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Cygnus Universe: Calypso Sapaceship
Genetic Optimization
The Calypso served as a transport for cryogenically frozen passengers to the planet TOI-1452b , in a binary system embedded in the Draco constellation , where terrestrial consortiums were planning to create a permanent mining colony.
The planet, a dark world from a distance with steely reflections, had large expanses of liquid water and had been terraformed enough to allow human habitation without continuous pressurized suits.
It wasn't paradise, but it was a profitable promise that attracted, as could not be otherwise, settlers eager for money.
The ship traveled by means of a combined boost from its VASIMIR8 engines and the ALCUBIERRE hyperdrive . Under normal conditions, the Calypso moved forward like a patient animal, accumulating speed for days. During the jumps, space silently folded around the hull, and the universe became a mathematical calculation of extreme precision.
The journey would take only a few weeks, a statistical blink of an eye compared to the generations that had previously had to cross that distance.
During the first part, everything worked within the expected margins.
Commander Brenda Ivanova watched the star projection from the bridge, her hands resting on the curved railing, as if the glass could transmit something more than just data. Beside her, the CIO-2 hologram fluctuated with a slight delay, adjusting some invisible parameters.
—“Stable course, Commander.”— intelligence reported. —“Gravitational deviation of the binary system corrected. No shocks expected during the next jump.”
—“They’re never expected,” Brenda replied , without looking away . “And yet, something can always happen.”
CIO-2 did not respond. It recorded the phrase as an emotional variation with no operational relevance.
On the lower levels, Dr. Amanda Lindström carefully and meticulously walked through the cryogenic ring. The cold wasn't real—the temperature was regulated—but the sensation lingered like a psychological residue.
Hundreds of capsules were lined up in perfect rows, each containing a body suspended in an unnatural stillness. Colonists. Technicians. Mine workers. Entire families who had agreed to exchange some time for destiny.
Amanda stopped in front of one of the pods and activated the side screen. Stable heart rate. Resting metabolism. Genetic markers within approved ranges.
—“Everything is in order.”— she murmured, more to herself than to the ship.
—“I confirm.”— CIO-2 responded over the internal channel —“No anomalies detected in this sector.”
Amanda nodded and continued. She had learned to trust artificial intelligence, though not completely. No doctor with real experience delegated their doubts.
In the break room, two crew members shared recycled coffee while the ship vibrated gently.
—“Do you ever think about what we left behind?” Stefano asked , staring at the dark liquid.
—“No.”— said Roger Haines —“If I thought about it, I wouldn’t be here.”
They laughed half-heartedly. The Calypso wasn't a heroic exploration vessel or a luxury cruise ship. It was a conduit. It carried bodies from one point to another with the same indifference with which it transported sensitive cargo. And yet, each voyage accumulated stories that weren't recorded in the manifests.
Hours later, the pre-jump warning echoed through the ship like an electronic whisper.
—“Attention, crew.”— Brenda announced over the general channel —“We are initiating a hyperjump sequence in ninety seconds. Proceed according to protocol.”
On the bridge, the lights dimmed a shade. In the cryogenic compartments, the systems reinforced the containment fields. The universe, obedient, waited.
—“VASIMIR8 at ninety-five percent.”— CIO-2 indicated —“Alcubierre field stable.” —
—“Execute it, CIO.”— Brenda ordered .
The jump was silent. It was also silent. It was a fleeting sensation, as if the ship had been forgotten for a fraction of a second by reality itself. A slight feeling of emptiness in the stomach. Then, space unfolded once more.
TOI-1452b was still far away, but it was no longer an abstraction. It was a destination with signed contracts, lives on hold, and a colony waiting to be born under terms that no one on the Calypso had drafted.
Brenda exhaled slowly.
—“We’re still on our way.”— he said.
CIO-2 archived the event as a successful transition .
The Calypso continued its journey, silently carrying more than just sleeping passengers. It carried countless human life stories that had no names or faces yet, but that nonetheless traveled with them.
During a routine medical check-up ordered by Dr. Amanda Lindström , the CIO-2 artificial intelligence interrupted the clinical silence of the cryogenic ring with an alert that was not listed in the procedure manuals.
