Glen A. Larson

Buck Rogers wakes to a calendar he doesn’t recognize and a city that hums with neon gravity. The ship is a maze of bright corridors and scarred memory, where every face carries a story and every console hums with a possible betrayal. He moves through the orbiting city like a thread through a loom, tying together salvaged tech, stubborn crew loyalties, and a mission that refuses to stay simple: reach a derelict relay station, rescue a wronged technician, expose a conspiracy woven through microwaves and myth. The danger comes not only from outlandish machines and renegade factions, but from the slow erosion of trust among people who live by quick plans and quicker lies. In the spaces between starlight eruptions, Buck discovers that courage is sometimes a switch you flip when the ship is failing and your own doubt is louder than the engines.

Cold air snakes through the attic as Frank and Joe hunt for a lead rumored to rest in a hidden room beneath the town’s old mill. A vision, triggered by a tattered newspaper clipping and a stranger’s coded message, sends Frank down a corridor of memories he’d rather forget, forcing him to weigh a stubborn pride against the danger of pressing forward. The boys’ steady partnership keeps them grounded as the vision becomes a roadmap—if they can read it before someone else does, someone who wants the truth buried as deeply as the old gears in the mill’s heart.