Chapter 34 - Proxima Centauri b

Okay, so there we were, orbiting Proxima Centauri b, the Triumph of Darron doing its usual thrumming thing. It was like a white noise machine, you know, but constant, I guess, we got used to it. And looking out at that planet, hanging there like a giant, swirling jawbreaker, was pretty damn intense. Greens and blues all mixed together - looked like someone threw up a rainbow. But not in a bad way, I swear. Still, my chest tightened up, like some kind of warning signal going off. Probably the "you’re in charge, don’t fuck up" alarm.

“Alright, crew,” I called out, trying to sound like Captain Fucking Cool, “gather up for the final briefing.” Honestly, I had jack shit planned, but whatever. Gotta sound like you know what’s going on, right? Fake it till you make it, and all that.

The crew shuffled over, Emily last as usual, slipping into her spot next to Zoe with that little smile she always gives me. Damn, she looked good, all serious and focused with her hair pulled back. Okay, brain, stop. Planet. Crew. Not Emily’s perfect everything. I cleared my throat, turned to the rest of them, pretending I wasn't just staring off into space. “This is it,” I said, trying for a firm voice. “Proxima Centauri b. We’re about to make history.” Cheesy, yeah, but hey, it’s space. Gotta be a little dramatic, right?

Zoe leaned forward, her dreads swaying. Seriously, those things are like living art. “Probes are prepped and ready. I’ll take point on the deployment,” she said, all calm and collected. Like launching probes into the unknown was no big deal. Which, for her, maybe it wasn't.

“Good,” I replied, nodding like I knew anything about probes. “Danny, Ryan, you’re on sensor calibration. Make sure we know exactly what’s down there before we open the hatch.” Danny gave a thumbs up, already glued to his tablet like a freaking cyborg. Ryan muttered something under his breath, probably about wanting a nap. The lazy bastard.

Emily cut in, “Captain, I’ve set up the secondary atmospheric filters as a precaution. We’ll have baseline readings in five minutes.” She made it sound like she’d been doing it in her sleep. Efficiency was her thing. A very, very hot thing. “Perfect,” I said, trying to sound like I wasn't completely distracted by her.

The crew scattered back to their stations, and the ship got quiet, the hum of the engines the only sound. It was that kind of quiet that made my palms sweat. I ran a hand through my hair, probably making it look like a rat’s nest.

“Probes ready for deployment,” Zoe called out, her voice cutting through the silence. I watched as she ticked off some boxes in her workstation. She might as well have been on autopilot. Except she wasn't. She just made it look easy.

“Deploy,” I ordered, my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest. The Triumph gave a soft thump, almost a sigh, as the first probe launched. Then another, and another. On the external cameras, they looked like tiny fireflies zipping into the dark, a little “fuck you” to the void.

“Probes away,” Zoe confirmed, her voice as steady as ever. I swear, I saw a flicker of something in her eyes, maybe excitement, maybe pride. Or maybe I just needed to chill. It was space. Everyone was probably a little wired.

---

Okay, so Danny and Ryan, those two dorks, were huddled over their console, faces lit up like they were watching porn or something, but it was just sensor readouts. Danny, with his mop of red curls bouncing around, was all serious, brow furrowed like he was solving the goddamn universe. And Ryan, that smirking bastard, was leaning in, looking like he was about to pull some kind of prank.

“Sensors are primed and ready,” Ryan reported, his voice all mischievous. “Time to take our first whiff of alien air, eh, Danny?” He probably thought he was hilarious.

Danny, glued to his console, didn't even look up. “Let’s just hope it’s not too spicy for our delicate Earth palates.” Yeah, like Danny was the most delicate guy in the galaxy. He probably eats ghost peppers for breakfast.

I snorted, just a little, the tension easing off a notch. It was good to have those two idiots around, even if they were annoying as hell. I leaned back in my chair, letting my eyes sweep over the crew. They were all locked in, focused, like a bunch of goddamn pros. And they were so young, like barely out of high school, but here they were, making history or something.

A weird feeling hit me then, this swell of something I guess you could call pride. Like someone punched me in the throat, but in a good way. These weren’t just my crew, they were my friends. We'd grown up together, fought alongside each other, and dreamed about all this space crap. And now we were doing it, actually living it. I shook my head to get rid of that sappy shit. There'd be plenty of time for feelings later, probably when we're all drunk in the galley.

“Chris,” I said, “start recording. I want every second of this documented.”

