Cape Canaveral, 2045
The harbor was quiet in the early morning light, its usual buzz softened to a gentle hum. Mist clung to the water’s surface, curling between the docked boats like smoke, as the rising sun cast a pale orange glow across the bay. Director Cunningham and General Flores made their way down the pier toward The Abyss, a sleek vessel resting still in its berth.
As they approached, a woman emerged from below deck. Her pixie-cut red hair caught the sunlight, glowing like embers as she moved across the deck with practiced, purposeful ease.
Emily Harrison looked up and offered a wry smile. “Hello, Director. You brought company.”
Cunningham returned the smile, his breath visible in the morning chill. “Morning, Ms. Harrison. Hope we’re not catching you at a bad time.”
“Only bad if you plan on getting between me and breakfast,” she replied, nodding toward the deck. “Come aboard. But we’re leaving in five. The fish don’t wait.”
With a shared glance, Cunningham and General Flores stepped aboard, their boots thudding softly on the damp deck. Emily didn’t waste a moment. She turned her back and began checking gear, securing ropes, and making sure everything was in order, all while making it clear that they weren’t there to simply observe.
“Hope you’re not too busy,” Flores said dryly, but before she could finish her sentence, Emily handed her a coil of rope.
“Hold this, if you’re here uninvited, you’re helping.” Emily said, eyes scanning the boat’s various systems. Then over her shoulder to Cunningham, “Grab the bait bucket and meet me at the stern.”
Flores blinked for a moment, then gave Cunningham a knowing look. He just shrugged.
“You heard her, General.” Cunningham rolled up his sleeves and started to help with the mooring lines.
As they worked, Emily moved with an easy fluidity, talking about bits of her Mars terraforming proposal as if it were just another part of the morning routine. She spoke about ice mass, atmospheric thresholds, and orbital dynamics while tightening ropes and checking lines, pausing only to ask them to hand over gear or a winch handle.
“Grab the depth reader, Cunningham. Always good to know how far down we’re sitting. ”
Cunningham pulled open the compartment and handed them over with a nod. “What are your thoughts on how the Chinese pulled of project Tengri?”
“The Chinese have been at it for ten years now,” Emily said, glancing back at Cunningham, her eyes narrowing in thought. “They’ve figured out how to drop the sulfuric acid out of the atmosphere. From there, it’s basic chemistry. The sulfuric acid reacts with the surface, and produces water, carbon dioxide and gypsum. It’s a clever process, really, but the scale they’ve been working at is mind-boggling. I’m not sure exactly how they’re pulling it off, but whatever they’re doing, it’s obviously working, you don’t make waves at the UN with a speech like that without backup. Which reminds me,” she said with a grin, “you still haven’t grabbed the bait bucket, Director.”
Flores was already starting on the bait. “She’s got us trained.”
Cunningham smiled as he watched Emily maneuver around them, clearly in her element. It was striking how different this was from their usual high-stakes environments.
“Just a heads-up, I’m pulling the lines, so finish up and have a seat or time to disembark,” Emily warned.
Flores and Cunningham quickly sat down, the last of the mist lifting from the water as the boat began to move. Emily finally removed the last mooring line and slid into the captain’s seat with practiced ease.
“The harbor’s busy this time of morning, so sit tight.” she said, looking over her shoulder with a playful smile.
Cunningham and Flores glanced around, taking in the busy harbor, the activity of boats preparing to leave. With a few quick nods, they both took a seat, still adjusting to the pace of things.
As The Abyss glided away from the dock, the boat cutting through the smooth water, Cunningham watched Emily at the helm.
“I’ve heard a lot about your terraforming ideas,” he said, breaking the silence. “You’ve been thinking about this a long time. How did you come to your conclusions?”
Emily’s gaze softened as she looked out at the horizon. “People have dreamed about Mars for centuries,” she said, her voice more reflective. “But dreaming doesn’t change anything. Engineering does. Mars isn’t some place we can just visit anymore. It’s a place we have to make livable.”
Cunningham and Flores exchanged a glance, considering her words as the boat gained speed and the salt air rushed by. Emily barked a few more orders, checking various systems and setting up for fishing, all while keeping the conversation going.
