Chapter 0: Displacement

Secure Briefing – Esperanto Initiative, Earth – 6 Months Before Departure

The lights in the underground briefing room buzzed faintly — the only sign this chamber was even powered. No windows. No timekeeping. Just a long obsidian table and a single man standing at the head of it.

Dr. Gideon Tepper didn’t believe in flair. He believed in leverage. And today, that leverage was orbiting twelve light-years away.

“Tau Ceti e,” he said, gesturing to the rotating 3D projection. “Officially, it’s a super-Earth: 1.6g gravity, no magnetosphere, likely lifeless.”

He tapped a control pad, and data scrolled behind him — spectral scatter maps, gravitational readouts, photonic drift overlays. The numbers were impossible, but there they were.

“Unofficially,” Tepper continued, “its mass is fluctuating. Small, but meaningful amounts. Consistently. There's also a persistent shift in reflectivity patterns — not from dust, ice, or known chemical activity.”

He paused.

No vegetation. No cities. Nothing screaming civilization. But something is causing changes, or at the very least, distortions. The kind of subtle, slow manipulation you'd expect from intelligent intervention.

He let that hang.

Most of the world would call it an observational glitch. Or shrug it off.

Not Tepper.

This wasn’t about financial returns. That part of his life had dimmed long ago. He’d been chasing signs of superior intelligence since he was a boy — and now, finally, there was a thread worth pulling.

Behind him, four dossiers blinked into view. One by one, bios flared to life.

• Dr. Calla Mirek: Biologist. Xenobotanist. Former lead on extremophile bio-adaptation and synthetic ecologies. Known for her quiet dedication and intuitive understanding of complex life systems. Dismissed from a coastal research station after using an unauthorized undersea drone to track an unexplained kelp migration — a mission that revealed evidence of self-repairing biological mesh.
  “Everything alive leaves a pattern. You just have to be patient enough to see it.”
• Dr. Harlan Vesh: Former military trauma surgeon. Now an internal systems and bioresponse specialist. Quiet, clinical, and more protective than he lets on. He once stitched a man back together on a crashing dropship using nothing but thermal gel and patience.
  “Pain’s just the system’s way of asking for backup.”
• Commander Reina Solis: Pilot. Grew up in Martian orbit with gravity boots on before she could walk. Survived three manual descents through plasma bloom events and still complained about the UI design.
  “You want safe, fly commercial. You want answers, stay out of my way.”
• Mateo ‘Mace’ Rojas: Heavy-systems engineer. Low-grav upbringing, high-mass gene tuning. Ran mining exosuits before joining exploratory crews. Keeps a Saint Benedict medallion and a socket wrench in the same pouch — not because he believes in either, but because one fixes machines and the other’s never failed to start a conversation.
  “If it breaks, I’ll fix it. If it moves, I’ll tie it down. If it bites, I’ll bite back.”

“You won’t be part of a fleet,” Tepper said. “This isn’t government-backed. It isn’t public. It isn’t legal. Your ship isn’t on any registry. As far as Earth is concerned, you’re just a long-range spectral probe.”

He brought up a schematic of the Esperanto — compact, armored, built for autonomy.

“You’ll launch in two pieces. The crew module goes up first. Quiet. No fanfare. Registered as materials for future missions. Parked in lunar shadow. The probe — your hyperdrive rig — launches shortly after. Fully audited. Fully clean. It swings behind the moon and docks. No one’s the wiser.”

Calla frowned. “No test run with the drive? We just plug in and go?”

Tepper didn’t blink. “Your module was simulated for 25x compression over the last eighteen months. You'll have full thrust control once docked. Power won't be your problem.”

Reina leaned forward. “You’re telling me this ship can squeeze at 25x, with four crew and no dry run, and we’re just supposed to traverse millions of kilometers, with no backup plan?”

Tepper didn’t flinch. “Trust me, this is perfectly safe, and between us, you won’t be the first humans to traverse at this rate. But as far as the world knows… you might be. Depends what you find, of course.”

“Your trajectory puts you at Tau Ceti e in just about two years. Public record will show the probe slingshotting to an outer system. All payload manifests match.”

Mace leaned back in his chair. “So where’s the miracle juice coming from? You stockpiling antimatter in your basement?”

Tepper offered the faintest smile. “The probe’s launch is audited. The crew module isn’t. You’ll have what you need.”

No one laughed.

Mace continued. “Right, and what are we supposed to do with ourselves in hyperspace for over two years? You packing a Nintendo?”

Tepper sighed. “You have the best, and though cryopod technology is still in its infancy, the ship is equipped with three. As you know, they do not stop biological processes entirely, but they will help retain muscle mass, reduce biological aging to one-fifth normal, and are safe for up to 1.5 years of use with a six month break in-between uses.”

“You’ll cycle through; I suggest you bring a book or two you’ve always been meaning to read.”

The visuals behind him dimmed, leaving only the glowing outline of Tau Ceti e.

“This is a ghost mission,” Tepper said. “If we’re right, you're going to make history. If we’re wrong, you’ll still be the first known humans to step this far into the unknown. Either way... no one’s coming after you.”

He stepped away from the table.

“Payment will be as discussed. Full pay for the mission duration — upfront, into the accounts you’ve provided. Funds clear upon hyperspace opening.”

A beat of silence.

Then Vesh, voice dry and precise:

“So, you expect us to find… what, exactly? Little green men mining the crust?”

Tepper’s voice dropped, nearly a whisper.

“There’s a reason for the anomaly. All I have are theories. Find me answers.”

The outline of Tau Ceti e pulsed once more in the dark, silent room.