THREADS OF THE BROKEN FUTURE

CHAPTER FOUR

As he stepped inside Eagle 1, a wave of uncertainty hit him. This was the last time he would ever board one, this was the last time he would ever leave Moonbase Alpha. The familiarity of the ship felt hollow, like an echo of something from his past, distorted and distant. He glanced around the empty cabin; the seats were all unoccupied, staring back at him as if they were silently asking, Are you sure about this?

He chuckled to himself, a low sound that felt forced, like it belonged to someone else. "Damn seats," he muttered under his breath.

Alan Carter stepped out of the cockpit, leaning casually in the hatchway. "Well, the rumors were true then, you are leaving us." He shook his head sadly. "It's just you mate. Private, one-way flight to Earth." Carter's tone was as lighthearted as ever, but there was something different in his eyes – something he couldn't quite place.

He turned to look at Alan, taking in the familiar yet slightly changed face of the Australian pilot. Still Alan... but not quite, he thought.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Guess it's just me."

Alan nodded, gesturing toward the cockpit. "Might be your last chance and I could use the company."

With a forced smile, he followed Alan to the cockpit and slid into the co-pilot's seat. For a moment, he closed his eyes, the familiarity of the controls and the seat beneath him wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. It almost felt like home.

Had he made the right decision?

The question gnawed at him, twisting in his gut. He thought he had. He knew there was something waiting for him out there, something very dangerous if he stayed on Alpha. But still…doubt lingered in his mind.

As Alan strapped in and the hatch slid shut, the Australian pilot got to work, his hands moving swiftly over the controls. He watched him in silence, the precise movements of a man who had done this a thousand times. Carter had already run pre-flight checks – probably more than once. He had no doubt that both Eagle 1 and the pilot were ready for liftoff.

Then came the words that solidified it all.

"Eagle 1 to Alpha," Alan said, his voice steady.

"Go ahead," Sandra's gentle voice replied through the comm.

"Ready for liftoff."

"Confirmed," she responded. "See you tomorrow. Safe flight."

And with that, he knew he'd heard his last communication from Moonbase Alpha. Sandra's calm, reassuring voice – a voice that he knew he had taken for granted in the future, in his past. He still had no idea what really existed, had existed, would exist. But Sandra did, she did exist. He was surprised to feel a lump rise in his throat.

"You sure you wanna give this up?" Alan asked suddenly, breaking through his thoughts. "You've got the skills and the certification to sit here. Could still ask for an opt in as a pilot later instead of Security, come back to Alpha."

He shrugged, though his chest tightened at the weight of the question. "I need to do what I have to do," he said, the words heavier than he'd expected. His voice felt foreign, detached, as though someone else had spoken for him. "Other things to take care of."

Alan studied him for a moment, his usual smile faltering just a bit. "Fair enough, mate," he said. His tone indicated that he had received the subtle verbal hint not to press.

It was a tone that he'd heard from Alan many times, at least he thought he had.

In the future?

Just in his dreams?

Carter surprised him with his next question. "You wanna take the controls for a bit of the way?"

He hesitated. He was still a certified Eagle pilot, despite everything. Could be flying a beautiful bird tomorrow morning around Earth, if he wanted to drop his name in. The temptation was overwhelming – how the hell could he say no?

This might be my last chance.

"Sure, for a bit," he said, not wanting to sound too eager.

His fingers found their old, familiar places. He felt the craft become an extension of himself. The feel of the seat beneath him, the vastness of space stretched out in front of them. It felt good, damned good. And home, Earth, closer and closer she was. This was familiar and yet…off.

Like a warped déjà vu.

"Hey," Alan suddenly said, breaking the silence. "I never got the chance to say it earlier, but I'm sorry about the basketball game. Didn't mean to plow into everyone like that. Heat of the moment, you know?"

He blinked, confused. "Basketball game?"

