Vehicle Assistant: System online. Standby mode active. Awaiting driver input. Current route set to city center. Estimated arrival time: 28 minutes. Weather advisory update pending.
[Ambient sound: Engine hum, occasional passing vehicles. Light rain pattering on the windshield. Inside, there is muffled silence between two passengers.]
Mom: [breaking the silence] "Favo, what’s with the pout? You’ve been quiet this whole ride."
Favo: "It’s nothing."
Mom: [sighs] "Nothing? Favo, don’t give me that. Your ears have been twitching like crazy, and you’ve got that slouch going on. I know when something’s bothering you."
Favo: [mutters] "I said it’s nothing."
Mom: [firmer] "And I said I know better. Come on, spill it. Did something happen at your dad’s?"
Favo: [reluctantly] "It’s always the same over there. He’s... too busy to care."
Mom: [pauses, voice softening] "Oh, sweetheart. I know it’s not easy. Your dad’s... complicated. He means well, but he’s never been great at showing it. He has his own way of dealing with things."
Favo: "By ignoring us? By acting like we’re just visitors?"
Mom: "I know it feels like that, and it’s not fair to you or Kalene. But you have to remember, the court decided on shared custody for a reason. It’s not just about him; it’s about giving you both the chance to... stay connected."
Favo: "I don’t want to stay connected. I hate going over there."
Mom: "Favo, it’s not that simple. I can’t just—"
Favo: "You always say that! It’s not simple, it’s not fair. You’re always defending him!"
Mom: [sharply] "Because I don’t want you carrying that anger around forever! It’s heavy, Favo. Trust me, I know. And it’ll only hurt you in the long run."
Vehicle Assistant: Weather update: Morning forecast amended. Increased likelihood of snowfall. Heavy precipitation expected in southern coastal areas. Possible typhoon formation detected in the south sea.
Favo: [sullenly] "You don’t understand. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t even notice when we’re there."
Mom: "I do understand! But what do you expect me to do? I’m doing everything I can to make sure you and Kalene are okay. I work, I plan, I make sure there’s food on the table, a roof over our heads—"
Favo: "I never asked for all that!"
Mom: "No, you didn’t. And that’s the point. You shouldn’t have to ask. But, Favo, I can’t keep doing this alone forever!"
Favo: [looks away] "..."
Mom: [voice rising] "I’m not eternal, Favo. One day, I won’t be here to shield you, to guide you, to fight for you. What happens then? Will you have friends to lean on? A job to support yourself? Do you think your father is suddenly going to step up?"
Favo: "..."
Mom: [more heated] "And don’t you dare think I enjoy yelling at you about this. I hate it. I hate that I have to push you so hard just to get you to care about your own future. You’re smart, Favo, but you’re wasting it. You don’t study, you don’t try to connect with people, and I’m left worrying day and night. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering if you’ll be okay when I’m gone."
Favo: [snaps] "Why do you always make it sound like it’s my fault?"
Mom: "Because you’re old enough to take some responsibility! I can’t do it all for you, Favo. And honestly, it terrifies me to think that you might just drift through life, blaming everyone else, while the world passes you by."
Kalene: [quietly] "Mom... Favo... please stop fighting."
Vehicle Assistant: Updated weather advisory: Southern typhoon trajectory adjusted. Snowstorm warnings extended to northern regions. Expected impact—
[Emergency alert tone interrupts.]
Vehicle Assistant: Government advisory: Alert level raised. Severe weather event imminent. All residents advised to seek shelter immediately. Further instructions to follow.
Mom: [startled] "What the—?"
[Transcript ends abruptly.]
[Transmission Recording of Fighter Resumes]
Time Stamp: [REDACTED] (60-70 minutes later?) – Outer Koshazat Perimeter
Fighter-17: "You know, yellow alert my feathered ass. [dry mouth pause] A trading outpost and a sensor array go dark within... what, twenty thousand zaega (30,000 km) of each other? That’s blue for sure."
Fighter-26: "Technically, 'yellow' because we’ve got no confirmed threats yet. For all we know, Point Amskal could’ve fried itself, and the outpost just got unlucky with a micrometeorite swarm."
Fighter-27: "Yeah, or pirates. Or those comet-dwellers finally got bored of slinging insults."
Fighter-12: "I don’t buy it. Micrometeorite swarms don’t ignore redundancy. And pirates? Come on, why take out an entire trading outpost and not broadcast a claim of victory? They love that kind of posturing."
Synthetic Co-Pilot (Fighter-12): “Course correction complete. Delta-v nominal for intercept with Point Amskal. Revised arrival time: eleven minutes.”
Fighter-17: "Let’s not overthink this until we’ve got eyes on the target. Any news from the homeworld yet, Moreé?"
