The Forgotten Gateway
Chapter 3:
The Story of Fire
By Bishwadeep Mukherjee
****************************
By evening, the sky had grown dark and heavy with clouds. The air felt thick, weighed down with humidity. Earlier that afternoon, a gentle breeze had made things pleasant, but now, the wind had vanished—leaving behind an uneasy stillness.
Riyan and Indrajit stepped out of the Equipment Room inside the main building of Stellar Nexus, each carrying a device. The one in Riyan’s hand was long, almost reaching his elbow. It had a small screen on top and several buttons near the base. Indrajit’s device looked more like a vintage radio—though slightly smaller—with twin antenna-like structures at the top, and like Riyan’s, it also had a screen and control buttons.
They walked down the corridor. Rooms lined either side until they reached the end, where they turned left and entered a medium-sized glass-walled room. In the center stood a table. They placed their devices there. In one corner of the room was a large leather bag. Indrajit picked it up, opened the main zipper, and gently packed the devices inside.
“We’re about to create a history Sir,”
Said Indrajit, his voice brimming with excitement.
Riyan paused briefly, then replied,
“Just make sure this doesn’t leak to the media. You know how fast they pounce on stories.”
Indrajit hesitated.
“No offense, Sir, but.. your wife works for one of the biggest news networks.”
Riyan shot him a look. Indrajit quickly dropped his gaze and added,
“I’m really sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Indra,” Riyan said, his tone softer now.
“You’re right. Shipra’s a journalist. And for journalists, news is currency. The more exclusive the news, the higher the TRPs—and the brighter their career.”
He sighed,
“But she knows this project is confidential. Even if she doesn’t mean to, one careless slip could unravel everything. And once a whiff of it reaches her channel, someone will dig deeper.”
Riyan looked directly at him.
“Do you know what the media’s real job is, Indra? To create panic in the name of news. Ever heard of ‘fear marketing’? That’s what they thrive on.”
They had reached Riyan’s chamber. He sank into his chair, while Indrajit took the seat across.
“What we’re trying to do,” Riyan continued,
“is dangerous. We don’t know what’s out there. We’re not even sure if the wormhole exists. And even if it does, we don’t know how stable it is—how long it’s been there, or what kind of energy it holds. We’re walking blind. But that’s the essence of discovery. You begin in darkness.”
He leaned forward.
“Now imagine we do find an ancient wormhole. What then? Do we leave it untouched? Or do we try to open it?”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Open it, Sir,” Indrajit said without hesitation. “Who knows what truth lies on the other side—truth we’ve never even imagined?”
“Exactly. But that’s only half the story. You’re thinking of the good that might come from it. What if opening it destabilizes Earth’s gravitational field? What if it triggers a shift in the local climate? One wrong move could spell disaster. And if the media gets wind of it, this entire mission could be grounded before it takes off.”
On the desk in front of Riyan were several tiny holes arranged in a circular formation—speakers for communication. Just beneath them, a red light glowed beside a small button.
Suddenly, a tone sounded—like an incoming call. The red light flickered.
Riyan pressed the button.
“Yes?”
“Sir, this is Mr. Sharma from the launch pad,” came a voice from the speaker.
“Yes, go ahead, Mr. Sharma,” Riyan replied.
There was a pause. Then: “Sir, we’ve got a situation…”
************************************
A car pulled up near the launch pad.
Riyan stepped out and began walking toward the office building when a familiar voice called out.
“Over here, Sir!”
It was Subhankar Debnath.
Riyan turned and approached him.
“What happened?”
He asked, his voice tight with concern.
“I don’t know for sure, Sir,” Subhankar said, clearly shaken.
“The satellite was almost ready. I had gone in to check on a few things. That’s when I saw Ishika running out of the Assembly Room, followed by ten or twelve engineers. The room was filled with smoke. Somehow, we managed to control the fire.”
As they walked, they neared the Assembly Room. A small crowd had gathered. Smoke still curled from within, though not as thick as before.
Riyan spotted Bhaskar Sharma, the Project Manager for the Lunar Mission. The man looked pale. His eyes, barely visible behind his glasses, glistened with moisture.
“How bad is it, Mr. Sharma?” Riyan asked, meeting his gaze.
Sharma looked down. His silence said more than words.
“Well?” Riyan pressed. “How much damage are we talking about?”
“It’s the lunar satellite, Sir,” came a voice—but not Sharma’s. It was Ishika, standing beside him.
“It’s been damaged?” Riyan asked.
“Significantly,” She replied quietly.
Riyan stood still, absorbing the weight of her words. Then he asked,
“How long will repairs take?”
Mr. Sharma finally spoke.
“Sir, it’s beyond repair. We’ll have to scrap it. A new one has to be built from scratch.”
Riyan’s heart sank. He stared blankly. Never in his career had a satellite been completely destroyed by fire. The financial loss alone was staggering.
“So... the lunar mission is postponed,”
He whispered to himself.
No one said a word.
To be continued..
