🌌Eve of Desire✨💦🫦

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Rain barely touched New Earth this year. The sky turned its back on us, leaving the ground cracked and lifeless. Crops shriveled, and the river that once ran strong was now little more than a muddy trickle.

We tried everything—rationing, trading, sending crews to beg or barter with other factions. But no one had anything left. Everyone was scraping by. In desperation, we powered up the weather machines, but when we dared to use them, they only spat out acid rain, scorching what little remained. The elders muttered that we’d upset the balance, cracked something open with our meddling, let toxins seep in from the outer hemisphere. Maybe they were right. All I knew was, nothing worked.

At dawn, I watched my mother kneel by the garden patch, her fingers sifting through dust like it was gold. She tended the seedlings with care, coaxing life from stubborn soil. Around her, other women moved with purpose—some mending clothes, others handing out thin portions of soup to hungry children. The youngest girls helped, learning the rhythms of survival that had become their inheritance.

Not every woman was tied to the garden or the hearth. Some worked as scientists, engineers, medics. But once married, their roles were expected to change; they were to focus on home, on children, on holding together the fragile threads of our society, promised early, their futures mapped out for them. Men, whether soldiers, scientists or scholars, bore the weight of protection and provision.

I was promised to Darrek, a soldier favored by the council—handsome, sharp-tongued. My parents thought it would keep me safe: strength and duty, joined together. But I wanted more than quiet obedience and childbearing. I wanted freedom, a chance to explore, to push beyond the stars. I didn’t want to be tethered to a life I hadn’t chosen.

That morning, just as the village was stirring, two messengers arrived. Their uniforms were crisp, expressions unreadable. They carried a letter sealed in cobalt blue—the council’s call to arms. Whispers rippled through the crowd as they walked toward me. I took the letter, feeling its weight.

Back home, my hands trembling, I unfolded the decree and read it aloud to my mother. “Mission briefing tonight at sector outpost 14. All volunteers, regardless of faction, are to report for duty. Supplies will be provided. Immediate deployment is possible. This mission is critical for our survival.” The words were a siren song for anyone who’d ever dreamed of the stars and survived to tell about it. People like me—Vy, veteran of near-death assignments, scientist, explorer, stubborn survivor. They called us volunteers, but we knew what we were giving: our time, our lives, for a promise of progress and discovery.

Hardship had etched worry lines deep around my mother’s eyes. “Vy, you must stay. It’s too dangerous. We need you here.” She hated that I chased the horizon, hated the fear that gnawed at her core. Either way, I had no choice. It was a felony to avoid mission summons. I knew I had to go.

I met her gaze. “Mother, this is bigger than us. I’ve been out there—they need me. This mission is our chance. For the children, for you.” The contents of the letter revealed our purpose, find resources for our survival.

She squeezed my hand, torn between fear and pride. I promised I’d be careful. I promised I’d come back.

It wasn’t my first time off-world, but it was the first time the council had united every faction for a mission of survival—a desperate, last-ditch effort. The assignment was dangerous, maybe fatal, and everyone knew it. But what choice did we have? New Earth was failing, and time was running out.

That night, I sat on my cot, the letter trembling in my hand, staring up at the metal ceiling. My thoughts drifted to stories of Old Earth—how our ancestors poisoned the air, turned technology into monsters, burned continents to glass. Sometimes it felt like we were just shadows, stumbling through someone else’s nightmare. I never saw that planet, was born here on New Earth, but the stories were enough: pollution that choked children, wars fought over water, and in the end, a world no one could live on. Here, on New Earth, we were supposed to do better. Yet here I was, wondering if we were repeating the same mistakes.

Questions always got me in trouble. What was the point of surviving if all you did was stave off death for a few more years? Maybe purpose was a luxury for people with full stomachs. But I couldn’t let it go.

I’d seen many other planets in near range, two in particular up close—hostile, beautiful, but unlivable. You could land, but you’d need endless oxygen and skin thicker than steel to last an hour. Their world’s air was thick with methane and sulfur dioxide—no human lungs could survive it, and hypoxia would shut you down in minutes. The wildlife? Last time, something big and hungry chased us through acid marshes. We made it out by a hair.

Still, I kept going back, driven by curiosity and a hunger for the unknown. But those places offered nothing for us.

I wandered to my desk, tracing battered star maps, orbits burned into my mind. They weren’t just charts—they were memories of where I’d been. Sometimes I daydreamed about a savior—divine or alien, I didn’t care—someone to tip the scale in our favor. Religion was another thing; on Old Earth, it started wars and ended civilizations. If a god existed, he’d turned his back, or never cared. As a scientist, I looked for evidence. And there was possible truth in other beings existing. Aliens. From what I’d read, but they never came to save us.

A sharp knock broke the spell. I jumped, heart pounding. I wasn’t expecting anyone—least of all tonight since I’d be leaving in a little. When I opened the door, Zarfis and Glordin stood there, packs slung over their shoulders, dust clinging to their boots. My crew—the ones who followed when adventure called. Relief, bright and sharp, stole my breath.

“Guess you got the memo,” I said, grinning.

Zarfis smirked. “Wouldn’t miss it for the end of the world.”

Glordin nodded. “We figured we should all ride together. Council says sector outpost 14, tonight. Volunteers from every faction. Big plan.”