Fighter-12: "Nothing useful. Last I checked, Command sent out an automated query to Kolel Station too… They’re as clueless as we are."
Fighter-27: "Perfect. So here we are, crawling in the dark, babysitting an empty station. Someone remind me why I didn’t pick a cushy freighter gig."
Fighter-26: "Its because you’ve got to see my face every morning. Admit it, you’d miss me."
(Laughter from the group, faint sound of frustration from Fighter-27’s (?) synthetic co-pilot.)
Fighter-12: "Alright, jokes aside. Listen up. We’re heading into Koshazat’s shadow soon. Sunlight’s going to drop off fast, and we don’t need a rogue panel or scrap of hull punching through us out here. Headlights on, everyone. Check your Doppler sensors. Watch for anything moving too fast or too weird."
Synthetic Co-Pilot (Fighter-12): "External lights active. Doppler sweep recalibrated."
Fighter-17: "Copy that. Lights on. Doppler... yellow for now."
Fighter-26: "Same here. Looks clean so far."
Fighter-27: "I’ll keep an extra eye out for you. You always attract the worst luck."
Fighter-12: "Virtual route’s plotted. Let’s keep our eyes open. We’re going into the big blue’s shadow now."
[The chatter dies down, replaced by occasional clicks and confirmations. All background transmissions are obscured by the planet’s shadow.]
[FFW>>>]
[Transcription Resumes]
Fighter-26 (whispering): "Still weird to call this yellow. No distress signals. No survivors reaching out. You’d think someone—"
Fighter-17: "Can it, Axe. You’re gonna jinx us."
Synthetic Co-Pilot (Fighter-27): "Alert: gravitational anomaly detected. Source indeterminate. Data insufficient for conclusion."
Fighter-12: "Grav anomaly? How big?"
Synthetic Co-Pilot (Fighter-27): "Localized and minimal. Consistent with passing debris cluster. No immediate threat."
Fighter-12: "...Still. Keep tabs on it. I don’t like surprises."
Fighter-17 : [cutting in] "Whoa! For death’s eyes! [panting] … D-did anyone see that?"
Fighter-12: "See what?"
Fighter-17: "Something just zipped past my nose. Small, fast... Like a busted panel spinning out. I’m good, but it’s a miracle it didn’t clip through."
Fighter-26: "Alright, alright. Spread out, everyone. Or we’ll have to wipe Cricket’s guts of our windshield."
Fighter-12: "Agreed. Space yourselves by at least a palm of zaega. If one of us eats something, let’s not all follow suit. Adjust vectors for cruising orbital speed." [sounds of frantic switch activation and internals coils adjusting]
Synthetic Co-Pilot (Fighter-12): "Vector adjustments confirmed. Updated formation parameters shared."
[Silence]
Fighter-17: "Lights out in the canopy. Let’s see what we’re dealing with."
Fighter-26: "Copy that. Switching to manual search. Cricket, don’t forget your Doppler overlay."
Fighter-17: "Shut it, Axe. I’m fine."
Fighter-27: "... Anyone seeing anything unusual? My boards are clear, but it feels... wrong out here. Too quiet."
Fighter-12: "Wrong or not, all four eyes open. If it’s pirates, we’ll know soon enough."
Fighter-17: "Or won’t. Pirates love ambushes. Just saying."
Fighter-26: "Wait, wait. Quiet for a sec."
[A pause. For a moment, the only sounds are the faint mechanical hums of their cockpits.]
Fighter-26: "There. Out to the port side, around two o’clock... did anyone catch that?"
Fighter-12: "Catch what?"
Fighter-26: "A flash. Faint, but rhythmic. Like a—"
Fighter-17 (interrupting): "—like a hangar signal. Yeah, I see it too. Just one flash every couple seconds. It’s not spinning or anything, though. Stable."
Fighter-12: "Coordinates?"
Fighter-26: "Marking now. Hang on."
Synthetic Co-Pilot (Fighter-26): "Signal locked. Updating squadron coordinates."
Fighter-27: "That can’t be Point Amskal. We’re still too far out for station lights to be visible."
Fighter-12: "Doesn’t mean it’s unrelated. Keep moving, but don’t push it. Let’s close the gap and see what we’re dealing with."
[Transcription Resumes]
Fighter-12 : [barely audible] "By the gods..."
Fighter-26: "What the hell am I looking at?"
Fighter-17: "It’s... gone. Two-thirds of it, just—gone. What could even do that? There’s no debris field. Nothing scattered."
Fighter-27: "No explosions either. No burns. Where’s the wreckage?"
Fighter-12: "Shut up and look closer. Those edges—they’re clean. Not molten, but not fractured either. This wasn’t a collision. It was cut. But not by lasers. This..."
