Dr. Frank Siegmund strapped his seat belts in with a grim smile, the overhead harness clicking into place with a metallic snap that echoed faintly in the tightly enclosed cabin. The shuttle's interior was lit with the sterile white glow of recessed panels, casting sharp shadows across the rows of seats and exposed wiring. Everything smelled faintly of metal, ozone, and sterilized plastic—like a hospital had been sealed in a tin can and readied to be hurled into the void.
The seating was compact, high-backed, and arranged in two narrow columns, crammed together with military precision. Each chair had an embedded tablet, currently showing a countdown to liftoff in bold red numbers. Frank sat slouched in his seat near the rear, legs stretched as far as the restraints would allow, boots resting against a floor that vibrated faintly with the humming pre-launch systems.
"So now we spend 30 hours in this little can with 10 other people," he said with a sigh to the lady seated beside him.
Dr. Aris Thorne was delicately adjusting her shoulder strap, her movements graceful and practiced, as if she'd done this a hundred times before. Her long black hair was tied into a silky ponytail that draped down her back and spilled over her left shoulder like a ribbon of ink. Resting against her chest was a golden badge marked "Team B – Lead Biochemist," its surface polished to a reflective sheen that caught the artificial light with every breath she took.
"Frank, it really isn't that bad," she said with an easy smile.
Her glasses had slipped a little down the bridge of her nose, but she didn't seem to mind. Her overall expression was one of calm resolve, the kind you might find on someone who'd survived worse and could still make jokes about it.
"You're like the opposite of a buzzkill—a buzzalive, maybe," Frank muttered, sighing for what felt like the five-hundredth time since the mission briefing three days ago.
Aris chuckled, the sound light and musical in contrast to the groaning hydraulics around them. She reached out and gave him a gentle pat on the head, tousling his already messy hair.
"You should be glad I keep things alive," she giggled, then leaned slightly closer, her smile turning mock-threatening. "Because I could just as easily let them die, you know."
Frank blinked at her with mock horror. "Noted, Doctor Thorne. Your villain arc is well underway."
The shuttle gave a subtle tremble, almost like it was shivering in anticipation. Outside the tiny, reinforced porthole next to Frank's shoulder, the black expanse of spaceport walls gave way to the faint orange horizon of artificial sunrise. Ground lights blinked methodically in preparation for launch, and automated cargo arms were retracting with heavy, mechanical clunks from the shuttle's loading bays.
Across the narrow aisle, Dr. Thomas Andile was buckled in with military precision, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line. His tie was somehow still perfectly centered even after suiting up, and his pressed collar looked like it had been ironed moments ago. He was reading over a printed diagnostic sheet with sharp eyes, completely ignoring the chatter around him.
"Off we go, I guess," Frank said, reaching his boot over and giving Thomas a small, mischievous kick in the shin.
Thomas barely flinched but slowly lowered the sheet and turned his head.
"Do that again, and I'll make you regret it."
Aris smacked Frank on the head—gently, but with enough force to make her point.
"Leave Tom alone. I don't understand why you keep bothering the poor guy," she said, sliding back into her seat.
Thomas, surprisingly, gave her a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you, Aris. At least someone understands professionalism."
Frank rolled his eyes, but there was no real venom in the gesture.
"Aris, you'll be on level 1, right? The semi-sterile room?"
"Yeah," she replied, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her eyes. "The materials lab, the biodata vault, and I think even the pathogen isolator fall under our jurisdiction. I have an unending list of things to do. I'm tired just thinking about it."
Her voice was still light, but a subtle weariness slipped through as she stared out the porthole. Level 1 was infamous among the crew already. It wasn't as rigorously clean as Level 0, where Frank would work, but the environmental protocols still required full suit maintenance, triple decon passes, and constant bio-sterility monitoring. It was a place where a single wrong movement could compromise months of research—or worse, trigger a shutdown of the entire station wing.
"Meanwhile," Frank muttered, "I get to babysit some electronics. Make sure nobody unplugs our only line to Earth. What could possibly go wrong?"
Aris grinned. "Let's hope nothing does."
Frank glanced around the cabin. The others were mostly silent now, their conversations trailing off as the final launch sequence initiated. Twelve people in total-all scientists and engineers, -bound for a station floating two hundred light-years away, beyond any planetary outpost or satellite network.
One man near the front crossed himself, whispering something in a language Frank didn't recognize. Two women in matching Team C patches were fiddling with their helmets, murmuring checklists to each other. The pilot's voice echoed over the comms, clear but bored.
"Launch in T-minus 90 seconds. All systems stable. Secure personal items and prepare for pressure compensation."
Outside, the scaffolding began to retract. Frank felt his heartbeat accelerate, the deep thrum of ignition pulses starting to vibrate through the floor. Somewhere beneath them, engines that could rip open the sky were waking up.
Aris adjusted her glasses, now fully slipping off her nose. She tucked them back into place with one hand and glanced toward Frank, her expression softening.
"No going back now," she said, almost wistfully.
The interior lights dimmed, replaced by a soft red glow. A low, throaty growl began to build beneath them—like thunder trapped in a cage.
The shuttle abruptly jolted, the tremor more powerful this time, and the engines roared to life in earnest. A brutal surge of G-force pinned them to their seats.
Frank closed his eyes, not out of fear, but acceptance.
"Thirty more hours," he sighed.