The Reflection Paradox

The Erebus-9 drifted in orbit around Gliese-121c, a planet shrouded in permanent twilight. Captain Lillian Mercer stood in the dim glow of the ship’s control panel, staring at the anomaly on the surface below.

A structure.

It shouldn’t have been there. Gliese-121c had no recorded civilization, no history of intelligent life. And yet, the structure was unmistakably human.

More disturbingly, it was an exact replica of their own ship.

“That’s impossible,” Lieutenant Hayes muttered, analyzing the scans. “It’s the Erebus-9. Every detail, down to the insignia.”

“Could it be a reflection?” asked Dr. Patel.

Lillian frowned. “A reflection of what?”

No one had an answer.

“Prep a lander,” she ordered. “We’re going down.”

—

The ground was unnervingly smooth, as if the planet had been polished like glass. The structure stood in eerie silence—an exact copy of their ship, down to the scorch marks on the hull.

Lillian swallowed hard. “Inside. Stay sharp.”

The airlock slid open with a familiar hiss.

The corridors were identical. Same blinking consoles. Same low hum of the reactor.

Then, they heard it—footsteps echoing down the hall.

“Who else is here?” Hayes whispered.

No answer.

They rounded the next corner and froze.

Three figures stood at the far end of the corridor.

Them.

Lillian’s pulse pounded as she locked eyes with herself. Her double blinked, mirroring her movements exactly.

“What the hell,” Patel breathed.

Hayes stepped forward hesitantly. So did his double. Every motion, precisely the same.

The lights flickered. The air felt… thin.

The other Lillian spoke. “You need to leave.”

Lillian’s throat tightened. “What is this?”

Her double’s expression was her own confusion. “This is what happens. We arrive. We find ourselves. We leave.”

Patel stepped forward. “What happens if we don’t?”

The reflections didn’t answer. Instead, their movements stopped syncing. The other Lillian took a step that she didn’t. The other Hayes tilted his head in the wrong way.

The other Patel smiled.

“Run,” Lillian whispered.

They turned and bolted for the airlock. Their reflections did not.

The ship groaned. The walls distorted, bending in ways that defied physics.

The reflections stood still, watching. Waiting.

They reached the lander and launched, leaving the eerie replica behind.

Back aboard the real Erebus-9, Lillian slumped into her chair, her heart hammering.

“That wasn’t just a copy,” Hayes muttered. “That was us.”

The comms crackled.

A voice whispered through the static.

“You will come back. You always do.”

Lillian turned to the viewport.

Below, the reflection remained.

Waiting for the next them.

Waiting for the loop to begin again.