Fighter-26: "I’m picking up some heat from the cut."
Synthetic Co-Pilot (Fighter-12): "Residual heat suggests separation occurred approximately 4.3 hours prior to this observation. Temperature decay curve consistent with rapid removal of mass and thermal dissipation into vacuum."
Fighter-17: "Wait, hold on—‘rapid removal of mass’? You’re saying this wasn’t an explosion, wasn’t a weapon... something just [pause] just took it?!"
Fighter-26: "Or went through it… Whatever it was, it moved fast."
Fighter-12: "It wasn’t just fast. NOTHING is this fast."
Fighter-17: "What’re you getting at?"
Fighter-12: "It was precise. Look at those cuts. Little to no scattering, no collateral. Whatever did this knew exactly where it was going and didn’t stop for anything."
[Fighter-12 banging in the cockpit ?]
Fighter-26: "Alright, someone give me a theory. Something that doesn’t sound like a ghost story."
Fighter-27: "Maybe... Maybe it’s a test. A new drive, or..."
Fighter-17 (cutting him off): "No one sane tests experimental drives in Expanse space. Especially not near a station this size."
Fighter-12: “Serat, I need a trajectory estimate. Consider a [pause] I don’t know, a cylindrical body, some three-hundred patas wide clipping through the station… If it was a solid object we will know.”
Synthetic Co-Pilot (Fighter-12): "Calculating trajectory based on structural deformation and thermal decay gradients. Possible path of impacting object: solution cone generated. Projecting on screen, now"
Fighter-26: "Wait... Are you saying it came through the station? And just kept going? Through the planet’s atmosphere? Like Koshazat wasn’t even there?"
Fighter-17: "That’s... that’s insane. Nothing survives an impact like that. Not at those speeds. Not even an Arrene warship could do that, right?"
Fighter-27: "Fast enough to punch through a station the size of a city and keep going? What moves like that out here? Nothing. This is Expanse capital space! You can’t even pull off starlane speeds this deep without plowing through a debris field!. What could possibly—"
Fighter-12: "Doesn’t matter. What matters is we’re out here without backup. I’m calling it—we’re heading back. We’ve got the data that the command wanted. And we’ve seen enough. We report this, and we get home. Double time!"
[LOG ENDED]
The studio lights bathed Mohopu in a pale glow as he straightened the edges of his papers, more for show than necessity. His ears flicked briefly, a subtle tell of unease masked beneath his professional demeanor. The four eyes on either side of his elongated face shifted focus, scanning the teleprompter as he began.
– Good morning to all our viewers across the Aledara Broadcasting Network. This is Mohopu, bringing you your updated weather forecast. As we move into the day, conditions have shifted unexpectedly. While yesterday’s reports suggested clear skies, the southern seas have become a focal point for a rapidly forming typhoon system. Current models indicate this storm may intensify over the next 48 hours. Additionally, a cold front is sweeping across the eastern continent, with snowstorms expected to hit the city of Khorim by nightfall. For those in affected areas, please take precautions and monitor updates closely.
He paused, his voice modulating into the familiar cadence of reassurance as he wrapped up the segment.
– Stay safe, stay prepared, and stay tuned to Aledara Broadcasting for the latest developments. Back to you at the desk.
As the camera’s red light dimmed, Mohopu exhaled, his ears drooping slightly. He nodded to the stagehands and stepped off the set, his hoofed feet clacking against the tiled floor. The corridors backstage were alive with the hum of monitors, muffled conversations, and the faint static of live broadcasts.
Something about the forecast gnawed at him. He had delivered countless reports before, but this one felt... wrong. The data had seemed disjointed, the sudden typhoon and snowstorm—both anomalies in their respective regions—felt like more than a coincidence. His ears swiveled independently, one tracking the distant chatter, the other flattening against his head in thought.
He turned a corner and approached the studio’s advisory room. Inside, a group of technicians and coordinators were gathered around a large digital display, various weather models overlayed with projected paths and intensities. Mohopu leaned into the doorway, his long face casting a shadow over the threshold.
– Where’s the science team? – he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. – Who’s overseeing this data?
The advisors exchanged glances before one of them, a stout hoku with a slightly frayed coat, gestured towards a cluttered workstation.
– The consultants left their notes – the advisor said, shrugging. – The storm system seemed unusual, but the data checks out.
Mohopu stepped further in, his eyes narrowing as he examined the models on the screen. His ears perked forward, signaling his growing concern.
– Unusual? That’s putting it lightly – he said, his tone sharpening. – A typhoon forming this late in the season and a snowstorm on the eastern continent at the same time? These aren’t normal patterns. Who reviewed this?
