Demonea E-Book

David Scott

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 342

Beschreibung

Fear - Despair - Conspiracy In the early 22nd century, mining on asteroids is an important economic sector. But when a disturbing image appears on the net, terrifying people, the hunt for the mystery behind it begins. Conspiracies and pirates make the search dangerous and unpredictable. One reporter has his own plans. He comes into conflict with a power that takes no prisoners. Can the Foundation's SPACE PATROL UNIT, an organization for the protection of mining bases in space, prevent a catastrophe?

Leseprobe

Disclaimer

The plot, places and people in this science fiction novel are fictitious. Any similarities with actual events, names and living or deceased persons is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Prologue

I still remember the day when my colleague Yel rushed excitedly into the control room of the new radio telescope. The night before, his computer terminal had registered a techno signature. Yel tapped a computer printout with his index finger.

"This techno signature is not from our technology on Earth." The new AI technology could clearly verify the signal. Yel looked at me expectantly.

"Are you listening to me?"

I was still skeptical, but Yel sat down on his work chair and entered the coordinates. He could hardly wait for the first results to appear on the screen. Yel leaned forward to the screen and his fingers ran thoughtfully over the lips. Suddenly, he frantically scrolled through his notes and looked at the star data again, afraid that everything might turn out to be a mistake.

Looking over Yel's shoulder, I realized that it was indeed a previously unknown star system from which the techno signature originated. At the time, neither Yel nor I had any idea what was really behind this discovery.

A Superflare multiplied the brightness of a red dwarf star, leading to its discovery. These faint dwarf stars could not be observed with the naked eye. Due to their low mass, nuclear fusion was based on a proton-proton reaction, which takes place much more slowly than in larger stars. This is why they were among the oldest stars in the Milky Way. On closer inspection of the computer data transmitted, it was probably a binary star system orbited by planets.

A few days later, other space telescopes also confirmed that Yel had indeed discovered a new star system that warranted further investigation.

Yel tried to crack the techno signature with the new AI decryption system. The scientists did manage to get closer, albeit months later, with the help of a wellknown cryptologist. Yel believed he had found the famous needle in the haystack. From the fragments of data that were received, the scientists were able to reconstruct something like a cry for help with the help of AI technology.

The distress call of an artificial intelligence, which may have been traveling for thousands of years, penetrated the vastness of space in the hope that a receiver would pick up the encrypted signals. Yel became highly motivated to solve the mystery when he showed me the scientists' interpretation. He gave the techno signature the name Demonea, born of darkness.

A fascinating story revealed itself to me as I read. In the distant past, a fierce battle probably raged between two AI combat units, the last of their kind. One side defended its planet, while the other used every weapon in its arsenal to conquer it. Finally, in the orbit of the super-Earth, the cruelest battle for victory broke out, in which the last organic units of the defenders met their death. In the worst hour of the super-Earth, the Superflare of the red dwarf star probably reached the AI combat unit of the defenders. The Superflare, a magnetic storm of superlatives, tore through the atmosphere of the Super-Earth. Before the defenders' AI combat unit could react, the unthinkable happened. A celestial body thrown off course probably collided with the AI combat unit. The energy of the impact must have been so powerful that the celestial body and the artificial object fused together, and the new trajectory led out of the home system and into free space. Everything else remained open.

The scientists' interpretation didn't seem so farfetched to me. Yel was full of energy and drive. I could tell by the look on his face that he was eager to find out more about the alien object.

The story inspired me, and I thought about helping Yel with his research.

Computer Diary: 09/25/2087 "Save note."

Chapter 1

Someone must have covered it up, but no one felt guilty that countless meteorites were hitting the Earth without warning. Those in charge still downplayed the situation, while social networks were full of reports of injured people.

Conspiracy theorists proclaimed the end of the world, others believed in an alien invasion, until ... unknown people posted the picture of the day. The media fanned the flames and did not rule out a serious threat to the Earth. Was the 22nd century about to begin with an unprecedented catastrophe?

In Washington, hundreds of people gathered daily in front of the White House to loudly express their displeasure at the lack of an official statement from the government. When the MNC-TV broadcast van arrived at the White House that day, protesters were already holding banners with their demands. Dian Hunting, the well-known media icon with the microphone in her hand, took a deep breath. She tidied her hair, checked her outfit, and stood up straight. Dian was well aware that there was nothing like a mysterious threat to keep people in suspense. What happened in the last few days promised to be the story of the year.

