Mohopu pedaled through the rain, his bike cutting a lonely path along the deserted road. The wheels hissed against the wet pavement, framed by the endless grass fields that stretched out on either side. He was close to the university grounds now, perched on a stable rock formation near the coast. The distant sea roared faintly, hidden under a dark canopy of churning storm clouds.
He slowed to a stop, his legs burning from the ride, and leaned against the bike, letting the cool rain soak through his jacket. For a moment, he simply took it all in. The storm wasn’t like anything he’d seen before. The lightning flashes, jagged and brilliant, weren’t the only thing cutting through the gloom. Pulses of eerie red light shimmered just above the clouds, moving in erratic patterns as though with some unknown purpose. The flashes revealed fleeting silhouettes against the stormy backdrop. Flocks of coastal birds wheeled and scattered, their movements frantic. But there were others in the sky too—creatures Mohopu couldn’t name or place. Some were vast and graceful, like mantas gliding through the sky on immense, wing-like forms. Others seemed to defy the laws of physics entirely, their bodies undulating as they levitated, skimming through the rain without visible wings.
A chill ran through him, one that had nothing to do with the rain. The storm wasn’t just weather; it was something else, something wrong. Shelter was no longer just a precaution—it was a necessity. His world had turned upside down in a single morning, and now, all that mattered was getting some north, away from whatever this was. He let out a long, steady sigh, the kind that carried both exhaustion and resolve. His breath clouded briefly in the cold, rain-laden air before vanishing into the gloom. With a final glance at the eerie sky above, he adjusted his grip on the handlebars and pushed off, the bike groaning as he began the slow climb uphill.
The distant silhouette of the university complex emerged through the haze, a cluster of angular buildings perched defiantly against the storm-ravaged coast. Most of the windows were dark, their frames barely visible against the gray, but one building stood apart. A solitary beacon, its lights still glowing, faint and unwavering in the storm’s oppressive grip. His legs ached with each pedal stroke, the incline punishing under the weight of fatigue and soaked clothes. As he approached the entrance to the campus, the gate came into view—or rather, what was left of it. The once-sturdy barrier lay twisted and mangled, trampled under the tires of countless cars in what must have been a desperate exodus.
There were no guards stationed at the post, no professors or students milling about. The campus had the feel of a battlefield long since abandoned, its structures silent witnesses to whatever chaos had passed through. Mohopu slowed momentarily, surveying the deserted walk. The open gate, if it could still be called that, gave him pause, but not enough to stop. He pedaled forward, the bike jolting as it crossed the uneven remnants of the gate. The closer he got to the lone illuminated building, the louder the storm seemed to grow, its howls ricocheting between the concrete walls like a living thing. The rain lashed harder, but the light ahead drew him on—a strange comfort, despite the ominous emptiness around it.
He passed by a couple cars abandoned in the lot, mildly crushed, as if something heavy fell over them, some with their doors flung open as if their occupants had fled in a panic or something. Papers fluttered across the ground, caught in swirling puddles, their ink smeared into illegibility. Mohopu felt a sliver of hope, tempered by caution. Whatever lay inside might hold answers—or simply more questions. Either way, he had nowhere else to go.
Mohopu finally coasted to a stop at the curb, the bike swaying precariously beneath him. He braced one leg against the stone steps leading into the building, steadying himself with a deep exhale. It wasn’t just about keeping his balance—it was about keeping his precious food intact. Reaching into the sodden folds of his jacket, he fished out the two remaining candy bars, now reduced to warped shapes from the rain. He shoved them into his wet pockets with a muttered curse and turned his attention to the prize, the cheese chunk.
Letting the bike collapse with a clatter, its bell giving one last defiant ring, Mohopu gingerly retrieved the cheese from the handlebar pouch. His legs wobbled as he stepped forward, every muscle screaming from the relentless pedaling. He climbed the short staircase to the entrance, every movement deliberate, his hands trembling as they tried to unwrap the cheese. He dug his fingers into the wrapper, clawing at the edge in desperation. It was there, just a second ago, he was sure of it. But the stubborn material refused to yield. Frustration boiled as hunger gnawed at him. His trembling hands were no match for the slick wrapper and his waning patience.
