Author's Note: I had an absolute blast writing this chapter. In fact, it's one of the longest ones I've done for this story. I want these chapters—both this one and the next—to have more development because they focus on Peridot and Jasper, and I want to show their stay, their frustration, and their eternal annoyance with Earth as best as possible. If you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to leave them in the comments section. Thank you for all the support; we are already over 1.5k stars. I truly appreciate it so much!
Let's continue.
The sun beat down mercilessly. Peridot forged ahead, sinking her small boots into the hot sand, while her tired eyes scanned the same blinking screen for the tenth time as it continuously recalculated routes.
"I am so tired of this planet..." she grumbled, tapping the screen. "And of this useless path!"
She had been walking for days. Days. Her internal system flagged 72 hours without proper rest. To make matters worse, sand had worked its way into all her mechanical parts, creating an infuriating screech every time she moved her fingers.
"I should have put the distress beacon in my enhancers when I had the chance," she scratched her head in frustration. "But nooo, of course not! Why be practical?"
As she vented, she spotted something in the distance. A large, metallic silhouette, tilted as if it had been abandoned centuries ago.
Peridot narrowed her eyes.
"Is that a ship...?"
...
"It IS a ship!"
She picked up the pace.
"Maybe this junk has something of value," she muttered, wiping sand off her visor. "Obsolete? Yes. Efficient? No. Do I need it so I don't die? Definitely."
The ship was old. From Era 1. Panels were detached, symbols worn away, and cracks allowed columns of sand to pour inside. Still, Peridot had nothing to lose, so she stepped in.
The hallways were partially buried. Mounds of sand, dust on every surface, and rusted structures made ominous creaking sounds.
"Incredible..." she said, pushing a fallen panel aside. "They send me on missions with year-one technology. How professional!"
She reached the control room just as she heard a movement.
Something big.
Something wet and grainy.
Peridot froze.
"...Uh?"
The right wall exploded in a cloud of sand. A massive, deformed, twisted monster emerged roaring from the shredded metal. Its hollow eyes looked as if they were made of the desert itself.
"WHAT THE HELL?!" Peridot screamed, morphing her hand into a miniature blaster.
Without thinking, she fired.
The green energy beam pierced part of the monster's torso, but it barely reacted. It advanced toward her with heavy steps, roaring like a volcano of living sand.
"Sh—shit—shit!" Peridot bolted so fast she almost tripped over herself.
She ran through the corridors, dodging fallen panels and slipping on the sand. The creature pursued her like a predator hunting a small, green, very loud rabbit.
She ducked around a corner, slammed on the brakes... and froze.
"...shit."
In front of her: a blocked path.
Behind her: the creature, which had just appeared.
Peridot slowly turned her head.
The two stood in silence. Staring at each other as if they were both trying to figure out what on earth was going on.
"Uhhh... hi," Peridot said, timidly raising a hand.
The monster roared with all its might.
"NOT A GOOD IDEA, I KNOW!"
The massive claw struck her, sending her flying down the hallway.
"AHHH!"
The impact echoed throughout the ship.
The creature advanced calmly, assuming Peridot was already shattered.
Error.
A bruised Peridot, with a cracked visor, raised her trembling hand and fired directly at the gem embedded in the monster's forehead.
A sharp crack filled the room.
The creature collapsed. Its sandy body dispersed into a nonexistent wind. Only pieces of a shiny gem remained on the floor, fractured into hundreds of shards.
Peridot breathed heavily. Sweat, sand, pain, and a panic that did not match her usual attitude.
"Shit... shit..." she put her hands to her head. "I poofed—I shattered another gem! What am I going to do now? They won't let me graduate after this!"
She stayed like that for several seconds, practically hyperventilating.
Then she looked back down at the ruined gem.
She calmed down.
"Well... it attacked me. It deserves it."
She stepped on it and continued walking toward the cockpit.
The technology was old, broken, almost decorative. But Peridot checked systems, flipped switches, and activated panels.
