Quick Peek
Science Fiction retelling of Myth | Genre
Space travel, ship legends | Themes Greek mythology | Influences |
Age | Adult
Notes | No content warnings Intended to be part of a series of myths retold. |
Captain Servol threw the datapad onto the table and growled. The crew recoiled, seeing the predatory history of his race in his eyes.
"The Kor now say they need the shipment in one standard week instead of two! The gall! Those entitled plangas would have us push our ship to breaking to cover up their lack of communication!" He roared and paced, as the three others gathered around the table looked over the plans.
“What did you tell them, Captain?” the engineer asked.
“I told them they would have their shipment in a week and a half and not a minute sooner! That’s the best path we had and I’ll have you do what you can with it.” Two of the officers began discussing the changes they would need to make to hit the target date, while the third, the helmsman, lifted the datapad and began examining the course.
“You take a wide arc here,” he said finally, pointing to a portion of the proposed path, “but if we cut straight across the void between, we could shave off two, maybe three days.” The others stopped and slowly turned to look at him. Servol leaned forward, claws scratching into the table.
“You’re new to this sector, are you not?”
“Well, yes, sir, but--”
“Listen well, lad. No one passes through that graveyard; and if you value your life and those of your crew, you’ll not let the Stars hear you suggest it again.” He looked between the other two. “You have our course. We leave within the hour.” With that, he turned and left the room. The other two soon followed suit, and finally the helmsman slipped back to the bridge. The navigator was there, verifying the star charts before they left.
“Excuse me,” the helmsman asked, sidling up to her. “What lies in that region?” He pointed to the blank area of the map, where no star was shown, where the path avoided.
“The grave of Prometheus,” she whispered, “at least, they call it a grave.”
“Is it not?”
“A grave implies the occupant has died.” He stared at the map for a long moment as she continued her calculations, then looked back to her.
“Who is this Prometheus?” She stopped, then added one last figure before setting the pad down.
“Well, if you’ve never heard, you probably should.”
"The Kor now say they need the shipment in one standard week instead of two! The gall! Those entitled plangas would have us push our ship to breaking to cover up their lack of communication!" He roared and paced, as the three others gathered around the table looked over the plans.
“What did you tell them, Captain?” the engineer asked.
“I told them they would have their shipment in a week and a half and not a minute sooner! That’s the best path we had and I’ll have you do what you can with it.” Two of the officers began discussing the changes they would need to make to hit the target date, while the third, the helmsman, lifted the datapad and began examining the course.
“You take a wide arc here,” he said finally, pointing to a portion of the proposed path, “but if we cut straight across the void between, we could shave off two, maybe three days.” The others stopped and slowly turned to look at him. Servol leaned forward, claws scratching into the table.
“You’re new to this sector, are you not?”
“Well, yes, sir, but--”
“Listen well, lad. No one passes through that graveyard; and if you value your life and those of your crew, you’ll not let the Stars hear you suggest it again.” He looked between the other two. “You have our course. We leave within the hour.” With that, he turned and left the room. The other two soon followed suit, and finally the helmsman slipped back to the bridge. The navigator was there, verifying the star charts before they left.
“Excuse me,” the helmsman asked, sidling up to her. “What lies in that region?” He pointed to the blank area of the map, where no star was shown, where the path avoided.
“The grave of Prometheus,” she whispered, “at least, they call it a grave.”
“Is it not?”
“A grave implies the occupant has died.” He stared at the map for a long moment as she continued her calculations, then looked back to her.
“Who is this Prometheus?” She stopped, then added one last figure before setting the pad down.
“Well, if you’ve never heard, you probably should.”
There was a star there, once. Back before any race had answered the call of the Stars, before most of us even knew it was an option; there was a star there with a beautiful world, warm and new, covered in lush forests not seen in ages since. There, a man named Prometheus looked out at the sky, and decided to bring its secrets down to his people. But first, he had to reach them.
Some say he was the first to hear the call of the Stars. Others claim his drive was entirely of his own volition, without the intervention of the Stars, and that is why it consumed him as it did. Either way, Prometheus was both brilliant and arrogant, and set about his work with a skill none have ever matched. He studied everything his people had learned about how the universe operated, and he sought after anything hidden within it that would bring him to the heavens. We don’t know exactly what he found, but we know that it brought him into space, and caught the notice of the Stars.
They conversed with him, having never met an organic being before, and in their light, he became aware of the weaknesses all living races share. He saw the inevitability of death in the shadow cast by their immortality, the dark fires of mortal rage by the warm light of stellar peace, all things that set us in contrast to the life of the Stars was revealed to him. He was granted unparalleled access to the storehouses from which the Stars draw their great strength. In a stellar nursery, he found the elements that make a star, and gathered for himself a feast of them.
He smuggled his materials back to his world, and there began experimenting with them. He studied the way Stars are born, how their fires are lit and maintained, how they eke their fuel out across billions of years. He learned how to harness their energy, and with the materials he’d gathered, he created a device to emulate it. It was imperfect, and he knew that, but it was proof in his mind that his goals could be reached. With that device, powered by the fire of the Stars, he was certain his people could truly take their place as true adventurers of the great void.
