry and inaccurate. Some say the technology wasn’t enough; others say the variables grew so much that even the Oracle couldn’t keep up. And, well, there are the crazy ones who believe the machine became self-aware and decided to manipulate the kingdom like a puppet.”

  “How ironic that you call them crazy.”

  I have no idea what he means, so I decide to ignore him.

  “And so, with time, the Oracle slowly disappeared from history. But its last predictions… were recorded.”

  “And that’s where your theory comes in?”

  “Exactly. Because, according to its calculations, this decade—9350 of the Rim Calendar—would be the epicenter of a convergence of events: a new civilization, a new relic, the rise of a new standard-bearer, the arrival of the next Nightmare… and the end of the current reign, among many other things.” I pause dramatically. “And now a relic has just been stolen from the royal castle. That, old friend, is the piece my puzzle of destruction was missing.” I look at my audience, which is in absolute silence, undoubtedly too shocked to speak.

  A heavy breath escapes his nose… he was asleep.

  “Damn old man, wake up!” I shout at him.

  “What’s wrong with you, kid? Can’t a man sleep after an exhausting twenty-hour shift without being bothered?” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

  “You missed the best part,” I complain.

  “Bwah, ha, ha! Doesn’t matter, your presentations always end the same: chaos, war, destruction, everything’s lost,” the old man says.

  I stare at him, offended. How dare he question my carefully gathered research?

  He treats me like some lunatic who hears voices and talks to himself.

  Well… okay, it is true that when I think, I sometimes do it as if I were speaking to someone, and I end up describing things I already know as though explaining them to an imaginary audience. But it’s a habit I picked up from narrating so many videos for my channel. It doesn’t mean I’m crazy… I think.

  I’m about to put him in his place when he interrupts me.

  “What I did understand is that you want to reach retirement quickly, which is a dream for anyone. But it’s not possible unless you’re discharged or earn enough military merit to advance your retirement, though in peacetime that doesn’t seem likely.” He looks at me with that face he makes when he’s planning something, which usually ends with both of us stuck in a twenty-hour shift. “So I have a proposal for you,” he says with the same face he used to trick me many times before.

  I’m intrigued, but cautious.

  “What proposal?” I answer, trying to hide the fact that my curiosity has already softened my anger.

  “In one week, the expedition vessel Horizon Seeker will set sail to explore and map the kingdom’s new expansion zone. An old contact told me they need a last-minute engineer. The expedition won’t be that long; also, the pay is substantial, and to sweeten the deal even more, the entire crew will receive military merit upon return, depending on the findings made during the mission.”

  “That sounds really good, to be honest. So why don’t you take the position, old man? What’s the catch?” I ask, with justified suspicion.

  “Ouch, it hurts that you doubt me,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Fine, you got me; the truth is I was planning to go myself, but my daughter has an important competition, and if I join the expedition I won’t be able to be there to support her,” he says, showing the only smile he has that doesn’t make me distrust him.

  “Little Sasha, huh? Still a doting father,” I tease the old man a little.

  “What do you mean “little”, you bastard? Don’t get familiar with my daughter or I’ll make sure to beat you senseless,” he threatens me with a very fierce expression.

  He gets very intense when it comes to his daughter. Who would’ve thought someone who looks like that could be so protective?

  “I wouldn’t dare, old man. In fact, I haven’t even met her. Everything I know about her is from your stories,” I quickly excuse myself.

  Well, I do know what she looks like from a picture the old man keeps in his locker, where she appears as a small girl with long chestnut hair, wearing a pure white dress, playing in a flower field. Damn, if that photo isn’t staged, she’s basically a little princess.

  How did that come from the old man? Maybe his wife tricked him somehow, who knows.

  “And you’ll never meet her. I won’t let a bad influence like you anywhere near her,” he points a finger at me. “So, are you interested in the offer or not?” he presses.

  I smile as I reply: “Sounds just like what I’m looking for.”