Eventually, she killed the engine. The boat slipped into a quiet lull, the only sound being the soft lap of water against the hull. Emily turned to face her guests.
“Alright,” she said, grinning. “Let’s catch some swordfish.”
As she settled into the fishing chair and cast her line out, General Flores glanced at Cunningham. “I’m not sure she realizes this is a job interview.”
Without looking up, Emily answered. “With a statement like that, General, I have to ask, do you think I’m ignorant or incompetent?”
Flores raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. Cunningham chuckled.
“China announces they’re terraforming Venus, and you two show up asking about Mars? This isn’t a job interview. It’s a job offer.” Emily paused, eyes glinting as she shot them a look over her shoulder. “So. When do I start?”
Cunningham gave a knowing glance to Flores. “Told you she was the real deal.”
Flores folded her arms. “Still young.”
Cunningham shrugged with a smile. “So were we. Didn’t stop anyone from putting us in charge of rockets.”
The General’s lips twitched, then she nodded in acknowledgment. “You start Monday, Ms. Harrison. Now, let’s see if you can outfish us.”
Emily winked. “You might want to clear some freezer space.”
Holt’s office felt quieter than usual, the soft hum of the air conditioner and the occasional shuffle of papers breaking the stillness. Dr. Rachel Thompson stepped in, her heels clicking sharply on the floor as she noticed Holt seated behind his desk, his posture uncharacteristically tense. He’d always been a man of few words, but today his demeanor was different, almost expectant.
“Dr. Thompson,” Holt began, his voice steady but laced with something else- a quiet pride, perhaps? “I have some big news to share with you.”
Rachel, only 30 but with a rapid rise through the ranks at the CIA, was no stranger to high-stakes situations. But this? This was different. Her mind quickly ran through the possibilities, but she had no idea what Holt was about to drop on her. “Big news?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “What’s going on, sir?”
Holt leaned forward, the faintest smile on his lips. “After all the work you’ve done for us, it’s time for you to take on a new role. You’ve been selected for a mission I believe you’re more than ready for.”
Rachel’s pulse quickened. “Am I being reassigned to something counter-Tengri related?” she asked, her voice careful. She didn’t want to sound presumptuous, but after years of tracking the Chinese terraforming project, it was a logical guess.
Holt’s smile widened just a fraction. “In a manner of speaking.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as if weighing the impact of his next words. “But no. This one is… much bigger. How do you feel about Mars?”
Dr. Thompson’s eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and curiosity washing over her. She had dedicated her career to analyzing complex data and unraveling mysteries, but she couldn’t fathom what mission Holt was referring to.
At this he smiled, “You’ll be part of a mission to terraform Mars. Your primary duties will be to run simulations and analyze data.”
Dr. Thompson’s heart skipped a beat, a surge of emotions flooding through her. The realization of what Holt was saying began to sink in – the opportunity to contribute to the transformation of Mars into a habitable environment, a chance to shape the future of humanity beyond Earth.
“Terraforming Mars? You mean… we’re going to make Mars livable? I assume we have a plan.” she whispered, her voice filled with awe.
Holt nodded once again. “Yes, Rachel. You’ll be reassigned to Dr. Emily Harrison. She made some proposals in her doctorate paper five years ago that seemed outlandish, but now…” He trailed off, thinking of that conversation where they first heard Tengri and how that opportunity slipped through his fingers. “The Chinese have a ten year head start. We know they plan to have a permanent hold by 2050, which means we need to catch up. and fast.”
Thompson’s mind spun. Mars. The word echoed like a drumbeat in her chest. But Holt’s next words, Project Tengri, snapped her focus back like a slap. The memory came unbidden: the money spent, the frustration of five years in the dark, only to have the Chinese proclaim it theirs. They were building a planet while the U.S. debated budget lines.
Her stomach twisted.
