Chase felt the weight of anxiety press down on him. He had been awake for hours, meticulously planning his strategy. The morning meeting loomed, a pivotal moment when his new team would decide whether to reject him or, hopefully, show him respect. With just one hour to review yesterday’s events and set the agenda for today, every second counted.
In preparation, he had reviewed the content of every leadership and management book he had ever read. Many of those texts were padded with needless fluff, offering little more than clichés. Yet among them were genuine gems, books forged from decades of hard-earned experience. He especially cherished those detailing the origins of the Toyota Corporation, where real lessons in efficiency and innovation were distilled from practice. Equally, works on trust, collaboration, and even the role of humor in a productive work environment influenced him profoundly.
Drawing from these diverse insights, Chase resolved to blend approaches: for one hour each morning, he would push his team hard with challenging objectives; for the remainder of the day, he would offer steadfast support. This balanced strategy was the cornerstone of his plan. And today, at his very first meeting in this new role, the tension was overwhelming, he was terrified at the thought of how his team would judge him.
By 7:05 a.m., the command module was filled, except for one glaring omission: his original team was nowhere to be seen. “For fuck’s sake,” he thought bitterly. All he had done was have them thrown in jail and executed. With that dark thought in mind perhaps he should have given them space for a few days and started fresh with new colleagues instead. With a heavy sigh, he sat down and steeled himself to address the assembled crew.
“Okay, everyone, welcome. This is our morning meeting, and it’s going to happen every single day without fail. Starting tomorrow, we begin promptly at 7 a.m. sharp, and the door will be closed once we start. If you’re not here on time, expect a personal meeting afterward.”
At that moment, Jacky raised his hand. Jacky had been born in Belgium and built his career in the fast-moving consumer goods industry, eventually rising to plant manager at a paper-producing facility. He had previously worked with Pascal, another member from the FMCG sector. Beyond possibly manufacturing products for NASA or VORN, neither had any direct ties to space operations. Jacky, though older, remained remarkably fit. His thick, Lego-like brown hair was cut short and swept to the side, complementing his intense eyes and a thin, sharply trimmed goatee that gave him a calculating look. Chase noticed Jacky’s unwavering attention, Jacky was another member of the group that he felt could take control of the group if he showed weakness.
“So, all we have to do to get a personal meeting is not show up?” Jacky asked dryly.
“Exactly, Jacky. If you want a personal meeting, just skip this one, simple as that. Although, expect that follow up meeting to be far more detailed,” Chase replied, letting his words hang in the air. The implication was clear: a one-on-one with him was unlikely to be pleasant. After a brief pause, he continued.
“The aim of this meeting is to ensure we understand and share critical information. If we don’t know the status of our equipment, food supplies, and other essential resources, how can we manage them effectively? When I ask a question, I expect an honest answer. If you don’t have one, say so and take action to find out. We won’t postpone addressing issues, if a problem arises, we’ll discuss it openly, not dismiss it as too difficult. Nothing is off the table in these meetings. And if you want to call me a fucking bastard, this is the place to do it.”
At that moment, the atmosphere shifted. His old team stormed in, Luke and Patrick emerging from the shadows with ruthless precision. Almost in unison, they spat, “Fucking bastard,” their voices low and venomous, electrifying the silence with an undercurrent of hostility.
Luke cut an unmistakable figure in the dim light, tall, lean, and clad in jeans paired with a short-sleeve VORN polo. His hair, carelessly swept to the side, framed a face streaked with coarse stubble and a crooked smile that defied the order around him. Frustratingly gifted with tools but endlessly challenging authority, he wielded his tools like a rebel’s weapon, evading authority at every turn. At thirty-five, he was the embodiment of chaotic brilliance, a dangerous spark in an already volatile room.
In stark contrast, Patrick exuded a cool, calculated intensity. Shorter but equally formidable, his clean-shaven face betrayed no hint of emotion as his eyes locked onto Chase. Known for balancing unyielding dedication with a razor-sharp wit, the thirty-two-year-old often deferred to Luke’s wild authority. Side by side, with arms crossed and unyielding stares, the pair radiated an icy judgment, blame and resentment simmering just beneath the surface. Their silent contempt was a mirror of the self-reproach that gnawed at Chase.
