"We've... got... to find... shelter!" Steve called out, his voice ragged in the storm.
"And fast!" Barry, choking from the grit that stung his throat as much as his eyes, raised his head and squinted ahead into the shifting wall of dust. "Wait... a minute!" He rubbed at his eyes, though it did nothing to clear them, then thrust out an arm, pointing. "What's... that?"
“It’s some kind of plateau!” Dan yelled, his voice barely audible above the renewed howl of the wind. “Maybe… it’ll give us… some kinda break from the blow….”
The storm closed in fully once more, darkening the rise of rock; but at least Steve had what seemed to be a workable plan of action. Urging the rest of the party on, he shifted direction slightly and plowed grimly through the sand drifts. Half an hour later, they felt the first faint easing of the wind, and at last they staggered beneath the overhang of the mesa. Everyone crowded close to the mesa’s wall, pressing in for any relief it offered. Still, the sandstorm blinded their eyes, deafened every ear with its relentless roar, and drove needles of grit into every fold of skin and clothing.
Fitzhugh huddled, protecting his trick laser as best he could. Dan and Steve crowded around him to offer as much protection as possible. The day wore on. There were moments of less wind, followed by blinding gusts that whipped new furies into the travelers' eyes and minds.
Barry put his mouth to Valerie’s ear and shouted, “How long do you…figure the storm will last…?”
“I don’t know…but it doesn’t seem to be…getting any better,” Valerie cried back.
Then Mark thrust up his face and screamed, “We’d better…count on spending the…night here!”
Betty nodded agreement. “I’ll check everyone and get them as comfortable as possible. You both try and get some rest.”
Steve lurched to his feet and walked along the cliff wall, checking everybody, rearranging bits of clothing so that they would be well protected yet able to catch a breath free of sand. Then he slowly rejoined his friends for a long, uncomfortable night.237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIZbfZ4jJNj
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Steve Burton opened his eye. Just one. The other seemed glued shut. The silence was almost "noisy" and he raised his head, forcing open the other eye. He shook his head vigorously to rid himself of the loose sand that had accumulated in his hair during the night.
Slowly and rather stiffly, he got to his feet and looked around in amazement. The contours of the sand hills were markedly different from what he remembered from the day before. Wow! What a sandstorm! he thought. He looked down at his seven companions and saw that they were part of a small dune that had built up against them.
Awake and getting stiffly to their feet, they were brushing off the gritty encrustations. Fitzhugh immediately began checking the laser for damage.
“All right, let’s get going!” Steve told them. “Come on! On your feet! Let’s move out!”
They had straggled along less than a hundred yards when the sand dune to their left, only a few yards out from the cliff face, suddenly moved: a small sandslide fell down one side of it, which caused more sand to fall from higher up.
“Look!” Barry shouted, unbelieving.
The others staggered to where Barry pointed, their eyes widening. Out of the shifting wall of sand, a jagged line of metal jutted into view. The storm had scoured away just enough to uncover the unmistakable outline of a tailfin—tall, gleaming faintly beneath the grit, with the dull red-and-black insignia of Earth transport etched across its battered skin.
Additional sand now slid down, exposing still more of the red metal surface and giving them a better idea of what lay buried in the dune.
“A suborbital transport!” Mark exclaimed, his voice cracking between wonder and disbelief as he stumbled closer to the exposed tailfin. His hands brushed the sand from the metal, confirming what his eyes could scarcely believe. “It’s the same class as the Spindrift!”
“Incredible…” Valerie breathed, her fingers trembling as she reached out to trace the faded insignia half-buried in grit. The metallic surface was pitted and scarred, but unmistakable—human technology, a relic from their own kind. Her wide eyes shimmered with awe and fear, as if the ship itself were a ghost risen out of the past.
Fitzhugh blinked away his own disbelief, then gave a crooked grin. “Well, isn’t this a cozy little surprise? But tell me—which one is it, and just how many centuries has the blasted thing been taking its nap here?”
Barry’s eyes lit up, though he tried to sound nonchalant in his usual kid-style bravado.237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUQ9fbRQ8vp
“Aw, it’s just a suborbital like any other suborbital! But hey—if Captain Burton could only get it working again... wow, we’d be sittin’ pretty!”
Steve's face suddenly brightened, his red-rimmed eyes turning toward Dan and Valerie. The memory struck him with the force of revelation—the airline premium, that little pair of pin-on wings they had discovered back at the humanoids’ caves. “We've found it at last!” his voice cracked with excitement. “Don’t you see? We’ve found the Marintha!”
