LIFEPOD — a science fiction adventure

**Chapter 1: Lifepod**

With no engines running, the silence of space seeps past the thick reinforced bulkheads that separate a pocket of air from the vacuum. The quiet permeates the recycled air, clinging to the skin like dew on a grass blade, a memory from back home.

Inside, starlight pierces the emptiness, casting a pale white illumination across the dull gunmetal hull of a lifepod. The lifepod is a twenty-foot-long, twelve-foot-wide sealed compartment, a safe haven in the harsh environment of space when all else is lost on a space station or moon colony. Lifepods are the last resort in any emergency, an all-hope-is-lost, abandon-ship-and-wait-for-pickup situation.

What they lack in design, they make up for in spartan utility. Primitive maneuvering with air propulsion engines, used for simple course corrections. Communications limited to a homing beacon, one continuously looped message, “Send Help,” and the coordinates. The lifepods are built for six, with life support systems capable of lasting twelve days, longer with fewer people. Pack ten refugees on a lifepod, and they have to be picked up in six days. More than ten, and trouble follows. Systems failure occurs within two and a half days if they’re lucky to last that long.

Six flat cots fold down from the walls, three along each side. There are no forms of entertainment, no computer books or games. A simple helm sits at one end, generally referred to as the front of the pod, with an access hatch at the rear. The helm has no window to the emptiness of space, only one round-backed seat in front of a monitor and keyboard resting in the middle of a small, blank wall.

Joe Colombo stood in front of the helm, an incredulous look on his face.

“What is this?” he asked.

He didn’t turn to look at Captain Mike Dawson or Karen Guest, who stood on either side of him in the cramped helm.

“Mr. Colombo, you are familiar with the helm controls of the lifepod?” Dawson’s voice was drawn and tight, matching his worn features. He was young, one of the youngest commanding officers of a space mission in the history of the space program. His youth was often the subject of debate among the United Nations Council that appointed him, and in his own head.

Joe was younger than the Captain, but not by many years. He was a pilot, cocky, handsome in a life’s-not-fair manner that people associate with pilots. His cockiness was rooted in confidence, a fact he was content to brag about, given the chance.

“This is not a helm,” he smirked. “Where are the engines?”

“The lifepod operates on an intermittent propulsion system.” Karen Guest’s cool, smooth voice whispered beside him. She was as young as the rest of the crew.

Most of the recruits to the space program were fresh from college and eager to prove themselves. The UN Council in charge of space travel wasn’t bothered with using the young people to further the exploration of space. After three or four tours of duty on a space station or shuttle missions, the young recruits weren’t so young anymore. Experience being the great equalizer, the UN Council moved the experienced into desk jobs on the Moon Colony or, worse, into lobbying positions with the various world governments. Still, others were sent to universities across the face of the earth, to search out computer aficionados eager to stretch the boundaries of knowledge.

**Chapter 2: Conflict and Care**

Guest was one of those aficionados, a computer genius. She had foregone her last year of university for an early commission in the space program and never regretted her decision for a moment. University had been a challenge for her, not for the rigorous standards or intense studies required, but for the social interaction. Karen Guest didn’t like people. She didn’t understand them, could barely relate to them. She buried herself in computers, creating new programs, rewriting system languages, and avoiding contact as best she could. Until she was assigned as Science Officer on the Space Station Global. An opportunity of a lifetime for her career, even if it required her to talk to people. Especially people like Joe Colombo.

“I know how it’s supposed to work,” Joe said sarcastically.

“Then why are you complaining?” she shot back.

“Enough,” Dawson’s commanding voice cut through their bickering. “Ms. Guest, put the emergency beacon in the loop. The shuttle will be here soon.”

“Captain, I would like to check your wound.”

Dr. Chris St. Marie was older than the Captain, on her last tour of duty before being shipped to a cushy post at the Space Academy in San Diego. She was attractive in her plainness, imposing without being too tall.

“My head is fine,” Dawson said, gingerly touching the dried blood around a bruise on his temple.

“Why didn’t they build any windows in this damn thing?” Joe said from the helm.

“The structural integrity would be compromised in a vessel this small. The hull has to be whole to be strong enough to withstand the pressure,” answered Karen.

“Oh. I knew that.”

Dawson watched the exchange with a pained look on his face. Guest was notorious for her relationships with the crew. Sensing trouble, he interrupted them.

“Mr. Colombo, remain at the helm. Ms. Guest, to the rear.”

He turned to lead her back to her bunk when vertigo overtook him. The cramped confines of the lifepod started spinning in front of his eyes. He stumbled in the walkspace. Karen grabbed one arm, and Dr. St. Marie reached for the other. He collapsed between them, his brain ordering his legs to stand firm, the message lost somewhere on its way down.

