Chapter 3

The hum of the *Aurora’s* comms deck was a living thing, a heartbeat of static and whispers that Kaelin Voss had grown to love over her decade aboard the deep-space relay ship. But now, as she sat hunched over her console, the sound felt like a predator’s breath on her neck. The decrypted transmission from Elysium-7 looped again, her own name crackling through the ancient signal like a ghost reaching through time.

“Kaelin Voss… if you’re out there… we’re still here. We need you.”

Forty years. That’s how long the colony had been silent, declared lost after a catastrophic reactor failure. No survivors, the reports said. No hope. Yet here was a voice, raw and desperate, speaking directly to her. She’d listened to it a hundred times in the last hour, each repetition carving deeper into her resolve. She hadn’t told the captain yet. Not until she was sure this wasn’t a glitch, a cruel trick of the void.

The comms deck door hissed open, and Kaelin’s heart jolted. She minimized the transmission window just as Torren slid into the seat beside her, his broad frame filling the cramped space with an easy familiarity. His dark eyes flicked to her screen, then to her face, narrowing slightly.

“You’ve got that look again,” he said, voice low, teasing but edged with concern. Torren was the ship’s systems engineer, her closest friend aboard the *Aurora*, and the only person who could read her silences like they were broadcast signals. “Like you’re hiding something.”

Kaelin forced a smile, her fingers twitching over the console. “Just recalibrating the long-range array. Signal noise from the nebula’s been a mess.”

He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers, a warmth that grounded her even as her mind spun. “You’re a terrible liar, Voss. What’s eating you?”

She hesitated. Torren had always been her anchor, the one who’d sat with her through endless shifts, trading stories of Earth’s forgotten corners over lukewarm ration coffee. But this—this was too big, too personal. Her name in that transmission wasn’t just a coincidence. It felt like a summons, a debt she didn’t know she owed. Still, she couldn’t carry it alone any longer.

“Alright,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But you can’t tell anyone. Not yet.”

Torren’s teasing smirk faded, replaced by a solemn nod. She pulled up the audio file, letting the ghostly voice spill into the quiet between them. His expression shifted from curiosity to shock, his hand gripping the edge of the console as the message ended.

“Elysium-7?” he breathed. “That’s impossible. They’ve been gone since before we were born.”

“I know.” Kaelin’s throat tightened. “But it’s real. I’ve run diagnostics on the signal a dozen times. It’s not a ghost echo or a hack. The timestamp’s corrupted, but the origin point matches the colony’s last known coordinates.”

Torren dragged a hand through his close-cropped hair, his gaze distant. “And it’s addressed to you. By name. How do you even start to explain that?”

“I can’t.” She stared at the waveform on her screen, a jagged line like a scar across the void. “But I have to find out. If there’s even a chance someone’s still alive out there…”

Torren’s hand found hers, a brief, steadying touch that sent a flicker of warmth through her chest. “You’re not doing this alone, Kaelin. Whatever this is, we figure it out together. But we need to tell Captain Maris. She’ll want to know why we’re picking up signals from a graveyard.”

Kaelin pulled her hand back, the weight of his words settling like dust. Maris was a pragmatist, more likely to dismiss the transmission as a malfunction than risk diverting the *Aurora* off its charted course. But Torren was right. She couldn’t keep this buried forever.

“Tomorrow,” she said finally. “I’ll tell her tomorrow. I just need to dig deeper into the signal first. See if there’s more buried in the data stream.”

Torren studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that. And I’m sticking with you until we’ve got answers.”

The rest of the shift passed in a tense quiet, the two of them poring over the signal’s metadata. Kaelin isolated fragments of corrupted audio, piecing together static-laced phrases—“help us,” “trapped,” “the core”—but nothing concrete enough to build a case. Torren worked beside her, running cross-references against the *Aurora’s* archives, his presence a steady counterpoint to the storm in her mind.

As the ship’s artificial night cycle dimmed the lights, Kaelin felt the exhaustion creep in, her eyes burning from hours at the console. Torren nudged her shoulder, his voice softer now. “You need rest. We’ll pick this up after sleep rotation.”

She shook her head, stubbornness flaring. “I can’t stop. Not yet.”

“Kaelin.” His tone was firm, but there was something tender beneath it, a quiet plea. “You’re no good to anyone if you burn out. Come on. I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

Reluctantly, she relented, following him through the *Aurora’s* narrow corridors. The ship was a labyrinth of steel and hum, a world unto itself drifting through the endless black. At her door, Torren lingered, his hand brushing the frame as if unsure whether to step closer or pull away.

“Whatever this is,” he said, his voice low, “it’s bigger than us. But I’ve got your back. Always.”

Kaelin met his gaze, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them—gratitude, maybe, or something warmer, something she wasn’t ready to name. “Thanks, Torren. I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He gave a small, crooked smile, then turned to go, leaving her alone with the weight of the day. Inside her quarters, she collapsed onto her bunk, the transmission’s words looping in her mind like a broken record. Sleep came fitfully, haunted by dreams of a desolate colony, its air thick with ash, and a voice calling her name from the dark.

She woke to the ship’s alert chime, sharp and insistent. Her comms earpiece buzzed with Torren’s voice, urgent. “Kaelin, get to the deck. Now. There’s another signal.”

Heart pounding, she scrambled into her uniform and raced through the corridors, the *Aurora’s* hum now a roar in her ears. Torren was already at the console when she arrived, his face pale under the harsh lights. He didn’t need to say anything; the audio was already playing, clearer this time, chilling in its familiarity.

“Kaelin Voss. We’ve been waiting. The core is failing again. If you don’t come, there won’t be another chance. Coordinates attached. Hurry.”

The message cut off, replaced by a string of navigational data flickering across the screen—coordinates pointing straight to Elysium-7’s last known position. Kaelin’s breath caught, her hands trembling as she stared at the numbers. This wasn’t just a cry for help. It was a map.

Torren turned to her, his expression a mix of awe and dread. “This changes everything. We can’t ignore it now.”

She nodded, the decision crystallizing in her chest like ice. “We tell Maris. Today. If there’s even a sliver of hope, we have to go after them.”

But as she spoke, a shadow of doubt lingered, cold and unshakable. How did they know her name? What waited at those coordinates—survivors, or something far worse? The void held its secrets close, and Kaelin felt the pull of Elysium-7 like a current, drawing her toward an abyss she couldn’t yet fathom.