This wasn’t just about Mars. It wasn’t even about science anymore. If the U.S. hesitated, Mars would slip through their fingers, just like Venus had. And this time, the price wasn’t a diplomatic slap on the wrist. It was a flag planted in red soil and a permanent seat at the top of a new planetary order.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” she stammered. “This is an incredible honor, Franklin. I never imagined that I would have the chance to be part of such a groundbreaking mission to shape the future of another planet.”
Holt smiled again, face filled with pride. “Rachel, you’ve been with me for five years now. You were the junior analyst when we first discovered project Tengri. Your analytical acumen, and your unwavering commitment to excellence have made you an invaluable asset to our team. Your presence on the Mars mission undoubtedly increases the odds of success. All you have to do is say ‘yes'”
Dr. Thompson took a deep breath, re-assuming her professional demeanor, though unable to contain a huge grin. “Thank you, sir. Although I’m not quite sure what lies ahead, I am ready to embrace the challenges and dedicate myself fully to the success of the mission, knowing that we are paving the way for the future of American exploration and colonization.”
Holt’s smile faded.”I have every confidence in your abilities, Dr. Thompson. I have full faith in you. Your selection is a testament to your exceptional skills and dedication.”
In the sterile glow of a cutting-edge DOE lab, Dr. Alejandro Hernandez adjusted the parameters on a compact fusion reactor. The violet plasma within the containment field shimmered like a caged storm, controlled, but barely. Around him, his team monitored the experiment, their eyes flicking between data streams and the machine.
“Power curve looks stable,” one of the assistants said, a hint of hope in her voice.
Alejandro didn’t respond. His focus was absolute, watching the reaction tighten. They’d achieved ignition before. Full-scale fusion was a reality now, the product of decades of international effort, and his own breakthroughs.
But miniaturizing the technology without destabilizing it? That was proving harder than creating it in the first place.
“Reducing magnetic field strength… now.”
The chamber responded instantly. The plasma flickered, then pulsed violently. Monitors lit up red. With a sharp hiss of depressurization, the system shut down.
A low groan escaped Alejandro as he sank into a chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. They were so close. Again. But something always slipped at the edge of viability.
He didn’t hear the door open.
“Dr. Hernandez?”
Alejandro looked up sharply. A well-dressed Black man stood just inside the lab, wearing a navy suit, a golden yellow tie, and a DOE-issued visitor badge that read Franklin Holt.
“I’m sorry, this area’s secure,” Alejandro said warily.
“I’m not here by accident,” Holt replied. “May I have a moment in your office?”
Still processing the failure, Alejandro led him out without a word. In his office, Holt shut the door gently.
“I know today didn’t go as planned,” he began.
Alejandro gave a bitter chuckle. “That’s an understatement.”
“But it was progress. We’ve been watching.”
Alejandro’s eyes narrowed. “We?”
Holt’s gaze sharpened. “I’m with the CIA. I head an operations group tasked with future infrastructure. And right now, the future is being shaped on other worlds.”
He didn’t wait for a response. “You’ve heard of Project Tengri, I assume.”
Alejandro nodded. “Terraforming Venus. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“We’re planning something else. Mars. And we need fusion, your fusion, to power the propulsion system and the colony grid. But we need it scaled down and space-hardened. Fast.”
Alejandro blinked. “You want to use my design for Mars?”
“We want you,” Holt said. “This is your shot to move from theory to legacy. Help us put the first real human colony on another planet, before the Chinese turn Venus into their exclusive playground.”
He paused, letting the words settle.
“So. Are you in? Or do we start interviewing the second-best?”
The Python’s Bite sat on the edge of the Everglades like it had been there forever: weathered wood, rusted metal, and a neon sign that flickered more than it glowed. The place smelled of smoked meat, spiced rum, and the humid, earthy scent of the swamp. Inside, the floorboards creaked with every step, and the walls were lined with old photos, newspaper clippings, and parts of broken-down robots, scraps from experiments that had either failed or been repurposed. A few regulars nursed drinks at the bar, their eyes flicking to the kitchen every time the sizzle of python meat hit the grill.
Rocco Jenkins leaned against the counter, watching one of his custom-built harvester drones unload a fresh catch from the Everglades. The sleek, spider-like machine moved with eerie precision, dropping a limp Burmese python onto the processing table. The kitchen crew barely glanced up. They were used to the routine, gut, skin, clean, and prep. The meat would be marinated, grilled, or turned into python sausage, one of The Python’s Bite’s specialties.
