Earth's Lower Orbit.
The UESS New Horizon floated silently above the blue planet, preparing for humanity's most ambitious feat yet: the colonization of the Alpha Centauri System. Within its steel hull were seven thousand souls—colonists, crew, supplies, and equipment—everything needed to build a self-sufficient world far from Earth.
Captain Jaargen
Bridge of the UESS New Horizon
An elegant man stood tall at the center of the bridge, clad in the crisp uniform of the UEC Aerospace Force. His gray beard peeked through the helmet visor, a mark of age and experience. Captain Jaargen's eyes swept across his crew, who moved with precision despite the crushing weight of history pressing down on them.
Seven thousand lives. The hopes of Earth itself. I cannot falter.
"Captain, the last batch of crew capsules have disembarked. Colonists are secured in their quarters."
"Good. Commence preflight checks."
The crew moved like clockwork.
"Flight systems check."
"AI systems check."
"Sub-light engines check."
"FTL drive check."
"Life support check."
Minutes passed. The bridge hummed with anticipation. Their names would soon join Yuri Gagarin and Neil Armstrong in the annals of history. Nervous smiles flickered across faces, but determination burned brighter.
"Signaller, open channels to the whole vessel."
Jaargen's voice carried across every corridor, every cabin:
"Ladies and gentlemen, crew and colonists. In a few minutes, we will break Earth's orbit and set course for our new home—Proxima B. Trust in this ship, trust in each other. We are Earth's beacon, shining into the unknown. Stand proud. Sit back, and let us take you over the horizon. Godspeed."
The New Horizon broke free of Earth's orbit, sub-light engines pushing it farther into the void. The planet shrank behind them, a fading jewel against the black.
"Cruise speed reached," the flight officer reported. "Safe distance for FTL."
Jaargen's voice was steady. "Engage the drive."
The ship hummed, stars stretching into streaks of light. A shimmering tunnel swallowed the vessel whole.
Gasps filled the cabins—fear, awe, exhilaration.
We've done it, Jaargen thought. Humanity has crossed the horizon.
The New Horizon was now in faster-than-light travel, bound for Proxima B.
Weeks passed. Life aboard was calm, orderly. The colonists had been handpicked for professionalism and resilience. No drama, no mutiny—only quiet anticipation of the new world awaiting them.
Then—
A blinding light filled the bridge. Alarms blared.
"Captain, we've hit a gravitational anomaly!"
"Gyroscope malfunctioning!"
"FTL drive is over capacity—at this rate we'll—!"
The engineer's voice was cut off by another flash. A deafening bang shook the vessel. The New Horizon was ripped out of FTL, tumbling helplessly in the void.
Jaargen's jaw tightened. Panic clawed at the edges of his mind, but he forced it down.
I cannot show fear. If I break, the crew breaks. Hold steady, Jaargen. Think.
"Pilot, fire maneuvering thrusters! Stabilize the ship!"
"Signaller, dispatch a courier—mayday transmission!"
A courier was no ordinary probe. It was a small, FTL-capable vessel designed solely to carry recorded messages across light-years. Since signals could never exceed the speed of light, couriers were humanity's only way to send distress calls or reports beyond the stars.
"Damage report, now!"
"FTL drive lost. Sub-light engines damaged. Injuries in the engine room, but no fatalities. Passengers are being checked."
Relief flickered in Jaargen's chest. It could have been worse. We can repair. We can endure.
Hours dragged like days. Finally, reports arrived.
Bad news: the sub-light engines were critically damaged. Only one burn remained before they failed completely—and it wasn't enough to achieve orbit.
Good news: the planet lay in the habitable zone. Its atmosphere, gravity, and composition were nearly identical to Earth. Humans could survive here.
Jaargen exhaled. We cannot orbit. We cannot return. Planetfall is our only option.
"Trajectory analysis," he ordered sharply. "Calculate our angle, speed, and the last burn our engines can muster. I need to know where we'll hit."
Minutes later, the officer's face paled. "Sir… with our current speed, descent angle, and the final thrust available, we can only control a small radius—barely a few kilometers. That's the only margin we have for a safe landing."
Jaargen's thoughts churned. A few kilometers. That's all the precision we have. If I choose wrong, we crash. If I choose right, we survive.
"Alright. We'll initiate planetary entry. Target this forested region by the river—it's our best chance for water and resources. This is the most suitable location to set a colony. Pilot, prepare re-entry maneuvers. Signaller, open channels. I need to address everyone."
As Jaargen gave the order, his inner voice spoke louder than the calm tone he projected:
I can't gamble with seven thousand lives. A forest means shelter, wood, and food. A river means water, the lifeblood of survival. Open plains would leave us exposed, mountains too harsh. With only a few kilometers of control, this valley gives us the highest chance of survival. If this world is to be our new home, then this river basin will be the cradle of humanity's second beginning.
Inside the colonists' quarters, fear simmered. Hours had passed since the anomaly. They had heard nothing but orders to remain in place. Then, the intercom lit up. Their captain's voice filled the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Four hours ago, we encountered a gravitational anomaly that disabled our ship. Fortunately, there were no fatalities. We may not reach Proxima B as intended, but despair will not claim us.
We are en route to a planet—one identical to Earth in size, gravity, and atmosphere. More habitable than Proxima B itself. I have decided to land. This is our only choice, but it is also a gift. On this world, we will begin anew as pioneers. Stand tall. Our clean slate awaits. See you on the surface."
Hope flickered in the colonists' hearts. Fear gave way to determination.
Governor Bertha Loua
Hallway to the Bridge
Governor Bertha Loua hurried toward the bridge, summoned by Jaargen himself. His words still echoed in her mind. A different planet? Not Proxima B? What does he mean?
Protocol dictated she had no authority until planetfall. Yet questions gnawed at her.
She entered the bridge, scanning the tense faces.
"Ah, Governor. Welcome. Please, have a seat," Jaargen said.
"Captain, what is the situation? Why am I still worried after your reassurance?"
"The ship is not in imminent danger. We're gathering data on what caused this anomaly. But the immediate problem is survival—and that's where you come in."
Jaargen's voice hardened. "What I'm about to tell you is unbelievable, but true. We've been transported somewhere unknown. Our star maps don't recognize this system. Worse, we cannot communicate with Earth. We are cut off."
Bertha's breath caught. No way back. No support. Only us.
Science reports confirmed fauna near the landing zone—potential predators. The crew pledged to remain as the colony's defense force. Bertha listened, already reshaping the colonial procedures originally designed for Proxima B. Hours passed as she and Jaargen hammered out the bullet points for survival.
"Thank you, Captain. I'll need your support moving forward. Send me the planet's data and plans—I must brief the council. We have much to change before we set foot on the surface."
Bertha returned to her quarters, her mind heavy.
Several hours later, the announcement came. Planetfall.
Emergency lights bathed the ship in red as landing protocols engaged. The New Horizon descended, its hull trembling against the atmosphere.
Bertha sat alone, tears slipping down her cheeks. No way back to Earth. No hope of return. But I must be strong. I must be the foundation these colonists need to survive and prosper.
The ship roared downward, carrying humanity into its new home.