The silence of space was never truly silent. Inside the Artemis IX, the air was filled with a constant hum — the soft vibration of engines, the steady whisper of circulation fans, the occasional metallic creak as the hull adjusted to the cold emptiness beyond. For the crew strapped into their acceleration couches, that background noise was oddly comforting. It meant the ship was alive, carrying them steadily across the void.
Mars was still weeks away, a glowing dot in the distance that looked no bigger than a grain of red dust. The journey had just begun, and the initial tension was slowly giving way to boredom. Routines had been established: meal packs floated from hand to hand, checklists were run through like clockwork, and the crew began learning how to move without gravity — a slow ballet of clumsy kicks and careful grabs at handrails.
Commander Elara Voss, a tall woman with streaks of silver in her dark hair, unstrapped herself and drifted into the central cabin. She had been reviewing data feeds for hours, her sharp eyes tired but focused. She caught herself against a bulkhead and floated near the others, who had gathered in a loose circle, anchored by their boots to magnetic strips. It looked almost like a campfire gathering — except the fire was replaced by a tablet screen, its light casting faint glows across their faces.
"So," Lieutenant Harlan said, tossing a sealed pouch of rehydrated coffee toward the youngest among them. "You ever get used to the smell? Whole ship reeks of metal and plastic."
The pouch drifted lazily, spinning, before Darius Ren caught it awkwardly. The teenager fumbled with the seal, clearly unused to the way everything moved in zero-g. He looked up, a little embarrassed, and shrugged. "Smells better than the dorms at training camp."
That got a few chuckles. Harlan smirked. "Fair enough. But it doesn't go away. Wait till week two — you'll be begging for Earth air."
Dr. Selene Rao, the mission's lead scientist, floated closer, her dark hair tied back neatly. "Don't scare him, Harlan. We need morale, not complaints."
"I'm not complaining," Harlan replied, feigning innocence. "Just educating." He turned back to Darius, his grin widening. "Speaking of education — kid, have you ever left Earth before?"
The question hung in the air for a moment. Darius blinked, caught off guard. He tightened his grip on the coffee pouch as though it might float away. "No," he admitted finally. "First time. Closest I ever got was watching the shuttle launches from ground level."
"That explains why you nearly kissed the window during liftoff," said Marlowe, the ship's engineer, his deep voice rumbling with amusement. "Eyes wide as saucers. Thought you'd fall out if you leaned any closer."
Darius laughed nervously, cheeks warming. "It's different when you're actually in it. Watching the Earth shrink behind us…" He trailed off, searching for words. "I didn't think it would make me feel like that."
Commander Elara's expression softened. "No one ever does. Doesn't matter how many times you launch — the first sight of Earth from orbit stays with you. Small, fragile, beautiful. And distant."
Her words settled over the group. For a moment, the chatter faded, replaced by an unspoken weight. Out the viewport, Earth was a shining marble against the black. Clouds swirled, oceans gleamed, and the continents looked painted on, as though the whole planet was nothing more than a decoration hanging in the dark.
Darius sipped the bitter coffee, his throat tight. "I didn't think I'd miss it already."
Selene smiled gently. "That's normal. But trust me — the further we go, the more exciting it becomes. Space has a way of replacing fear with wonder."
Harlan raised an eyebrow. "Or replacing wonder with nausea, depending on how your stomach handles zero-g."
Marlowe rolled his eyes. "You're incorrigible."
The laughter returned, easing the tension. Conversation drifted from personal stories to speculation about Mars itself. They spoke of the colony blueprints, of the research bases waiting to be expanded, of the strange mineral signatures the satellites had picked up weeks before. Darius listened more than he spoke, absorbing every detail. He felt small among them — a teenager among veterans — but he also felt a quiet pride at being here at all.
Later, when the others strapped in for a rest cycle, Darius lingered at the viewport. The stars stretched endlessly in every direction, sharp and cold, but his eyes kept finding Mars. The red dot looked so faint, so unreachable, and yet every hour brought them closer. Somewhere on that planet, buried deep beneath the sands, something stirred — but none of them knew it yet.
Commander Elara floated up beside him, her movements graceful from years of practice. She rested a hand lightly on the frame. "You'll never forget this journey," she said quietly.
Darius glanced at her, uncertain if she was talking to him or simply thinking aloud. Either way, he nodded. "I don't think I want to."
She gave him a rare smile before pushing off toward her quarters. The boy remained at the window, watching the stars. Behind him, the ship hummed steadily, carrying them forward. Ahead, Mars waited — silent, ancient, and waiting to reveal its secrets.