Kael's pod thrummed beneath his feet as the inertial compensators adjusted to the microgravity pocket. Ahead, Cryogenics Module 57 floated serenely, tethered to his support drone via a stabilized relay link. After hours of coordinated thrust correction and alignment, he had guided the module into a relatively calm section of the debris field—a hollow pocket where surrounding wreckage formed a natural barrier against solar wind and momentum shifts.
It was the safest place he could offer for now.
"Alignment complete," the AI confirmed. "Module 57 is now within the static envelope. Local vector variance: negligible. External threats: minimal."
Kael exhaled and slumped into the pilot's seat, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Patch me through to Voss."
The screen lit up, and within moments, the tired face of Dr. Arlen Voss appeared. His complexion was pale under the cool internal lights, but alert. Focused.
"You did it," Voss said quietly. "I don't know how, but you brought us into a pocket. We're holding steady."
"Still surrounded by a graveyard," Kael replied. "But at least we're not drifting into it anymore."
He tapped a sequence on his control pad. Behind him, auxiliary power began to redirect toward the pod's data uplink and environmental integrity modules.
"I'm syncing the AI's diagnostics with your systems. I need a full readout of your remaining power reserves, shielding integrity, and any internal failures. We need to get your core systems running efficiently or you won't last more than a few more cycles."
"We'll patch you in. Juno's been monitoring vitals, but we've kept cryo isolation sealed since we made contact. We didn't want to risk a cascade failure if we touched the wrong circuit," Voss said.
Kael nodded. "That was the right call."
The AI chimed in. "Telemetry confirms primary power bus degradation at forty-three percent. Cryo system integrity: stable but declining. Shielding at fifty-two percent. Environmental subsystems require calibration."
Kael opened the link wider. "Upload system schematics from Module 57's onboard computer. I'll reroute what I can remotely and flag anything that needs manual correction."
"We'll work with what we've got," Voss said. "But Kael—our military crew can assist with security and physical tasks, not electronics. Ivers and Renna were orbital perimeter, not systems ops."
"No problem," Kael replied, though inside he felt the burden of that statement. It meant every adjustment beyond automated functions would fall to him—again. "For now, we don't touch the stasis chambers. Four people's a strain already."
Voss nodded solemnly. "We know. We've been debating waking another set of hands, but Juno says the environmental strain's already showing in the med bay filters. She's right."
Kael turned toward the AI's uplink monitor. "Run me a systems forecast. Assume Module 57 stays with four active crew and no external resupply for fifteen cycles."
The response came quickly. "Projected sustainability window: six cycles before critical failure in filtration systems. Secondary life support failure within eight. Extending that duration requires decreased oxygen load, water reclamation optimization, or supplemental power and processing materials."
Kael rubbed the back of his neck. "Then we hold at four. Voss, you keep the rest of your team frozen. Unseal one more cryo pod and the module won't last two weeks."
"Understood," Voss replied. "I'll inform the others. They won't like it, but I'll handle it."
Kael gave him a sharp nod. "Good. Once I get your power reserves stabilized and filters replaced, we'll talk next steps."
The transmission ended, and the console dimmed. The cockpit was quiet again, just the low drone of machinery and the soft click of the AI relays humming beneath the silence.
Kael leaned back and stared at the worn ceiling of the pod. His body ached. He hadn't slept more than four hours in the last three days, not with the constant course corrections and signal monitoring. But the worst part wasn't the exhaustion.
It was the fact that this wasn't over. Not even close.
"AI," he murmured, eyes still on the ceiling, "what's your assessment of our combined operational capacity now?"
"Combined survival index has increased from 12.4% to 22.6% due to shared data and limited redundancy. However, additional personnel significantly increase life support strain. Current trajectory unsustainable if you remain tethered long-term."
Kael sat up straighter. "So what's the alternative?"
"You must remain mobile and solo until Permission One is unlocked. Until then, you cannot sustain both yourself and Module 57's occupants."
He frowned. "Define 'Permission One.' You've mentioned it before, but never explained."
"Classified under adaptive command protocols. Requires access to higher-tier command systems, currently restricted. Unlock contingent on data accumulation, module integration, and sufficient survivability index."
Kael's jaw tightened. "In other words, I have to earn the right to help more than myself."
"Affirmative."
He stood and crossed to the external display panel, watching as Module 57 hovered in the distance, tethered but whole. Somewhere inside, Voss, Juno, Renna, and Ivers were probably watching a similar feed, wondering if they'd make it another week.
Kael tapped the console. "Then I need to find a way to extend that sustainability window. We can't keep them in stasis forever."
He pulled up the debris map and began plotting search vectors.
"If I can find one of the old hydroponics modules from the agricultural arm, maybe it still has viable seed pods or plant matter. Could be enough to start two separate systems—one for them, one for me. Something to ease the pressure."
"Search protocol initiated," the AI confirmed. "Scanning for relevant mass signatures consistent with hydroponic growth arrays or greenhouse subsystems. Estimated success probability: 11.3%."
"Better odds than the lottery," Kael muttered. "Send out two drones with long-range retrieval subroutines. Prioritize anything with internal life support signatures, even degraded."
"Launching drones. ETA to search vector intersection: four hours, nineteen minutes."
Kael returned to his chair and pulled up the system logs again. Already, Module 57's data stream was filtering into his pod—environmental stats, internal schematics, pressure variance, even filtered vitals.
In the corner of the screen, a biometric overlay blinked to life—real-time vitals for the four awake personnel aboard Module 57. Dr. Voss's profile pulsed near the top, his heart rate slightly elevated but steady. The others—Sergeant Ivers, Corporal Renna, and Med Tech Juno—were holding stable as well.
He let the numbers scroll for a while before minimizing the display.
The silence settled again, but this time it felt different.
He wasn't alone anymore.
But he couldn't afford to act like he wasn't.
Not yet.