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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/ApertiV on 2024-12-27 15:18:29+00:00.

The “StarLeap Expedition,” as it was unofficially dubbed, was a compromise born of mutual distrust and collective ambition.

With mounting political pressure and the shadow of international competition looming, the United Nations hastily brokered an agreement to assemble a smaller, mixed team comprising scientists, engineers, linguists, and security personnel from both Earths.

The selection process was gruelling, filled with hidden agendas and barely veiled biases.

Tensions flared during the integration process. Engineers from both sides constantly clashed over specifications, accusing one another of sabotage or incompetence.

Each side insisted on including representatives they could trust—or, more accurately, control. The task force was small—intentionally so. The sheer scope of the project, both in terms of political intrigue and technological challenges, meant that only the most capable individuals could be spared for such a risky mission.

Pathfinder was retrofitted with a mix of 22nd-century tech and Mirror Earth’s more primitive but robust designs. Its outer hull gleamed under the artificial lights of the dock, a patchwork of alloys and energy-efficient composites, which had been painstakingly developed over the past few weeks.

As the countdown drew closer, the team shuffled into the final meeting room, prepared for the inevitable pre-launch briefing.

It was humankind’s first truly joint space exploration craft, a hybrid born of necessity.

Pathfinder was to be launched from a neutral orbital station in Mirror Earth’s territorial space, watched by billions across both Earths. The mission had become a global spectacle, with media outlets broadcasting every moment from it’s official inception.

In the briefing room of the station, the air was thick with the scent of freshly printed reports and metallic tension. The leaders of the team were gathered around a holographic display, where a simulation of the anomaly shimmered in the center of the room.

As the scientists spoke, the engineers of both worlds—human and mirror-human alike—exchanged glances of frustration and determination. They had just finished testing the ship’s newly modified warp drive, which had been adapted to navigate the unpredictable anomaly.

The engineers were well aware of the risks involved, especially since the propulsion system was still experimental, designed in haste after the first communications with Mirror Earth had come through.

The security personnel, a mix of international forces and specialized operatives from both earths, stood in two rows facing one another, silent and stoic. As it turned out, the real dangers of this mission wouldn’t come just from the physics of space; the fears of sabotage, espionage, and even military skirmishes between the two Earths were very real.

Mirror Earth’s team, is a mixed detachment of what could only be described as a ragtag collection of late 21st-century equipment.

Standard-issue combat fatigues in mismatched camouflage patterns, Kevlar heavy body armor that looked cumbersome by comparison, and weapons that—while intimidating—were clearly outdated by centuries of military evolution.

They bore assault rifles, some still using mechanical sights, with chipped paint and duct-taped grips hinting at years of field use.

Many of whom had fought in bloody skirmishes over dwindling resources and territory, carried the kind of hard-earned cynicism that came from living on the edge of societal collapse.

To them, their Earth-team counterparts looked like alien—perfect soldiers molded by a world that seemed to have solved every problem they were still dying for.

Conversely, Earth’s team—representatives of the 22nd century stood on the other side in sleek, matte black exosuits that hugged their bodies like second skins. Their helmets were adorned with integrated optics capable of thermal, ultraviolet, and even quantum-layer scanning.

Every piece of their gear screamed efficiency, lethality, and cutting-edge sophistication. They viewed their counterparts with a mixture of curiosity and detached pity.

To them, Mirror Earth’s soldiers represented a grim reminder of their past—a time when humanity hadn’t yet mastered the art of sustainable survival.

A young Mirror Earth soldier, no older than 25, stole a glance at the futuristic exosuits across the line. The suits were seamless, with fluid contours and a dull sheen that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

One of the Earth soldiers moved slightly, and the faint whirr of servo-assisted joints followed. The Mirror soldier tightened his grip on his rifle, its weight suddenly feeling archaic in his hands.

“Tch, cyborgs,” he muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glare from his superior.

