Nathan stood in the gray, timeless haze of the transport ship, his eyes fixed on the heavy blast doors.

  He didn't scream. He didn't run. He had done all of that already. For the last week… or what felt like a week in this contained purgatory… he had exhausted every ounce of adrenaline his body possessed.

  Now, there was only the waiting. And the silence of thousands of other survivors holding their breath.

  A deep, resonant thrum vibrated through the floor plates. Then, the hiss of hydraulics.

  The massive doors groaned and began to separate.

  Nathan squinted. He expected ash. He expected a red ruin of a dying world.

  Instead, he was blinded by a soft, impossible light.

  As his eyes adjusted, the first thing that hit him was the smell. Vanilla. Damp earth. Ozone. A "paradise" smell that felt incredible compared to the metallic static of where they were.

  He stepped out onto the ramp, and his boots sank into grass that wasn't right. It was thick, cool, and a shifting shade of blue-green, like the ocean seen through a filter.

  "My god," the woman beside him whispered.

  Nathan looked up, and his breath hitched in his chest.

  They were in a dome. But it wasn't just a shelter; it was a world.

  Below them lay a sprawling settlement that defied logic. The buildings were nestled into rolling hills, a strange, harmonious blend of architecture that shouldn't have worked together. Sweeping, pagoda-style roofs tiled in European slate. Tudor-style beams supporting sleek, minimalist glass walls. It looked like a memory of Earth that had been shuffled and dealt out by a hand that didn't quite understand the rules.

  But it was the sky that made Nathan dizzy.

  Beyond the dome's transparency, the alien sky was a deep blue and purple. Streams of light… traffic, maybe, or energy… traveled in silent, franticly organized currents.

  And hovering above it all, dominating the heavens, was the Hive.

  It was a massive cluster of lights, a constellation that was too dense, too organized. Thousands of ships and stations bound together in a lattice of data and electricity. It pulsed with a slow, rhythmic beat, like a mechanical heart watching over them.

  "Attention," a synthesized voice chimed, not from a speaker, but from the air itself.

  From the direction of the town, a swarm approached.

  At first, it looked like a cloud of silver insects. As they got closer, Nathan realized they were machines. Drones. Small, sleek spheres of polished chrome that hummed with a sound barely louder than a whisper.

  The crowd of survivors shrank back, terrified.

  Nathan stood his ground. He was too tired to be afraid.

  One of the drones separated from the swarm and floated toward him. It hovered at eye level, a single blue lens dilating as it scanned his face.

  "Identify," the drone chirped.

  "Reeves," Nathan croaked. He cleared his throat. "Nathan Reeves."

  A beam of blue light washed over him.

  "Designation verified: Builder," the drone said. "Follow."

  The drone spun and drifted toward a path lined with bamboo that grew in perfect, geometric rows. Nathan hesitated for a heartbeat, looking back at the huddled masses, then followed the machine.

  He walked past infrastructure that was breathtaking in its scope. Aqueducts carved from white stone that looked Roman, feeding into koi ponds that looked Japanese.

  "You built all this?" Nathan asked the drone. "In a week?"

  "Construction efficiency: Optimal," the drone replied without stopping. “Atmosphere contained.”

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  It led him up a winding path to a small neighborhood nestled against a hillside. The drone stopped in front of a cottage.

  "Subject-42," the drone announced. "Home."

  Nathan stared. It was... charming. A thatched roof, flower boxes overflowing with orange blooms, and round windows that looked like they belonged in a storybook.

  "For me?" Nathan asked.

  The drone didn't answer. It simply zipped away to join the swarm.

  Nathan walked up the stone path. He reached for the brass handle of the front door and pushed. It swung open silently.

  Inside, it was picture-perfect. A wooden table. Chairs. A row of rustic cabinets along the wall.

  He walked to the kitchen sink. He was parched. He reached for the faucet handle to turn it.

  It didn't move.

  He frowned. He gripped it harder and twisted. Nothing. It wasn't stuck; it was fused.

  He looked closely. There was no seam between the handle and the spout. It was a single solid piece of matter.

  He walked to the cabinets. He grabbed a handle and pulled.

  Solid.

  He knelt down, inspecting the "door." There were no hinges. It was just a block of material printed to look like a cabinet with a door.

  "It’s a prop," Nathan whispered, a dry, incredulous laugh escaping him. "It’s a damn dollhouse."

  "Visuals... accurate?"

  The voice came from the doorway.

  Nathan spun around.