"Briefing!" That was the signal to her assistants. "I don't want any surprises, ... girls." All three assistants nodded eagerly to avoid any displeasure. Dian Hunting took one last look around before the moment arrived when she opened the car door and stepped onto the stage, her media throne, the mouthpiece of public opinion. The assistant, Redge, was new to the team. He stood at her side with a video camera over his shoulder, ready to record everything.

The mood of the demonstrators became more tense by the minute. The first demonstrators in the crowd immediately recognized their idol. They shouted her name. Dian! Dian! More and more people gathered around the media icon like bees around their queen. Now! This was her moment to take center stage. Dian Hunting, microphone in hand, raised her arm demonstratively and looked up to the sky, a symbolic gesture that everyone understood. There was a moment of expectant silence. It was the perfect moment for Dian to put her anxious face to the camera, fearless, giving herself up to the excited crowd.

"Good morning, dear viewers. I'm Dian Hunting reporting for MNC-TV. We're standing here in front of the White House, surrounded by many frightened citizens demanding answers from the government." Dian! Dian! ... The government must tell us the truth. The demonstrators shouted slogans. In the background, banners were once again being held aloft. The encircled Dian glanced at her assistant, Dan. He watched an attractive redhead with rapt attention. "Dan!" What is this fool doing? But the voices of the bystanders drowned out her call. Damn it!

Redge, the camera assistant, gave Dian a hand signal. She pointed her microphone at a crying woman who was shaking and putting a hand to her mouth, as more protesters surrounded Dian. Redge zoomed in on the woman's crying face so that everyone could see the tears on her face.

"Mrs! What are you so afraid of?" Dian asked sympathetically.

"Mrs Hunting," the young woman sobbed, touching Dian's free hand. "I don't want to die!"

An older man pushed his way forward.

"And you, sir? I am sure. You're a pensioner? I can see the anger in your eyes."

"That’s right, Mrs Hunting. Make our voices heard up there. A meteorite fell in my yard yesterday. It could have been my wife or the grandchildren. Our dog wasn't so lucky. It was a terrible sight. Believe me." The old man's sad words moved the surrounding crowd. Dian patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"Sir. I can understand you very well."

Assistant Henry had just let the mini drone take off ... Then it happened. The unbelievable happened. A loud bang, perhaps a few kilometers away, followed by a dark cloud of smoke rising into the blue sky, made everyone stop in fear. Anxiety spread among the demonstrators like an ocean swell rolling inexorably toward the shore.

Suddenly! Someone held up a smartphone and shouted excitedly: "Meteorites." The first sirens wailed in the distance. People began to push. Others screamed, stumbled, and fell. From one second to the next, everyone ran away screaming in panic.

Motionless and with her mouth open, Dian suddenly stood alone on the deserted street. Only the banners left behind bore witness to the demonstration. Time seemed to have frozen. Only the clacking sound of the microphone hitting the pavement brought her back to reality. The MNC-TV team was treated to a sight they would not soon forget. The shock was still in Dian's bones as she picked up her microphone from the sidewalk. Assistant Redge, also surprised, bravely kept his camera on Dian. She didn't need to act to look shocked. There was a slight tremor in her voice at the next words.

"Dear viewers, we do not know what has just happened. But the situation speaks for itself. We had reported live from the demonstration in front of the White House, which came to an unexpected and sudden end. Stay with us. MNC-TV will keep you up to date with the latest happenings. I'm Dian Hunting and I’m reporting for MNC-TV." Dian gave assistant Redge a hand signal to stop the recording. She had to take several deep breaths to calm herself down.

"Dan!" Damn it! The reporter was nowhere to be seen. Assistant Henry was still holding the mini drone with which he had the presence of mind to film the incident from the air. God bless this invention, Dian thought to herself before getting into the broadcast van.

"Pack up," she ordered everyone. "Can't this go any faster?" That too! Her hands searched through all the pockets of the pantsuit. Moments of shock made her pale ... "My smartphone," Dian exclaimed excitedly. She desperately needed to contact someone from the Late-Night show! Reporter Dan Henning, who was coordinating the final settings for the live broadcast in the van at the video terminal, stared in horror at the video images captured by the mini drone.

"Oh my God," he muttered more to himself, then softly the word déjà vu, as Dian leaned down to him.