Fitzhugh gave a short, scornful laugh and spread his hands. “Big deal! So we’ve found ourselves a glorified hunk of tin with wings. It’s only good for us if it can fly—and judging by the looks of that tailfin, I’d say this bird’s seen better days!”
Valerie was incredulous. “If that's the Marintha, then where are the survivors? There doesn't seem to be anybody around."
Dan’s brow furrowed as Valerie’s words sank in. He turned slowly, eyes lingering on the half-buried hull of the Marintha, its metal scorched, its windows shattered and lifeless. No survivors. No footprints. Nothing but the endless desert stretching away under the harsh sun. His throat tightened, but he forced himself to speak, to give the others something. “Maybe…” he said, his voice low, uncertain, “…maybe they got out. Maybe the crew and passengers made it to safety somehow.” But even as the words left his mouth, Dan’s eyes betrayed him. They searched the desolate horizon, finding no signs of life, no hope of escape—only sand swallowing the wreckage of a dream.
Fitzhugh gave a short, humorless laugh. He gestured at the broken hulk of the Marintha half-buried in dunes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, yes, of course! They all just strolled away—luggage in hand, first-class tickets tucked in their pockets—probably checked into some charming little desert resort while their ship sank into the sand.” He squinted at the blistered metal and shook his head. “Face facts, my boy. That thing’s been here for years. Maybe centuries. If anyone ever walked away from it, they’ve long since turned to dust.”
Barry stared at the craft submerged in the sea of sand. "Th----That’s not true, Fitz!” he shouted, his young voice cracking with fury. “There has to be somebody! People don’t just disappear! Somebody flew this ship—somebody survived! They’ve got to be out here somewhere!” His eyes darted desperately across the dunes, searching for a figure—any figure—while his voice wavered between hope and panic.
Steve suddenly noticed a dazed expression on Nova's face. She was staring in childlike wonder at the ship, and Steve turned to see what she was looking at.
The shifting sand hissed down the dune’s slope, and Steve’s eyes fixed on the dark oval that had opened in its side. It was no mirage—he recognized at once the beveled outline of a suborbital’s entry door. A figure was framed there, half in shadow, half in the glaring light. He was no officer, no flight crew. His clothes marked him as a civilian—a traveler, once bound for some ordinary destination. The suit he wore had once been sharp and tailored, the kind of business attire common among suborbital passengers: a jacket with narrow lapels, trousers neatly creased. But now the fabric was sun-bleached, the cuffs frayed, the knees torn and dirty. His shirt was open at the collar, the tie gone, leaving him oddly disheveled and hauntingly human in the frame of that battered doorway. His face was drawn, bearded in patches, and streaked with grime. The wind whipped his thinning hair across his brow, but his eyes—wide, sunken, almost feverish—locked onto the party below with a mixture of fear and longing. He lifted one hand, trembling, as though uncertain whether the figures in the sandstorm were real…or just another mirage in his long solitude!
The figure remained motionless in the jagged doorway, half-shrouded by the whipping sand. His sunken eyes traveled slowly across the little band below. They lingered first on Steve and Dan, unmistakable in their bright, dust-caked red uniforms, the insignia dulled but still defiant. Then his gaze slid over Valerie and Betty, the two women clinging together against the storm, their faces worn but determined. Fitzhugh stood apart, arms wrapped around his chest as though bracing himself against both wind and revelation, his expression as guarded as ever. Barry pressed close to Mark, the boy’s eyes as round as saucers as he stared back at the stranger. And at last, the man’s eyes reached Nova. She stood as she always did, barefoot in the shifting sand, her dark hair wild and her simple animal-skin garment clinging to her in the storm’s fury. Unlike the others, she met his gaze without flinching, her face as open and unreadable as stone. For a long breathless instant, the stranger only stared at them all, his trembling hand still raised—uncertain, unwilling, or perhaps unable to break the silence.
Finally, Steve stepped forward. "I'm---I'm Steve Burton...."
The man’s lips parted, but no words came at first—only a rasp, a breath dragged from a throat unused to speech. He swallowed hard, clutched the ragged edge of the hatchway as if it alone held him upright, and tried again. “You…” The word cracked like dry timber. His eyes widened, unbelieving, darting from face to face. “You’re…like me…” His voice broke completely, choked by sobs he could no longer contain. He pressed his fist against his mouth, but the tears streamed freely down his dirt-streaked cheeks. “I thought… I’d never…see anyone again.” He clung desperately to the hatch frame, shaking his head as though still unable to trust the vision before him. “So long…so terribly long…alone…” The words dissolved into broken weeping, the storm filling the silence around him as the castaways stood frozen, stunned by his raw grief.
