Arthur drags himself through the debris. “Varhee… is the storage bay sealed?”
Varhee checks a flickering readout. “Computer says so.” She glances at him, pale and shaken. “But with the ship this torn up? Who knows.” She exhales shakily. “Honestly? I’m just glad we still have oxygen.”
Sarah whispers in Arthur’s ear, warm against the cold. “Me too. Suffocating has yet to be fun.”
Arthur nods, half-listening. “So if we could get outside the ship, I could walk into the bay through its access port?”
Varhee gives a doubtful shrug. “Yeah. Maybe. But we’d need a space suit for that.” She swallows. “And we don’t have one.”
Arthur flashes her a tired smile. “More bad news—to cheer you up.” It fades almost instantly. “Power’s failing.” His breath frosts. “Air’s thinning. She’s bleeding pressure too.”
—
In the White Void, Sarah stands in still water, violin tucked under her chin. She plays a slow, steady melody that echoes around them like a heartbeat.
“Gods, I hate space.”
Arthur smirks through the pain. “Me too.”
Varhee looks up sharply. “Sir?”
“Nothing,” Arthur mutters. “Just thinking how much I hate space.”
He reaches the single surviving panel, typing across cracked glass. “Three hundred feet,” he says. “Hatch to hatch.” The look he gives the screen is not encouraging. “I’ll go get what we need.” He glances at Varhee with quiet resolve. “Make a list.”
Varhee stares at him. “Sir, with respect—you’re insane.” She gestures at the console. “You can’t make that. Nobody can.” She shakes her head. “Do you know what will happen to you out there?”
—
In the Void, Sarah lowers the bow. “She’s right about one thing. You’re crazy.” Her voice softens. “Do you really think you can make it? Or will you freeze?”
Arthur answers both worlds at once. “I can make it.” But the unease in his eyes betrays the truth. “It’s not gonna be fun.”
He turns to Varhee. “Any luck reaching the engine room?”
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Varhee shakes her head. “No response. Systems show nothing. Crew quarters either.”
She swallows hard. “It’s just us.” Tears well despite her effort to hide them. “I don’t want to die out here, sir.”
Arthur’s expression softens. Something old and painful tightens inside him. He leans closer, meeting her eyes.
“Stay focused. We will be fine.”
He pats her shoulder.
—
In the Void, Sarah rests the violin on the couch. “How exactly do you plan to explain this to Varhee?”
Arthur appears beside her, exhaustion weighing him down. “I don’t know.” A faint smile. “But unless you want to sit here in an icy coffin listening to me complain about hunger and cold for eternity… I’ll have to do something.”
Sarah laughs despite her fear. “Three hundred feet isn’t that far. I think you can make it.”
Arthur vanishes.
—
Back in the real—debris clutters the floor. Arthur clears it by hand, dragging twisted metal away from the outer hatch.
“Varhee… if I don’t come back—” He stops himself. Shakes his head. “Never mind. I’ll be back.”
Sarah whispers, sharp with worry. “If you don’t come back… she’s not gonna make it.”
Varhee steps in front of the hatch, trembling. “Sir, this is suicide. Don’t go.” She blocks the hatch with her whole body. “You’ll die out there.”
Arthur touches her shoulder gently, then moves her aside.
He seals the inner hatch. Through the glass, he mouths: I’ll be fine, Varhee.
He ties the safety cable around his waist. His breath clouds the air.
—
In the Void, Sarah shifts the world into a rustic log cabin—firelight flickering, fur blankets piled thick on a wide bed.
“When you get back,” she says softly, “I’ve got warm blankets waiting.”
—
Varhee watches the dim monitor—no visuals, only a trickle of data.
The outer hatch hisses open.
Arthur is pulled into black.
Pain hits instantly—muscles seizing, blood freezing mid-flow. It sloshes through his veins like liquid ice.
His body heals as it dies.
Skin splits as cold fractures it faster than it can knit. Nerves ignite, then vanish—then return screaming as flesh reforms only to freeze again.
His lungs collapse.
Air is ripped from him, replaced by pressure so absolute it feels solid. His chest caves inward—then forces itself open again as tissue regenerates.
Breath never comes.
Only reflex.
His heart stutters, locks, restarts—each beat slower than the last.
He moves anyway.
Every motion costs something.
Every second is negotiation.
The black presses closer, deeper—time stretching thin and brittle.
His body locks, unlocks, locks again.
Healing lags.
Cold wins ground.
He pushes forward through it, one useless step at a time.
—
Halfway across, the world slips.
Arthur collapses beside the fire.
Sarah is there instantly, throwing the furs over him, hands shaking as she holds his face.
“You can make it,” she whispers. “You’re almost there. Just a little farther.”
Arthur nods, jaw clenched, breath shuddering—then vanishes back into the void.
“I have to keep moving,” he gasps aloud, voice torn raw.
“This is really pushing my limits.”
—
On the bridge, Varhee paces—from the hatch to the monitor, over and over.
Arthur staggers through the outer hatch of the cargo bay. His voice, ragged, crackles over the comm.
“Hall… Dunley… Fritz. All dead.”
Varhee freezes.
A dead man is talking.
“How are you still alive?” Her voice shakes. “This shouldn’t be possible.”
“You’re not crazy,” he pants. “It’s a long story.”
His eyes heal. Skin reforms.
He gathers what he came for—tools, parts, rations, blankets.
Then he flips a few switches inside a control panel.
“This should help get long-range comms up and running.”
—
“Come in here and warm up,” Sarah whispers from the cabin. “Just for a second. Rest.”
Arthur appears on the cabin floor—pale and shaking.
Sarah catches him, easing him toward the bed. Fire crackles warmly.
She pulls him beneath the furs. Their clothes fall away as she wraps herself around him—not hunger, not escape, but memory. Comfort. Warmth.
A few minutes pass. Pain recedes. Breath steadies.
“Time to get back at it, soldier,” Sarah murmurs.
Arthur vanishes.
—
On the bridge, Varhee crouches by the comm speaker—hope trembling.
“Sir? Are you okay?”
Silence.
The inner hatch hisses open slowly.
Arthur falls inside—motionless, frostbitten, trembling, breath catching where there was none.
Varhee gasps and drops to her knees, checking him with frantic hands. For a moment she thinks he’s dead.
Then she sees the toolkit and parts in his grip.
Without a word, she takes them—pulls herself together—and turns to the comm system.
Determined
Alone.
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