Chapter 4 #2
Through the viewport, the pod cluster materialized from the debris field like a ghost solidifying. Twisted metal and scorched plating, emergency lights flickering in sections that still had power, the unmistakable geometry of Liberty's escape pod design warped by impact and vacuum exposure.
Elena stood. Moved to the viewport. Pressed one gloved hand against the transparisteel.
"I know this configuration," she whispered. Her voice carried through the comm system to everyone. "This is Section Seven. Engineering. My section."
The implications hit like tactical assessment. She wasn't just facing generic Liberty survivors. She was facing people she'd worked with. Lived with. People who'd been her colleagues and friends before the wormhole had scattered them across the wrong galaxy.
People who'd been dying alone while she'd been safe on Mothership.
I crossed to her. Placed my hand on her shoulder, carefully, aware of the size difference, the fragility. She didn't pull away. Didn't look at me. Just kept staring at the wreckage like it might disappear if she blinked.
"We'll bring them home," I said.
"What if there's no one left to bring?"
"Then we'll honor them. Document their survival. Make sure their families know they tried." I squeezed gently. "But if there's anyone alive in there, we'll find them. I promise you that."
She turned then, looked up at me through her helmet's faceplate. Her eyes were wet but her voice was steady. "That's a big promise."
"I don't make small ones."
The shuttle docked with a thud that resonated through the hull. The pilot's voice crackled over comm: "Seal confirmed. Pressure equalized. You're clear for entry."
I addressed the team. "Listen up. This derelict is unstable. Move carefully, stay in designated pairs, report anything unusual immediately. We're searching for survivors first, salvage second, data recovery third. Everyone clear?"
Affirmatives echoed through the comm.
"Elena stays with me at all times. Non-negotiable." I looked at her directly. "I'm responsible for your safety. Clear?"
Her jaw clenched. I watched the argument form behind her eyes, watched her consider protesting, watched her make the decision to let it go.
"Clear," she said finally.
"Then let's go find your people."
The derelict smelled wrong.
That was my first thought as we crossed through the airlock into Liberty's twisted corridors. Environmental suits should've filtered out scent completely, but somehow the wrongness permeated anyway, stale air and recycled oxygen and something organic that had been sealed in metal for too long.
Elena had gone very still beside me. I monitored her vitals through the suit's sensor link, watched her heart rate spike and then forcibly slow as she controlled her breathing.
"Talk to me," I said quietly, our comm link private between us. "What are you seeing?"
"Corridor Seven-Delta." Her voice was mechanical, distant.
"Leads to the engineering bay where I worked.
That door—" She pointed to a twisted bulkhead.
"That's where Will and I used to eat lunch.
The overhead compartment there stored emergency equipment.
The light panel to the right would flash yellow when someone was working in the main power distribution room. "
A map. She was building me a map through memory and trauma.
"Will?" I asked.
"Will Peters. Senior electrical engineer. He—" Her voice caught. "He's the one who pushed me toward the escape pod. Last thing he said was Go, Elena. That's an order. And I went. I survived. And now I'm back here standing in the hallway where he saved my life while he might be…"
"We don't know anything yet. Stay focused." I gestured for the team to fan out. "Er'dox, structural assessment. Pel'kra, Jov'eth, perimeter security. Yren, Sax'ka, begin scanning for life signs and active power sources. Elena and I will proceed to the intact compartments."
The team moved with practiced efficiency.
I kept Elena close, one hand near her elbow in case she stumbled.
The corridors were a nightmare of twisted metal and frozen debris.
We passed evidence of desperate survival with makeshift repairs, stripped panels where someone had cannibalized materials, sealed doorways that spoke to compartment breaches.
Fifteen dead pods. Three active sections.
The math kept cycling through my mind like a casualty report.
"Commander." Er'dox's voice crackled through the general comm. "Found the first intact compartment. The airlock seal is functional. No life signs detected, but there's evidence of recent habitation."
"Define recent."
"Power consumption patterns suggest activity within the last forty-eight hours."
Elena's breathing quickened. I squeezed her elbow gently, a silent reminder to stay calm.
We reached the compartment eight minutes later. The airlock cycled slowly, emergency backup power, barely functional but somehow still working. Beyond it, a small chamber that had been converted into a survival shelter.