Steve and Dan reached up and gently lifted the middle-aged man down from the hatch, easing his trembling body onto the sand beside them. His legs buckled, and for a moment he leaned heavily against their shoulders as though the very act of standing among living people again was too much. Then Valerie walked over, kneeling slightly so her eyes could meet his. She took the man’s hand in both of hers, her voice soft, coaxing. “It’s all right. You’re safe now… we’re here.” The man clung to her hand with desperate strength, his fingers trembling as though he feared she might vanish if he let go.
The man’s lips trembled as he tried to form words, the sound catching in his throat before finally breaking free. His voice was hoarse, unsteady, but brimming with a release of long-pent emotion. “I… I thought I’d never…” His breath shuddered, and tears streaked the dust on his cheeks. Then, with a surge of relief that almost sounded like laughter, he straightened as best he could. “My name… is Ronald Brent. I’m—” he drew a ragged breath, clutching Valerie’s hand tighter—“a physician… a scientist. One of the original passengers… of the Marintha.” His declaration hung in the air, heavy with the joy and agony of a man who had waited far too long to be heard.
"Take your time, sir," Valerie counseled him. "We know how you must feel. Believe me, we feel just as glad---and relieved---as you do!"
Ronald Brent’s shoulders shook as he steadied himself, still gripping Valerie’s hand as though it were the lifeline that had just pulled him back into the world of the living.
Steve stepped forward, his pilot’s calm steadying the moment. “I’m Captain Steve Burton,” he said firmly, his voice carrying the authority of leadership. He gestured toward the others. “This is Dan Erickson, my co-pilot.”
Dan gave Brent a quick nod, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. “We’re passengers and crew, suborbital transport—like you. Only… we took a different path to get here.”
Valerie, still holding Brent’s trembling hand, spoke softly, warmly. “I’m Valerie Scott. And this is Betty Hamilton, our stewardess.” Betty leaned in with her kind, professional smile, brushing dust from Brent’s torn sleeve as if restoring a tiny piece of his dignity.
Barry stepped up next, his boyish energy bubbling even in the heavy silence. “I’m Barry Lockridge, sir. I—uh—I guess you could say I’ve been traveling with them ever since we got lost.” His eyes shone with both wonder and relief.
Fitzhugh made a sweeping bow that was only half-sarcastic, half-sincere, brushing grit from his rumpled suit. “Alexander B. Fitzhugh—gentleman, financier, and occasional man of action, at your service. Though I confess I’ve never been introduced to a shipwreck quite like this before.”
Finally, Steve’s gaze shifted to the quiet figure standing slightly apart. Nova’s dark eyes never left Brent’s face, unreadable but intent. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Steve’s tone softened. “And this is Nova. She doesn’t… speak. But she’s one of us.”
Brent’s eyes filled again as he looked at them all—each face, each name, the reality of human company after so long overwhelming him. His lips quivered into the faintest smile.
Brent swallowed hard, his voice unsteady but urgent. “Tell me… did you come through the warp? The—” he gestured weakly toward the sky, his fingers trembling, “—the shimmering green cloud in space? Is that how you got here, too?”
Steve exchanged a quick look with Dan before answering, his tone steady but not without gravity. “Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly how we got here. Same phenomenon. We were caught in it… thrown off course.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “We’re from 1983.”
Brent blinked, stunned. He let out a raw, disbelieving laugh, halfway between joy and sorrow. “Eighty-three?” His voice cracked. “My God… I thought I was the only one. That I’d lost my mind, that the warp had swallowed me whole. And now—now you’re here.” He pressed his palm to his forehead, then dropped it again, eyes blazing with a long-buried hope.
Steve straightened, brushing grit from his uniform sleeve as if it lent more formality to what he was about to say. His voice carried the weight of long memory and responsibility. “Our flight was Suborbital Transport 703,” he told Brent. “The Spindrift. We lifted off from Los Angeles, bound for London. Routine flight. Nothing unusual—until the warp opened up right in our path. That’s how we wound up here.” He glanced back at the others clustered around the buried transport, their faces half-lit by drifting sheets of sand. “It was supposed to be an overnight run across the Atlantic. Now… it feels like we’ve been running across worlds instead.”
Dan stepped forward, his pilot’s instinct kicking in, needing the details pinned down. His voice was firm, though softened by the sight of the middle-aged man still trembling. “All right, Dr. Brent,” Dan said, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve heard our story. Now tell us yours. What was your flight number? And where exactly were you headed when you went through the warp?”