Finally, Mohopu abandoned decorum. With a grunt, he brought the cheese to his mouth and sank his teeth into it, tearing through the wrapper like some wild animal. The edges crinkled and ripped as his small front teeth gnawed at the material, a primal surge of triumph washing over him when he finally broke through.
— Got you… — he muttered, spitting out a shred of wrapper.
It wasn’t graceful, but it worked. He tore away the remaining bits in a more civilized manner and took a hungry bite. The sharp, salty taste flooded his mouth, grounding him in a way that the surreal storm outside never could. Slowing down, Mohopu nibbled at the cheese, savoring it now that his immediate desperation had been sated. The faint glow of the hallway lights illuminated the water pooling at his feet, dripping from his soaked clothes and hair. His eyes darted to the familiar layout of the building as he stepped inside, trying to orient himself.
The hall stretched before him, its silence broken only by the occasional hum of flickering lights. Rain pattered against the windows, and the storm’s distant roars seeped through the walls. Mohopu shuffled forward, the cheese in one hand and his other trailing lightly along the damp walls. He moved cautiously, guided more by memory than sight, navigating the maze of corridors that once buzzed with life but now felt eerily deserted. Mohopu had walked these halls before, back when the campus echoed with the footsteps of students and the quiet hum of purpose. Aledara University was where he had first sought meaning in the world. His early years as a geology student had been consumed by a fascination with the stories carved into the cold bones of Auot’zae, ancient, unchanging, patient. But patience had never been Mohopu’s strong suit. His interest had drifted, expanding to the restless skies, to the swirling chaos of atmospheres. He left the certainties of stone for the volatile unknown, trading one corner of geoscience for another.
Now, years later, all that switch had earned him was the dubious distinction of being the local weathercaster—a face on a screen delivering platitudes about rain or sunshine to a distracted audience. It wasn’t a bad life, but it wasn’t the one he had imagined either. Stability, he had learned, was an uneasy thing. It carried the weight of regret, of questions that crept in during the long nights.
Some of his peers from those geology days had escaped. They were the ones who had taken bold steps, who had boarded outbound vessels and made lives for themselves in places like Volkali, the distant colony world that had come to symbolize opportunity. If Mohopu had stayed on his original path, he might have been among them—surveying the volcanic plains of that forgiving, alien world instead of reading weather patterns on a green screen.
He wasn’t bitter, not exactly. His life wasn’t a failure. But he couldn’t ignore the way the years had passed without sharpening into anything meaningful. He had built a house on the shifting sands of predictability, only to find it hollow. The storm outside was more than a meteorological anomaly; it was a wound. It tore into the fabric of what little order he thought the world still had. He had chased it for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate, thinking it might offer some fleeting sense of purpose. Now, here he was, drenched, trembling, and caught in its web.
There was no grand opportunity here. No answers. The storm didn’t offer anything; it simply devoured. Those eerie lights above the clouds, the impossible creatures circling within the chaos—they weren’t harbingers of change or destiny. They were threats, and a personal threat at that. The universe wasn’t beckoning him forward. It was closing in, showing him just how small and powerless he truly was. Mohopu stepped deeper into the darkened hall of the university building, the weight of his soaked clothes clinging to him like the ghosts of his choices. The storm outside raged on, relentless and indifferent.
Mohopu pushed open the professor's door, the hinges groaning under the weight of abandonment. The room was silent, chairs upturned, desks gathering dust—a place frozen mid-exodus. Whatever life had once filled these walls was long gone. He hesitated, then stepped inside, half-hoping to find some sign of the world he once knew. But it was empty, barren except for the faint echo of his own breathing. Then he heard it. A distant banging, regular, relentless, rhythmic. It pierced the stillness, like a heartbeat of the storm itself. The sound wasn’t violent, but it was unsettling, almost mechanical in its consistency. His curiosity, or perhaps a deeper unease, pulled him toward it.
