The quarters were quiet, the kind of quiet that settled in after a long shift. The compact space felt familiar: narrow bunk, small console, viewport showing nothing but the distorted starfield of Flux space. The figure eased into the chair, uniform creased from hours on duty but not enough to raise questions in the corridors. Out there, they blended in: a nod to Jax in passing, a quick word with Anjali, just another reliable face among the crew.

  In here, though, the mask came off.

  They leaned back, head resting against the bulkhead, letting the low hum of the recyclers fill the silence. A shaky hand raked through their hair. The day had been routine, nothing to report, nothing to remember. Until the console chimed.

  Not an internal ping. External. Piggybacking on the Stellar Pathfinder relay.

  The message tag loaded slowly, line by line.

  Priority Message

  Encryption protocol: Omega-black

  Origin Sol system: Earth Bunker 3927

  !!!For your eyes only!!!

  Below it: “Retina scan required for decryption.”

  The figure froze. Bunker 3927. The birth bunker. Before selection. Before the move to training. Before everything was wiped clean.

  Hands trembled now. Open it? Delete it? What if it was a forgery, a trap, some leftover security protocol from Earth? Minutes passed in indecision, heart pounding harder than the Flux Drive.

  Finally, they leaned forward. The console's scanner bathed their eyes in soft red light.

  Symbols scrambled across the screen, assembling, dissolving, reassembling. Then clear text.

  To my beloved,

  You are probably wondering how this reached you, or even why. Those answers aren't as important as what I have to tell you.

  Years ago, a young doctor approached me with a proposal. He spoke of experiments, of ensuring survival in ways I didn't fully understand. He was careful with details, and I was desperate. Earth was dying. You were born in secret, and so was your twin.

  One of you was selected for the ark program. The other... remained behind, preserved. Cryo-sleep in the embryo vault. Catalog number Echo-38194-delta-9.

  I agreed because it was the only way to give both of you a chance. One would live and grow on, the Hope. The other would wait suspended until arrival at the colony. By then, decades will have passed for the one who lived. Fifty years, maybe more. You've already lost twenty.

  If I had the choice again, I would do the same. It was the only way to save you both.

  Find your sibling. Wake them if you can. Don't let the years steal what little family you have left.

  With all the love I could never give in person,

  Mother

  The words blurred. The figure sat motionless, rereading lines until they burned behind their eyes. Mother. A word that hadn't meant anything in years. Now it carried the weight of a lifetime stolen.

  Thoughts crashed in waves. A twin identical, frozen, catalogued like cargo in the vault below decks. Restricted access. Guarded. Monitored.

  What could one person do? Hack the system? Force entry? Confess to Selene and beg? Or do nothing let the years keep them apart forever?

  The questions circled, exhausting. No answers came.

  Finally, the figure stood on unsteady legs, killed the console light, and crawled into the bunk. The Flux hum filled the dark.

  Sleep came slowly, fitfully.

  But the decision was already forming, somewhere beneath the fear.

  They would find Echo-38194-delta-9.

  Whatever it took.

  #

  The figure woke with a start, chest heaving. The same dream again: cold lab lights, two tiny cryo-tubes side by side, one lid hissing open while the other stayed sealed forever. A woman’s voice soft, desperate whispering, “Find each other.”

  They sat upright in the dark, sweat cooling on their skin. No more stalling. The message had been real. The twin was real. And the embryo was real, catalogued and frozen somewhere deep in the ship. Fifty years would pass before arrival. Fifty years too late.

  They had finally made their decision.

  They swung out of the bunk without turning on the main lights. The night-cycle strips gave just enough glow to work by. Uniform still on from the sleepless night perfect. No need to dress and risk noise.

  First: the carrier.

  They knelt by the small locker, pulling out pieces they’d hoarded for months: A spare thermal regulator from a broken EVA suit. A compact power cell meant for emergency beacons. And some strips of nano-insulation peeled from surplus hull patches.

  Hands steady now, muscle memory from wartime scavenging took over.