“I saw. Give me a minute.” I already packed everything, clothes, my battered journal, favorite pen, and pocket knife into my pack. They waited beside our old crawler—a six-wheeled, solar-charged brute named Dustrunner, built for rough country and poisoned air.

We set out across the cracked plain as the community shrank behind us.

The outpost was a fortress of domes, ringed by fences humming with voltage. Inside, the command center was a churn of tense voices and hovering screens—maps, atmospheric scans, resource readouts. The council had always believed in technology: satellites, drones, survey bots, weather machines. But every system had failed them since they pushed too hard for results. The weather machines, their last hope, had backfired badly—turning the little rain that fell into acid, burning the crops down to roots and dust.

Now, with nowhere else to turn, the council called for volunteers. Scientists, soldiers, medics, engineers—anyone they thought could carry out this mission.

Council Leader Mira stood at the front, flanked by the other faction heads. Her voice cut through the anxious murmur. “You know why you’re here. New Earth is dying. We need another world—resources, water, possibly a place we can relocate to. We’ve sent drones, probes, everything we have. But none of it matters if there’s nowhere fit for human life. Has anyone found a real lead?”

One by one, the experts stepped forward—each with satellite images, sensor reports, data from distant land. A scientist described a planet with liquid oceans, but the air was toxic—one breath would kill a person in minutes. Another mentioned a world with breathable air, but the gravity was so crushing it would break bones and stop hearts. Every possibility turned to ash: too cold, too hot, too poisonous, too wild. And to make matters worse, none of them actually ever landed. Each faction used animals or technology to test out the atmosphere. It’d be better if they actually experienced it in the physical.

I listened, recognizing names and numbers. I’d been out there—walked on those rocks, tasted the air, seen the storms that tore ships apart. Some places looked beautiful from a distance, but up close they were killers. The council, these volunteers, trusted their machines, but machines didn’t bleed, didn’t suffocate, didn’t know what it was to run for your life under a black, alien sky.

The room grew quiet. Mira’s shoulders slumped. “There must be somewhere left. Some place no one’s tried. Even a rumor, even a chance.”

All eyes settled on me. I was the explorer, the one who actually set foot on different places, even ones they mentioned. I thought of the last planet I’d mapped—a world with clouds of methane and sulfur, where the ground hissed and buckled underfoot. Before that, a frozen sphere where the air itself crystallized in your lungs. I’d run from predators in acid marshes, watched landscapes shift and collapse. Every time, I hoped for something better, and every time it slipped away.

I stepped forward. “We’ve checked every system within reach. The data missed nothing. But we could try past the Veil—though barely mapped, mostly noise and static on the scans. No one’s gone out that far. But if we want a real shot, that’s where I’d go.”

A few skeptical faces, but nobody argued. There was nothing left to lose.

Mira nodded, exhausted but resolved. “Then that’s the plan. Take whatever you need. Find something—anything. It doesn’t matter what it is, as long as it gives us hope.”

Orders came fast after that. Zarfis and Glordin moved to my side, packs ready. We all wore identical space suits, comfy, light, but our sectors colors. Ours were navy blue, but I saw army green, mustard yellow, purple. Brown sat folded on a table because the volunteers didn’t show up. They were in big trouble, I was certain. But the soldiers wore black, bullet proof vests on, not quite necessary yet.

The council didn’t care where we aimed, as long as we aimed somewhere. We set our course for the unknown—off map, a blank patch of space and possibility.

All we had left was the hope that we’d find something the machines couldn’t, that we hadn’t seen.

At the dock, quiet except for boots and gear, we lined up single file, heading inside the ship. Each volunteer got a pack—months worth of vacuum-sealed rations, first aid kit, battered tablet with maps and trackers, a walkie, and a tiny gun. My bag was heavy, hope pressed into batteries and ounces.

The ship shimmered blue under the floodlights. Doors clamped, oxygen hissed in, cold and sharp. I stowed my pack beneath my seat and sat pulling out a map, heart pounding.

I didn’t expect Darrek—soldier, council’s favorite, my promised match. He hadn’t registered during the briefing, but there he was standing with his crew.

He eased close when he saw me staring. “Hello, Vy,” he said, voice smooth as a secret.

I kept my distance. “Didn’t expect you here.”

He smiled, confident as ever. “Wouldn’t let my future wife wander the void alone.”

I focused on the map in hand, tracing the path only I knew. “I don’t need protection. This isn’t my first mission.”

“No, but it’s your first leading past the Veil. You’ve faced monsters, but no one knows what’s out there.” He reached for my chin, gentle, insistent.

Desire flickered—then I pushed it down. Maybe, if we survived, I’d let myself want him. Not now.

“Focus,” I said, pushing his hand away. The pilots settled in, helmets bristling with sensors. So did everyone else, taking random seats.

“We ready?” I asked.

“As soon as you’re all buckled. Brace yourself—she kicks hard.”

Darrek slid in beside me. The rest appeared pale and fixed. Engines hummed, gravity tilted.

And then, pressure slammed me into my seat. Darrek’s hand found mine. I squeezed, grateful.

New Earth shrank in the viewport. I stared at the blank sector ahead—no map past the void, no certainty, only the stubborn hope that something waited for us in the dark.

We launched, chasing a future our observations had overlooked.