"Uhm... no, what I need is its composition."
[Error: Planetary Scan disabled.]
So it's fried too. Great.
"Well, can you at least make an estimation based on visual composition?"
[Affirmative. Checking planetary composition...]
I wait, trying to conserve as much oxygen as I can. The last thing I need right now is to run out. Thirty percent oxygen might sound decent, but it's not going up—only steadily decreasing.
> [Heimdall - 03: Planetary body found within the Goldilocks zone of the star system.]
[Planetary Composition:]
Water – suggests presence of liquid water. Estimated coverage: >63.98% (based on visual confirmation and cartographic records).
Land – suggests presence of flora and fauna. Estimated coverage: <37%.
Air – suggests atmospheric presence. Estimated density: <107%.
Warning: Due to lack of data, information consistency is not guaranteed.]
I nod in agreement. From visuals alone, it could be considered Earth-like—though not exactly. It feels more like Gaia. The water has this strange green hue.
I don't think it's safe, but compared to the other planetary images nearby, this one might be my best option for now. It's in the Goldilocks zone, has water, possibly life—if the ship's data is to be trusted—and what seems to be an Earth-like atmosphere. I just hope the gravity isn't too far off.
"What's the size of that planet?"
[Using cartographic records of exoplanets, data suggests the planet is 1.3.]
I see. So it's slightly larger than Earth.
I veer the ship toward the planet, trying my best to stabilize its rotation by applying thrust, pushing the engines to reach half the speed of light.
Of course, not in normal space. Gravitational tech isn't exclusive to Alcubierre Drives. For simple intrastellar travel, a nuclear fusion engine suffices.
Instead of creating a warp bubble, the fusion engine uses raw energy to stretch the rear space of the ship—slingshotting it toward its destination. It requires less energy but is more time-consuming than an Alcubierre jump.
As the ship accelerated, alarms blared red for exceeding reactor capacity—but it managed to launch me toward the planet.
A few seconds later, the glitching stopped. The alarms silenced, and space stabilized, revealing a massive greenish planet.
And this planet... yeah, it's beautiful. Not in a familiar way, but eerily beautiful. Alien, unique.
Can I even call it that? Cartography records show no mention of this planet within the known galaxy. For all I know, I might be the first person to ever discover it.
I gaze out the viewport in awe. Clouds swirl above the surface, confirming a dense atmosphere. From their formations, I can clearly see storms brewing below.
The green landscape stretches endlessly across the horizon. Unlike the worlds I've been to—metropolises, megalopolises, ecumenopolises—this one's untouched by human sprawl. It's dominated by forests, mountains, and rivers that flow like the veins of the Virgin Mary.
But… will it welcome me?
I flip a few levers from the upper cockpit panel. Some activate small thrusters needed to position the ship into orbit.
But I'm not used to doing this manually—especially not orbital insertion by brute force and will.
"Can't you at least calculate the necessary velocity to match the planet's gravitational pull? So we don't crash and burn?"
[Affirmative. Please input gravity constant required to calculate velocity: ____]
"But I don't have it! How am I supposed to know when you barely gathered any data?!"
[Apologies. However, it is necessary for—]
"Never mind. Just wait."
I unbuckle myself from the seat and head toward the back room behind the cockpit.
It's a tight space, purely functional. Everything I need is packed into this room: the server, life support, and the reactor. Functional, yes—but not necessarily practical.
The reactor melted earlier and scorched half the systems due to heat—since it's in the same room. But right now, my priority is to fix the Automated System. It runs off the server hardware, where the AI resides.
The server's sturdy—built with Terrarium Composite, a widely used material for ship interiors. It can withstand temperatures up to three million degrees Celsius. Yes, three million.
It's the same material used for observing stellar bodies.
And of course, it's expensive. Its production is monopolized by a handful of corporations.
Heh… and that's probably why we lost the last war.