Author's Note: I had a blast writing this chapter. In fact, it's one of the longest I've written for this story. I want these chapters—both this one and the next—to be more developed because they focus on Peridot and Jasper, and I want to show their stay, their frustration, and their constant annoyance with Earth as best as I can.
If you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to leave them in the comments.
Let's continue.
The sun beat down mercilessly. Peridot pressed on, her small boots sinking into the hot sand, her tired eyes scanning for the tenth time the same flickering screen that kept recalculating routes.
"I'm tired of this planet..." she grumbled, tapping the screen. "And this pointless path!"
She'd been walking for days. Days. Her internal system registered 72 hours without proper rest. And to top it all off, sand had gotten into all her mechanical parts, creating a maddening squeak every time she moved her fingers.
"I should have put the help communicator on my mechanical parts when I had the chance," she scratched her head in frustration. "But nooo, of course not! Why be practical?"
As she grumbled, she saw something in the distance. A large, metallic silhouette, tilted as if it had been forgotten centuries ago.
Peridot squinted.
"Is that a ship...?"
"..."
"IT IS a ship!"
She quickened her pace.
"Maybe this junk has some value," she muttered, brushing sand from her glasses. "Obsolete, yes. Efficient, no. Do I need it to keep from dying? Definitely."
The ship was old. From Era 1. Loose plates, faded symbols, cracks that let in plumes of sand. Even so, Peridot had nothing to lose, so she went inside.
The corridors were partially buried. Piles of sand, dust on every surface, rusted structures that made unsettling creaks.
"Unbelievable..." she said, pushing a fallen panel. "They send me on missions with Year One technology. How professional!"
She reached the cockpit just as she heard movement.
Something large.
Something wet and grainy.
Peridot froze.
—...Huh?
The right wall exploded in a cloud of sand. A huge, deformed, twisted monster emerged roaring from the shattered metal. Its empty eyes seemed made of the desert itself.
"WHAT THE HELL?!" Peridot yelled, forming her hand into a miniature cannon.
Without thinking, she fired.
The green beam pierced part of the monster's torso, but it barely reacted. It advanced toward her with heavy steps, roaring like a living sand volcano.
"Mkrfsa—shit—shit!" Peridot took off running so fast she almost fell.
She ran through the corridors, dodging fallen panels, slipping on the sand. The creature followed her like a predator hunting a small, green, and very noisy rabbit.
She turned a corner, stopped dead... and froze.
...shit.
In front of her: a blocked path.
Behind her: the creature, which had just appeared.
Peridot slowly turned her head.
They both remained silent.
Looking at each other as if both were trying to understand what on earth was happening.
"Um... hi," Peridot said, timidly raising a hand.
The monster roared with all its might.
"IT WASN'T A GOOD IDEA, I KNOW THAT!"
The enormous claw struck her, sending her flying down the corridor.
"AHHH!" The impact echoed throughout the ship.
The creature advanced calmly, assuming Peridot was already destroyed.
Wrong.
Peridot, in pain, with a broken lens, raised her trembling hand and fired directly at the gem embedded in the monster's forehead.
A sharp crack filled the space.
The creature fell. Her sand body scattered in a nonexistent wind. Only shards of glittering gem remained on the ground, shattered into hundreds of fragments.
Peridot was breathing heavily. Sweat, sand, pain, and a panic that didn't suit her usual demeanor.
"Shit... shit..." she clutched her head. "I killed another gem! What am I going to do now?! I'm not going to graduate after this!"
She stood there for several seconds, almost hyperventilating.
Then she looked again at the shattered gem.
She calmed down.
"Well... she attacked me. She deserved it."
She stepped on it and continued walking toward the cabin.
The technology was old, broken, almost ornamental. But Peridot checked systems, moved levers, activated panels.
Until she found something.
Ground-lifting mechanisms.
Her eyes lit up. Her smile widened. Her fingers trembled.
"It can't be..."
"It can't be..."
"YES, IT DOES! MOTHERLAND, HERE I COME!"
A maniacal laugh echoed throughout the ship. It lasted. A long time. Too long.
When she finally regained her "sanity," she sat in the main seat. A broken, tilted one, but functional.
"Perfect," she said, puffing out her chest. "New route."
On her screen, she entered a destination.
Communications Hub.
"You're my only hope," she whispered, adjusting her broken lens.
The ship shuddered, the engines roared, sand fell from the sides... and slowly began to lift off from the desert.
Peridot smiled, adrenaline still coursing through her body.
And so, without looking back, Peridot took off straight for the Communications Hub.