  Standing there was P-TR33K. Tall, slender, eight feet of fluid geometry. Its skin was a pale, translucent violet, pulsing with soft bioluminescence. It wasn’t wearing his suit like he was on the ship. Instead, it wore an elegant, highly detailed robe, similar to the fabric everyone else wore, but made into a cloak with more care. It had a smaller, clear containment helmet that fit perfectly on its head.

  It… He… stepped into the room. Flashed his Alien Hologram name in an alien font, but, with imagination, it looked like it said P-TR33 K. It was how it had identified itself for the past week, a name that never seemed to be articulated, only shown.

  "You are... Builder Reeves."

  Nathan looked at the alien, then back at the fake kitchen. The absurdity of it all… the beautiful, fake house, the massive Hive in the sky, the polite alien standing in his living room… bubbled up inside him.

  "You guys have a hell of a set designer," Nathan said, rapping his knuckles on the solid block of the fake cabinet. "But the plumbing leaves a little to be desired."

  P-TR33K tilted his head. His large, dark eyes blinked… a slow, vertical shuttering motion.

  "Set designer?" P-TR33K repeated.

  "It's a joke," Nathan said, leaning against the non-functional counter. "It looks great. Really. But I can't get a glass of water out of a solid block of metal."

  P-TR33K moved closer, his sensors whirring softly. He ran a long, gray finger over the faucet.

  "We copied the data from Earth transmission scans," P-TR33K said, sounding genuinely confused. "Why does it not function?"

  "Because you copied the picture, not the blueprint," Nathan explained. "You built a statue of a kitchen. We need hollow pipes. We need valves. We need... function."

  P-TR33K’s lights shifted from blue-violet to a deep cobalt blue.

  "Fascinating," the alien hummed. "The image is not the reality. There is a hidden function.”

  "This dome is temporary," P-TR33K continued, straightening up. "Constructed with haste for your survival. We are printing a larger structure. Permanent.”

  The alien looked at Nathan.

  "You are a Builder. We have much to learn about human construction. We require biological intuition to correct the habitats."

  He gestured to the fake room. "Will you assist in educating us for the permanent dome?"

  Nathan looked around the beautiful, useless house. He felt the phantom weight of a hammer in his hand. He hadn't built anything in weeks. He had just been surviving.

  "Yeah," Nathan said, the word feeling heavy but right. "I can help you. I can fix this."

  "Excellent," P-TR33K said. "I will return at dawn cycle."

  The alien turned to leave, gliding toward the door.

  "Wait."

  The word tore out of Nathan’s throat before he could stop it.

  P-TR33K stopped and turned back.

  Nathan stood in the middle of the fake kitchen, his hands trembling. The adrenaline was gone. The awe was fading. And in the silence of the prop house, the real question was the only thing left.

  "You have a list," Nathan said. "Of the survivors. The ones who made it… from Earth?"

  "Affirmative," P-TR33K said.

  "Can you see if there is a Christine Reeves?"

  Nathan stopped breathing. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.

  P-TR33K didn't need to type. The lights in his skin pulsed faster for a second, accessing the Hive mind above.

  "No," the alien said simply. "No match."

  Nathan felt the floor drop out from under him. The room spun.

  "Check... check the maiden name," he stammered, desperation clawing at his throat. "Christine Lance."

  P-TR33K paused. The violet light dimmed to a somber gray.

  "Does not register."

  "Are you sure?" Nathan whispered. "Maybe she’s in a different area? Maybe she’s..."

  "All intact arrivals are logged," P-TR33K said in its artificial tone. "We attempted the impossible. We tried to string complex biological matter and catch water with a net. We ended up with... broken pieces."

  Broken pieces.

  Nathan squeezed his eyes shut, the tears tracking through the dust on his face. He nodded, unable to speak, unable to look at the creature that had saved his life but lost his reason for living it.

  P-TR33K decided that the conversation had reached a logical, if wet, conclusion.

  "I will return tomorrow, Builder," the alien said.

  He stepped out into the twilight, the door swinging shut silently behind him.

  Nathan was alone.

  He stared at the fake cabinets through a veil of tears. He looked at the perfect, painted flowers in the window box that would never need water. He looked at the ceiling, knowing the massive, pulsing Hive was above him, indifferent and electric.

  The silence of the house was absolute. It was a tomb.

  Nathan’s legs gave out. He didn't sit; he collapsed, sliding down the front of the solid cabinet until he hit the floor. He pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself to hold his shattering body together.

  And for the first time since the sky cracked open, he let go.

  He didn't scream. He didn't shout. He buried his face in his hands and broke, his body shaking with great, heaving sobs that echoed in the empty, perfect room, grieving the ghost he had hoped to find.

  Christine