The hum of systems filled the pod—quiet, methodical, steady. But Kael's pulse didn't match. His fingers drummed against the console as he stared at the tracking overlay, watching the support drone arrow its way across the void. Its signal blinked like a heartbeat in the darkness, growing fainter as it entered the outer edge of the debris pocket.
"Telemetry check," he muttered.
"Drone velocity steady. Course within .03% of projected arc. ETA to Module 57: forty-eight minutes," the AI reported.
Kael exhaled. That gave him less than an hour to prepare.
"Activate systems maintenance interface. Prioritize: tether winch, lower arm stabilizers, and the manual override linkage for docking."
"Acknowledged. Bringing modules online. Power diversion within tolerance."
The pod shuddered slightly as buried servos stirred, systems waking that hadn't been touched since his first scavenging run. Kael slid out of his seat and pulled himself toward the lower compartment, engaging the floor hatch with a magnetic twist. Panels hissed open, revealing the pod's external tools and retrofitted docking gear—parts cannibalized from a broken drone array and a half-melted cargo scaffold.
It was crude. But it would have to work.
He pulled himself in, bracing between two bulkheads, and began running diagnostics by hand. Wires hissed as power cycled through the winch coils. One sputtered—too much corrosion.
He muttered and reached for a patch kit.
The drone could establish the link. The pod could stabilize. But any deviation—any knock from floating debris or misaligned pressure vectors—could shred both vehicles on contact.
His hands moved fast, almost automatic now. Strip the insulation. Reinforce the cable sheath. Reroute the dampener relay to the emergency battery pack. Every motion was stitched together by purpose. A rhythm carved out of necessity.
But underneath it all, the questions churned.
Fourteen survivors. Fourteen.
What were the odds?
He remembered the detonation—how the Prospector's Dagger had torn itself open like a bursting seam. He had barely made it out. Cryo Module 57 must have detached in those final moments, just before the cascade. They'd drifted away while everything else burned.
Module 57 wasn't designed for long-term independence. It lacked self-sustaining reactors, dedicated propulsion, and its shielding wasn't meant for deep exposure. It was supposed to remain docked, tucked inside the vessel's protective spine. That they were still alive bordered on impossible.
What had they seen? Had they felt the shockwave before losing contact? Had they thought—like him—that they were the only ones left?
Kael finished rewiring the relay node, snapped the casing shut, and wiped a sleeve across his brow. Even that small movement felt heavy.
He climbed back up to the console, adjusting his weight carefully in the artificial gravity gradient of the pod's inner core.
"Status?"
"Support drone has entered final vector phase. Target lock on Module 57 achieved. Atmospheric scan ongoing. Hull temperature within safe variance. Surface rotation is negligible—docking feasible."
"Hardline tether?"
"Spooling in progress. Anchor line will deploy on drone contact. Preparing comms booster package."
Kael watched the screen shift as the camera feed from the drone activated. Through intermittent static, he could make out the dark bulk of Module 57—a long, narrow structure with curved shielding panels and a faint, pulsing blue glow from internal cryo systems. Its exterior bore scoring along the insulation layer, evidence of debris grazes and micrometeoroid impact. One panel near the port side had buckled slightly. Still, it held together.
It drifted like a frozen lung, holding breath.
"I need eyes on the comms hatch," Kael said. "We can't risk rerouting the tether through an unstable seam."
"Visual overlay rotating. Proximity sensors indicate port hatch integrity at 62%. Manual override slot appears functional."
Good enough.
He toggled the comm channel. "Dr. Voss, this is Kael Verrick. Drone's approaching. Once the tether attaches, I'll signal through hardline."
A pause, then Voss's voice—tired, but sharp. "Acknowledged. We're standing by. Vibration sensors are picking it up now."
Voss didn't sound like a commanding officer. He didn't bark orders or hesitate to show wear. That made Kael trust him more.
