Sanctuary

Rain thrashed the tin roof of the forsaken observatory, drowning out all other sounds. Liz and Trevor huddled around a gas lantern in a dimly lit corner, their faces smeared with grime, reflecting the weariness etched into their very bones. Once a diplomat of silver-tongued repute, Liz now carried the burden of lost lives on her slender shoulders. Her companion, a skilled engineer named Trevor, cradled the flickering hope of asylum in his calloused hands. The observatory, a serendipitous find in their flight from a world-devouring conflict, whispered promises of a forgotten communication satellite. Repair it, send a plea, and just maybe, there was a chance they could be saved. As Liz paced around the room, the last year's events played through her mind. If she had sent ships to Felix, he would be alive. If she had attacked Trinity, their Armanda would not have been destroyed. So many people died because of her.  Trevor ignored Liz as he delved into wires and circuits, his efforts mirrored in the lantern's erratic dance. Hours waltzed by in the relentless downpour and the building's protesting creaks. Finally, Trevor broke the silence with a raspy declaration, "I've done it. It works. We can send a message."

Hope, fragile and shy, blossomed within Liz. With trembling fingers, she typed: "SOS. Survivors. Coordinates..." Pausing, she added, "Urgent assistance needed." They launched their desperate plea into the storm, minutes stretching like an endless abyss. A faint crackle pierced the silence—a reply in Alpha Earth code. Liz's heart raced as she tried to decipher the garbled message, but then, with a snap, the lantern faltered, and darkness swallowed them. The voice persisted, swallowed by static—a cruel remnant of extinguished hope. They sat in the dark, the unanswered plea weighing on their chests. What had the voice conveyed? Help, rescue, or something darker? Each interpretation spawned fresh anxieties, painting terrifying scenarios in their minds. Sleep offered no solace; nightmares took residence. Liz awoke at dawn, the unanswered message a lead weight in her gut. Beside her, Trevor huddled, and she mustered a strained smile.

"We can't stop" she croaked. "Fix the lantern, try again."

Days melded into weeks as messages were repeatedly sent. Every unanswered attempt chipped away at hope, fostering isolation and despair. One gloomy afternoon, amidst supply scavenging, Liz unearthed a crate with dusty textbooks. Among them, a faded manual on satellite communications caught her attention. With newfound resolve, she pored over the text, deciphering the crucial words spoken before the connection's demise: "Coordinates… not… match… danger… seek… alternative."

The revelation struck like lightning. They had been misdirected, sending pleas into the void or, worse, to bounty hunters. Despair threatened, but a spark of defiance lit within Liz. Not surrender, but adaptation. The truncated message held a key—danger, a warning, a challenge. Liz shared the discovery with Trevor. Together, they huddled over maps of the planet. The message may have been severed, but it fueled their resolve.  As they strategized under the dim glow of the repaired lantern, another cryptic message crackled through the Frankenstein- satellite console. The eerie notes chilled the damp air and darkened their already heavy hearts.

“They’re coming….Agabor.” The words were punctuated by static bursts that sounded like skeletal laughter. Liz and Trevor exchanged a grim look.

"It's a bit of a snare?" Trevor grumbled, giving his stubbled chin a good scratch. "They're luring us right into the jaws of whatever nasty fate they've cooked up."

Liz traced the jagged line on the map, mirroring the fractured message on the console. "It's not a warning," she murmured, "it's a guide." Her voice, though hoarse, held a newfound conviction.

Trevor, his brow furrowed under the lantern's weak light, squinted at the map. "Guide to what? More danger?"

“Agabor mountains. An old smuggler’s space path, abandoned, like here after the war. There could be a ship.”

Hope, like a flickering flame, ignited in Trevor's gaze. They had been running blind, their pleas bouncing off the vast emptiness of space. This message, though cryptic, offered a tangible direction. “As if any abandoned place is truly abandoned. Remember Alpha Earth?”

“This place was.” Liz replied, “We have to try.” Panic was not a luxury they could afford.

Trevor couldn't mask the quiver in his hands as he traced the map. He nodded solemnly. "We know someone's listening, someone's sniffing around. Maybe they ain't sure who we are, but they know we exist."

Liz scanned the map, her eyes catching on a seemingly insignificant tributary leading away from their intended route. It snaked through uncharted territory but not the well-known smuggler route.

"This," she announced, tapping the river with her finger, "this may be our path."

They gathered their meager supplies. Liz’s spacesuit was a standard emergency survival suit found on any Level A Spaceship aid kit. Trevor traded her spacesuit for his, which was thermal lined and had a better chance at preventing frostbite. The automated door clicked upward, and they stepped outside. Due to the constant storms, it was hard to tell what time of day it was. Given that the sky was black and not a dull gray, Trevor guessed it was nighttime.  Freezing liquid rain pelted them on the path towards the smuggler’s station. The journey along the tributary contained concealed quicksand that lurked beneath lush vegetation, and unseen predators haunted the shadows. Every rustle of leaves and every bird's cry sent shivers down their spines. But the cryptic message echoed in their minds, stoking their resolve.

Liz and Trevor reached the station at dawn, tucked against the base of Bihl mountain. The storm had increased in its severity. It now pelted them with hail as they forced open the door. A mesocyclone hovered over the mountain.

