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

Chapter 6 - Europa

Date: March 21, 2856

The relentless thrum of the freighter was replaced by a yawning silence when the engines finally cut out. Sleep had been elusive for Peterson – a fragmented series of dreamlike flashes more than rest. Each jolt of acceleration or change in momentum throughout the night had served as a jarring reminder of the technological gulf between this outdated civilian craft and the military vessels he was accustomed to.

Even the smallest and simplest military shuttles perfected gravity plating and inertial cancellation decades ago, smoothing out the roughest voyages, but aboard this ship, reality intruded with unforgiving clarity.

Collins' revelations stirred an uncharacteristic unrest in him, churning beneath his usual military focus. Was it excitement? Doubt? Perhaps anger at the gamesmanship his superior officers were playing. His fingers drummed a restless tattoo on the cool armrest, mirroring the erratic beating of his heart. It felt wrong, being blindsided like this. His entire career was rooted in calculated moves,

meticulously studied information, and planning. And now? They were about to disembark, and he knew next to nothing about where they were truly headed or why exactly he had been chosen.

An automated voice crackled into existence from the hidden wall speakers, the disembarkation announcement jolting him from his introspection. "Europa Base –

arrival confirmed. All civilian passengers are kindly requested to proceed to the docking bay…" The message hummed on with customs requirements, background noise to the rising urgency in Peterson's chest. “Time to face the music, I presume?”

he murmured with a touch of wry humor.

Across the cramped room, Collins unfolded himself from the worn sofa, suppressing a groan. Peterson caught a flash of genuine tiredness beneath the man's stoic façade. “Indeed, Captain. Sleep eluded you?”

His question wasn't an accusation, merely a statement of fact. Peterson found himself begrudgingly admiring the man's calm. "Something like that," he offered evasively.

They shared a small breakfast of ration packs and lukewarm coffee. "Standard-issue for a civilian vessel," Collins remarked, offering a faint half-smile. “They likely assume any 'official' personnel use dedicated transports." The comment underscored the clandestine nature of Project ECHO, their journey buried within the mundane bustle of civilian traffic.

Europa Base hummed with the purposeful chaos of a thriving colony upon stepping out of the transport. Europa held its place as humanity's second-largest off-world hub after Mars, an astonishing feat amidst the icy desolation that lay beyond its protective domes. Peterson took a moment to absorb the scale. It was the contrast that shocked the senses: families with bustling luggage trolleys intermingled with engineers locked in intense conversation beside tour groups clutching handheld guides, faces lit with a sense of wonder. They flowed seamlessly as ants from separate colonies going about their day. Even this civilian veneer had an intensity, as if everything happened just slightly faster under Europa's skies. Then his gaze strayed, and caught his breath.

Jupiter.

There weren't words to describe the immensity, the alien beauty of the gas giant.

Like a painting in constant flux, it dominated, hanging twenty-five times larger than the moon as seen from Earth. It felt less like an element of the sky and more an ominous, watchful presence – a constant reminder of the sheer power and indifference of the cosmos, and humanity's fragile foothold within it.

Ten million people called Europa home at any given time, a staggering fact compounded by the knowledge that most would have been born here, under these artificial ceilings. Europa wasn't simply a waypoint, but a thriving world on its own.

The reasons were evident – natural resources galore, harvested from Jupiter's icy satellites, and a steady influx of tourists drawn by the sheer otherworldly majesty of the vista and the unique pleasures Europa's industries offered.

Interspersed between the civilian infrastructure, Peterson noted subtle reminders of Europa's less advertised face. Military insignia appeared subtly on structures, the occasional hardened checkpoint hinted at secured perimeters. Large, sprawling dome complexes stood silent testaments to operations carried out beyond the purview of casual travelers. Europa's strategic location amidst so many resources, on the doorstep of Project ECHO, ensured an extensive military presence, even if they often faded into the vibrant background.

Collins, with an unreadable composure that both calmed and irked Peterson, directed him towards a nearby docking hub. A sleek, self-driving hovercraft awaited –

no logos, no military designation, yet unmistakably part of the network of resources the hidden project enjoyed. Soaring across the duracrete towards the military zone, anticipation battled a lingering uncertainty. Peterson had a growing certainty now, a gut feeling that echoed beneath the thrill. Europa Military Base 17 shimmered into view, the journey mere minutes by the sleek shuttle.

Whatever lay beyond now, he knew with undeniable certainty…it was far from routine.

The sleek lines and hardened perimeter of Europa Military Base 17 exuded efficiency and purpose. There was a stark contrast between the vibrant bustle of the

civilian port and the silent sentinels manning the base entrance. A lone military guard stepped forward, her expression neutral under the glare of security lights.

"Identification, please," she spoke, her voice sharp and clipped. Her tablet blinked into life, a subtle hum replacing the night's eerie stillness. Collins and Peterson moved in unspoken tandem, submitting to the necessary DNA scans and biometric checks. These weren't routine military protocols, the equipment bespoke.

After a tense minute, the guard's stance eased fractionally. "Access granted.

Sergeant will escort you to quarters." She inclined her head towards the heart of the base, then moved back into the shadows.

Behind the main access points, the familiar buzz of military operation thrummed beneath the surface. Yet there was a distinct sense of containment — as if within these fortified walls, something beyond even standard operations ran deep and secret. As they moved in silence, Peterson couldn't shake a flicker of apprehension.

