The Salaminia cut through the void, FTL light strobing across the viewport of my quarters.

  Officer housing was quieter and wider than I expected. No shared bunks. Too quiet. No engine vibration humming through the bulkheads. Just one bed, bolted to the deck, and more space than I’d had since boarding.

  I told myself I wouldn’t miss the noise.

  I was lying.

  The silence made it feel like something was wrong, like the ship wasn’t working at all.

  Still, it was mine. Enough room for a proper library. A few personal effects. The old photos of my parents I hadn’t unpacked since the academy.

  Lieutenant Hughes Osbert.

  It sounded strange in my head. Most of the cadre still called me Oz, and that was fine.

  Rank mattered on paper. Trust and confidence mattered everywhere else.

  We were en route to the Kepler-442 system, tasked with a standard colonial survey. Climate patterns. Indigenous flora and fauna. Long-term habitability projections.

  And, if necessary, an assessment of any native intelligence present.

  Officially, we were observers, scientists.

  Unofficially, we were there to decide whether the world would ever be the next big human colony.

  It took months of FTL travel from the current frontier and years from the central systems. That kind of distance demanded a degree of confidence.

  Even without economic or logistical constraints, every planet was hostile in its own way. Climate. Native life. Bacteria and viruses humanity had never encountered.

  The death toll from the first wave of expansion had been high enough that the scientific fleet was no longer optional. It was how humanity survived the frontier now.

  The Salaminia belonged to that fleet, and while all of us had undergone basic military training, getting enough discipline to function under pressure and not be defenseless, most of us were scientists.

  That included me. I was assigned as a xenobiologist, with secondary responsibility for environmental and biological hazard assessment.

  In practice, that made me the person who told others what not to touch, breathe, or ingest unless they were particularly curious about how much it would hurt.

  Security tolerated me. Mostly because their commander understood that a living, functional team beat medbay rotations, explanations, and mission delays.

  The communicator chime pulled me out of my thoughts.

  -Lieutenant Hughes responding- I said, opening the channel.

  -Oz- Christopher Vega’s voice came through, familiar and already too cheerful. -Observation deck. We’re about to exit FTL. Thought you’d want to see our candidate world.-

  I sighed, picturing his perpetually disheveled red hair. -You know you can knock instead of using official channels, Kit.-

  -And miss the chance to pretend this is serious business?- he said. -Seren and Ellian are here. We’re attempting social interaction with landing permission.-

  -God help us all.- I muttered slowly, facepalming. -The mission is serious business. Do you want another reprimand for inappropriate behaviour at work?-

  -Come on, man - Kit added. - First look at a new world. Maybe you’ll even talk to an actual human instead of whatever you’ve been seeing lately through the scope.-

  -Insulting my personal life isn’t a strong recruitment strategy.- I said, already reaching for my uniform.

  I tugged the uniform into place and gave myself a glance in the mirror. Good enough.

  The corridors were already busier than they’d been an hour ago.

  Quiet voices. Purposeful movement. The subtle shift in mood that came with the knowledge that we were about to arrive.

  The observation deck sat along the forward dorsal spine of the Salaminia, wrapped in layered viewports and sensor-transparent composites. By the time I stepped inside, most of the chatter had died down.

  Vega leaned against one of the consoles, arms crossed, eyes forward. Seren and Ellian stood near the main display, already arguing quietly about atmospheric readings.

  -You’re late- Kit said without looking at me.

  -I have the habit of coming exactly when needed- I replied, taking a place near the viewport.

  The ship spoke before he could respond.

  “FTL disengagement in ten seconds.”

  The vibration came back first. Comforting, in a weird way.

  I remembered when, at the start of this journey, I’d taken it as a warning sign, proof that something was about to go wrong.

  Now it was just confirmation that the Salaminia was doing exactly what it was built to do.

  The light outside the viewport stretched as its regular pulse slowed, then the pulse collapsed inward like a curtain being pulled aside.

  Space snapped into focus.

  A small orange star burned ahead of us, steady and unremarkable. Orbital lines resolved across the tactical overlay as the system populated. Planets blinked into existence on the screens one by one. The candidate world appeared on sensors last.

  We could view it all the time from port, a muted blue-red disk, half in shadow, with cloud bands curling across its surface.

  Beautiful.

  -Initial scans are clean- Ellian said after looking at her console.