Until she found something.
Earth-lifting mechanisms.
Her eyes lit up. Her smile grew. Her fingers trembled.
"No way..."
No way...
"IT actually HAS IT! HOMEWORLD, HERE I COME!"
A maniacal laugh echoed throughout the entire ship. It lasted. A lot. Too long.
When she finally regained her "sanity," she sat in the pilot's seat. A broken, tilted, but functional one.
"Perfect," she said, puffing out her chest. "New route."
She punched a destination into her screen.
Communication Hub.
"You are my only hope," she whispered, adjusting her cracked visor.
The ship shuddered, the engines groaned, sand fell from the edges... and it slowly began to lift off from the desert.
Peridot smiled, adrenaline still rushing through her body.
And so, without looking back, Peridot set off straight for the Communication Hub.
Days passed, and Peridot's smile began to fade. Entire days where her sanity slipped away little by little, as if every minute inside that old ship were another grain of sand falling through an endless hourglass. Being left with nothing to do, just waiting to reach her destination, was not healthy for a Peridot. And it definitely wasn't something she handled with the patience she thought she possessed.
She repeated a phrase to herself every morning, every afternoon, and every second that passed without news: stupid gems, breaking warp pads. It was her mantra, her outlet, her sign that inactivity was eating away at her good judgment. According to her, the rebels had destroyed every existing warp pad. All of them. Each and every one without exception. That was the perfect explanation for the temporary isolation she felt, even if it was based solely on the fact that they had destroyed the Galaxy Warp. A rather obvious logical fallacy, but acceptable for someone who had been alone for too long, locked up with nothing useful to do.
Peridot kept clinging to that version of the story with the determination of someone who prefers to blame the universe rather than admit she is bored. And so, with her mind occupied by repetitive complaints and exaggerated theories, she continued her journey.
The sea had no right to be so big or so annoying. The ship shook, groaned as if it were about to die, and, of course, failed right in the middle of the ocean. I knew something was going to go wrong. It always goes wrong when I trust Era 1 technology. Always.
The first thing I did was hit the console. Not because it helped, but because I felt a moral obligation to express my physical frustration. I declared that the ship was stupid, and I said it explicitly while the dashboard blinked as if it were trying to apologize. I didn't believe it for a second.
The engine shut down completely, and the remaining silence was so uncomfortable that it made me want to scream at it even louder. We floated in the water like a piece of sentimental junk unable to accept that it was no longer useful. Thanks to the merciful glow of the Diamonds, I had some tools to repair it, but even so, I didn't stop insulting it. Dumb, useless, worthless, obsolete ship. I said it every time I reached into a panel, every time a wire shocked me, every time a screw slipped out of my hand as if it wanted to commit suicide into the sea rather than work for me again.
The ship responded in the worst way possible: a long, high-pitched beep that I interpreted as a direct insult. I dare say it did it on purpose, because it let it rip right when I managed to pry open a jammed compartment. It was as if it wanted to remind me it was just alive enough to be obnoxious.
I tried to connect a new wire, a perfectly functional one worthy of a gem like me, but the ship decided to spit a spark that almost singed my fingers. I accused it of trying to kill me. It responded with a slow, dramatic blink that I hated with all my soul. If it had a face, I would have punched it.
An absurd alarm went off while I was adjusting a loose plate, and I know it did it just to get my attention. It sounded like a muffled cry from someone who doesn't want to get out of bed in the morning. I insulted it while turning it off and wondered, for a moment, if maybe the ship was sabotaging itself to avoid working anymore. After all, it had been abandoned for years. Maybe it had artistic aspirations now.
At one point, when I was completely fed up, the ship played an automated message stating that the system was unavailable. I took it as a personal provocation. That robotic tone, that absolute indifference. It was as if it were telling me it had no intention of helping me at all, that it preferred to sink into the ocean rather than make my life easier.