Empty. But very recently occupied.
Food wrappers scattered across a makeshift table. Medical supplies organized in careful rows. A sleeping area with blankets that still held body heat. And on the walls, written in what looked like permanent marker:
Day 247. Power failing. No rescue. If anyone finds this, tell my family I tried.
Elena made a sound, small, broken, devastating. Her gloved hand reached out, traced the words on the wall.
"They were here," she whispered. "Someone was alive. Counting days. Hoping."
I scanned the chamber, looking for clues. Found a datapad on the table, its power cell nearly dead but still functional. Picked it up carefully.
"Elena. This is a Liberty engineering pad. Can you access it?"
She turned, took the pad from me with shaking hands. Her fingers moved across the interface with unconscious familiarity, the muscle memory of her previous life. The screen flickered, displayed a menu, then opened to a log file.
"It's Will's pad," she said, voice breaking.
"His authentication signature. His personal encryption.
He..." She scrolled through entries, and I watched her face cycle through hope and horror and grief.
"He saved two people. Got them into the stasis pods.
Sacrificed his own spot to maintain the power systems manually. "
"Is he in the other compartments?"
"The log says... he put Lisa Tran and himself into stasis in Compartments Two and Three. Set up the beacon. Jury-rigged the power distribution to keep the pods running." She looked up at me, tears tracking down her face inside the helmet. "He's alive, Vaxon. He's in stasis. We can save him."
The hope in her voice was painful to hear, so fragile, so desperate.
"Then we find those compartments. Er'dox, coordinate with Elena on the derelict's power grid. Locate the active stasis pods. Medical team, prepare for emergency extraction."
The comm chatter increased as the team mobilized. Elena clutched the datapad like it was precious, which it was, proof of survival, proof that her guilt wasn't justified, proof that her people had fought as hard as she had.
We moved deeper into the derelict, following power signatures toward the remaining intact compartments. The corridors grew more damaged, evidence of the wormhole's violence everywhere. Elena navigated by instinct and memory, guiding us through sections I couldn't have identified.
"Compartment Two is just ahead," she said. "The power routing suggests the stasis pod is still active."
We rounded a corner and found it, a sealed airlock, emergency power indicators glowing faint green. The door cycled slowly, painfully, as if the mechanisms were exhausted from months of operation.
Beyond it, a single stasis pod. Frosted from cold, life signs showing steady on the external display. And inside, visible through the frost, a human form.
Female. Dark hair. Mid-thirties.
"Lisa Tran," Elena breathed. "She's alive. Oh my god, she's actually alive."
I activated the medical team. "Prepare for stasis pod extraction. We have one survivor confirmed. Repeat, one survivor confirmed."
But Elena wasn't listening. She'd already moved past me, toward the second intact compartment where Will's pod should be. I followed, maintaining proximity, my protective instincts screaming at the reckless speed of her movement through unstable corridors.
The second airlock. The door cycle. The moment of terrible anticipation.
Inside, another stasis pod. Active. Life signs steady. And Will Peters's face visible through the frost, Asian features, early thirties, the peaceful expression of someone in deep cryo sleep.
Elena collapsed.
Not physically, her suit kept her upright. But emotionally, completely. She pressed her hands against the pod's surface, forehead against the cold metal, and the sound that came from her was pure relief and grief and guilt wrapped into something too complicated for words.
I moved to her side. Placed my hand on her back, feeling her shoulders shake through the suit's rigid plating.
"You found him," I said quietly. "Elena. You found him."
"I took too long." The words came out choked. "Six months. I spent three months being happy while he was here, alone, keeping himself alive on emergency power and hope."
"You found him. That's what matters."
"Is it?" She looked up at me, her face devastated behind the faceplate. "What if I'd looked sooner? What if I'd started scanning the moment we reached Mothership? How many days could I have saved him? How much suffering could I have prevented?"
"You couldn't have known."
"I should have known. I should have—"
The proximity alarms screamed.
My tactical display lit up with threats, multiple contacts, approaching fast, weapons signatures unmistakable. Raiders. At least three ships, possibly more, drawn by our activity in the debris field.