—“Doctor.”— said the neutral voice —“A critical anomaly has been detected in pod C-117.”
Amanda looked up from the panel, a shiver running down the back of her neck. With all her heart, she hoped it wasn't DNA degradation in the cryopreserved body. An infrequent accident, but not unheard of or far-fetched.
—“Define criticism , CEO.” —
—“The individual’s blood fluid does not match the parameters of conventional human DNA.”— CIO-2 responded —“The incompatibility exceeds the threshold of genetic variation permitted by the colonization agreements.”
Amanda approached the pod. The settler slept peacefully, like all the others. A middle-aged man, thick hands, a body adapted to physical labor. No outward sign betrayed anything different.
—“Show me the analysis.”— he ordered.
The floating screen displayed genetic sequences, marked in red in impossible regions. These were not random mutations or replication errors. There was symmetry and intention in that coding.
"This doesn't look like pollution," Amanda murmured . "It's not cryogenic damage either."
—“I agree, Doctor.”— said CIO-2 —“The pattern suggests targeted genome editing.”
Amanda took a deep breath.
"What is the individual's legal status?"
"Checking," the artificial intelligence replied without delay . "The individual is listed as a human person , with validated identity, signed consent, and medical fitness approved by the Extraterrestrial Migration Authority. Confirmed in Earth's records forty-three seconds ago."
Amanda closed her eyes for a moment.
—“Call Commander Ivanova. On priority channel.”
The bridge responded almost immediately. Brenda Ivanova 's face appeared projected, stern, tired even in her rest.
—“What’s wrong, Amanda?”
“We have a problem, Brenda,” Amanda said bluntly . “One of the colonists doesn’t possess conventional human DNA. It’s not a misreading. It’s an incompatible biological structure.”
Brenda remained silent for a second longer than necessary.
—“Extraterrestrial?” —
—“No.”— replied Amanda —“That’s precisely what’s unsettling. There’s no trace of non-terrestrial biology. It’s human… modified.” —
Brenda clenched her jaw.
—“Is he registered as a person? Isn’t he a bioandroid?”
—“Registered as a human. Legally, he's impeccable.”
—“So someone approved this,” Brenda said . “And it wasn’t this ship.”
The commander barely turned her head, as if CIO-2 could see her from the bridge.
—“CIO-2, I want a full verification of the colonist pods. Start with the genetic profiles.”
There was a brief pause.
—“Total range, Commander?”— asked the artificial intelligence.
—“Absolutely.”— Brenda confirmed —“And complete discretion.”
Minutes later, Amanda stood between the rows of capsules as the screens began to fill with new alerts. One. Two. Five.
—“It can’t be…”— she whispered.
—“Preliminary results.”— CIO-2 reported —“Thirty-six individuals with genetic patterns equivalent to that of pod C-117 have been identified. The probability of random coincidence is statistically zero.”
Amanda felt a different kind of cold than that of cryogenics.
—“Thirty-six.”— he repeated —“How are they distributed?”
—“They are not random.”— CIO-2 replied —“They coincide with physically demanding job profiles: mine workers, underground jobs, environments with extreme pressure.”
Amanda looked up at the suspended bodies.
—“There aren’t any in families…”— he said —“Nor among administrative or surface technicians.”
The channel came back online. Brenda was no longer sitting down.
“I want samples from all the colonists, Amanda,” he ordered . “I want absolute confirmation before taking the next step.”
—“That’s going to leave a record.”— Amanda warned .
—“Leave it alone.”— Brenda replied. —“I prefer a trail to a surprise. I want to know what it’s about.”
Hours later, the results were irrefutable. The anomaly was repeated, identical, like a signature.
Amanda sent the full report to the bridge.
—“It’s not a glitch,” he said when Brenda reappeared on the screen. “It’s a design. Someone edited these genomes for a specific purpose. ”
Brenda placed both hands on the control panel.
—“And yet,” he said softly , “Earth recognizes them as improvements, without exceeding the percentage required to recognize them as a new species.”
—“Exactly.”— Amanda confirmed . —“Legally, there’s nothing to object to.”
The silence that followed was very analytical.
