Chapter Text
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 2-03 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
Audio log… whatever number we’re on now.
[Soft hum of the engine, steady and low.]
TECHNO:
… Right, so… That was a thing.
[There is a slow exhale, long and unimpressed.]
TECHNO:
Kid’s probably fine. Or he’s not.
TECHNO:
Either way, not my problem. I’ve got a job to do
TECHNO:
Two more months. That’s what the charts say.
TECHNO:
Two more months of this stretch of deep space before I even reach the pickup point.
TECHNO:
Honestly…
TECHNO:
I’ve never been good at this quiet thing.
TECHNO:
That’s always been a Niki or Phil thing.
TECHNO:
I thought it would be nice.
[Silence, just the faint rumble of the ship]
TECHNO:
It’s… quieter than I expected.
[There is a sound of fabric shifting, leather creaking.]
TECHNO:
Chat, don’t start.
TECHNO:
I know… I know.
TECHNO:
“Techno, you could’ve helped him”
TECHNO:
Yeah, and then what?
TECHNO:
Detour for a stranger who calls me his best friend after ten minutes?
TECHNO:
No thanks.
TECHNO:
I’m not runnin’ a taxi service.
[Soft beeping noise.]
TECHNO:
Anyway. The route’s stable.
TECHNO:
Gravity pockets have been less… annoying today.
TECHNO:
I swear, if this ship had feelings it’d be complaining as much as that kid.
[There is a soft snort.]
TECHNO:
The stars look pretty out here.
TECHNO:
Everything is dark so they are just… so bright.
TECHNO:
Maybe sharper. I dunno how to explain .
TECHNO:
It makes me think too much.
[There is a soft tapping noise against metal.]
TECHNO:
This package better be worth it. They’ve been secretive as hell.
TECHNO:
“Just pick it up, Techno.”
TECHNO:
“Don’t ask questions, Techno.”
TECHNO:
“It’s important, Techno.”
TECHNO:
Yeah, well, so is fucking sleep.
TECHNO:
Haven’t had much of that.
[There is a deep sigh, long, tired.]
TECHNO:
I keep replaying that transmission.
TECHNO:
No chat, I don't care.
TECHNO:
But how the hell did it reach me?
TECHNO:
He sounded panicked.
[Silence stretches.]
TECHNO:
Chat, don’t get sentimental on me.
TECHNO:
I’m fine.
TECHNO:
Ship’s fine.
TECHNO:
Cargo route’s fine.
TECHNO:
Everything is fine…
TECHNO:
As long as we don’t have the same thing happen that pushed us of course.
TECHNO:
Just two more months until…
[The engine hum shifts slightly.]
TECHNO:
I wonder how old that kid was.
TECHNO:
He sounded young…
TECHNO:
No, doesn’t matter.
TECHNO:
I’ll make another log later. Maybe if something interesting happens.
TECHNO:
Probably not though.
TECHNO:
I need sleep.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 2-09 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
Audio log… uh... Continuing.
TECHNO:
Phil would hate that I stopped numberin’ em.
TECHNO:
Well he isn’t here.
[There is a low engine hum, a faint rattle of something metallic tapping on something else metallic.]
TECHNO:
Been thinking about that call.
[Clearing of his throat, a frustrated sound.]
TECHNO:
Shouldn't be. Should've dropped it the second the transmission hit the ship.
TECHNO:
The kid was loud, dramatic. Clingy.
TECHNO:
Not my problem.
[Silence, except for the low hum of the engine.]
TECHNO:
But he sounded scared.
TECHNO:
And I keep hearing it. That edge in his voice.
TECHNO:
Like he was trying not to fall apart.
[Creaking of a chair, as if he is shifting.]
TECHNO:
Phil would’ve said something wise.
TECHNO:
Something like, “You don’t leave people floating in space, Techno.”
TECHNO:
And Niki, she’d given me that look. The disappointed one.
TECHNO:
She’s good with kids. Always has been.
TECHNO:
She’d have talked him down in two minutes flat.
TECHNO:
Meanwhile I told him it was a “you problem.”
[He exhales sharply.]
TECHNO:
I mean, I wasn’t wrong. It was a him problem.
TECHNO:
But still.
[Soft beeping, the sound of a dial being adjusted.]
TECHNO:
I keep imagining Phil hearing that log.
TECHNO:
“Techno, you absolute fuckin' idiot." He’d say.
TECHNO:
“You can’t just leave some stranded kid to panic alone.”
TECHNO:
And I’d tell him I had a job to do.
TECHNO:
And he’d say, “A job doesn’t make you stop being human.”
[He mutters something under his breath, not loud enough to be picked up.]
TECHNO:
I’m not even fuckin human.
TECHNO:
I’m not built for this emotional shit.
TECHNO:
I’m built for… well.
TECHNO:
Not babysitting, that’s for sure.
[There is a sound of the ship groaning around him.]
TECHNO:
A month and a half left.
TECHNO:
Then I should be able to get out of this quiet, for a second.
TECHNO:
And everytime it gets too quiet, I hear him again.
TECHNO:
“Blade, please.’
TECHNO:
Like I’m some kind of fucking hero.
[He scoffs, but it’s softer this time]
TECHNO:
I’m no hero.
TECHNO:
I’m wanted…
TECHNO:
Phil would’ve gone.
TECHNO:
Niki would’ve gone.
TECHNO:
Fuck man, even Sam- well maybe not Sam, but still.
[There is a ticking noise again.]
TECHNO:
I’m not turning around.
TECHNO:
I’m not.
TECHNO:
The route’s locked in. The job’s important.
TECHNO:
And I don’t even know if the kid’s still out there.
[Silence stretches.]
TECHNO:
I should’ve said something else.
TECHNO:
Not fucking… ‘Good luck.”
TECHNO:
Something… less cold.
[He sighs, long and low.]
TECHNO:
Chat don’t fuckin start. I know
TECHNO:
I know I messed that one up.
TECHNO:
Doesn’t change anything
TECHNO:
Can’t turn around.
TECHNO:
I’ll be back later.
TECHNO:
Hopefully I’ve stopped thinkin’ about it by then.
TECHNO:
Knowing my luck, probably not.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 2-15 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Engine hum, a faint clunk as something settles in the hull of the ship]
TECHNO:
I tried to sleep. Didn’t work.
TECHNO:
Every time I shut my eyes I hear that damn transmission again.
TECHNO:
“Blade, please.”
TECHNO:
Like he thought I was some kind of rescue beacon instead of… whatever I am.
[An exhales, frustrated, but quieter than before]
TECHNO:
I keep telling myself it was the right call.
TECHNO:
I’ve got a job. I’ve got a route. I’ve got two months left before I even see the pickup point.
TECHNO:
Turning around would’ve cost weeks. Maybe more.
TECHNO:
And I don’t even know if the kid was telling the truth about being stranded.
[Soft tapping on metal, almost restless]
TECHNO:
Phil wouldn’t be doing this.
TECHNO:
He’d have already turned the ship around, humming some stupid tune, saying it’s “the right thing to do.”
TECHNO:
And Niki, she’d have dragged me by the ear if she heard how I talked to him.
TECHNO:
“Techno, you can’t just leave someone scared and alone,” she’d say.
TECHNO:
And she’d be right.
TECHNO:
She usually is.
[The chair creaks]
TECHNO:
I don’t like kids.
TECHNO:
Never have.
TECHNO:
They’re loud, unpredictable, emotional.
TECHNO:
But…
[There is a pause, the silence stretching]
TECHNO:
He sounded so damn small at the end.
TECHNO:
And I hung up on him.
[The ship hum deepens as it adjusts course]
TECHNO:
I keep thinking, if Phil were here, he’d tell me guilt’s just a sign I care more than I pretend.
TECHNO:
And Niki would probably smack me upside the head and then make me tea.
TECHNO:
They’re good with kids.
TECHNO:
They’re good with people.
TECHNO:
I’m good with… swords. And ships. And not talking.
[He mutters something under his breath]
TECHNO:
I’m not turning around.
TECHNO:
I’m not.
TECHNO:
But the quiet out here… it’s loud.
TECHNO:
Makes you think about things you don’t want to think about.
[Soft static flickers through the cockpit]
TECHNO:
I should’ve said something else.
TECHNO:
Something reassuring.
TECHNO:
Something human.
TECHNO:
Brilliant, Tech. Real heroic.
[A sigh, long and low]
TECHNO:
If Phil or Niki were listening to this log, they’d be disappointed.
TECHNO:
And honestly…
TECHNO:
I think I am too.
[A switch is flicked; the hum shifts pitch]
TECHNO:
I’ll record again later.
TECHNO:
Maybe the guilt will shut up for a bit.
TECHNO:
Doubt it.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 2-19 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
Another week gone.
TECHNO:
Time’s weird out here. Stretches like taffy, snaps back when you’re not looking.
TECHNO:
Anyway… one more month. That’s all that’s left before I hit the pickup point.
[The sound of something being adjusted; a soft click, then the hum shifts slightly]
TECHNO:
The guilt’s… quieter now.
TECHNO:
Not gone. Just not chewing on my ankles the way it was.
TECHNO:
Guess that’s what time does. Smooths the edges. Or maybe I’m just getting used to the silence again.
[An exhale, not quite a sigh]
TECHNO:
I still think about the kid sometimes.
TECHNO:
Not constantly. Not like before.
TECHNO:
Just… flashes.
TECHNO:
Him yelling, panicking, calling me “Blade” like it meant something.
TECHNO:
And then the line cutting out.
[Soft tapping on the console, absent-minded]
TECHNO:
Phil would say that guilt fading doesn’t mean the choice was right.
TECHNO:
He’s annoyingly philosophical like that.
TECHNO:
And Niki, she’d probably tell me it’s good I’m not spiraling anymore, but she’d still give me that look.
TECHNO:
The “Techno, you absolute idiot” one.
TECHNO:
She’s got a whole library of disappointed expressions.
[He snorts quietly]
TECHNO:
But… I don’t know.
TECHNO:
I’m starting to think maybe I didn’t doom the kid.
TECHNO:
Maybe he found someone else.
TECHNO:
Maybe his crew finally picked up.
TECHNO:
Maybe he stopped yelling long enough to think straight.
[The ship creaks as it drifts through a thinner patch of space]
TECHNO:
I’m not turning around.
TECHNO:
Haven’t thought about turning around in days, actually.
TECHNO:
That’s new.
TECHNO:
The route’s stable, the ship’s behaving, and the pickup point’s close enough I can almost feel it.
[Fabric rustles]
TECHNO:
Phil would be proud of that part, at least.
TECHNO:
“Stick to the mission,” he’d say.
TECHNO:
“Finish what you start.”
TECHNO:
And Niki, she’d probably remind me to eat something that isn’t freeze-dried garbage.
[He mutters something under his breath]
TECHNO:
I’m… fine.
TECHNO:
Really.
TECHNO:
The quiet’s not loud anymore.
TECHNO:
It’s just quiet.
[Soft static flickers, then settles]
TECHNO:
One more month.
TECHNO:
Then I grab the package, drop it off, and maybe, maybe, I’ll tell Phil and Niki about the kid.
TECHNO:
Or maybe I won’t.
TECHNO:
Haven’t decided yet.
TECHNO:
I’ll make another log later.
TECHNO:
Things feel… steadier now.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 2-25 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
One week left.
TECHNO:
Seven days until the pickup point.
TECHNO:
Feels strange saying it out loud. Like the finish line finally decided to show itself.
TECHNO:
It’s not even the finish, but whatever.
[Soft beeping, then the hum shifts slightly]
TECHNO:
The guilt’s… mostly gone now.
TECHNO:
Not in a “I’m a saint” way. Just… it doesn’t bite anymore.
TECHNO:
Time does that. Space does that.
TECHNO:
You get far enough away from something and it stops echoing.
[Tapping on the console lightly, rhythmic]
TECHNO:
I still think about the kid sometimes.
TECHNO:
Not with that heavy feeling in my chest. More like… wondering.
TECHNO:
Wondering if he figured things out.
TECHNO:
Wondering if his crew finally picked up.
TECHNO:
Wondering if he stopped yelling long enough to breathe.
[He snorts softly]
TECHNO:
Phil would say that means I care.
TECHNO:
“You’re not heartless, Techno,” he’d insist.
TECHNO:
Niki would roll her eyes and tell me to stop pretending I’m made of stone.
TECHNO:
She’s annoyingly perceptive like that.
[The ship creaks as it shifts into a smoother drift]
TECHNO:
Honestly? I’m glad the guilt’s quieter.
TECHNO:
Makes it easier to focus.
TECHNO:
The route’s clean. No gravity pockets. No debris fields.
TECHNO:
Just open space and a straight line to the package.
[He exhales, calm]
TECHNO:
I’ve been thinking about what Phil said once.
TECHNO:
“You don’t have to save everyone. Just don’t lose yourself.”
TECHNO:
And I think… I didn’t.
TECHNO:
I made a call. Maybe not the best one.
TECHNO:
But I’m still me. Still on mission. Still moving forward.
[Soft static flickers, then settles]
TECHNO:
Niki would probably tell me to check in with him if I ever cross paths again.
TECHNO:
She’s good with kids.
TECHNO:
Good with people.
TECHNO:
Good at making me feel like I should try harder.
[He chuckles under his breath]
TECHNO:
One week.
TECHNO:
Then I grab the package, drop it off, and head back toward familiar space.
TECHNO:
Maybe see Phil. Maybe see Niki.
TECHNO:
Maybe let them lecture me a little.
[He flicks a switch; the hum deepens]
TECHNO:
I’ll make another log soon.
TECHNO:
Things feel… steady.
TECHNO:
Quiet, but not the bad kind.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 2-33 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
Two days out.
TECHNO:
That’s… closer than it feels.
TECHNO:
The pickup point’s somewhere ahead, tucked in all this black. Hard to believe I’ve been crawling toward it for months.