“I’m all right,” he said, aiming for the first folded bunk, hoping to hit it with dignity.

“I don’t think so,” said the Doctor. She helped him settle on the bunk, propping him against the cold ceramic bulkhead. She examined the wound on his head, grimacing.

“It looks worse than it is,” she told him, not so sure herself. “I’m going to stitch it up.”

He nodded, holding a hand to his head to keep himself steady.

Karen Guest watched the Doctor and Captain for a moment, to be sure he wouldn’t pitch off the bunk on the floor. Satisfied, she moved away from him to the last double set of bunks hanging from the wall. Across from her, the Astronomer Terri Michael was curled up in a fetal ball, sobbing quietly. Karen stared at her for a moment, feeling an obligation to ask.

“Are you all right?”

“They’re going to die,” Terri whispered, more to herself than to anyone listening. She was fresh scrubbed and Iowa pretty, with corn silk blond hair and big blue eyes, red with crying.

“Yes,” Karen said.

Terri’s shoulders heaved in sobs. Karen put a tentative hand on her shoulder.

“They probably didn’t feel a thing.”

“Just leave me alone.”

Karen nodded, plopped down in the bunk across from the astronomer. She reached into a small bag on her cot, pulled out a tiny black box she rested in her lap.

“Hugo-” she whispered.

CHAPTER

CHAPTER

**Chapter 3: Strain and Sacrifice**

Dr. Chris St. Marie carefully examined Captain Dawson’s head, her fingers deftly probing the edges of the bruise. The wound, while not life-threatening, was painful and a stark reminder of their current predicament.

“They shouldn’t have hit you so hard,” she said, her voice filled with quiet anger.

“They had no choice,” Dawson replied, his tone resigned but firm.

St. Marie shook her head slightly, pulling out a bandage from her first aid kit. She applied it gently but efficiently, her movements steady and practiced.

“It was out of their hands,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

“They had no right to decide for me. I’m the Captain,” Dawson said, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of frustration and fatigue.

“Of course you are,” St. Marie agreed, her tone softening as she finished securing the bandage. “I want you to rest. You have a concussion.” She glanced around the cramped lifepod, the bare metal walls reflecting the cold, sterile environment. “There’s nothing you can do but wait.”

Dawson’s gaze shifted from Joe at the helm to Guest, who was lying in the last bunk, her expression unreadable. St. Marie moved to the bed across from him, her eyes never leaving his face. He settled back against the wall, under her watchful eye.

“You can’t sleep,” she instructed, her voice firm but caring.

Dawson closed his eyes, his face etched with exhaustion, pain, and a touch of fear. The weight of command and the uncertainty of their situation bore down on him, but he nodded slightly.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice barely a whisper.

St. Marie watched him closely, her medical training and instincts on high alert. She knew the signs of a concussion and the risks it carried, especially in their isolated and confined circumstances. The lifepod’s hum of recycled air was the only sound, a constant reminder of their fragile sanctuary amidst the void of space.

CHAPTER

:

**Chapter 4: The Virus**

Captain Dawson lay in his quarters, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. The room was as small and precise as the lifepod, neat and militant. The silence was suddenly interrupted by a voice over the intercom.

“Captain?” First Commander Delio’s voice echoed in the small space.

“I’m awake,” Dawson responded, sitting up in his bed.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir. We have an incoming communication.”

Dawson sighed and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “On my way.”

First Commander Delio, a tall, imposing woman with an air of strength and authority, turned on her heel and marched into the corridor. She was attractive in the way powerful women are, strong and confident, taking no nonsense from anyone.

As she moved through the gunmetal gray tunnel of the Space Station Global, she passed Ensign Johnson and Cadet Best, both hurrying to their duties. Delio nodded and smiled at each of them, maintaining a stern but approachable demeanor.

She entered the bridge, a small, cramped space reminiscent of a gunship. Computer workstations lined the back wall, and a helm was positioned in front of a thick window looking out into space. There were no chairs, just standing stations for the crew.

Joe Colombo stood at the helm, his eyes focused on the instruments. Ensign Walters worked on a keyboard along the back wall. Noticing Delio’s entrance, Walters snapped to attention.

“Commander on deck,” she announced.

Delio nodded. “At ease,” she said, then turned to Joe. “Don’t get up, Joe.”

Joe smiled, his tone friendly. “For an old codger like you?”

Delio smirked. “Still haven’t got your space legs.”

Joe cupped his crotch, hidden by the helm. “I got your space leg right here.”

Dawson walked onto the bridge, and Walters snapped to attention again. “Captain on deck,” she said, saluting.

