I stood there longer than I should have, my eyes fixed on the frigate as it hovered above us, its massive frame suspended against the dust-choked sky like something that did not belong to this world, and even at that distance—far higher than any craft had reason to remain within a planet's atmosphere—its presence pressed down on everything below with a quiet, undeniable authority that made movement feel like defiance.
The wind came in heavy, layered waves from its propulsion systems, not violent enough to throw us off our feet but strong enough to buffet our clothes, sting our eyes with fine dust, and remind us with every passing second that whatever power had arrived above Skorrag was not something we could ignore or resist.
A section along the lower side of the ship shifted with controlled precision, the armor plates separating along invisible seams to reveal a recessed compartment built into the hull, and from within it, several smaller units detached in sequence, each one stabilizing itself midair before beginning a measured descent toward the surface. The movement was deliberate, efficient, and entirely without hesitation, as though every action had been calculated long before we ever stepped into that mine.
The transport pods were compact compared to the frigate, yet still far more advanced than anything used on Skorrag, and as they drew closer, their construction became clearer in a way that only deepened the sense of imbalance between our world and whatever had just arrived. Each pod consisted of a reinforced steel platform supported by an internal anti-gravity system, its underside emitting a low, controlled hum that could be felt through the ground more than heard, while a vertical support structure rose at the front, encased in a luminous material that resembled layered honeycomb glass.
The surface of that material shifted subtly as it descended, appearing at once solid and immaterial, as though it existed between states rather than within a single one, and faint lines of light moved through its structure like energy being routed in real time.
Technology like this did not exist on border worlds like Skorrag, where survival depended on repurposed machinery and failing infrastructure, and even the best equipment was little more than something that had outlived its intended use. This was the kind of engineering reserved for the inner systems, for planets that still mattered, where the regime had consolidated its influence and maintained control over resources that most of us would never see.
The pods slowed as they approached the ground, adjusting their descent with silent, exacting corrections, before settling onto the surface at measured distances from the group, not clustering around us but positioning themselves in a controlled formation that dictated movement rather than reacting to it.
It felt like a procedure.
One of the pods drifted closer than the others, but not toward the group as a whole, and not toward Heimlock either, despite his position as the leader of the expedition. It moved directly toward the strange man who had accompanied us into the mine, the one who had watched more than he had spoken, the one whose presence had never quite aligned with the rest of us.
As the pod came to a controlled stop beside him, a figure stepped forward from its platform, clad in a silver armored suit that immediately marked him as part of the regime. The armor was sleek yet reinforced, its surfaces composed of interlocking plates that followed the contours of the body without restricting movement, reflecting the dim light in muted tones that emphasized function over display. It carried the unmistakable identity of authority, not through ornamentation, but through design, as though it had been engineered to communicate power without needing to prove it.
The officer's posture was precise, his movements controlled to the point of calculation, and when he spoke, his tone carried the weight of protocol rather than personality.
"Senator Horram, sir," he said. "We have identified the location of the anomaly. Will you be joining us?"
The word settled quickly in my mind, because I understood enough.
Senator.
It was a title that carried influence, the kind that did not belong anywhere near a planet like Skorrag, where survival itself was considered success.
Horram gave a small, almost dismissive nod, acknowledging the officer without hesitation, and stepped onto the platform of the pod with the ease of someone accustomed to being obeyed. There was no discussion, no questioning, and no visible consideration of alternatives, as if the outcome had already been determined long before any of us had realized what we had found.
As the pod began to lift, its stabilizers engaging with a faint shift in the air, Horram turned slightly, looking back at us with an expression that did not quite register as concern, but rather as obligation.
"You all should return home," he said, his voice carrying clearly despite the distance and the persistent wind. "The regime has claimed the discovery for itself and will remain on Skorrag until the anomaly no longer poses a threat to the citizens of this planet."
The statement was structured, deliberate, and framed as reassurance, yet nothing about it felt genuine. It was not an offer of safety; it was a declaration of ownership, delivered in a tone that left no room for interpretation.
The reaction formed in my mind before I could filter it.
What a load of horse shit.
They were taking it—every risk we had taken, every step into that place, every life that had been lost—and turning it into something that belonged to them by default. The justification was simple, clean, and completely untouchable: protection, containment, authority. There was no argument we could make that would matter, no claim we could assert that would even be acknowledged.
Around me, I could feel the same realization settling into the others, not through words, but through the absence of them. No one stepped forward. No one challenged the order. Even the men who had risked their lives for the possibility of something greater understood the reality in front of them.
We were outmatched in every possible way.
The pod carrying Horram rose steadily, joining the others as they aligned themselves into a loose formation and began moving back toward the frigate, their paths precise and coordinated. Above us, the massive ship adjusted its position in response, its hull shifting subtly as it reoriented itself to receive the returning units.
The sound of its engines deepened, the low hum spreading outward through the ground in a steady vibration that could be felt more than heard, reinforcing the scale of the machine and the force it represented. Dust lifted in slow spirals around us, carried by the displaced air, creating a shifting haze that blurred the edges of everything in sight.
The moment stretched longer than it should have, as if no one was quite ready to accept that it was over, yet no one willing to act as though it was not.
Eventually, movement began again as a quiet surrender to reality. One man turned first, then another, and soon the group began to shift away from the landing zone, their steps uneven at first before settling into something more familiar.
Heimlock did not say anything as he turned, but the tension in his posture remained, carried in the set of his shoulders and the pace of his steps as he began walking toward the settlement. The others followed in scattered formation, some glancing back one last time at the sky, others already looking ahead, returning to routines that suddenly felt smaller than they had before.
I remained where I was for a few seconds longer, my eyes tracking the movement of the frigate as it began to follow the trajectory of the pods, its massive structure shifting slowly across the sky with a sense of inevitability that made resistance feel pointless.
Whatever we had found beneath that mine had drawn something far beyond us, something that operated on a scale we could barely comprehend, and in doing so it had changed the balance of everything on this planet, but it had also changed me in a way I did not yet understand. The faint mark on my wrist, now subdued beneath my skin, felt less like a wound and more like a system waiting to unfold, and the strange overlays I had begun to see—levels, labels, that impossible sense of evaluation—suggested that whatever had touched me was not finished. If that was true, then the future would not look like the past, not for me, and not for Mary if I could help it, because a part of me had already begun to calculate what this could become: an advantage in a place where advantage meant survival, a way out of Skorrag, or a path straight into something far worse than the mines.
As I turned at last and began to walk, falling in line with the others as we made our way back toward the settlements, the wind at our backs and the weight of what we had lost settling quietly into place, I found myself testing the edges of this change with cautious thought, wondering whether the voice would return, whether the world would keep revealing itself in those brief, impossible flashes, and whether I could learn to use it before it used me.
The regime could claim the discovery, but they could not claim what had already become part of me, and that thought carried a dangerous kind of possibility that I could not ignore.
There might be nothing left for us at the mine, and nothing we could take back in our hands, but I was no longer certain that we had truly left empty, because something had come back with me, and whatever it was would shape what came next, whether I was ready for it or not.