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 oxygenand 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 wasGo, 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 corridorswere 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.
