The Iris (Gravity, Space, and Time: Book 1) by Patkós Csaba - HTML preview

Chapter 2: Home

Date: March 13, 2856

Sunlight peeked through the blinds, catching Captain Peterson's eye. He blinked, a smile already tugging at his lips. Home. The scent of coffee hung heavy in the air, promising a morning that smelt better than anything in space. A soft click from the bedroom door sent his smile wider.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Diana's voice, husky with sleep, was like melted gold in his ears. He stretched, still feeling the ache of months spent confined to ship's gravity.

"Hey there, you," he mumbled, rolling over to pull her close. Diana snuggled into his warmth, sighing contentedly. "Surprise attack planned for later?"

"Maybe," she winked, her breath sending tickles down his neck. "Depends on if you bring back the missing ingredient for Eve's space cake creation."

He chuckled, recalling the frantic search for anti-gravity sprinkles last mission.

"Consider it done. What's the little chef concocting this time?"

"Stardust swirls," Eve's voice chimed in, a sleepy giggle echoing from under the covers.

Diana reached across the bed, tousling Eve's hair. "Our fearless astronaut's going on another grand adventure, sweetie. We have to send him off with the perfect fuel."

Peterson's smile faltered a touch. Half a year. Six months away from these two, adrift in the vast emptiness. He squeezed Diana's hand, the warmth grounding him, reminding him of what he was fighting for.

"It won't be long," he murmured, mostly to himself. "The… uh… research project, think of it like… like strengthening our shields, protecting our home."

He knew his eyes flickered away for a fraction of a second, but Diana knew him too well. "Strengthening shields from what, honey?" she asked gently.

Peterson swallowed, the lie heavy on his tongue. "Just… routine tests, new systems. Nothing to worry about."

Eve, suddenly wide awake, scrambled out of bed, eyes sparkling. "Like Captain America? Will you have a super shield too?"

“Are you still watching those ancient holos?” he asked, laughing.

“Dad! They are not holos. They are flat screen videos!” Eve replied.

Diana laughed, shaking her head. "No shields for Daddy, Eve."

Peterson felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Six months on the research space station, investing all his energy in protecting the solar system, while his little Captain America grew taller in his absence. Was it worth it? The ENIGMA project, humanity's classified defense program, rested on his shoulders, his crew's, their sacrifices.

He looked at Diana, her eyes holding a silent understanding, a question mirroring his own. But their shared smile held a pact forged in the quiet moments of separation. This was their sacrifice, their contribution to a future where Eve could, indeed, live in a world free from threats.

As the clock ticked closer to noon, he scooped Eve into a hug. "Stardust pilot coming in for landing?" he whispered into her ear.

"Landing successful," she giggled, burying her face in his shoulder.

He held them both close, Diana's scent a reassuring anchor in the storm of his emotions. Leaving wouldn't be easy, the ache a familiar burden. But as he kissed Diana's forehead, he tasted the sweetness of stardust swirls on Eve's cheek, a reminder of the promise he carried, the future he fought for. The weight lifted, replaced by a quiet resolve. He was Captain Peterson, astronaut, explorer, and most importantly, a father. And for them, for a future painted in constellations, he would dance with gravity once more, even if the steps were shrouded in the shadows of a silent war.

Rain pummeled the window, each drop a tiny hammer chiseling at Peterson's resolve. He clutched Diana's necklace, its warmth a tiny sun against his cold thumb. "Transport arrived," his in-eye display blinked, a neon taunt in the gloomy morning.

He squeezed Eve, her strawberry scent a bittersweet anchor. "Six months, sunshine," he croaked, voice sandpaper in his throat. "Then sandcastles on Mars, okay?"

Stepping out, the air slapped him like a reprimand. Rain and damp earth, familiar smells laced with the unfamiliar dread of departure. The "car" hovered, a black scar against the sky, defying gravity with its silent hum. No anonymous shuttle today. NASA's flag, a defiant splash of color, mocked the secrecy.

And a driver. Military. Peterson blinked, heart twisting. NASA, a relic of brighter days, clung to the name like a faded trophy. Now, it felt like a borrowed mask in this clandestine tango.

He approached, scrutinizing the woman through the tinted windows. Young, her face etched with battles too early waged. His in-eye display hummed, whispering ID and codeword. With a sigh heavy as the storm clouds, he slid in, eyes sweeping the empty backseat.

