Gan sat in front of his control panel, staring at the screen as he waited for the transfer to complete. It had been a long and grueling journey, but he had finally harvested enough material to make his first payment to the Ellurian Council. He had used his molecular deconstruction machine to convert the physical material into digital form, and he had uploaded it to his ship’s storage drives. He had then checked and double-checked the data to make sure that it was complete and accurate, and he had encrypted it to protect it from any potential tampering or hacking from Marau spies or other miscreants.

  Gan had then started the transfer, using a secure and encrypted connection to send the data to the Council’s server farms. It was a delicate and complex process, as the data had to be transmitted over vast distances and through multiple layers of security. He had to be careful not to make any mistakes or trigger any alarms, as any errors or glitches could cause the transfer to fail or be detected. Running any other subroutines or programs was also out of the question as it diverted computational cycles that might be needed for the transmission. Gan had even limited his conversations with Pelve to emergency use only during this time. Fortunately, no emergencies had arisen, so there had been no contact at all with the quirky AI.

  After what felt like an eternity, the Valtorian’s sensors showed that the transfer was completed. Gan let out a sigh of relief and leaned back in his chair, feeling a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. He had done it—he had made his first payment to the Council, and he had done it on his own. Gan noticed that despite the initial success indicated, the digital storage array indicated that it was still full. He seemed to remember from some of his more technical courses that an initial transfer could take up to three days before it was withdrawn from his digital storage array. It was all part of some sort of technical safeguard designed to prevent the loss of valuable data and resources.

  There was not much left that he could do, so Gan took a break and celebrated his success. Eager for a satisfying meal, he walked down the hallway and ventured into the ship’s galley, a modest but well-equipped space for food preparation. The Galley was well lit and smelled amazing. Pelve had determined what types of scents that Gan preferred—based on his initial DNA sequencing—and made sure that the artificial replicators had them wafting throughout the Galley.

  Searching through the pantry, Gan reached in and retrieved a package of green tubes resembling spaghetti. As he tore open the package, the earthy aroma of the plant-based noodles wafted through the air, whetting his appetite.

  Positioning himself by the sink, Gan poured the tubes into a bowl-like container before placing it inside the nuker. The nuker, a compact and advanced cooking appliance, was designed for efficient meal preparation in the confined quarters of a spacecraft. He clapped the silver lid on to the nuker and set the timer. A soft hum emanated from the device as the field flared to life, generating an invisible, radiant energy that permeated the tubes.

  Gan observed as the tubes curled and twisted, their form contorting in response to the nuker’s energy. Their vibrant green hue intensified as they cooked, signaling that they were nearly ready to eat. As the timer chimed, he removed the silver lid, steam billowing into the galley. The green tubes glistened with moisture, now tender and pliable.

  Excited to taste his creation, Gan drizzled a spicy sauce that he had found in the pantry over the steaming noodles, the mingling aromas awakening his senses. He twirled an eating utensil that resembled a fork and captured the perfect bite, savoring the flavors as they exploded on his tongue. The warmth of the spices, combined with the earthiness of the noodles, provided a comforting, delicious reprieve from his labors.

  As he indulged in his meal, Gan’s sense of satisfaction and accomplishment swelled. His culinary creation not only nourished his body, it also nourished his spirit, reminding him he had achieved something meaningful. A strange, almost foreign thought invaded his mind. What had his peers accomplished by now? There was no way of knowing, so Gan shrugged it off and continued eating his delicious green tubes.

  After he finished his meal, Gan cleaned up and returned to his cabin. He sat down at his console and opened his communication channels, hoping to hear from his home world or his mentor. Gan was disappointed to find that there were no messages or signals, and he wondered if something was wrong. He sent a message to Elo. Gan asked him if everything was okay and if he had received the payment.

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  Gan sent the messages and waited for a response, but he received none. He would try again later, hoping that Elo or someone else would be available to talk. Gan closed his communication channels and settled down for the night, hoping for a better day tomorrow.