  -There’s a breathable atmosphere, but we might need exosuits for gravity.- said Seren

  I leaned closer to the display as secondary data streams began to populate. Background radiation was within tolerance. The magnetic field was stable. No obvious artificial emissions.

  The planet turned silently below us, unconcerned with our presence.

  My console finally lit up as the atmosphere data populated the screens. - We might need to add an oxygen boost to the suits, Seren. CO? is double the standard. I don’t like methane levels; there’s a likelihood of something that produces it. We should be cautious with open flames and prepare for big fauna.-

  -Oi, Oz, don’t joke, that’s just 5% higher than the level on Earth.- Kit protests

  - On a planet almost double the size of Earth, that’s quite a substantial rise, Kit.- I clarify the parameters -We could do a deep scan to see if there are active vents discharging in the atmosphere, or if we stumbled into the biggest cow barn this side of the Lyra. -

  The observation deck settled into a working rhythm.

  Ellian pulled up a full-spectrum sweep, layering visible light with infrared, ultraviolet, and gravimetric data. The planet rotated slowly beneath us, its terminator line sliding across continents we hadn’t bothered naming yet.

  -Magnetic field is actually stronger than expected- she said, fingers moving quickly across her console. -Stable, though. No sign of major solar stripping.-

  -Tectonics?- I asked.

  -Active, but within expected parameters. Plenty of internal heat, nothing that suggests global instability. Classic supervolcanism traces, nothing particularly active. No planet-wide fault stress. It might be exiting an ice age, considering the extension of the ice caps.- Ellian replied

  I watched the atmospheric models resolve, column by column, altitude bands filling in as the sensors refined their passes. Oxygen-rich. Nitrogen-dominant. CO? was elevated, but considering the overall volume, not catastrophically so. Methane clustered unevenly, thicker near the equatorial bands.

  -Wetlands, most likely- Seren said before I could. -Or large-scale photosynthetic analogues.-

  -Or grazing dinos- Kit added, half-grinning. -You did say ‘big fauna.’-

  -I said to prepare for it - I replied. -Last time I checked, cows were bigger than a person, Kit. Let's keep real.-

  He chuckled and leaned back against the console.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  -No artificial emissions confirmed- Ellian continued. - We confirmed the system might have been a theatre of an old space battle, but there’s nothing indicating planetfall. No thermal signatures inconsistent with geology or biology. If there’s intelligence down there, it’s either pre-industrial or very good at staying quiet.-

  I nodded. That aligned with the preliminary data. Nothing jumped out. Nothing demanded alarms or protocol escalation.

  Exactly what we’d come for.

  -Command’s going to like this- Seren said. -It’s almost boring.-

  -What’s wrong with boring? It means we go back home on schedule.- Said Kit

  She smiled faintly at that.

  The Salaminia adjusted her orientation with a gentle thruster burn, settling into a stable observation orbit. On the main display, a projected descent corridor appeared, highlighted in green.

  -Landing window opens in ninety minutes- Kit said. -Standard survey drop. One shuttle, six personnel. Security escort included, before you ask, I just volunteered you.-

  -You could do your work for once, you’re a xenobiologist like I am. We’re supposed to alternate- I said, and He raised both hands in mock surrender.

  -Already signed off. Quarantine protocols in place. No surface contact without full suit integrity. And someone has to man the Salaminia’s scanners-

  -How come you’re always the someone, Kit?- I protest - Come on, man, you know Liam absolutely detests me!- He begs.

  -Yeah, kind of happens when you try to flirt with his wife. Thrice. - I point out.

  - Oz, remember: no samples leave the site until we’ve run contamination models twice- Seren added, smiling as if I already accepted.

  - Let’s make that three times. - I stated. - We got the charm and the certainty bound together.-

  No one argued.

  ///

  The prep bay smelled faintly of ozone and disinfectant.

  Exosuits hung in their racks like oversized shells, matte gray with modular plating and flexible joint seals. Technicians moved between them, running diagnostics, checking seals, oxygen tanks, and calibrating grav-comp compensators.

  I stepped into mine and let the automated harness lock into place. The suit tightened around my torso, distributing weight evenly as the system synced with my biometrics.

  -Atmospheric mix adjusted- a tech said without looking up. -Oxygen boost within safe parameters. CO? scrubbers are active. Methane filters installed as requested.-

  -Good- I said. -What about pressure variance?-

  -Within tolerances. Pressure estimated at one point six standard. You’ll feel it, along with gravity, but the suits will compensate.-

  That would slow us down. Fatigue would set in faster. Another reason to keep the first landing short.