Dawson sighed. “Do they have to do that?”

Delio winked at Joe. “It’ll go away over time.”

“Who is on-line?” Dawson asked, his tone growing serious.

“Sir, President Weidner,” Walters replied.

“Enough with the sirs,” Dawson muttered, moving toward the computer monitor at the back of the bridge. Delio moved beside him.

“You get used to it,” she said softly.

Dawson activated the monitor. “Mr. President,” he began as the image of President Weidner slowly faded in.

“Captain Dawson. How are things, Mike?” the President asked, his voice a mix of concern and authority.

“Par for the course up here,” Dawson replied.

“Keeping them on your tight schedule, no doubt,” Weidner said with a hint of a smile.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re wondering why I called.”

“Sir,” Dawson affirmed.

“We’ve had some trouble here. I don’t want you to worry about how the repercussions will affect you,” Weidner said, his expression troubled. “Someone released a virus into our mainframe.”

Dawson glanced over his shoulder at Delio, his face tightening. “Mr. President, our systems are autonomous. The Global is in an independent circuit.”

Weidner grimaced, looking away for a moment. “The bug entered our system before the last supply shuttle. You may have caught it from them.”

Dawson looked stricken. The bridge crew watched him with wide, wondering eyes. He turned to Walters. “Bring me Lt. Cameron.”

“Yes, sir,” Walters said, moving swiftly.

“Mr. President?” Dawson continued.

“If this bug is in your system, things could get rough. My advisors tell me we’re preparing the shuttle to come up for you.”

“How rough?” Dawson asked, his voice edged with tension.

The President paused, consulting a chart. “We’ve lost almost sixty-two percent of our operating capacity. Our systems crash, we reload, they crash again. I’ve got people working on it, but every time we think we have it licked, it turns around and bites us in the ass.”

Lt. Cameron hurried onto the bridge. In his mid-twenties, he was a computer aficionado, his eyes wide with concern as he watched Dawson.

“And if we’re infected?” Dawson asked, his voice heavy with worry.

“We can’t be sure. System failures, program glitches. We’re working up a worst-case scenario. It’s not good,” Weidner said, shaking his head.

“Yes, sir,” Dawson said, turning to Cameron. “Start a system analysis for every program. Inform me of any deviations.”

Cameron nodded, scurrying to a workstation, pushing Walters aside and beginning to type furiously.

“Captain, you’ve got a lot of work to do. I’ll be in touch,” Weidner said, his image fading from the screen.

“Mr. President,” Dawson murmured before turning to the bridge crew. Except for Cameron’s typing and the hum of machinery, all was quiet.

“Know what I would like to know?” Delio said, breaking the silence. “Why did the President make that call?”

They stared at each other, knowing the answer but not wanting to say it out loud.

“Lt. Cameron?” Dawson prompted.

“I’m working it,” Cameron said, his fingers flying over the keys. “Nothing, sir. All readouts register normal.”

Dawson turned to Colombo. “Mr. Colombo, is our orbit stable?”

Joe checked the helm. “Yes, Captain.”

Dawson smiled, the tension leaving his face. “We’re safe?”

Delio moved to a second workstation. “Run a backup analysis.”

“Yes, sir,” Cameron replied.

Dawson nodded, moving toward the door. “Keep me informed.”

“Yes, sir,” Delio said, her eyes following him as he left the bridge.

CHAPTER

Karen Guest stood at a workstation in her small quarters, a putty knife laser carver in one hand and a schematic in the other. She focused intently on the shapeless mass of plastic before her, the tip of the blade carefully carving out the contours of an arm and a chest. The plastic began to take the form of a human torso under her skilled hand. She stepped back to admire her work, a critical eye assessing every curve and line.

A naked, lifelike figure sat on her worktable, its eyes closed as if in slumber.

“Needs work,” Guest muttered to herself. She brushed her frazzled hair back from her face, leaving a smudge of plastic dust on her forehead. She moved to a small black box on her workstation and addressed it. “Hugo.”

The box responded in a mechanical monotone, “Yes.”

“I like it. Of course, I like it. It just needs some detail work. Do you think it looks okay?”

“Yes,” Hugo replied.

“You’re just saying that,” Guest said, rolling her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Remind me to reprogram you for complex sentence structures.”

“Yes.”

She picked up a towel and returned to the torso, carefully wiping it down. “Once I get you installed in this host, I’ve got plans for you. Do you know how long I’ve worked on AI?”

“Yes,” Hugo answered.

“It was rhetorical. I’m going to win a Nobel for you,” she said with a determined glint in her eye.

A knock on the door interrupted her. “Enter,” she called out.