  In forty-seven minutes the parts became a matte-black cylinder the size of a small oxygen bottle. Internal temp read ?196 °C and holding. A quick clip harness turned it into something that could pass for standard gear in a corridor. It hummed softly, almost silent. Good enough.

  Next: clear the board.

  They slid into the chair, fingers dancing over the console. Old, maintenance backdoor, still there, still forgotten by the last security sweep. They typed fast.

  0200 ship-time

  Simulated hull breach, aft cargo bay 4

  Full security response required

  Tsala Maka, Ryde, Navarro, all on-duty personnel

  Schedule accepted.

  No flags. No logs.

  Then the second layer, insurance.

  Priority maintenance ticket

  Cryo-sensor anomaly, hydroponics support trunk

  Possible nutrient flow failure

  Immediate engineering consult required

  That would pull Mira Nexys or whoever was on vault watch straight to Costa’s domain for at least thirty minutes.

  They leaned back, pulse thrumming in their ears. The plan lined up clean. Almost too clean.

  A slow grin spread across their face in the dark, no one to see it, no one to judge. For the first time in years something felt like it belonged to them alone. Not the ship, not the mission, not the endless orders. Just this: one cylinder, one chance, one sibling.

  They checked the chrono. Six hours until 0200.

  They stood, clipped the cryo-carrier to the harness under their jacket, and tested the weight. Balanced. Invisible unless someone looked hard.

  A soft laugh escaped half thrill, half terror.

  They killed the console, straightened the bunk so nothing looked disturbed, and stepped to the hatch. Paused. Listened.

  The corridor is silent.

  The figure slipped out, boots making no sound on the deck plates.

  In six hours the alarms would scream, the crew would run the wrong way, and one frozen embryo would vanish from the vault.

  And no one would ever know who took them. Yet.

  #

  The figure crouched in the narrow maintenance alcove, pressed against cold metal just beyond the embryo vault hatch. The portable cryo-unit rode high on their back, disguised as a standard oxygen tank. Its faint thermal hum blended perfectly with the ship’s endless vibration.

  They had picked this hour for a reason. Night cycle. Lights dimmed low. Corridors empty. Most of the crew lost in uneasy sleep.

  The chronometer clicked past 0200. Right on cue, the intercom crackled. Captain Selene Deimos’s voice pieced together from old logs, flawlessly filled the ship.

  “All hands, this is Captain Deimos. Security drill initiated. Simulated hull breach in aft cargo bay. Security team report immediately for sweep and containment. This is a drill repeat, respond as per protocol.”

  A thin smile curved in the shadows. Phase one live. They eased forward, peering around the corner.

  Mira Nexys sat at the vault console, hazel eyes narrowing at the second alert the fake maintenance ticket for a cryo-sensor fault in hydroponics. She hesitated. A flicker of doubt. Something about the timing felt off.

  She shook off the lingering doubts and protocol won. She locked her station, movements quick and precise. Footsteps faded down the corridor.

  The passage fell empty. From quarters nearby, Tsala Maka burst out, NPS-H already slung. His long braid swung as he keyed his comm. “Ryde, Navarro gear up! Treat this like it is real.”

  Boots pounded. Security converged fast. Uniforms snapped into formation. They charged aft, disciplined shadows on the move. The vault access went dead quiet. Only the soft blue glow from the pod indicators remained. Time.

  The figure stepped out. No hesitation. Palm pressed flat against the biometric panel. The hidden override kicked in no log, no trace. The hatch sighed open. A wave of frigid air rolled out, sharp with the sterile bite of cryonics fluid. It bit at exposed skin.

  Inside, rows of pods gleamed under low blue light. Hundreds of canisters. Humanity’s backup plan carefully selected genomes from every corner of Earth: Cherokee warriors, Han scholars, Zulu leaders, all preserved for the new world. The figure moved between the rows. Breath steady. Eyes scanning labels fast.

