Override superseded by external command.
Someone with access to the security protocols for Duvain Enterprises had locked her out. Someone who knew the codes.Someone close to me.
The pain of that betrayal threatened to bring her to her knees, but then the ship groaned, the sound of metal fatigue vibrating through her bones. They were losing structural integrity.
She pushed aside the knowledge that she’d been betrayed and forced herself to think past the fear clawing at her chest. She couldn’t save the ship, but perhaps she could leave a trail.
The secondary communications array was another three meters behind her, housed in a recessed alcove that hadn’t yet caught fire. She scrambled towards it, her bare feet slipping on the metal floor. The panel was still functional.
Thank the stars for redundant systems.
She fumbled at the interface, her fingers still slow and unresponsive as she pulled up the emergency transmitter protocols. Standard distress signals would broadcast their position automatically, but those could be intercepted and blocked. She needed something else. Something that would survive even if she didn’t.
She accessed the ship’s black box remotely, linking it to the secondary transmitter. She couldn’t change its recordings—they were hard-coded for investigation purposes—but she could add a tag. A simple burst transmission that would ping outward on a coded Duvain frequency every twelve hours until the power cells died.
I am alive. Search for me.
Just a simple message, repeated endlessly into the void. If whoever did this tried to claim she’d died in an accident, the black box would tell the truth. They’d know to keep looking.
It wasn’t much, but it was the only weapon she had left.
The ship shuddered again, harder this time. Something in the engineering section exploded with a muffledwhump,and the entire corridor tilted fifteen degrees. Her shoulder slammed into the wall. She tasted blood where she’d bitten her tongue.
Escape pod.
Every ship this size carried at least one. TheWind’s Whisperhad two single-occupant pods tucked behind the lounge, designed for exactly this scenario. She’d walked past them a hundred times without paying attention.
Please. Please let them still be functional.
She urged her reluctant body onwards.
The smoke was thicker now, pooling at the ceiling and creeping further downwards with every passing second. She kept low, one hand trailing along the wall for guidance as her eyes streamed tears. The heat was everywhere, pressing against her thin nightgown, making her lungs labor with each breath.
As she passed the lounge she caught a glimpse of a figure inside.
“Alma!”
She took one step into the lounge and froze. Alma’s body was sprawled on the floor, her neck at an unnatural angle and her eyes wide and blank.Dead.Grief threatened to choke her, but she clenched her fists and kept moving through the thickening smoke.
The pod alcove appeared through the haze like a miracle—a small indentation in the corridor wall, marked with the emergency evacuation symbol. The hatch was sealed but intact, the status lights glowing a steady green.
She yanked the emergency release on the first pod, and the hatch hissed open, revealing a coffin-sized space barely large enough for a single body. An acceleration couch with manual controls embedded in the armrests filled the space and she climbed into it.
The space was claustrophobic, the couch cold against her overheated skin as it molded itself around her body. She found the straps automatically, muscle memory from safety drills she’d considered tedious at the time. The harness clicked into place across her chest, her waist, and her thighs, and the clear cover snapped into place over her.
Launch sequence. Where’s the launch sequence?
The controls were labeled in standard pictographs, designed to be operated by anyone in any condition. She fumbled across them, her fingers still slow from the drugs, and selected the emergency launch protocol. The pod’s internal systems hummed to life around her, running automated checks.
Warning: Parent vessel structural integrity critical. Recommend immediate launch.
“Iknow,” she hissed at the computer.
She reached for the final confirmation switch—and her hand caught on something sharp.
Pain lanced through her finger. She jerked back instinctively, staring at the thin slice across her fingertip where it had dragged across a jagged edge of exposed metal. A manufacturing defect, or sabotage, or simply bad luck. Blood welled up, dark red in the dim light, and a single drop fell onto the pod’s control surface.
The reaction was instantaneous.