"My smartphone! Dan, where is it?"

"I, ... I don't know, boss. It was still there just now." Confused, he looked into Dian's eyes, which narrowed to small slits. He could literally feel the irritation in Dian's face.

"I don't believe this, Dan!" Her flat hand slapped the back of his car seat several times. "Save the déjà vu for Monday's Mystery show!"

Cameraman Redge whispered with curly-haired blonde Henry, whose strong hands clutched the digital control panel of the broadcast van expectantly. Dian Hunting, the Huntress before the Lord, suddenly felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins and sat down in her car seat. What a day, Dian thought.

"Henry, what are you waiting for? Get going!" The words sounded so harsh that Henry didn't think twice and stepped on the gas pedal. "The front is waiting for us!" shouted Dian, feeling like Joan of Arc.

Reporter Dan got goose bumps. He could already see his body falling into the dark abyss.

"Dian!" he tried to object uncertainly. "I have such a bad feeling."

"This isn't a discussion group, Dan!" The rising heat made Dian breath heavily. Annoyed, her hand tried to undo the zipper of the blazer, which of course got caught in her new silk blouse. But no matter! Her hand gripped Dan's upper arm tightly. "Not another word! Want to be a good reporter? Your attitude annoys me!" Jesus! Dian in her car seat tightened her seat belt. What had she done to deserve this reporter? He was a disgrace to the entire guild.

Dan saw his ego crushed on the floor, humiliated, especially in front of Redge, the cheeky new guy who had just given Henry a meaningful look. Dian was sweating with excitement and hastily checking her makeup to look perfect for the story of the day, while Dan felt like he was staring death in the face. It didn't seem to be his day.

The MNC-TV team did not return to the large media group's editorial offices until late in the evening. Everyone had to cope a hard day's work with horrible images. But there were editorial tasks that could not be postponed. Tired, Dan entered the floor where the MNC-TV staff's open-plan office was located. The double-leaf glass door labeled MNC-TV opened in front of him. The electric door drive had been making a loud grinding noise for days. Annoyed, Dan wished the repairman, for whom everyone had been waiting in vain for days, at hell.

The room, bathed in dim light, greeted him with the usual office sounds of the late shift. To his left were two gesticulating colleagues, apparently deep in conversation.

"Hi guys." One of them raised his hand briefly in greeting. But he didn't look over at him. Reporter Dan just wanted to get to his desk, which was waiting for him at the end of the 500-square meter office. A beeping female voice softly reached his right ear.

"Hi, Dan. You are a little late today." Berte looked up briefly before her artificial fingernails returned to tormenting the innocent keyboard. The clicking tore at his nerves.

"Hi Berte. Still industrious?" Shy as Berte was, she only answered with a quiet giggle.

The walk to workplace today seemed endless to him. His tired feet shuffled past several unoccupied workstations. Further back, a coffee machine was bubbling. The muffled sound of a cupboard door slamming, the clatter of dishes ... Three more meters. Dan was almost home, if you wanted to name the workplace by the window, where a cactus waited lonely on the windowsill.

I’m home, reporter Dan thought!

Finally, he was standing in front of his desk. He threw his reporter's bag onto the desk, on which a mountain of research material had piled up that he still had to sift through. An all-consuming darkness pierced through the window blinds, held back only by the islands of light from the occupied workstations, which in turn painted ghostly shapes on the floor. Damn it! What was wrong with him? He sank powerlessly into the upholstered work chair with the soft headrest, where exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. "Groan!" Yawning and rubbing his eyes, Dan stared at the bright computer screen where a blinking button element insistently prompting him to open the new messages.

He ran his fingers through his half-length hair, which was falling unruly in the face. His right index finger clicked listlessly on the first message. Work date, ... Report, ... Next message. It's Susan's birthday. We're collecting ... Blah blah. Dan leaned back with his eyes closed as the sounds of the office lulled him to sleep. He must have dozed off for a moment when a soft laugh reached his ear, followed by a whisper. After a moment of silence, he recognized the voice of Redge Letter, whose workstation was diagonally opposite. A large houseplant between them gave the illusion of privacy.

Redge flirted. Dan only understood yes, ... No, maybe. A short pause followed. "I need some time. You can count on me." After that, the only sound was the clicking of the keyboard.