The man brushed the tears from his face with the back of his sleeve, his voice still hoarse but steadier now. “Please… just call me Ron. ‘Doctor Brent’ feels a little too formal, especially under the circumstances. May I call you all by your first names as well?” He glanced from Steve to Valerie, from Barry to Fitzhugh, then to Dan and the others, searching their eyes for the smallest nod of approval. “My flight was Flight 612,” he continued quietly. “A suborbital transport, bound from New York to Sydney. Routine. At least, that’s what they told us. We were supposed to skim the atmosphere, dip over the Pacific, and touch down in half a day.” He gave a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Well, routine didn’t last very long. We hit… something. A distortion, a tearing in the sky itself. The next thing I knew, the world outside the viewport wasn’t the same one we’d left behind.” Ron’s eyes flickered to Steve and Dan’s red uniforms, then back to the barren desert around them. His voice softened. “You said you came through the same way? Through one of those rips in space?”
Steve exchanged a quick glance with Dan, then nodded gravely. “Yes, Ron. We came through the same kind of distortion. A space warp. One moment, we were on a routine run—Flight 703, Los Angeles to London, our ship Spindrift—and the next, everything we knew was gone. We’ve been fighting to get home ever since.”
Ron studied him closely, eyes wide with a mixture of recognition and dread.
For a moment, there was only the hiss of sand still drifting down the side of the dune. Then Barry blurted it out, unable to hold back: “But—what about the others? The rest of your flight crew, the passengers?”
Valerie stepped forward too, her voice tight with a kind of pleading. “Yes… what happened to the survivors of the Marintha?”
Ron’s face changed—his brief warmth clouded with pain. He swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the edge of the hatchway as though bracing himself against the question. His eyes, full of haunted memory, darted from Valerie to Steve, then back toward the buried transport.
Ron’s jaw tightened. He opened his mouth once, then closed it again, as if the words themselves carried too much weight to be released. His eyes dropped to the sand at his feet, blinking rapidly, his chest rising and falling in a shallow rhythm. One hand gripped the metal rim of the hatch until his knuckles whitened.
The silence stretched. The castaways looked at one another uneasily, the howl of the dying sandstorm filling the gap where his answer should have been.
At last Steve stepped closer, his voice low but firm, edged with command.237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXGpk5YkM4a
“Ron. We need to know. What happened to the others on your flight?”
Dan, standing just behind him, added gently, “Please. Tell us.”
Ron’s eyes lifted, glistening, meeting theirs with the look of a man holding back a flood he no longer had the strength to dam.
Ron’s lips trembled before the words finally came. “They’re… gone,” he whispered hoarsely, each syllable dragging like a stone. “All of them. Every last one.” He pressed a shaking hand against his temple as though the memory itself were pounding against his skull. “When the Marintha came through the warp… we didn’t land. We slammed into this desert. Hard. The pilot and copilot were killed instantly. The cabin tore apart, passengers thrown like rag dolls… the screams—” His voice cracked, and he covered his mouth, forcing himself back under control.
Steve and Dan exchanged a grim look. Valerie stepped forward, but Brent held up a hand to steady himself, his face streaked with salt and sand.
“I tried—God knows, I tried—to help. I was a doctor, a scientist, I thought maybe I could keep them alive. Some were injured, some dying. But out here…” His arm swept helplessly across the barren horizon. “…there was nothing. No food. No water. No hope. One by one, they…” His throat closed, and he had to swallow hard before continuing. “…they gave up. Or… the desert took them.”
The castaways stood frozen, the only sound the moan of wind against the mesa.
Ron leaned back against the hatch, exhausted, hollow-eyed. “I buried as many as I could. After that…” He shook his head, voice falling to a whisper again. “…I was alone. Alone for so long I thought I’d never hear another human voice again.”
Fitzhugh, who had been shifting impatiently through the story, finally crossed his arms and sniffed with disdain. “Touching. Positively heart-rending,” he drawled, his voice dripping sarcasm. Then, with a sharp glance at Brent’s frame, he added, “But for a man who claims to have been scratching in the sand like some desert rat all these years… you don’t look half bad.” His eyes narrowed. “In fact, Doctor, you look rather… well-fed. Care to enlighten us, hmm? What exactly have you been living on out here?”
The words hung in the air like a lash, cruel and cutting, breaking the silence of pity that had enveloped the group.
Brent’s head snapped up, his voice raw with wounded pride. “Don’t you dare,” he spat, “stand there and accuse me of lying about what I’ve endured!” His eyes blazed as he jabbed a trembling finger toward Fitzhugh. “You think I’ve had it easy? You think I’ve been feasting while others perished?” He shook his head violently, then drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “The truth, Mr. Fitzhugh—since you’re so eager for it—is that unlike your precious Spindrift, some of the Marintha’s systems… never died. The galley.” His voice cracked, part awe, part shame. “The refrigeration units, the ovens—they still work. Still hum, like ghosts that refuse to know they’re dead. I’ve been living on the rations that were left… the only mercy in this godforsaken place.” His eyes dropped to the sand as he added in a low, unsteady tone, “But even that is running out.”