He followed the noise down a dim corridor, its length stretching farther than he remembered. The air grew colder, the storm’s presence seeping in through cracked windows and warped frames. At the corridor’s end, he found the source: a heavy metal door, half-open, slamming against its frame with the wind’s force. The sound was amplified in the hollow space, a dull clang that reverberated through his chest. Crouching down, he noticed a tangled wire snaking along the floor, its copper threads glinting faintly in the erratic light of a flickering bulb. The wire acted as a crude stopper, preventing the door from fully closing. Beyond it, faint illumination bled into the darkness, a pale, sterile glow that hinted at something alive and working.
Stepping through, he was greeted by the hum of machinery. The room was chaotic, a collage of computers, monitors, and rolling printers spewing endless streams of squiggly lines and dense numeric data. Screens blinked erratically, displaying charts and readings Mohopu couldn’t decipher. The air buzzed with static, the storm’s interference evident even here. The wire led him farther in, out a side door and into the open field. The rain had lessened but still fell in stinging bursts, carried by erratic gusts of wind. The grass whipped against his legs, bending under the storm’s power. Ahead, faint figures moved against the dark horizon, silhouettes illuminated by the faint glow of portable floodlights.
As he approached, the scene resolved into a makeshift setup, antennas balanced precariously on chairs and wooden crates, detectors propped up on hastily gathered supports, and a suitcase cracked open to reveal a portable computer station. The wires snaked outward in every direction, tangling into a chaotic web. Two older men stood at the center of it all, their faces lined with rain and exhaustion. One barked orders into the wind, his voice barely audible over the storm’s howl. The other hunched over a monitor, his expression a mixture of awe and manic determination.
Around them, a handful of students struggled to keep the equipment upright. One group fought to stabilize a swaying omnidirectional antenna, their hands slipping on the wet metal. The professor—if that’s what he was—yelled out readings with a tone that teetered between scientific excitement and outright madness.
— Negative five! Negative five! It’s holding steady. No, wait, we’ve got a spike! Eighty-two microhoppen and rising! Keep that antenna up!
— This thing’s going to tip! It’s not holding — one of them, a young woman with rain plastering her hair to her face, yelled back.
The students exchanged worried glances, their movements frantic and uncoordinated. Her voice was cut off as a gust nearly tore the antenna from their grip. Mohopu stepped closer, the scene surreal in its intensity. The storm’s strange, pulsating red light reflected off the wet metal, casting everything in an eerie glow. The professor didn’t seem to notice the struggle, his focus fixed on the monitor as if it held the secrets of the universe.
Mohopu’s breath caught in his throat. The man’s excitement wasn’t just professional. It was personal, obsessive. Whatever they were measuring, it wasn’t normal, wasn’t natural. The storm wasn’t just a meteorological anomaly—it was something far beyond their comprehension. And these people were playing with forces they didn’t fully understand.
— We’ve never seen signatures like this before! If we lose this data, we lose everything! This storm is a doorway! — A gust of wind carried the professor’s voice to Mohopu’s ears with urgency.
— A doorway. To what? — he questioned aloud in the wind, his tone skeptical but bleeding genuine curiosity.
— To the underworld! — the old man declared, the words almost a cackle. His frail form somehow brimming with frantic energy. His wide eyes gleamed under the storm’s flickering light, and his face broke into a manic grin.
Mohopu froze, a chill running down his spine that had nothing to do with the storm. Before he could respond, the professor turned sharply toward him, squinting through the rain-soaked air. His grin faltered as his voice shifted to something strained, like a man forcing coherence through hysteria.
— Mohopu? Boy! Oh, ohhhhh you shouldn’t have come in here today! — His hands gestured wildly, as if trying to ward him off. — It’s a really, really bad day today. — The recognition hit Mohopu like a slap.
— Doctor Kalendra? — he said, his voice softening. — It’s good to see you’re still working. But… what the hell is going on here?
— They’re moving to the south now! Might have just filled their reserves! — Shouted one fo the students before the professor could answer.
— Keep recording, Kaeteru! — Kalendra snapped back to the moment, his excitement reigniting as he barked commands.
