Drifting to an Alien Planet for a Slow Life After a Mutual Kill with the Enemy - Chapter 5
The cryogenic fluid in the cockpit drained away slowly, receding like a cold, sterile tide and leaving behind only silence and emptiness. The stuff wasn’t endlessly recyclable; every session used up precious reserves, which meant every awakening felt significant, weighty.
LYS–23’s mind fought its way back from slumber. He drifted between the deep nothing and reality until he felt his heart give its first, firm beat—the definite signal that he was anchored to his body again.
A shallow breath, the familiar sting of coolant in the air, the faint, steady micro-flicker of the internal lights—piece by piece, his world clicked back into place.
“Pilot LYS-23. Welcome back.”
“Cryo-state terminated. Vitals are stable.”
ANTA–UR–N–07’s voice was deep and steady, so consistent in the silence that it felt like an echoing extension of his own pulse.
He cracked his eyes open, his vision still swimming. “…Report.”
“Hull integrity stands at eighty-seven per cent. Core energy is stable, current reserves at five per cent.” ANTA–UR–N–07 delivered the facts without inflection. “Environmental analysis is complete. Review the full findings in the report.”
“First, a formal congratulation, Pilot. You have achieved the supreme goal no one in the Logos Federation ever managed—the discovery of a planet suitable for human habitation.”
The cabin lights gave a tiny shimmer, almost like a celebratory fanfare.
“Under Section Six, Chapter Seven of the Human Exploration Treaty, you are promoted three ranks, from Lieutenant to Major, and officially registered as an Acadian citizen. Please confirm.”
For a long moment, only LYS–23’s breathing could be heard.
A quick scan of the opening lines confirmed his system’s claim: this lush, green world was indeed habitable. LYS–23 sat back, absorbing the profound irony. The desperate, centuries-long wish of the exiled human race had been fulfilled by him—by accident. But joy was distant. After all, he was never going home to the Logos Federation.
“Confirmed,” he said calmly. “Log the promotion. From now on, you’ll address me as Major.”
“Understood, Major,” ANTA–UR–N–07 acknowledged. “Per Human Identification Protocol, as an honorary Acadian and a Major, you are entitled to a full surname and given name.”
He paused, thinking, his gaze caught by a thin strip of cold light on the wall.
“Then, from today, call me Lysander Helion.”
“Registered,” ANTA–UR–N–07 stated. “It is an honor to serve with you, Major Lysander Helion.”
“Oi, don’t jinx it with that formal rubbish,” Lysander Helion laughed. Then, a thought struck him. “Right, since I’ve got a proper name, I should give you one, too. ANTA–UR–N–07 is a bloody mouthful. Let’s see… How about Ouranos?”
Lysander didn’t see it from the pilot’s seat, but as he finished, ANTA–UR–N–07’s optical sensors gave a subtle flicker.
“Understood. A shorter designation will certainly make mission execution easier. This unit will now refer to itself as Ouranos.” ANTA–UR–N–07… Ouranos replied.
After that brief, humanizing moment, Lysander threw himself back into the hard work of survival. He wasn’t rushing out the door. He knew Ouranos was right: he had room for mistakes, but not many. Everything had to be treated as a valuable resource.
Ouranos projected the exterior view: a thick forest stretching into the morning mist, and distant mountains outlined in a faint gold light. It looked tranquil, but felt deep and unknowable. Still, Lysander thought it was spectacularly beautiful and full of life.
“The environmental analysis report is as follows,” Ouranos recited, as holographic data charts unfolded in blue light. “Current location: Planet L–4X–09. Atmosphere: 20.3% oxygen, 78.6% nitrogen. Temperature: 24 degrees Celsius. Atmospheric pressure is stable. No radioactive contamination. Gravity is 0.91G, well within human tolerance. No borders detected within a three-hundred-kilometer radius. The forest area is estimated to be three times the size of Earth’s Amazon rainforest. Flora and fauna density is extremely high. No signs of intelligent life forms. Preliminary conclusion: habitable.”
Lysander watched the report finish.
“Your conclusion is far too quick,” he countered, his voice steady but carrying the sharp precision of military training.
“Habitable doesn’t mean suitable for long-term survival.”
He reached out, pulling up the items the report had automatically categorized as ‘Low Risk’.
“Some organisms here show unnatural energy signatures—what you’ve called ‘Biological Current Anomalies’. Yet, based on your spectral data, that energy frequency simply doesn’t exist under Earth’s laws of physics.”
“Confirmed,” Ouranos replied, unperturbed. “The anomalous energy phenomenon has been logged as a potential risk.”
“Also, we can’t assume a lack of intelligent life too early. Your own report states this forest far exceeds our current detection range. We need a lot more investigation,” Lysander stressed.
“Agreed,” Ouranos conceded.
“Good.” Lysander looked up, a slight softness returning to his expression. “But I do agree your preliminary plan is solid. At the very least, I can survive here, theoretically.”
The cabin fell silent again. Only the low system hum and the wind outside provided a rhythm. Ouranos re-activated the external sensor grid, painting the forest with millions of light points—each one a life sign, a heartbeat, an energy pulse.
“I advise against going outside for now,” Ouranos suggested. “The Core Guardian is still active on the craft’s outer layer. It’s in a low-energy dormant state, but its material composition is unknown. Attempting to destroy it could cause an E–Core resonance anomaly.”
“Understood,” Lysander replied. His gaze fixed on that white, vaguely shifting shadow in the external projection—the enemy he’d died to defeat, now silently stuck to his cockpit wall like a breath held in.
“We observe first,” he concluded. “Until we figure out the ecological logic of this place, we won’t move rashly.”
“Acknowledged.”
The mist outside was carried away by the wind, and the first true ray of sunlight struck Ouranos’s chest. The E–Core pulsed faintly, blue light bleeding through the cracks like a slow beat.
Lysander watched the light, his breathing measured. He knew that from this moment, he was no longer just the pilot of Nemesis. He was, terrifyingly, a new “human starting point.”