I kept working anyway, because evidently, I am the only competent mind for miles around. The Diamonds' tools were good, but nothing in this galaxy is prepared to deal with Era 1 technology without having to improvise like crazy. Every repair only half-worked, every fix triggered a new fault. And I kept insulting the ship, because if I didn't, I probably would have jumped into the water just to stop listening to its metallic stubbornness.
In the end, after far too many minutes of emotional and physical suffering, the ship fired up its secondary engine. It sputtered, roared like an ancient beast, and then began to move forward with the clumsy dignity of someone trying not to admit they lost an argument.
I, of course, declared that it only succeeded thanks to my incomparable intelligence. It reacted by emitting a short beep, one that sounded exactly like a complaint. I didn't answer. I just sat down, splashed my face with saltwater to wash away the sweat and anger, and reminded myself that someday I will be rewarded for surviving things like this.
And as the ship forged ahead, still offended, I felt offended too. But at least we were moving forward. That was what mattered.
When I finally approached the coast, just about to reach the island where the Communication Hub was located, the screen in front of me turned on without warning. It blinked once, twice, and then displayed a message that shouldn't exist. I froze. I managed a simple "uh" because I couldn't process anything else.
A holographic screen emerged in front of me out of nowhere, so sudden and so close that I almost jumped backward. My reaction was immediate. The trauma from the sand creature was still running through my internal circuits, so I instinctively raised my hand to shoot. Luckily, my gem neurons managed to stop me before I accidentally destroyed the screen.
The message played with the trembling voice of a Sapphire. She introduced herself as Sapphire Facet-5LP3 Cut-1sp. Her tone was pure panic. She said they were in danger, that her Blue Diamond needed to receive the message, that Pink Diamond had been shattered. The word shattered lingered in the air like a cursed echo. The Sapphire begged for reinforcements because they couldn't handle the rebels; she pleaded as if death itself were breathing down her neck.
A sound rumbled through the ship in the recording. It was a harsh, metallic noise, as if several gems were forcing entry from all sides. I heard the rebels breaking into the place, and I could feel how the Sapphire's voice cracked even further as she fell into despair. "My Blue Diamond," she gasped, "you must avenge my Pink Diamond, you must save us."
Then the explosion happened.
The video cut out in a white flash, followed by absolute silence. A silence so deep it seemed to fill my entire ship, as if the engines themselves had stopped to listen to it.
I stood completely still in front of the blank screen. I didn't blink. I didn't breathe for several seconds. My thoughts couldn't arrange themselves into a shape that made sense. I just stared at the blurry reflection of my own face on the dark surface of the panel, completely frozen.
I stayed in silence, not knowing what to think, what to do, or how to respond to what I had just seen. I just let that void envelop me while the ship kept slowly advancing toward the island.
"Wow." That was the only thing I managed to say when my brain finally stopped buzzing. After several seconds of uncomfortable silence, I was able to think clearly and reached a pretty logical conclusion. It looked like the message belonged to an Era 1 Sapphire. A veteran. An ancient gem, the kind who spoke as if the entire universe depended on them.
I said it with a light, almost amused curiosity, not giving too much weight to the detail of the shattered diamond. Not that it wasn't serious... but nobody can blame me for not feeling the emotional weight of something that happened before I even existed. I was made in Era 2. Our generation arrived when everything was already practically decided. So, well, historical tragedy wasn't exactly my specialty.
I leaned forward and looked at the screen with fresh eyes. Now that I knew this ship carried old messages, ancient voices, remnants of eras I never lived through, the junk took on a different air. A sort of dusty, rusty dignity. Like a relic that just needed a brilliant genius to work again. Me, obviously.
I wondered if they could give me something in exchange for making this old timer work. Surely they would. Surely a whole lot. I stared at some half-loose wires, faint lights, and burned panels, and for a second, I had visions. Clear, bright, exaggerated visions. I imagined this ship transforming into a fully functional restored piece, admired by all the gems in the Empire, with my name stamped on a golden plaque that read: Restored by Peridot Facet-such-and-such Cut-such-and-such, grand engineering genius of this side of the galaxy.