—“So,” Brenda concluded , “we have beings on board that we don’t understand, who were approved to board without our knowledge… and who will awaken when we reach TOI-1452b.”
CIO-2 archived the conversation as an ongoing medical-administrative event .
For the crew of the Calypso , it was the first indication that this voyage was not just carrying ordinary colonists, but a genetically mixed colony with what appeared to be improvements in some of them.
The decision had been made far away, with unforeseeable consequences that were still dormant under the artificial sleep of hibernation.
No explanation came from Earth.
Not a single explanation, not a formality, not even a bureaucratic
excuse. Just automatic acknowledgments and a delay in responses that
stretched beyond all reason.
Amanda confirmed it to the crew gathered in the medical room, with tiredness evident on her face.
“The DNA modifications don’t make them aliens or a new species. Medically, they fall within the range of ‘enhancements.’ But we don’t know what kind,” he said bluntly . “Nor are there any traces of pathogens, retroviruses, or cryogenic contamination. What we found is targeted gene editing. Precise and deliberate.”
Brenda Ivanova interlaced her fingers behind her back.
—“Are we witnessing an experiment?”
—“If it is, it’s very well done,” Amanda replied . “There are no mistakes. There’s no improvisation. This wasn’t the brainchild of some fringe lab.”
Nidia Lagerfeld , the chief scientist, added:
—“Since they are miners and the modifications were only applied to personnel dedicated to extraction, we believe it is a muscle enhancement to increase productivity.”
—“So someone on Earth signed off on this,” said one of the security officers.
—“Or someone with enough authority so that no one questions it.”— added Brenda .
CIO-2 projected a data matrix onto the central table.
—“Calypso’s operational orders prohibit the awakening of cryogenically frozen passengers except in the event of a catastrophic system failure.”— reported the artificial intelligence. —“The current scenario does not qualify as such.”—
Amanda nodded stiffly.
—“That’s the only reason we haven’t woken them up for questioning,” Commander Ivanova said . “But we can read the records they left behind.”
The staff turned toward the hologram as Dr. Amanda Lindström gave the order:
—“CIO-2, access the complete medical records of the affected colonists. And cross-reference them with the job profiles assigned at their destination.”
—“Processing.”— replied the artificial intelligence.
The seconds dragged on, while the drone of the ship's engines accompanied the awkward silence.
Finally, CIO-2 spoke:
—“The pattern is consistent.” —
The images changed. Names, ages, and technical specializations appeared.
“The colonists with modified genomes are not random,” he continued . “One hundred percent of them are destined for deep mining, underground extraction, or environments of extreme physical stress. No families, minors, or administrative staff are registered among the altered individuals.”
Amanda made a vague gesture as if she were trying to show something else on the screen.
—“None.”— he repeated —“Not a single profile other than a force profile has been affected.”
Ralph Brown , the lead pilot, shook his head.
—“They selected muscles, not ordinary people.” —
—“They selected functions,” Brenda corrected. “And then they modified their genome enough so that they would be considered members of our own species.”
CIO-2 expanded the data.
—“In the databases I found legally signed consent forms from the individuals,” he added . “They include clauses for physiological optimization in hostile environments .”
Amanda closed her eyes for a moment before continuing.
—“According to the medical records, the psychological consequences are listed as irrelevant in the cryogenic state,” he said . “They literally list: increased aggression, intensified emotional responses, sleep disturbances… all categorized as within acceptable ranges.”
Brenda stared into the void.
—“Since they are legally considered to be of the same species,”— she finally said —“medically and ethically we cannot take preventative measures such as additional sedation or preventative isolation.”
Amanda completed Ivanova 's idea :
—“They are products of a new and experimental genetic modification.”
Silence settled in again, and no one seemed willing to break it.
“The problem is they’re going to wake up on a hostile planet,” Brenda finally said . “And by the time we return and leave them to their fate, those who didn’t undergo the modification will be unprotected. Completely defenseless.”
—“Yes,” Amanda replied . “When they wake up, they will be exactly as aggressive as anyone on Earth needs them to be.”
CIO-2 filed the analysis as a latent operational risk .
The Calypso continued on its way, oblivious and obedient, transporting not only sleeping bodies, but a decision made far away, in offices where the safety of the settlers' families was not part of the monetary calculations of mining exploitation.
