My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 538 Quiet Moments

As the world continued to buzz over the staff exodus, the pair of space shuttles dispatched by Nova Technologies had completed collecting the final personnel and were now hurtling away from Earth, slicing toward the upper atmosphere at astonishing velocities.

Each shuttle's rapid succession of landings at twelve airports spanning continents left observers baffled about the exact count of vessels deployed.

With both crafts now departing, they ascended through the thermosphere at speeds beyond commercial flight metrics, their sleek, dark hulls gleaming against the sparse air overhead.

Within, the remaining staff grappled with the realization that solid ground lay behind them.

The climb felt effortless—no shakes, no pressure shifts, merely the view from the windows betraying their rise. Moments earlier, the city's layout sprawled below under morning sun, streets and roofs in sharp grid. Then clouds enveloped them. Then clouds parted. Then Earth's gentle curve edged into sight, the sky deepening from ashen gray to profound indigo beyond everyday words, finally yielding to inky void.

Everything unfolded in a whirlwind.

The Synth at the cabin's front rose and pivoted toward them, its tone steady and measured.

"We have cleared Earth's atmosphere. Transit time to Lunar Base Sanctuary is approximately one hour. You are all free to move through the cabin and access the areas open to you."

It resumed its seat, eyes fixed on the holographic arrays before it—neat telemetry columns, orbital paths, 3D navigation lines.

Those displays captivated through pure aesthetics of light, form, and exactitude, refreshing without cease.

A staff member cautiously lifted his phone to start filming.

Even with permission to roam, no one rose right away.

They scanned the cabin, then exchanged glances. Nearby faces echoed their own—eyes stretched wide, jaws clenched, the raw look of those who'd committed to an adventure now facing its truth.

Noticing that shared stare from the seat across, beside, and ahead somehow lightened the weight of their awe.

One person sighed loudly, while another emitted a brief, startled noise.

Suddenly, as if on cue, everyone released their harnesses.

Most headed straight for the windows first.

Viewports stretched along each cabin side, far grander than plane windows, halting them in their tracks with the spectacle outside.

Earth.

Not like sanitized mission photos or videos—filtered, adjusted, composed for show.

Unfiltered and vivid via pristine hull glass. The planet's arc revealed itself fully from this height, beyond any image's grasp. Day-night boundary sliced the globe with unreal precision. Cloud patterns swirled lazily over impossibly vivid oceans. Continents in browns, greens, rugged relief appeared familiar yet distorted—diminished, huddled, perilously delicate amid encircling black.

One of the nurses flattened her palm to the viewport, staring silently for ages.

A translator stood rigid, murmuring softly in her native tongue, not English. Once spoken, she fell quiet.

A physician pivoted gradually from the window to survey the cabin, then back, then cabin once more, verifying both realities coexisted.

A line cook from the kitchen team gripped the viewport rim, body tensed, face pressed as near as possible.

The front observation lounge lay beyond a forward door, and the pioneer who discovered it lingered in the threshold, nearly causing a collision with followers.

Circular and set lower than the main deck, it boasted a panoramic viewport encircling almost 360 degrees around the shuttle's prow. It mimicked exposure to space itself. The crystal-clear hull offered no barrier hint save the frame between them and hard vacuum.

Darkness reigned utterly. Stars gleamed in profusion and calm unattainable through air, sharp and steady, free of flicker or blur. Mere lights piercing endless abyss.

To the left of the curved viewport, Earth could be seen, now tinier than it had looked through the cabin's windows. Ahead lay the moon, appearing as a crescent from this vantage, its surface features so sharply defined that it seemed within arm's reach.

Three crew members had squeezed into the space before anyone organized it properly. Positioned at various spots along the panoramic window, they remained silent, each gazing in separate directions at a cosmos indifferent to human understanding.

One among them, the medical coordinator, suddenly sank to the observation room's floor without a word. The others turned their eyes toward him.

He motioned toward the breathtaking vista. "I had to sit," he explained. "That's it."

No one contested his words.

***

At the cabin's back, behind a sliding partition, lay the rest zone. Six beds were embedded into the walls on either side in neat rows.

A psychologist perched on the edge of a lower bunk, staring upward at the plain white ceiling. After the intensity of the observation area, that unadorned white brought a sense of calm.

For three weeks, she had crafted therapy plans for utterly alien settings. She had devoured every text on isolation effects, adapting to extraterrestrial life, and the mental toll of surroundings lacking earthly anchors. She had readied herself completely for the anticipated sensations.

Yet nothing had readied her for the true reality of it.

Ten minutes passed as she lingered on the bed. Then, pulling out her notebook, she started jotting notes—writing being her way to unpack experiences, especially those too fresh to fade.

The central lounge featured casual seating clustered around a short table. On the front wall, a screen showed the shuttle's progress—a basic diagram with Earth receding leftward, the moon expanding rightward, and a dashed path linking them.

Staff members converged there organically, without intent.

The chief cook rested his arms on the table, eyes fixed on the status graphic. A kitchen helper sat opposite, phone in hand but idle, merely clutching it.

"How much time has passed?" the helper inquired.

Glancing at the screen, the chief cook replied, "Around twenty minutes, I'd say."

The helper eyed the display. Earth had noticeably shrunk since the image first showed. "Doesn't seem like twenty minutes."

"No," the chief cook concurred.

A physical therapist plopped down next to them, bag dangling from her shoulder. She checked the screen, then them.

"Visited the forward room yet?" she asked.

"Not so far."

"You should," she urged. "Before touchdown. Go now."

The Synth stationed up front stayed at its post the whole time, overseeing telemetry passively. Now and then, a crew member wandered close, lured by the glowing holograms, observing the streaming data without grasping it.

An occupational therapist hovered nearby for minutes, eyes on the slowly spinning orbital map.

"What's this showing?" she asked at last.

The Synth glanced at her indicated spot. "Our path relative to the moon's surface. The landing projection refreshes in real time as we near."

She studied it briefly. "All good?"

"Affirmative," the Synth confirmed.

She nodded, lingering another minute to watch the figures shift.

Afterward, she headed for the observation deck.

***

Forty minutes into the journey, nearly all staff had explored every reachable part of the shuttle at least once. Some revisited spots they'd seen.

The observation room saw a steady, hushed turnover—two or three at once, none hogging it.

The lounge drew people back repeatedly. The position graphic served as a communal anchor—better to share glances at it than confront thoughts solo.

The moon dominated the screen now. The dashed line had crossed the halfway mark.

A nurse gazed at the display and remarked to the air: "Less than an hour back, I was at JFK."

Silence followed briefly.

Then a translator added: "Less than an hour ago, Charles de Gaulle for me."

Another: "Heathrow."

"Lagos."

"Singapore."

They pondered that quietly. Airports worlds apart, dawns apart, clocks apart—yet all funneled to this same screen, this path, this swelling moon in the top right.

The chief cook studied the graphic. Then his gaze dropped to the table.

"I applied to cook on the moon," he murmured softly, "and they said yes."

No one chuckled. However, a few folks grinned, and that grin rippled across the table much like the raised faces had spread beyond the airport gates, one after another.

***

After fifty-three minutes, the Synth announced from the cabin's front.

"Approach to Lunar Base Sanctuary in seven minutes. Please return to your seats and secure your belongings."

The crew stirred into action, collecting bags and phones while heading back from the observation room, the rest zone, and the hidden nooks they'd claimed during the last hour.

With everyone settled in their seats and the cabin hushed, a breathtaking new view emerged through the shuttle's right-side viewport—something that stunned them even more than witnessing Earth recede into the distance as they journeyed farther from it.