  Third row. Mid-tier. Label: Echo-38194-delta-9. Fingers flew over the interface. Vitals green. Stasis stable. Decoupling initiated. The canister slid free with a soft, mechanical click. Cold seeped through gloves, numbing.

  They cradled it. Nestled it into the portable unit’s slot. Seal locked. Stasis reengaged. A single confirming beep muffled, brief. Two minutes fifty-eight seconds from entry. The hatch sealed behind them with the same quiet sigh.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Back into the alcove. Pressed flat against the wall. Their hearts pounded now. Adrenaline surged, hot in their veins. They listened. Distant shouts from the drill site. Running feet. Commands barked back and forth.

  No one is heading this way. The corridor stayed empty.

  A short, silent laugh escaped. Elation sharp, private. Flawless.

  The canister was secure. Hidden on their back. No alarms. No witnesses. The figure adjusted the harness. Weight distributed perfectly. They slipped deeper into the shadows, moving toward a pre-chosen cache point.

  By the time the drill ended and the crew stood down, the vault would show nothing missing.

  Life aboard the Hope would continue as normal. And one frozen embryo, one sibling would be out of reach. Safe. For now. The ship hummed on, oblivious.

  But the game had changed. And the figure walked its corridors like they always had. Just another face in the crew. No one the wiser. Yet.

  #

  In the command section's private quarters, Captain Selene Deimos stirred from the edges of sleep. The intercom's broadcast pulled her into unwelcome alertness. Selene’s own voice? Issuing orders she hadn't sanctioned?

  She sat up abruptly, long blond hair falling across her shoulders as she rubbed her eyes, the fog of rest dissipating like vented atmosphere. Her hand found the wall panel beside her bunk, pressing the activation stud.

  The captain's voice emerged raspy from disuse: "Computer, cross-check command log. Verify the order and access."

  The system's response was immediate, its neutral tone belying the implication: “The command log was hacked, Captain. Unauthorized access detected, which doesn't make sense. I can alert Comms right away to get a fix on it. If that is your wish, Captain.”

  Full wakefulness crashed over her like a cold wave. “Yes, please alert Comms right away.”

  #

  Meanwhile, in the aft cargo bay, Tsala and his security team methodically cleared the area, their sweeps precise and thorough. Tsala directed with clipped efficiency:

  “Ryde, go right and watch your six.”

  Ryde nodded and said, “Roger that.”

  Navarro, take Ramon and go left, report any anomalies.”

  Navarro says, “We're on it!”

  “Onizuka, stick to me like bees to honey. Alright team, let's get this done in record time and get back to our bunks.” Onizuka stayed close as he was ordered.

  The bay yielded nothing, no breaches, no irregularities and Tsala tapped the wall panel by the exit. “Captain, sweep is complete, no breaches or intruders to report. Acknowledge drill complete.”

  An automated reply chimed back: "Acknowledged Lieutenant, drill is complete. And thank you for your swift action."

  #

  That reply, it had been her voice again, a chill ran down her spine. She punched the ship's internal intercom with urgency.

  “Chief, I am not sure what or who that was but I assure you it was not me. Verification code being sent to your pad now.” She keyed in the sequence on her panel:

  ‘Verification code Alpha 2-9 Beta 6’.

  “Chief, I believe someone has been impersonating me, return to your post….”

  Tsala overrode her mid-sentence, his voice sharp with realization: “THE VAULT!! All hands, general quarters repeat general quarters. This is not a drill. Lockdown the hydroponics.”

  He disconnected the intercom and turned to his team, eyes blazing. “Get back to the vault now. GO…Go….Go!” The five of them exploded from the cargo bay at a dead run, corridors blurring as they raced toward their post.

  #

  The figure, hunkered in the alcove, caught the echoing alert. ‘Well, I guess plan A is a bust; now for plan B.’

  They activated another function on their pad, launching the sensor ghost program. The program scattered fake life-sign blips across multiple decks designed to scatter attention and buy precious time.