The idea made me smile like a lunatic. If I could wrench some life out of this relic, I could get rewards. I could move up in rank. I could stop doing ridiculous missions on planets full of cursed sand. For the first time in days, I felt my mind moving the way it was supposed to.
As the ship kept nearing the island, I leaned over a panel that sparked the moment I touched it and thought that, with enough effort, this pile of old parts could turn into something impressive.
And if not... well, I can always keep insulting it until it decides to work out of emotional exhaustion.
So, after an endless amount of time, I finally arrived at the cursed location. I stopped in front of the site, looked up with a certain excitement, and my smile died instantly when I saw it. It was impossible. I turned completely pale while my brain processed the disaster in front of me. I couldn't believe it. Of all the things that could ruin my day, it had to be this. Seriously. Rebels. Fucking rebels. Sticking their noses where they don't belong again. I felt my gem boil as I let out a frustrated growl, certain that the universe was determined to annoy me just because it could. Stupid, stupid, stupid rebels, I repeated mentally and in a low voice as I walked through the debris, unable to contain the urge to grumble as if that would fix anything.
I complained for a good while, maybe too long, but what did they expect me to do? I had spent hours dealing with an old ship, wires that seemed to belong to prehistory, a sea full of salt ruining everything it touched, and now I had a scene in front of me that was the textbook definition of a hassle. I walked back and forth, muttering all kinds of things about how incompetent they could be and how they always left their problems half-finished. I grumbled about the protocols they ruined, the total lack of discipline, and even how much I hated being sent to clean up the messes of other gems.
Only after completely venting did I approach the destroyed warp pad. I observed it with my arms crossed, taking a deep breath, and a part of me couldn't help but feel that strange tingling that arises when what you suspected from the beginning seems to be confirmed. My theory was right. Or at least, that's what I believed at the time. I felt proud for a few seconds, as if I had just solved the empire's greatest mystery, without having the slightest clue that I was completely wrong. But hey, details. The important thing was that some of this made sense in my head, even if it was a sense that only I could understand.
I sat down on what was left of the warp pad, dust clinging to my legs and an uncomfortable silence falling over me as I opened the ancient image of the Era 1 communication hub. It was ironic. I had the ruined, shattered, rusted version right in front of me, while on my screen I could see its original glory, the flawless structure that had once been the pride of a whole group of engineers who knew what they were doing. I examined the image carefully, from top to bottom, as if staring at it long enough could magically fix everything in front of me. I ran my fingers along each broken edge of the warp pad, comparing every fragment, every crack, every absurd deviation that shouldn't be there. It was like proofreading the handwriting of someone with terrible penmanship while trying to remember how it was supposed to look.
I looked at the pieces scattered around me. It was a technological graveyard, and I was trapped in it. I checked the screen again, that tablet which had become my only sensible companion on this useless planet, and tried to organize my thoughts on what my next step would be to get out of here once and for all. A tired sigh escaped without permission, but I stood up anyway, wiped my hands on my thigh, and began to walk around what was left of the communication hub.
Every step I took felt like a mix of frustration and curiosity. I observed the remains from different angles, imagining invisible lines reconstructing themselves in my head. Analysis was the only thing keeping me sane. I walked slowly, setting the pace with small pauses where I would raise the tablet, turn it on, zoom in on the image, compare it, lower the tablet, and frown with a mix of disdain and expectation.
That was when the murmuring started, those thoughts aloud that slipped out unfiltered, as if every idea needed to be heard to exist. It could be, I thought as I took a reference point. It could work if I adjust the lower support. I should try it, even if it means re-welding that piece-of-shit structure. Uh-huh, that might resolve the broken connection. If I do that, I could reactivate a minimal signal. Maybe. Yes... yes... yes, it could be. I continued muttering an endless chain of possibilities, theories, and assumptions, each more ambitious than the last. My voice grew rapid, almost excited, as if the entire disaster had suddenly become a puzzle I was about to crack.