Ambassador Reynoldo, a tall, handsome man with an air of slight ethnic ambiguity and a hint of untrustworthiness, stepped into the room.

“Karen,” he greeted, his voice smooth.

“Rey,” Guest responded curtly.

“I missed you at dinner,” he said, his eyes wandering around the cluttered quarters.

“I was busy,” she replied, nodding toward the torso.

Reynoldo walked over to the worktable, examining the torso with a critical eye. “I can see. What is it? A sculpture?”

“Something like that,” Guest answered, her tone guarded.

“A girl’s secret, I see,” Reynoldo said with a slight smirk.

“You do?” Guest challenged, her eyebrow raised.

Reynoldo moved to her cluttered workstation, fingering through the assorted tools and debris, picking up a piece, examining it, and then discarding it. Guest quickly pushed him aside, putting the pieces back exactly where they were.

“I have this organized,” she snapped.

“My apologies,” Reynoldo said, stepping back.

“Did you want something?” Guest asked, her patience wearing thin.

Reynoldo studied her for a moment before speaking. “I want for us to be friends.”

“Okay. Great. How’re you doing? I’m busy. See you later,” Guest said quickly, her words a clear dismissal.

“I see,” Reynoldo said, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Guest stood protectively in front of her workstation, her body language making it clear that his presence was no longer welcome.

“Perhaps we will meet later,” Reynoldo suggested, a note of hope in his voice.

She shrugged, noncommittal. Reynoldo moved to the door, pausing to look at her over his shoulder before leaving.

Guest stared at the closed door for a moment, her mind racing. She took a deep breath and returned to the torso, her focus shifting back to her work. She picked up the towel and began carving again, each stroke of the blade precise and deliberate. Her mind was already churning with the next steps, her vision for the AI host clear and unwavering.

CHAPTER

On the bridge of the Space Station Global, Lt. Cameron opened a panel beneath his workstation, unclipped two wires, and switched them with meticulous precision.

“Lt. Cameron?” Delio’s voice cut through the hum of machinery.

“I had a thought,” Cameron responded, his tone focused.

Walters glanced over, smirking. “Ouch.”

Ignoring her, Cameron continued, “What if I reconfigured the anomaly search to select programs that only interacted with the shuttle? I’m tying in the Global’s mainframe to speed up the search.” He stood up and dusted himself off. “We can concentrate on a smaller grid.”

Walters, her eyes glued to her own workstation, suddenly frowned. “Uh-oh.”

Delio’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like uh-oh.”

Walters began keying in commands rapidly. “We have a virus that crossed grids.”

“Uh-oh,” Cameron echoed, his face paling.

“Lt. Cameron?” Delio’s voice had an edge of warning.

Cameron’s voice wavered. “I connected the grids.”

“Stop it,” Delio ordered, her patience fraying.

Walters typed furiously. “I can’t.”

With swift determination, Delio leaned under the workstation and yanked out the crossed wires. Cameron’s workstation went dark, and one by one, the lights on the bridge flickered out, leaving the helm shrouded in darkness.

“Hey!” Joe shouted, his voice echoing in the dim light.

“Miller, get the Captain,” Delio commanded.

Cadet Miller dashed out of the room. Cameron moved to Walters’ still-lit station, his fingers dancing over the keyboard.

“Commander, I think I’ve isolated the bridge drive from the rest of the systems,” Walters reported, her voice tense.

“She has,” Cameron confirmed.

Delio turned to Joe. “Mr. Colombo, our orbit?”

Joe glanced at the dark panels and then out the window, his face tense. “I can’t tell.”

Cameron’s frustration was palpable. “I can’t bring helm control online.”

“I’m running a degradation calculation,” Walters announced, her fingers moving rapidly.

Dawson marched onto the bridge, his presence commanding attention. “Situation.”

“We’ve introduced a virus from the isolated shuttle grid into the bridge drive,” Delio reported crisply. “We have no helm control. We’re checking other systems now.”

“How?” Dawson’s tone was sharp.

Cameron cleared his throat. “My fault, Captain.”

Dawson waited for more, his expression stern. “Good job, Lt.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Cameron said, his voice low.

“Make it better,” Dawson ordered.

Walters interrupted, “We’ve shielded the bridge from the rest of the station.” She turned to Delio. “I’ve got the numbers.”

Delio peered over Walters’ shoulder at the monitor. “I had Ensign Walters run probabilities on our orbit. We’re degrading at a rate of point one hundred thousand per revolution. Increasing geometrically.”

Joe pushed past them to check the monitor himself. “That’s not possible.”

“Lt. Cameron, can you bring the helm online?” Dawson asked, his voice calm but firm.

“Negative, Captain,” Cameron responded, frustration evident.