TECHNO:
The quiet’s different now.
TECHNO:
Not heavy. Not loud. Just… quiet.
TECHNO:
The good kind. The kind that doesn’t make you think about every mistake you’ve ever made.
[He exhales, slow and even]
TECHNO:
Haven’t thought about the kid much this week.
TECHNO:
Not in that guilty way, anyway.
TECHNO:
More like… wondering how he’s doing.
TECHNO:
Wondering if he figured things out.
TECHNO:
Wondering if he stopped yelling long enough to breathe.
[Soft tapping on metal, rhythmic and calm]
TECHNO:
Phil would say that means I’ve made peace with it.
TECHNO:
“You can’t carry every voice you hear in the void,” he’d tell me.
TECHNO:
Even though we both know I didn’t do much.
[He snorts quietly, but it’s warm]
TECHNO:
I’m not turning around.
TECHNO:
Haven’t thought about turning around in a long time.
TECHNO:
The route’s clean, the ship’s behaving, and the pickup point’s practically waving at me from the dark.
TECHNO:
Funny thing is… I’m almost looking forward to seeing Phil and Niki again.
TECHNO:
Phil’ll give me some philosophical nonsense.
TECHNO:
Niki’ll shove food at me and tell me I look tired.
TECHNO:
They’re predictable like that.
TECHNO:
Comforting, I guess.
TECHNO:
Two days.
TECHNO:
Then I grab the package, drop it off, and head back toward familiar space.
TECHNO:
Maybe tell them about the kid.
TECHNO:
Maybe not.
TECHNO:
Haven’t decided.
[Soft static flickers, then settles]
TECHNO:
The stars look sharp tonight.
TECHNO:
Like they’re paying attention.
TECHNO:
Like they know I’m almost there.
TECHNO:
I’ll make another log when I reach the pickup point.
TECHNO:
Feels like the end of something.
TECHNO:
And the start of whatever comes next.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-01 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Heavy metallic thud as he kicks the cargo bay door shut; the ship vibrates under the weight]
TECHNO:
Package’s loaded.
TECHNO:
And before you say anything, Chat, yes, it’s heavy.
TECHNO:
Ridiculously heavy.
TECHNO:
“Standard freight,” my ass.
[Something massive scrapes against the reinforced floor]
TECHNO:
You’d think being part of the Arctic Empire would mean some level of honesty in the paperwork.
TECHNO:
But no.
TECHNO:
Every time we take outside contracts, it’s under one of those stupid shell companies.
TECHNO:
“Northern Star Logistics.”
TECHNO:
“Aurora Shipping.”
TECHNO:
“Glacier Transport.”
TECHNO:
It’s like they picked names out of a hat labeled “Cold Things.”
[Muttering, it sounds annoyed]
TECHNO:
And the best part?
TECHNO:
They act like it’s subtle.
TECHNO:
Like no one’s going to notice the Empire’s ships showing up with “independent contractor” stickers slapped on the side.
TECHNO:
Real covert operations, Chat.
TECHNO:
Totally believable.
[Soft beeping as he checks the cargo clamps; a low hum pulses from the crate]
TECHNO:
And this thing, this crate,
TECHNO:
It’s weird.
TECHNO:
Not really weird, just weird vibes.
TECHNO:
Which is exactly what you want from a package you’re not allowed to open.
[He taps the crate; a deep, unsettling thud]
TECHNO:
Manifest says “machinery.”
TECHNO:
Yeah. Sure.
TECHNO:
Machinery doesn’t usually feel like this…
[He exhales, long and unimpressed]
TECHNO:
And before you start, Chat no, I’m not opening it.
TECHNO:
Last time I opened a crate under a shell company job, it tried to bite me.
TECHNO:
Literally.
TECHNO:
Teeth.
TECHNO:
I’m not doing that again.
[He flicks a switch; the engine hum deepens as the ship pulls away from the pickup point]
TECHNO:
Anyway.
TECHNO:
Cargo’s secure.
TECHNO:
Route’s plotted.
TECHNO:
Three months back the other direction, then I drop this thing off and pretend I never saw it.
[Soft static flickers, then settles]
TECHNO:
I’ll make another log later.
TECHNO:
Maybe once I’m far enough away that the crate stops… whatever it’s doing.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-06 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
Been thinking.
TECHNO:
Dangerous, I know.
TECHNO:
But seriously, how do people not notice?
[He taps something on the console; a soft beep answers]
TECHNO:
I mean, sure, we slap “Northern Star Logistics” on the paperwork.
TECHNO:
And yeah, the ship’s registry technically says “independent contractor.”
TECHNO:
But come on.
TECHNO:
It’s me.
TECHNO:
Techno.
TECHNO:
The Blade.
TECHNO:
The guy who shows up with an Arctic Empire-grade ship and pretends he’s delivering frozen peas, or whatever is in the crate.
[He snorts, amused despite himself]
TECHNO:
Chat, I swear, half the galaxy must be blind.
TECHNO:
Or they just don’t care.
TECHNO:
Probably the second one.
TECHNO:
People see a big ship, a bigger sword, and weird cargo, and they go, “Ah yes, totally normal freelance courier.”
[He shifts; the floor vibrates under the weight of the cargo]
TECHNO:
And this crate, this thing,
TECHNO:
It’s practically screaming “classified Arctic Empire nonsense.”
TECHNO:
But no.
TECHNO:
Everyone at the pickup point just nodded politely and pretended it wasn’t glowing around the edges.
TECHNO:
It isn’t even for us.
[He taps the crate; a deep, unsettling thud]
TECHNO:
Honestly, I don’t know why we bother with the shell companies.
TECHNO:
It’s not subtle.
TECHNO:
It’s not clever.
TECHNO:
It’s just paperwork gymnastics so someone higher up can say, “See? Plausible deniability.”
[He sighs, long and unimpressed]
TECHNO:
And before you start, Chat, no, I’m not opening it.
TECHNO:
I know you’re thinking it.
TECHNO:
I can practically hear you.
TECHNO:
“Techno, maybe it’s harmless.”
TECHNO:
Yeah, that’s what you said last time.
TECHNO:
And then the crate tried to bite me.
[He flicks a switch; the hum deepens as the ship settles into its outbound route]
TECHNO:
Anyway.
TECHNO:
Cargo’s secure.
TECHNO:
Route’s clean.
TECHNO:
Three months back the other direction, then I drop this thing off and pretend I never saw it.
[Soft static flickers, then settles]
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-14 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
…Okay.
TECHNO:
Chat, you hear that, right?
[The tick-tick-tick becomes a soft, irregular thrum]
TECHNO:
That’s new.
TECHNO:
That wasn’t happening an hour ago.
TECHNO:
Or ever, actually.
[Short alarm chirp from the ship’s diagnostics]
[Another, louder one follows]
TECHNO:
Oh, fantastic.
TECHNO:
The system’s picking it up now.
[He taps the console; a sharp beep-beep-beep responds]]
TECHNO:
“Unidentified acoustic activity detected.”
TECHNO:
That’s what it says.
TECHNO:
Real helpful.
TECHNO:
Doesn’t tell me what it is, just that it’s… happening.
[The crate emits a low, uneven vibration; the floor panels tremble]]
TECHNO:
I swear, every time I take one of these shell-company jobs, something starts making noises it shouldn’t.
TECHNO:
And this crate, this thing,
TECHNO:
It’s supposed to be machinery.
TECHNO:
Machinery doesn’t usually sound like it’s trying to communicate in Morse code.
[Another alarm goes off, sharper this time]]
[He slams a button; the alarm cuts off]
TECHNO:
No.
TECHNO:
We’re not doing that.
TECHNO:
I’m not listening to alarms for the next three months.
[He mutters under his breath]]
TECHNO:
“Northern Star Logistics.”
TECHNO:
“Independent contractor.”
TECHNO:
Sure.
TECHNO:
Totally normal cargo.
TECHNO:
Nothing suspicious about a crate that makes noises.
[The crate emits a faint, irregular thump]]
TECHNO:
…Chat, don’t start.
TECHNO:
I know what you’re thinking.
TECHNO:
“Techno, maybe you should open it.”
TECHNO:
No.
TECHNO:
Absolutely not.
TECHNO:
Last time I opened a crate that made weird noises, it tried to bite me.
TECHNO:
I’m not doing that again.
[Diagnostics beep softly, then display a warning tone]]
TECHNO:
The system’s flagging it as “organic-pattern irregularity.”
TECHNO:
Which is…
TECHNO:
Great.
TECHNO:
Love that.
TECHNO:
Really inspires confidence.
[He exhales, long and unimpressed]]
TECHNO:
I’m logging it.
TECHNO:
I’m not touching it.
TECHNO:
I’m not opening it.
TECHNO:
I’m not even looking at it more than I have to.
[The crate thumps again, slightly louder]]
TECHNO:
…I hate this job sometimes.
[He flicks a switch; the ship hum shifts as he adjusts course]
TECHNO:
I could go check it out.
[Sound of feet on metal, pacing]]
TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-15 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]]
TECHNO:
…I’m pacing.
TECHNO:
I don’t pace.
TECHNO:
This is already a bad sign.
[Footsteps circle the cargo bay, slow, uneven]]
TECHNO:
Chat, don’t start.
TECHNO:
I know what you’re thinking.
TECHNO:
“Techno, curiosity is a weakness.”
TECHNO:
And you’re right.
TECHNO:
Which is why I’m not opening it.
[The crate gives a low, deliberate thunk]]
TECHNO:
That’s the fourth time.
TECHNO:
Fourth.
TECHNO:
Machinery doesn’t thump in fours.
TECHNO:
Machinery doesn’t thump at all unless it’s broken, and this one sounds… coordinated.
[He stops pacing; silence stretches, heavy]
TECHNO:
Manifest says “machinery.”
TECHNO:
Which is Empire code for “don’t ask questions.”
TECHNO:
Usually I don’t.
TECHNO:
Usually I don’t have to.
TECHNO:
No updates from home.
TECHNO:
No messages.
TECHNO:
No nothing.
TECHNO:
Been like that for weeks.
TECHNO:
Not that it’s possible with how deep in space I am
[The crate thumps again sharper, impatient]]
TECHNO:
Okay, no, that’s.
TECHNO:
That’s movement.
TECHNO:
That’s someone kicking.
[He steps closer; the floor creaks under his weight]]
TECHNO:
…Hello?
TECHNO:
If you’re a creature, don’t respond.
TECHNO:
If you’re a bomb, also don’t respond.
TECHNO:
If you’re a person, I swear to the frozen gods, say something.
[Silence. Then very faint, another knock from inside]]
TECHNO:
Great.
TECHNO:
Fantastic.
TECHNO:
I’m transporting a stowaway.
TECHNO:
Or a hostage.
TECHNO:
Or a very polite monster.
[A dull thud]]
TECHNO:
I’m not supposed to open it.
TECHNO:
I’m really not supposed to.
TECHNO:
They’ll dock my pay.
TECHNO:
They’ll yell.
TECHNO:
They’ll send me on another “simple” job that tries to kill me.
[The crate shifts.]]
TECHNO:
…Chat, don’t say a word.
TECHNO:
I’m thinking.
TECHNO:
I’m making a responsible decision.
TECHNO:
I’m absolutely not opening it.
[He reaches for the latch; metal clicks softly]]
TECHNO:
I’m opening it.
[The lid groans as he lifts it; cold air spills out]
TECHNO:
…What the fuck!
TECHNO:
Phil?
PHIL:
…Techno?
[A sharp inhale, a startled breath]]
TECHNO:
Phil?
TECHNO:
Phil, what…
TECHNO:
What are you doing in…
TECHNO:
No. No, that’s not…
TECHNO:
You wouldn’t…
TECHNO:
You didn’t agree to this.
[Ragged breathing.]
PHIL:
They grabbed me.
PHIL:
I didn’t… I didn’t know where they were taking me.
PHIL:
I didn’t know it was you.
TECHNO:
Kidnapped?
TECHNO:
You were kidnapped?
TECHNO:
And they shipped you like cargo?
PHIL:
I tried to fight.
PHIL:
Didn’t work
PHIL:
Don’t even know who grabbed me.
PHIL:
They didn’t say where.
TECHNO:
I didn’t get any comms.
TECHNO:
Nothing.
TECHNO:
Fuckin’, makes sense now why I couldn’t find you before leaving.
TECHNO:
I thought you were on assignment or something.
TECHNO:
I thought…
TECHNO:
I don’t know what I thought.
[The crate’s hinges creak]
PHIL:
…Help me out of here?
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
Yeah, okay.
TECHNO:
But if anyone asks, you were malfunctioning machinery.
TECHNO:
And I’m going to find out who signed off on this.
TECHNO:
And then I’m going to break something expensive.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-17 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
Sit slow.
TECHNO:
You’ve been folded like luggage.
TECHNO:
Don’t try to be heroic about it.
[Wood creaks]
PHIL:
I’m fine.
PHIL:
Just… stiff.
PHIL:
And confused.
PHIL:
Mostly confused.
TECHNO:
Yeah, well.
TECHNO:
Join the club.
TECHNO:
Start from the top.
TECHNO:
Who grabbed you?
PHIL:
I don’t know.
PHIL:
No insignia, no protocol, no… anything.
PHIL:
Just masks.
PHIL:
And orders.
TECHNO:
Orders?
PHIL:
“Get him in the box.”
PHIL:
That’s all I heard.
PHIL:
They didn’t even say where I was going.
TECHNO:
Great.
TECHNO:
Fantastic.
TECHNO:
Kidnapped by mystery idiots and shipped by me like a spare part.
PHIL:
Techno…
PHIL:
I didn’t think I’d see you again.
[Silence. The ship hums, low and steady.]
TECHNO:
…Yeah.
TECHNO:
Same.