  With the diversion in play, they ducked into the adjacent maintenance tunnels, navigating the cramped, dimly lit crawl spaces with deliberate slowness to avoid noise, the cryo-unit a constant weight on their back as they inched toward safety.

  #

  Mira had nearly reached engineering to consult with Commander Costa on the suspicious maintenance alert when the captain's authentic announcement rang out, confirming the drill's fraud.

  Like a puzzle piece snapping into place, she realized the request was fabricated too. She pivoted sharply, sprinting back toward the vault and arriving breathless just as Maka and his team thundered in.

  She addressed Ryde but directed her words at Maka. “Chief, what is going on? Your team was sent on a fictitious drill and I was sent what I have to assume was a bogus maintenance request.”

  “Bogus maintenance request? From who?”

  “It was sent internally through engineering. It said it was from the Commander but after what just happened I have my doubts.”

  Mira entered her access code, the door hissing open. “I will run an internal scan while your team does a sweep.” She initiated a pre-programmed inventory audit at her terminal.

  The five security members spread out. It wasn't five minutes before Ryde called out, “I have something here.”

  Everyone, Mira included, converged. "Pod empty Echo-38194-delta-9! Stolen!" Tsala's gaze sharpened like a blade. "Thief aboard. Seal sections." He commed Selene. "Captain, embryo missing ."

  Just then, Davikar, who had reached her station on the bridge, announced, “We have heat signatures that do not correspond with anyone on the ship in the aft cargo bay, med bay storage area, and the food storage bay next to hydroponics. We have intruders.”

  Selene, en route to the bridge, gripped her comm. "Intruder alert! Non-lethal. Jax, lock nav. Mateus, take the engine room. Kalia, trace those hacks. Chief Maka, do what you must to find that missing embryo!"

  Across the ship, the sensor ghosts multiplied. False heat signatures blooming on consoles like wildfire.

  The sensor ghost ramped up, its digital phantom "fleeing" through the hydroponics bay like a spectral intruder darting between nutrient mists and glowing grow-lights.

  Anjali Davikar, already at her station amid the lush greenery, caught the anomalous blip on her console, a heat signature weaving erratically through the vines and trays.

  "Intruder here moving fast!" she commed, her voice steady and wise, honed from years tending fragile life in the void. She locked her terminal and grabbed a nearby scanner, joining the fray as alerts blared.

  The chase ignited like bullets from a chamber, a frenzy of motion exploding across the ship's decks. Tsala redirected his team with a warrior's roar.

  "Hydroponics converge!" His squad charged forward, NPS-H beams sweeping crimson arcs through the corridors, boots clanging against grated floors that vibrated with the Flux Drive's distant thrum.

  Navarro took point, her curly hair bouncing under her helmet as she vaulted a low conduit, stun setting primed. "Flanking left Ryde, cover the vents!"

  Jax McAlister, having just secured the helm with a final override, couldn't sit idle. "Ye thievin' shadow comin' for ye!"

  His Scottish brogue boomed as he bolted from the bridge, broad frame barreling down the passage, uniform loose and defiant. He cut a shortcut through a service hatch, emerging in hydroponics amid the humid air thick with the scent of growing greens.

  The ghost blip taunted him, flickering ahead like a will-o'-the-wisp, leading him to crash through a nutrient line mist spraying in a cold burst that soaked his sleeves.

  Kalia Drache, from comms, traced the signal's erratic path on her screens. "It's jumping decks, an internal virus!" She dashed out, green uniform flashing, joining the pursuit near med bay where the ghost "hid" behind storage crates.

  Her sharp eyes scanned shadows, NPS-H drawn for the first time in months. "Fan out, it's looping, to engineering!"

  Mateus Costa, alerted in his domain, grabbed a heavy wrench as the blip invaded his territory. "Not in my engines!"

  He swung at empty air where the phantom "stood," the tool clanging off a panel with sparks flying, his sour war-scars fueling a growl. "Slippery bastard Navarro, incoming from port!"

