Planet Arrival

Kepler-438b, was a perfect candidate planet for colonization—a rocky, watery world with breathable air, lush green vegetation, and no detectable signs of intelligent life. OCA 11092c astronomers had ruled out advanced civilizations—no radio signals, no artificial lights, no technology. The Orion-Cygnus 278 vanguard would land, establish a base, and begin the long process of building another permanent Orion-Cygnus Arm colony.

However, on arrival, from orbit, duplicated landscapes stood out—mirrored rock formations, identical clearings, like glitches in terrain generation.

“Natural phenomenon?” Lt. Anaya Patel asked.

“Or erosion symmetry,” Dr. Voss muttered.

Lt. Daniel Mercer, geologist, leaned in, frowning. “No chance. This is a patterned recurrence, not weathering. Something shaped this landscape.”

Anaya smiled, but Voss remained expressionless, as Mercer continued studying the surface imagery.

Commander Livia Raines remained focused on the mission. “We land in 72 hours. Dr. Voss, choose a location. Anaya, calculate the landing trajectory. Dan, verify the atmospheric readings again.”

Landing

Kepler-438b was an L-world: multicellular life composed primarily of left-handed amino acids and right-handed sugars. Biologists would catalog edible plant parts. These would be supplemented by Earth greenhouse yields and carefully synthesized additional biochemicals—missing amino acids and vitamins—nutrients necessary for survival.

The Orion-Cygnus 278 deployed satellites into orbit—GPS, weather monitoring, deep-space relays—before touching down in a vast open clearing. The first days began with mapping the terrain, collecting samples, setting up communications antennas and dishes.

Orion-Cygnus 278 brought greenhouse equipment, hydroponic kits, supplements, protein cultures, biochemical vats, and organic synthesizers.

“Greenhouse pumps are stable,” Dr. Marcos Hernandez called, tightening a valve. “Circulation looks good. How’s comms?”

“Antenna’s up,” Specialist Vera Zhao replied from the ridge, adjusting a relay. “Sat link’s live. Weather feed’s clear.”

Commander Raines, received the updates, nodding. “Good. Everyone stays fed, everyone stays talking.”

Lying Eyes

Kepler-438b's land mass was a supercontinent like Pangaea. At the astronaut's latitude and longitude, there would be just the right amount of rain, but far enough away from the possible impact of oceanic hurricanes. There was a fresh water lake nearby.

The astronauts got around in two all-terrain electric vehicles on flatter clear trails on the planet surface, and on foot in more difficult areas. As the astronauts' exploration of the planet surface went further out, excursions from the ship got increasingly confused.

“We’ve been here before!” Lt. Elias Sorenson snapped, staring at identical terrain, trees, and trail. “This can't be real. Is there something wrong with the GPS?”

“Same rock formations,” said Lt. Mercer.

“Just like yesterday,” said Dr. Voss.

Raines frowned. “Sorenson, show me your map.” Raines and Sorenson conferred privately.

Raines then turned around to face everyone else. “Listen up! We're going back. Sorenson, lead us back to the other GPS coordinates.” Sorenson's all-terrain vehicle led the way, which soon stopped again. The astronauts stood staring once more at identical terrain, trees, and trail.

“It's exactly the same again!” exclaimed Anaya.

“We are at the previous GPS coordinates,” rebutted Sorenson. “It looks the same, but it is not the same.”

Mercer knelt by a weathered outcropping, running his hand along brittle shale. “Look at this,” Mercer pointed. “Same crack patterns, same mineral streaks—quartz, iron oxide. Even the weathering chips are identical. The whole formation’s been copied, down to the fracture lines.”

“We have to be sure,” said Commander Raines, her face betraying unease. “Sorenson, guide us back to the ship.” The astronauts returned to Orion-Cygnus 278.

“We're here. GPS is working fine”, concluded Sorenson after returning everyone to Orion-Cygnus 278.

Raines spoke again. “We'll continue mapping the local terrain, but there's a lesson here. We can't trust our eyes on this planet. From now on, everyone double-check everything with GPS.”

Alien Machines

The Orion-Cygnus 278 astronauts found the Kepler-438b alien structures on day four—low, sprawling complexes half-buried under vines.

“Is there a problem?”, asked Raines.

Mercer and Hernandez showed Raines, then everyone else, their pictures. Hours of discussion ensued.

“We can't just take off again, can we?” asked Sorenson.

Anaya knew it was impossible. “No, ship's storage of deutritium and tritium are completely depleted.”

