Time became meaningless. Atlas didn't count hours anymore, he counted how many times he blinked before EVA answered him, how often the emergency lights flickered in the same sequence.
He counted how many times he had replayed the same logs from EVA's boot diagnostics, searching for anything he might've missed.
Anything to explain what had gone wrong. There was nothing. The answers weren't here not in the data, not in the logs, not even in the stars. He stood in the narrow service corridor beside the communications core.
The casing, once sealed and pristine, now lay open, wires exposed like veins in a dissected creature. Tools hovered near his elbow, magnetically attached to the wall in a makeshift cradle. His hands were steady, despite the cold.
"EVA," he muttered, voice rough. "How long until we finish the beacon assembly?"
EVA's voice had softened over the last few days still synthetic, still neutral, but less sterile. "Signal core calibration is at 92%. Estimated completion, four minutes."
Atlas nodded. "Alright. That's... something."
The emergency signal beacon wasn't much. Just a pulse a focused burst of energy that could travel through hyperspace folds if the calculations were right.
It didn't carry messages, only presence. Like screaming into the void and hoping something screamed back.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, though it was nearly freezing inside the Valkyris now. Life support was conserving energy, cutting heat in unused corridors and sleeping chambers. The ship was beginning to feel more like a drifting coffin than a vessel.
"Why hasn't anyone answered?" he asked aloud. "There were three patrol routes within five light-cycles of my jump vector. Even if I missed the coordinates by a parsec, someone should've..." He trailed off, frowning.
"You may be in a region unmapped by current star charts," EVA replied.
"Hyperspace ruptures can create unpredictable outcomes."
"Like dropping me in a pocket dimension?"
"There is insufficient data to confirm or deny."
Atlas sighed and went back to the wiring.
The beacon needed one final calibration before deployment. EVA had suggested launching it away from the ship so that the signal wouldn't be dampened by the Valkyris own shielding.
Minutes passed. Finally, the calibration completed. Atlas sealed the unit and carried it to the lower hatch. He moved slowly, deliberately. Every motion counted. Every breath burned a calorie he wasn't sure he could replace.
He stared at the small cylindrical beacon in his gloved hand. It had no voice, no soul. But in that moment, it was his only hope.
"EVA," he said, "open the bay."
A hiss. The chamber's outer doors unsealed, revealing the vast black ocean of space. Stars distant and unfamiliar, blinked coldly. No constellations. No familiar markers. Just void.
He placed the beacon in the magnetic launcher and keyed in the trajectory. It would drift out several hundred kilometers before activating. From there, all they could do was wait.
"Launching beacon," he whispered.
The chamber lit briefly with blue energy as the device shot into the dark.
And then there was silence.
"Beacon is transmitting," EVA confirmed.
"Pulse interval: every 6.2 seconds."
Atlas didn't respond. He stood there, staring into space, until the chamber closed behind him.
Back in the cockpit, he sat down in the pilot's chair and leaned back. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, he closed his eyes without running diagnostics in his mind.
"I don't even know who I want to find me," he whispered.
EVA didn't reply. The stars blinked.
Far beyond the edges of human charting, a pulse echoed.
He had screamed.
Now he waited to see if something would scream back.