The Nevada desert at midnight is a sea of shadows and blinding, artificial light.
I stand on the tarmac of the UN black-site, the freezing wind whipping my tactical cloak around my legs. In front of us sits the Artemis VII, the UN Space Command’s prototype lunar lander. It is a masterpiece of brutalist engineering, a sleek, angular monolith of reinforced titanium and dark, sustainably harvested blackthorn wood. It doesn't have traditional rocket thrusters. Instead, the base of the ship hums with the deep, resonant frequency of a localized gravity drive, bending the very fabric of spacetime around it.
It is the only vehicle on Earth capable of making the trip to the Tycho crater in six hours. And it is our only hope.
Lyra stands beside me, her arm heavily bandaged, her amber eyes flashin