Legal consents began to emerge from the fragmented records. They weren't hidden, but buried under layers of technical language and cross-referenced attachments. Clean digital signatures, consistent dates, and corporate validation seals.
Amanda was the first to find some reports from the company in charge of genetic improvement. She showed them to Ivanova :
—“Look at these reports:” Amanda said , “physiological optimization, muscle modifications, partial synaptic rewriting. Even the side effects.”
CIO-2 expanded the main document.
—“Clause nine, section C”— the artificial intelligence read —“ Behavioral alterations resulting from genetic optimization will not reach pathological levels during the cryogenic state or during the adaptation phase at the destination . The level of pathological behavior can only manifest itself during the most demanding work phases and in states of stress. ”
—“Translation:”— said Roger Haines —“they can only become violent during the extraction work phase.”
Amanda nodded curtly.
—“Extreme aggression is statistically irrelevant in transit. The risk is entirely transferred to the operational environment.”
Brenda walked to the window overlooking the central cryogenics corridor. Perfect rows of capsules, motionless bodies, breathing controlled by the medical monitoring algorithm.
CIO-2 intervened:
—“From a strictly legal standpoint, there is no sufficient cause to abort the mission.”
Brenda turned slowly.
—“But we cannot leave the settlers unprotected from a human perspective.”
The artificial intelligence took one second longer than usual to respond.
—“That framework is not among my priority parameters.”
Silence settled in once more. It was the kind of silence that forced a choice.
—“If we leave them and return immediately,” Ralph , the lead pilot , finally said , “the colony will be left without logistical support. Without weapons defense.”
—“And what are you proposing?”— Amanda asked .
—“We can’t break our orders, but nothing prevents us from stretching them…”— Ralph said , smiling at Ivanova , who seemed to understand her boyfriend’s idea.
Brenda took a deep breath.
—“What Ralph is saying is that we can stay longer than planned,” he said . “I just need to invoke a compelling reason. And what you’re essentially proposing is that we stay…until when?”
—“Until the extraction operations begin. And the blessed aggression can be awakened in the modified ones.” — Ralph replied . —“How long do you think is a reasonable amount of time, Doctor?”
Amanda thought about it for a second.
—“Maybe two months… perhaps three. It’s uncharted territory for me.”
Brenda nodded once.
—“So we completed the mission. And we stayed for a few months to monitor…”—
CIO-2 recorded the decision.
—“Course confirmed towards TOI-1452b”— he announced imperturbably.
The Calypso continued onward, indifferent to ethics or moral subtleties, carrying optimized bodies, impeccable legal signatures, and an implicit promise: that, once the colonists were awake, the military themselves would be assigned to control a genetic experiment with unpredictable consequences.
Amanda Lindström 's bedroom was dimly lit, illuminated only by the bluish glow of the still-active panel on the wall. The genetic charts were still there, frozen in her mind, as if they refused to disappear even though she no longer looked at them. She had spent more than twelve hours analyzing sequences, consent forms, legal signatures. Too many hours thinking about bodies that still slept, unaware of what they had become.
He slumped down on the edge of the bed without taking off his uniform completely.
She closed her eyes.
The communicator vibrated.
"Amanda," said Stefano Grubert 's voice . "Dinner is ready. If you take too long, Ralph will eat it."
She barely smiled.
"Stefano... I'm not going to the dining room," she replied . "I'm exhausted. I have no energy. I just want to rest."
There was a brief silence on the other end.
—“Then don’t move.”— Stefano said . —“Give me ten minutes.”—
—“Stefano…”—
—“It’s non-negotiable.”—
The channel closed before he could reply
Amanda sighed and leaned back, staring at the curved ceiling of her cabin. The ship's constant vibration was the only thing that never changed. Ten minutes later, the soft chime of the doorbell confirmed that Stefano was at the door.
She came in carrying a makeshift basket in her arms, balancing thermal plates and two glasses.
—“Eating in the bedroom should be a culinary crime,” he said , “but to be with you, it’s worth it.”
—“You’re a silent hero,” Amanda replied gratefully , sitting up . “Or an irresponsible one.”