  Gan spent the next few days preparing for his next journey by restocking his supplies and repairing any damage to his ship. One of the most significant casualties of their recent foray was the camera system, a critical piece of equipment that offered a vital perspective on the exterior environment. A rogue micrometeorite, a swift and silent assailant in the unforgiving expanse of space, had obliterated its lenses. With a replacement part in hand, Gan set about this delicate operation, the once-familiar task taking on an eerie serenity in the vast vacuum.

  Replacing the camera was a delicate dance of dexterity and precision, a choreography of deft fingers and sophisticated tools under the weightless grace of zero gravity. Working by the glow of the Valtorian’s exterior lights, Gan maneuvered the new camera into its housing, each twist of his wrist and the turn of his tool exuding a practitioner’s confidence. As he completed the installation and the camera hummed back into life, a sense of accomplishment washed over him—one of the myriad minor victories in his ongoing journey.

  His inspection of the ship also revealed another unsettling discovery—a missing thermal tile. These tiles—embedded in the Valtorian’s hull—were crucial for its thermal management, the process of absorbing and dissipating the extreme temperatures of space travel. The void left by the missing tile was a glaring vulnerability, one that could prove disastrous in the heat of re-entry.

  Locating and replacing the tile was a painstaking process. He scoured his inventory for a suitable replacement, examining each candidate for any flaws. Once he found the right one, he ventured outside on multiple space walks, the chilling emptiness of space around him only highlighting the critical nature of his task.

  Securing the new tile exercised both patience and precision. With every turn of the torque wrench, the new tile nestled into its place, becoming one with the Valtorian’s formidable armor. The final click of the wrench signaled the end of his arduous task, leaving Gan with a refurbished ship that was ready to brave the trials of space once more.

  He also spent some time analyzing the data from his last mission, trying to find any patterns or insights that could help him improve his efficiency or effectiveness. He knew he had to stay ahead of the competition if he wanted to survive and thrive in the scavenger business, and he was determined to do whatever it took to succeed.

  As Gan busied himself with the myriad tasks aboard the Valtorian, an unsettling undercurrent permeated his thoughts. The silence from his Paktu, the Council, and even distant Elluria was disconcerting. This was a universe that was interconnected, where messages, information, and updates traveled across the vast reaches of space at the speed of light. To be severed from this web of communication was to be truly isolated.

  His attempts at outreach had been met with nothing but a deep, impenetrable silence. The interfaces on his console stayed quiet, their lack of activity a haunting testament to his predicament. That all his communication channels seemed to be affected compounded his concern—this was no minor glitch or localized outage.

  What added an even more disturbing edge to this was the apparent nature of this silence. The communication channels didn’t just fail—they seemed blocked, jammed by a force or technology that Gan could not identify. He could almost feel the invisible barrier that seemed to stifle his attempts at establishing contact, as if a vast hand was pressing against his signals, refusing to let them pass.

  A darker thought crept into his mind. Was this an intentional act? Was someone, or something, blocking his communications? The idea seemed far-fetched, bordering on paranoia. He was alone in a sector of space, devoid of any significant activity. There were no known entities in his vicinity capable of such advanced technological manipulation. But the longer the silence persisted, the more plausible this unsettling hypothesis became.

  Gan endeavored to push these thoughts aside. He was a Scavenger, not a conspiracist. His world revolved around metal and machinery, not shadows and secrets. Still, the concern gnawed at him, like a persistent echo in the back of his mind. The silent dread of isolation took hold, threatening to eclipse his every thought and action. He cast one last wary glance at the dormant console before returning to his tasks, a chill of unease seeping into his veins.

  complete silence from the Council and even his Paktu. No messages, no responses—just an eerie, unsettling quiet. What’s going on? Is this just a comms malfunction, or is something—or someone—blocking his transmissions? ??

  Gan’s journey, don't forget to leave a comment, rate the story, and follow for updates—it really helps! What do you think is behind the blackout? Drop your theories below! ??