Another advisor, a younger hoku with jittery movements, chimed in.
– It was all automated. The system flagged the anomalies, but there’s no indication of errors. The science team hasn’t weighed in yet.
Mohopu’s ears twitched in agitation.
– Automated or not, someone needs to look at this more closely. Weather doesn’t just behave like this without a cause. Get me whoever’s responsible for writing these reports.
The room fell quiet for a moment as Mohopu’s commanding tone settled over the group. He straightened, his tall frame seeming to fill the room as his eyes flicked across the various screens.
– I’m not here to point fingers – he added, softening slightly, – but this doesn’t sit right with me. If there’s a larger pattern at work, we need to know what we’re dealing with.
One of the advisors hesitantly handed him a sheet of contact information, the numbers scrawled across it in uneven script. Mohopu scanned the list, his ears flicking in thought, before settling on a number labeled "Forecasting Science Team."
[TRANSCRIPTION]
[8:27 AM | 09.03.3225 | PHONE CALL INITIATED | K&P Telecom Company S/A | DSSP]
Mohopu: Hello? This is Mohopu from Aledara Broadcasting.
Kaeteru: This is Professor Kaeteru.
Mohopu: I just reported on some unusual weather patterns flagged by your team. I’m looking for clarity on this data—who can I speak with?
Kaeteru: Oh I’m just a passerby, I’m too looking for the forecast team, but they left, to the observatory… The signal... it’s poor, but I can give you the address. Someone there might help you. I’m heading there too.
Mohopu: Go ahead, I’m ready to note it down.
Kaeteru: [Static interrupts intermittently, address relayed with difficulty.]
Mohopu: Got it. Thank you, Professor.
Kaeteru: [Signal fades and disconnects.]– Hello? This is Professor Kaeteru – the voice said, strained with the effort to cut through the interference.
[END TRANSCRIPTION]
For a moment, Mohopu stood in silence, the hum of the studio a distant backdrop to his thoughts. This was more than just curiosity now, it was an opportunity. If there was something deeper behind these anomalies, uncovering it could be his chance to shine a light on an obscure but critical pattern. Slipping the paper into his coat pocket, he left the advisory room. The corridors seemed narrower now, he didn’t know what he would find at the address, but one thing was certain: he was going to follow this thread, wherever it led.
– It shouldn’t be more than a half-hour drive – Mohopu murmured to himself as he stepped down the stairs in front of the news station and onto the sidewalk.
The thin rain spray misted his elongated face, and he quickly pulled up his coat collar for protection, clutching his case under one arm. His keys slipped in his grip as he reached for his car door, fumbling briefly before managing to unlock it. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he was greeted by the familiar stale scent of the car’s interior—not quite old, not quite new. The warmth inside felt comforting compared to the rain-chilled air outside.
He started the car, the engine’s hum underscoring the rain pattering on the windshield. As he adjusted the wipers, his focus shifted to the paper tucked securely in his coat pocket. He pulled the now slightly crumpled paper from his coat and smoothed it against the steering wheel, squinting at the address scribbled in his own rushed handwriting. With one hand, he retyped the information into the car’s GPS system. The screen blinked and hesitated, the spinning icon taunting him as it struggled to calculate a route. Despite the signal icon showing two out of three rods, it was taking an eternity.
Mohopu let out a low sigh, his ears flicking back in irritation. The weather seemed to be wreaking havoc even on navigation. Resigned, he switched to a wide view of the map and decided to rely on the local SIM positioning to guide himself to the University of Aledara.
Though traffic around the university seemed calm and even somewhat relaxed, the city itself was a different story. As Mohopu drove through its labyrinth of roads, he found himself crawling through congested choke points for no apparent reason. Vehicles inched forward like a procession of tired beetles, each driver bristling with the same quiet frustration.
Nearly twenty minutes later, Mohopu finally reached the end of one such bottleneck. Up ahead, a line of police and traffic officers stood in the rain, their uniforms soaked but their movements crisp and purposeful. A traffic specter—a sleek android designed in the likeness of the hoku with yellow LED lights for eyes—waved glowing signal rods to direct the waiting vehicles. Its movements were precise and unrelenting, the artificial grace of its gestures cutting through the haze of the rain.
Beyond the checkpoint, the street ahead was eerily empty, save for a convoy of military trucks and heavy cargo vehicles rumbling past in single file. Their outlines blurred in the downpour, making it hard to discern their exact number or contents. Mohopu squinted through his rain-streaked windshield, adjusting the wipers to no avail. Whatever the trucks carried was obscured, their gray, hulking shapes like phantoms gliding through the storm.
His ears twitched with a mix of curiosity and unease. Something was moving through the city under heavy escort, and the timing of it felt far from coincidental...