The rain intensified, pelting the group as Mohopu followed Kalendra’s gaze toward the horizon. The ocean raged under the storm’s wrath, its dark surface flashing with bursts of light, not just from the lightning, but something else, something deep and pulsating.
— Oh no... — Kalendra checked his wristwatch, muttering to himself. — They’re five minutes earlier than last time. We’re losing. And fast. — His lips tightened, and the manic energy in his expression drained away, replaced by grim resignation.
— Who’s “they,” Doctor? What are you talking about? — Mohopu felt his stomach twist.
— Professor, I think they’re gone now! — Before Kalendra could answer, the young woman struggling with the antenna called out. Her voice carried an edge of hope, but it was fleeting. Kalendra turned to her, his face ashen. — Do we get inside and wait for another one? — she asked, the desperation evident in her voice.
— I’m afraid not, miss. — Kalendra shook his head slowly, his movements heavy with dread. — Get your stuff bagged and run. Go get your families and run.
The wind howled around them while the group stared at each other in a silent agreement, scattering loose papers and shaking the precarious setup of crates and chairs.
— The desert is safe, perhaps. You all… — He paused, his shoulders slumping. — Class dismissed. — The students froze, the weight of his words sinking in. One by one, they exchanged uneasy glances before hastily packing up equipment. Kalendra’s voice cracked as he continued. — It was a pleasure, lecturing for you...
He waved his arms weakly, shooing them away like a farmer herding livestock before a storm. Mohopu stood rooted to the spot, the surreal chaos of the moment washing over him. He watched as the students stumbled through the grass, their shadows swallowed by the storm’s angry red light.
— Doctor Kalendra, — Mohopu said firmly, stepping closer to the man. — You need to tell me what’s happening. What are you running from?
— Not running, Mohopu. — Kalendra turned to him slowly, his face hollow but still brimming with a dangerous intensity. — We’re fighting. But it’s a war we’ve already lost. And I fear… you’ve walked into it at the end.
Kalendra worked swiftly, his fingers trembling slightly as he loaded all his data onto two steelglass chips. The storm outside continued to rage, the wind hammering against the walls like a beast trying to claw its way in. Once the transfer was complete, he handed one of the chips to Kaeteru, his expression stern yet tinged with a paternal concern.
— Drive safely, Kaeteru. Get to a shelter as fast as you can, — he said, gripping the man’s shoulder briefly. — Don’t stop for anything. You hear me?
Professor Kaeteru nodded and lifted his ears to make it even clearer, clutching the chip tightly before sprinting toward the van parked on the muddy hill. Kalendra watched him go, his hunched figure silhouetted against the chaotic flashes of lightning.
— Come on, Mohopu, — Kalendra said, grabbing his arm and dragging him back inside the open lab.
The room was a chaotic mess of whirring machines, blinking lights, and tangled wires. The faint hum of power struggling against the storm’s fury filled the air. Kalendra moved with purpose, inserting the second steelglass chip into a computer terminal. He crouched down to the side, opening a small fridge tucked under a cluttered table. Inside were several small sample containers precariously crammed alongside three beer bottles. Kalendra grabbed two of the bottles, cracking them open with a bottle opener that had seen better days.
— I’ll show you. — He placed one of the beers on the table in front of Mohopu, keeping the other for himself. He took a long sip, his eyes briefly closing as if savoring the bitter taste was the only solace left to him.
— I bet you’ve figured out by now that this weather doesn’t just happen like this, — he said, gesturing vaguely to the storm outside. — And you’re right about that. The issue is… — He paused, his voice dropping into a hollow tone. — I don’t think it matters what’s causing it. There’ll be no one left to talk about it once it settles.
Mohopu stared at him, the words hitting like a blunt force. He struggled to process the weight of what Kalendra was saying, though part of him felt an eerie calm—as if he’d subconsciously known all along that something far worse was at play.
— We’re being invaded, — Kalendra added, his voice resigned yet firm.
Mohopu’s lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. His silence was confirmation enough. Kalendra took another sip of his beer before gesturing toward the computer screen.
— The monsters, though… They’re not the real problem, — Kalendra said, shaking his head. — They’re the tip of the iceberg. Collateral damage caused by the real issue.
