"Dana, communications check," Er'dox said through the suit comm.
"Reading you clearly."
"Good. Stay close. If shooting starts, get behind the nearest security officer and let them handle it."
"If shooting starts, I'm going to have several questions about yourminimal risk scenarioassessment."
I heard what might have been a quiet laugh before he cut the channel.
The ramp extended with hydraulic precision, and Vaxon led us out into the alien landscape. The gravity was definitely lower than Mothership standard, not enough to make me float, but enough that each step felt slightly wrong, like walking on a surface that didn't quite believe in keeping you grounded.
The security team formed up around Er'dox and me with practiced efficiency. Kor'val took point, two others flanked us, and the rest spread out in a perimeter that looked casual but was probably anything but. I'd watched enough tactical drills aboard Mothership to recognize professional paranoia when I saw it.
The structure was maybe thirty meters ahead, sitting on the ice-rock surface like someone had just dropped it there and walked away. No external lights, no visible activity, no signs of recent habitation beyond the power signature we'd detected.
"Er'dox, Dana, take lead on structure analysis," Vaxon ordered. "Security maintains the perimeter. No one enters until we've confirmed it's safe."
We approached carefully, and I pulled up scanning equipment on my portable interface. Power signature was definitely active but minimal with basic life support and environmental controls, maybe emergency lighting. Nothing that suggested active occupation.
"Door's sealed," Er'dox observed, studying the entrance mechanism. "Standard emergency lock configuration. Designed to keep the atmosphere in, not people out."
"Can you open it?"
"Easily. Question is whether we should."
"We came all this way. Might as well see what someone wanted us to find." I moved closer to examine the lock mechanism, and my breath caught. "Er'dox. Look at this."
He leaned in, his massive frame casting shadows across the lock panel. Then I saw his posture change with recognition, surprise, maybe concern.
The lock was marked with human symbols. Not just any symbols, but Liberty mission identifiers that only the crew would know.
"Someone from Liberty built this," I said, my voice barely steady. "Someone survived long enough to establish a shelter, maintain life support, and send signals back toward Mothership's location."
"Or someone found Liberty salvage and is using human symbols as bait." But Er'dox didn't sound convinced. "Only one way to know for certain."
He interfaced with the lock, his Zandovian engineering expertise making short work of human emergency protocols. The door hissed open, releasing a puff of slightly-warmer-than-outside air that my suit sensors immediately analyzed.
Breathable for humans. Marginal for Zandovians. Life support was active and functional.
"I'm going in first," Vaxon said, materializing beside us with that unnerving silence large beings shouldn't be capable of. "Security sweep, then Engineering."
He disappeared into the structure's dim interior, and I tried not to think about all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong. Ambush. Trap. Automated defenses. Structurally unstable prefab that collapsed on top of us. My engineer brain was excellent at catastrophizing.
"Structure secure," Vaxon's voice came through the comm. "No contacts, no threats detected. Er'dox, Dana, you're clear to enter."
We moved inside, and I had to let my eyes adjust to the lower light. Emergency illumination panels provided just enough visibility to navigate without running into things. The interior was cramped even by human standards with a single room, maybe four meters by four meters, with basic survival equipment clustered against the walls.
And in the center, a workstation cobbled together from salvaged Liberty components and improvised repairs that made my beacon engineering look elegant by comparison.
"Someone lived here," I said quietly. "Recently. There's food wrappers, waste recycling is active, the sleeping area's been used."
Er'dox was examining the workstation with professional interest. "Sophisticated communication array. They've been monitoring multiple frequencies, probably scanning for signals that might indicate other survivors."
I moved to check the data logs, my hands finding the familiar interface despite two weeks away from human technology. The system booted up, and I started pulling files.
"Personal logs," I breathed. "Someone documented everything. The wormhole disaster, the escape, establishing this shelter—" I opened the most recent file, and a face appeared on the small viewscreen.
Human. Male. Maybe mid-thirties, with dark skin and exhausted eyes and the kind of desperate determination I recognized from looking in mirrors on the burning planet.