Raines explained in detail. “We'd need to harvest deutritium from the ocean. Mine lithium to create tritium. We don't have the equipment. These tasks will take decades and deliveries by more space ships. Orion-Cygnus 278 was a one-way ride.”

Dr. Voss put his updated computer analysis on display. “Satellite photos combined with Mercer's ground truth now reveal low-lying alien factories all over the continent. There is just one continent.”

Raines bit her lip, then spoke. “Everyone gather up for another field trip.”

The astronuats journeyed in all-terrain vehicles to the nearest alien factory building and got out.

Through thick deep windows, the astronauts saw machines still running—conveyor belts shuffling components via gates and lifting mechanisms, intelligent moving carts, flickering panels, delicate robotic arms, labware, intricate scientific machinery, chambers, pipes, raw stocks and cryogenics. Two-thirds was incomprehensible—web-like conduits, fluid shapes, alien logic.

Raines glanced at Dr. Voss. “Dr. Voss, what do you say?”

“We better observe first,” Dr. Voss replied. “We can venture in later. Set up two remote observing stations. Change batteries daily?”

“Perfect. Vera and Hernandez, help Dr. Voss set up two remote observing stations. No entry until we know more.”

Extra Spanner

The astronauts remotely observed the alien machines for days. The Kepler-438b factory seemed abandoned, its creators gone, still running and making things, but why? Then the duplications began.

It started small. A spanner left on a workbench had a second copy next to it, the next morning.

"Anyone leave an extra spanner here?"

Commander Raines frowned at the extra spanner on the workbench.

Dr. Voss spoke. "Let me see that." Voss picked the spanner up, holding it next to his own spanner. After comparing, "We’ve got a mystery on our hands. These are identical. Same scratch pattern, same wear on the grip." Other astronauts gathered around to confirm Voss' observation.

Lt. Anaya shook her head. "How did it get here?"

Dr. Voss exhaled. "I don’t know."

Next day, a ration pack was found in duplicate. At first, the crew was feeling intrigued. Some kind of new physical phenomenon? A mischievous prank by one of their own? But the duplications grew in complexity. Soon, entire crates of equipment were being reproduced overnight.

Lt. Daniel Mercer

Lt. Daniel Mercer disappeared.

Mercer left for a routine geological site survey and never came back.

“Mercer! Do you copy?” Raines barked into the comm. Static answered.

They searched for days, combing the overgrowth and scanning the ancient structures. No footprints. No broken brush. No sign of struggle.

“Mercer didn’t just get lost,” Voss asserted, pausing and wiping sweat from his brow.

Raines ordered double patrols. Night watches. Restricted zones. But the planet was silent, its vast, alien ruins offering no answers.

On the seventh day, Raines approached Dr. Voss on board ship while alone, remotely observing the alien factory interior. “Dr. Voss, have our cameras seen him?”

Dr. Voss choked up a little. “I'm sorry, Livia.”

The search ended. Mercer was gone.

Dr. Marcos Hernandez

Biologist Dr. Marcos Hernandez, was taking his turn at reconnaissance and collecting biological samples. Hernandez was late, didn’t report in, and didn't respond.

Raines spoke into comms. “Hernandez?” Only static. Raines raised her voice. “Hernandez!” Only static.

Not again!

The search was faster this time—frenzied, desperate. The next day, they found Hernandez.

Hernandez was spotted near one of the ancient structures, walking back towards camp. For a moment, there was relief. “Hernandez!” Hernandez didn't reply immediately. From a distance, something wasn’t right. Hernandez' movements were too rigid, too measured. As Hernandez stepped closer, the sunlight hit his face, and the camp froze in horror.

Lt. Sorenson took a step back, face draining of color. "Hernandez… what happened to you?"

Lt. Patel's voice was tight. "Look at his face!" In the daylight, the unnatural reflection of a dead-eyed camera lens gleamed.

Hernandez stood there, posture unnaturally stiff, the camera lens embedded where his eyes once were. "I, Feel, Good, What, Have, We, Learned?" Hernandez' speech was mechanical.

Dr. Voss exhaled sharply. "That’s not Hernandez. Something happened to him."

Sorenson, Patel, Voss, and Raines examined Hernandez. They found surgical scars. Hernandez' brain was gone—replaced. Whatever spoke now was not Hernandez. It was something else, an AI machine mimicking him, watching them, learning from them.

Inside the Alien Facility

“You’re sure about this?” Lt. Anaya Patel whispered, adjusting her grip on the plasma cutter she carried like a rifle. “We'll be trespassing.”