Kalendra typed a few commands into the terminal, pulling up a video feed. The screen flickered before displaying a grainy recording from earlier that morning.
— Someone caught this and posted it online. Before, well, the web stopped working.
The video showed the cold morning horizon, a pale blue sky marred by the remnants of a storm. A strange object hovered over the ocean—a hemispherical shape, like half an egg laid on its side, its metallic red surface glowing faintly. Below it, the ocean churned unnaturally, the water rising in a shimmering column into the ship’s underbelly. The jiggling distortions of atmospheric refraction made the scene surreal, almost dreamlike.
Mohopu leaned closer, squinting at the image.
— They’re after our water? — he asked, the words barely audible over the storm outside.
— Just watch. — Kalendra waved him off impatiently.
The video continued, the ship releasing the column of water briefly, creating a massive waterfall that tumbled back into the ocean for a few seconds before the process started again. The strange, cyclical act repeated itself, seemingly without purpose.
— They’re not after the water itself, — Kalendra said, his tone measured, as though explaining to a student. — Hydrogen and oxygen are the most abundant elements in the universe. Water? It's everywhere. They’re after what’s in it..
Mohopu frowned, his mind racing.
— So… they’re filtering it? — Kalendra nodded grimly at his response, taking another long drink from his beer before leaning back against the table.
— Yes. But the question is, what are they filtering for?
Kalendra stood up and locked the door behind them, the heavy metallic clang echoing through the lab. He turned to Mohopu, his face etched with a mix of exhaustion and grim determination.
— They can't be after our life, — he began, gesturing vaguely to the storm outside. — Life as we know it is too… common, at least on a cosmic scale. What else is the ocean made of?
Mohopu frowned, trying to keep up.
— Besides fish? Salt, I guess.
Kalendra let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.
— Yes, salt… and trace amounts of iodine, potassium, dissolved metals, calcium, magnesium… — He paused, taking a sip of his beer before continuing. — I had this theory bouncing around with a friend of mine over Dahet, before communications went dark. It was about this exact video.
Kalendra walked to the far side of the lab, pulling down an old projector screen with a forceful tug. The screen was stained and battered, but still usable. Above it was pinned a tattered periodic table, scribbled over with sharpie. The chart was divided into three new sections, with bold lines and hasty notes marking various groups of elements. Kalendra pointed at it, his finger tracing the lines.
— These here, — he tapped on the first section, — are the elements that occur by default across most of space—light stuff, hydrogen, helium, a bit of lithium. Then there are these, — he gestured to the second section, — elements that only occur in areas of moderate star formation. And finally, these. — His finger rested on a cluster of elements: gold, iron, and others marked in red. — These only form in dense star-forming regions, places where supernovae and other cataclysmic events enrich the interstellar medium.
Mohopu crossed his arms, staring at the chart with a skeptical expression.
— Aren't these still somewhat common in the universe? — he asked. — What would prompt an entire civilization to do… — he motioned vaguely to the screen, — that?
— That’s what I asked my friend too, until he showed me this picture. — Kalendra turned to him, his eyes glinting with a spark of intensity. He shuffled around with his phone and showed him a picture, dark of space with pale blue circle in it, a blinding flash next to Koshazat’s edge. The light was unnatural, almost surgical in its precision, cutting through the upper atmosphere like a blade.
— This flash occurred near Koshazat. At first, I couldn’t make sense of it. But now… — Kalendra’s voice trailed off, his gaze distant. — It makes so much sense. Koshazat is our entry point to the colonies north and south of the galactic equator. But it's also a convenient stop for those coming in, easy to maneuver around to get in here.
— What does that matter? — Mohopu asked, growing frustrated.
— On the scale of our domain, it doesn’t make much of a difference, because we still inhabit far deep in the galaxy disk — Kalendra admitted. — But picture this: a civilization that lives far, far above the galactic plane. Out in the galactic halo, far from any stars that might go supernova and wipe them out. Far from any competition. But also… far from any sources of heavy elements.
— I don’t understand… So there isn’t any of this where they come from? — Mohopu’s frown deepened.