I took another lap around the communication hub, lifting wires, gently kicking a piece of debris out of the way, leaning down to look at a corroded plate that still held traces of the original engineering. Every glance at the tablet fueled a spark that I didn't know was hope or simple stubbornness, but it worked. I felt the urge to keep going, to try, to rebuild. My thoughts kept racing without brakes, toggling between calculations and wishes that, for once in my life, things would go exactly the way I wanted.
"It could be," I repeated once more as I touched a component that looked salvageable. "Yes, definitely, it could be."
"Yes, I can, of course I can, I'm an Era 2 Peridot, damn it. This is nothing to me, absolutely nothing." A laugh escaped me without control, echoing across the island like a delirious echo that, by absolute stroke of luck, had no witnesses. If anyone had heard me, they probably would have thought I had lost what little sanity I had left... and maybe they wouldn't be entirely wrong.
"I, Peridot, Peridot Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG, will be able to do it." I raised my robotic hands to the sky in an exaggeratedly triumphant posture, as if giving an epic speech in front of a nonexistent army. It was ridiculous and wonderful at the same time. But as soon as I finished raising my arms, the air changed. It felt heavy, awkward, as if the entire island sighed with a "seriously?". I slowly lowered my arms as my enthusiasm deflated like a punctured balloon.
"Well..." I muttered in a suddenly timid tone, as if trying to pretend that all that shouting hadn't just happened. I looked at my screen with a mix of embarrassment and urgency, reminding myself that I needed to check the functions of my limb enhancers before doing something even stupider. I tapped the tool menu, bringing up the diagrams for my mechanical attachments.
There they were: blaster parameters, force-management protocols, the stabilization system... and the little treasure I always liked to show off, even if I rarely used it properly: the telekinetic tractor beam. A fine, controlled beam capable of manipulating parts as if they were metallic puppets... as long as I didn't get nervous, because then they vibrated as if I were trying to juggle earthquakes.
I took a deep breath, raised a hand, and activated the beam. A trembling green line shot out, enveloping a piece of a broken panel. I lifted it carefully, moving it from side to side while trying to place it onto the least destroyed support of the communication hub. The piece fit... more or less. It wasn't perfect, or pretty, or professional, but it was there, held up with the minimum dignity required so it wouldn't crash to the ground that very instant.
With almost forced patience, I went about adjusting loose wires, repositioning bent plates, and cleaning burned circuits, all with the telekinetic beam vibrating with more stress than I was. After several failed attempts, unnecessary sparks, and the occasional insult directed at a screw that refused to turn, I managed to reactivate the bare minimum.
The main screen of the communication hub blinked like a tired eye. Static filled the air. Then another blink. And another. And finally, a weak, clumsy, almost ghostly signal.
A random communication began to generate, or at least a desperate attempt at communication. There was no address, no recipient, and not even a guarantee that it wasn't heading straight into the vacuum. But there it was, a message leaving this disgusting planet, even if it never reached anywhere in the Empire.
I smiled with pride, even knowing it was useless. Sometimes it wasn't about making it work. Sometimes I just needed it to look like it worked.
"It works... it works." I said it in a mere whisper before a laugh exploded from my chest. A sharp, satisfied, almost hysterical laugh that spread across the entire destroyed structure. But as always, even my own euphoria had a limit. The laughter died down on its own, fading into a strange silence as my eyes dropped toward some controls buried underground, covered in dust, sand, and years of abandonment.
I knelt in front of them, brushing away the dirt with my metallic hands, revealing corroded buttons and symbols so ancient I had only seen them in Homeworld educational records. I touched them carefully, feeling the rough texture, trying to recall every lesson, every instruction. My fingers slipped over text I could barely read, but my hands moved fluidly anyway. It was as if that knowledge had been asleep in some corner of my memory, waiting for this absurd moment to wake up.
