The stars were still watching.
Kael kept one hand on the throttle, the other gripping the console as the shuttle cut a cautious arc back toward Cryo Module 57. The hull was scorched, sensors half-blind in one quadrant, and at least one drone limped back in formation, its repulsor array flickering erratically. But they were alive. Barely.
"Status?" he asked, voice hoarse.
Patch answered at once. "Structural damage localized. No breaches in pressurized compartments. One drone critically damaged, two returning to bay. Hull repair drone en route to aft panel."
Kael nodded absently, eyes flicking to the nav display. Cryo 57 was still there—still cold, still dim, drifting like a mausoleum. The shuttle's external lights swept across its hull, casting deep shadows into the familiar grooves.
And yet, something about it felt… off.
He keyed the comm. "Cryo 57, this is Kael. Approaching from vector delta-six. One survivor lost. Threat eliminated. Requesting docking clearance."
A pause.
Then Voss's voice came through, slower than usual. "Acknowledged, Kael. Bay doors opening. Come in easy—we're conserving power."
Kael frowned. There was something clipped in Voss's tone. Not just fatigue. Strain.
The shuttle's maglocks clamped onto the module's docking collar. Patch began automatic atmospheric checks, and Kael stood slowly, peeling off his helmet. He glanced at the cutter still leaning by the pilot's seat, then at the viewport behind him.
Just stars.
Just ghosts.
He didn't feel any safer.
⸻
Inside Cryo Module 57, the cold wasn't just from the reactor throttling.
Juno stared at the med bay display, brow furrowed. "I'm telling you, this is new. Pod 6 was fine earlier. Now the readings are erratic—neural activity spike, elevated CO₂ levels, even minor muscular convulsions. But no signs of waking."
Voss leaned over her shoulder, scrutinizing the waveform data. "And you're sure it wasn't interference from the docking signal?"
"I rechecked twice," she said. "Something's happening in there. Like… like the sleeper's fighting something."
Across the room, Ivers stood with arms crossed, watching them both. "Maybe it's just a bad dream."
"Or maybe," Renna muttered from her corner, "it's like what happened to Lira. The kid Kael pulled from the wreck."
Silence fell like a dropped wrench.
"Don't jump to conclusions," Voss said tightly. "We don't know it's the same. And Kael said the parasite emerged just before the kill attempt. That doesn't match what we're seeing here."
"Yet," Renna replied.
The lighting dimmed again—just a flicker, but everyone noticed.
Voss turned toward the systems panel. "That's the third time since Kael left. I don't like it."
"We should do a full diagnostic," Juno offered. "Grid integrity, sensor relays, AI logs. Just in case."
Ivers gave a curt nod. "And get Kael back in here. He needs to see this."
⸻
Kael stepped through the shuttle airlock into Cryo 57 and was met with Renna's sharp-eyed stare.
"You look like hell," she said.
"You should see the other guy," he muttered, walking past.
Ivers joined him, falling into step. "We've had anomalies while you were out. Power fluctuations. One of the pods started spiking activity. Juno thinks it could be another sleeper getting ready to hatch… or something worse."
Kael's stomach clenched. "Which pod?"
"Number six."
His pace quickened.
⸻
When they reached the med bay, Juno was already rerouting power to Pod 6's diagnostic array. The stasis glass was clouded, internal lights flickering faintly. Behind it, a woman floated motionless, face turned upward like someone caught mid-breath.
"She was stable until two hours ago," Juno said. "Now… I don't know what she is."
Kael stared at the pod. He didn't recognize her, but something about her stillness was familiar. Too familiar.
Patch hovered beside him, silent.
"Scan her," Kael ordered. "Full biometrics. Look for non-native tissue density, metabolic irregularities, elevated calcium-carbon signatures."
"Running," Patch replied. A few seconds passed. Then: "Anomaly detected. Organic signature inconsistent with baseline human. Internal cavity mass density: elevated."
Kael felt the air leave his lungs.
"She's not sleeping," he said. "She's incubating."
Renna swore. Juno backed away a step. Voss's face went pale.
"We need to make a decision," Kael said, voice cold. "Now. Before she wakes up."
⸻
The pod hissed softly—nothing unusual, just atmospheric balancing—but it made everyone jump.
Kael stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "How long until the parasite—whatever's inside—becomes active?"
Patch answered. "Unknown. Based on prior host emergence patterns, incubation can terminate within minutes once metabolic thresholds are reached."
"In English?" Renna asked.
Kael turned to her. "If it's like Lira… it could be any minute now."
Voss shook his head. "She's still human. We don't know how far it's gone. If there's a chance—"
"There isn't," Kael snapped. "You didn't see it tear out of that man's back. You didn't feel it watching you through someone else's eyes. Whatever she was… she's gone. Or she will be."
Juno's voice was quiet. "There's no way to remove it safely. Not without killing her."
No one replied.
Finally, Ivers broke the silence. "So we wait until it bursts out of her and kills someone? Again?"
Voss's jaw clenched. "There has to be another way."
"There isn't time for philosophy," Kael said. "Not anymore."
He turned to Patch. "Can we eject the pod?"
There was a pause. "Pod 6 is locked into the central ring for long-term stasis integrity. Manual decoupling is possible, but it will take time and carry risk of exposure."
Kael swore under his breath. "What about containment? Seal the whole chamber?"
Voss hesitated. "We could isolate the med bay. Magnetic locks, auto-seal on breach detection. It wouldn't hold forever, but long enough."
"Long enough for what?" Renna asked. "To watch her die from the outside?"
"To keep the rest of us alive," Kael said.
Juno closed her eyes briefly. "I'll help isolate the systems. Just… don't make me watch what happens next."
Kael stepped to the control panel, fingers flying. He paused before finalizing the commands.
The woman in Pod 6 shifted.
Just a twitch. Barely noticeable.
Then her mouth opened.
No breath. No scream.
Just a slow, mechanical gape—as though mimicking the memory of human fear.
Inside her throat, something moved.
Kael hit the override.
The med bay alarms howled as the isolation field snapped into place. Seals locked, lights dimmed, and steel shutters slid down over the pod with a heavy thud.
"She's not waking up," Kael said quietly. "She's already gone."
The sound of metal claws scraping glass filled the silence.
And behind it, something else—a sound no human mouth could make.
A voice learning how to mimic.