My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 535 The Staff Onboarding The Space Shuttle

The four staff members in the lounge stood frozen, their gazes locked on the Synths.

The lead one had just greeted them with a good morning and stated they were set whenever they were, yet for an instant, no one budged. It wasn't that they missed the words. The voice's serene, everyday quality required a moment to register amid the shuttle on the tarmac, the long wakeful morning, and the reality now unfolding before them.

They'd anticipated a robotic, flat tone, not one so smooth and natural.

The physical therapist from Toronto snapped out of it first.

She grabbed her bag, threw it over her shoulder, and gave a nod. "Ready."

That single word shattered the invisible barrier holding the rest back. The other three staff quickly gathered their belongings, prepared to depart.

The lead Synth offered a slight nod and pivoted toward the door. The remaining two motioned for the staff to follow, then trailed behind them.

Together, they exited the lounge and proceeded along the corridor to the boarding area, their steps soft on the terminal flooring.

Bringing up the rear was the physical therapist from Toronto. As they moved, she peered through the terminal window at the shuttle resting on the tarmac under the faint morning glow.

She'd chuckled at its arrival earlier. Laughter had vanished now. In its place surged disbelief mixed with a touch of anxiety.

Boarding that spacecraft meant crossing an irreversible threshold.

Merely stepping aboard the space shuttle would shatter her grasp of all she'd ever understood. The journey through space would broaden that upheaval, and reaching the base would intensify it further.

She turned her gaze ahead once more and continued onward.

She wasn't alone in those sentiments—the other three shared them exactly. Inevitably, their thoughts drifted to the transformations awaiting their return.

The way others would regard them. The endless questions shadowing their every step. That unique divide forming between someone who'd ventured to an extraordinary place and those who hadn't—a chasm no words could bridge entirely, since accounts could never match the raw experience itself.

Changes weren't their sole concern. Excitement bubbled over what the space shuttle's interior might reveal, how the space flight would feel, and the base's appearance.

Their eagerness burned brighter, impatience growing despite being mere steps from the space shuttle.

The boarding zone door slid open upon their approach, letting in the chilly morning breeze.

Before them sprawled the tarmac, with the shuttle waiting at its far end.

Up close, it loomed larger than the terminal windows suggested. Its dark exterior swallowed the morning light without a gleam, the seamless hull defying easy assessment of its depth or surface.

Being near it felt worlds apart from observing its descent from a distant road. Proximity altered how its immense size hit home.

Camera clicks echoed through the air as they headed to the space shuttle, with onlookers snapping photos and videos, uploading them straight to LucidNet.

Cameramen from news channels kept their lenses fixed on the group too.

Diana Reeves, the local reporter who'd narrated the landing, remained on air. Her operator had shifted position, framing the boarding zone behind her with the shuttle peeking over her left shoulder.

"What you're seeing now are the first confirmed human beings to board a Nova Technologies spacecraft on camera. Four individuals — selected through the recruitment process Nova Technologies announced several weeks ago — are crossing the tarmac at John F. Kennedy International Airport toward the vehicle that landed here approximately thirty minutes ago," she reported, then paused to observe their approach.

Her camera operator kept the shot stable while the group advanced across the tarmac.

"We still do not have confirmed identification for any of the five individuals who arrived on the shuttle who are escorting the selected staff to the boarding platform. They have been courteous and professional throughout the coordination process, according to airport staff we've spoken to." She observed briefly. "The staff don't appear to be in distress. They look like people walking toward something they've decided to do."

Meanwhile, on a split-screen cable network broadcast, a seasoned foreign correspondent now manned the anchor desk for the morning report.

Two decades of coverage from war zones and catastrophe scenes had honed his concise style of speech, born from confronting countless events too profound for easy words.

"Boarding has commenced," he announced. "Let me provide some background for those tuning in this morning for the very first time." For a few moments, he allowed the video to play uninterrupted—the four staffers alongside their escorts traversing the tarmac, the shuttle poised in readiness, the faint morning glow illuminating Queens.

"What's unfolding on your screens marks the inaugural voluntary civilian exodus to an extraterrestrial outpost in all of history," he explained. "These four individuals emerged from a transparent public selection. They submitted applications. They got picked. And right now, this very morning, they stride across a New York tarmac heading straight for a spacecraft."

He observed the footage intently.

Another broadcast—a morning news show featuring two anchors behind a desk—had aired expert analyses and panel debates nonstop since four in the morning.

Marcus Webb, the male anchor, and Joelle Fontaine, his female counterpart, had exchanged insights all morning long. At this point, however, silence fell as they fixed their eyes on the monitor display. Webb broke the quiet first. "They're nearing the platform now."

"I see it clearly," Fontaine replied.

"I feel like I ought to comment on this."

"There's really nothing to add at the moment."

Webb gave a nod. They continued staring in rapt attention.

The lead Synth advanced with unwavering steadiness, while the staff trailed behind unprompted, clutching their luggage, their footsteps echoing on the tarmac in a deceptively mundane rhythm amid the extraordinary scene.

As they proceeded, one staffer—a nurse hailing from Atlanta—glanced upward. The shuttle's belly gleamed smooth and blank save for the extended boarding ramp, poised and expectant. He gazed at it briefly before fixing his eyes ahead once more.

The translator among the staff hadn't uttered a word since departing the lounge. Her focus remained solely on her path, as if every step demanded her undivided focus.

The physical therapist lingered at the rear.

The pair of Synths stationed as sentinels by the platform since touchdown pivoted subtly as the party drew near.

The lead Synth mounted the boarding platform, pivoted to confront the others, and motioned toward it with the relaxed ease of one who'd guided countless entries before.

"Whenever you're set," it stated.

The physical therapist eyed the platform, then the shuttle overhead and the gap from which the ramp had extended, before returning her gaze to the platform.

She boarded first.

The rest ascended after her. Sequentially, maintaining their formation, they mounted the platform in silence. The Atlanta nurse brought up the rear. He set his foot upon it, balanced his stance, and cast a final glance backward at the terminal structure, the lounge's glassy facade they'd vacated, and the wan morning heavens crowning the rooftop.

He faced frontward, and the platform started its ascent.

Below them, the tarmac receded swiftly. The boundary road emerged past the fencing, revealing from their vantage the throng—cellphones hoisted high, capturing every instant, eyes locked in vigil—alongside news vehicles bristling with satellite arrays, under the vast expanse of ashen skies in all directions.

The physical therapist gazed outward, the chill breeze brushing her features, and in that precise instant grasped fully, as never before, that departure was truly upon her.

The platform aligned with the shuttle's underbelly, the portal overhead aglow with inviting warmth, and they crossed the threshold one after another as the tarmac, spectators, and dim dawn vanished below with the ramp's secure closure.

The boarding ramp lowered anew, the four Synths climbed aboard, and it rose once again.

A azure radiance ignited the space shuttle's fusion drive without a whisper, propelling the vessel gradually skyward in a vertical climb, every lens and sensor worldwide zeroed in upon it.

While climbing higher, the space shuttle adjusted its bearing, swiveling toward its impending waypoint.

Surpassing seven thousand feet altitude, it surged ahead, hurtling toward its ultimate target.