Amhus Antar (DSO-88478-48534)
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This article takes place in the 26th century of Distant Worlds.
THIS PLANET IS UNDER QUARANTINE
BY THE ARCHANGEL TRIBUNAL
THE PLANET IS INFESTED WITH PARASITES, PROCEED WITH EXTREME CAUTION, INFECTION STAGE = 3
Uncovered from the forgotten depths of The Library, the planet bore the name of an ancient Earth king—a poetic echo of a world buried in mystery. A temperate, Earth-like sphere rich in biodiversity, Tutankhamun was the fifth planet orbiting the unremarkable star cataloged as DSO-88478-48534. Little was known about it. No great civilizations had ever flourished on its soil—at least none that piqued the Archangels’ interest enough to record its history in full. What remained was fragmented, corrupted, as though time itself had eroded the truth.
Still, it was a gem. A green world veiled in thick clouds—an appealing alternative to Emerald for potential human colonization. The United Sol Command, ever hungry for expansion, sanctioned an expedition. Two medium-sized megaships were deployed to chart the unclaimed northern edges of the Milky Way: USC–Star Rail and USC–Thelema. After nearly a month of travel through unlit corridors of interstellar void, the two ships arrived at their destination.
Soon, humanity would understand why the planet bore a name cursed in legend.
From orbit, Tutankhamun shimmered—a verdant jewel, seemingly pristine. But it was not alone. The planet was part of a binary system, its sister world a tranquil, temperate lacusterine world. The crew of the Thelema dubbed this second planet Dysphoria. While Star Rail maintained a tight orbit around Tutankhamun—careful not to be flung away by Dysphoria's gravitational pull—Thelema made a daring decision: to land directly on the surface of Dysphoria.
Both ships were outfitted to exploratory standards. Among their equipment was a large unmanned probe, which Star Rail launched to the surface of Tutankhamun. Then came the waiting. The monotony of deep space crept in. A few of the research team aboard Star Rail passed the time with long sessions of poker, folding cards in the shadow of the unknown. Then, the silence broke.
The ship’s mainframe blinked to life as data packets began flooding in. The probe had touched down successfully—and what it transmitted was nothing short of extraordinary. Detailed analyses of the atmosphere, biosphere, and terrain painted the picture of a planet teeming with life. But buried in the data was something far more troubling.
Spores. Infected spores.
The radius of the probe’s transmission was limited, but the signals were clear. The spores were airborne. The signs matched the rumors that had long circulated in whispers, rumors from archived scraps within The Library—this was the planet where the Sahurian Parasites dwelled.
The surface of Tutankhamun unfolded like a forgotten memory of old Earth in autumn—lush, windswept valleys teeming with vibrant color. Oak, birch, maple, and pine trees flourished in an endless mosaic of reds, ambers, and greens. It was a world that could rival even Emerald, humanity’s crown jewel, especially in these far northern reaches of the galaxy.
The probe, launched earlier by USC–Star Rail, had come to rest on the ridge of a highland mountain, offering a sweeping 270-degree view beneath the open skies of Tutankhamun. Its high vantage point transmitted breathtaking panoramas and critical atmospheric data in equal measure. Meanwhile, USC–Thelema, stationed on the aquatic twin Dysphoria, began composing a detailed mission log—a message intended to be sealed aboard and delivered back to Emerald. Both megaships worked in tandem, meticulously recording their planetary observations.
Three days into synchronized orbit around the system’s barycenter, the crew of Thelema made a decisive—and reckless—move. Ignoring the ancient warnings encoded in Archangelic protocol, they initiated descent toward Tutankhamun’s surface. The planet was, officially, under Quarantine.
Once guarded by dormant constructs known as Orbital Angels, the Quarantine was absolute. No ship was to enter. No ship was to leave. Fortunately—or ominously—those safeguards had long since gone silent. Had the Angels still been functional, neither Thelema nor Star Rail would have survived the system’s edge.
The nearest inhabited world was Hengist, a relay point from which data could be transmitted securely to the United Sol Command. A decision was made: Thelema would break orbit and return to Hengist to deliver the data logs, while Star Rail would descend to the surface of Tutankhamun. Larger expeditions would surely follow. After just four days in the star system, Thelema departed—leaving Star Rail and her crew to face whatever truth lingered on the planet’s cursed soil.
The landing site was a modest continent, nicknamed Sector 1—a placeholder designation for planets not yet formalized into USC charts. The probe had originally landed in this region, meaning Star Rail wasn't navigating blind. Atmospheric analysis confirmed what they feared: the air in Sector 1 held high concentrations of spores—microscopic, invasive, and of unknown pathogenicity.
Out of caution, the entire landing crew was outfitted in full environmental armored suits. It was perhaps overkill—but no one was willing to gamble with the possibility of Sahurian Parasites.
According to Library records, Tutankhamun had reached Stage 3 in parasitic classification: the infection had stagnated, remaining largely underground or confined to spore-heavy surface zones. But the designation offered little comfort. If the Library was right, then this was a dormant infection—one waiting for a trigger.
And now, Star Rail was the spark.