Chase’s gaze met their unflinching eyes as he spoke, his voice a brittle mixture of resolve and despair. “Enough. Let’s strip away the pretense. None of us chose this nightmare. Eight of us bled out, only to claw our way back into what some would call hell. I know that all nineteen of you would sooner have someone else at the helm than be under my command.” Each word landed like a lash against the thick tension suffocating the room. Sweeping his eyes through the gathering, Chase found Sam and John staring back with vacant, almost haunted expressions. Meanwhile, the rest of his original crew bore down with eyes heavy with simmering resentment. In that charged pause, Janette’s glare cut through the silence, a frozen sliver of cold, unyielding fury that promised retribution.
Fara stepped forward like a force of nature, her eyes smoldering with a fury that belied the once bright spark of determination Chase had known so well. Once admired for her razor sharp skills in infiltration and the art of information warfare, today her plain features—average height, dark brown hair pulled back into a strict ponytail—curdled with a vendetta that pulsed with each measured breath. The room, usually softened by her subtle humor and charm, now crackled with a malignant energy she exuded. “Chase, I am so angry with you,” she spat, her voice slicing through the tension like a sharpened blade. “They executed me. Do you hear me? Executed. I was strapped to a chair while they dripped lethal chemicals into my veins, what I believed were fatal injections, all because of your damned plan. Since the moment I woke up, I’ve plotted your end, over and over, in my darkest thoughts. And when I say ‘kill,’ I mean without mercy; I’d unleash horrors upon you that would scorch your very soul. Yet, amid my seething rage, I can’t shake one tormenting thought: I’m still here. Somehow, you’ve kept my miserable existence intact. I don’t know how you did it, or more likely, because you were involved, they brought the rest of us along for the ride. Either way, I refuse to die condemned in this frozen hell, so if I’m going to have to stay here and be entertainment for the masses, then I will abide your presence, because one thing I know about you is that you are hard to control and Mission Control better strap themselves in for the crazy rollercoaster ride that is your specialty.”
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Fara’s words shattered the brittle calm like a detonator, scattering every illusion of unity. Her voice, edged with raw fury and irrevocable betrayal, reverberated off the cold metal walls, each syllable a blow that left the room in a suffocating, heavy silence. For a moment, the air seemed to crack under the weight of her accusations, and every gaze fixed on Chase burned with an intensity that threatened to consume him.
Chase staggered out of the command module, Fara’s mixed message of both hatred and support toppling Chase’s carefully orchestrated plan. “Fuck, fuck...” he muttered under his breath, his voice lost in the echoing corridors. The expletives were not just curses, they were desperate attempts to claw back some semblance of control from a meeting that had unraveled disastrously before his eyes. Tears streamed unchecked down his face, and each step further isolated him from the bitter reality he’d set in motion. The corridors echoed with the sound of his retreat, a hollow drumbeat marking the collapse of his carefully constructed facade, now shattered into irreparable fragments by Fara’s searing words.
In the solitude of his bunk, the oppressive weight of his guilt bore down relentlessly. The hum of the trains systems and the distant murmurs of discontent from the others became a grim symphony orchestrating his downfall. Every thought of what he’d done, every mistake that had sealed their fate, cut deeper than any physical wound. Chase was trapped in a private hell, a maelstrom of regret and bitter self-reproach that left him questioning not only his choices but the very essence of his being.
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The discord among his former allies simmered, a dangerous blend of anger and disbelief that filled the void of the now-silent command module. The tension from the confrontation still rippled through the air as everyone watched the unfolding chaos with wary eyes. Each of their stares, each unspoken accusation, drove home the stark reality: there was no easy escape from the ruin of Chase’s meeting. They were still stuck on Mars, and they still had to move forward. Sam finally spoke up to break the suffocating silence, his voice tentative yet probing, “So, what’s he like?”
No one answered immediately. After a heavy pause thick with unvoiced doubts and resentments, Julie's gentle tone cut through the uncertainty. “How about I make us some coffee? There’s a pot here.” The simple suggestion offered a brief reprieve, a moment’s solace from the weight of accusations and fractured loyalties. As Julie drifted to the far corner to start the coffee, her familiar presence, short hair, a kind face, and an unspoken capacity to care for the crew, lent a fleeting sense of order amidst the disarray.
The murmurs in the room soon resumed. “Smart. Too smart,” Luke muttered, his voice laced with cynicism. His eyes, dark with the memory of disaster striking, venting his frustration as he dismissed Chase’s brilliance with a bitter sneer.
