Three hours into his detour, Aina's furious comm request flashed across Qianlong's screen.
"Explain your deviation." Her hologram glared at him.
Qianlong hesitated. "I sensed weather anomalies."
Aina checked her scanners—normal ranges, but historical data showed disturbing fluctuations. "Find cover immediately." She cut the link, attempting to contact the Fat Fish. Static answered.
Nearby, Jones pinged her. "Problem?"
"Atmospheric pressure's spiking. Can't raise the ship."
"Early rest stop then?" Jones quipped.
"Do it." Aina eyed Qianlong's stubbornly moving blip on her map. One warning's all you get.
Qianlong's jaw dropped when he reached Phantom's coordinates—a massive impact crater, its compacted walls perfect shelter. As his Reaper's stabilizer drills bit into the bedrock, alarms blared:
"Extreme wind shear detected!"
He silenced the alerts. Phantom had been right.
Aboard the Fat Fish, pilot Quark cursed at dead scanners. White-haired Captain Demiken observed calmly. "Patience, boy."
Their comms suddenly lit with an emergency transmission—Captain Cora of the Mushroom, her usually sultry voice strained:
"Lost all ground contact. Probe data confirms it—category XII cyclones forming planetwide."
Demiken's face hardened. "Recall orders?"
"Command says proceed. They're on their own."
Qianlong watched through external cameras as sky-blackening tempests swallowed the horizon, hurling boulders like pebbles. His Reaper shuddered violently despite being kilometers from the storm's heart.
"Joint freeze alerts," Phantom noted. "Atmospheric moisture content illogically high for this environment."
"The storm's importing it?" Qianlong cranked up life support as temperatures plunged. His fingers grew stiff on the controls.
Somewhere out there, Aina and Jones were weathering the same hell—if they'd found shelter in time.