“Of course, Captain,” Chris replied, sounding as smooth as ever, giving me one of those smiles of his.

The first data trickled in from the probes, numbers and crap scrolling across the displays. It was like getting a sneak peek into the planet's diary. Atmospheric stuff, magnetic readings, and temperature crap, a little window into what we were about to step into. Each piece of info was like another step closer to figuring out this weird alien world. It was a lot of data, but I knew enough to see we weren't going to be landing in a puddle of lava, and that was good enough for me.

---

The probes were streaking through Proxima Centauri b's upper atmosphere, leaving these little ghost trails behind them like they were signing their names on a cosmic wall. I watched the main screen, this shimmering, crazy display, and my fingers started tapping on the armrest. It was a nervous tap, a "don't screw this up" tap. The bridge was buzzing, everyone holding their breath, waiting for the numbers to roll in like some kind of lottery.

Zoe, from her station, leaned closer to her console, her eyes going wide like she'd just seen a ghost. Damn, she looked good, all intense and focused. Her dark eyes, the way her dreads framed her face...shit, she was sexy as hell. “Oh my god,” she murmured, mostly to herself, like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Then, louder, “Danny, Ryan, are you seeing this?”

I glanced over at them. Danny was all up in Zoe’s space, his red mop of curls almost touching her shoulder as his fingers danced over the controls. “Oxygen… nitrogen…” he muttered, sounding like he was about to faint. “It’s… it’s almost like home.”

Home, huh? That’s some crazy shit. Almost home. But home wasn't what we were here for, not really. My gaze flicked to the sensor readings, searching for something else, something more. Portals. Had the initial scans picked up anything? Anything at all? We'd sunk years, fortunes, everything into this mission, chasing the whisper of a way past the level cap, a hint that Proxima b might be touched by the System. And if there were no portals… This sucks. At least we would hit some of those mission charter bonuses… but still.

Ryan, standing a bit back, let out a low whistle, that trademark grin of his spreading across his face. “Would you look at that? The universe rolled out the welcome mat.” He always had to be a smartass, even when we were making history.

I didn’t miss how Zoe’s shoulders tensed. That little hitch in her breath. A planet so far away, with an atmosphere we could actually breathe? That was insane. The kind of crazy discovery that could make us all famous, if we didn't screw it up. But fame wasn’t the real prize either, was it?

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Zoe cautioned, her voice steady, even if you could hear a little bit of excitement in it. “We still need to check for toxins, pathogens, radiation levels…” She was right, of course. Gotta be careful, even if the universe was throwing us a party. My crew had this tendency to dive in headfirst, and I was the one who had to keep them from drowning.

“Anything on portal signatures in that data stream?” I cut in, trying to sound casual, but the question felt heavy in the suddenly charged air of the bridge. I needed to know. Was this it? Just… a nice planet?

Emily looked up from her station, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Nothing definitive yet, Captain. Cursory scans are clean. No unusual energy fluctuations consistent with portal activity.” She paused, then offered a small, hopeful smile. “Maybe… maybe that’s not such a bad thing, Luca. No portals, no System interference. Maybe we can actually explore for once without fighting for our lives.”

Joey, ever the pragmatist, snorted from his comms station. “Don’t get all soft on me now, Em. No portals doesn’t equal paradise. Could be carnivorous critters, flesh-eating bacteria, radiation pockets we haven’t mapped yet. Plenty of ways to die on an uncharted planet, portals or no portals.” Leave it to Joey to bring the party down.

Still, I felt this twinge of pride, watching them. Zoe, all sharp and steady, even when she was a little awestruck. Danny, buzzing like he’d just downed a case of energy drinks, and Ryan, with his usual confidence, like he was just chillin’ on a Saturday morning. And even Joey, the eternal pessimist, keeping us grounded. Okay, snap out of it, Luca, you're supposed to be leading here.

My eyes flicked over to Emily at her station, keeping her cool as usual. She looked up, a little smile playing on her lips. She was so damn good at this, so smart, and god, so hot. I knew I'd be seeing her later, which helped me focus on the task at hand. Right, planet stuff. But portals… damn it.

---

Okay, so the probe data kept scrolling, and I was juggling atmosphere composition, toxin levels, and still trying not to let my gaze linger too long on Zoe’s station. Captain multitasking at its finest. Everyone was buzzing, prepping for planetfall. Well, we were prepping for planetfall. The Triumph? She was staying put. Built in the zero-g cradles of the asteroid belt, she was an orbital queen, not a gravity well wrestler. Trying to land this behemoth on a planet would be like trying to parallel park a whale. No thanks. That's what the Percival and Peregrine were for.