  -You look thrilled- Chimed Kit from comm.

  -I am- I replied, sarcastically. - There’s nothing I enjoy more than trusting my life to an overengineered piece of clothing.-

  -Come on, Oz. New world. First step and all that.-

  -Nobody pulls an Armstrong anymore, Kit. Our great-great-great-grandpas did the colonization of Mars, and even they felt it was cringe as fuck back then! - I said. -Besides, we’re not taking a landing module and a prayer anymore.-

  -You wound me- he said.

  The security detail checks their weapons next to me, Staff Sergeant Einar Liam playing with his knife like nobody could die if a suit lost atmosphere.

  -Surface conditions of the landing site look stable- Said Seren from the comms -No extreme weather systems in the hemisphere. Wind speeds will be manageable.-

  -What are we exploring first ?- I asked.

  -Highland basin. Minimal vegetation density. Good visibility.- Said Kit

  -Good- I said. -I don’t want our first contact with local biology to be something that can swallow a shuttle.-

  Kit laughed.

  -You really know how to inspire confidence-

  -That’s not my job- I replied.

  -If you two have finished your lovers’ quarrel, we’re ready.- Says Liam dryly.

  The bay lights dimmed as the shuttle powered up. Engines hummed to life, a deeper vibration than the Salaminia herself, transmitted through the deck plates and into my boots.

  We filed into the shuttle, securing ourselves in acceleration couches. The hatch sealed with a solid clang, cutting off the wider ship.

  “Descent clearance confirmed.” came the ship’s voice over the comm. - This is your captain speaking. Landing team alpha authorized. Keep communications professional; you’re on a log from this point forward. -

  -Survey shuttle departing- Kit said, tone finally shifting to professional.

  The shuttle detached with a gentle lurch, drifting free of the Salaminia before its engines flared to life.

  The planet filled the forward viewport as we began our descent. Blue-red hues sharpened into cloud systems and landmasses, detail increasing with every second.

  First landings were always like this, full of expectations and of battle-ready maniacs in the guise of security details.

  *** Elsewhere ***

  A new trail of fire tore across the night sky.

  Too slow to be falling debris. Too guided.

  She felt it before she truly saw it.

  A faint and subtle pressure ripple that traveled through the upper atmosphere. No sky liked sudden wounds; all sky healed.

  Her wings flexed once, drawing heat from the warm updrafts curling along the mountain spine where she rested.

  The stone beneath her was alive with slow warmth, deep and constant, the kind that took centuries to fade.

  She had chosen this place carefully. Rich soil. Pure water. Winds that carried the scent of growing things and large herds moving far below.

  Food. Rest. Recovery.

  This planet, like many, welcomed her.

  Did they follow her here, too?

  Her jaw tightened, a low rumble vibrating through her chest as old scars pulled beneath her scales.

  Not wounds from tooth or claw, but from light and pressure and things that screamed without sound. Things that fell from the void and killed from too far away to smell.

  It was too soon. She had come to this world to feed, to let the planet’s abundance knit strength back into her bones. To sink her awareness into soil and wind and water until the ache of flight between stars faded.

  Then again, ships were made to outrun wings. That reality, she couldn’t deny.

  She lifted her head, eyes narrowing as she stretched her senses outward.

  The disturbance above the sky prickled against her awareness. The void around the planet was no longer quiet. Something was moving there.

  The trail of fire was not alone, then.

  She tasted the air, slow and deliberate.

  Ships could feel her presence the same way she felt theirs, if she dared to rise into the open sky. Sensors reached farther than flame. Faster than muscle.

  Their weapons could strike her before she could close the distance and breathe, and for all her scales were thick and layered, they would fail eventually.

  They always did.

  The Primacy’s hunters had taught her that.

  The Preservation of Primacy would have her head, mounted and measured, and displayed as proof that the old dangers of the galaxy could still be tamed.

  Unless she played it smart.

  Her wings folded tighter against her body as she sank lower against the stone, letting the planet’s warmth cloak her presence. She slowed her breathing, matched it to the wind, to the rhythm of the land below.

  Let the intruders pick a landing spot.

  She would sneak upon them and wear their shape.

  Once deceit felt shameful, but now?

  Now, surviving took priority.