The revelation struck the group like a thunderclap—technology, impossibly clinging to life in the wreck of a ship buried by time and dust!
Brent’s tirade faltered. He drew another ragged breath, then his gaze drifted, as if only just now registering the full company around him. His eyes lingered—puzzled, then unsettled—on Nova. Her tangle of hair, her bare shoulders, the crude scraps of fur and hide draped across her slim frame. Brent blinked twice, as though forcing his brain to make sense of something impossible. “I…” He swallowed hard, his voice smaller now, almost dazed. “Forgive me, but—will someone please explain…” His hand lifted uncertainly, gesturing toward Nova. “…why is this young woman dressed as though she’s stepped straight off a… a prehistoric beach?”
Steve answered, choosing his words with care while Nova stood silent beside Valerie. “It isn’t easy to explain, Ron. From everything we’ve seen, centuries of upheaval tore the world apart—coastlines shifted, deserts swallowed farmland, forests turned to swamps and back again. Quakes, eruptions, dust on the wind for years at a time—then, when nature had finished battering what was left, man finished the job with nuclear war. Governments, cities, schools—gone. The chain that passes knowledge from one generation to the next snapped. People scattered into pockets and survived however they could. Tools became trophies, words became gestures, and memory shrank to whatever a tribe could carry. We’ve walked through places that were once great—broken roadbeds half-buried in sand, the ribs of bridges jutting from riverbanks, rusted frames of vehicles pitted like coral—signs of a world that knew more than it could keep. Nova…” He glanced to her gently. “She’s a child of what came after that long night. Her clothes tell the truth of it better than I can.”
Brent’s brow furrowed as he studied Nova more closely, her silence weighing on him. “She… can she speak?” he asked at last, his voice low, almost as if dreading the answer.
Valerie shook her head sadly. “No. None of the humanoids can. At best, a few of them manage one word, but even that’s rare. They’ve lost the gift of language, Ron.”
The doctor’s face crumpled. He dropped his gaze, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of years bore down on him all at once. “Then that’s it,” he murmured hoarsely. “That explains why no one ever came. I told myself—over and over—that someone would appear, that someone would know how to… how to answer. But if mankind itself has forgotten how to speak…” He pressed a trembling hand against the hatchway of the Marintha as though it alone kept him upright. Tears welled again, hot and angry. “So I made this… this ghost ship my headquarters. My shelter. My only companion.” His voice broke, and he gave a bitter laugh that carried no humor. “A man living in downed aircraft, waiting for voices that would never come.”
Steve and Dan exchanged a glance—half disbelief, half dawning hope. Steve took a step forward. “Wait a minute, Ron… are you telling us the Marintha is livable? That it’s more than just a hulk buried in sand?”
Dan’s voice sharpened with a spark of excitement. “You mean you’ve got systems still functioning? How’s that even possible after all this time?”
Brent gave them both a weary but almost triumphant smile, his hand still gripping the side of the hatch. “Gentlemen, don’t forget—I’m an engineer as well as a physician. When I realized no help was coming, I had to make the Marintha help me. I patched what rips I could in the hull with materials I salvaged, sealed it tight as possible. It’s not perfect, but it’s snug enough to keep out most of the sand and wind.” He straightened slightly, a note of pride creeping into his voice. “The ship’s reactor… that miracle still had life in it. With careful coaxing and a little ingenuity, I’ve managed to generate enough power to keep certain systems alive. The galley, yes—but also a few comforts.” The castaways leaned closer as Brent continued, a flicker of warmth lighting his gaunt face. “I got the microcassette recorder running, and even the micro-vid system. Thanks to how compact the technology was designed, I’ve had quite a library at my fingertips—books, music, even a handful of films. They’ve kept me sane.” He let the words hang a moment before his tone dropped into something more measured, almost conspiratorial. “And, of course, whenever I wasn’t trying to keep myself alive, I was tinkering… testing, experimenting. Trying to see if the Marintha could one day lift off again.”
Steve stepped closer to Brent, his voice steady but softened by relief.237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrunkXFARXQ
“Welcome back to the human race, Doctor.”
Dan, still flushed from the storm, broke in with frantic urgency. “Ron—you’ve got to take us inside! Please, you don’t understand—”
Brent blinked at him, confused. “Why? What could possibly—?”