PHIL:
So.
PHIL:
What have you been doing?
[There’s a long exhale, unimpressed]
TECHNO:
Oh, you know.
TECHNO:
Standard stuff.
TECHNO:
Running cargo.
TECHNO:
Fixing the ship.
TECHNO:
Getting yelled at by the void.
TECHNO:
And…
TECHNO:
There was a kid.
PHIL:
A kid?
TECHNO:
Not a kid-kid.
TECHNO:
More like…
TECHNO:
Loud.
TECHNO:
Dramatic.
TECHNO:
Panicking.
TECHNO:
Called himself Tommy.
PHIL:
That’s… huh.
TECHNO:
He was stranded.
TECHNO:
Or lost.
TECHNO:
Or both.
TECHNO:
Hard to tell with him.
TECHNO:
He contacted me through some busted relay.
TECHNO:
Screaming about being stuck, about needing help, about…
TECHNO:
I don’t know.
TECHNO:
Everything.
PHIL:
And you helped him?
TECHNO:
I told him it was a “him problem.”
TECHNO:
And then I hung up.
[PHIL stares; the silence sharpens]
PHIL:
Techno.
TECHNO:
Don’t start.
TECHNO:
I know.
TECHNO:
I know I messed that one up.
TECHNO:
I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.
TECHNO:
Every time the ship gets quiet, I hear him again.
TECHNO:
“Blade, please.”
TECHNO:
Like I’m some kind of hero.
PHIL:
You’re not a hero.
PHIL:
But you’re not heartless either.
TECHNO:
Tell that to the kid I left yelling in the dark.
PHIL:
Did you ever try to contact him again?
TECHNO:
No comms.
TECHNO:
No network.
TECHNO:
No way to know if he’s alive or dust.
PHIL:
…Techno.
TECHNO:
Don’t.
TECHNO:
I’m already drowning in guilt.
TECHNO:
I don’t need you adding more.
PHIL:
I’m not adding guilt.
PHIL:
I’m saying…
PHIL:
You didn’t know.
PHIL:
And you were alone.
PHIL:
And scared.
TECHNO:
I wasn’t scared.
PHIL:
You were pacing.
TECHNO:
…Shut up.
[There’s a laugh, quiet and hoarse]
PHIL:
It’s good to see you again.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
You too.
[Silence.]
TECHNO:
We’re going to figure out who grabbed you.
TECHNO:
And why.
TECHNO:
And what they wanted.
PHIL:
Together?
TECHNO:
Obviously.
TECHNO:
I’m not letting you out of my sight now.
TECHNO:
Last time I did, you ended up in a crate.
[There is a snort, the sound echoing faintly]
PHIL:
Fair.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-20 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
Okay.
TECHNO:
We need to talk about the route.
PHIL:
Right.
PHIL:
Where were you headed?
TECHNO:
Some drop point the Empire insisted was “critical.”
TECHNO:
No details.
TECHNO:
No comms.
TECHNO:
Just coordinates and a deadline.
TECHNO:
And now I’ve got you.
TECHNO:
In a crate.
TECHNO:
Which was not part of the plan.
PHIL:
Techno…
PHIL:
If someone grabbed me, and the Empire doesn’t know who.
PHIL:
You can’t go to the drop point.
TECHNO:
I know.
TECHNO:
I know that.
TECHNO:
But if I don’t, they’ll assume I bailed.
TECHNO:
Or stole the cargo.
TECHNO:
Or died.
TECHNO:
And honestly, I don’t know which one they’d prefer.
[The ship hums]
PHIL:
What are the options?
TECHNO:
Option one:
TECHNO:
Turn around.
TECHNO:
Go back to the Empire.
TECHNO:
Drop you off.
TECHNO:
Pretend none of this happened.
PHIL:
That’s not safe, though it would be good to go home.
PHIL:
If they don’t know who took me, they don’t know who’s after me.
PHIL:
And if those people know I’m back with the Empire…
PHIL:
They’ll try again.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
That’s what I thought.
PHIL:
It won’t work again.
[Footsteps echo.]
TECHNO:
Option two:
TECHNO:
Go off‑route.
TECHNO:
Hide.
TECHNO:
Figure out who grabbed you.
TECHNO:
And why.
PHIL:
That’s safer.
PHIL:
For me.
PHIL:
But not for you.
TECHNO:
I’ve been unsafe since the day I signed my contract.
TECHNO:
This doesn’t change much.
[A tired laugh]
PHIL:
And option three?
TECHNO:
…We go to Tommy.
TECHNO:
The kid.
TECHNO:
The loud one.
TECHNO:
The one I left stranded.
PHIL:
Techno.
TECHNO:
Don’t.
TECHNO:
I know.
TECHNO:
I know I messed that up.
TECHNO:
But he was out there.
TECHNO:
Alone.
TECHNO:
Scared.
[PHIL’s expression tightens; he looks down at his hands]
PHIL:
You think it’s connected.
TECHNO:
I don’t know.
TECHNO:
But I can’t ignore it.
TECHNO:
Not anymore.
PHIL:
Do you know where he was?
TECHNO:
Rough coordinates.
TECHNO:
He was drifting near the outer lanes.
TECHNO:
Said he was stranded on a planet
TECHNO:
Said he couldn’t get home.
TECHNO:
Said…
TECHNO:
“Blade, please.”
[The pacing stops]
PHIL:
We can go get him.
TECHNO:
Really, picking up stragglers.
PHIL:
Well you seem to care.
TECHNO:
I, I don’t know.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-21 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
Changing course.
TECHNO:
Off‑route.
TECHNO:
Off‑contract.
TECHNO:
Off‑everything.
[The hum of the ship deepens; metal settles with a long creak]
PHIL:
How long to Tommy’s last coordinates?
TECHNO:
Little over a month.
TECHNO:
Maybe a little more if the drift’s worse than when I came here.
PHIL:
A month…
PHIL:
So he has been alone for what? Three months?
PHIL:
That’s a long time to be stranded.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
I know.
TECHNO:
It’s longer, he said he was there for a while already.
TECHNO:
We’ll have to ration food now that you are here.
TECHNO:
And sanity.
PHIL:
You’re assuming we had sanity to begin with.
TECHNO:
Fair point.
PHIL:
Techno…
PHIL:
What exactly happened with Tommy?
PHIL:
You said he contacted you.
PHIL:
But you didn’t say why.
TECHNO:
He was panicking.
TECHNO:
Said he was stranded
TECHNO:
Said he couldn’t get home.
TECHNO:
Said nobody knew he was gone
TECHNO:
Not even sure how he reached me.
TECHNO:
Hard to tell with him, he talks like the world is ending even when it’s not.
PHIL:
And you hung up.
TECHNO:
I told him it was his problem.
TECHNO:
And then I hung up.
PHIL:
Why?
TECHNO:
Because I thought he was scamming me.
TECHNO:
Because I thought he was dramatic.
TECHNO:
Because I don’t know.
TECHNO:
I don’t do kids.
TECHNO:
I didn’t think he was actually scared.
TECHNO:
I didn’t think anyone would actually leave a kid drifting in dead space.
PHIL:
Techno…
PHIL:
People do worse.
TECHNO:
Yeah. I know.
PHIL:
Did he say anything else?
TECHNO:
Just…
TECHNO:
“Blade, please.”
TECHNO:
Over and over.
TECHNO:
Like he thought I could fix it.
TECHNO:
Like I was some kind of hero.
PHIL:
You aren’t, far from.
PHIL:
But you’re not the villain you think you are either.
TECHNO:
Tell that to the kid I left yelling in the dark.
PHIL:
Then we go get him.
PHIL:
And you tell him yourself.
TECHNO:
If he’s alive.
PHIL:
He’s loud.
PHIL:
Loud people survive out of spite.
TECHNO:
…You might be right.
TECHNO:
Nothing yet.
TECHNO:
No signals.
TECHNO:
No debris.
TECHNO:
Just empty space.
PHIL:
It’s far away.
PHIL:
But he called you once.
PHIL:
Maybe he’ll call again.
TECHNO:
If he does…
TECHNO:
I won’t hang up.
PHIL:
Good.
TECHNO:
Course locked.
TECHNO:
Heading for Tommy’s last known location.
TECHNO:
A month of nothing ahead.
TECHNO:
And maybe something at the end.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-26 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
Audio log… week one.
TECHNO:
Space gets quiet when you’re not supposed to be out here.
TECHNO:
It feels weird to go the wrong way.
TECHNO:
The kind that feels like it’s judging you.
PHIL:
You always talk more when you’re nervous.
TECHNO:
I’m not nervous.
TECHNO:
I’m… narrating.
PHIL:
Uh‑huh.
PHIL:
You know, it’s weird.
PHIL:
I thought being kidnapped would be the worst part of my month.
PHIL:
Turns out the worst part is watching you try to cook.
TECHNO:
I cooked fine.
PHIL:
You burned water.
TECHNO:
The pot was defective.
PHIL:
The water was on fire, Techno.
TECHNO:
I said it was defective.
[There is a laugh.]
PHIL:
It’s almost like old times.
TECHNO:
Don’t say that.
TECHNO:
Old times were loud.
TECHNO:
And crowded.
TECHNO:
And full of people who wanted us dead.
PHIL:
And full of people who didn’t.
TECHNO:
…Yeah.
TECHNO:
I guess.
[Silence]
PHIL:
How far now?
TECHNO:
One week down.
TECHNO:
Four to go before we hit the outer lanes, at least if we keep pushing the speed.
TECHNO:
Then another week to Tommy’s coordinates.
PHIL:
He’s loud.
PHIL:
Loud people survive out of spite.
TECHNO:
You keep saying that.
PHIL:
Because it’s true.
TECHNO:
I hope it’s true.
[Creaking of leather]
TECHNO:
I keep replaying the call.
TECHNO:
Him yelling.
TECHNO:
Me telling him it was a him problem.
TECHNO:
The silence after I cut the line.
PHIL:
You didn’t know.
TECHNO:
I should’ve known.
TECHNO:
He sounded…
TECHNO:
Not dramatic.
TECHNO:
Not performative.
TECHNO:
Just scared.
PHIL:
You were alone.
PHIL:
You were tired.
PHIL:
And you didn’t have comms.
PHIL:
You made a mistake.
PHIL:
Now you’re fixing it.
TECHNO:
If he’s alive.
PHIL:
If he’s alive, he’ll yell at you.
PHIL:
Loudly.
PHIL:
And you’ll deserve it.
TECHNO:
…Probably.
PHIL:
You know…
PHIL:
I didn’t think we’d fall back into this.
TECHNO:
Into what.
PHIL:
You pacing.
PHIL:
Me telling you to sit down.
PHIL:
You ignoring me.
PHIL:
Me pretending I’m not worried.
TECHNO:
I’m not pacing.
PHIL:
You’re absolutely pacing.
TECHNO:
I’m checking the stabilizers.
PHIL:
While pacing.
TECHNO:
Shut up.
PHIL:
It’s good to be here.
PHIL:
Even if “here” is a stolen route in dead space.
TECHNO:
You’re cargo.
TECHNO:
You don’t get to complain.
PHIL:
I’m retired cargo.
PHIL:
I get to complain as much as I want.
TECHNO:
…Fair.
TECHNO:
Week one.
TECHNO:
Just empty space and bad cooking.
PHIL:
And me.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
And you.
TECHNO:
Kid still out there somewhere.
TECHNO:
We’re coming.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-15 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
We’re here.
TECHNO:
Tirani-A6.
TECHNO:
Tommy’s last known location.
TECHNO:
He said he was on here somewhere.
TECHNO:
Said he’d wait.
[Static crackles through the comms]
TECHNO:
No transmission.
TECHNO:
No beacon.
TECHNO:
No emergency ping.
TECHNO:
Nothing.
PHIL:
Try again.
TECHNO:
I’ve tried.
TECHNO:
There is nothing.
PHIL:
He could’ve moved.
PHIL:
Or the relay could’ve broken.
TECHNO:
He’s loud.
TECHNO:
If he were alive and able, he’d be screaming at the sky.
TECHNO:
Or at me.
PHIL:
Techno-
TECHNO:
I know.
TECHNO:
I know he might still be out there.
TECHNO:
But this place feels wrong.
TECHNO:
He can’t have moved
TECHNO:
We are not in the part of space where people help each other.
TECHNO:
And he didn’t have a working ship.
TECHNO:
Suits on.
TECHNO:
Air’s thin.
TECHNO:
And cold.
PHIL:
Everything’s cold with you.
TECHNO:
Shut up.
PHIL:
Over there.
PHIL:
Something metallic.
TECHNO:
I see it.
TECHNO:
It’s an android.
TECHNO:
Old model.
TECHNO:
Not one we ever use.
PHIL:
Is it functional?
TECHNO:
No power.
TECHNO:
Optics shattered.
PHIL:
Could it have been with Tommy?
[There is a long silence]
TECHNO:
Maybe.
TECHNO:
Or maybe it was looking for him.
TECHNO:
Or maybe it found him.
PHIL:
Techno…
PHIL:
If someone destroyed this thing-
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
I know.
PHIL:
What if Tommy didn’t just get stranded?
PHIL:
What if he was somehow pulling a joke off.
TECHNO:
Who would joke about that.
PHIL:
Let’s just keep looking for him.
PHIL:
A kid right, can’t have gone far.
TECHNO:
Or we are too late.
TECHNO:
Audio log…
TECHNO:
No sign of Tommy.
TECHNO:
Just a broken android and a bad feeling.
PHIL:
What now?
TECHNO:
I don’t know.
PHIL:
Do you want to keep looking?
TECHNO:
On this planet? Yes.
TECHNO:
But if he isn’t here…
TECHNO:
If he made it off the planet there is nothing we can do. The galaxy is big.
PHIL:
We'll search the planet first.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-18 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
We’ve been walking for hours.