Days passed, and Peridot's smile began to fade. Entire days passed as her sanity slowly slipped away, as if each minute inside that old ship were another grain of sand falling into an endless hourglass. Doing nothing, just waiting to reach her destination, wasn't healthy for a Peridot. And it certainly wasn't something she handled with the patience she thought she possessed.
She repeated a phrase to herself every morning, every afternoon, and every second that passed without any news: stupid gems, destroying portals. It was her mantra, her outlet, her sign that the inactivity was eating away at her good judgment. According to her, the rebels had destroyed all the existing portals. Every single one. That was the perfect explanation for the temporary isolation she felt, even if it was based solely on the fact that they had destroyed the main portal. A rather obvious logical fallacy, but acceptable for someone who had been alone, locked away, and with nothing useful to do for far too long.
Peridot clung to that version of the story with the determination of someone who'd rather blame the universe than admit to being bored. And so, her mind preoccupied with repeated complaints and exaggerated theories, she continued her journey.
The sea had no right to be so vast or so troublesome. The ship shuddered, groaned as if it were about to die, and, of course, failed right in the middle of the ocean. I knew something was going to go wrong. It always does when I rely on Era 1 technology. Always.
The first thing I did was slam my fist on the console. Not because it would do any good, but because I felt a moral obligation to express my physical frustration. I declared the ship stupid, and I said it loud and clear as the dashboard flickered as if trying to apologize. I didn't believe it for a second.
The engine shut down completely, and the ensuing silence was so uncomfortable I wanted to scream even louder. We floated in the water like sentimental scrap metal, unable to accept that we were useless. Thanks to the Diamonds' merciful brilliance, I had a few tools to repair us, but even so, I couldn't stop cursing us. Stupid ship, useless, worthless, obsolete. I said it every time I reached into a panel, every time a cable gave me a shock, every time a screw slipped from my grasp as if it wanted to commit suicide by plunging into the sea rather than work for me again.
The ship responded in the worst possible way: a long, high-pitched beep that I interpreted as a direct insult. I dare say it did it on purpose, because it let it out just as I managed to open a jammed compartment. It was as if it wanted to remind me that it was still alive enough to be unpleasant.
I tried to connect a new cable, a perfectly functional one worthy of a gem like me, but the ship decided to spit out a spark that nearly scorched my fingers. I accused it of trying to kill me. She responded with a slow, dramatic blink that I hated with all my heart. If I'd had a face, I would have punched her.
An absurd alarm went off while I was adjusting a loose plate, and I know it did so only to get my attention. It sounded like the muffled scream of someone who doesn't want to get up in the morning. I cursed at it as I turned it off and wondered, for a moment, if maybe the ship was sabotaging itself to avoid further work. After all, it had been abandoned for years. Perhaps it had artistic aspirations now.
At one point, when I was fed up, the ship played an automated message saying the system was unavailable. I took it as a personal affront. That robotic tone, that utter indifference. It was as if it were telling me it wasn't going to help me in the slightest, that it would rather sink into the ocean than make my life easier.
I kept working anyway, because I'm clearly the only competent mind for miles around. The Diamonds' tools were good, but nothing in this galaxy is equipped to deal with Era 1 technology without having to improvise like a madwoman. Every repair was only partially successful, every fix triggered a new malfunction. And I kept cursing the ship, because if I didn't, I probably would have jumped into the water just to stop hearing its metallic stubbornness.
Finally, after far too many minutes of emotional and physical suffering, the ship ignited its secondary engine. It sputtered, roared like an ancient beast, and then began to move forward with the clumsy dignity of someone trying not to admit they lost an argument.
I, of course, declared that she only managed it thanks to my unparalleled intelligence. She reacted by emitting a short beep, one that sounded exactly like a complaint. I didn't respond. I simply sat down, splashed salt water on my face to wash away the sweat and anger, and reminded myself that one day I would be rewarded for surviving things like this.
And as the ship moved forward, still offended, I felt offended too. But at least we were moving forward. That was what mattered.
When I finally approached the shore, almost reaching the island where the Communication Center was located, the screen in front of me lit up without warning. It blinked once, twice, and then displayed a message that shouldn't exist. I froze. I managed a simple "uh" because I couldn't process anything else.
A holographic screen emerged in front of me out of nowhere, so abruptly and so close that I almost jumped back. My reaction was immediate. The trauma of the sand creature was still racing through my internal circuits, so I instinctively raised my hand to fire. Luckily, my gem neurons managed to stop me before I accidentally shattered the screen.
