CHAPTER 3: HOPE

Lina pressed her fingers into the damp soil, feeling the cool, rich earth between them. It was good soil. She had spent months perfecting the composition—adjusting nitrogen levels, oxygenation, the microbial balance—all inside a sealed, floating ecosystem orbiting a world that was supposed to become humanity’s next home.

She smiled to herself. Life always found a way.

The Odyssey-4’s hydroponic garden stretched out around her, an oasis of green amidst the cold metal and hum of ship systems. Tall stalks of grain swayed gently under the artificial breeze, their golden hues catching the simulated sunlight from the overhead UV panels. Rows of leafy vegetables—kale, lettuce, and deep purple spinach—stood neatly in nutrient trays. Beyond them, a cluster of fruit-bearing trees cast dappled shadows across the polished floors.

Lina exhaled, slow and steady. The scent of fresh basil clung to her fingertips.

For a moment, she let herself relax, rolling her shoulders, feeling the warmth of the greenhouse seep into her skin. The garden was hers. In a way, it felt like she had willed it into existence, made something alive in a place where life did not belong.

She pushed herself to her feet, brushing dirt from her jumpsuit. The soft light overhead caught the sharp angle of her jaw, the strength in her shoulders. Lina had never been delicate, never wanted to be. But she was lovely in the way storms were lovely—strong, steady, and full of quiet power.

She moved through the rows, letting her fingertips trail across soft leaves as her mind wandered.

Elias.

She wondered how he would react to the news.

Would he laugh? Would he panic? Would he just pull her close, press his forehead against hers the way he always did when words weren’t enough?

Her hand drifted to her stomach. It was still flat, still unchanged. But inside, something new had begun. A secret, fragile thing.

Life.

She exhaled again, this time slower. He should have been back by now.

A soft chime echoed through the greenhouse—a status alert. Something outside the ship had entered high-velocity approach. She barely registered it, too lost in thought.

She turned, stretching the ache from her lower back, and drifted toward the viewport. From here, she could see everything—the vast black of space, the swirl of the planet’s storm-thickened atmosphere, and the deep shadows cast by the other orbiting vessels.

Her gaze flicked toward the familiar shape of the Icarus.

Then—it moved.

A blink. A breath.

Lina's stomach dropped.

The Icarus wasn’t slowing down. It wasn’t docking.

It was falling.

Her hand pressed against the glass as she watched, heart hammering, breath catching in her throat. The ship should have stopped. It should have changed course. But instead, it slipped past the Odyssey-4 like a stone skipping off the edge of something vast, missing them by the thinnest of margins.

It was heading straight for the planet below.

Lina’s fingers curled against the glass.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t move. She just watched.

And then, she prayed.