“Get in!” Trevor pushed Liz through the door wedge. He barely got through himself before the pneumatic doors slammed shut.

Inside, silence enveloped them, dust motes swirling in the feeble light filtering through two cracked generated powered lights. A red glow emanated from the corner where a satellite communicator resided. Liz ambled over to it.

"It's still in the game!" She shook her head in disbelief. "Call it fortune, or a twist of fate," she muttered as she punched a message into the keys.

“Good luck, perhaps," Trevor glanced around, shaking his head. "But luck in these parts tends to be a bit like a mischievous imp. Hard to predict and not always in your favor, you know."

“Well I’ll take it. Over there.” Liz pointed to a mucky window. A Class C prison transport ship sat in the dock, “Let’ 's see if there’s enough energy to power up the door to the dock.”

"Right then." Trevor strolled towards the computer terminal, saying, "Let’s tinker with the generator's wiring, maybe redirect it to the Main terminal." A thunderous crash and the whole place went pitch-black. A distant engine, buried deep in the mountain, screeched to an abrupt stop.

"Oh, shit!" Trevor hurriedly hammered away at the terminal keys. Another ear-splitting crash, the engine grumbled back to life, flooding the space with light as the airlocked terminal door slid open.

"Got it!" Trevor cheered, seizing Liz in a bear hug and twirling her. "Let’s go!"

A holographic apparition flickered in the room's center console- A humanoid alien, their azure skin radiating an ethereal glow, stood clad in a pristine white suit that seemed to defy the cosmic dust settling around. The alien's visage was mysterious and alluring, with eyes like pools of deep sapphire and four sinuous tentacles gracefully emerging from their back. The appendages moved snakelike, their tips adorned with iridescent tendrils that shimmered like miniature constellations.

“Nayea Soren” Liz whispered. “We’re dead.”

Just at that moment, the satellite communication system crackled with static, "Lady Graeyam , come in. It's Captain Salzar. We received your coordinates.” An alarm sounded in the background of the transmission, “Evasive maneuvers! All power to the front shields!” A deafening crack of thunder shook the mountain. The lights flickered, and the system gave a sigh and went utterly dead, leaving Liz and Trevor in the awkward silence of a technological tantrum.

“Lady Graeyam. "Thought you could escape, didn't you? While you were incarcerated, a little something found its way into your neural network."

Liz fidgeted, “What are you talking about?”

“Really?” Soren sighed, “At the beginning, I considered you good sport. But now I realize it’s all been dumb luck on your part. You seriously haven’t stopped to consider how my people locate you so quickly?”

“Tracking Chip.” Trevor interrupted, “Dr. Freeman experiments.”

A tentacle pointed in Trevor’s direction, “He knows. Care to dumb it down for the Lady Graeyam?”

Liz turned to him, “What is it talking about, Trevor?”

Trevor fixed his gaze on Soren, "Rumors had it that Dr. Freeman had a sort of carnival pass to conduct his peculiar 'tests' over at Beddgelert prison. One of his little numbers involved an explosive chip implant, you know, to keep the inmates in check and on the map."

Soren grinned, “This planet, its atmosphere, delayed our ability to find you. But, here we are.” Another sonic boom echoed through the base. She clasped her hands and two lower tentacles in front of her, “Hear that?”

“Hear what?” Liz asked. She turned to Trevor, about to speak, when she heard something. A faint, rhythmic hum vibrating in her ears.

“Yes, hear what?” Trevor shook his head.

Soren closed her eyes, and her right tentacles began to sway in rhythm with the hum, “Your heart beat is erratic, a bit of human arrhythmia? Perhaps we should run a test?”

Liz grabbed Trevor’s wrist, “Something’s in my head.”

Trevor's hands darted out, seizing her shoulders and dragging her in front of him. He pushed her hair away to inspect the base of her neck. He found a dot of pulsing orange light. He chewed his lips.

“What?” Liz breathed out slowly, “Is there something there?” She asked.

“Yes. Stay calm. Stall Soren.” He whispered as he casually reached inside his suit for his multi-tool. Clicking it on, he ran a diagnostic test.

Liz straightened her shoulders, “Well, Soren. You’re certainly proving everyone right about you. A heartless monster. Once word gets out…”

              “Word?” Soren smirked, “What word? You certainly hold yourself in high esteem, which is not valid. I’m bored. We’re done.” Soren turned away, her tentacles swatting Liz away like a fly.

Trevor’s multitool beeped, indicating the test was done. The implant was simple- a low-frequency transponder meant for an 80-kilometer radius but packed a 10-kT detonation.  A typical prison plant. Soren must have someone on her crew with the skills to boost the tracking, but they would need to know which area to scan. Trevor’s hands started to shake. They were being tracked with a precision that bordered on the uncanny.

The orange light changed to the color green. Trevor turned on the laser, carving a crooked line into Liz’s neck.  She stifled a cry, wincing instead as she stared at Soren. A sharp explosive roar erupted outside of the smuggler station’s doors. The tremor shook Trevor and Liz forward.

“Lady Graeyam! Do you Copy? Over.” Captain Salzar’s voice sprung from the satellite communication system.

Soren stopped and turned towards his voice, “What?”

A deafening explosion tore through the air outside, the thunderous roar drowning out all other sounds. The lights flickered, then died, plunging them into

suffocating darkness.