With a hiss of depressurization, the inner door slid open. There was no one there. Instead, the floor of the airlock was covered in a layer of fine, silver dust that began to swirl, forming shapes in the low gravity. The dust didn't attack; it drifted toward the comms console, illuminating the dark screens.
The Aurelia was held together by little more than hope and the engineer’s stubbornness. Kael, the pilot, stared at the navigation console as it flickered. They were three months into a deep-space salvage mission, and the silence of the void was starting to feel heavy. "Status check," Kael called out. Space Crew
Suddenly, the speakers crackled to life. It wasn't an alien voice, but a recording of their own laughter from the first week of the mission. With a hiss of depressurization, the inner door slid open
The bickering was a comfort—a rhythm that proved they were still human in a place that wasn't meant for them. But the rhythm broke when a low, rhythmic thumping echoed through the hull. It wasn't the engine. It was coming from the airlock. The dust didn't attack; it drifted toward the
The crew stood in the glow of their own past, the silver dust dancing around them. For a moment, the fear vanished. They weren't just a pilot, a medic, and an engineer lost in the dark. They were a family, and as long as they had each other’s echoes, the silence of space didn't feel quite so empty.
Kael froze. They were millions of miles from the nearest station. "Jax, tell me that’s a loose plate."
Jax, the grease-stained engineer, didn't look up from the floor plating he was welding. "Those 'overclocked' thrusters are the only reason we didn't get caught in the gravity well of that gas giant, Elara. You’re welcome."