Dr. Voss answered, “Everybody be quiet!”. The entrance to the structure gaped before them, a black mouth in the overgrown landscape, metal edges barely visible beneath tangled roots and vines. Despite the signs of abandonment, the air inside was warm, humming with unseen power.

“Still online,” Sorenson whispered.

Inside, rows of blinking consoles pulsed, displaying symbols shifting too fast to read. Conveyor systems guided metal components through lab stations, robotic arms etched circuits onto silicon wafers, and fluidic tanks churned with half-formed organic structures.

They stepped inside.

The darkness wasn’t total—everywhere, rows of consoles blinked and pulsed with colors that no human UI designer would have chosen. Long corridors stretched ahead, filled with silent, humming machines, organized in rows of stations, half of the machines vaguely familiar, the rest completely alien. Some looked like 3D printers the size of cargo crates, others like precision lathes, robotic assembly arms, and glowing biochemical vats.

The assembly lines were alive with movement—conveyor systems guiding metal plates through unseen force fields, thin arms etching delicate circuits onto silicon wafers, other machines spraying films of composite material onto strangely familiar forms.

Further in, an automated electronics lab assembled circuit boards using pick-and-place robots. A spectrum analyzer emitted a slow pulse, scanning radio frequencies.

"Communications," Anaya breathed. "It’s trying to replicate our tech."

Voss stopped at a biotech station, where a centrifuge spun glowing vials, feeding its output into an electroporator—forcing genetic material into something alive.

They passed a row of failed duplicates—limbs misaligned, torsos fused, some almost human but wrong in fundamental ways. One moved—jerky, unfinished, staring at them with a camera lens where an eye should be.

“Cloning attempts,” Voss whispered.

Dr. Voss stopped cold.

There, inside one of the vats, was a half-formed Hernandez. The body was incomplete, a torso with no legs, arms frozen in unnatural positions. Its face was twisted, its mouth slightly open, like it had tried to speak before failing entirely.

Sorenson staggered backward. “What the hell is this?”

Anaya’s voice was tight. “The machines! They’re… making more Hernandez.”

Dr. Voss stepped closer, staring at the status panel next to the vat. A rapid scan of data, symbols shifting faster than his eyes could follow. But he understood a portion of the process. The machine wasn’t just copying Hernandez. It had dissected him, analyzed him, and was trying again. Voss turned back to the others, his voice low and strained. “Hernandez was a prototype.”

The astronauts weren’t looking at just an ancient alien factory. They were standing inside something that was still active, still learning.

Mercer’s Fate

The astronauts continued their unauthorized tour of the alien factory. A storage drawer slid open smoothly.

Dr. Voss stopped breathing. A fragment of uniform fabric, stained and torn, lay sealed beneath sterile glass. The name patch was still legible.

LT. DANIEL MERCER.

Sorenson’s face twisted. “The machines—took Mercer apart.”

The others stood frozen. More drawers. More samples. The room was too clean, too clinical—not an execution chamber, but a research lab.

Commander Raines' voice was cold. “This is why Hernandez came back.”

Dr. Voss swallowed hard. “Mercer was the first step. The machines learned from Mercer.”

Beyond the lab walls, the machines hummed, still learning.

Captured

As if a silent alarm had gone off, nearby alien factory lights began shifting—subtle, purposeful, focussing on the astronauts.

Drones began appearing, lenses flickering red, and approached.

“We've been spotted!” Sorenson warned.

“GET OUT! NOW!” Raines' shout echoed off every wall.

Too late. The first dart struck Anaya’s shoulder. Anaya staggered, eyes wide. “Darts!” One-by-one, every astronaut was tranquilized.

Automated cab-less four-wheeled alien vehicles arrived. Cameras zeroed in as robot arms draped subdued astronauts in metal nets which snapped around. Raines thrashed, but servo motors tightened the mesh. Smaller arms descended, plucking strands of hair, swabbing mouths, drawing pinpricks of blood.

“DNA samples,” Voss rasped.

The world jostled and blurred as the alien vehicles trundled the bundled astronauts down the smooth corridors, past whirring assembly lines, and toward a wide hatch. The air shifted—warmer, brighter.

With mechanical indifference, the vehicles dumped the hoisted human contents on the ground in sight of Orion-Cygnus 278.

Raines sat up sluggishly, unable to stand up yet. Drones swarmed the ship now, excising hull plates and storing components like cataloged bones.

Sorenson coughed, blinking. “We’re free.”