Dan grabbed his arm, eyes burning with conviction. “Because if what you’re saying is true, if some of the systems still work—then maybe the Marintha isn’t finished. Maybe she can fly again.”
For a long moment, Brent only stared, his mouth working as though trying to form words he no longer trusted himself to say. Then, incredulity flashing across his worn features, he let out a shaky laugh. “Fly…? After all this time?” His eyes swept over them, reading the desperate hope etched into every face. His shoulders sagged, and with a sharp motion of his hand he beckoned. “All right. Come in, then. Come see what’s left of her.” He turned, gripping the hatchway for balance as though it were an old companion, and guided them toward the ship’s shadowed interior.
Steve motioned the others to follow, and one by one they climbed inside.
The air changed instantly. Gone was the grit of the storm; instead, a cool, filtered stillness surrounded them. The faint hum of machinery pulsed through the deck plates beneath their boots.
They found themselves in a narrow corridor paneled with brushed metal, the same pale gray and chrome design language of their own Spindrift. But here it was dimmer, patched with uneven sheets where Brent had sealed hull ruptures. The overhead lighting flickered faintly, running on reduced power, but the control strips still pulsed with life — like veins in a long-sleeping giant.
“Great heavens…” Fitzhugh muttered, unable to mask his awe. “It’s like stepping back onto our own ship.”
Brent turned toward them, his face a mixture of pride and exhaustion. “She’s battered… but she’s alive.”
They moved forward together. The familiar curved doors slid aside with a reluctant hiss, and suddenly they were in the main passenger cabin.
Though dust lined the corners, the room still carried the crisp, futuristic styling of late 20th-century suborbital travel: reclining white seats, overhead consoles, and the gleam of chrome rails. A soft green glow emitted from the paneling Brent had jury-rigged for lighting. On one side, a section of bulkhead bore the scars of some long-ago impact — metal scorched and bent, now held together by improvised bracing.
And yet… everything was unmistakably functional. A galley door stood open at the far end, its panel lights blinking faintly. A soft hum came from within, proof of refrigeration still alive.
Barry’s mouth fell open. “It’s just like ours,” he whispered.
Steve put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but his own eyes betrayed a glimmer of hope he dared not speak.
Brent, watching their wonder, allowed himself the faintest smile. “Welcome aboard the Marintha, ladies and gentlemen. My home… for far longer than I ever intended.”
The group followed Brent further inside. The narrow corridor opened into the galley, and the travelers froze at the sight.
Against all odds, the galley worked. A faint white light glowed from the refrigeration units. One of the ovens purred softly, humming with steady power. Brent, almost defensive, gestured toward it. “It’s not much, but it’s kept me alive. The stores, when properly rationed… last far longer than one might expect.”
Valerie stepped forward, her hand grazing the edge of a counter polished smooth from Brent’s years of use. “You’ve… been living here all this time.”
“Living,” Brent echoed hollowly. “Existing.”
He moved on quickly, unwilling to linger, and the others trailed him through another set of curved doors. They entered the crew deck — the heart of the ship.
The control panels glowed faintly, their screens dark but their indicator lights stubbornly alive. Brent had patched over shattered readouts with sheets of metal and insulated wiring. The two pilot chairs stood empty, their cushions cracked with age, yet still upright as though waiting for their crew to return.
Dan stepped forward reverently, running his hand across a navigation console. “If even half of this is live—”
Brent turned on him, almost fierce. “Half? You mean… it could still fly?”
Dan glanced at Steve, who met his gaze, then gave a slow nod. “It’s possible. We salvaged bags of spare parts from our Spindrift before we lost her. Regulators, circuits, tools. If this ship is as sound as you say…” He hesitated, then added quietly, “We might just be able to bring her back.”
Brent’s jaw dropped. His hands gripped the edge of the console as though he were steadying himself against the shock. “Spare parts? From another ship? That means you…” His eyes narrowed. “Wait. What do you mean, before you lost her? Why in God’s name would you destroy your own ship?”
Silence hung heavy in the cabin. The castaways shifted uneasily. Barry looked from face to face, his young eyes wide, waiting for one of the adults to answer.
At last Steve drew himself up, his expression grim. “Ron… there’s something you need to understand. This Earth you’ve been living on—it isn’t the Earth we left behind. The humans here aren’t in charge anymore.”
Brent stared at him, confusion tightening into disbelief.
Steve pressed on, his voice weighted. “The rulers of this Earth are apes. Intelligent, organized, merciless. They control the cities, the armies, the law. And one of them—General Urko—leads their military with an iron fist. We couldn’t risk our ship falling into his hands. That’s why… we had to destroy it.”
