Two hours of silence had stretched into an eternity for Jason. Inside the quiet cabin, the only sound was the frantic, rhythmic tapping of his own heart against his ribs. His entire body was trembling, his face a deep, flushed crimson, and his bound form writhed in place.
It wasn't just the terror of the silent boy behind him; it was the biological reality of being a living creature. He used the sharp, stinging pain of the wire constriction to suppress his body's primal urges. Refusing to wet himself while being held captive by a child-shaped monster was his last act of stubbornness—the final shred of dignity he had left in the vastness of the void.
But he was at a breaking point. His muscles were cramping, and the pressure in his bladder felt like a ticking time bomb.
Behind him, Leander Hayes's eyelids twitched. Slowly, they drifted open. To an outside observer, it would be impossible to see in the pitch-black shadows of the cabin, but a faint, rhythmic golden light gleamed in Leander's dark pupils, like the dying embers of a forge. For a moment, there was a heavy hint of confusion in his eyes. The last thing he remembered was the blinding, sapphire roar of the Space Stone—the feeling of his atoms being stretched across light-years like taffy.
He looked at the figure a few meters away. Jason was a mess, covered in angry red welts where the metal wires had bitten into his flesh during his struggle. Leander didn't say a word. With a slight, almost subconscious movement of his fingers, he felt the resonance of the ship. All the metal wires snapped in the middle as if cut by an invisible blade. They didn't just fall; they were pulled down to the ground by Leander's will, liquefying and flattening until they formed a single, thin sheet of polished metal on the floor.
Jason felt the agonizing tension in his body vanish. He didn't wait to see if the boy was going to kill him. He clasped his legs tightly together, stumbled to his feet, and hurried toward the bathroom in the back stall. He practically threw himself against the wall for support, slapping the light switches as he went.
Soft, bright lights flickered to life, slowly illuminating the cabin in layers of sterile white and amber.
Leander stared intently at the light bulbs on the ceiling. He blinked blankly, the brightness stinging his eyes. He turned his head, taking in his surroundings for the first time with a clear mind. The ship was a marvel of alien engineering: metal walls intricately patterned with hexagonal dampening tiles, scattered pieces of scrap metal he had unknowingly pulled toward himself in his sleep, and complex wiring pulsing behind translucent panels. It was civilization. It was technology.
Leander felt a lump form in his throat. He was finally out of the void. He was so close to tears that he had to look away. He was still wearing the Meteorite Metal Armor he had fashioned during his long drift through the stars—a suit that had become a second skin, fitting him with uncanny precision.
He hadn't even noticed the blue gemstone embedded in the middle of his back. The stone was uncovered, yet it seemed to exist in a different dimension; it passed directly through the solid meteorite metal of his armor as if the physical matter were merely a suggestion. It was visible, a pulsing heart of cobalt light, yet it remained intangible and utterly imperceptible to his touch.
He stretched out his hands, feeling the weight of his own limbs. The ship's gravity stabilizer pulled Leander toward the floor, restoring a long-lost sense of physical restraint that he had lacked while floating in zero-G. But despite the ordeal, Leander had never felt so energetic. His veins felt like they were carrying liquid starlight instead of blood.
A faint golden light emanated from his eyes as he looked toward the rear of the ship. Through the hull, he could sense the massive meteorite fragment that had been their cage. He waved a hand in a casual, dismissive gesture.
Outside, the massive rock groaned. Under the invisible pressure of Leander's kinetic grip, the entire meteor snapped in two like a dry cracker. The spaceship was freed.
It was a disc-shaped craft, entirely black and framed by an abstract, elegant pattern of silver lines. It wasn't a warship; it was clearly a private vessel, built for speed and personal luxury rather than combat. According to Leander's observation as he scanned the layout, there was only a single co-pilot seat in the cockpit.
Leander tried to speak, but his throat was like a desert. No sound came out. He hit himself hard on the side of the head, trying to jump-start his vocal cords. His right hand formed a claw shape, and he made a slight gripping motion toward the floor.
The metal plate he had flattened earlier flew into the air and split in two. One half folded into a thin sheet, while the other took the shape of a solid rod. He crashed them together.
Clang!
The sound of metal echoing against metal was the most beautiful thing he had heard in years. He let out a muffled, raspy sound that slowly evolved into words.
"Finally... hope. How long have I been out there? It feels like ten years. Maybe more."
His voice, initially low and hoarse, began to soften and find its rhythm. Leander's vocal cords were being repaired by the very energy he had absorbed. He turned to see where Jason had gone, but the man had vanished.
Leander broadened his vision, his senses extending through the walls. He saw Jason—red-faced, bruised, and desperate—making a frantic break for the escape capsule at the bottom of the ship. Half of the alien's body was already inside the tiny pod, his hands trembling as he reached for the manual override to jettison.