Dawson looked to Walters, who shook her head. “Me either, sir.”

Delio suggested, “We can put Karen Guest on it. She’s a system analyst.”

Dawson nodded, and without waiting for orders, Miller hurried through the door.

Joe’s voice was urgent. “Captain, if these numbers are right, we’re going to be in big trouble in about twenty-six hours.”

“The numbers are correct,” Cameron confirmed, his voice grim.

Dawson leaned against the wall, his mind racing. “I’m sorry, Captain,” Cameron said again, his regret palpable.

“So you said,” Dawson replied, his voice measured.

Walters spoke up, defending her colleague. “He was trying to help.”

“Ensign,” Delio interjected. “The Captain knows Lt. Cameron did not intentionally sabotage the Global.”

Walters stared at the floor, the weight of the situation settling over the room. The air grew thick with tension as the enormity of their predicament became clear.

“Ensign Walters, access the crew roster. Assign each member to a life pod,” Dawson ordered.

“Yes sir,” Walters replied, turning to her station. It went dark.

“Sir?” she called out, uncertainty in her voice.

“Use the mess station,” Dawson instructed. “Lt. Cameron, sound reveille for 1450.”

“Yes sir,” Cameron responded.

The doors opened, and Karen Guest rushed in, brushing past Walters as she exited. “Captain?”

“Ms. Guest, we have a problem,” Dawson said, his voice steady despite the chaos around him.

CHAPTER

The Mess Hall of the Space Station Global felt as cramped as the rest of the ship. There was barely enough room for twelve at the two metal tables set side by side. Ensigns Johnson and Walters sat with Cadets Miller and Best, their faces reflecting the tension that had become a constant companion in recent hours. Ambassador Reynoldo, ever the diplomat, sat between Dr. St. Marie and Terri Michaels. Across from them, Delio maintained her usual composed demeanor.

Joe and Captain Dawson marched into the room with a sense of urgency. Joe slid in beside Cadet Miller, his expression serious. Dawson faced the tables, the weight of command heavy on his shoulders.

“Forgive the melodrama of assembling you under a code yellow,” Dawson began, his voice steady, “but I want to make you all aware of our situation. Commander.”

Delio stood, her posture rigid. “At 1300, we received a call from Earth warning of a potential computer virus. We ran a diagnostic to search for the anomaly. Around 1350, we lost the bridge network to an unidentified invasion, including helm. We are losing orbit.”

Reynoldo, ever the pragmatist, interjected, “Forgive the layman in the group, but what does that mean to me?”

“In twenty-five hours, the space station Global will reenter the atmosphere and crash somewhere in the Pacific Ocean,” Dawson explained, his tone grave.

The room fell into a shocked silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

“Currently, Lt. Cameron and Karen Guest are trying to restore helm control,” Delio continued. “They will continue as long as they can.”

Dr. St. Marie, always the voice of reason, asked, “In the meantime?”

“We will prepare to evacuate the Global,” Dawson stated. “Ensign Walters has assigned you to a lifepod.”

Reynoldo, feeling the tightness of the situation, started to stand but found the space too cramped. He sat back down, drawing the room’s attention. “Have you informed the UN? We cannot abandon the Global. We have too much invested in her.”

“Ambassador, we will try everything to restore helm,” Dawson assured him.

“I have no doubt,” Reynoldo replied. “May I come to the bridge?”

Dawson hesitated but nodded. “Of course.” Turning to Delio, he added, “Prepare a transmission to Earth for the Ambassador.”

Delio snapped a salute and moved out.

Dawson addressed the remaining crew, “Please prepare to abandon ship.”

Reynoldo, undeterred, pressed on. “That may not be necessary, Captain. I don’t mean to undermine your authority with the crew, but your preparations may be useless. I suggest we discuss our problem with the UN Council before making any rash decisions.”

Dawson’s eyes narrowed. “I suggest you listen for your pod assignment. It would be unfortunate if you were left behind when they deployed.”

The two men faced off across the table, a palpable tension hinting at an unpleasant history between them.

“Is that a threat, Captain?” Reynoldo asked, his voice cold.

“It would be tragic to lose such a distinguished person,” Dawson replied, not entirely sincere.

“Under the UN Articles of Confederation, it is illegal to threaten a vested representative of the body, punishable by imprisonment,” Reynoldo reminded him.

“I am aware of the Articles, Ambassador,” Dawson responded.

“I thought as much. Shall we retire to the bridge to make that transmission?” Reynoldo suggested.

“Ensign Walters, please inform the Ambassador of his pod assignment,” Dawson ordered.

“Beta pod, sir,” Walters replied promptly.