I tapped old keys, reconnected loose wires, and yanked hard on others that seemed fused to the system like roots. The power flickered, the signal weakened, and every blink threatened to destroy everything I had achieved. But still, inexplicably, things started going right. The lights came back on in sequence, the beeps returned, and the panel came to life as if remembering its forgotten purpose.
My eyes landed on the last button. It was a different color, brighter, more striking, as if it had been designed specifically for this moment. A smile formed on its own on my face, small at first, then growing, proud, almost defiant.
I pressed it.
The system made a dull thud, and a faint light illuminated what I assumed was the functional camera. I instinctively straightened up, lifted my chin, and spoke with confidence, believing someone on the other side would hear.
"This is Peridot Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG, reporting on my mission to my superior. The mission is still underway, but we have a rebel problem on Earth. We need immediate reinforcements. My assigned Jasper disappeared upon the crash of my ship."
I leaned a bit closer to the "camera," making sure my voice sounded as professional as possible.
"I request authorization to continue with the repair of the communication hub. I require additional instructions to maintain the efficiency of the operation on this primitive planet. I confirm that I remain functional, remain in position, and remain... uh... relatively stable. I will proceed to maintain the site until a response is received."
The transmission ended with a weak, almost dead beep, and the screen went silent. I stood there, still, motionless, staring at the distorted reflection of my own face on the monitor. A few seconds passed... then more... then too many. The emptiness of the screen seemed to watch me, waiting for something I didn't have. I sighed.
"I should follow the Cluster mission..." I murmured under my breath, as if the heavy air of the destroyed base itself could answer me. I looked around, searching for some sign, some guidance, some invisible approval. The dirt-covered ceiling seemed to lean over me, heavy, silent, insistent. As if saying "yes, go on, go on, go on."
I shrunk back a little, pressing my lips together.
"If my Diamond sees that I continued with the mission even without my Jasper and without my ship... well, maybe they'll give me a prize. How smart you are, Peridot. Very smart." I applauded myself mentally while nodding vigorously.
I quickly gathered my things and left the communication hub, not daring to look back. The old ship was waiting for me, tilted as always, as if mocking my expectations. I looked at it sideways, let out a growl, and climbed aboard without much elegance. Even so, I knew I couldn't draw power from the site. The power from the communication hub was too unstable, too heavy, too ancient to even move it a few inches. And if by some miracle my message did get through, it was better left intact.
With a resigned sigh, a sigh that clearly said "whatever," I turned on the controls. The ship coughed, groaned, and then slowly rose, as if protesting having to keep working.
"We are heading to the Prime Kindergarten." I announced with sudden enthusiasm, an enthusiasm born as much from fear as from stubbornness. And with that decision, I aimed the ship toward its new objective, without even imagining that someone else had their eyes set on that very same destination.
At the same time, far from there, another ship was carving its way through metallic debris and fragments of smoke. The surrounding environment was destroyed, scorched, almost unrecognizable. And in the midst of it all walked Jasper.
Every step of hers was a heavy, firm stride, loaded with anger. Her breathing was deep, trembling, not from fear... but from contained fury. She had lost a ship—useless, according to her—but not her determination. She walked with clenched fists, gritted teeth, and a furrowed brow as if she could split the horizon in two.
That blow... that embarrassment... she hadn't forgotten it. She hadn't forgiven it.
Every reflection of light off the metallic fragments made her remember her fall, her failure, her humiliation. Her obsession grew with every step, with every breath. She was no longer walking for the mission... she was walking for wounded pride, for rage, for the need to prove that no rebel, no creature, and no circumstance could stop her.
"Peridot..." she muttered her name with a mix of irritation and tense possessiveness. "You better be where I'm going. Because if you're not... I'll make you join me by force."
Her voice echoed into nothingness, firm as a threat that the air was afraid to repeat.
The destiny of both was drawing near, inevitable, silent, like a storm that didn't yet know it was about to break.
End of Chapter 39.