—“Both.” —
They ate dinner sitting on the bed, speaking little. The doctor's weariness and the scientist's patience settled effortlessly. They shared the wine. When they finished, they kissed slowly, as if the touch were a way of remembering that they were still human
After that, time lost its precision.
They remained embraced, their breaths mingling in the darkness, while the Calypso was an indifferent refuge to the lovers.
Stefano asked him:
—“What’s got you like this?”
Amanda did not respond immediately.
—“The colonists.”— he finally said —“The genetic modifications. I can’t help but think that TOI-1452b isn’t a colony… it’s an experiment. A real-world testing ground.”
Stefano rested his chin on his head.
—“For the mining company?”
—“Yes,” she confirmed . “I know what they are. I always knew. But now I see it clearly. They released these modifications without any prior testing. Nobody knows exactly what will happen.”
—“And you can’t do anything?”
—“No.”— Amanda said —“Not without breaking everything. Protocols. Contracts. Legality.”
Stefano remained silent for a few seconds.
—“Did you tell Brenda?”
Amanda shook her head slowly.
—“There’s no need. He knows. And he also knows that from the army…”— he hesitated— “Commander Bert may be involved.”
Stefano barely tensed the arm that was around her.
They said nothing more. There was no need. They hugged each other tighter, as if the other's body were the smallest defense against a system that was too big to successfully confront.
They were already asleep when the Calypso continued on its way, carrying decisions that no one had made in that room, but whose consequences could weigh heavily on everyone.
The arrival at TOI-1452b occurred without technical incident.
The Calypso descended onto a coastal plain where a greenish-gray ocean stretched out beneath a double sky, illuminated by the two stars of the binary system. The atmosphere was breathable, though still laden with suspended particles from the incomplete terraforming. The ground vibrated with a low, constant resonance, as if the planet had not yet fully settled.
During the first few days, the crew assisted in installing the living modules, starting up the power systems, and calibrating the environmental seals. The work was meticulous and almost domestic in nature. Nothing on the surface suggested danger.
It was within this context that several of the military personnel began to associate with the regent of the colony.
His name was Arvid Kroll . Tall, broad-shouldered, with a physique that didn't seem the product of exercise but of something deeper, almost structural. And it was precisely that: the product of genetic modification. His smile was genuine, his manner direct. He didn't avoid questions or steer clear of uncomfortable conversations. On the contrary: he seemed to enjoy explaining.
—“The company didn’t deceive us,” he explained one afternoon, as they watched the first haul trucks line up in front of the mine entrance . “They offered us real improvements. Stamina, strength, focus. Do you know what it’s like to work twelve hours under constant pressure without losing mental clarity?”
Ralph Brown shrugged.
—“It sounds like going through hell for a high salary,” he replied honestly.
Kroll laughed with a short, powerful laugh.
—“I’d say it sounds like progress and money for my family. The aggression that worries them so much isn’t violence. They told us it’s the direction of the will. Or will without distraction. When you go down there,”— he gestured toward the underground— “there’s no room for doubt or fatigue. That also pays bonuses.”
—“And dreams?” asked Olga Petrova , one of the soldiers . —“There’s talk of vivid dreams that can trigger spikes in violence.”
The regent hesitated for a moment before answering.
—“Well… every profound change has side effects. The geneticists were clear about that. But it’s nothing that can’t be controlled.”—
From the entrance of the main module, Kroll 's wife watched them silently. She was a woman with soft features and an attentive gaze, almost too calm for the harsh environment that surrounded them. Beside her, the couple's two children played with fragments of polished rock, looking at the uniformed men with a mixture of fascination and wariness.
—“Neither my wife nor our children were altered,” Kroll clarified , noticing the stares . “There was no need.”
Olga Petrova said to him as she watched the children play:
—“Listen, Arvid. Nobody is denying you your right to decide. But have you stopped to think that they made those modifications and haven't tested them under real-world conditions?”
A shadow of doubt crossed Kroll 's face as Petrova continued:
—“When we are no longer here to protect their families, what will happen to them if there is an uncontrollable outbreak of rage in the colony?”
Olga 's question caught him completely off guard. He didn't know what to answer.
