Episode 20. No Response

The moment is critical.

We absorbed the shock wave, but now another threat is crushing us. For nearly two minutes, the Mercator has been trapped in the stem, that infernal column of superheated gases still pulling us ever deeper toward the heart of the mushroom cloud. In theory, it should weaken... but we no longer have the luxury of waiting.

Our shields are crumbling before our eyes. Every alert appearing on the screens confirms it. If we remain trapped one second longer, we will end up disintegrated or thrown aside like ordinary debris, abandoned to gravity.

Vitos's torpedo explodes behind the vessel.

The impact is brutal. In an instant, our inertia shifts. We are violently hurled toward the ground, seized by a gravity that shows no mercy. The bridge trembles under the violence of the shock and I cling to the second flight console.

Beside me, Lieutenant Commander Corda follows my maneuvers to the millimeter. His fingers race across the controls, his breathing short, tense, but controlled.

We are alone against the trajectory.

Alone against this fall that could be our last.

The entire vessel vibrates under the strain. Hands clenched on the controls, I feel my body being crushed into the seat. Every muscle is pulled to its limit by the brutal acceleration. The air grows heavier. Every breath costs an extra effort.

The vessel's structure groans, protests... but holds.

The Mercator pitches up, fighting like a wounded beast against Earth's pull as it tries to crush us. One wrong move, and we will dive nose-first at a speed impossible to arrest. Sensors scream, screens flash, but I no longer look at them.

Only the trajectory remains. The feel of the stick between my fingers.

And this brutal certainty: if we fail now, it is over.

Less than three hundred meters from the ground, at a speed exceeding two thousand five hundred kilometers per hour, the Mercator finally levels out. The maneuver is violent, almost unnatural, but the vessel obeys.

We gain altitude again, barely wrenching our trajectory away from gravity, then skirt the second radioactive mushroom cloud that formed about thirty kilometers from the first impact. The systems are exhausted, the structure weakened, but the Mercator is still holding.

In a precarious state, we painfully manage to reach low Earth orbit.

I finally release the pressure on the controls.

On the bridge, chaos reigns as our energy resources run dry. Emergency lights flicker, then go out one after another. Debris litters the floor; seats have been torn from their mounts.

My officers are spent.

Charlene has her head resting on her console. Eric, slumped in his seat, lets his arms hang limply. Emilie has stretched out on the floor. Our situation is far from reassuring.

As for me, my gaze freezes on the main screen, now showing nothing but static.

Suddenly, a thought cuts through my mind.

Angie.

I completely forgot her.

In one bound, I cross the bridge and lean over Emilie, helping her straighten up as best she can in her seat.

To get all the way down, I leave my overcoat at the elevator entrance. I undo the belt from my pants. Around the cable, it becomes my anchor point. My lifeline.

The cable is secure. The belt is ready to support my weight.

I take a deep breath, then launch myself into the void.

With every meter gained, I instinctively tighten the belt around the cable, creating calculated resistance to slow my descent. When I reach the roof of the cabin, I open the hatch and slip inside. In the cramped space, I operate the manual release lever.

A few seconds later, I finally emerge into the vessel's main corridor.

Shock hits me full force.

Hundreds of people are packed there. Screams and sobs echo through the confined space, chilling my blood. I force my way through to a doctor bent over a man lying on the floor, his teeth clenched in pain.

The gravity of the situation is such that I look away from the doctor for a moment to take in the turmoil around me.

Then, suddenly, a familiar voice rises out of the uproar.

I reach toward the control panel, but it is blinking strangely. The screen displays an error message I have never seen before.

My heart skips a beat.

Emergency lockdown.

Restricted access.

That is not a good sign.

I breathe deeply and enter my ID, followed by my command key. A beep sounds. One second passes. Then two. The interface seems to hesitate... before displaying a countdown.

5...

4...

3...

A metallic click echoes behind the door. Something unlocks. Manu takes a step back.

2...

1...

A low rumble passes through the airlock structure. Then, with a sharp jolt, the bay rises in a metallic crash. A current of cold air strikes us, lifting dust and debris accumulated on the floor. The module's lighting flickers.

Then nothing.

A heavy silence settles in.

I glance at Manu.

Then we enter the airlock of Module 3...