TECHNO:
Nothing.
TECHNO:
No footprints.
TECHNO:
No wreckage.
TECHNO:
No camp.
TECHNO:
No kid.
PHIL:
Maybe he moved inland.
TECHNO:
We checked inland.
TECHNO:
We checked the ridge.
TECHNO:
We checked the crater.
TECHNO:
We checked the canyon that tried to kill us.
TECHNO:
There’s nothing here.
PHIL:
He said he crashed.
PHIL:
He said he was on this planet.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
And now he’s gone.
[Silence. Even the wind seems to hold back]
PHIL:
Techno…
PHIL:
We don’t know what happened.
TECHNO:
That’s the problem.
TECHNO:
We don’t know anything.
TECHNO:
No logs.
TECHNO:
No signal.
TECHNO:
No debris.
TECHNO:
Just that broken android and a whole lot of nothing.
PHIL:
Maybe he fixed his ship.
TECHNO:
Then where’s the scorch trail?
TECHNO:
Where’s the melted sand?
TECHNO:
Where’s the launch signature?
TECHNO:
Ships don’t leave quietly.
PHIL:
Unless someone helped him.
TECHNO:
Or took him.
[PHIL doesn’t answer; the quiet stretches, heavy and uncomfortable]
TECHNO:
We’re wasting daylight.
TECHNO:
Let’s head back.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-19 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[The ramp groans as it lowers; dust swirls around their boots]
PHIL:
I hate this.
PHIL:
I hate leaving without him.
TECHNO:
Me too.
TECHNO:
But we’ve searched everything.
TECHNO:
Every ridge.
TECHNO:
Every valley.
TECHNO:
Every place a ship could’ve landed or crashed.
TECHNO:
He’s not here.
PHIL:
And the android-
TECHNO:
Wasn’t with him.
TECHNO:
We don’t even know what that thing was
TECHNO:
Or why it was there.
TECHNO:
It’s a clue to something, but not to him.
PHIL:
So what do we do?
TECHNO:
We go back.
PHIL:
Home.
PHIL:
To the Empire.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
We’re off‑route, off‑contract, off‑everything.
TECHNO:
And we’ve got nothing to show for it.
TECHNO:
No trail.
TECHNO:
No direction.
TECHNO:
No way to know where Tommy went.
TECHNO:
Only good thing is that somehow we got a contract for you as cargo.
PHIL:
Well I didn’t like the way it happened.
PHIL:
But we did get lucky with that one.
TECHNO:
Good thing half the galaxy is stupid.
PHIL:
Yeah.
[A long stretched silence.]
PHIL:
It feels wrong.
TECHNO:
It is wrong.
TECHNO:
But staying here won’t make it right.
TECHNO:
We regroup.
TECHNO:
We get information.
TECHNO:
We find out who grabbed you.
TECHNO:
And maybe that leads us to him.
PHIL:
You think it’s connected.
TECHNO:
I don’t know.
TECHNO:
But it’s the only thread we’ve got.
TECHNO:
No sign of Tommy.
TECHNO:
No sign of life.
TECHNO:
Just silence and dust.
TECHNO:
Heading back to the Arctic Empire.
TECHNO:
Not because we want to-
TECHNO:
But because there’s nowhere else left to look.
PHIL:
We’ll find him.
PHIL:
Somehow.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
Somehow.
TECHNO:
End of log.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-26 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
We’re leaving Tiranri-A6 behind.
TECHNO:
Nothing left to check.
TECHNO:
Nothing left to find.
[Metal creaks softly as the ship climbs out of the atmosphere]
PHIL:
I keep thinking we missed something.
TECHNO:
We didn’t.
TECHNO:
We combed every ridge, every crater, every canyon.
TECHNO:
If Tommy was there…
TECHNO:
He isn’t anymore.
[There is an exhale, slow and long; the sound barely rises above the engine hum]
PHIL:
I hate giving up.
TECHNO:
We’re not giving up.
TECHNO:
We’re… accepting reality.
PHIL:
That’s worse.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
I know.
[Silence stretches]
PHIL:
He was just a kid.
TECHNO:
Loud kid.
TECHNO:
Annoying kid.
TECHNO:
Dramatic kid.
TECHNO:
But…
TECHNO:
He didn’t deserve this.
PHIL:
No one does.
TECHNO:
And we don’t have a trail.
TECHNO:
No logs.
TECHNO:
No signal.
TECHNO:
No debris.
TECHNO:
Nothing.
PHIL:
So we go home.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
Back to the Empire.
TECHNO:
Back to whatever mess is waiting for us.
[TECHNO adjusts the navigation; switches click, the ship shifts course]
TECHNO:
Two months out.
TECHNO:
Two months back.
TECHNO:
And nothing to show for it.
PHIL:
We tried.
TECHNO:
Doesn’t feel like enough.
PHIL:
It never does.
TECHNO:
Leaving Tommy’s last known location.
TECHNO:
No sign of him.
TECHNO:
No hope of finding him.
TECHNO:
Returning to the Arctic Empire.
PHIL:
Techno.
TECHNO:
What.
PHIL:
He’d want us to keep going.
PHIL:
Even if it’s not for him anymore.
TECHNO:
You don’t know that.
TECHNO:
Neither do I.
TECHNO:
We don’t actually know the kid.
[Silence again]
PHIL:
Yeah, maybe.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-35 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
We’re home.
TECHNO:
I can actually see our planet again.
TECHNO:
Five minutes till we hit the atmosphere
PHIL:
Right, get ready for landing then, mate.
[There is a long silence.]
TECHNO:
Tunnels, right.
TECHNO:
Let’s put the ship away first.
[Metal groans as the ship enters the Empire’s docking corridor]
PHIL:
I forgot how cramped these tunnels are.
PHIL:
Feels like they’re trying to squeeze the ship on purpose.
TECHNO:
They probably are.
TECHNO:
We like reminding people who’s in charge.
[There is a small chuckle]
PHIL:
Yeah, but it makes it harder for ourselves.
TECHNO:
Simply get better.
[The docking clamps latch onto the hull with a heavy thunk]
TECHNO:
Docked.
TECHNO:
No welcoming committee.
TECHNO:
No guards.
TECHNO:
No yelling.
TECHNO:
That’s either good or very, very bad.
PHIL:
Maybe they didn’t expect us back.
TECHNO:
We were off‑route for months.
TECHNO:
They definitely didn’t expect us back.
PHIL:
…Techno.
PHIL:
Before we go out there-
PHIL:
Are you okay?
TECHNO:
No.
TECHNO:
But I’m functional.
TECHNO:
That’s the best you’re getting.
PHIL:
Fair.
[Footstep echo against metal.]
PHIL:
We did what we could.
TECHNO:
Doesn’t feel like it.
PHIL:
It never does.
[REENTERED TRANSMISSION RANGE.]
[RECONNECTIED TO STATION.]
[CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: STATION SYN-2627249]
TECHNO:
Tommy’s gone.
TECHNO:
And we don’t know where.
TECHNO:
Or how.
TECHNO:
Or why.
PHIL:
And we might never know.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
That’s the part that’s going to stick.
PHIL:
No search parties.
PHIL:
No alerts.
PHIL:
No one asking questions.
TECHNO:
They don’t know he existed.
TECHNO:
And they don’t know you were taken.
TECHNO:
And they don’t care that we went looking.
PHIL:
So what now?
TECHNO:
We check in.
TECHNO:
Pretend we’re normal.
TECHNO:
Pretend nothing happened.
TECHNO:
Pretend we didn’t spend months chasing a ghost.
TECHNO:
We tell Niki.
PHIL:
Techno-
TECHNO:
Don’t.
TECHNO:
I know.
TECHNO:
I know we tried.
TECHNO:
I know there was nothing left to find.
TECHNO:
I know he’s gone.
PHIL:
We keep going.
PHIL:
That’s all we can do.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
That’s all.
NIKI:
Techno!?
NIKI:
Is that you?
NIKI:
Where have you been?
TECHNO:
Long story.
TECHNO:
Found Phil though.
PHIL:
Hello!
NIKI:
What?
NIKI:
How?
[There is a sigh.]
NIKI:
I’m making food and both of you are going to explain everything.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-5 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Soft rumble of the engine.]
TECHNO:
Two months.
TECHNO:
I keep saying it like it’ll make the time shrink.
TECHNO:
It doesn’t.
PHIL:
It’s not that bad.
PHIL:
We’ve done longer.
TECHNO:
Yeah, but back then you weren’t…
TECHNO:
Y’know.
TECHNO:
Freshly kidnapped.
PHIL:
I’m fine.
PHIL:
You’re the one pacing holes into the floor.
[Metallic footsteps.]
TECHNO:
I’m not pacing.
TECHNO:
I’m… recalibrating.
PHIL:
Recalibrating what?
TECHNO:
My patience.
[A snort; the creak of a chair.]
PHIL:
You could’ve gone after him.
PHIL:
Tommy.
TECHNO:
Don’t start.
PHIL:
I’m not starting.
PHIL:
Just saying.
TECHNO:
I know.
TECHNO:
And I thought about it.
TECHNO:
I really did.
[Silence stretches.]
TECHNO:
But we don’t have coordinates.
TECHNO:
We don’t have a trail.
TECHNO:
We don’t have anything except a kid yelling “Blade please” over a broken comm.
TECHNO:
And I can’t chase ghosts for two months.
PHIL:
He wasn’t a ghost.
TECHNO:
No.
TECHNO:
He was loud.
TECHNO:
And annoying.
TECHNO:
And…
TECHNO:
He seemed to trust me.
PHIL:
That’s the part that bothers you.
TECHNO:
Shut up.
PHIL:
It is.
TECHNO:
Shut up.
[There is laughter.]
PHIL:
You care.
PHIL:
You always have.
PHIL:
Even when you pretend you don’t.
TECHNO:
I care about not dying.
TECHNO:
And getting you home.
TECHNO:
And maybe seeing Niki before she decides I’m dead and steals all my stuff.
PHIL:
She’d only steal half.
TECHNO:
Generous.
PHIL:
She likes you.
TECHNO:
Unfortunately.
[The ship shifts, a low groan through the hull.]
PHIL:
You think the Empire will ask questions?
TECHNO:
They always ask questions.
TECHNO:
I’ll lie.
TECHNO:
You’ll lie.
TECHNO:
They’ll pretend to believe us.
TECHNO:
Same as always.
PHIL:
And Tommy?
TECHNO:
If he’s alive…
TECHNO:
He’ll yell at me again someday.
TECHNO:
Probably call me names.
TECHNO:
Complain about the cold.
TECHNO:
Demand snacks.
PHIL:
Sounds like him
PHIL:
At least going from what you told me.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
But right now…
TECHNO:
He’s not here.
TECHNO:
And we can’t find him.
TECHNO:
And I’m tired of pretending I can fix everything.
PHIL:
You don’t have to fix everything.
PHIL:
Just get us home.
TECHNO:
Working on it.
[Console beeps, course confirmation.]
TECHNO:
Transmission log…
TECHNO:
Day one of the two‑month crawl back to the Arctic Empire.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-09 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[The hiss of a door. Footsteps on metal.]
PHIL:
You’re awake.
TECHNO:
So are you.
PHIL:
Couldn’t sleep.
TECHNO:
Same.
PHIL:
Techno…
PHIL:
Can I ask you something?
TECHNO:
You’re going to even if I say no.
PHIL:
What do you really think happened to Tommy?
[Silence, except for the sounds of the engines.]
TECHNO:
I think he got scared.
TECHNO:
And dramatic.
TECHNO:
He seems to be like that.
PHIL:
That’s the surface answer.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
[There’s a long exhale.]
TECHNO:
I think…
TECHNO:
He was running from something.
TECHNO:
Or someone.
TECHNO:
And he didn’t want to say it out loud.
PHIL:
You think he was chased?
TECHNO:
Maybe.
TECHNO:
Or maybe he just panicked and drifted too far.
TECHNO:
He’s a kid.
TECHNO:
Kids get lost.
PHIL:
Not like that.
TECHNO:
No.
TECHNO:
Not like that.
PHIL:
You think he’s dead?
TECHNO:
I don’t know.
TECHNO:
And that’s the part that keeps me awake.
PHIL:
You didn’t tell me that.
TECHNO:
Didn’t want to.
TECHNO:
Didn’t want to say it out loud.
TECHNO:
Makes it too real.
PHIL:
You feel guilty.
TECHNO:
I feel annoyed.
PHIL:
Techno…
TECHNO:
Fine.
TECHNO:
I feel… something.
TECHNO:
I shouldn’t.
TECHNO:
I barely knew him.
PHIL:
He trusted you.
TECHNO:
Apparently.
TECHNO:
That’s the problem.
PHIL:
You know…
PHIL:
If he’s alive, he’s probably still yelling.
PHIL:
Probably still complaining.
PHIL:
Probably still calling you names.
TECHNO:
“Blade, please.”
TECHNO:
He said it like I was supposed to fix everything.
PHIL:
Maybe he just wanted someone to show up.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
And I didn’t.
[Silence.]
PHIL:
We’ll figure it out someday.
PHIL:
When we’re not two months from home with half a fuel tank and a ship held together by spite.
TECHNO:
Spite is a powerful adhesive.
PHIL:
You’re impossible.
TECHNO:
You’re kidnapped.
PHIL:
Formerly kidnapped.
TECHNO:
Still counts.
[There is a laugh, soft and tired.]
PHIL:
Get some sleep, Techno.
TECHNO:
You first.
PHIL:
Fine.
PHIL:
Wake me if something explodes.
TECHNO:
If something explodes, you’ll wake yourself.
PHIL:
Fair.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-12 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
PHIL:
We’re going too fast.
TECHNO:
We’re going the same speed we’ve been going for days.
PHIL:
It feels faster.
TECHNO:
That’s because you’re fragile.