Brenda Ivanova listened to the conversation from a distance, without intervening. She simply noted the tone and the certainty with which the man spoke of his own condition, as if it were just another financial investment.
That night, as the modules lit up under the double sky and the colony began to take the shape of something permanent, Brenda commented in a low voice:
—“The modified ones speak as if they’ve already accepted the cost.”—
“Maybe they did,” Amanda replied . “I just hope they didn’t lie to you about how much that change was going to cost.”
Brenda responded as if she were philosophizing:
—“I distrust corporations a lot. This genetic modification was in everyone's best interest. And the only ones who have anything real to lose if it fails are the colonists themselves.”
From the perimeter, the mining teams began to throb. And, beneath the surface of TOI-1452b , something more than rock began to stir.
A week later, when mining became fully operational, the planet stopped looking like a project and the mine began to behave like an open wound.
The shifts began to run longer than expected. The drills worked nonstop, tearing away entire layers of rock saturated with dense minerals. That's when the first problems appeared.
“The settlers’ women report nightmares,” Amanda said , reviewing the medical records . “These aren’t ordinary dreams. They’re vivid and recurring. They all describe the same thing: narrowing tunnels, chest pressure, a constant feeling of threat.”
—“Signs of simple stress? Or should we be worried?” Brenda asked .
—“I don’t know. We’ll have to pay closer attention to the early signs.”
The modified workers began to show signs of irritability. Then hostility. A shove in the cafeteria. A poorly restrained punch during the shift change. Long stares, rapid breathing, arguments that escalated for no clear reason. Nothing serious at first. Until it wasn't anymore.
The first incident occurred at the secondary entrance to the mine. One worker attacked another with a cutting tool, convinced the other was trying to steal his share of the ore. The blow ripped through the hard hat as if it were made of paper. Security intervened immediately. The man didn't stop: he advanced toward the security personnel with the tool still raised.
At that moment, Roger Haines was on duty. He ran toward the entrance with his stun gun ready.
—“Stand back!”— the soldier shouted at him —“I have my weapon ready!”—
The modified man didn't hear him. He simply couldn't. His eyes were dilated, his jaw rigid, his muscles tensing with a power that allowed neither negotiation nor fear. Roger fired. The blast struck him squarely in the torso.
The man barely took a step back.
—“It didn’t work…”— the guard managed to say.
Roger fired again. And again. The modified man let out an animalistic shriek and advanced until he finally fell, convulsing on the ground.
After that, the violence spread like an underground fire.
—“It’s an outbreak,” Amanda said over the communication channel, her voice breaking. “They’re synchronizing. They share stimuli, responses, sleep states… it seems collective.”
The alarms began to blare in a cascade. Doors were only partially sealed. Hallways were flooded with people running aimlessly. Children were crying. The colony, still fragile, fell apart in a matter of minutes.
The crew of the Calypso acted as a containment force. They formed human chains, evacuated residential modules, and pushed entire families toward reinforced shelters while the modified ones pounded on walls, doors, and structures.
—“Hold the line!”— Brenda ordered amidst the skirmishes —“Don’t face them alone!”—
Some miners could not be stunned. The maximum electric shocks were not enough for their hypertrophied bodies, designed to withstand pressure, impact, and fatigue. Two of them, out of control, began hammering at the auxiliary water tower with drilling tools.
—“Commander, the tower!”— Richard Darren warned —“They’re taking it down!”
The metal gave way until they heard a sharp crack. The structure tilted slowly, as if the planet itself hesitated for a second before letting go. Then it collapsed spectacularly.
—“Immediate evacuation!”— Brenda shouted , pointing at a building about to be crushed —“That module is inhabited!”—
The tower crashed down onto a neighboring house. The impact shattered the roof and an entire wall. Water shot out like an internal wave, sweeping away furniture and structural fragments amidst screams.
—“This way! Keep the children behind us!”— ordered Ralph Brown , as a beam collapsed a few feet from their position.
Brenda and two soldiers entered the remains of the house. The floor was covered in water and twisted metal. They pulled out a woman with her leg trapped. Then they extracted an unconscious man. And a child covered in blood that wasn't his.
A modified miner emerged from the water and debris. Brenda fired without hesitation. The body fell into the flooded module.