"You know, the one where we collided," Carter chuckled. "Knocked you out? Security lost by ten points. You don't remember?"

He shook his head slowly, a knot forming in his chest. "No. None of it." He shrugged. "Dr. Russell said it's normal for a concussion, to lose memories."

Alan chuckled. "Well, good thing you don't remember. Wasn't Security's best performance, mate. We won by ten points."

He forced a smile, but something tugged at him, deep in his mind. Alan's voice, his demeanor – it was familiar, but it lacked the familiar, deeper connection.

This isn't the Alan Carter I knew.

This isn't the Alan Carter that I got to know.

In his dream, in that strange, twisted reality, Alan had been more than just a pilot—he'd been a good friend, practically family.

Here, Alan was just... friendly. Casual. But distant.

"When we get to Earth, what are your plans tonight?" Alan asked, his tone light again. "I'm only down for the night. How about we grab some drinks and dinner? One last hurrah, as they say."

He hesitated again, feeling the growing distance between him and Alpha, between him and this version of Alan. "We're landing in Bethesda, right?"

Alan nodded. "Getting supplies for the Meta mission from some of the contractors there."

He calculated the drive time in his head. "I'll have to pass. I'm heading to my nonna's place in Luray tonight. Traffic's a bitch on 495, all day, all night."

"Nonna?" Alan thought for a moment, then he grinned. "Grandma?"

"Yeah. Promised I'd spend a few days with her before heading home to my parents. She's been lonely since my grandfather passed and that idiot brother of mine, Guido, too damn busy to visit when he's in the area.

"Ah, sorry about that," Alan said, then paused, something clicking in his mind. "Wait, Guido's your brother? How the hell did I miss that connection? The man's got a reputation for…".

"Don't say it," he begged Carter, his hand raised. He most certainly didn't want to talk about what Guido had a reputation for. But seeing the confusion on Alan's face, a brief chuckle escaped him. For the first time since hitting his head, he laughed - genuine and brief, but real.

"God, there are days I wish I could miss that connection myself."

They both laughed, the sound filling the small cabin. For a fleeting moment, it felt real. Familiar. Safe. Normal.

But just as quickly, the moment slipped away, like the moon vanishing behind them as the Eagle continued homeward bound.

"Maybe next time," Alan suggested, his voice a little quieter.

"Yeah," he replied, though deep down, he knew there would be no next time. A cold certainty gripped him, a sense that this was it. He would not see or speak to Alan Carter again. He couldn't explain how he knew, but the feeling pressed down on him like a weight on his chest. The dream, the memories – they were all fragmented but this he knew, and it shook him to his very core.

As Earth loomed larger before them, the curve of the planet coming into view through the cockpit window, a strange finality settled over him. The life he thought he knew—Alpha, the people, the memories - it was behind him now.

Everything's different now, he thought, his heart heavy with the weight of what was coming next, except he wasn't sure that he really knew what that meant.

What was coming next? Everything's changed.

It changed and I don't know when.

Or did it?

His dreams, his life – all of it seemed like fragments slipping away, just like the moon behind Eagle 1.

"Father, I'm bored," she suddenly said, her voice breaking the quiet as she sat on the steps leading into her father's work area, the place where Psyche existed.

"As well you should be, young lady," he replied, lifting his head to look at her, his face softened by the affection in his tone. He stepped aside from the machine and joined her on the steps, settling down beside her with a sigh.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, craving the comfort of his presence, though it did little to ease the turmoil that had been plaguing her nights. The dreams had come again last night. They always came, creeping into her mind as soon as she fell asleep, bringing with them unfamiliar faces, strange voices, and unsettling scenes that felt too real, too vivid. She'd wake up, her heart racing, wondering if these images were glimpses of the past—or worse, the future.

But she couldn't talk to him about them. Not her father. He would never understand. Some of the things she saw in those dreams would only shock him, and the thought of disappointing him made her keep it all locked away.