The message played in a Sapphire's trembling voice. She introduced herself as Sapphire Facet-5LP3 Cut-1sp. Her tone was pure panic. She said they were in danger, that their Blue Diamond needed to receive the message, that Pink Diamond had been shattered. The word "shattered" lingered in the air like a cursed echo. The Sapphire was pleading for reinforcements because they were no match for the rebels, begging as if death were breathing down her neck.
A sound rumbled through the recording space. It was a harsh, metallic noise, as if several gems were forcing their way in from all sides. I heard the rebels bursting into the place and could feel the Sapphire's voice cracking even further as she sank into despair. My Blue Diamond, she gasped, you must avenge my Pink Diamond, you must save us.
Then the explosion happened.
The video cut to a white flash, followed by absolute silence. A silence so profound it seemed to fill my entire ship, as if the engines themselves had stopped to listen.
I stood motionless before the blank screen. I didn't blink. I didn't breathe for several seconds. My thoughts couldn't coalesce into anything coherent. I just stared at the blurry reflection of my own face on the dark, completely frozen surface of the panel.
I remained silent, unsure what to think, what to do, or how to respond to what I had just seen. I simply let that emptiness envelop me as the ship continued its slow advance toward the island.
Wow. That was all I managed to say when my brain finally stopped buzzing. After several seconds of awkward silence, I was able to think clearly and arrived at a fairly logical conclusion. It seemed the message belonged to a Sapphire from Era 1. A veteran. An ancient gem, one of those who spoke as if the entire universe depended on them.
I said it with a light, almost amused curiosity, not giving too much importance to the detail of the broken diamond. Not that it wasn't serious... but no one can blame me for not feeling the emotional weight of something that happened before I was even born. I was created in Era 2. Our generation arrived when everything was practically decided. So, well, historical tragedy wasn't exactly my forte.
I leaned forward and looked at the screen with new eyes. Now that I knew this ship carried old messages, ancient voices, remnants of eras I never lived through, the junk had a different air about it. A kind of dusty, rusty dignity. Like a relic that just needed a brilliant genius to make it work again. Me, obviously.
I wondered if they could give me something in return for making this old wreck work. Surely they could. Surely a lot. I stared at some half-detached cables, dim lights, and burnt panels, and for a second I had visions. Clear, bright, exaggerated. I imagined this ship transforming into a fully functional, restored masterpiece, admired by every gem in the Empire, with my name emblazoned on a golden plaque that read: "Restored by Peridot Facet-tal Cut-tal, the ultimate engineering genius this side of the galaxy."
The thought made me grin like a madwoman. If I could wring some life out of this relic, I could receive rewards. I could climb the ranks. I could stop doing ridiculous missions on planets filled with cursed sand. For the first time in days, I felt my mind working properly again.
As the ship continued its approach to the island, I leaned over a panel that crackled at the slightest touch and thought that, with enough effort, this pile of old parts could become something impressive.
And if not… well, I could always keep insulting it until it decided to work from emotional exhaustion.
So, after what felt like an eternity, I finally reached the damn location. I stopped in front of the site, looked up with a touch of excitement, and my smile died instantly when I saw it. It was impossible. I went completely pale as my brain processed the disaster before me. I couldn't believe it. Of all the things that could ruin my day, it had to be this. Seriously. Rebels. Damn rebels. Sticking their noses where they don't belong again. I felt my gem boil as I let out a frustrated groan, certain that the universe was determined to annoy me just because it could. Stupid, stupid, stupid rebels, I repeated mentally and under my breath as I walked through the wreckage, unable to resist the urge to grumble as if that would fix anything.
I complained for a good while, too long perhaps, but what did they expect me to do? I'd been dealing with an old ship for hours, cables that looked like they belonged to the Stone Age, a sea of salt that ruined everything it touched, and now I was faced with a scene that was the very definition of annoyance. I paced back and forth, muttering all sorts of things about how incompetent they could be and how they always left their problems half-finished. I grumbled about the protocols they ruined, the complete lack of discipline, and even how much I hated being sent to clean up other gems' messes.
Only after I'd completely vented did I approach the destroyed portal. I stared at it with my arms crossed, taking deep breaths, and a part of me couldn't help but feel that strange tingle that comes when what you suspected from the beginning seems to have been confirmed. My theory was right. Or at least that's what I thought at the time. I felt proud for a few seconds, as if I'd just solved the greatest mystery of the empire, without the slightest idea that I was completely wrong. But hey, details. The important thing was that some of this made sense in my head, even if it was a sense that only I could understand.
