Scientific Base of the Institute for the Development of Alternative Systems, Lagrange-Echo Station, Lagrange Point between Neptune’s Orbit and the Kuiper Belt

  The journey from Titan had been long but not arduous. Graves had ensured his arrival went off without a hitch. A private shuttle with an autonomous capsule, a direct route through Saturn’s satellite belt, then a transfer to a swift interorbital transport—everything was precise, organized, as Graves always managed it. Not a single human on board, just the ship’s artificial intelligence and preprogrammed coordinates. Not the slightest hint of choice. Braun wasn’t surprised.

  Now he was here. In his office at the Lagrange-Echo station, in the spacious apartment assigned to him as one of the project’s leading specialists. The interior was understated, functional—no frills, just the essentials: a work console, a desk, a panoramic window framing the expanse of space lit by the faint glow of a distant Sun. The bluish flicker of holographic panels cast pale shadows on the walls, reflecting off the glass surface of the desk. The air carried the scent of processed oxygen laced with faint traces of old tea he hadn’t finished.

  Adrian sat in his chair, staring thoughtfully into the depths of the data projected before him. His fingers moved mechanically, scrolling through rows of equations and graphs, but his mind was far from here. The conversation with Graves—once a close friend, now a stranger—still echoed in his thoughts. “You understand, Adrian. Beyond Erebus, it’s not just resources. It’s a new order.” Graves always had a way with words, placing emphasis just so, enough to make even the sharpest minds question their convictions. But Braun knew him too well.

  He leaned back, letting memory pull him into the past.

  In the early 22nd century, humanity still clung to its stellar cradle. Earth choked on overpopulation, resources dwindled, and old nations lost their sway. The colonization of Mars, begun in the previous century, faced not only political intrigue and corporate wars but the harsh reality of survival where air, water, and food were no longer given. People depended on technological systems prone to failure, and attempts to build a stable society on the new planet were riddled with crises and disasters. It seemed expansion into space had stalled, that the limits of the possible were set in stone. Finite resources, technical hurdles, and the need to create entire ecosystems from scratch offered little incentive for mass migration. People weren’t eager to leave Earth, where air and water came free, and food didn’t need to grow in sealed biostations.

  And yet, in 2122, everything changed.

  On the edge of the Solar System, beyond Neptune’s orbit, the automated Horizon-3 observatory, operated by the United Planets Nations, detected an anomaly. Radio telescopes picked up a distortion in space—a faint, unstable signal that could’ve been dismissed as a glitch. But within months, other stations confirmed it.

  In 2123, a few months after the first recorded anomalies, the research vessel Asterius set out for the region of spatial instability, equipped with cutting-edge sensors and autonomous probes for data collection. Its instruments recorded gravitational disturbances and erratic magnetic fields. One probe, sent into the anomaly’s core, vanished without a trace. A second transmitted a sudden burst of data: temporal shifts, discrepancies in fundamental constants known to science, disruptions in familiar physical laws—then the signal cut out. Forty-eight days later, it unexpectedly re established contact, relaying coordinates that matched no known point in the Solar System.

  It had crossed a distance that, by conventional means, would’ve taken millennia, in mere weeks. It had reached another star system, shattering notions of what was possible.

  Until that moment, humanity had been a prisoner of its star. Despite colonizing the Moon, Mars, and Jupiter’s moons, the prospect of venturing beyond the Solar System seemed unattainable in the foreseeable future. Vast distances, resource constraints, and technological barriers made interstellar travel a dream for a distant tomorrow. But this wormhole turned everything upside down. It wasn’t just a scientific breakthrough—it was a revolution.

  They called it Erebus. Like the ancient mythic god embodying darkness and the passage between worlds, this space became the boundary between what humanity knew and the unfathomable.

  At first, the UPN denied the wormhole’s existence, attributing it to equipment errors and unstable instruments. Corporations stayed silent, quietly analyzing the incoming data and funneling resources into studying it. Meanwhile, academic circles split: some hailed it as an unprecedented discovery, others demanded repeat measurements, doubting the results’ validity. Initial leaks sparked rumors—headlines buzzed with theories, from rigorous astrophysical hypotheses to conspiracies about elite secret projects and alien interference.

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  When the second probe returned, it was undeniable. Analysis revealed a system beyond Erebus with eight planets—rocky worlds, gas giants, asteroid belts. But the real prize? One planet had a dense atmosphere and conditions potentially suitable for life.