Sam groaned, shaking his head as if trying to dispel the memory of past disappointments. “I’ve seen smart before. It’s not always a great quality in a leader,” he declared, his tone heavy with decades of disillusionment. “Too often, the smart ones wrap arrogance around themselves, treating us like disposable parts. Does Chase ever really listen to advice, or is it always his way?”
Before anyone could reply, Kaya interjected, her gaze fierce and unwavering. “I doubt you’ve seen this kind of smart before,” she argued, her voice both defensive and defiant. “Usually, smart means you’re exceptional in one field, computers, medicine, or something niche. But Chase? He fluidly switches between disciplines without missing a beat. Yes, he’s impulsive, as reckless as a teenager at times, but you’d be surprised how quickly you find yourself following him. He listens to every bit of advice thrown his way, absorbs it, and then outpaces us all. He starts as the student and soon, he’s the master.”
Martin, one of the younger crew members whose round brown glasses and tight curls lent him an almost earnest quality, piped in as if testing the air for hope. “Smart’s good, right? We need someone who can construct a solid plan. What’s his IQ anyway? Must be pretty high.” His comment, light on its surface, belied the underlying desperation for a leader who could unite them and forge a path out of the chaos.
As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee began to mingle with the lingering tension, the conversation revealed more than just opinions on intelligence; it was a candid reckoning with their fractured trust. Each voice carried its burden: the bitter fruit of past betrayals and the fragile glimmer of hope that perhaps, in Chase’s restless brilliance, lay a way forward. Yet beneath the debate, an unspoken question gnawed at every mind: Could Chase, with all his faults, truly be the beacon they so desperately needed, or was he nothing more than the architect of their damnation?
“Never tested,” Kaya replied with a wry tone. “He came from a broken home and somehow ended up on the streets as a young child. By the age of ten, he’d built a tiny empire revolving around computers and programming. By the time anyone took notice, no one even considered testing him, and frankly, he never cared. As far as I know, he never set foot in a school.”
Janette looked up, incredulity etched on his face. “He never went to school? Does he even know how to read?”
Nearby, Robbie bristled at the comment. Although he was young, like Martin, Robbie carried a distinctly different energy: sharp, competent, and confidently in control. With his dark hair and square-framed glasses, the crew’s resource manager was the one person who could secure anything you needed exactly when you needed it.
“You think we say his smart as some kind of joke?” Robbie snapped defensively, every word laced with unwavering conviction. “If you’ve ever seen a chess master take on eight opponents and win every game, you know what I mean. Chase operates on that same brilliant level. Even if he were pitted against a hundred adversaries, I’d bet everything on him coming out on top. When he reads, he doesn’t just scan the words; he dissects them, absorbs their very essence, and rebuilds them like a masterpiece in his mind. I once watched him recreate a document he’d merely skimmed five years ago, capturing every nuance as if it were right before his eyes.”
His tone softened briefly, but the admiration burned through as he continued, “What’s truly astonishing isn’t just Chase’s raw intellect, it’s the way he makes you want to push harder, to be better. Sure, he carries an arrogance, but it’s not the kind that screams ‘I’m better than you.’ It’s a defiant kind of confidence, a belief in our collective strength, ‘together, we’re unstoppable.’ He crashed into our lives when he was only fourteen, striding into our headquarters like he owned the place, boldly declaring that he knew exactly who we were and what we had accomplished. With a flash of cash and a promise of real opportunity, he claimed a place in our team, and within a month, he was co-leading our team; not too long later, he took over full leadership. And our previous leader, Kaya, was and is a force to be reckoned with; very few people are more competent than Kaya. Once Chase, we took over the jobs and the rewards increased in magnitude, we pulled off feats you wouldn’t believe, all under his direction.”
Quietly, Kaya murmured, “He fought for us, you know. He was willing to shoulder all the blame, painting us as innocent and trying to take the fall himself.” Her words held a tender regret, a reluctant tribute to a man whose sacrifices still stung.
Robbie’s face tightened, conflict flickering in his eyes. “I hate him for that, just as much as everything else,” he admitted, his voice raw with a mix of anger and reluctant admiration. After a pause heavy with unspoken memories, he continued, “But if you’re destined to march into hell and I think we are, then there is no one better to give the devil a run for his money.”
In that charged moment, the room brimmed with a bittersweet blend of resentment and awe, a testament to the complex legacy Chase had imprinted on his old crew.
