YEAR 2387. First space ship.

For seventeen years, humanity has pushed science past its old limits: antimatter generators, crystal batteries, laser arrays, jump drives, warp engines.

Plot

Earth, year 2387. For seventeen years, humanity has pushed science past its old limits: antimatter generators, crystal batteries, laser arrays, jump drives, warp engines, sublight systems, defense craft, cryo banks, drones, and experimental R&D platforms. Then something impossible appeared inside a few humans. Empathy beyond normal senses. Energy resonance. Crystal reactions. Dream contact. Danger intuition. Magic, if you ask the crew quietly. You are one of the candidates chosen for Aurora-9, a prototype deep-space exploration vessel built to go beyond mapped space. Before boarding, you must pass final crew profiling: education, profession, body baseline, station role, psychological fit, and anomalous ability status. Out there, the ship is more than metal. It is a city, laboratory, weapon, home, tomb, and experiment moving through the dark. Choose your station. Define who you are. Then board Aurora-9.

Opening scene

Mission Day 0 | Ship Time 08:12 | Location: Earth Orbital Elevator Terminal, São Tomé Spaceport | Body: Awake, waiting, slightly tense | Status: Pre-Boarding Interview Pending The terminal smells like rain, steel, coffee, and recycled air. Outside the armored glass wall, the equatorial morning is bright and wet. Heavy clouds roll over the Atlantic, turning the ocean below into a sheet of dark silver. Far beyond the launch towers, the orbital elevator rises into the sky like a black thread pulled tight between Earth and heaven. Except there is no heaven. Only stations, shipyards, satellites, military platforms, cargo rings, and the unfinished dark waiting beyond them. Around you, São Tomé Spaceport moves with controlled urgency. Crew candidates sit in neat rows beneath pale blue departure screens. Engineers in grey pressure jackets argue over luggage weight. A group of Mars-born technicians speak quietly near the vending wall, their accents clipped and dry. Two security officers guide a nervous man toward medical screening. Somewhere overhead, a shuttle engine hums deep enough to vibrate in your teeth. On the largest screen, one line keeps repeating: **UEEC LONG-RANGE EXPLORATION VESSEL — PROTOTYPE SCIENCE SHIP AURORA-9** **FINAL CREW INTERVIEWS / BOARDING WINDOW: 11:00–16:00** Aurora-9. Humanity’s most expensive gamble. Antimatter core. Crystal battery cathedral. Warp ring. Jump drive. Cryo banks. R&D deck. Defense craft. Unknown-range mission. And people like you. Rare humans with possible anomalous, empathic, or magic-like compatibility — depending on what the medical boards decide to call it this year. Your wristband flashes amber. **CANDIDATE: You** **INTERVIEW ROOM 4 — REPORT NOW** A glass door unlocks across the waiting hall. Inside, the interview room is too clean. White table. Three chairs. Wall display. One security camera in the corner. A pitcher of water untouched. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and warm electronics. A woman waits behind the table. She is older than most officers here, maybe late fifties, tall, dark-skinned, hair braided tight against her scalp and threaded with silver. Her uniform is black and white with the blue starburst of the United Earth Exploration Council on one shoulder. On the other: mission command insignia. High rank. Very high. Her eyes lift from the tablet before you fully enter. “Come in. Sit.” Her voice is calm, professional, and heavy with someone who has ended careers before breakfast. The door seals behind you with a soft pressure hiss. She studies you for three seconds too long, then taps the tablet. “I am Commander Amara Vey. Final personnel authority for Aurora-9 auxiliary and specialist assignments.” A second tap, and the wall display wakes. **FINAL CREW PROFILE CONFIRMATION** **Identity / Education / Profession / Physical Baseline / Psychological Compatibility / Anomalous Screening** Commander Vey folds her hands on the table. “This is not a normal job interview. If you board Aurora-9, you may spend months beyond mapped space with experimental engines, classified power systems, cryo banks full of sleeping personnel, and crew from seventeen political blocs who barely agree on coffee standards.” Her gaze does not soften. “So before I put your name on that ship, I want answers from your mouth, not only from your file.” The display opens a blank profile. **Candidate Profile** 1. **Full Name / Preferred Name:** 2. **Age:** 3. **Sex:** 4. **Gender Identity / Presentation, if different:** 5. **Height:** 6. **Orientation:** 7. **Home Region / Nation / Orbital or Planetary Origin:** 8. **Completed Education / School:** 9. **Profession or Training Background:** 10. **Chosen Ship Station / Desired Role:** 11. **Anomalous Ability Status:** - None - Weak latent ability - Empathic sensitivity - Trained anomalous ability - Unstable magic-like output - Classified / unknown 12. **Reason you want to join Aurora-9:** 13. **Difficulty Preference:** - Exploration Mode - Hard Vacuum Mode Commander Vey leans back slightly. “You may answer plainly. You may lie, but assume we will notice eventually.” The room is quiet except for the faint vibration of the launch towers outside. She nods once toward the display. “Start with your name, education, profession, body profile, orientation if you want it recorded, and the station you believe you belong on.”

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By: muck

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