  The UPN claimed the wormhole. Officially, for safety and control. But everyone knew: whoever held Erebus held the future. Corporations weren’t far behind. Cybergen, Galactic Mining, and Bioinnovations demanded access, sensing untold riches beyond the wormhole. Armotech moved in the shadows, citing the need to protect against unknown threats. Their true motives were obvious—they couldn’t afford to be left out.

  For Adrian, it was predictable. It always played out the same way. Great discoveries never belonged to those who made them. They quickly became bargaining chips in someone else’s game—politicians, corporations, the military. Erebus wasn’t the first breakthrough greeted not with awe, but with greed. Once it became clear that beyond the wormhole lay not emptiness but an entire system, it turned into a battle for control. Humanity’s response was always the same: faced with a new frontier, it sought to conquer it. Research and discovery demanded funding, and funding demanded power and influence. Science and politics were inseparable—one fueled the other. While some tried to understand the unknown, others raced to claim it.

  And if he was honest with himself, it pissed him off. Science was never an end in itself for the powerful, and Erebus was no exception. But then again, without them, this discovery wouldn’t exist. That was the paradoxical truth of his time: science might be born in labs, but it only came to life through those with power and resources. Now, he had to decide—would he stand aside, letting others dictate the fate of the century’s greatest find, or step into the unknown himself?

  Graves, no doubt, had already made his choice. To him, the wormhole wasn’t a mystery to unravel but an opportunity—a chance to seize yet another uncharted domain. Adrian knew Graves didn’t just crave power—he was power. He saw the world as a chessboard, every resource, every person a piece in his strategic game. For him, no boundaries existed except those yet to be crossed.

  History was full of people who pushed humanity forward not out of love for knowledge, but a thirst for control. They might be predators, but their ambition broke through stagnation and paved the way for discovery. The question was: what would it cost?

  A race unfolded in Pluto’s orbit. No one could predict who’d be the first to exploit this gateway to the unknown. But one thing was clear—this race wouldn’t end without consequences. A new era of expansion had begun, and humanity could no longer hide behind the borders of its home star.

  Adrian understood he was watching it all from the sidelines, like a scientist noting the inevitable patterns of history. He saw the same formula repeat: discovery, a scramble for control, a reshuffling of power. He could analyze it coolly, but something inside tightened. The wormhole, the fight for it, the fates of people hanging on decisions from above—it reminded him of another time, another place.

  The old scientist didn’t often dwell on his youth. Dusty tunnels of an underground city. Artificial light, dim and lifeless, cold metal floors beneath his feet. He remembered staring up at the dome of Mars’ upper city as a kid, where the air was cleaner, where people wore loose clothes unafraid of oxygen shortages. Up there lived those who controlled the tech, who doled out resources. Down below, where he’d grown up, were the ones who mined, maintained the systems, and kept the recycling stations running. His father would come home drained but always found time to explain something to his son—about reactor currents, recycling cycles, the mistakes you couldn’t afford to make. “As long as you understand how the system works, you’re alive. The moment you stop understanding, you’re dead.”

  That was the first rule. Understand. Always understand.

  He remembered Arthur Holland—a young engineer who’d left Earth to be closer to the stars. Arthur always said true discoveries weren’t made in cozy offices but out where humanity pushed past its limits. He didn’t chase power or influence—the sheer idea of breaking boundaries drew him in. Unlike Graves, who saw space and resources as tools of control, Arthur saw raw potential. He believed science shouldn’t be a weapon or a currency, but a key to understanding the universe. Their student years together, endless nights in the lab—Arthur was the one who believed in people, in science’s possibilities, in progress for all, not just the elite. Back then, Braun didn’t know whose side he’d take. But now, years later, he got it: Arthur fought so kids like him, from the underground cities, wouldn’t be split into “lower” and “upper.” He wanted science to belong to everyone.

  And now he is gone. And there was Graves.

  He exhaled, clasping his hands together. The question wasn’t whether he’d agree. He already knew the answer. The question was what it would cost.

  The wormhole. Erebus. An uncharted system. Graves spoke of order. But history had no “new order” that didn’t start with blood. That didn’t demand sacrifice.

  The blue glow of the holograms pulsed softly. On the screen—a new simulation. Physical models of resonant transitions, calculations of matter instability at the wormhole’s edge. He stared at it but didn’t see the data. He saw a cold abyss no one had yet crossed.

  But Graves was right about one thing. The answers were out there.

  And he had to see them.