The door swung open, letting in the sticky Florida heat. Emily Harrison stepped inside, her fiery red pixie tousled from the wind, sunglasses still perched on her forehead. She scanned the room, then fixed her eyes on Rocco with a smirk.
“You Rocco Jenkins?” she asked, striding up to the bar.
Rocco took a sip of his drink and barely looked at her. “Depends who’s asking.”
She smirked. “Emily Harrison. NASA.” She pulled up a stool and leaned in, lowering her voice. “I’ve got a project. Big one. The kind of thing that needs someone who knows how to build machines that can work in extreme environments.”
Rocco snorted. “NASA, these swamps are about as extreme as it gets.”
Emily chuckled. “Try Europa.”
That got a flicker of amusement, but nothing more. Rocco swirled his drink, unimpressed. “Europa? Ain’t nothing out there but ice and radiation. What’s a roboticist supposed to do with that?”
Emily leaned in, resting her elbows on the bar. “Survival depends on automation. We need machines that can work non-stop, harvest resources, process materials, build infrastructure. The kind of work you do here, autonomous systems handling unpredictable environments.”
Rocco shook his head. “Nah. See, my robots work because the Everglades are alive. Water, plants, animals, plenty of variables. Europa? It’s a frozen wasteland. No weather, no ecosystem, just ice and radiation. My bots would freeze their circuits off.”
Emily grinned. “You sure about that? Because from what I hear, you don’t just build machines, you adapt them. Innovate. Solve problems other people can’t.”
Rocco sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I get it, NASA wants a mechanic. But I’ve got a good thing here. I rebuilt this place after my folks died, built these machines, and they’re actually doing some good. You want some mining rigs for your space rocks? Go talk to an aerospace firm.”
Emily didn’t flinch. She just took something out of her pocket and slid it across the bar, a tablet, screen glowing with simulation data, orbital projections, and schematics.
“This isn’t just about mining,” she said. “We’re not just harvesting resources. We’re carving Europa, using it to make Mars into something we can live on. If we pull this off, it’ll be the greatest engineering feat in human history.”
Rocco didn’t pick up the tablet, but he didn’t push it away either. His jaw tightened, eyes flicking between Emily and the screen. She lingered, then said quietly:
“Dr. Merrin would’ve wanted you on this.”
Rocco looked up sharply, something flickering in his expression. “She never understood why I left.”
Emily’s voice softened. “She didn’t know how to handle it. She buried herself in work, like always. But she was never angry at you, Rocco. Just… heartbroken.”
Rocco gave a short laugh, no humor in it. “She offered me a promotion the day after the funeral. Said grief was fuel. I told her I had a restaurant to save.”
Emily nodded. “She told me later that she’d pushed you too hard. That maybe she hadn’t listened enough.”
He went quiet, eyes drifting to the back of the bar where a drone whirred as it unloaded another python. A low hum filled the space, the mechanical noises in the background stark against the sudden quiet between them.
Emily leaned in, her elbows on the bar, voice softer now. “She said you had the best instincts she’d ever seen. That you could take raw chaos and make it work. That kind of mind doesn’t go away, Rocco. It just… waits.”
Rocco finally reached out, fingers closing around the edge of the tablet. His voice, when it came, was low. “I built this place to keep something alive. That’s all I had left.”
Emily nodded. “Then help me build something that lasts.”
He sighed and turned the tablet toward him, eyes scanning the first lines of data. A beat. Then, dryly: “You space people never learned how to ask nicely, did you?”
Emily grinned. “Not when the stakes are this high.”
Rocco looked at the screen a little longer, fingers hovering over the tablet as if the data was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve yet. Finally, with a resigned exhale, he picked it up properly.
“Alright, NASA,” he muttered, his voice softer now. “Let’s see what kind of impossible crap you’re dragging me into.”
This book is available in its entirety on Amazon, if you enjoy it, I would appreciate if you would purchase and review it.