One of the civilian technicians was seriously wounded in the arm. Another never got up again. There were gunshots. Shouts and blood mixed with water and dirt on the ground of a planet that didn't yet have a name.
Brenda and the soldiers advanced towards the residential sector when they heard the call.
—“Commander, the regent!”— warned a woman from behind the cordon —“He’s lost control!”
Arvid Kroll was unrecognizable. The strength he once proudly defended had turned into pure fury. He shoved his wife against a wall, not recognizing her, while one of the Calypso 's crew tried to intervene, shielding the children with his body.
—“Arvid, stop!”— the man shouted —“They’re your children!”
The regent prepared a coup that would have been lethal had it succeeded. But Brenda didn't hesitate. Without a speech or a final warning, she fired a single shot.
Kroll 's body fell heavily to the ground. The silence that followed was brief and absolute. His wife didn't scream. She knelt beside him, embracing the children, who stared, bewildered at what had happened and why their world had shattered in this way.
The outburst of fury was quelled thirty minutes later. At a high cost.
Some of the modified individuals died from their injuries. Others were permanently sedated while being treated in makeshift modules. The rest were put back into hibernation on Brenda Ivanova 's direct orders .
—“No modified being will ever awaken again,” he said, without raising his voice . “Not on this planet. They will return to Earth.”
Amanda closed her report that same night.
—“It wasn’t a failure,” he told her . “The aggressiveness was expected. It’s an accepted variable, a calculated margin of loss.”
Brenda didn't respond. She looked up at the sky with two TOI-1452b suns and understood that, for the first time since taking command, she had crossed a line that no protocol could erase.
In the morning, the commander sent the full report back to Earth , omitting no detail. It included medical records, genetic sequences, recordings of the riots, and the exact moment the madness had erupted. She offered no mitigating circumstances and drew no conclusions. She simply laid out the facts with the same precision with which she had given each order.
The response took longer than expected. When it finally arrived, it appeared projected in the command center as a short, impersonal text, polished to remove any trace of human influence.
—“Is that all?”— asked Amanda , after reading it twice.
CIO-2 confirmed:
—“This is the complete message. No attachments.”
Brenda kept her gaze fixed on the screen.
—“The colony is viable. The contract remains in effect. Return to the modified ones. We will send new miners.” — he repeated in a low voice —“Nothing more.” —
—“Not a single mention of the dead or the torn-apart families.”— said Ralph .
—“To them they are just numbers.”— Brenda replied .
There were no further exchanges with Earth. Ivanova gave the order that same night.
—“Any family wishing to return to Earth will be evacuated by the Calypso,” the commander announced to the colony . “No cost, no conditions.”
Some accepted immediately. Others decided to stay, clinging to the promise of future stability. The regent's widow wanted to be evacuated with her children. She signed silently, the children clinging to her clothes. They were too tired to ask questions.
During the preparation for cryogenics, Amanda stopped next to the widow's capsule.
—“I’m sorry.”— he said, not knowing if it was enough.
The woman barely nodded.
—“He believed he was doing the right thing.”
—“Yes. He thought it was the right thing to do,” Amanda replied . What else could she say?
The capsules closed one after the other. The module fell silent once more.
From the planet's surface, the crew listened to the mining company's official statement. It was delivered in an optimistic, technical, and efficient tone.
—“The incident has reinforced our contingency protocols,” the synthetic voice said . “A new contingent of genetically optimized workers will be deployed shortly. The next generation will come with additional behavioral enhancements.”
—“Optimization upon optimization.”— Ralph murmured. —“Until there is no trace of humanity left.”
The Calypso and its crew began the departure procedures.
As the planet shrank to a blue-green dot in the viewfinder, CIO-2 filed the event in its internal records.
—“Final Mission Classification:” — he announced —“ Incident under control. Acceptable collateral damage .”
Brenda listened in silence. She stood watching as TOI-1452b disappeared while the ship slowly accelerated among the stars.
He knew they hadn't solved anything. And that they had only postponed the collapse of the colony.
And that, when the next ship arrived with new, optimized bodies and contracts fueling the thirst for riches, there would be no one left who could say they hadn't seen it coming.
THE END
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