Dan stretched his arms up to fight the tiredness. Concentrate, Dan thought. Otherwise, I spend the whole night in the office. As he reached for a pen, he couldn't get the mystery of the red-haired woman standing next to the broadcast van that morning out of his mind. Absurd! Grace was dead, but this resemblance. Dan was fiddling with the pen when suddenly a strong hand shook his shoulder. He winced. The pen involuntarily slipped from his fingers, rolled over the edge of the table, and, obeying the laws of gravity, fell to the floor. Shit! Dan stared apathetically at the cup in front of him, which contained even more writing utensils.

"Hey, you!" Henry grinned smugly. "Not your day, is it, Danny boy?" You slime mold, your day will come when you need friends, Dan thought to himself. "Orders from above," Henry said in a condescending tone. "Your mothership is calling you."

Dan had to force himself to lift his body out of the comfortable work chair. He was flat, exhausted, if you want to call it that. As his body slowly reached a vertical position, Henry, who was a head taller, was still grinning smugly. This muscleman got on his nerves. But Dan just twisted the corners of his mouth into a contemptuous smile. Whatever. He couldn't help but answer in the end.

"Enough slimed for today?" Henry just raised his right eyebrow and shrugged his broad shoulders as he looked over at Redge, who was waving his hand excitedly at him. There must be something exciting on the computer terminal because Henry hurried over to Redge. What was there to see that he shouldn't know? Dan felt left out as he trudged toward the office exit. He couldn't take another humiliation today. He became more aware of his existence as a slave the closer he got to the exit of the 500-square meter openplan office. His hunting instinct was also nagging at the back of his mind. He could have sworn that the red-haired woman had secretly slipped a note to Redge by the outside broadcast van.

As reporter Dan entered the spacious hallway of MEDIA NEWS CHANNEL's large corporate building, the elevator door closed with a thud in front of his eyes. What a bummer! He had to wait for the next elevator. Cursing, he pressed all the elevator buttons simultaneously with his hand. Why did it take so long? Finally, with a soft chime, the door of the second elevator opened.

He had to squeeze into a crowded elevator car, from which a gust of stale air greeted him. Various human exhalations attacked his nose. Nausea rose up his gullet. A feeling of unbearable constriction spread. The seconds seemed to stretch like chewing gum until the elevator car stopped and a relieving gong opened the elevator door again.

With a sigh of relief, Dan entered the executive corridor. His legs picked up speed until he came to a panting halt in front of Dian's guard dog, Nora, who was martyring the floor with her high heels.

"Dan! Where are you? Dian is waiting. She's upset." Dan felt years older. His heart pounded as he faced Dian Hunting.

"Sorry, boss, the elevator ..." Dan tried to explain as his hands fumbled in his jacket pocket for a handkerchief.

"You’re late, Dan. I have an interview on the LateNight show in a few minutes. Take Henry as an example." Dan looked down, embarrassed. "Dan, if you want to remain my first assistant reporter ..." Fear rose in Dan. He tried to swallow it. Just don't make a sound, it pounded in his head. Dian opened the top drawer of her desk. "Oh! Where did I ...?" Her right hand was rummaging through the drawer, among the papers, pens, and makeup. "MNC-TV has been invited to Senator Preston's fundraiser party next weekend. He wants to meet you. Here's your invitation. And do something about your hair, Dan. This is not a jungle meeting. And ... buy yourself another cologne. This one stinks." Dan nodded, worried and relieved at the same time to have escaped summary court-martial. "Nora! Where's my makeup artist?"

"Anne is on her way," Nora replied immediately from the anteroom. Dian was already concentrating on the upcoming interview, while Nora pulled the reporter Dan out of the room, who was still gazing reverently at his invitation to paradise.

Chapter 2

The swarm of meteoroids came out of nowhere, hurtling towards Earth at great speed. The first meteorite strikes had frightened people. Several swarm objects hit the far side of the moon. On Moonbase 21, these objects left a mess. A larger object from the swarm also hit the radio telescope, which had only been in operation a few months. Just before the impact, the radio telescope detected objects traveling at 48,000 kilometers per hour and more. Another swarm object damaged the control station, injuring several scientists. Help from other moon bases was slow in coming. There, the scientists also had to contend with meteorite impacts. This hampered any relief efforts. Moonbase 21 astronomers saw no alternative.