Leander reached out. From a distance of more than ten meters, through three solid bulkheads, he grasped the air.
The small hatch Jason was trying to slam shut froze. It wouldn't budge an inch. The safety belt around Jason's waist suddenly tightened and began to pull him backward with an irresistible, magnetic force.
Leander walked toward the back of the cabin, watching with a calm, almost bored expression as Jason was forcibly dragged back up the stairs, his boots scuffing against the metal.
The alien was a strange sight. With flushed, leathery skin, a tall but rail-thin build, and a few sharp, predatory teeth visible in his mouth, he was clearly not from Earth. Leander looked at him—this terrified, desperate creature—and felt a pang of guilt, but he couldn't afford to be soft.
Leander snapped his fingers. Two metal plates from the wall peeled off and transformed into flexible wire ropes, binding Jason's arms to his sides once more.
"I'm sorry," Leander said, his voice now sounding like a normal teenager's again. "I'm not sure if you can understand a word I'm saying, but you're my only ticket home. I can't let you leave me in the middle of nowhere."
Jason stared at the boy. Leander was a head shorter than him, looking small and fragile in his makeshift armor, but Jason wasn't an idiot. He had seen the boy crush a meteor with a wave of his hand. He had no strength left to resist.
Leander guided the hovering Jason back to the cockpit and dropped him into the pilot's chair.
"Can you understand me? I need to go back to the world. To people. Do you know the way?" Leander asked, his eyes searching the alien's face for any sign of comprehension.
Jason looked at Leander. He realized that the "Universal Translator" he had installed in his neck was picking up the boy's vocal vibrations and converting them perfectly. "You speak a universal dialect," Jason rasped, his voice full of resentment. "Every intelligent being in the quadrant can understand you. You don't have to shout."
Leander's face lit up. A wide, genuine smile broke across his face. "As long as we can talk, we can bargain. Can you take me back to Earth?"
"NO."
Jason's answer was immediate and sharp. The metal ropes around his chest tightened in response, squeezing the air out of his lungs.
"Wait! Wait!" Jason wheezed, his hands flying up in a defensive gesture. "It's not that I won't, it's that I can't! You haven't given me the cosmic coordinates for this 'Earth' of yours! There are a billion rocks in the galaxy, kid! And look at my gauges—I'm running on fumes. I need to refuel at a station before we go anywhere."
Leander's brow furrowed, then relaxed. He realized he had been overzealous. "I'm sorry. I really do want to go home, but... I don't know the coordinates. I didn't exactly plan the trip here."
With a flick of his wrist, the wires binding Jason unraveled. Instead of falling to the floor, they wove themselves into a sturdy metal belt that remained securely fastened around Jason's waist, tethering him to the pilot's seat without crushing him.
"Don't worry," Leander said, trying to sound reassuring. "Once I'm safe, I'll pay you. I'll give you whatever you want. I'm not a bad person, I'm just... lost."
Jason, seeing no other option, turned to his console and began typing rapidly. The holographic screens flickered with maps of the local star systems. Leander sat in the co-pilot's seat, his eyes wide as he watched the alien work.
"What's that?" Leander asked, pointing to a flickering blue icon.
"I'm defining the jump-points," Jason explained, his voice losing some of its edge as he focused on the technical task. "We have to hit the nearest Jump Point to make a Wormhole Crossing. It's the only way to cover real distance. Don't they teach you this on your planet? How can you not know your own system's coordinates?"
"It's a long story," Leander said, his mind drifting back to the Tesseract. He felt a sudden, sharp pang of worry. If I had known the Space Stone was this volatile, I would have let Thor take it back to Asgard. I shouldn't have touched it. The teleportation nearly shredded me, and now the Stone is gone. Where am I supposed to start looking for a literal piece of the universe?
"Wait," Jason said, pausing his calculations. "You don't know how to fly a ship?"
"I can fly a plane," Leander offered. "I've seen a lot of sci-fi movies. But a real spaceship? This is new."
Jason's finger, which was hovering over the 'Execute' button for the jump, moved slightly. He silently pressed a secondary button, one that Leander didn't notice. "That's... fascinating. How did you survive out here for so long? This is a desolate region. There are only twelve identified Jump Points on the public star maps for this entire sector."
The ship's engines hummed, a deep, resonant vibration that Leander felt in his teeth. The craft began to pull away from the shattered remains of the meteorite. Leander didn't look back. All he wanted was to see a blue sky again.
Jason grasped the joystick and pulled back gently. The thrusters flared, and the ship shot upward, punching into the dark velvet of the deep galaxy.