Drifting to an Alien Planet for a Slow Life After a Mutual Kill with the Enemy - Chapter 7

The silence deep in the forest was suffocating, as if even the wind were trapped outside some invisible, transparent barrier.
The interior lights of the Uranus remained steady, and the blue display interface flickered with a low, rhythmic light. The pilot, Lysander, sat in the main control seat, silently watching the dark-blue mass glued to the hull armor—the Erebus’s Core Protectorate.
That thing had once torn through fleets and swallowed entire squadrons. Now, however, it merely clung to the surface of the mech, showing almost no signs of activity. Its outer tissue was semi-transparent, and the internal light pulse was barely visible, like a guttering candle flame.
“Uranus, give me an energy reading.”
“Reading is complete. The object’s power level has dropped below nominal baseline. Activity is minimal. Conclusion: Hibernation or total depletion.”
Lysander didn’t move immediately. He knew creatures like the Erebus should never be underestimated. Their structure wasn’t purely organic; they were “fluid intelligence” interwoven with pure energy and matter.
He watched it for a long time until Uranus automatically elaborated: “According to records, the Core Protectorate possesses powerful energy resonance. It is highly probable that, to survive its journey through the wormhole, it continuously drew energy from the E-Core.”
“But why hasn’t it drained us completely yet?” Lysander asked.
“The E-Core’s output is not a naturally occurring energy source. The Erebus registered the power as limited and consciously reduced its draw to extend its active lifespan.”
“…In other words, it learned self-preservation.”
Lysander fell silent for a moment before saying quietly, “That also means it’s dying.”
“More accurately, it’s entering hibernation,” Uranus corrected. “When energy is scarce, the Erebus defaults to a minimum metabolic state. That’s what we’re seeing now.”
Only the low hum of the cooling system remained in the cockpit.
Lysander knew this was a window of opportunity. If he left it alone, the Core Protectorate might reawaken once the E-Core recharged.
He had to strip it off now.
He took a deep breath, steadying his breathing until it synchronized with his heart rate.
“Uranus, switch to the external manipulator arm. Force limit—absolute minimum. Protocol: Medical Sample Retrieval.”
“Confirmed. External manipulator arm activated.”
The Uranus’s external servo arm slowly extended. It was a precise tool designed for research, not combat. Metal knuckles reflected a soft blue light under the starlight.
The metal fingertips gently touched the Core Protectorate’s surface. A weak ripple spreads, as if touching the surface of water.
Lysander held his breath. No reaction. No electric arc, no counter-strike.
“Proceed with separation,” he ordered in a low voice.
The Uranus’s movements were steady and slow. The Core Protectorate was peeled away from the armor little by little.
The moment it detached, the Erebus’s outer skin contracted slightly, but remained inert. The whole process was unnaturally quiet, so quiet that Lysander genuinely wondered if it was already dead.
“Prepare the containment vessel.”
“Containment vessel pressure stable, internal temperature five degrees Celsius, protective field activated.”
Uranus gently deposited the Core Protectorate into the sample collection container.
The vessel wall instantly lit up with a blue energy shield, sealing the mass within a transparent, shimmering membrane.
Lysander stared at the substance. In his mind, this was a lifeform that could survive in a vacuum and through energy storms.
“Uranus, status report.”
“Core Protectorate contained. Hull integrity is ninety-five percent. Propulsion systems are green. E-Core energy is back up to twenty-seven percent.”
“Good.” Lysander pressed his lips into a tight line, a cold, long-absent determination hardening his voice. “Time to move.”
The cockpit lights switched to brilliant white.
Uranus slowly rose. The armor plates on its spine automatically retracted, making a deep magnetic click. The forest canopy beneath its feet cracked and collapsed, and a flock of startled birds and beasts darted out of the treetops, sweeping across the sky like a grey tide.
“Mission mode switch: Ground Exploration.”
“Map generation in progress. Initial detection range is three hundred kilometers. Suggestion: Prioritize movement twenty degrees north-east. The climate is stable in that direction, and surface metal content is higher.”
“Execute.”
Uranus stepped forward.
Each movement was accompanied by a deep metallic hum, rubbing faint smoke from the planet’s damp soil.
Through the cockpit projection, Lysander watched the horizon gradually open up—above the mist lay endless green. He let go of his previous tension and took a deep breath. The air of this world was cold and moist, mixed with the sharp scent of grass and wood. Perhaps… they really could survive.
Uranus’s voice sounded in his ear: “Pilot, the mission is progressing well. Shall I simultaneously attempt a long-range communication hail?”
Lysander shook his head. “Not yet. Everything here is too alien. Let’s make sure we survive first.”
He cast one last glance at the storage bay holding the Core Protectorate.
The dormant dark-blue mass floated quietly in the liquid, completely still.
He knew it might just be waiting.
“Log entry,” he murmured. “Ground survey mission—commencing.”
Uranus activated the main propulsion system, letting out a deep, resonant thrum.
The sound spread slowly through the forest, like the breathing of an ancient giant.