  Amaya Maekawa, roused from sick bay prep, caught the ghost's signature near her door. She seized a med-scanner, white uniform pristine amid the chaos, and pursued down a side corridor.

  "If it's human, it'll tire hold!" Her Japanese precision guided her steps, dodging a slamming bulkhead triggered by the lockdown.

  The ghost led them on a merciless loop: from hydroponics' misty tangles, where Anjali nearly cornered it behind a grow-rack only for it to vanish in a holographic glitch.

  Through engineering's humming conduits, where Costa's wrench nearly shorted a panel chasing a false shadow.

  Up vents where Ryde crawled, elbows scraping alloy, cursing as the blip evaporated ahead; into the mess hall, trays scattering like debris in zero-g as Jax tackled thin air. Shouts echoed "There, starboard!"

  "No, it's venting!" NPS-H beams crisscrossing, stun rounds sparking harmlessly off walls. Sweat beaded on brows, breaths came ragged, the half-kilometer ship a labyrinth of frustration.

  For almost thirty minutes the security team and the command staff chased the sensor ghosts, their pursuit a whirlwind of near-misses and dead ends that left corridors scarred with boot prints and spent energy cells.

  While the real thief made their way through maintenance tunnels and crawl spaces back to their quarters, navigating the tight, wire-strewn passages with careful breaths to avoid detection.

  They popped up from under the floor boards of their quarters, muscles aching from the crawl. Stowed the canister behind a false panel in the storage closet and went and laid down on the bunk. The figure takes a deep relaxing breath, ‘Mission completed’.

  #

  Meanwhile on the bridge. Davikar had finally isolated the false flag program running on the computer and put a stop to it. “Attention all personnel. There appears to be no intruder. There was a sensor ghost program running in the background. The program has now been purged.”

  The captain arrived at the bridge slightly out of breath and zipping up her uniform. As the chaos died down she asked, “What is going on? I have someone impersonating me and giving false drill orders. Initiating sensor ghost programs. And Ensign Mira Nexys reported a false maintenance request from a generic engineering program.”

  Davikar turned from her console. ‘I’ve purged the program, Captain. The ghosts are gone.”

  She pushed a button on her seat panel. “This is the captain. I want the command staff to assemble in the Apex chamber immediately. I will send a verification code verifying my identity. Out!” She typed in her verification code and headed to the Apex chamber with Davikar who was the only other one on the bridge at the time.

  #

  The Apex chamber thrummed with the subdued pulse of the ship's core systems. Its oval table was encircled by ergonomic seats and holo-consoles that bathed the space in a clinical azure luminescence.

  Intended as a sanctuary for high-level deliberations amid the Flux Drive's quantum strains, the room now pulsed with palpable discord as the command staff converged. Their expressions formed a mosaic of weariness, frustration, and thinly veiled distrust forged in the night's pandemonium.

  Selene Deimos positioned herself at the apex, her gold-trimmed uniform immaculate yet her steel-gray eyes smoldering with restrained ire. She held her silence until the final arrival Mateus Costa, muttering under his breath as he dropped heavily into his chair before striking her fist against the table's control surface, engaging the security seal with an authoritative clang.

  "Verification authenticated," Selene declared, her tone carving through the nascent whispers like a precision laser. "Now, explanations. Bogus drills, phantom sensors, fabricated maintenance orders and an embryo vanished. This isn't a training exercise gone awry; this is a deliberate assault on our mission. On humanity's survival. Who overlooked this? Who enabled it?"

  The chamber detonated into turmoil.

  Jax McAlister surged forward first, his red pilot's attire disheveled from the futile pursuit, his Scottish accent laced with raw exasperation.

  "Captain, ye cannae lay this at our feet! I was securin' the helm when that ghost had me dashin' through the mess hall like a fool. Tables tippin', chaos everywhere felt like a bar fight with nae opponent! If there's blame, it's on comms how'd that voice splice evade ye, Kalia? Yer the one handlin' all the signals!"

  Kalia Drache bolted upright, her green communications garb stretched taut over her frame, her Germanic intensity igniting like a flare.