I sat on what remained of the portal, dust clinging to my legs, an awkward silence descending upon me as I opened the old image of the Era 1 Communication Hub. It was ironic. Before me stood the shattered, broken, and rusted version, while on my screen I saw the original glory, the pristine structure that had once been the pride of a team of engineers who knew what they were doing. I studied the image intently, from top to bottom, as if looking at it long enough could magically fix everything before me. I ran my fingers along every broken edge of the portal, comparing each fragment, each crack, each absurd deviation that shouldn't be there. It was like examining someone's illegible handwriting while trying to remember what it was supposed to look like.
I looked at the pieces scattered around me. It was a technological graveyard, and I was trapped in it. I checked the screen again, that tablet that had become my only sensible companion on this useless planet, and tried to organize my thoughts about what my next step should be to get out of here once and for all. A tired sigh escaped unbidden, but I stood up anyway, wiped my hands on my thigh, and started walking around what remained of the communications center.
Each step felt like a mixture of frustration and curiosity. I observed the wreckage from different angles, imagining invisible lines reconstructing themselves in my mind. Analysis was the only thing keeping me sane. I walked slowly, marking the pace with small pauses in which I would pick up the tablet, turn it on, zoom in, compare images, put the tablet down, and frown with a mixture of disdain and anticipation.
That's when the murmurs began, those unfiltered thoughts that spilled out aloud, as if each idea needed to be heard to exist. Maybe, I thought, taking a look around. It might work if I adjust the bottom bracket. I should try it, even if it means re-soldering that piece of junk. Aha, that might fix the broken connection. If I do that, I could reactivate even a minimal signal. Maybe. Yes... yes... yes, it could work. I continued muttering an endless string of possibilities, theories, and assumptions, each more ambitious than the last. My voice became rapid, almost excited, as if the whole mess was suddenly a puzzle I was about to solve.
I walked around the communications center again, picking up cables, gently kicking any piece that was in the way, bending down to examine a corroded circuit board that still bore traces of the original engineering. Every glance at the tablet filled me with a spark that I couldn't tell if it was hope or just plain stubbornness, but it worked. I felt the urge to keep going, to try, to rebuild. My thoughts kept racing, a mix of calculations and the desire for things to finally go my way, just for once.
Maybe, I repeated once more as I touched a component that seemed salvageable. Yes, definitely maybe.
Yes, I can, of course I can, I'm a second-generation Peridot, damn it. This is nothing for me, absolutely nothing. A laugh escaped me uncontrollably, echoing throughout the island like a delirious sound that, luckily, went unnoticed. If anyone had heard me, they probably would have thought I'd already lost what little sanity I had left... and perhaps they wouldn't have been entirely wrong.
I, Peridot, Peridot Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG, can do this. I raised my robotic hands to the sky in an exaggeratedly triumphant pose, as if I were giving an epic speech to an army that didn't exist. It was ridiculous and wonderful at the same time. But as soon as I finished raising my arms, the air changed. It felt heavy, uncomfortable, as if the entire island were sighing with a "really?" I slowly lowered my arms as my enthusiasm deflated like a punctured balloon.
"Well..." I muttered, my tone suddenly timid, as if trying to pretend that what I'd just shouted hadn't happened. I glanced at my screen with a mixture of embarrassment and urgency, reminding myself that I needed to review the functions of my robotic limbs before I did something even more foolish. I tapped the tools menu, bringing up the diagrams of my mechanical attachments.
There they were: the firing parameters, the force management protocols, the stabilization system... and the little treasure I always liked to show off, even though I rarely used it properly: the telekinetic laser. A thin, controlled beam capable of manipulating parts like metal puppets... as long as I didn't get nervous, because then they vibrated as if I were trying to juggle earthquakes.
I took a deep breath, raised a hand, and activated the laser. A trembling green line shot out, enveloping a piece of broken panel. I carefully lifted it, moving it from side to side as I tried to place it on the least damaged support in the communications center. The piece fit... sort of. It wasn't perfect, or pretty, or professional, but it was there, held with the minimum dignity necessary to keep it from falling to the floor right then and there.
With almost forced patience, I adjusted loose wires, repositioned bent circuit boards, and cleaned burnt circuits, all while the telekinetic laser vibrated with more stress than I did. After several failed attempts, unnecessary sparks, and the occasional curse directed at a screw that refused to turn, I managed to reactivate the bare minimum.
The main screen of the communications center flickered like a tired eye. Static filled the air. Then another flicker. And another. And finally, a weak, clumsy, almost ghostly signal.
A random communication began to be generated, or at least a desperate attempt at communication. There was no address, no recipient, not even a guarantee that it wouldn't go straight into the void. But there it was, a message leaving this repugnant planet, even if it would never reach any corner of the Empire.
I smiled with pride, even knowing it was pointless. Sometimes it wasn't about it working. Sometimes it just needed to look like it was working.