— Exactly, — Kalendra said, his voice steady. — The galactic halo is barren compared to the star-rich disk. They’re coming here, prospecting. Mining the disk for resources they can’t get where they are. Maybe we just happen to inhabit a world that fits their needs. Auot’zae’s siderophilic composition makes it an ideal mining candidate, and with the upside of having a vast ocean to exploit.
Mohopu stared at the image on the screen, his mind racing to process what Kalendra was saying. The implications were staggering.
— So… this isn’t just about us, — he said quietly.
— No, Mohopu — Kalendra replied, his tone heavy. — We’re just… in the way.
Mohopu walked toward the window, where faint flashes of lightning illuminated the horizon. The sound of distant thunder rumbled like an omen.
— What about the monsters? — he asked, his voice tinged with both fear and curiosity.
Kalendra snorted, a bitter smirk tugging at his lips. He leaned back in his chair and swirled the contents of his beer bottle while trying to make the best of his thoughts.
— Oh, they? Quite likely hitchhikers, — he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. — Parasites, definitely. And probably a few clueless beings too. You know, transported here from countless other worlds the invaders strip-mined to exhaustion. Not much unlike barnacles or mussels attaching themselves to ships and whales.
— So they’re just… passengers? — Mohopu raised an eyebrow.
— Passengers, pests, collateral damage… Take your pick, — Kalendra said, his tone dripping with cynicism. — They just take a ride and spread wherever they can. Perhaps the invaders deliberately bring them along, part of the ecosystem they need for their operations. Or maybe they just don’t care enough about contamination. — He drained the last of his beer and set the bottle down with a loud clink on the table. — Why would they? — Kalendra continued, leaning forward now. — Their schedule and goals don’t leave much room for... ethical considerations. They just come, take what they need, and leave behind whatever they don’t care about, monsters included. Not unlike what our own species has done before…
For a moment, the lab fell silent, the hum of the equipment and the distant roar of the storm outside filling the space.
— So… — he began hesitantly, before draining the last of his beer and setting the bottle aside with a muted clink. — It’s over now, right? I mean… The navy has to fight on two fronts for this. They’re already way over our heads. — His voice wavered as he rubbed his eyes, his hands lingering on his face as though holding back tears. When he finally looked up, a nervous smile crept across his lips, an attempt to laugh himself out of despair. But the humor fell flat in the heavy air between them.
Kalendra’s expression softened, though his eyes betrayed no illusions. He stood, shrugging off his white coat and draping it over the back of his chair. Adjusting his suspenders with a sigh, he retrieved his car keys and a small steelglass data chip from the table beside him.
— We’ll see,— he said finally, his voice quieter but no less firm. — Communications have been down for four hours now. The Expanse has its means, sure, but I’ve got a bad feeling about their operations over the sea. They might already have breached our defenses, or they’re just taking hits while harvesting the most they can. — He turned to face Mohopu, the storm outside punctuating his pause. — Mohopu, young one… I can’t leave the university like this. At my age, I wouldn’t make it far anyway. My daughter Lalene is out there somewhere safe. She’s all I’d worry about, and I trust she’s taken care of… Her husband is not the brightest but I trust that man he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
— Doctor?… — Mohopu’s voice was barely above a whisper.
— You take this,— Kalendra said, extending the keys and chip. His hand remained steady. — You get this intel to the navy. It might not help them win the war, but it will help them save lives. The world… It won’t be the same after this. But they need to know what’s changing. They need to understand what we’re dealing with now.
— Doctor, I… — Mohopu stared at the objects in Kalendra’s hand, his own trembling as he reached out to accept them.
— You’ll do fine,— Kalendra interrupted, his voice kind but resolute. — You’re brighter than you give yourself credit for. The world needs people who can adapt. And you? You’ve got that in you.
The young man nodded, his throat tight as he pocketed the chip and keys. Kalendra smiled faintly, his shoulders relaxing as though a great weight had shifted. He turned away, heading for the door with deliberate steps.
— Be swift,— Kalendra called over his shoulder. — And Mohopu? Stay alive.