  "Me? You reckless flyboy, always skirtin' regs like they're optional! That audio hack was pro-level, buried deep like old UEG ciphers. And who hoards access to archived command logs? Engineering, that's who. Costa, you've been bitter since Ceres rantin' about war rigs explodin', the kid at helm botchin' things. This stinks of yer grudge-work!"

  Mateus Costa's features contorted into a deeper scowl, his second-in-command badge catching the light mockingly. He hammered the table with a meaty fist, sending faint ripples across the holo-screens.

  "You barbed harpy! I've been patchin' this floating coffin together since the bunkers slammed shut. Those engines ate that EMP, and now ye accuse me? I watched setups like this detonate in the 2180s rebels, looters, shadow ops. If anyone's harborin' war secrets, it's ye, Drache. Comms, is the backbone hacks originate there. Or maybe it's science tinkering with the pods again, Davikar!"

  Anjali Davikar rose with measured poise, her blue science ensemble pristine, her expertise in hydroponics and research lending her an aura of composed authority amid the storm.

  "Commander, your bitterness echoes those old conflicts. I interfaced with Ceres' systems logs manipulated, not decayed. But I'm not the one with override privileges. That phantom code? Intricate, woven like encrypted lattices. Who manages signals? Comms. Or pilots with their nav exploits. McAlister, ye bend protocols like flight paths perhaps ye rigged this to mask a personal score."

  Jax's green eyes blazed, his broad frame tensing as he jabbed a finger across the table.

  "Ye sagely crone! I've nae score but for this nonsense draggin' me from me rest. If it's science, ye've got yer hands in every pod hydro links to the vault for sustenance flows. Ye could waltz in, waltz out, unseen. Or medical Maekawa, ye track every vital spike. Adrenaline surges, ye noted. Coverin' yer own lapses, maybe?"

  Amaya Maekawa stood with her trademark precision, her white medical attire unrumpled, her black hair secured in a flawless bun reflecting her Japanese heritage's emphasis on order.

  "Pilot, your bluster reveals more than it conceals. Those vital anomalies are data, not excuses. But if accusations fly, turn to security. Maka, yer squad safeguards the vault. How does a pod empty under your noses? Ryde, Navarro collusion? Or Costa, with yer war ghosts ye've got the bitterness to orchestrate revenge. This vessel bears our legacy, and you're letting old vendettas corrode it!"

  Tsala Maka's gaze constricted, his black security garb absorbing the ambient light like his resolute commitment.

  "Doctor, you impugn my vigilance? My team's unassailable; we pursued phantoms while the culprit slipped away. But comms orchestrates the feeds Drache, you could've looped the surveillance. Or science, meddling with embryos for your 'advancements.' Davikar, you breached Ceres' ancient core timestamps erased. Mere chance?"

  Selene's patience fractured like a stressed hull plate.

  "Enough!" she thundered, her voice booming through the chamber, halting the barrage mid-volley.

  Hands planted on the table, she swept her gaze across the group, her authority reasserting like a stabilizing thruster.

  "This isn't a bunker brawl from the 2180s, we're the remnants of humanity, not rivals scrabbling over scraps. Finger-pointing ceases here. We've got a thief among us, an embryo critical to our future stolen, and systems compromised.

  Maka, triple the vault guard Ryde and Navarro on rotation.

  Costa, audit engineering logs for backdoors.

  Drache, reinforce comms encryption.

  Davikar, cross-check pod inventories for other anomalies.

  Maekawa, monitor crew vitals for stress indicators, anyone cracking under pressure.

  McAlister, helm stays locked until we root this out.

  We're thirty years from Kepler; one fracture, and we all shatter. Dismissed but remember, in this void, suspicion is a luxury we can't afford. Seal it, or we fail."

  The staff dispersed in a tense hush, the air heavy with unspoken retorts and lingering glares.

  The Apex chamber's lights dimmed slightly as if to underscore the growing shadows of doubt aboard the Hope.