“Thank you, my dear,” Reynoldo said, rising to follow Dawson out of the room.

The others watched the door for a moment, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of their situation.

Dr. St. Marie took charge, her voice breaking the silence. “Ensign, where am I going?”

“Alpha pod,” Walters replied.

“Thank you,” St. Marie said, heading for the door.

Joe stood up as well. Walters continued, “Alpha,” she said to him, then turned to Michaels and Johnson, “Alpha. Alpha.”

Johnson and Michaels exchanged secret smiles.

“Everyone else in Beta,” Walters instructed.

They nodded and began to disperse, except for Johnson and Michaels. Johnson tentatively reached across the table, taking Terri’s hand.

“Did you arrange that?” Johnson asked, his voice soft.

“Does wishing count?” Michaels replied, her tone playful.

“Not if you know what I wished for,” Johnson said, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Michaels stood up, moved around the table, and straddled his lap. Their lips barely brushed. “I can imagine,” she whispered.

He kissed her passionately, the urgency of the moment heightening their emotions. After a minute, she pulled back, teasingly. “You have to imagine.”

“Why don’t we apply for a grant?” Johnson suggested, struggling to keep his composure.

“What?” Michaels asked, puzzled.

“We can study childbirth in space,” Johnson said, a hopeful smile forming.

Michaels pulled away, straightening her jumpsuit. “You just want to practice.”

“I need it,” Johnson admitted.

She leaned over, kissed his forehead gently. “Yes, you do. Get your gear.”

With that, she sauntered out of the door, leaving him gaping after her, the weight of their uncertain future hanging heavily in the air.

CHAPTER

On the bridge, Cameron and Guest hovered over a workstation, their eyes locked in silent communication. They worked in unison, the tension between them palpable. Delio marched in, her expression a mix of determination and frustration.

“Luck?” she asked, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the bridge.

They shook their heads in unison, their faces grim.

“I need that station,” Delio said, moving forward with purpose.

They stepped aside, and she keyed in a command. The computer responded with a disheartening bleep. She tried again, but the result was the same.

“I can’t access communications,” Delio said, her frustration evident.

Cameron glanced at the monitor, a defensive edge to his voice. “I didn’t do it.”

Dawson and Reynoldo slipped onto the bridge, their presence adding to the already heavy atmosphere.

“Unable to bring communications online, sir,” Delio reported, her voice steady despite the situation.

Dawson turned his gaze to Cameron, who repeated, “I didn’t do it.”

Reynoldo, ever the skeptic, studied the workstation with narrowed eyes. “We can’t contact Earth?” he asked, his tone accusatory.

“Not at the moment,” Dawson replied, his patience wearing thin.

“How convenient. For you,” Reynoldo said, moving closer to the panel, suspicion in every step.

“Communications was something of a hobby of mine before I entered the political arena,” Reynoldo mentioned, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Rey, maybe you shouldn’t — “ Guest began, concern lacing her words.

“Don’t worry, Karen my dear,” Reynoldo interrupted, examining the screen. “I’ve seen this before. On the Shuttle Endeavor, her final voyage. I was allowed to ride with her.”

Ignoring the others’ protests, Reynoldo leaned down and opened the access panel.

“Ambassador — “ Cameron started, but Reynoldo cut him off.

“The Communications were offline, like this,” Reynoldo explained, reaching for a wire. “We re-routed the sub-routine.”

“Don’t!” Guest and Cameron shouted in unison, but Reynoldo disregarded their warnings and rearranged the wires.

The panel lit up, and Reynoldo smiled triumphantly. “Voilà. Communications.”

Cameron, furious, shouldered him aside and ripped the cables out. “Arrogant bastard,” he spat, turning to Dawson. “He pulled power from outside of the bridge.”

“Of course I did. It’s a routine application, I — “ Reynoldo began, but Guest cut him off.

“You just had to be a hero, didn’t you, Rey,” she said, her voice filled with exasperation.

Suddenly, the overhead lights dimmed, and yellow and red emergency lights clicked on.

“All systems offline,” Delio reported, her voice tight.

“Life support?” Dawson asked, his face betraying no emotion.

Delio shook her head. “Negative.”

“Time?” Dawson asked, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the chaos around him.

“Whatever we have in the locks,” Cameron answered, his voice strained.

“Dawson, I assure you. My intentions — “ Reynoldo tried to explain, but Dawson wasn’t listening.

Moving calmly to the door, Dawson forced it open and issued the order. “All hands, abandon ship.”

CHAPTER

In the corridor, Dawson leads the bridge crew through the dimly lit passage, the occasional pools of red emergency light casting eerie shadows on the walls. The oppressive silence is broken only by the soft hum of the ship’s failing systems.