But the Stars began to suspect that he was trying to harness their energy, though they could not walk upon his world to find out. They feared the thing mortals would make if left unchecked with such vast power, and determined to learn the truth of his work and, if needed, put a stop to it. To that end they did a little work themselves, and made a woman. She was, to mortal eyes, perfect in every way, bright and curious and pure as starlight. They named her Pandora, and gave her to Prometheus as a bride, claiming to welcome him to the void through her. He loved her immediately, and opened his life to her as she first stepped foot on his world.
He showed her everything he was doing, but warned her against touching just one thing: the device which he hoped could harness the power of the stars. All his hopes were in that machine, he told her, but it wasn’t yet time to realize them. The machine, he warned, had to be left unused. While he was away, however, she would study the machine, and so she came to understand its actual purpose. She knew the Stars would want the device destroyed, but in her time as a mortal she had grown to love her husband, and wondered if she could make his hopes a reality. Seeking to surprise him, she activated it while he was away among the stars, establishing a home for his people on a rock on the edges of their stellar system.
The machine roared into action, but had never been finished. Some believe the containment field was the flaw, or that it wasn’t properly regulated, or that the fuel source was designed wrong; whatever it was that Prometheus had not completed, however, the result was the same. The machine produced too much power, too quickly, and began consuming the world around it. In a matter of moments, the machine had destroyed itself in a runaway reaction that spread across the planet, replacing it with a new star. But these two stars could not exist in the same system for long, and in their collision, both died and took all remaining life in their system with them.
All except for Prometheus, who was trapped in his module at the edge of the system, watching helplessly as everything he had hoped to accomplish and everyone he cared about was destroyed by his own creation. Forever stranded, bound to his rock, reliving the pain of his great loss every time he looks upon the devastation that was once his star. Cursed by the Stars to endure the punishment of his hubris forever; and for fear of that curse, ships in the sector avoid him at all costs.
Some say he was the first to hear the call of the Stars. Others claim his drive was entirely of his own volition, without the intervention of the Stars, and that is why it consumed him as it did. Either way, Prometheus was both brilliant and arrogant, and set about his work with a skill none have ever matched. He studied everything his people had learned about how the universe operated, and he sought after anything hidden within it that would bring him to the heavens. We don’t know exactly what he found, but we know that it brought him into space, and caught the notice of the Stars.
They conversed with him, having never met an organic being before, and in their light, he became aware of the weaknesses all living races share. He saw the inevitability of death in the shadow cast by their immortality, the dark fires of mortal rage by the warm light of stellar peace, all things that set us in contrast to the life of the Stars was revealed to him. He was granted unparalleled access to the storehouses from which the Stars draw their great strength. In a stellar nursery, he found the elements that make a star, and gathered for himself a feast of them.
He smuggled his materials back to his world, and there began experimenting with them. He studied the way Stars are born, how their fires are lit and maintained, how they eke their fuel out across billions of years. He learned how to harness their energy, and with the materials he’d gathered, he created a device to emulate it. It was imperfect, and he knew that, but it was proof in his mind that his goals could be reached. With that device, powered by the fire of the Stars, he was certain his people could truly take their place as true adventurers of the great void.
But the Stars began to suspect that he was trying to harness their energy, though they could not walk upon his world to find out. They feared the thing mortals would make if left unchecked with such vast power, and determined to learn the truth of his work and, if needed, put a stop to it. To that end they did a little work themselves, and made a woman. She was, to mortal eyes, perfect in every way, bright and curious and pure as starlight. They named her Pandora, and gave her to Prometheus as a bride, claiming to welcome him to the void through her. He loved her immediately, and opened his life to her as she first stepped foot on his world.
He showed her everything he was doing, but warned her against touching just one thing: the device which he hoped could harness the power of the stars. All his hopes were in that machine, he told her, but it wasn’t yet time to realize them. The machine, he warned, had to be left unused. While he was away, however, she would study the machine, and so she came to understand its actual purpose. She knew the Stars would want the device destroyed, but in her time as a mortal she had grown to love her husband, and wondered if she could make his hopes a reality. Seeking to surprise him, she activated it while he was away among the stars, establishing a home for his people on a rock on the edges of their stellar system.
The machine roared into action, but had never been finished. Some believe the containment field was the flaw, or that it wasn’t properly regulated, or that the fuel source was designed wrong; whatever it was that Prometheus had not completed, however, the result was the same. The machine produced too much power, too quickly, and began consuming the world around it. In a matter of moments, the machine had destroyed itself in a runaway reaction that spread across the planet, replacing it with a new star. But these two stars could not exist in the same system for long, and in their collision, both died and took all remaining life in their system with them.
All except for Prometheus, who was trapped in his module at the edge of the system, watching helplessly as everything he had hoped to accomplish and everyone he cared about was destroyed by his own creation. Forever stranded, bound to his rock, reliving the pain of his great loss every time he looks upon the devastation that was once his star. Cursed by the Stars to endure the punishment of his hubris forever; and for fear of that curse, ships in the sector avoid him at all costs.
The navigator nodded as she finished her story, and the helmsman stood silent for a moment.
“That’s why we don’t go there?” he asked. She sighed, resuming her calculations.
“Yes, that is why we don’t go there.” He slowly nodded, then made his way to the helm to prepare for departure.
“Could’ve just said it was a black hole,” he muttered as his console spang to life.
“That’s why we don’t go there?” he asked. She sighed, resuming her calculations.
“Yes, that is why we don’t go there.” He slowly nodded, then made his way to the helm to prepare for departure.
“Could’ve just said it was a black hole,” he muttered as his console spang to life.