I leaned back, toggling the intercom to the medical bay. “Joey, Chris, med bay check. Pod prepped for Percival?” We were only taking one med pod down. Space was tight in the dropship, even packed to the brim as it was.

Joey’s voice crackled through, crisp and professional. “Regenerative fluid cartridge, check.” Good, textbook Joey. Reliable.

Chris’s voice followed, smooth as synth-silk. “Antiseptic and antibiotic cartridge, loaded and ready.” Annoyingly perfect Chris. Could practically hear the confident smirk in his tone. Competent, ruggedly handsome, and disgustingly efficient. The universe had favorites, and I was pretty sure Chris was on that list. Those two in the med bay… they were a unit. A reassuring, annoyingly competent unit. And probably fucking. Definitely fucking.

“You two sound like you’re reading from a damn script,” I said, a wry edge to my voice. “Just double-check everything. This med pod is our lifeline down there.”

“Understood, Captain,” Joey replied. A soft rustle, like fabric shifting, then a slight pause. “Hey, Chris… you ever think about where this thing came from?”

My finger froze above the intercom toggle. Med pod history? Now? But I kept listening.

“The pods?” Chris’s voice was thoughtful. “Tutorial portals, right? First month of the System.”

“Yeah,” Joey murmured. “Crazy to think.”

Tutorial portals. Four years ago. The System’s chaotic arrival on Earth. The tutorial portals had been… brutal, chaotic, but also a twisted gift. A fast track to Level 10, combat classes, and basic gear for those who survived the astronomical casualty rates. And the loot… yeah, the loot. Medical pods had been surprisingly common finds, tucked away in corners of those bizarre, one-time-use scenarios. Our Peregrine, that armored RV waiting in the hangar? Pulled straight from the Sandworth tutorial portal, along with this very med pod, if I remembered right. Sandworth, New Hampshire. My old stomping grounds. Felt like a lifetime ago.

“Reverse-engineered tech, born from chaos,” Chris continued, his voice a low hum. “Now they’re standard issue. Crazy how fast things change.”

“Makes you think, huh?” Joey said softly. Then, a barely audible chuckle. “Glad someone grabbed one of these back then. Could save our asses down there.”

“Especially with you patching us up,” Chris replied, his tone warm, intimate. “We’ll be fine.” Definitely fucking. Undeniably.

I cleared my throat, finally pressing the intercom button again. “Alright, alright,” I said, injecting a healthy dose of sarcasm. “Enough reminiscing about the good old apocalypse. Pod ready?”

“Ready, Captain,” Chris answered, his voice cheerful, unfazed. “Double-checked and waiting for transport within the Percival.”

“Good,” I said, cutting the comm. Lovebirds. Seriously. But yeah, the med pod. Lifeline indeed. And the Peregrine… our mobile base, our armored home away from home. All thanks to those insane, deadly, tutorial portals. We’d come a long way since Sandworth. Now, Proxima b. Let’s hope we didn’t need to use that med pod too much.

“Got it, Captain,” Joey replied. There was a faint shuffle, like he was moving things. Then, after a pause, his voice took on a slightly lower, more personal tone. “Hey, Chris… you feeling good about this? About what’s down there?”

My hand hovered over the intercom, but I paused, curious about Chris’s response. I expected confidence, maybe even a little…showmanship. “Knowing we’re working together,” Chris said, his tone steady and reassuring, “yeah, I think we’ll be alright.” It was a simple statement, but there was something in his voice, a quiet certainty, a calm reliance on their partnership that… yeah, it was still infuriatingly Chris.

Through the static, I caught a soft chuckle from Joey, almost like a relieved exhale, quickly followed by the distinct clicks of cartridges locking into place. They were in sync, those two. Always in sync. I swear to god, they were fucking. They had to be. All that intense teamwork and those quiet reassurances? It was some kind of medical bay romance novel unfolding before my eyes, with two perfectly fitted, disgustingly efficient parts. I leaned forward again, speaking into the mic, trying to sound brisk and all-business, and definitely not jealous. “Good to hear. Keep at it, and let me know when you’re done.”

“Roger that, Captain,” Chris replied, his voice still cheerful, that inherent confidence still present. Fucking Chris.