“Lt. Cameron, check all quarters,” Dawson commands, his voice echoing with authority. “I need twelve people in those lifepods. You answer to me if they’re not.”

“Yes, sir,” Cameron responds with a determined nod.

As they reach a junction, Cameron and Guest peel away, heading down a second corridor. The tension between them is palpable.

“I don’t need help,” Cameron snaps, his frustration evident.

“Who offered?” Guest retorts, her tone sharp as she ducks into her quarters.

Cameron watches her go, his jaw clenched. He takes a deep breath, then moves on, methodically checking each room. The corridors are a maze of shadows and flickering lights, making his task all the more challenging.

In one room, he finds Ensign Hayes, still in uniform, staring blankly at the wall. Cameron shakes him out of his stupor, guiding him towards the lifepods with firm instructions. In another, he discovers Technician Lee, who scrambles to gather personal items before Cameron sternly reminds him of the urgency.

Meanwhile, Guest quickly gathers her essential gear, her movements efficient and precise. She catches a glimpse of a small photograph pinned to her desk — a reminder of home. For a brief moment, her hardened exterior softens, but she quickly shoves the photo into her pocket and rushes out to continue the evacuation.

Back in the corridor, the group converges near the lifepods. Dawson stands at the entrance, his eyes scanning the faces of his crew, counting silently to ensure no one is missing. Cameron and Guest arrive, their expressions grim but determined.

“Everyone accounted for?” Dawson asks, his gaze shifting between Cameron and Guest.

Cameron nods, breathless. “All quarters checked, sir. We have twelve.”

“Good,” Dawson replies, his voice carrying a weight of unspoken relief. “Get them into the lifepods. We don’t have much time.”

As the crew files into the lifepods, the red lights flicker ominously, a reminder of the ship’s dire state. Dawson remains calm and collected, ensuring everyone is safely inside before he takes his place.

The doors to the lifepods seal shut with a final, decisive click. The hum of the ship fades, replaced by the tense silence of the enclosed pods. The crew braces for what comes next, their fate uncertain as they prepare to abandon the only home they’ve known for so long.

CHAPTER

Inside her quarters, Karen grabbed Hugo’s memory core, a sleek, metallic device that felt cold and heavy in her hands. She paused in front of the sculpted torso, its smooth contours a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Tracing her fingers across the edge, she allowed herself a brief moment of calm. Then, with a determined breath, she rushed out the door, leaving the serene figure behind.

— -

In the corridor, Dawson and Delio hurried through the dimly lit passage, the red emergency lights casting a harsh glow on their faces.

“Commander, send the SOS,” Dawson ordered, his voice firm and unyielding.

“Yes, sir,” Delio responded, peeling away from the group to carry out the command.

— -

In the cramped airlock, Dawson waited with Reynoldo as the rest of the crew filed in. The air was thick with tension.

Ensign Miller entered first. “Ensign, prepare the lifepods,” Dawson instructed.

“Yes, sir,” Miller replied, opening two small access hatches before disappearing into the Beta Pod door.

“Ambassador,” Dawson said, ushering Reynoldo into the Beta pod.

Dr. St. Marie entered next, clutching her med kit tightly. “Alpha,” she stated before slipping through the second door.

Johnson and Michael followed closely behind, with Joe bringing up the rear. “Alpha. All of us,” Joe announced as they climbed through the hatch.

Lt. Cameron led Walters and Cadet Best into the airlock. “Beta,” he said, directing them into the hatch.

“Lt. Cameron?” Dawson called.

Cameron stuck his head out of the hatch. “Captain?”

“The others?” Dawson asked.

Delio and Guest rushed in, each slipping through a hatch — Delio into Beta, Guest into Alpha.

“All present and accounted for, Captain,” Cameron confirmed.

“Abandon ship,” Dawson commanded.

“Yes, sir,” Cameron replied, struggling to close the access hatch. Dawson paused to watch him.

“Problem, Lt.?” Dawson inquired.

“Yes, sir,” Cameron grunted, straining against the hatch.

Dawson called into the Alpha pod. “Mr. Johnson. Mr. Columbo. Your assistance, please.”

Johnson and Colombo joined Dawson and Cameron at the hatch, three on the outside, one in. They grunted and heaved, trying to close the thick hatch.

“This isn’t working,” Dawson muttered, stopping their efforts. “Ensign, on the other side.”

Johnson moved inside with Cameron. Delio peeked between the two men.

“Captain, this is inadvisable. The lifepods can only hold six. Any more strains the resources,” Delio cautioned.

Dawson considered her words, then nodded. “Miller! Alpha pod,” he called out.

Miller brushed past the crowded opening. “Sorry,” he mumbled to Johnson.