"Captain Peterson?" Her voice, sharp as a scalpel, sliced the silence. In the rearview mirror, her eyes reflected the storm's chill.

"Present and accounted for," he forced a brittle smile. "Just the usual… scenic route… for today's… research?"

A flicker, amusement maybe, danced in her eyes. "Scenic indeed, Captain. Enjoy the view."

The car rose, the world shrinking below. Familiar streets blurred, rooftops like teardrops. The weight of secrecy settled, heavier than the clouds. ENIGMA. A whispered promise, a classified dance with gravity, its steps lost in the shadows of a silent war. "Who are we protecting against?" his mind screamed, but the answer, like the sun behind the storm, remained hidden.

He glanced at the driver, a silent enigma herself. "So, Lieutenant…?"

"Agent Sato," she clipped, eyes glued to the road. "Chatter frowned upon on classified transports, Captain."

Frustration bubbled. Classified. Always classified. Family kept at arm's length, fed a lie of routine research. Defender of the solar system, couldn't even defend his truth to the woman who carried his heart.

He leaned back, eyes closed, the engine's hum a low threnody. The road stretched ahead, a ribbon of uncertainty through the mist. But beneath the

churning unease, a flicker of resolve. He may be dancing with gravity in the dark, but the stars he danced for, his family, his home, shone bright even through the storm. They were his compass, his reason, his strength.

And so, Captain Peterson, astronaut, defender, and father, closed his eyes and surrendered to the dance. The weight of ENIGMA pressed down, but it couldn't touch the fire in his heart. He was the solar system's shield, even in a borrowed name, navigating a clandestine web. For them, he would dance with gravity, even in the shadows, and emerge, six months later, with the dawn breaking anew in his eyes.

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Rain lashed the window, a rhythmic counterpoint to the unease gnawing at Peterson's gut. With his eyes closed, he was seeking refuge in the news feeds scrolling across his in-eye display. Politics. Blah. Colonization tensions. Earth still playing big brother. Yawn.

Then, a headline snagged his attention: "Amateur Scientist Detects Mysterious Anomaly Near Jupiter." Curiosity, a flickering ember in the storm of his thoughts, lured him deeper. A fast moving video showed a barely discernible makeshift gravity-scope, a man's voice crackling about "unexpected gravitational fluctuations."

Bullshit, Peterson scoffed, “Another conspiracy theory”, he thought. ENIGMA mapped every gravitational hiccup from the sun to the last sand particle in the Kuiper Belt. Yet, a niggling doubt began to bloom. When was the last time they aimed its hungry maw at Jupiter? Centuries ago, data probably buried in some dusty archive. Jupiter was analyzed and studied to the extreme, and they thought they know everything about it more than 100 years ago.

The news anchor cut in, eyes narrowed. "Experts remain skeptical, but independent analysis confirms the anomalous readings." More evidence, each

piece fueling the unease within. He opened his eyes and didn’t recognize the streets. His gaze drifted to Agent Sato, a silent statue in the driver's seat.

"Agent Sato," he cleared his throat, "change of plans?"

Silence stretched, filled only by the thrum of the engine. Then, with a curt nod, she reached for a panel hidden beside the glove compartment. A keypad gleamed, a numeric code blinking on the screen.

"Instructions, Captain."

He hesitated, the weight of unspoken questions pressing down. Taking a deep breath, he keyed in the code. A click, a whirring mechanism, and a small hatch popped open, revealing a penny-sized disk nestled within.

As his finger brushed its metallic surface, a bio-scan flashed, his DNA authenticating him. His in-eye display buzzed, displaying a single stark message:

"Disembark at Space Port Artemis."

Artemis. Not the familiar, sprawling hub of Space Port 51. Artemis, a whispered legend, a relic of Earth's first hesitant steps into the void. Confusion coiled in his gut, but he stifled it. Years in the military had taught him the futility of apocalyptic daydreams. Orders were orders. Stay calm. Adapt. Survive.

With a nod to Agent Sato, he settled back, the mystery gnawing at him like a persistent rodent. The rain-streaked window offered no answers, only the silent promise of a destination shrouded in secrets. The dance with gravity had taken an unexpected turn, and Captain Peterson, defender of the solar system, was merely a passenger on a journey to the unknown.