The Artemis IX slid through the darkness like a silver spear, her engines whispering faintly against the vast silence. For days, the crew had stared at the same endless black canvas, speckled only with stars, Earth dwindling to a pale marble far behind. But now, the monotony shattered. Ahead, a vast red sphere loomed, swelling larger with every passing hour until it filled the forward viewport.
Mars.
The crew floated closer to the glass, boots clipped lightly into magnetic strips. Even the veterans, hardened by years of missions, felt a hush descend upon them. There it was, the planet that had inspired centuries of stories, wars of imagination, and dreams of colonization. From orbit, it was breathtaking — swirls of iron dust carving crimson valleys, pale ice caps glittering at the poles, and endless deserts that seemed to stretch into infinity.
Darius Ren pressed a hand against the glass, his breath fogging faintly on the viewport. "It doesn't look real," he murmured.
Harlan grinned, floating nearby with his arms crossed. "Oh, it's real enough. You'll believe it when the landing jets kick in and your stomach decides it hates you."
"Leave him be," Commander Elara said evenly, though her lips tugged in the faintest of smiles. She floated at the control console, her posture calm but her eyes sharp as she guided the ship into orbital alignment. "Eyes on instruments, everyone. We're not tourists."
The ship shuddered faintly as thrusters fired, nudging Artemis IX into a steady orbit. A soft chime sounded across the cabin, followed by Marlowe's deep voice from the engineering station. "Stabilizers holding. Orbit achieved. All systems green."
"Copy that," Elara said. She pushed gently from the console and anchored herself in the center of the cabin, her presence commanding. "Crew, we begin descent prep in two hours. We'll run diagnostics, finalize the landing coordinates, and double-check the equipment."
Darius unstrapped from the viewport and drifted toward his assigned station, fumbling with his harness. His movements were still unpolished, betraying his inexperience, but he forced himself to focus. This was no simulation. They were here.
Selene floated nearby, tablet in hand, her brows furrowed as streams of data scrolled across the screen. "Commander," she said softly, "I'm picking up something unusual."
Elara turned. "Define unusual."
"Minor fluctuations in the EM spectrum. Faint, but consistent. They appear to be originating from the surface — near the Valles Marineris region." Selene's voice remained calm, but her eyes betrayed curiosity. "It doesn't align with any known geological activity."
The mention of anomalies silenced the cabin. The Valles Marineris — the great canyon stretching across the Martian equator — was already a planned survey site, rich in minerals and mysteries. Now it seemed to hum with something more.
"Could be interference," Marlowe offered. "Static from dust storms."
Selene shook her head. "The signature is too focused. Almost rhythmic."
For a moment, no one spoke. The memory of the Moon crater — that golden-black beam ripping reality open — still lingered at the edges of their thoughts. None wanted to connect the two events, but the possibility hung in the air like a shadow.
Elara broke the silence. "We'll note it in the mission log. Until proven otherwise, it's an anomaly, nothing more. Our orders remain unchanged."
Harlan let out a low whistle. "Anomalies that shoot beams across the solar system don't just sit quietly. But hey, what do I know? I'm just here to keep you lot alive."
Darius found himself staring again at Mars, its red expanse filling the viewport. He wasn't trained to read energy signatures, wasn't a veteran soldier or a brilliant scientist. He was just a young recruit — and yet, something about the silence of that world made his chest tighten. Not fear, not wonder. Just… weight.
Hours slipped by in preparation. The crew checked their EVA suits, tightened seals, calibrated helmets. Supplies were secured in landing modules, every strap and latch double-checked. Conversations drifted between procedure and banter, but beneath it all pulsed the unspoken truth: they were about to become part of history.
At last, Elara gathered them once more in the cabin. The planet's curvature dominated the viewport, painted in deep rust and shadow. Her voice was steady, practiced. "Landing zone is set at Sector Theta-Nine, near the Valles rim. Conditions appear stable. We go down in twenty."
A ripple of acknowledgment passed through the crew. Harlan cracked a grin, his usual shield against tension. "First one to touch Martian soil buys the drinks when we get back."
Marlowe snorted. "With what bar? Closest pub's two hundred million kilometers away."
The laughter was brief, almost forced, but it loosened the weight pressing on them.
Darius secured himself into his seat, gloved hands trembling slightly as he fastened the restraints. He glanced at the viewport once more. Mars filled everything now, no longer a distant dream but a looming presence that seemed to watch them back.
Then it happened.
A pulse.
Not visible to the eye, but the instruments screamed it out — alarms flaring, readings spiking. Selene's tablet lit up, streams of data flickering faster than she could track. "Commander! Energy surge detected — deep beneath the canyon!"
The crew jolted in their harnesses. Elara snapped her head toward Selene. "Magnitude?"
"Off the charts!" Selene's voice cracked with disbelief. "The frequency—" She stopped, her lips parting as the pattern resolved. "It matches the beam from Mars to the Moon."
The words hit harder than the alarms. In the cabin's dim light, each face turned pale.
Darius's chest tightened. He didn't understand all the readings, but the tone in Selene's voice was enough. Something was moving beneath the surface. Something that had waited centuries, hidden in silence, was stirring once again.
The ship trembled as the surge faded, leaving only the hum of life support and the crew's heavy breathing. The instruments steadied, but the air remained charged with dread.
Elara's voice cut through, steel layered over uncertainty. "Log the data. Prepare for descent as planned. Whatever that was, we'll find out when we're down there."
Her words were resolute, but her eyes betrayed the storm behind them.
The crew fell into silence, each lost in their own thoughts, as the Artemis IX began its slow turn toward the Martian atmosphere. Outside, the red planet turned beneath them, vast and ancient, as though waiting for the first touch of their boots — or daring them to come closer.
And deep beneath its surface, unseen and unfathomable, the crystal pulsed once more.