The scientists were able to send out a final distress call via a relay satellite in the hope of receiving help. Astronomers at Moonbase 21 were at a loss as to how to make a forecast without up-to-date radar data. While the scientists hoped for support, Earth’s governments waited for the scientific results. The new radio telescope was supposed to warn of dangerous asteroids and other objects, and then this disaster happened. This situation was unbearable and frustrating for the scientists.

Only the BS SPACERANGER, the patrol ship of the Foundation, a private organization for the protection of space miners, equipped with the latest technology, could help them. This spaceship had the necessary radar imaging technology to detect even smallest objects in good time. However, it was still a dangerous mission for the BS SPACERANGER, as the outer hull force field had never been put to such a severe test. In addition, the top-secret technology consumed vast amounts of energy. The situation came to a head when the proximity sensors registered an increase in the density of swarm hits over the past few hours. This turned the mission into a poker game. Until then, the final size of the swarm could only be estimated.

There was a tense atmosphere on the bridge of the BS SPACERANGER that morning, as no one could say how long it would take to repair the radio telescope. But everyone on board hoped that the dangerous job would soon be over. Communications officer Hotch had recently come on aboard the BS SPACERANGER. He was curious and a real rookie. Full of action, he checked the time on his console every minute, as if he could influence it. Panting loudly, he shifted in his seat until navigator Teetje had had enough and gave him a stern look.

"Hey, Teetje! It's 9:18 a.m. We've been waiting for an answer from Moonbase 21 for over three hours now. The waiting is killing me. Are you listening to me?" Hotch drummed irritably with his fingertips on the side of his seat. He was ready to spring into action at any moment. His colleague Teetje seemed deaf today. "I can't take it anymore, Teetje! What are you doing?" Teetje, the freckle-faced blond navigator, was a nerd, obsessed with his profession. He had been the navigator on board for some time. Hotch was annoying with his questions. Frustrated, he looked at his colleague, who was getting more and more impatient.

"What? Can't you see I have a problem to solve?" His fingers typed the data into the input field of the console again. "Oh no!" The lanky navigator's fingers tried to straighten the headset he had nearly torn off in his excitement. "Two sensors have stopped reporting data!" Teetje seemed close to despair. "The attitude control ... We've deviated from our orbital position." Frustrated, he looked at Hotch, who was stretching his arms and legs and yawning demonstratively. "Hey, Hotch," Teetje whispered so as not to attract the colonel's attention. "I think we're drifting. The moon's gravity fluctuates in this area."

"Are you sure?" Hotch asked, uncertain and suspicious at the same time.

"What do want to hear?" Teetje unconsciously raised his voice, which naturally caught the attention of Col. Clifford. "The BS SPACERANGER's attitude control is showing a deviation, the drift is, ..." Col. Clifford intervened.

"Maybe there was an error in the data analysis? Check it immediately!" Hotch listened anxiously.

"Are we going to crash now?" The navigator shook his head in frustration. "Teetje, we're sitting here with nothing to do but stare holes in the air. I have a suspicion that the people at Moonbase 21 don't want to talk to us. They're hiding something from us." Hotch had an instinct for such things. Teetje reentered the data into the main computer, whose soft female voice emotionlessly announced, that two proximity sensors of weapons phalanx had failed and needed to be repaired. Hotch's thoughts drifted away. He crossed his arms behind his neck as his imagination took him to a virtual world.

"Teetje?"

"Yes, ... what is? You're killing me."

"Have you ever thought about what it would be like if our mainframe had an avatar?"

"I wish I had your imagination, Hotch."

"Well. In my opinion, a beautiful body would go well with that soft voice."

"You're crazy, Hotch. It's an AI, completely emotionless, except for AKIU of course," Teetje hastened to add. He believed that the AI robot could hear everything because it communicated with the main computer. Hotch waved him off.

"No, I was thinking more of ..." Teetje shook his head. He guessed what was on Hotch's mind.

"You don't mean our little pain in the neck, do you?" Hotch looked sheepishly at his console as his face turned red. It was a good thing that the communication module on his console activated at that moment, before it became embarrassing for him. The comm module, for short, reported an incoming transmission from Moonbase 21. Relieved, Hotch placed the transmission from the radio telescope with Prof. Seki on the bridge’s main screen. Col. Clifford, who had overheard the exchange between his two space engineers, jumped up from the captain's chair.

"Prof. Seki! Good morning. How are the repairs going?" Prof. Seki, overworked and with dark circles under his eyes, looked thoughtfully at the camera and cleared his throat as if he had a frog in his throat.