PHIL:
I was kidnapped, not turned into porcelain.
TECHNO:
Same thing.
[The vibration rattles something metallic softly.]
PHIL:
See?
PHIL:
That shouldn’t happen.
PHIL:
My bones shouldn’t be vibrating.
TECHNO:
That’s just the ship saying good morning.
PHIL:
Your ship is rude.
TECHNO:
My ship is efficient.
PHIL:
Your ship is trying to shake me apart.
TECHNO:
If it wanted to shake you apart, you’d be dust by now.
PHIL:
Comforting.
[There is a flip of a switch, the thrusters becoming louder.]
[The hum deepens.]
PHIL:
Did you just make it faster?
TECHNO:
No.
PHIL:
Techno.
TECHNO:
I didn’t!
PHIL:
You absolutely did.
TECHNO:
You can’t prove it.
PHIL:
Back when I was cargo-
TECHNO:
You complained constantly.
PHIL:
But you didn’t listen.
TECHNO:
Still don’t.
PHIL:
Well, I can complain now.
PHIL:
I’m not cargo anymore.
TECHNO:
Actually…
TECHNO:
You kind of still are.
PHIL:
Excuse me?
TECHNO:
Pretty sure I have a cargo manifest that calls you machinery…
TECHNO:
And you are sitting on a chair.
TECHNO:
Wrapped in a blanket.
TECHNO:
Being transported.
TECHNO:
That’s cargo behavior.
PHIL:
I am a person.
TECHNO:
Cargo with opinions.
PHIL:
Techno.
TECHNO:
Look, I don’t make the rules.
TECHNO:
The universe does.
PHIL:
The universe does not classify me as cargo.
TECHNO:
It absolutely does.
TECHNO:
And cargo doesn’t get to complain about speed.
PHIL:
You’re insufferable.
TECHNO:
You’re cargo.
PHIL:
I’m going to tell Niki you said that.
TECHNO:
She already thinks I’m heartless.
PHIL:
She’ll believe me.
TECHNO:
She always does.
[There is a dramatic sigh.]
PHIL:
One more month of this
TECHNO:
One month of you rattling like loose bolts. Old man.
PHIL:
I’m not THAT old.
PHIL:
One month of you pretending you’re not worried.
TECHNO:
I’m not worried.
PHIL:
Sure.
TECHNO:
I’m not.
PHIL:
Mhm.
TECHNO:
Stop that.
PHIL:
Mhm.
TECHNO:
I’m going to eject you.
PHIL:
You can’t eject cargo.
TECHNO:
I can eject cargo.
TECHNO:
It’s literally a button.
PHIL:
Then who flies the ship.
TECHNO:
Me?
TECHNO:
Besides, it almost flies itself.
PHIL:
It absolutely does not.
TECHNO:
It absolutely does.
PHIL:
Techno.
TECHNO:
Fine.
TECHNO:
I’ll slow down.
TECHNO:
A little.
PHIL:
Thank you.
TECHNO:
But if we’re late, I’m blaming you.
PHIL:
You can’t blame cargo.
TECHNO:
I’m going to lose my mind.
PHIL:
Already gone.
[There is a sound of something flying through the air and hitting a wall, PHIL is laughing.]
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-25 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[The hum of the engines has change.]
[A faint tapping of a rhythm against the comms panel.]
TECHNO:
Outer lanes coming up.
TECHNO:
Should be close enough for Empire comms to stop being useless.
PHIL:
Good.
PHIL:
I’m tired of hearing only your voice.
TECHNO:
You love my voice.
PHIL:
It’s fine.
PHIL:
In moderation.
[REENTERING TRANSMISSION RANGE.]
[RECONNECTING…]
[CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: STATION SYN-2627249]
[The comms crackle- thin, distant, then suddenly sharp.]
NIKI:
Techno?
NIKI:
Techno, is that you?
TECHNO:
Niki.
TECHNO:
Finally.
TECHNO:
You’re early.
NIKI:
You’re early!
NIKI:
You weren’t supposed to hit the outer lanes for another month?
TECHNO:
I got bored.
PHIL:
He went too fast.
TECHNO:
Cargo doesn’t get to complain.
PHIL:
I’m going to throw you out an airlock.
NIKI:
…Phil?
PHIL:
Uh.
PHIL:
Hi?
NIKI:
Phil, you-
NIKI:
You’ve been missing for months.
NIKI:
We thought-
NIKI:
We didn’t know if you were-
PHIL:
I’m fine.
NIKI:
No, you don’t understand-
NIKI:
We had search teams out.
NIKI:
We had reports.
NIKI:
We had nothing.
NIKI:
And now you’re just-
NIKI:
Sitting there?
PHIL:
Blanket and all.
TECHNO:
He’s very cargo.
PHIL:
Techno.
NIKI:
Techno, what happened?
NIKI:
How did you find him?
NIKI:
Where was he?
NIKI:
Is he hurt?
NIKI:
Is he-
PHIL:
Niki.
PHIL:
I’m okay.
PHIL:
Really.
[There’s a long silence on the comms—static, breathing, something like disbelief.]
NIKI:
You can’t just say “I’m okay.”
NIKI:
You disappeared.
NIKI:
You vanished.
NIKI:
And now you’re cracking jokes?
PHIL:
I’ve been stuck with Techno for weeks.
PHIL:
If I don’t joke, I’ll die.
TECHNO:
Rude.
NIKI:
Techno, bring him home.
NIKI:
Now.
NIKI:
I don’t care about protocol.
NIKI:
I don’t care about reports.
NIKI:
Just get him here.
TECHNO:
Already on course.
NIKI:
Good.
NIKI:
And Techno?
TECHNO:
Yeah?
NIKI:
Don’t break anything on the way in.
TECHNO:
No promises.
[PHIL snorts. The comms crackle again, then settle into a steady connection.]
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-26]
[Docking clamps engage with a heavy, metallic thud.]
[Engines powering down.]
[The hiss of a door opening]
TECHNO:
Touchdown.
TECHNO:
Month early.
TECHNO:
Try not to look too impressed.
PHIL:
I’m impressed you didn’t crash.
TECHNO:
I considered it.
PHIL:
I know.
[The ramp lowers with a hiss.]
[Footsteps echo from outside, quick, purposeful.]
NIKI:
Techno?
TECHNO:
Yeah!
NIKI:
You’re early.
TECHNO:
I didn’t drop off the cargo. That saves a lot of time!
PHIL:
I’m the cargo.
TECHNO:
You’re very cargo.
NIKI:
Phil?
PHIL:
…Hi.
[There are fast steps on the ramp, a small stumble.]
NIKI:
You-
NIKI:
You’ve been missing for months.
NIKI:
We thought-
NIKI:
We didn’t know if you were-
NIKI:
I already said that…
PHIL:
I know.
PHIL:
I’m sorry.
NIKI:
Sorry?
NIKI:
Sorry!
NIKI:
Phil, you disappeared.
NIKI:
You didn’t send a signal.
NIKI:
You didn’t call.
NIKI:
You didn’t-
PHIL:
Niki.
PHIL:
I’m okay.
NIKI:
You can’t just say “I’m okay.”
NIKI:
You were gone.
PHIL:
I’m here now.
NIKI:
You look terrible.
PHIL:
Gee, thanks!
PHIL:
I’ve been stuck with Techno.
TECHNO:
Rude.
NIKI:
Techno, what happened?
TECHNO:
Long story.
TECHNO:
Involves kidnapping, bad decisions, and Phil being cargo.
PHIL:
Stop calling me cargo.
TECHNO:
No.
[There is a sharp inhale.]
NIKI:
I’m taking him to the med-bay.
NIKI:
And then you’re both getting debriefed
.
NIKI:
And then you’re explaining everything.
NIKI:
Slowly.
NIKI:
Without sarcasm.
TECHNO:
That’s impossible.
PHIL:
He can’t do that.
NIKI:
Then you’ll try.
[Three pairs of footsteps on the ramp, going down.]
NIKI:
Techno?
TECHNO:
Yeah?
NIKI:
…Thank you.
TECHNO:
Don’t mention it.
[He taps his comms recorder.]
TECHNO:
Though I want to suggest that we don’t do shipping hauls for that company anymore.
NIKI:
Huh?
TECHNO:
Well apparently Phil is machinery…
NIKI:
You opened the box… again…
TECHNO:
Yeah, I don’t appreciate being used in the kidnapping of my friend.
NIKI:
Oh my god.
TECHNO:
Also if they aren’t smart enough to understand our stupid back up name is connected to the Arctic Empire…
TECHNO:
Just not again.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-20 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Low hum of the ship, pacing of boots on metal.]
TECHNO:
…Okay.
[The pacing slows, then speeds up again, slows again.]
TECHNO:
A week.
TECHNO:
A whole week of this thing acting like it wants attention.
TECHNO:
And now?
[The ship hum fills the silence.]
TECHNO:
Nothing. Dead quiet. Like it finally got bored of tormenting me.
[Soft tapping on wood.]
[Silence.]
TECHNO:
Huh.
TECHNO:
Figures. The moment I start getting used to the noise, it decides to stop.
TECHNO:
Real considerate cargo.
[Footsteps fading from the cargo bay.]
TECHNO:
System still flags it. “Organic-pattern irregularity.”
TECHNO:
Not helpful. Not specific. Just… ominous.
TECHNO:
Whoever wrote that diagnostic should be fired.
[An exhales, long and unimpressed]
TECHNO:
I’m logging this because protocol says I have to.
TECHNO:
And because if this thing suddenly explodes, melts, or starts singing opera, I want proof I didn’t provoke it.
[Flicking of a switch.]
TECHNO:
Route’s stable. Gravity pockets ahead look manageable.
TECHNO:
Stars are sharp tonight.
TECHNO:
Too sharp. Makes the dark feel… bigger.
[The creak of a chair.]
TECHNO:
I keep thinking about opening it.
TECHNO:
Not because I care.
TECHNO:
Just- curiosity is a disease. And I’m apparently infected.
[Drumming on a console.]
TECHNO:
But I’m not touching it.
TECHNO:
I’m not opening it.
TECHNO:
I’m not even looking at it more than I have to.
TECHNO:
I’m getting paid to deliver it, not bond with it.
TECHNO:
…Weird that it stopped.
TECHNO:
Not comforting. Just weird.
TECHNO:
Two months to drop-off.
TECHNO:
One week down.
TECHNO:
Cargo’s quiet.
TECHNO:
Ship’s quiet.
TECHNO:
Space is… too quiet.
[There is a sigh.]
TECHNO:
Whatever.
TECHNO:
I’ll fly the route.
TECHNO:
Drop it off.
TECHNO:
Get paid.
TECHNO:
And pretend none of this ever happened.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
TRANSMISSION 3-26 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
Soft click as the recorder starts; the ship hum is steady.]
TECHNO:
Day… nine?
TECHNO:
I think.
TECHNO:
Time gets weird when nothing happens except the same stars passing by like they’re judging you.
TECHNO:
Cargo’s still quiet.
TECHNO:
Completely quiet.
TECHNO:
Which is somehow worse than the thumping.
TECHNO:
At least the thumping meant it was… doing something.
TECHNO:
Now it’s just sitting there.
TECHNO:
Menacingly.
[Clearing of a throat, it’s dry.]
TECHNO:
I ran another scan.
TECHNO:
Same result. “Organic-pattern irregularity.”
TECHNO:
No elaboration. No helpful sub-menu.
TECHNO:
Just the digital equivalent of shrugging at me.
TECHNO:
I’m adjusting course around a debris cluster.
TECHNO:
Nothing major.
TECHNO:
Just leftover junk from some mining outfit that didn’t clean up after itself.
TECHNO:
Typical.
[The silence stretches]
TECHNO:
I keep thinking I should check the crate.
TECHNO:
Not open it. I’m not suicidal.
TECHNO:
Just… look at it.
TECHNO:
Make sure it hasn’t grown legs or started a religion in there.
[He stands; footsteps on metal, slow, reluctant]
TECHNO:
…Still quiet.
TECHNO:
Still sealed.
TECHNO:
Still ugly.
[Footsteps fading away.]
TECHNO:
I don’t know why I’m recording this.
TECHNO:
Protocol, sure.
TECHNO:
But also…
[An exhale, long and unimpressed]
TECHNO:
It feels like if I don’t talk, the silence is going to start talking back.
TECHNO:
Two months of this.
TECHNO:
Two months of flying with a box that used to make noise and now doesn’t.
TECHNO:
I’m starting to miss the noise.
TECHNO:
Which is a sentence I never thought I’d say.
TECHNO:
Anyway.
TECHNO:
Cargo’s stable.
TECHNO:
Route’s clean.
TECHNO:
I’m fine.
TECHNO:
Probably.
TECHNO:
If it starts making noise again…
TECHNO:
I’m turning this ship around and pretending I got lost.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-38 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Recorder clicks on; the ship hum is steady, low.]
TECHNO:
Day twenty‑three.
TECHNO:
I think.
TECHNO:
I stopped checking the calendar because it was starting to feel smug.
[Metal chair creaks.]
TECHNO:
Cargo’s still quiet.
TECHNO:
Completely, absolutely, aggressively quiet.
TECHNO:
Like it’s trying to win an award for “Most Unsettling Silence in a Sealed Container.”
[Taps on something- light, rhythmic, bored.]
TECHNO:
I’ve gotten used to it being there.
TECHNO:
Not in a comforting way.
TECHNO:
More like… when you live next to a haunted house long enough, you stop flinching every time the lights flicker.
[Silence.]
TECHNO:
I caught myself talking to it yesterday.
TECHNO:
Not on purpose.
TECHNO:
Just… narrating what I was doing.
TECHNO:
“Adjusting course. Cleaning filters. Trying not to lose my mind.”
TECHNO:
That kind of thing.
[A clearing of a throat.]