On the other side, one of the Earth guards caught the muttered comment. Through his helmet’s internal comms, he quipped, “Look at that gear. I swear I saw better tech in a history museum last month.”

Another guard chuckled, his voice laced with dry humor. “They’ve still wearing ballistic plates, man. Can you imagine getting shot and carrying the weight? Brutal.”

“Cut the chatter, here comes Julius Caesar.” Another one sneered through the team comms. The line stiffened immediately, professionalism overriding the urge to escalate.

Mirror-Earth team lead stopped in his step to address his troops, his voice carrying the gruff authority of a man used to barking orders in battlefields and bureaucratic offices alike.

“This mission is bigger than politics,” he growled in Russian before switching to English for the benefit of his observers.

“We may not have their fancy suits, but we’ve got grit. That counts for something.”

From the Earth team, eyebrows were raised beneath their helmets but nothing was said. Their suit’s AI fed them a translation slew of Russian, but they didn’t need it to understand the sentiment.

The man then turned to one of his younger soldiers, a woman clutching a battered submachine gun. “And you,” he snapped, pointing at her weapon, “stop staring at their gear like it’s magic. It’s just hardware. Same blood spills from them if you shoot it.”

The woman nodded, her face flushed with embarrassment.

“All systems are green, sir,” Major Derek Lawson, the team’s lead security officer, said with a slight nod toward the captain. “We’ve got this locked down. No one’s getting close to that anomaly without us knowing about it.”

The captain, a no-nonsense officer from Earth’s United Nations Fleet, acknowledged with a sharp glance. “Good. Keep it that way. I don’t care if they come from the other side of the galaxy. We’re here for one thing, and that’s getting back information on that rift. No distractions.”

After the briefing, the crew boarded Pathfinder, and the countdown began. As the vessel began its departure from the station, both security team exchanged wary glances. The mixed crew from both Earths were mostly silent. No one could shake the feeling that, no matter how hard they all tried to keep their focus on the mission, the tension on the ship was very much palpable.

The journey took only days, but every hour stretched into an eternity as the anomaly drew closer. It was a sight unlike anything anyone had ever seen.

The first signs were subtle—distortions in the fabric of space that flickered at the edges of their vision, followed by ripples of light, like waves lapping against the hull. But as they approached the heart of the anomaly, the distortions became more violent.

The ship shuddered violently as it entered the heart of the rift. It was as though reality itself was bending, its laws warped by the immense gravitational and quantum forces. The crew watched in awe as they witnessed a strange, otherworldly landscape—a mix of fractured timelines, unstable realities, and a shimmering mirror image of their own world. Earth.

For a few heart-stopping moments, the ship lurched as if it might tear apart, but the modified warp engines held. They had done it. They had crossed over.

.

.

.

Months after Pathfinder and its crew returned from their journey to mirror-earth, both worlds was abuzz with rumors. The first that surfaced spoke of “Skybridges,” immense space elevators stretching from geostationary orbit above each Earth to the fringes of the anomaly.

Scientists envisioned these elevators as the first link, capable of ferrying supplies, personnel, and equipment between the worlds without requiring risky ship launches.

While such technology was decades beyond anything mirror earth had ever built, Earth’s engineers already had prototypes for advanced composite materials—carbon nanotube hybrids capable of withstanding unimaginable stresses.

The logistics were daunting. Constructing a space elevator on one Earth would have been an engineering marvel, but doing so on two planets simultaneously—and ensuring they aligned through the shifting anomaly—was an entirely different beast. Some called the project “Lunacy Squared.” Others, especially in the media, branded it the “Cosmic Stairway.”

“They can barely agree on trade tariffs,” scoffed Dr. Elena Vasquez during an interview with Global Vision News. “How the hell are they going to agree on who controls a thousand-kilometer tether in space?”

Another concept emerged, more radical and shrouded in secrecy: the Gateway Rings. These were massive, self-sustaining space stations to be positioned directly within the anomaly itself. Using gravitational anchoring and magnetic …

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