"Colonel! What can I say, the spare part doesn't fit. We'll have to improvise." There was a brief silence while the professor rummaged through a jumble of notes. "Ah, here it is. Excuse me, please. We will probably need another twenty-four hours. Yes, and thank you for the sensor data. At least we were able to determine the density and mass of the objects and calculate a possible trajectory. We will get back to them."

"Understood, Prof. Seki, BS SPACERANGER end." Col. Clifford sank into the captain's chair in disappointment. His hands gripped the armrests so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Not good news," Hotch confirmed redundantly. Col. Clifford bit his lower lip until his tongue tasted blood. A failure of both sensors meant a security breach in the hull, an incalculable risk for the entire spaceship.

"Teetje! Analysis status!"

"Sir! Apart from the two sensors, we need to compensate for the indicated drift of the attitude control system." Col. Clifford's voice took on an angry undertone as he spoke to Hotch.

"Hotch! Commencing countdown! Time window, twenty-four hours."

"The countdown has been entered, sir."

"Where is AKIU? Call the giant ant. Now!" The colonel didn't understand the general's preference for this AI model that seemed so frightening. "Hotch, you have the bridge. I am in the engine room."

"Yes, sir."

Col. Clifford stepped into the elevator, annoyed.

"Engine room, deck four." Twenty-four hours was an eternity when you were in the line of fire of dangerous space objects. Every minute, these space objects threatened to turn the whole thing into a disaster. Crap! Hell! The whole mission was slowly turning into a suicide mission. General Smith would kill him himself if the spaceship BS SPACERANGER got even a scratch. He did not want to think about it! He had to talk to Baxter, the chief engineer. The elevator door slid quietly aside.

The display on his wrist beeped. He looked at chief Baxter's annoyed face. His hands were gesticulating excitedly as he held a component up to the camera.

"We have a depressurization in the aft section, sir."

"I'm on my way."

"Yes, sir." Still staring at the display on his wrist. In doing so, he overlooked Rea. The young woman, a robotics specialist, was about to rush into the elevator. Both exchanged a brief reproachful glance, in which there was a suppressed dislike.

"Sir?" The look on her face spoke volumes.

She should buy some glasses, Col. Clifford thought. Of course, where else would he look for AKIU if not around her. He hadn't yet figured out how the two communicated with each other. The metallic crackling gave him goosebumps every time. A saying was on his tongue. Angrily, he reminded himself that he would not project competence as general Smith's representative and swallowed his anger.

AKIU was a six-legged robotic AI unit, a product of the SPACE MINING COMPANY robotics lab where Rea had worked. The general had brought she from the Janus1 base station after the MININGSTAR BX2 had mysteriously crashed there. He wondered who would have thought of giving this AI the appearance of a giant ant. Maybe he suspected the general for no reason. The triangular head with the big compound eyes alone reminded him of a monster from old movies where insects wanted to destroy mankind. He looked at the two-meter-tall AIcontrolled robot. Its arms could easily kill a man. He took a respectful step aside. It made his counterpart Rea smile.

"Are you all right, Rea?"

"No! Sir! You almost knocked me out." He was about to forget the incident when AKIU suddenly started making strange clicking noises. It was annoying, as always, that the giant ant looked at Rea as if she were the mother. "Oh! There's something else important, sir."

"I'm in a hurry. What's so urgent?"

Wordlessly, Rea handed him a Workpad with the latest sensor data from the ship's own mini satellite. The big AI ant's insect eyes stared at the colonel, sending a chill down his spine. Suspiciously, he quickly grabbed the Workpad. He couldn't believe his eyes.

"Sir, the spaceship BS SPACERANGER has a leak, somewhere here, near the right engine section." The images showed strange white particles drifting out into space.

That was still missing, the colonel thought.

"Sir, do you see those little snowflakes?" It sounded like something you would say to a child. Look, it's snowing. Rea rolled her eyes and looked briefly at AKIU. "Sir! Hello! ... Coolant!"

"I can see that too. What a bummer.! I'm on my way to the engine room."

"Whatever you say. ... Sir!" The odd couple entered the elevator. The colonel was left alone with his decision in the corridor on deck four.