“It’s okay. Tell her I’ll see her down below,” Johnson replied.

Miller nodded and ducked into the second hatch.

“Captain, what if we can’t close the inside hatch?” Delio asked.

“We can, sir,” Cameron insisted, looking at Johnson. “With two of us.”

“If we can’t close both hatches — ” Delio started.

“We will,” Cameron interrupted, struggling against the outer hatch as if to prove his point. Johnson joined him, while Dawson and Joe worked with them, slowly grinding the thick hatch down. Joe rotated the inner lock.

“Did they get the inner hatch?” Joe asked.

“They have to,” Dawson replied, turning to the Alpha Pod. Both men were short of breath, working hard in the thinning air.

Inside the pod, they worked at the outer hatch, but it was stuck. Dawson put a hand on the inner hatch, which moved with ease. Joe and the Captain exchanged worried looks.

“Into the pod, Mr. Columbo,” Dawson ordered.

“No, sir,” Joe replied.

“Mr. Columbo, that’s mutiny,” Dawson said sternly.

“If you don’t get in that pod, you die,” Joe insisted.

“I am aware of the possibilities,” Dawson retorted.

The two men squared off in the doorway, breathing hard and struggling.

“We can’t be at air limits,” Dawson said.

“Commander Delio sealed each airlock, in case any pieces survive the fall,” Joe explained.

“We’re out of air in here,” Dawson realized.

“Yes, sir,” Joe confirmed.

Dawson grabbed the outer hatch. “Into the pod.”

“No, sir,” Joe repeated.

Miller stuck her head out of the pod. “Sir?”

“Cadet Miller, escort Mr. Columbo into the pod,” Dawson ordered.

“I don’t think so,” Joe replied, towering over the tiny Miller.

“Joe, come inside,” Miller pleaded.

“Someone has to stay in the airlock to close the outer hatch. The Captain plans to go down with the ship,” Joe said.

“Sir?” Miller looked to Dawson.

“Cadet, I order you to take Mr. Columbo into the lifepod,” Dawson commanded.

Miller reached for Joe’s wrist. In a swift motion, Joe grabbed Dawson by the arm and swung him into the bulkhead. Dawson slumped to the floor.

“Oops,” Joe muttered.

“Joe!” Miller exclaimed.

“It was an accident,” Joe said, hefting Dawson in his arms. “Help me get him inside.”

Miller slipped to one side, lifting the Captain. They edged into the access door, and Miller shoved Joe in with Dawson. They collapsed on the floor.

“Hey!” Joe protested.

Miller grabbed the inner hatch and slammed it home. She fought with the outer hatch, grinding it down. Joe worked the inner hatch open just in time to see the outer hatch latch down. He heard it lock. He slammed the inner hatch, locking it.

“Dammit!” Joe cursed.

St. Marie and Guest stared at him.

“What’s wrong with the Captain?” St. Marie asked.

“Where’s Miller?” Guest added.

“I knocked him out. She locked us in,” Joe explained.

St. Marie helped the Captain up as he started to come around. “Why did she lock us in?” Guest asked.

“Someone had to stay on board. We had trouble with the hatches on both pods,” Joe said.

“What about Johnson?” Michael asked.

“The outer hatch is closed. We can only hope they got the inner one down,” Joe replied.

Michael looked like she was about to be sick. Dawson rubbed his injured head.

“Colombo,” Dawson muttered.

“Sorry, Captain,” Joe said.

“I’m very tired of people telling me they’re sorry. What’s our status?” Dawson asked, steadying himself.

“Cadet Miller has elected to stay on the Global,” Joe reported.

Dawson glared at him. “Did Beta Pod get away?” Michael asked, her voice shaky.

“There’s no way to be sure,” Dawson replied.

“Are we detached?” Guest asked.

Joe opened a red box by the access hatch and flipped a large lever. “We are now,” he said.

Dawson moved to the helm, which was little more than a single workstation. “Ms. Guest, bring us online,” he commanded.

“Captain, I would like to examine your wound,” St. Marie said, concern in her voice.

“Later,” Dawson replied curtly.

Guest sat at the workstation, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “Captain, the lifepod systems won’t come up,” she reported.

“Options?” Dawson asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I might be able to rewrite a subroutine, establish some control,” Guest suggested.

“What about life support?” St. Marie asked anxiously.

“Don’t worry. That network is standalone. No way for the virus to affect it,” Guest reassured her.

“Can we raise the other pod?” Dawson inquired.

“Not yet,” Guest replied.

“Ms. Guest, to the rear. Mr. Colombo, assume the helm,” Dawson ordered, his voice resolute.

TO BE CONTINUED