Kael zoomed the drone feed closer. The pod's automated tether arm extended, metallic fingers curling around the booster module as it prepared to press against Module 57's side.
"AI, slow approach to 0.2 meters per second. I want no jolt on contact."
"Slowing. Impact prediction: minimal. Anchor will engage in four… three… two…"
The drone nudged forward—and the tether clicked into place.
A burst of static flooded the console, then cleared.
"…Kael?" Voss's voice came through the hardline, no distortion now. "We've got signal."
He felt his shoulders drop, tension bleeding from his spine. "Confirmed. Link is secure. Now I can walk you through integration."
He activated the schematics on the main display. "We'll push emergency backup from my node to yours through the relay. That should be enough to boost your scrubbers for twenty minutes. Long enough to prep for transfer."
Voss hesitated. "Transfer?"
Kael nodded. "I'm bringing you in. I've prepped a stabilizer arc. You'll need to stay passive—no propulsion, no thrust correction. I'll handle the approach with external clamps and the docking tether."
"You think this pod can pull a cryo module?"
"No. But I'm not pulling it." Kael tapped the trajectory model. "We're swinging it around the inner debris pocket. I'll catch you on the arc and use velocity to drift you into a static orbit aligned with my pod. After that, we lock the clamp and stabilize using the backup thrusters. Low inertia, low risk."
Another pause, longer this time. He could almost hear Voss doing the math.
"You've done this before?"
"No," Kael admitted. "But I've simulated close-orbit transfers. And I'm not improvising—I've run the calculations. The timing will be tight, but the vectors hold."
"Then we'll prep the module. Let me talk to the others."
"Copy. We'll signal when approach begins."
Kael leaned back in his chair. The worst was still ahead.
His AI chimed softly. "Would you like to begin warming the docking rig?"
"Yeah. Let's get it hot. I want the clamps flexible before we even try first contact."
"Understood. Thermal cycling initiated."
Kael watched as the drone's feed remained steady, tether tight, anchored to the surface of Module 57. Through the viewport, stars rolled like a slow tide, the wreckage of the Dagger still drifting in far silhouettes.
He tapped through screens, checked the emergency seals, and initiated a pre-burn sweep. Heat coils under the docking plate began pulsing, glowing faintly orange through the metal.
Minutes ticked by. Slowly. Deliberately.
He thought of the scale of it—of a billion souls scattered across cold blackness. How many had escaped? How many had simply vanished in silence?
And yet… fourteen. Fourteen had made it through.
They were likely hungry. Dehydrated. Half-frozen. Kael had exactly one rehydration pack left, two ration bars, and an old oxygen generator coil on the verge of failure. He'd have to triage who got what—figure out the module's reserves, tap every scavenged battery he had.
But first, he had to bring them in.
"Begin secondary thruster sync," he said quietly. "If this works… we start the rescue."
"Trajectory lock in progress. Estimated maneuver window in four hours, fifty-two minutes."
He adjusted a lateral thruster reading, verifying delta-v estimates. The pod could take the strain—just barely. The relay lines, the thermal stabilizers, and the comms array would all need to hold through the curve.
A message blinked on the panel: Message from Module 57—Voice Only.
Kael toggled it open.
"Kael, this is Voss again. I've spoken with the others. We're ready. I've got Lieutenant Serin monitoring pressure seals and Dr. Lemna running backup diagnostics on the cryo bays. We're all here. We're all… awake."
Kael blinked. That last word hit differently.
He cleared his throat. "Understood. I'll initiate final sync in thirty. Stay ready."
A soft chime indicated a new telemetry stream syncing between the pod and the module. For the first time since the Dagger exploded, Kael wasn't blind out there. He could see pressure readings, thermal signatures, even individual biosigns—faint, but stable.
Fourteen.
His fingers brushed the edge of the console, a steady rhythm tapping out against the reinforced alloy. Not from anxiety. From determination.
They weren't just waiting on him.
They were trusting him.
And he would not let them fall.