The engine room, which spanned three decks, together with the propulsion section, took up almost half of the 120-meter-long spaceship, which resembled a giant alien insect. What else was going to happen today, Col. Clifford thought as he entered the engine room. There, an angry chief was frantically banging on a small metal box with a tool, trying to force the thing open. Chief engineer Jeff Baxter, just thirty years old and of athletic build, cursed loudly like an old sea dog. As the designer of the prototype, he doubted his abilities.

"Open up, you stupid thing, or you'll end up in the garbage press." Baxter kicked a cleaning robot with his foot, which stupidly stopped in front of his foot. "Ow, damn it!" For a short moment he heard the angels singing. It was all the fault of that little monster with her Qubi. Next to the entrance bulkhead, some of the environmental control lights were flashing, as if to call the chief for help. The main computer reported a pressure drop in the TSR1 propulsion section, priority one on its to-do list. Right away! When chief Baxter saw the colonel out of the corner of his eye, he let go of the metal box made of a nano-alloy. Col. Clifford overlooked the act of violence against the innocent object because he sometimes felt the same way when he thought of Rea. She pushed him to his limits with her rebelliousness.

"Won't the thing open?" Both stared in fascination at the dented box of a nano-alloy that was now nothing more than scrap metal.

"Sir, we're using too much power for the force field." Both nodded and exchanged a look of agreement. The chief looked at the environmental control display, his next task that couldn't wait. That was all that was missing to make him happy.

"Jeff! They still need at least twenty-four hours to repair Moonbase 21. Also, AKIU and Rea have discovered a coolant leak near the drive section. What about that?"

"Tell me something new, sir," Baxter interrupted him. Then he noisily pulled up a stool and sat down on it to massage his aching foot. "Nineteen more hours. Then the force field will collapse. The spaceship's hull will become a sieve."

"Do you have a suggestion, Jeff?"

"Maybe, we could divert energy from the backup propulsion system for a short time, but then ..." Col. Clifford thought.

"A higher orbit." Chief Baxter tilted his head and typed something into his Workpad.

"Well, that might work for a short time, but it won't be enough."

"Oh, there's something else. The Star Tracker. The attitude control is going crazy. We are drifting."

"Are there any other problems, sir?"

Col. Clifford shook his head and started to leave the engine room.

"I'm counting on you, Jeff." Chief Baxter carefully picked up a Workpad from the worktable.

"Take a look at this little cube. Cross dangerous, if you ask me."

"What about it?" The colonel saw nothing but a small quantum computer. It was a cube, lying there harmlessly.

"She left that thing behind on purpose to spy on me. Believe me, sir."

"You're seeing ghosts, Jeff. Give me that. I'll give our little pain in the neck the work schedule. You're busy, I see."

Chief Baxter looked at the two technicians who were suddenly stood in front of him in their spacesuits, waiting for his orders.

"Boss! The coolant leak is behind a fairing in section two. The outer hull of the spaceship has been hit. We need heavy equipment."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Chief Baxter shouted at both. Frustration was evident in his voice. The two technicians exchanged a quick glance before hastily leaving with a toolbox.

"Okay. Let me know, Jeff."

The ship’s Mess on deck three was bathed in an eerie twilight by the pale moonlight. A small window front allowed the crew to see the outside world of the spaceship. The view of the Earth with its oceans and continents was always fascinating and reminded everyone of where they came from. As fantastic as the view was, their home planet was fragile. Unknown dangers from outer space threatened Earth every day.

Rea sat on a table by the far window. She decimated the galley's supply of chocolate bars while watching the autonomous robotic units at work on Moonbase 21. Just as things were getting exciting, a door bulkhead opened at the other end of the ship’s Mess, about eight meters away. The metallic clack of the bulkhead activated Bob.

A tall figure could be seen in the backlight. As he approached, the pale moonlight revealed the colonel's identity. Rea had been expecting chief Baxter.

With her mouth full, she asked: "What can I do for you, ... Sir?" She stressed the last word specially formally.

"You'd better go to bed. It's late," a deep, soothing voice replied.

"Why?" Ignoring the colonel, she tore open the wrapper of a new candy bar. "Are you going to arrest me for sitting here, sir? I can't fall asleep! Something feels strange. The activities on Moonbase 21 are distracting me. Do you understand that? Sir!" Col. Clifford had not been able to openly express emotion since his wife left him for a lawyer two years ago. He was about to put the Workpad down on the table when he felt two hot spots on his chest. A faint sound that turned into a metallic rustle reached his ear. A robot spider, about thirty centimeters tall, crawled next to Rea. Its red laser eyes were focused on his torso. Col. Clifford instinctively stopped. Adrenaline put his body on alert, his hand on the gun, ready to fire at the thing.