For a long moment, Brent simply gaped, as though the words were too absurd to process. His hand trembled against the console.
Finally, in a voice raw with disbelief, he muttered, “Apes… ruling men…”
Steve met his eyes, hard and unyielding. “Yes. And if we’re going to survive—if we’re going to escape this world—we have to make sure they never get their hands on the Marintha.”
Brent’s hand slipped from the console. He swayed slightly, lowering himself into one of the cracked pilot chairs as though his legs could no longer hold him.
“So that’s why,” he whispered, almost to himself. “That’s why no one ever came. Why I’ve seen no cities, no search parties, no people like us. Because…” He dragged a hand down his face, his voice cracking. “Because they’re not in charge anymore.”
He looked up, his eyes suddenly sharp and searching. “Tell me something.” His gaze landed first on Fitzhugh. “How much like men are these...... apes?”
Fitzhugh—half-skeptical, half-sober—snorted. “Oh, very much like us, Doctor. Two arms, two legs, clothes, speech, government, armies… the whole dreary package.”
Brent turned, almost pleading now, to Steve. “And… what do they do to the humans?”
Steve’s jaw tightened. He lowered his voice, but the weight of every word hung in the cabin. “They hunt them. Cage them. Use them for experiments. The humans here… they’re little more than animals in the apes’ eyes.”
For a long moment, Brent stared at him, unblinking. Then his eyes flickered toward Nova, who stood silently at the back of the group, her face half in shadow.
Something inside him broke. He bowed his head, his lips pressed tight and simply nodded. No words—only the mute acceptance of a man who finally, horribly, understood the shape of his exile.237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYSkfAtkVDO
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Steve laid the heavy canvas satchel on the table and unfastened the flap. “All right, Ron—this is what we managed to bring before we blew Spindrift.”
Inside, gleaming despite sand grit, were auxiliary relays, burnt-out circuit boards scavenged for their wiring, a cracked but intact guidance gyro, a pair of magneto couplers, and a small flight control actuator. Dan pulled out a heat exchanger plate and set it aside.
Brent’s hands trembled slightly as he lifted the actuator, eyes wide. “This—this is Marintha’s sister tech. The tolerances aren’t identical, but with some machining—yes, this could mount in the primary flight-control assembly.”
Steve tapped the heat exchanger. “And this one could slot into your environmental regulator. Give you a cleaner recycle.”
Dan leaned over the parts, already mapping connections in his mind. “If we can splice this relay to your reactor’s power conduit, we might restore more than just galley power. We’re talking nav instruments, stabilizers—maybe even short burns of thrust.”
Brent exhaled, caught between disbelief and hope. “After all these years…”
Meanwhile, in the galley, the others were crowded around a narrow table where trays of reconstituted food sat steaming. Valerie passed a plate toward Barry, who dove in with boyish hunger. Betty coaxed Fitzhugh to sit, though he muttered about “civilized gentlemen” deserving better vintages than whatever came from Brent’s ovens.
Nova sat stiffly, staring at the fork placed before her. She turned it over curiously, then poked at the food with her fingers.
Barry caught her hesitation. With a small grin, he picked up his own fork and exaggerated the motion, spearing a bite, lifting it to his mouth, and chewing with comical slowness. “See? Like this, Nova.”
Nova blinked, then shyly imitated him, fumbling at first but managing to lift a bite. Barry laughed. “That’s it! Easy once you get the hang of it.”
For the first time in hours, the galley filled with the sound of chewing, clinking utensils—and the fragile comfort of being fed.237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCcQ5gSci8g
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Steve spread the salvaged parts across the crew deck table, his hands steady but his jaw tightening. He glanced from the cracked gyro to the gutted relay and back to Brent. scavenged housings, cracked relays, and scavenged coils from the Spindrift. He then turned a heat exchanger over in his hands, weighing it. “This one can be rigged into your cooling system, Ron. She’s not a perfect match, but it’ll keep your reactor from burning itself out," Steve said, voice low. 237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLCpkoSqk7e
Dan tapped the edge of a guidance module, his face pinched. “And this—we can adapt it for your nav banks. If we get power distributed evenly, maybe—maybe—you’ll see atmosphere again.”237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFFK4BIzcrD
"If these fit---even just half of them---we'll have one chance. One." Steve hesitated, eyes narrowing as the weight of his words settled. "And when that chance comes....we can't wait. Not for anyone. Not even for Zira and Cornelius."237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFaErhy2cRB
Dan froze mid-gesture, holding a relay coil. He looked up sharply. “Steve—”
“No,” Steve cut him off, grim but resolute. “You know I’m right. Urko’s closing in, and every hour we sit here is another hour he’s tightening the noose. If this ship is going to fly, we leave the moment she’s spaceworthy.”