It was thrilling, yet tinged with a disquieting uncertainty. Had a lifetime of military protocol simply made him wary of anything that couldn't be instantly categorized?

Inside a spartan barracks offshoot, a solitary sergeant waited, his expression as inscrutable as the guard's. "Follow me," he barked, voice sharp.

The stark efficiency continued. Their paths diverged into separate rooms, their travel cases delivered silently beforehand. Inside, unremarkable quarters awaited. Then, a folded package – fresh uniforms the yellowish-green color of a cat's eye, stark against the Spartan surroundings. Peterson held up the sleeve, a frown furrowing his brow as his heart sank. It was undeniably a starship uniform. But beyond the usual insignias was a cryptic acronym: SSI. Beneath it, a stylized patch featuring a design almost like…a cat's pupil, the vertical slit containing a swirling miniature black hole. It was disconcerting, a cryptic clue without context.

Across the hall, Collins would likely recognize this immediately. It was a visual confirmation of all the secrecy, the whispered hints: SSI meant Starship Iris – he was right on target. Peterson however, stared at the uniform in his hands, bewildered and yet filled with a surge of anticipation. The game was afoot, and with this uniform, this

strange emblem... it seemed Peterson had been handed his role without needing to fully understand it. It was exhilarating, unnerving, and most likely, irreversible.

Donning the strange yellowish-green uniform felt less like dressing for a military operation and more like an actor being handed a costume for a role he'd yet to comprehend. Peterson emerged from his room, hesitantly scanning the hallway as the door slid shut. Just on cue, Collins stepped out as well, as if he’d never harbored a second of doubt amidst their cryptic journey. He offered Peterson a quick nod, an unreadable flicker passing across his weathered face. Was it an acknowledgement of shared absurdity, or perhaps a shared, silent thrill?

With nary a word, the same sergeant reappeared. It was unsettling, this clockwork efficiency, as if they were cogs in an already finely-tuned machine. "Briefing awaits,"

he barked, then gestured with a curt motion, “This way.”

They were steered further into the base, following labyrinthine corridors and sterile elevators. Each upward ascension deepened the feeling of stepping into hidden depths, not simply through Europa's surface, but something parallel to their known world of military bureaucracy. Peterson noted the faintest increase in Collins'

breathing, a minute detail betraying the commander's usual ironclad control. The suspense felt heavier than Europa's gravity pull.

“Briefing room," the sergeant announced, voice dull against the building tension. The words echoed across another deserted corridor. “Enter when ready." Then, in an astonishing feat of unassuming obedience, he took up a position against the wall, an almost forgotten presence – another piece of the military apparatus moving flawlessly through pre-scripted motions.

For a long, heartbeat-laden second, Peterson and Collins locked eyes. His commander's expression held an odd mix of stoicism and an unspoken question.

Finally, Collins gave a curt nod. The time for second-guesses was over. Whatever lay beyond that simple door, this much was clear: things were about to change, irrevocably and perhaps irreparably.

Peterson braced himself as he crossed the threshold and walked into the briefing room. Half a lifetime in the military prepared him for sterile strategic spaces, the

smell of recycled air clinging to the hum of electronic panels. This room was different. Sized generously enough to host an entire command staff, it held a singular sense of weight with its solitary figure perched behind a gleaming conference table.

The sleek lines and minimalist decor whispered of both cutting-edge technology and an unshakeable austerity.

The man sat silhouetted for a moment before rising, his face momentarily shadowed against the glare of the wall-sized viewscreen showcasing an uninterrupted view of Europa’s icy landscape. "Gentlemen," he began, voice resonating with an authority forged over a lifetime, "Welcome. I am General Elias Pati."

He extended a hand to each of them in turn, his handshake warm and sure. Closer now, Peterson tried to gauge his age. With modern rejuvenation therapies, outward appearance and actual life span often bore little relation. This man carried himself with a seasoned power, but was it that of someone in their eighties, or someone pushing towards a hundred and forty?

"Captain Peterson, Commander Collins. May I offer you a seat?" the General gestured expansively towards the table, but instead of taking one of the imposing command chairs, he lowered himself into an individual one facing them. His informality struck an odd contrast to the formality of the setting.

"I understand Collins has shared an…outline of events…" a flicker of wry amusement touched the General's eyes, "…while perhaps leaving out some vital points? But fear not, captain, clarity awaits.”

“Indeed, sir,” Collins answered, the slightest hint of tension cracking his practiced facade. “Project ECHO was the best-kept secret. It had to be…”

General Pati nodded slowly. "One of the few such secrets in our system, Commander. One I myself was burdened with less than three decades ago. You both were hand-picked. And while Commander Collins might be…let's say slightly more familiar with our subject today, you bring fresh perspective, Captain.” He met Peterson's gaze with a startling directness. “Your career is notable for unorthodox thinking…some might even call it audacious, especially regarding the ENIGMA project.”

His gaze flicked briefly between them. “Gentlemen, time is both our ally, and our foe.

Your journey may have lacked detail up till now, but the reason for my cryptic recruitment will become clear. What lays ahead may determine the fate of more than just this project…more than just solar system as we know it." The jovial air had left him, replaced with the unwavering focus of a seasoned commander. "But to tell this tale, it's best we start from the beginning…”