"What is that next to you? Rea! Answer me!"

"Oh, you mean Bob?" Rea shoved the rest of the candy bar into her mouth and wiped her sticky fingers on her T-shirt. "Doc Merli wanted to improve our mobile medical diagnostic unit." Her hand caressed the little nanomaterial monster benevolently, causing Bob to deactivate his lasers.

"Here, quite harmless, sir."

"Why weapons?" Rea looked up at the ceiling and cradled her head.

"You said our missions were dangerous." Col. Clifford handed Rea the Workpad with the next day’s schedule without comment and walked out in a huff.

Only when the bulkhead door to the corridor closed behind him did his inner tension ease. Damn! He almost shot a small robot. At that moment, he wished that the general would end his stay on Earth as soon as possible.

Even in his cabin, the problem with the failed Star Trackers was getting on his nerves. The trackers were responsible for controlling the spacecraft's attitude. His body sank exhausted onto the bed, while his brain constantly evaluated the options to get the ship through the dangerous situation without damage. General Smith had unceremoniously put him in command of the BS SPACERANGER while he was on Earth and there was no suitable captain available. His real job on board was to lead the SPU team and fight the enemies of the Space Miners. The Space Patrol Unit, or SPU for short, was made up of experienced elite fighters whom the general trusted. Now he had to fill two positions at once. Finally, the general ordered him to take care of his new acquisition, this innocent-looking Bunny. He was not a preschool teacher.

Overwhelmed by fatigue, his subconscious drifted off into various nightmarish dream sequences until the onboard display showed 4:35 a.m. in the morning. He awoke in horror as AKIU tried to attack him. It took him seconds to realize that it was all a dream. His body slowly tried to calm down. Falling asleep was no longer an option. It wasn't until ice-cold water ran over his body in the washroom that he felt better. He hadn't shaved for three days. Never mind, maybe tomorrow. The general was on Earth, far away. The face in the mirror reminded him that he was just a man doing his job.

Twenty minutes later, he stepped onto the bridge. AKIU immediately caught sight of him with his artificial insect eyes, as if he were reading his thoughts. No! For a change, the giant ant spoke. A miracle had happened.

"Good morning, colonel. You're an hour early." With no new orders follow, the AI returned to its duties. The matter was settled for AKIU.

In the ready room of the bridge, Col. Clifford dropped into the general's comfortable armchair. "Groaning." The fingers of his left hand stroked his bearded chin while his eyes were glued to the screen with last night's sensor data. Jeff was right. They had more than one problem. The screen showed an incoming transmission from Earth. Strange! How did the general know that he was on duty on the bridge too early? It was only 5:00 a.m. in the morning.

"Good morning, general."

"Finally, Clifford! Report!"

"The density of objects in the swarm continues to increase. Moonbase 21 will need at least another four hours for repairs. Our attitude control showed a deviation, so we had to adjust the orbit. There was a pressure drop near the drive section. The technicians are working to seal the leak." General Smith tilted his head slightly, a sign that he too understood the gravity of the situation. Still, his face remained expressionless.

"Okay, colonel. I know that look. There's something else."

"Sir! Yesterday. I almost shot Bob."

"Who is Bob?" the general replied indignantly, wrinkling his nose.

"That new robot thing had its laser weapons pointed at me." Clifford thought he saw a faint grin on the general's face before his hand waved away.

"I have ordered our robot specialist to spend her free time wisely. Just pay more attention, Clifford." General Smith had a look at his watch. "I have some things to do on Earth. As soon as your work is done, contact me. You'll receive new commands. ... And Clifford. Don't get too comfortable in my work armchair. Smith end." Col. Clifford winced suddenly. His SPU team was having a training session. Rea! Damn, he had almost forgotten. His multitasking was in desperate need of some improvement.

A loud scream of pain echoed through the training room on deck four. Rea lay on her back, gasping for air. This must be what a fish out of water feels like before it suffocates. Breathe, her body screamed. She had to pull herself together, she couldn't show any weakness, no matter what. The lurking expression on her hated opponent's face underscored the readiness to strike mercilessly. No matter.