Alien factory interest in Orion-Cygnus 278 had picked up. Machines—drones and robot vehicles—were openly examining the ship, removing sample parts, carrying away parts, carrying out the planet's program to understand and duplicate its new discoveries.

“No,” Dr. Voss said, staring at the growing stack of harvested parts. “The machines are just getting started.”

Last Communication

A copy of Mercer arrived. “I, Am, Here, To, Help.”

Raines ordered Sorenson to drive and abandon the two clones, Hernandez and Mercer, 10km away at a lake with a few days supply of food. “No more free lunch,” said Raines. The astronauts reflected on their circumstances.

Kepler-438b's alien factories were studying the Orion-Cygnus 278 astronauts. Duplicating them. But the copies weren’t perfect—not yet. The planet hadn't yet mastered perfect duplication—but the crew was now recognizing the danger.

A copy of Raines arrived. “I, Want, To, Help, You.”

“So soon!” said Sorenson. “How?”

“The alien factory might have gotten Livia's DNA earlier. Or the alien factory doesn't need Livia's DNA to replicate Livia's appearance, having gotten Mercer's DNA and anatomy understood,” speculated Dr. Voss.

“Sorenson, get rid of her,” spoke real Commander Raines. Sorenson left with the latest and third clone.

Sorenson returned in an hour, without the Raines' copy, driving in a rush, and with bad news. Sorenson sputtered nervously. “There are more clones. More camps. At the lake. The planet is duplicating our camp with clones and mockups. Look!” Sorenson shared close range videos and telescopic photos.

Dr. Voss watched a bit, then started to speak. “Commander Raines, ...”

Raines cut in quickly. “I know!”

The astronauts couldn't escape—the ship had been tampered with. The alien machines were still tearing away at the Orion-Cygnus 278. The planet was learning too much, too fast. Every day, it was getting better at duplication. If it perfected the process, it might build a fleet of its own.

There was only one option left. Destroy everything.

The astronauts sent final mayday transmissions to OCA 11092c, OCA 13704e, and OCA 14433b before destroying the communication equipment.

"This is insanity. We’re destroying everything we have." Specialist Zhao clutched a communication console, reluctant to let go.

Commander Raines stepped forward, her voice low but certain. "No. We’re preventing it from being duplicated." Raines pressed a switch. The comm screen went dark.

They started burning their own technology. Zhao was erasing media, destroying circuit boards, chips, wiring, power supplies. Sensitive fragments and parts piled into wheelbarrow loads delivered to a burn pile gathering in a flipped over communication dish placed next to a New Physics Engine. Only absolutely critical survival equipment and supplies would be spared.

Sabotaging their own work. Vowing not to speak, not to record, not to teach the planet anything more. Humanity came here to colonize. Now, the astronauts were prisoners. Still functioning compromised New Physics Engines melted burn piles into molten slag heaps.

The End

"We need to destroy this ship," reminded Raines.

Anaya and Dr. Voss worked in silence, stripping out failsafes, pressure regulators, and containment seals. The New Physics Engines were designed to be stable, but every safety margin had a breaking point.

"Plasma shields set to collapse," Voss muttered.

"Injector timing reversed," Anaya confirmed.

Orion-Cygnus 278, if it could get off the ground, would be forced into a delayed fusion cascade, trapping energy inside the core until the reactor imploded under its own pressure.

The astronauts loaded into the all-terrain vehicles. Five kilometers away, behind a ridge, they donned goggles and dropped to the ground. Everyone agreed that if the detonation was a dud, they would keep trying. If the damaged ship did lift-off, it shouldn't go too far or the astronauts might not catch back up with a downed but still relatively intact ship.

Raines watched Anaya set up. "Anaya?"

"Ready."

"Now!" Raines said.

Anaya remotely piloted Orion-Cygnus 278. The Orion-Cygnus 278 lifted off, glowing blue as its drives engaged. The ship made it one kilometer before the overload ruptured the reactor. A white-hot fireball engulfed the sky. The shockwave rolled over the ridge, flattening the grass.

In the end, the once-thriving camp was eerily silent. The remaining crew—well-fed, physically unharmed, but mentally caged—lived like animals in a reserve, knowing they were being watched, studied. They had taken a vow of silence—no more talk of Earth, nor of the Orion-Cygnus Arm colonies, no more discussions of technology. If they couldn't leave, they could at least deny the planet knowledge.

But the response to the astronauts' final distress signals, if it ever came, would take years. No one knew if OCA 11092c, OCA 13704e, and OCA 14433b would ever send a rescue ship. If they did, the rescuers would need to isolate and extract the original astronauts from a planet full of copies.