"You made your choice to stay here," he reminded her softly, as though sensing the weight of something deeper behind her words.

"I could never leave you all alone," she said, her voice firm, but her mind drifting again to those haunting dreams. She had chosen to stay, to be with him. But sometimes, when she woke in the dark hours of the night, those faces haunted her with questions—questions she didn't know how to answer.

Staying had been the right choice, hadn't it?

"You very well should have. Psychon is no place for a young lady." He patted her hand gently. "I tried to tell you, but you would not listen to me, my stubborn daughter."

She frowned. Yes, he had tried. They all had. Friends, relatives - they had all said she should leave, that she didn't belong here. A dying planet was not a place for a young woman. But how could she have left her father, especially when it was clear he needed her? Maybe the dreams were just a manifestation of that guilt.

He laughed softly, pulling her back from her thoughts. "If you had left with the others, I imagine by now you would be far from bored. Your mother and I always hoped that you would grow fond of Dartanias. I'm most certain that by now you would be quite busy with your own little family."

"Children?" She wrinkled her nose in disgust. The last thing she wanted was to think about children, especially in the context of Dartanias.

"With him? Father, he was appalling."

He laughed again. "You never gave him a chance, my dear. He loved you from the time you were a little girl."

"If he loved me so much, then why did he never miss an opportunity to torment me?"

Her father's laughter was warm, but it only made her feel more disconnected. "Oh, my dear. Young boys are like that. And then they grow into fine young men. If you would have left, you would have come to see that."

"Doubtful," she murmured, her eyes drifting toward Psyche. The biological computer took up the majority of the room, it took up the majority of her father's time. There were times when she hated Psyche but, it was the only thing maintaining anything close to habitable planet. It meant the difference between their survival or the destruction of their world.

Suddenly, she had an idea. Anything to stop her thoughts from spiraling.

"I'd help you in your work, if you'd let me," she eagerly volunteered, hoping that the complexity of his work would be enough to distract her from the nights full of dreams, strange faces and strange events.

He shook his head, as he always did. "No, no, my child. There is a great deal about the work that I do that you do not understand as yet."

"I can learn, you could teach me," she pressed, though she knew what his answer would be.

"No, my child, not yet."

She frowned again, frustration bubbling up inside her. He didn't understand. Working with him, helping him might keep the dreams at bay, help her feel grounded in reality again. Something she could control, and she might sleep at night without the dreams. But he would never let her in. Not yet. Not now.

"Have you studied any more on the art of molecular transformation?" he asked, shifting the topic as he often did. "That surely would be a cure for boredom."

"No," she admitted, though she knew he wished she would. She wanted to help, to be useful, to drown out the confusion in her mind by focusing on something concrete. But those dreams, those visions – they made it hard to concentrate, hard to think.

Molecular transformation required the ability to think clearly, very clearly. To obtain an almost meditative state, a place of tranquility in the mind. Her mind was very far removed from the place required for molecular transformation.

"You are clever, my dear," he continued. "You should be able to master the art."

"Maybe," she said, her voice flat. Her cleverness seemed useless when faced with the vivid images that haunted her at night. She could feel the frustration pulling at her again, the helplessness she felt in not being able to share this burden with him. How could she even begin to describe what was happening in her mind without sounding... insane?

A beep sounded from one of the consoles, and her father looked up, his expression shifting to one of mild concern. "Regretfully, I must attend to this," he said, standing up. "We should discuss your talents more over evening meal."

She watched him walk toward the console, leaving her alone on the steps, her thoughts swirling once again. Maybe helping him wouldn't have fixed everything, but it would've given her something – something to focus on other than the growing disquiet in her mind. Now, she was left with nothing but the haunting remnants of her dreams and the silence of her father's workspace.

She hated Psyche, she hated her mind. She hated that the computer stole time away from her father, its abilities forever taunting him with a dream that was nothing short of a miracle.

Psychon could never be restored.

She hated life on Psychon.