TECHNO:
It didn’t respond.
TECHNO:
Obviously.
TECHNO:
But the silence felt… different.
TECHNO:
Like it was listening.
[Long exhale.]
TECHNO:
I’m not opening it.
TECHNO:
I’m not touching it.
TECHNO:
I’m not even looking at it unless I have to log something.
TECHNO:
But I swear the quiet has a shape now.
TECHNO:
Like it’s sitting in the room with me.
[Footsteps on metal.]
TECHNO:
I checked the seals again.
TECHNO:
Still intact.
TECHNO:
Still locked.
TECHNO:
Still ugly.
TECHNO:
Route’s clear for the next stretch.
TECHNO:
No debris fields, no solar flares, no excuses to turn around.
TECHNO:
Just straight flight and too much time to think.
TECHNO:
I miss the noise.
TECHNO:
I hate that I miss the noise.
TECHNO:
But at least when it was thumping, I knew it was… alive?
TECHNO:
Active?
TECHNO:
Something.
[A stretched silence.]
TECHNO:
Now it’s just quiet.
TECHNO:
And I keep wondering if quiet means safe…
TECHNO:
Or if quiet means waiting.
TECHNO:
Anyway.
TECHNO:
I’m logging this.
TECHNO:
Because protocol says I have to.
TECHNO:
And because talking into a recorder feels less pathetic than talking to a crate.
[A sigh.]
TECHNO:
One month to drop-off.
TECHNO:
I can do one month.
TECHNO:
I’ve done worse.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-46 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Recorder clicks on; the ship hum is steady.]
TECHNO:
Day forty.
TECHNO:
Or thirty-nine.
TECHNO:
Or forty-one.
TECHNO:
I’m not checking. The calendar and I are no longer on speaking terms.
TECHNO:
Cargo’s still quiet.
TECHNO:
Completely, absolutely, monastically quiet.
TECHNO:
If it’s alive, it’s meditating.
TECHNO:
If it’s not alive… great.
TECHNO:
Fantastic.
TECHNO:
Love that for me.
[Tapping on something.]
TECHNO:
I ran another scan.
TECHNO:
Same result.
TECHNO:
“Organic-pattern irregularity.”
TECHNO:
At this point I think the system just likes messing with me.
TECHNO:
I’ve gotten used to the silence.
TECHNO:
Not in a healthy way.
TECHNO:
More like… when you live alone long enough, you start naming the appliances.
TECHNO:
I haven’t named the crate.
TECHNO:
Yet.
[There is silence.]
TECHNO:
I talk more now.
TECHNO:
Not to the crate.
TECHNO:
Just… out loud.
TECHNO:
Narrating things.
TECHNO:
“Adjusting course.”
TECHNO:
“Running diagnostics.”
TECHNO:
“Trying not to lose my mind.”
TECHNO:
Stuff like that.
TECHNO:
The silence feels… settled.
TECHNO:
Like it’s part of the ship.
TECHNO:
Like it’s been here longer than I have.
[Footsteps on metal.]
TECHNO:
I checked the seals again.
TECHNO:
Still intact.
TECHNO:
Still locked.
TECHNO:
Still ugly.
TECHNO:
Still quiet.
TECHNO:
I keep thinking about the first week.
TECHNO:
The thumping.
TECHNO:
The noise.
TECHNO:
The way it sounded like something wanted out.
TECHNO:
And now?
TECHNO:
Nothing.
TECHNO:
Not even a shift in weight.
TECHNO:
I don’t know if that’s good.
TECHNO:
Or bad.
TECHNO:
Or just… space being space.
TECHNO:
Route’s clear.
TECHNO:
No anomalies.
TECHNO:
No excuses to panic.
TECHNO:
Just me, the stars, and a crate that’s decided to become a pacifist.
TECHNO:
Three weeks to drop-off.
TECHNO:
I can do three weeks.
TECHNO:
I’ve done worse.
TECHNO:
If it starts making noise again…
TECHNO:
I’m not turning around.
TECHNO:
I’m just turning the recorder off and pretending I didn’t hear it.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-50 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Recorder clicks on; the ship hum is steady.]
TECHNO:
Day fifty-five.
TECHNO:
I’m pretty sure.
TECHNO:
If I’m wrong, I don’t want to know.
TECHNO:
Cargo’s still quiet.
TECHNO:
Completely quiet.
TECHNO:
Like it’s trying to win a competition against the vacuum outside.
TECHNO:
And honestly?
TECHNO:
It might be winning.
TECHNO:
I ran diagnostics again.
TECHNO:
Not because I expected anything new.
TECHNO:
Just because it gave me something to do that wasn’t staring at the wall.
TECHNO:
Same result.
TECHNO:
“Organic-pattern irregularity.”
TECHNO:
At this point I think the system is just committed to the bit.
[A long exhale.]
TECHNO:
I’ve stopped talking to the crate.
TECHNO:
Mostly.
TECHNO:
It’s not that I think it’s weird.
TECHNO:
It’s that I caught myself waiting for it to answer.
TECHNO:
And that’s…
[Small pause.]
TECHNO:
Not great.
[Footsteps]
TECHNO:
Not a sound.
TECHNO:
Just… a feeling.
TECHNO:
Like the air around the crate is thicker.
TECHNO:
Or maybe I’m imagining things.
TECHNO:
Hard to tell when you’ve been alone this long.
TECHNO:
I keep thinking about the first week.
TECHNO:
The thumping.
TECHNO:
The way it sounded like something wanted out.
TECHNO:
And now?
TECHNO:
Nothing.
TECHNO:
Not even a shift in weight.
TECHNO:
Not even a creak.
TECHNO:
I don’t know if that means it’s safe.
TECHNO:
Or if it means it’s… finished.
TECHNO:
Whatever “finished” means for something that thumps for a week and then never again.
TECHNO:
Route’s clear.
TECHNO:
No storms.
TECHNO:
No debris.
TECHNO:
No excuses to panic.
TECHNO:
Just me, the stars, and a crate that’s decided to become a decorative feature.
[A sigh.]
TECHNO:
Two weeks to drop-off.
TECHNO:
I can do two weeks.
TECHNO:
I’ve done worse.
TECHNO:
I’ve done quieter.
TECHNO:
I’m just flying.
TECHNO:
And pretending it’s the ship settling.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-56 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Recorder clicks on; the ship hum is steady, but there’s a faint, low vibration from the engine.]
TECHNO:
Day sixty-eight.
TECHNO:
I think.
TECHNO:
At this point, if the calendar told me it was day three hundred, I’d believe it out of spite.
TECHNO:
Cargo’s still quiet.
TECHNO:
Completely quiet.
TECHNO:
Like it’s trying to set a record for “Longest Time Spent Not Being My Problem.”
[Beeping of buttons being pressed.]
TECHNO:
Diagnostics unchanged.
TECHNO:
“Organic-pattern irregularity.”
TECHNO:
I’m starting to think the system just doesn’t want to commit to an opinion.
TECHNO:
Honestly? Relatable.
TECHNO:
I’ve stopped checking the crate.
TECHNO:
Not because I’m scared.
TECHNO:
Just because… what’s the point.
TECHNO:
It’s quiet.
TECHNO:
It’s sealed.
TECHNO:
It’s ugly.
TECHNO:
It’s not my business.
TECHNO:
The silence doesn’t bother me anymore.
TECHNO:
I don’t trust it.
TECHNO:
But it doesn’t bother me.
TECHNO:
It’s like having a roommate who never talks, never moves, never eats, never sleeps…
TECHNO:
And you start forgetting they’re there until you trip over their shoes.
[Footsteps on metal, pacing.]
TECHNO:
I walked past it earlier and didn’t even look at it.
TECHNO:
That’s new.
TECHNO:
Usually I at least give it a suspicious glance.
TECHNO:
But today?
TECHNO:
Nothing.
TECHNO:
Just walked by like it was any other piece of cargo.
[Chair creaks.]
TECHNO:
Maybe that’s what two months in space does.
TECHNO:
You get used to things you shouldn’t get used to.
TECHNO:
Silence.
TECHNO:
Loneliness.
TECHNO:
Crates that thump for a week and then never again.
TECHNO:
I keep wondering what could make noise for seven days straight and then stop forever.
TECHNO:
But wondering isn’t investigating.
TECHNO:
And investigating isn’t happening.
TECHNO:
So… here we are.
TECHNO:
Drop-off in…
TECHNO:
Nine days.
TECHNO:
Single digits.
TECHNO:
I can do nine days.
TECHNO:
I’ve done worse.
TECHNO:
I’ve done quieter.
TECHNO:
If it starts making noise again…
TECHNO:
I’m ignoring it.
TECHNO:
Completely.
TECHNO:
I’m too close to the finish line to develop a new personality flaw.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-71 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
Day seventy-six.
TECHNO:
I checked this time.
TECHNO:
Not because I care.
TECHNO:
Just because the calendar finally apologized.
[The chair gives a soft metallic groan.]
TECHNO:
Cargo’s still quiet.
TECHNO:
Completely quiet.
TECHNO:
Like it’s trying to make a point.
TECHNO:
And the point is: “I’m not your problem anymore.”
[Taps on the console; muted beeps answer.]
TECHNO:
Diagnostics unchanged.
TECHNO:
“Organic-pattern irregularity.”
TECHNO:
At this point, I think the system is just committed to being vague.
TECHNO:
Honestly? I respect the consistency.
[A long exhale.]
TECHNO:
I’ve gotten used to the silence.
TECHNO:
Too used to it.
TECHNO:
I caught myself thinking I’ll miss it.
TECHNO:
Which is…
TECHNO:
Concerning.
TECHNO:
I walked past the crate earlier.
TECHNO:
Didn’t look at it.
TECHNO:
Didn’t think about it.
TECHNO:
Just walked by like it was any other piece of cargo.
TECHNO:
And then I realized…
TECHNO:
I’ve been doing that for days.
TECHNO:
It’s strange.
TECHNO:
The first week, it felt like the crate was the only thing in the ship with me.
TECHNO:
Now it feels like it’s fading.
TECHNO:
Like it’s becoming part of the background.
TECHNO:
Like it’s… leaving, somehow, even though it’s still sealed and ugly and sitting exactly where I left it.
TECHNO:
I keep wondering what’s inside.
TECHNO:
Not enough to check.
TECHNO:
Not enough to break protocol.
TECHNO:
Just… enough to imagine.
TECHNO:
Something that thumps for a week and then never again.
TECHNO:
Something that goes quiet for two months straight.
TECHNO:
Something that feels like it’s listening even when it’s silent.
[Flicking of a switch.]
TECHNO:
Drop-off in…
TECHNO:
Three days.
TECHNO:
Three.
TECHNO:
I can do three days.
TECHNO:
I’ve done worse.
TECHNO:
I’ve done quieter.
TECHNO:
I’ve done… stranger.
TECHNO:
I’m just delivering it.
TECHNO:
And then I’m leaving.
TECHNO:
Fast.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-81 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Recorder clicks on; the ship hum is steady.]
TECHNO:
Day seventy-nine.
TECHNO:
Final approach.
TECHNO:
I can see the station lights from here.
TECHNO:
They look… smug.
TECHNO:
Cargo’s still quiet.
TECHNO:
Completely quiet.
TECHNO:
Like it’s trying to make a dramatic exit.
TECHNO:
“Ah yes, my final performance: absolute silence.”
TECHNO:
Great.
TECHNO:
Love that.
TECHNO:
Diagnostics unchanged.
TECHNO:
“Organic-pattern irregularity.”
TECHNO:
I’m convinced the system wrote that just to annoy me.
TECHNO:
Mission accomplished.
TECHNO:
I’ve been thinking about the first week.
TECHNO:
The thumping.
TECHNO:
The noise.
TECHNO:
The way it felt like something was trying to get my attention.
TECHNO:
And now?
TECHNO:
Nothing.
TECHNO:
Not even a creak.
TECHNO:
It’s like it went dormant.
TECHNO:
Or bored.
TECHNO:
Or… finished.
TECHNO:
It’s strange.
TECHNO:
The silence used to feel hostile.
TECHNO:
Then it felt heavy.
TECHNO:
Then it felt… normal.
TECHNO:
Now it feels like something I’ve gotten used to having around.
TECHNO:
Like background radiation.
TECHNO:
Or bad coffee.
TECHNO:
I keep wondering what’s inside.
TECHNO:
Not enough to check.
TECHNO:
Not enough to break protocol.
TECHNO:
Just enough to imagine.
TECHNO:
Something that thumps for a week and then never again.
TECHNO:
Something that goes quiet for two months straight.
TECHNO:
Something that feels like it’s listening even when it’s silent.
TECHNO:
Drop-off in…
TECHNO:
Twelve hours.
TECHNO:
Twelve.
TECHNO:
I can do twelve hours.
TECHNO:
I’ve done worse.
TECHNO:
I’ve done quieter.
TECHNO:
I’ve done… stranger.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-84 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Recorder clicks on; the ship hum is steady, but there’s a faint, high‑pitched whine from the docking clamps engaging]
TECHNO:
Docking complete.
TECHNO:
Day eighty.
TECHNO:
End of the line.
TECHNO:
Cargo’s still quiet.
TECHNO:
Completely quiet.
TECHNO:
Like it’s trying to make sure I don’t get nostalgic.
TECHNO:
Thanks for that.
TECHNO:
Station manifest received.
TECHNO:
They’re sending a retrieval team.
TECHNO:
Three people.
TECHNO:
Which feels excessive for a box that hasn’t made a sound in two months.
TECHNO:
But hey. Not my business.
[Slow footsteps on metal, heavy.]
TECHNO:
I walked past it one last time.
TECHNO:
Didn’t look at it.
TECHNO:
Didn’t touch it.
TECHNO:
Didn’t think about it.
TECHNO:
Just walked by like it was any other piece of cargo.