It works... it works. I barely whispered it before a laugh exploded in my chest. A sharp, satisfied, almost hysterical laugh that spread throughout the ruined structure. But as always, even my own euphoria had its limits. The laughter died away on its own, dissolving into an eerie silence as my eyes drifted down to controls buried underground, covered in dust, sand, and years of neglect.
I knelt before them, pushing aside the earth with my metallic hands, revealing corroded buttons and symbols so ancient I'd only ever seen them in educational records from Homeworld. I touched them carefully, feeling the rough texture, trying to recall each lesson, each instruction. My fingers glided over texts I could barely read, yet my hands still moved with ease. It was as if that knowledge had lain dormant in some corner of my memory, waiting for this absurd moment to awaken.
I fiddled with old keys, reconnected loose cables, and yanked apart others that seemed glued to the system like roots. The power flickered, the signal weakened, and each flicker threatened to destroy everything I'd accomplished. But still, inexplicably, things started to come together. The lights came back on in order, the beeps returned, and the panel sprang to life as if remembering its forgotten purpose.
My eyes fell on the last button. It was a different color, brighter, more striking, as if it had been designed specifically for this moment. A smile formed on its own across my face, small at first, then growing, proud, almost defiant.
I pressed it.
The system made a sharp click, and a dim light illuminated what I assumed was the working camera. I instinctively adjusted myself, lifted my chin, and spoke confidently, believing someone on the other end would hear me.
This is Peridot Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG, reporting my mission to my superior. The mission is still ongoing, but we have a rebel problem on Earth. We need immediate reinforcements. My assigned Jasper disappeared when my ship went down.
I leaned a little closer to the "camera," making sure my voice sounded as professional as possible.
"I request authorization to continue repairs to the communications center. I require further instructions to maintain operational efficiency on this primitive planet. I confirm I am still functional, still in position, and still... er... relatively stable. I will proceed to hold the site until I receive a response."
The transmission ended with a faint, almost muffled beep, and the screen went silent. I stood there, still, motionless, staring at the distorted reflection of my own face on the monitor. A few seconds passed... then more... then too many. The emptiness of the screen seemed to watch me, waiting for something I didn't have. I sighed.
"I should continue the Cluster mission..." I murmured softly, as if the very air of the destroyed base could answer me. I looked around, searching for some sign, some guidance, some unseen approval. The earth-covered ceiling seemed to lean over me, heavy, silent, insistent. As if to say, "Yes, keep going, keep going, keep going."
I shrank back a little, pressing my lips together.
If my Diamond sees that I continued with the mission even without my Jasper and my ship... well, maybe I'll get an award. You're so clever, Peridot. Very clever. I mentally applauded myself as I nodded vigorously.
I quickly gathered my things and left the communications hub, not daring to look back. The old ship was waiting for me, tilted as always, as if mocking my expectations. I glanced at it, grunted, and climbed aboard rather clumsily. Even so, I knew I couldn't draw power from the place. The communications hub's power was too unstable, too heavy, too ancient to move even a few inches. And if, by some miracle, my message got through, it was better that it remained untouched.
With a resigned sigh, a sigh that clearly said, "What does it matter?", I turned on the controls. The ship coughed, groaned, and then slowly lifted off, as if protesting having to keep working.
"Let's go to the main nursery," I announced with a sudden burst of enthusiasm, an enthusiasm born of both fear and stubbornness. And with that resolve, I pointed the ship toward its new target, without even imagining that someone else had their eyes on that same destination.
At the same time, far away, another ship was making its way through metal wreckage and wisps of smoke. The surrounding landscape was destroyed, burned, almost unrecognizable. And in the midst of it all walked Jasper.
Each step of hers was heavy, firm, laden with anger. Her breathing was deep, trembling, not from fear... but from suppressed fury. She had lost a ship—useless, according to her—but not her determination. She walked with clenched fists, gritted teeth, and a furrowed brow as if she could split the horizon in two.
That blow... that shame... she wouldn't forget it. She wouldn't forgive it.
Each glint of light off the metallic fragments reminded her of her fall, her failure, her humiliation. Her obsession grew with every step, every breath. She no longer walked for the mission... she walked out of wounded pride, out of rage, out of the need to prove that no rebel, no creature, and no circumstance could stop her.
Peridot... she muttered her name with a mixture of irritation and tense possessiveness. I hope you're where I want to go. Because if you're not... I'll force you to join me.
Her voice echoed in the void, firm as a threat the air was afraid to repeat.
Their destinies drew near, inevitable, silent, like a storm she didn't yet know was about to break.
End of Chapter 39.