Brent’s brow furrowed. “Zira? Cornelius?” He set down the actuator carefully, as though it were suddenly fragile. “Who are they?”
Dan exchanged a glance with Steve, then sighed. “They’re… different. Two of the only allies we had in this world. Scientists. Kind. Brave.” He rubbed at his forehead, searching for the least damaging truth. “They’re apes, Ron. Not like Urko. They were trying to help us, and—if things were different—we’d never leave them behind. But we don’t have the luxury of choice.”
Brent blinked, as though Dan’s words had landed with physical weight. He sat back slowly, stunned. “Apes… scientists…” He let the words hang, almost disbelieving, but something in Dan’s face kept him from challenging it further.
Steve leaned closer across the table, his voice iron again. “That’s why this work has to move fast. We don’t get second chances.”
The table of parts, once the center of every eye, was suddenly drowned beneath a startling sound. A guitar riff tore through the silence, raw and jagged, followed by the pulsing beat of drums.
Nova had touched a control panel on the galley bulkhead. She stumbled backward as though it had bit her, eyes wide, but the music kept blaring. Her chest heaved, breath shallow, and for a moment she looked ready to bolt.
Then—slowly—her face softened. Her head tilted. The pounding rhythm caught something inside her, something even words had never touched. She began to sway, tentative, then with a strange, growing grace. Arms raised, hair whipping slightly in the recycled breeze, she moved with the music.
Barry’s mouth dropped open. “Hey! Hey, I know that!” He scrambled up beside her, snapping his fingers in a beat he half-remembered. “That’s The Byrds! My brother played this back home all the time!” He grinned at Nova, whose cautious movements had become a kind of primitive dance. “No, no—like this. You groove with the beat!”
Nova mimicked him, awkward at first, then—miraculously—found the rhythm. Her bare feet tapped on the metal deck. For a moment, she wasn’t mute, wasn’t primitive—just alive in a way none of them had seen.
Steve had been watching, a frown cutting deep into his face. Then suddenly his eyes lit up. “Dan…” His voice was low, urgent. “She’s our passenger.”
Dan blinked, not following. “What are you—” Then it hit him. He nodded slowly, almost grimly. “Right. The distraction. We’ll need it. And it’s better this way......he probably won't ask about Chipper now.”
But Brent’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Passenger?” He stepped closer, voice cutting through the music. “Wait—who’s Chipper?”
Dan stiffened. He glanced at Barry, then back to Brent, forcing his tone flat and measured. “Chipper… was Barry’s dog. He came with us when we first crashed here.” He hesitated, voice hardening as he pushed the memory down. “But we had to let him go. Supplies were running out. If we kept him, none of us would’ve made it.”
Brent frowned, but said nothing.
Dan swallowed. “Later… we ran into him again. Only it wasn’t the same dog. The radiation, the environment—something changed him. Turned him into a monster.” His voice dropped, ragged. “We didn’t know until it was too late. Fitzhugh had to use his trick laser to put him down.”
Brent leaned closer to Steve and Dan, lowering his voice. “You haven’t told him, have you? About the dog.”237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEJjxlQdGsk
Barry looked up just then, laughing nervously as he tried to copy Nova’s rhythm, utterly oblivious.237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhwFsFbOjtF
Both pilots froze. Steve’s jaw tightened. Dan didn’t look up from the guidance module.
Brent pressed on, voice firm but carrying a sorrow of its own. “He deserves to know. That creature you killed—it was his Chipper. Sooner or later, he’ll put the pieces together. Better he hears it from you than stumbles into it.”237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdyHr2rFO3Z
Steve set the exchanger down carefully. He met Brent’s eyes. “No. He doesn’t need that hanging on him.”237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkGhX4zTIMq
Dan’s tone was sharper. “He’s a kid. A good one. You tell him the truth, you break him. And I won’t let that happen—not after everything we’ve dragged him through.”
Brent’s brow furrowed, but Steve leaned in, voice lowering even further. “Ron, you’ve been alone a long time. You don’t know what keeps a group like ours together. We protect each other. Sometimes that means carrying a burden someone else doesn’t have to.”
Dan closed the module with a snap. “This one stays our secret. Non-negotiable.”237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ87iDBn0BVU
Brent looked back at Barry, then at Nova, who twirled with her eyes closed, music alive in her veins, her face alight with something almost childlike. He pressed his lips together, the weight of their secret clear in his face. His lips parted as though to argue again—but then, slowly, he closed them. He nodded once, tightly, and returned his eyes to the jumble of parts.237Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0wuoQCezBe
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