TECHNO:
And then I realized…
TECHNO:
I’ve been doing that for weeks.
TECHNO:
It’s strange.
TECHNO:
The silence used to feel hostile.
TECHNO:
Then heavy.
TECHNO:
Then normal.
TECHNO:
Now it feels like something I’ve been living with.
TECHNO:
Like background noise.
TECHNO:
Or the hum of the engines.
TECHNO:
Or… company.
TECHNO:
Retrieval team’s almost here.
TECHNO:
I’m supposed to stay on board until they sign off.
TECHNO:
Protocol.
TECHNO:
Love protocol.
TECHNO:
Really inspires confidence.
TECHNO:
I’m not opening it.
TECHNO:
I’m not touching it.
TECHNO:
I’m not even looking at it.
TECHNO:
I’m just handing it over.
TECHNO:
And then I’m leaving.
TECHNO:
Fast.
[Long exhale.]
[TECHNO:
I keep wondering what’s inside.
TECHNO:
Not enough to ask.
TECHNO:
Not enough to stay.
TECHNO:
Just enough to think about on the flight home.
TECHNO:
Something that thumped for a week and then never again.
TECHNO:
Something that went quiet for two months straight.
TECHNO:
Something that felt like it was listening even when it was silent.
[Footsteps approach in the distance, muffled voices, indistinct]
TECHNO:
Retrieval team’s here.
TECHNO:
Ending log.
TECHNO:
Good riddance.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 3-85 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[There is a hum of the ship coming back to life.]
TECHNO:
Retrieval team is done.
TECHNO:
I can leave.
TECHNO:
Now it’s just… two months back home.
[Metallic noises of the docking system disengaging.]
TECHNO:
Just two months until I can see Phil again, and Niki.
TECHNO:
Three months if I go past the kid.
TECHNO:
It’s only one month.
TECHNO:
I really didn’t…
[Long sigh.]
TECHNO:
I shouldn’t have left him like that.
TECHNO:
Phil would hate me for it, Niki even more.
TECHNO:
Can’t believe I’m thinking about going back.
TECHNO:
‘Blade please.’
TECHNO:
Pathetic.
TECHNO:
On the other hand what’s the harm?
[Beeping of a console.]
TECHNO:
Let’s get away from here first.
TECHNO:
I’ll see what I’ll do later.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-03 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Low and steady hum. The engines settle into a rhythm.]
TECHNO:
Course is set.
TECHNO:
Empire route.
TECHNO:
Clean line.
TECHNO:
No surprises.
[Tapping on something, two short, sharp beeps.]
TECHNO:
I should feel better.
TECHNO:
Retrieval’s done.
TECHNO:
Job’s done.
TECHNO:
But-
[Silence.]
TECHNO:
The kid’s still out there.
TECHNO:
Or… whatever’s left of him.
[Metal creaks.]
TECHNO:
I keep telling myself it’s pointless.
TECHNO:
Month and a half off-route.
TECHNO:
For what.
TECHNO:
A kid?
TECHNO:
A desperate kid…
[There is a long exhale.]
TECHNO:
Phil would say it’s closure.
TECHNO:
Niki would say it’s responsibility.
TECHNO:
I’d say it’s stupid.
TECHNO:
…I’m doing it anyway.
[Navigation console beeps.]
[Course correction sound plays.]
TECHNO:
It’s on the way back.
TECHNO:
Just a detour.
TECHNO:
Just checking.
TECHNO:
Just making sure I didn’t leave him in a grave I never saw.
[The sound of fabric rusteling.]
TECHNO:
‘Blade please.’
TECHNO:
I keep hearing it.
TECHNO:
Like he’s still standing there.
TECHNO:
Like I didn’t walk away.
[Clearing of a throat.]
TECHNO:
If he’s alive…
TECHNO:
No.
TECHNO:
He’s not.
[The ship hums loude.]
TECHNO:
Planet’s dead rock anyway.
TECHNO:
No signal.
TECHNO:
No atmosphere worth breathing.
TECHNO:
No reason anyone would survive.
[A soft click.]
TECHNO:
I’m still going.
[Silence stretches.]
TECHNO:
Transmission will resume on approach.
TECHNO:
Month and a half.
TECHNO:
Plenty of time to regret this.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-20 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Soft static. The steady hums of the ship's engines.]
TECHNO:
Midpoint.
TECHNO:
Halfway to the rock.
[Tapping on the console, three slow beeps, spaced evenly.]
TECHNO:
I checked the scans again.
TECHNO:
Nothing new.
TECHNO:
No distress beacon.
TECHNO:
No power signatures.
TECHNO:
Just the same dead coordinates.
[The sound of shifting in a chair. Metal groaning under the movement.]
TECHNO:
I keep thinking about the last time I heard him.
TECHNO:
The way he spoke to me.
TECHNO:
Like I was supposed to fix everything.
TECHNO:
Like I could.
[Silence.]
TECHNO:
I don’t know what I’m expecting to find.
TECHNO:
Kid didn’t have the tools.
TECHNO:
Didn’t have anything, really.
TECHNO:
I should’ve done something.
TECHNO:
Taken him with me.
TECHNO:
Or… something.
TECHNO:
Phil would say I’m brooding.
TECHNO:
He’s wrong.
TECHNO:
I’m being practical.
TECHNO:
I’m checking a site of last known location.
TECHNO:
That’s all.
[He pauses. The hum fills the space.]
TECHNO:
But I keep hearing him.
TECHNO:
That stupid little voice.
TECHNO:
‘Blade please.’
TECHNO:
Like he thought I’d always be there.
TECHNO:
I won’t record again until final approach.
TECHNO:
No point wasting power.
TECHNO:
Nothing to say until I see it myself.
[Silence.]
TECHNO:
If there’s nothing left…
TECHNO:
I’ll turn around.
TECHNO:
Go home.
TECHNO:
Pretend this was just… closure.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-25 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
TECHNO:
Final approach.
TECHNO:
Planet in visual range.
[Pings of the navigation.]
TECHNO:
It looks worse than the scans.
TECHNO:
Surface is…
TECHNO:
Dust.
TECHNO:
Cracks.
TECHNO:
No heat signatures.
TECHNO:
No movement.
[Metal creaks as the ship angles downward.]
TECHNO:
Atmosphere’s thin.
TECHNO:
Not lethal, but not friendly.
TECHNO:
Figures.
TECHNO:
He found a way to connect to my ship before
TECHNO:
That isn’t happening now…
[An exhale.]
TECHNO:
I don’t trust it.
TECHNO:
I’m trying to find a landing zone.
TECHNO:
Nothing flat.
TECHNO:
Nothing stable.
TECHNO:
Just ridges and old impact scars.
[The ship groans, adjusting thrusters.]
TECHNO:
There-
TECHNO:
Western ridge.
TECHNO:
Looks… less terrible.
[Beeping, target lock acquired.]
TECHNO:
I’ll take it.
TECHNO:
Not like the kid left me a welcome mat.
TECHNO:
Visibility’s dropping.
TECHNO:
Storm front or just… this place being itself.
TECHNO:
Hard to tell.
TECHNO:
I keep thinking I’ll see the pod from here.
TECHNO:
Some glint.
TECHNO:
Some sign.
TECHNO:
Nothing.
[Stabilizers whine.]
TECHNO:
Landing thrusters engaged.
TECHNO:
Hold steady.
TECHNO:
Don’t make me fight you today.
[A thud reverberates through the cabin.]
TECHNO:
Touchdown.
TECHNO:
Gear’s holding.
TECHNO:
Good enough.
[The hum settles into silence.]
TECHNO:
I’ll start external scans.
TECHNO:
If the pod’s here…
TECHNO:
I’ll find it.
[Silence.]
TECHNO:
If he’s here…
TECHNO:
No.
TECHNO:
Don’t do that.
[Sounds of a scanner running, beeping.]
TECHNO:
Transmission will resume once I have visual confirmation.
TECHNO:
Whatever’s waiting out there…
TECHNO:
I’ll deal with it.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-26 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Airlock hisses open. Thin wind scrapes against metal, dry, hollow.]
TECHNO:
Surface conditions stable enough.
TECHNO:
Gravity’s light.
TECHNO:
Temperature’s dropping faster than expected.
[Boots hit the ground, dust crunches underfoot.]
TECHNO:
Visibility’s terrible.
TECHNO:
Dust storms must’ve been hitting this place for months.
TECHNO:
Maybe years.
[Fabric rustles, a faint click.]
TECHNO:
Scanners picked up a metallic structure about two hundred meters east.
TECHNO:
Could be the pod.
TECHNO:
Could be debris.
TECHNO:
Hard to tell from here.
[Wind rises, whistling through the ridge.]
TECHNO:
I forgot how quiet planets get when they’re dead.
TECHNO:
No fauna.
TECHNO:
No atmosphere movement.
TECHNO:
Just… this.
[Steady, deliberate steps.]
TECHNO:
I keep expecting to hear him.
TECHNO:
Some yell.
TECHNO:
Some complaint.
TECHNO:
Something.
TECHNO:
Nothing.
TECHNO:
Of course.
[Boots scrape against stone.]
TECHNO:
I see something.
TECHNO:
Metal.
TECHNO:
Curved.
TECHNO:
Half-buried.
[The wind dies for a moment.]
TECHNO:
That’s the pod.
TECHNO:
Or what’s left of it.
[Metal groans, brittle.]
TECHNO:
Impact damage.
TECHNO:
Structural collapse.
TECHNO:
No power.
TECHNO:
No repairs attempted.
TECHNO:
Door’s torn off.
TECHNO:
Not blasted.
TECHNO:
Just… gone.
[Faint clatter of loose debris.]
TECHNO:
Found an android.
TECHNO:
Could be part of the kid’s crew.
TECHNO:
Or was… It’s not…
TECHNO:
Well it’s parts of an android.
TECHNO:
Head’s intact.
TECHNO:
Body’s… not.
[Metal scraping.]
TECHNO:
No lights.
TECHNO:
No charge.
TECHNO:
No sign of recent activity.
[Silence. The wind picks up again.]
TECHNO:
Kid’s not here.
TECHNO:
No tracks.
TECHNO:
No shelter.
TECHNO:
No remains.
TECHNO:
This doesn’t make sense.
TECHNO:
He couldn’t have gone far.
TECHNO:
Not with the pod like this.
TECHNO:
Not with the android down.
[A slow, controlled exhale.]
TECHNO:
I’ll expand the search radius.
TECHNO:
Maybe he tried to walk.
TECHNO:
Maybe he-
[Silence.]
TECHNO:
I’ll record again once I find something.
TECHNO:
Anything.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-27 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Wind scraping against metal. The scanner emits a slow, pulsing tone.]
TECHNO:
Expanded the search radius.
TECHNO:
Two kilometers.
TECHNO:
Nothing but dust and old impact scars.
Boots grinding over loose stone.]
TECHNO:
I’m picking up another metallic signature.
TECHNO:
Faint.
TECHNO:
Buried.
TECHNO:
Could be something
TECHNO:
Maybe he found something to hide in.
[The wind dips for a moment.]
TECHNO:
It shouldn’t be this far from the first one.
TECHNO:
He didn’t have the power to move it.
TECHNO:
Didn’t have the tools.
TECHNO:
Didn’t have… anything.
TECHNO:
There it is.
TECHNO:
Or what’s left.
[Debris shifts.]
TECHNO:
Hull’s split clean through.
TECHNO:
Not from impact.
TECHNO:
Stress fracture.
TECHNO:
Overload.
TECHNO:
Like someone tried to force it to run past capacity.
TECHNO:
Power core’s blown.
TECHNO:
Completely.
TECHNO:
No salvage.
TECHNO:
No chance it ever turned on again.
[Silence. The wind whistles low.]
TECHNO:
I don’t even know what this is
TECHNO:
It could be from Tommy’s crew
TECHNO:
A failed rescue mission
TECHNO:
But there is nothing…
TECHNO:
Nothing that shows life.
TECHNO:
No footprints.
TECHNO:
No drag marks.
TECHNO:
No sign he stayed here long.
TECHNO:
No sign he left in a hurry either.
[An exhale, controlled and tight.]
TECHNO:
Kid didn’t walk away from this.
TECHNO:
Not without help.
TECHNO:
Not without something else happening.
[Tapping on the scanner, tone shifts, searching.]
TECHNO:
Still no life signs.
TECHNO:
No heat signatures.
TECHNO:
No movement.
[Silence.]
TECHNO:
I don’t like this.
TECHNO:
I don’t like any of this.
[Footsteps, heavier now..]
TECHNO:
I’ll widen the radius again.
TECHNO:
Five kilometers.
TECHNO:
If he’s out here…
TECHNO:
I’ll find him.
[Silence. The wind gusts hard, rattling the mic.]
TECHNO:
And if he’s not…
TECHNO:
Then something else happened.
TECHNO:
Something I didn’t see.
TECHNO:
Something he didn’t tell me.
[Static creeps in.]
TECHNO:
Next transmission after the sweep.
TECHNO:
I’m not leaving until I know.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-28 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Wind scraping against the hull. The scanner tone fades out, search sweep ending.]
TECHNO:
Radius sweep complete.
TECHNO:
Five kilometers.
TECHNO:
No movement.
TECHNO:
No heat.
TECHNO:
No signs of the kid.
[A short frustrated exhale.]
TECHNO:
I’m calling off the search.
TECHNO:
Nothing out here but dust and old scars.
TECHNO:
If he walked…
TECHNO:
He didn’t walk this far.
[Boots crunch as he turns back toward the landing zone.]
TECHNO:
Heading back to the first site.
TECHNO:
The android.
TECHNO:
Maybe I missed something.
[Steady footsteps, but heavier than before.]
TECHNO:
I hate this planet.
TECHNO:
Hate how quiet it is.
TECHNO:
Hate how it feels like it’s hiding something.
