Chapter 2: Something’s Off with This Mothership!

The hatch slid open, revealing a pristine white corridor lit by rows of green indicator lights, guiding Ventus toward the elevator to the bridge. The nurse stationed at the door bowed her head and scurried back to the medical bay to tidy up.

[The Administrator has awakened. All personnel, please attend to your assigned duties… The Administrator has awakened…] The mainframe’s announcement echoed through the corridor, looping endlessly.

Still, the place felt eerily empty. Ventus walked for what seemed like ages before spotting two soldiers in crisp black uniforms at the elevator entrance.

As he approached, the soldiers snapped to attention, saluting sharply. “Greetings, Administrator!”

Ventus wasn’t quite used to this, but he nodded and returned a somewhat awkward salute. The soldiers puffed out their chests even more proudly at his acknowledgment.

The elevator ride to the bridge level took about ten minutes—long enough that there was a small holoscreen inside to pass the time, even a terminal for handling work on the go. Not that Ventus had any clue what he was supposed to do yet.

Soon, he stepped into a vast hall. Two more soldiers stood guard at the entrance, their faces set with determination. They saluted crisply as he passed.

At the center of the hall, a massive holographic starmap flickered to life. Most of it was shrouded in darkness, revealing almost nothing.

Around the room were rows of seats and control consoles—enough to suggest this place needed at least a hundred people working together to function properly. Right now, though, only a dozen or so were present, quietly tending to their tasks.

“Salute!” Everyone in the room stood in unison, saluting Ventus. “Greetings, Administrator!”

He nodded, then turned to the massive panoramic viewport. A lush green planet filled the view. Unlike Earth’s vibrant blue, this world was cloaked in dense green vegetation, giving it an almost emerald glow.

Swirling white clouds hinted at a healthy atmosphere, but the planet wasn’t the real showstopper. Looming behind it was a colossal gas giant, its pale blue surface smooth except for faint, dark cyclones. The smaller green planet looked like a pebble next to a boulder in comparison.

“Is this the habitable planet we’ve found?” Ventus asked.

[Affirmative, Administrator.] The central hologram shifted to display a star system. The mainframe continued, [This is a binary star system, with two stars orbiting a shared center. The system contains only one planet—this gas giant, with a diameter of [REDACTED] kilometers.]

[The gas giant has nine moons. We are currently positioned near one of them. There is another moon with a suitable climate, but its surface is over 95% ocean, making it unsuitable for colonization.]

“Nine moons orbiting a gas giant?” Ventus frowned, racking his brain. “Alright, so we’re stuck colonizing this little moon, then? At least tell me where we stand.”

A young man, maybe 25 or 26, rose from a nearby round table. He wore a sharp, dark blue military uniform and saluted. “First, we need to refuel. The gas giant’s atmosphere is rich in helium, which can power our ships’ reactors. We’ll need to build a mining station nearby. The mothership’s storage holds modular components, and we have small engineering ships in the hangar to assemble them—but those ships need pilots.”

“So I need to wake up the pilots?”

“Correct. After you awoke from cryosleep, the mainframe revived 50 of us to begin preparations. That includes 10 ground troops, 5 clerks, 5 staff officers, 5 comms officers, 5 maintenance workers, 10 mothership operators, and 10 medics to ensure our health. We need your authorization to wake more.”

“Good work. What’s your name?” Ventus asked, impressed by the man’s clear delivery.

“Qiiji, staff officer!” the man replied, standing taller, his voice booming.

“Qiiji, huh? Strong name—like a flagship. If you don’t have a formal role yet, you’re our acting chief of staff, effective immediately,” Ventus said.

Qiiji’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Yes, sir! I won’t let you down!”

“Alright, let’s see who else we’ve got in cryo.” Prompted by the mainframe, Ventus settled into the command chair at the center of the bridge. A massive holographic screen unfolded before him.

The display listed the personnel available for awakening: 600,000 civilians and 50,000 crew, each with different specialties. For now, the crew—trained for mothership operations—seemed the best choice.

They were divided into tiers: Standard, Elite, Master, and three mysterious higher ranks marked only with question marks. Awakening each tier came with specific requirements.

Master-tier individuals were legends in their fields, but waking them now, with the colony barely a concept, would likely backfire. Their requirements were steep—conditions they’d set before entering cryosleep, formalized in contracts with the mothership.

Curious, Ventus pulled up a Master-tier profile. It was an astrophysicist demanding a three-story villa, a private pool, a cutting-edge lab, and a radio telescope built on a plateau at least 3,000 meters above sea level.

Another was a quantum mechanics expert who wanted a sterile lab, top-tier equipment, a particle collider over 50 kilometers long, two personal secretaries under 20 years old, and a velvet bed at least five meters wide.

What the—? Buddy, you’re not right in the head!

Some demands were more reasonable. A Master-tier sociologist simply required a colony population of over 10 million.

…That’s even more ridiculous!

Ventus quickly closed the Master-tier list. He didn’t even bother with the Elites. With nothing to offer yet, waking them would likely lead to mutiny—or worse. For now, Standard-tier personnel would do. Workers, engineers—maybe a few Elites to lead them.

Masters made sense to hold back. Imagine waking a genius physicist with no lab or tools. What’s he supposed to do, teach physics? There’s no school! These folks, often in their 50s or 60s, weren’t about to waste their prime years on a fledgling colony. Their contracts reflected that.

Standard-tier awakenings were simpler. Most just needed food, shelter, and work. A few had quirks—like wanting coworkers of the opposite gender or craving noodles.

Before authorizing anything, Ventus paused. “Mainframe, am I the only one who can authorize awakenings? And these people—they all work for me?”

[Correct. You hold the highest authority on this mothership. All crew and civilians were selected by you and are loyal to you.]

Ventus nodded, processing that. He navigated to the engineering department and authorized the awakening of 10 teams—10 people each—to pilot the engineering ships. Following the mainframe’s advice, he also woke two 10-person logistics and maintenance crews.

As he got the hang of it, the process felt almost instinctive. Maybe those lessons the mainframe mentioned during his cryosleep were kicking in. Assigning small teams was straightforward enough. He also woke 20 agricultural workers to tend the mothership’s hydroponic bays, which, he noticed, were full of wilted crops.

No wonder the mainframe said supplies were running low.

With the urgent tasks handled, Ventus leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Alright, Mainframe, give me the rundown on this mothership.”

[Understood.]

The central hologram shifted to a full view of the ship. The mainframe continued, [Origin civilization: unknown. Manufacturer: unknown. Current highest authority: Administrator Ventus.]

[Specifications: Height 41.37 km, length 10.92 km, total mass 373.079 billion tons. Armament: 5 mass projectors, 377 small electromagnetic rapid-fire cannons in a point-defense system. Capacity…]

Ventus barely registered the details. His jaw dropped at the hologram. The ship was a sleek, crescent-shaped behemoth, like a curved moon or a cosmic banana. A notch near the top housed countless viewports—the bridge.

But it wasn’t the size—roughly the distance from Coruscant’s capital to a neighboring system—that floored him. It was recognition.

“Homeworld!” he gasped. “The Kushan Mothership!”

He’d played Homeworld: Cataclysm—a legendary game that redefined space strategy and hooked him as a kid with its epic story. The Kushan Mothership was its iconic centerpiece.

And now, he was in charge of it?

Something’s seriously off here. How does a game ship become real? And if the Kushan Mothership is real… does that mean…

That dream he had… could it be true?

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[Easter Egg: Image 1 - Homeworld, Kushan Mothership]