167 Free-floating Planet Arc 9: Outer Shell Infiltration

side: Nibiru Outer Structure (Akira)

‘Alright, we’ll guide you to the spaceport. Proceed straight in.’

Lights ignite across the surface of Nibiru (Free-floating Planet), tracing a vast circle.

A sphere eight times the diameter of Earth—its surface clearly drawn as a perfect circle means that single arc must span roughly the size of the Moon.

That center point is probably the spaceport entrance.

I zoom in on the center of the circle from space.

There, a gap resembling a spaceport entrance appears, emitting guidance lasers from within.

I maneuver my Personal Ship between the two laser beams and proceed forward.

What awaits isn’t a spaceport—it’s more like a colossal corridor.

No air, seems like.

“Ah… clumsy. Didn’t put on the pilot suit. How the hell am I supposed to dock now?”

When civilizations separated by 1,200 years make contact, failing to quarantine could mean deadly diseases getting passed around.

To prevent that, we should wear protective gear—hell, in this case, a spacesuit—until safety’s confirmed.

I’m still pondering when another transmission arrives.

‘When the outer hatch closes, the inner hatch opens. Proceed through the hull’s underside and head to the control area directly above the North Pole.’

Just as the message said, the outer hatch sealed shut—and then the inner hatch began to open.

Beyond it? One planet, held in place.

A Dyson sphere, centered on a planet, just like before.

Probably an outer shell structure built to transport entire planets across the galaxy.

The planet’s nearly Earth-sized. The outer shell must be eight times wider in diameter to keep a gap between it and the planet—just enough room to maneuver.

Seems like I’m supposed to navigate through the gap between the planet and the outer shell.

I move my Personal Ship forward several hundred kilometers—its thickness—into the interior of the outer shell.

Then I align with the shell and head straight toward the north pole, directly above it—the outer shell’s direction along the planet’s rotational axis.

Ah. So that’s why the critical facilities can’t be accessed directly from the outside.

Still… one planet should be able to produce enough food for a billion people, shouldn’t it?

Why go into cold sleep? Why need food aid?

Something’s gotta have happened.

Lost in thought, my Personal Ship reaches the point directly above the north pole.

“Arrived. Now what?”

“We’ll open the outer shell’s storage hatch. Land there.

We’ll guide you to the control room. There, you’ll operate the control terminal.”

As I look at the outer shell, a path marking appears—clearing the way inward.

As I guided my Personal Ship along the invasion route, I felt artificial gravity.

I rolled sharply, flipping the ship upside down to correct the orientation.

Following the guidance, I docked my Personal Ship into the hangar opening in the outer hull.

"Still, do I really have to operate the control terminal directly?

There's quarantine to consider—being bare-assed in someone else's territory isn't exactly my idea of a good time."

No way I'm going in flesh and blood without even a quarantine check.

If the reason Nibiru's people went into cold sleep was a plague, stepping into that place naked is suicide.

There’s gotta be a better way.

Cables and boarding tubes extend from various points in the hangar toward my Personal Ship.

Guess it’s no surprise—descendants of the same tech, still compatible after 1,200 years.

"Hmm? Cables? Right—networks should be compatible too!"

If network technology still exists in the current empire, it should be there on Nibiru too."

I began infiltrating Nibiru's wired network through my Personal Ship's neural interface.

Nibiru's network security was almost identical to what the current empire uses.

Same basic principle: access is restricted by permission levels, and only those with the right level can operate it.

But those permission levels were set 1,200 years ago.

So even though it's the same system, a closed environment maintained in isolation means that newly arriving humans with valid credentials aren't recognized as having those permissions. They can't access it.

So I’ll have to interface directly with the terminal...

"Access denied. Emergency launch protocol engaged. No spacesuit. Can't risk exposure without quarantine. Landing impossible."

I don’t want to interface with the terminal—I want to try controlling it from the network.

Can I borrow your access rights? No chance, huh?'

'Access rights? I don’t understand. The methods to operate it were lost long ago...'

What a mess.

Can’t even operate the terminal, so I can’t stop the cold sleep thaw.

'Understood. May I proceed with forced intervention—uh, hacking?'

'I don’t fully grasp it, but if it can save my people, please do.'

Got it. Got their word.

"Admiral Command, highest priority activation! Nibiru Crack, seize authority!"

I tried pulling out the ace in the hole through the network.

'Admiral Command confirmed by His Majesty. Nibiru control net is now under His Majesty’s command. Proceed with orders.'

The response came back from Nibiru’s control net through the network.

Huh? Did I just say something weird?

Whatever. The Emperor’s factor must’ve kicked in somewhere.

I’m sending the command through the network.

Not much point in trying to talk to the Star Keepers—they’re not exactly responsive anymore.

“Cold Sleep thawing halted. Those in thaw sequence will be re-frozen.”

“Command received. Cold Sleep thawing halted. Re-freezing initiated.”

“Phew. Somehow managed that.”

Still, the Star Keepers seem utterly useless after all this time.

Better to just ask Nibiru’s control net for the timeline.

“Report the circumstances leading to the Cold Sleep. Also, food production status.”

“Understood. The people entered Cold Sleep….”

The story the Nibiru control net began to tell left me stunned.

Changed “crew” to “people” for Nibiru.