[Wind gusts hard, rattling the mic.]
TECHNO:
Pod’s still where I left it.
TECHNO:
Android’s still in pieces.
TECHNO:
Nothing moved.
TECHNO:
Nothing disturbed.
[Metal shifts under his gloves.]
TECHNO:
Re‑examining the android.
TECHNO:
Head casing intact.
TECHNO:
Optics shattered.
TECHNO:
Power core drained.
TECHNO:
No external damage except…
TECHNO:
This.
[Tapping on metal, it clicks sharply.]
TECHNO:
Stress marks on the neck joint.
TECHNO:
Could be from the crash
TECHNO:
Not from the kid.
TECHNO:
He couldn’t do this.
[Silence. The wind whistles low.]
TECHNO:
Someone else touched this android.
TECHNO:
Or something else.
TECHNO:
Internal logs are…
TECHNO:
I’m not sure.
TECHNO:
This is not a type of android I’ve ever worked with.
TECHNO:
It’s weird.
[Slow breathing.]
TECHNO:
I’m not even sure if it’s part of the kids crew.
TECHNO:
He didn’t mention it.
TECHNO:
I don’t like where this is going.
TECHNO:
I don’t like that I’m missing pieces.
TECHNO:
I don’t like that he’s not here.
TECHNO:
I’ll run one more diagnostic.
TECHNO:
Then I’m leaving.
TECHNO:
I’ve already stayed too long.
[Silence, wind rustling the microphone.]
TECHNO:
Next transmission after the diagnostic.
TECHNO:
If I find anything…
TECHNO:
I’ll record.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-29 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Low hum as the ship powers back up. Dust rattles off the hull.]
TECHNO:
Diagnostics complete.
TECHNO:
No new data.
TECHNO:
No traces.
TECHNO:
No kid.
[A short exhale, almost a sigh.]
TECHNO:
I’m done.
TECHNO:
There’s nothing else to find here.
TECHNO:
Nothing left to try.
[Metallic clank as he steps into the airlock; the door seals behind him.]
TECHNO:
Android’s dead.
TECHNO:
Pod’s dead.
TECHNO:
The second ship is even worse.
TECHNO:
And the planet…
TECHNO:
The planet doesn’t care.
[Sounds of him taking off his space suit.]
TECHNO:
I keep thinking I missed something.
TECHNO:
Some clues.
TECHNO:
Some signs.
TECHNO:
But there’s nothing.
TECHNO:
Just dust and broken metal.
[Chair groaning, tapping on a screen, navigation beeps softly.]
TECHNO:
Setting course for the Arctic Empire.
TECHNO:
Standard route.
TECHNO:
No detours.
TECHNO:
No more chasing ghosts.
[Engines spool up, rising into a steady, familiar hum.]
TECHNO:
I shouldn’t have come.
TECHNO:
Should’ve gone home.
TECHNO:
Should’ve let this stay a memory.
[The ship lifts off; the ground falls away with a low rumble.]
TECHNO:
Kid’s gone.
TECHNO:
Whatever happened…
TECHNO:
It’s over.
[The hum fills the silence.]
TECHNO:
I’ll file the report when I get back.
TECHNO:
Phil won’t like it.
TECHNO:
Niki won’t either.
TECHNO:
But it’s all I’ve got.
TECHNO:
If I even need to write a report.
TECHNO:
Technically there is nothing to report.
TECHNO:
Leaving orbit.
TECHNO:
Planet’s behind me.
TECHNO:
Good.
[Short silence.]
TECHNO:
Transmission will resume on Empire approach.
TECHNO:
End log.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-35 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Engines hum low as the ship slips into stable orbit. The familiar static of Empire comms flickers in.]
TECHNO:
Entering Arctic Empire airspace.
TECHNO:
Clearance codes transmitting.
TECHNO:
Docking route received.
[There is an exhale, tired, relieved, not proud.]
TECHNO:
Feels strange coming back with nothing.
TECHNO:
Feels worse knowing I left with nothing too.
[REENTERING TRANSMISSION RANGE.]
[RECONNECTING…]
[CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: STATION SYN-2627249]
[INCOMING TRANSMISSION.]
NIKI:
Techno?
NIKI:
Finally.
NIKI:
You’re late.
[Static sharpens.]
TECHNO:
Niki.
TECHNO:
I’m here.
TECHNO:
Approaching dock.
NIKI:
Thank god.
NIKI:
It’s nice to not be alone anymore.
[Silence.]
TECHNO:
When you say alone…
TECHNO:
You do mean with Phil, right?
NIKI:
No.
NIKI:
I haven’t seen him in months.
NIKI:
I couldn’t reach you.
[Silence.]
TECHNO:
What?
TECHNO:
Right…
NIKI:
You sound…
NIKI:
Never mind.
NIKI:
Just get in safely.
NIKI:
We’ll talk when you’re down.
TECHNO:
I'll be there as soon as I land.
[Transmission cuts; the comms fall silent again.]
TECHNO:
Docking clamps engaging.
TECHNO:
End log.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-01 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[The engines settle into a steady, confident hum.]
TECHNO:
Alright.
TECHNO:
Course is set.
TECHNO:
Empire‑bound.
[A soft clatter as he shifts something on the console, maybe a loose bolt he’s been meaning to fix for months.]
TECHNO:
Funny how quiet it gets once you make a decision.
TECHNO:
All that noise in your head just… shuts off.
TECHNO:
I’m not going back.
TECHNO:
Kid’s not my problem.
TECHNO:
Never was.
[There is a long exhale.]
TECHNO:
I keep thinking about that stupid transmission.
TECHNO:
Kid sounded desperate
TECHNO:
Desperate enough to reach out to wanted criminals.
TECHNO:
…yeah.
TECHNO:
Nothing worth turning around for.
[He taps the navigation screen; a soft beep answers.]
TECHNO:
Month and a half if I push the engines.
TECHNO:
Two months if I let them breathe.
TECHNO:
I’ll probably let them breathe.
TECHNO:
Phil’s gonna complain either way.
TECHNO:
Niki’ll pretend she’s not worried and then shove food at me until I stop looking like a ghost.
TECHNO:
I miss them.
TECHNO:
More than I thought I would.
TECHNO:
Space does that-
TECHNO:
stretches everything out.
TECHNO:
Time, distance, the parts of you you thought were solid.
TECHNO:
Makes you realize who actually matters when everything else is just stars and static.
[Silence stretches.]
TECHNO:
Empire space is colder than this.
TECHNO:
Sharper.
TECHNO:
But at least it’s familiar.
TECHNO:
You can navigate it half‑asleep and still end up exactly where you meant to be.
TECHNO:
Stars look different on the way home.
TECHNO:
Less like they’re judging you.
TECHNO:
More like they’re… I don’t know.
TECHNO:
Keeping you company.
[A quiet click.]
TECHNO:
I’ll make another log when I hit the outer Empire lanes.
TECHNO:
Phil’s gonna say something philosophical.
TECHNO:
Niki’s gonna say something gentle.
TECHNO:
And I’m gonna pretend I didn’t miss them as much as I did.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-21 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[The ship’s long‑range engines deepen into their cruising register, a low, steady vibration.]
[A few loose tools rattle in a storage compartment.]
TECHNO:
Empire lanes in… forty‑six hours.
TECHNO:
Give or take whatever nonsense the outer satellites are doing this week.
[A small metallic creak, fabric rusteling.]
TECHNO:
Been a while since I’ve had this much empty space ahead of me.
TECHNO:
No detours.
TECHNO:
No retrievals.
TECHNO:
No… complications.
[A small moment of silence.]
TECHNO:
Kid’ll figure himself out.
TECHNO:
Or he won’t.
TECHNO:
Either way, it’s not on me.
TECHNO:
I did what I was supposed to do.
TECHNO:
Retrieval. Drop‑off. Leave.
TECHNO:
That’s the job.
[A long and slow exhale.]
TECHNO:
Empire space is going to feel good.
TECHNO:
Cold, sharp, familiar.
TECHNO:
Phil’s probably already pacing.
TECHNO:
Niki’s probably already reorganizing the med bay because she “has a feeling.”
TECHNO:
They’re predictable like that.
TECHNO:
It’s… nice.
[The sensor gives a soft, chiming sound.]
TECHNO:
Space looks different when you’re heading home.
TECHNO:
Less like it’s trying to swallow you whole.
TECHNO:
More like it’s… opening up.
TECHNO:
Making room.
[A tap on the console, a gentle beep answers.]
TECHNO:
I should fix that loose panel when I get back.
TECHNO:
Phil’s gonna yell at me if I don’t.
TECHNO:
Niki’ll give me that look.
TECHNO:
The disappointed one.
TECHNO:
Worse than yelling.
[A faint huff.]
TECHNO:
I didn’t think I’d miss them this much.
TECHNO:
Guess that’s what happens when you spend too long pretending you don’t care.
[The engines shift slightly as the ship adjusts course.]
TECHNO:
I’ll make another log when I hit the border checkpoints.
TECHNO:
Maybe sooner if the silence gets too loud.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-30 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[Faint static above the hum of the engine.]
TECHNO:
Crossing the line now.
TECHNO:
Empire beacons picked me up.
TECHNO:
Guess that means I’m officially… homeward.
[He adjusts a dial; the engines respond with a smoother, colder hum, tuned for Arctic‑grade travel.]
TECHNO:
Temperature’s dropping already.
TECHNO:
You can feel it through the hull before the sensors even bother to tell you.
TECHNO:
It’s a different kind of cold out here.
TECHNO:
Sharp.
TECHNO:
Clean.
TECHNO:
Like the air’s been filtered through a glacier.
[A faint metallic clink as he taps the console with a knuckle.]
TECHNO:
I used to hate this part.
TECHNO:
The long stretch where you’re close enough to see home on the charts, but too far to actually feel it.
TECHNO:
Now it’s… comforting.
TECHNO:
Predictable.
TECHNO:
No surprises.
TECHNO:
No kids.
TECHNO:
No androids.
TECHNO:
Just the Empire waiting exactly where I left it.
[He shifts, settling deeper into the pilot’s chair.]
TECHNO:
Phil’s probably going to meet me at the dock.
TECHNO:
Pretend he’s annoyed I took so long.
TECHNO:
Then talk my ear off for an hour straight.
TECHNO:
Niki’ll show up with a med kit she doesn’t need.
TECHNO:
She always does that.
TECHNO:
Says it’s “protocol.”
TECHNO:
It’s not.
TECHNO:
She just worries.
[A soft, amused exhale.]
TECHNO:
I’m… looking forward to it.
TECHNO:
More than I thought I would.
TECHNO:
Space gets quiet in a way that makes you miss people.
TECHNO:
Even the ones who nag.
[The ship’s sensors chirp, an incoming automated message from a distant checkpoint.]
TECHNO:
Checkpoint wants my ID.
TECHNO:
I’ll send it in a minute.
TECHNO:
They’re slow out here.
TECHNO:
Probably half‑asleep in their little ice station.
TECHNO:
I should get some rest.
TECHNO:
Haven’t slept properly since the retrieval.
TECHNO:
Hard to sleep when you’re thinking too much.
TECHNO:
Easier now.
TECHNO:
Simpler.
[A soft beep confirms the ID transmission.]
TECHNO:
I’ll make another log when I hit the inner lanes.
TECHNO:
Should be… calmer by then.
TECHNO:
Familiar.
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED — ARCHIVED.]
[SHIP: ARCTIC EMPIRE, I-496]
[TRANSMISSION 4-31 — REBOUND TO ARCHIVE]
[The comms panel crackles, faint at first, like a voice underwater. The ship automatically boosts the signal, and the static sharpens into something almost human.]
TECHNO:
…huh.
TECHNO:
Getting chatter.
TECHNO:
Didn’t think I was close enough yet.
[Adjusting of a dial; the comms hiss, then stabilize.]
[CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: STATION SYN-2627249]
NIKI:
...Techno?
NIKI:
Techno, is that you?
[The chair creaks.]
TECHNO:
Niki?
TECHNO:
You’re early.
TECHNO:
I’m still in the outer lanes.
NIKI:
We picked up your signature.
NIKI:
Phil’s not here…he’s been…
NIKI:
He’s been gone for months.
[The static of comms crackling.]
[Silence.]
TECHNO:
…what?
TECHNO:
Gone where?
NIKI:
We don’t know.
NIKI:
He left on a scouting run and never checked in.
NIKI:
No comms. No beacon.
NIKI:
Nothing.
[TECHNO exhales sharply, like the air just punched him.]
TECHNO:
You’re telling me-
TECHNO:
You’re telling me he’s been missing this whole time?
NIKI:
Yes.
NIKI:
We didn’t have a way to reach you.
NIKI:
No comms to deepspace…
NIKI:
We tried everything.
[Fabric rustles.]
TECHNO:
I thought he was on assignment.
TECHNO:
I thought he was fine.
TECHNO:
I thought-
TECHNO:
…doesn’t matter what I thought.
NIKI:
Techno…
NIKI:
We’re doing everything we can.
NIKI:
But it’s been months.
NIKI:
We’re running out of leads.
[Silence.]
[The ship drifts, engines steady.]
TECHNO:
I’m coming in fast.
TECHNO:
Prep the dock.
TECHNO:
And the briefing room.
TECHNO:
I want every scrap of information you have.
NIKI:
I’ll get it ready.
NIKI:
And, Techno-
NIKI:
It’s good to hear your voice.
TECHNO:
Yeah.
TECHNO:
You too.
[The comms click off. The ship hums.]
TECHNO:
Phil’s missing.
TECHNO:
Months.
TECHNO:
And I didn’t know.
[A deep inhale.]
TECHNO:
I’m coming home.
TECHNO:
And I’m not stopping until I find him.
[The engines surge as the ship speeds up.]
[TRANSMISSION TERMINATED.]