Kael's pod coasted in silence, its attitude thrusters firing in controlled, stuttering bursts as it edged deeper into the debris cloud. Behind him, Cryogenics Lab Module 57 floated secure inside a thermally stable corridor. The comm tether held firm, data feeds steady. He'd done what he could—stabilized their life support, rerouted auxiliary systems, and ensured that the bulk of the crew would remain in cryostasis to conserve power. It was enough, for now.
But it wouldn't last forever.
Kael leaned forward, calling up the updated scan sweep. His eyes locked onto a blinking signal barely threading through the interference—a weak transponder still broadcasting from a drifting module ahead.
Hydroponics Module 21.
He narrowed his gaze. It had drifted further from the main blast site than expected. Most of the agricultural modules had been obliterated or torn open by explosive decompression. But this one… it had made it through, if only barely.
"AI," Kael said, his voice low, "report on structural integrity and life signs."
"Hydroponics Module 21 shows approximately thirty-one percent structural viability. Exterior breaches confirmed. Multiple containment failures. However—"
A pause.
"—one internal compartment retains positive atmospheric pressure. Readings suggest functioning environmental seal."
Kael sat straighter. "Biomass?"
"Affirmative. Spectral analysis indicates residual photosynthetic activity within the sealed compartment. Biomass levels are minimal but active. Likely plant matter. Species unknown."
That was promising. If he could recover even a handful of viable crops—starter roots, nutrient-packed algae strands, or genetically engineered tubers—it could jumpstart life support supplementation. Help keep the scientists alive once Module 57 began drawing heavier loads again. And maybe, just maybe, he could get something growing in his own pod too.
But then the AI added: "There is a 3.7% probability of human survival within the atmospheric pocket. One thermal signature detected, fluctuating. Low confidence due to interference and environmental instability."
Kael's throat tightened.
A survivor?
He hadn't allowed himself to think that anyone outside the cryo-labs could've made it. The chaos of the explosion, the deadly vacuum, the metal storms of shrapnel tearing through the corridors of the Prospector's Dagger—how could anyone possibly have held on?
Still, 3.7% wasn't zero.
"Log that. Prep a drone for immediate deployment," he said.
"Drone launched," the AI confirmed. "ETA to module: five minutes, fourteen seconds."
Kael exhaled slowly, only then realizing he'd been holding his breath for too long. Not just because of the hope. But because the weight of suspicion was still coiled in his chest like a steel wire.
The explosion hadn't been random. He knew it now.
And until he had answers—real answers—he couldn't afford to trust anyone. Not even the survivors.
The pod glided past twisted wreckage and blackened hull fragments. A solar array drifted by, warped like a broken wing. The remnants of once-vast infrastructure, now mute testimony to how fast everything had gone wrong.
Kael watched the drone feed on a secondary screen. The drone, a compact, maneuverable probe with claw manipulators and short-range cutting gear, zipped through the vacuum toward the hydroponics module. He tapped in a follow pattern, syncing it to his pod's approach vector.
"Maintain line of sight. I want full visual sweep as soon as it breaches the module."
"Acknowledged."
The hydroponics module came into view—a cylindrical frame battered by heat scoring and stress fractures. One side had collapsed inward, a jagged wound in its flank exposing shattered pipework and soil-stained panels. The other end was miraculously intact, sealed by bulkhead doors that looked frozen mid-cycle.
"The atmospheric pocket is localized to Compartment B12," the AI said. "Seal appears to be magnetic. Reinforced. Likely activated during emergency protocols."
Kael nodded grimly. "Which is why it's still holding."
The drone reached the edge of the breach and hovered. Its sensors swept the area before inching forward.
Inside, light flickered from still-active grow strips—pale green-blue glows that shimmered against a forest of overgrown trays. Vines curled around handrails. Algae walls shimmered in nutrient tanks, bubbling faintly.
The drone panned left.
Then stopped.
"There," Kael said, pointing at the faint blob near the floor. "Back ten degrees."
The thermal overlay confirmed it—barely visible in the corner of the compartment, slumped behind a set of overturned racks, was a heat signature. Small. Erratic. But human.
"Deploy atmosphere analysis," Kael said.
The drone's sensors extended, testing chemical composition and pressure balance.
"Oxygen content within survivable parameters. Temperature low but stable. Trace contaminants detected—likely fertilizer and insulation foam decay—but not lethal."
"Then someone's alive."
"Possibly," the AI replied. "Recommend immediate recovery attempt. Risk of further structural collapse within 3.2 hours."
Kael's hand hovered over the command panel. Then he keyed in the signal.
"Manual control," he muttered. "I'll bring it back myself."
As the drone pushed deeper into the compartment, Kael gritted his teeth, carefully guiding the manipulator arms. The survivor was half-buried under debris—broken hydroponic arms, cracked plastic planters, and spilled substrate gel. A breathing mask clung to their face, though its seal had gone slack.
Kael adjusted the drone's claw and gently pried the wreckage away.
The person—a woman, by the build—groaned faintly through the comm pickup.
Alive.
"Marking vitals," Kael said. "Routing a med-feed back to Module 57."
"Dr. Voss is receiving the stream," the AI confirmed. "Med Tech Juno has acknowledged and is preparing triage instructions."
The drone fastened a soft foam splint around her leg and began pulling her free.
Kael switched his view back to the module's core.
Most of the crops were in poor shape—wilted, shriveled, frost-burned from vacuum leaks. But some trays were sealed under shattered plastic domes. Within, a few sprouts still clung to life. He initiated a sample collection routine, tagging viable tissue clusters for drone two.
If he could salvage even part of the algae tanks and one or two engineered tubers, he might extend food production across two modules.
One step closer to sustainability.
One step closer to not needing to rely on anyone else.
By the time both drones returned—one hauling the unconscious survivor, the other towing a sealed container with plant samples and gel tanks—Kael's pod had aligned for return to the holding zone. He guided the drones in through the airlock and secured the cargo.
"Notify Voss," he said, already pulling his toolkit from the locker. "We have another passenger."
Inside Module 57, Kael watched through the hardline as Med Tech Juno and Sergeant Ivers received the survivor. Juno's expression was hard to read behind her mask, but her hands moved with practiced calm.
"Severe dehydration," she said. "Minor internal bleeding. Hairline fractures. But nothing fatal."
"She's lucky," Ivers muttered. "Real lucky."
"Depends what you call luck," Kael said under his breath, voice too low for the mic.
He cut the channel and turned back to the plants.
If they lived—if they rooted and grew—it wouldn't just be about calories. It would mean hope. Continuity. The first sign that something could flourish again in this drifting graveyard.
"AI," Kael said, wiping sweat from his brow, "catalog all species. Start genetic viability assessments. We'll try and regrow them in a portable chamber."
"Understood."
As the system began to hum and flicker, a strange quiet settled over the pod.
Kael leaned back, watching the bio-readouts, the flickering screen of Module 57, the faint ping of the new survivor's heartbeat joining the others.
Four cryo scientists. Two military personnel. One medical tech. And now—this woman from Hydroponics 21.
None of them were talking about the explosion.
Not yet.
But Kael could feel it like a growing gravity well, pulling them all toward the same inescapable truth.
Someone had done this.
And they were all still in the blast radius.