Arthur turns to Varhee. “So, what about you, Varhee? I’ve read your file.”
He sits, resting tired hands on his knees. “But tell me about yourself.”
Varhee shrinks a little, hesitant. “Me?”
She exhales slowly. “I joined the military for the benefits.” Her eyes lift toward him. “Life on Earth was tough. Never easy. I thought if I enlisted, I could get off-world. Maybe reach one of the better colonies.”
Her voice grows quiet. “I’ve had it rough. My father died before I was born. My mom drifted — always trying her best.” Her jaw tightens. “She got sick last year and passed.”
She looks away. “All of it pushed me forward. And that’s a good thing… I think.”
Sarah’s voice eases into Arthur’s ear. “She is stronger than she knows.”
Arthur smiles. “If you think it’s a good thing, it is. Your strength comes from your experiences.”
A sharp alarm snaps through the room.
Arthur hurries to the console. “What now?”
His hands dance across the panel. “Microfracture. Damn.”
Varhee rushes to his side. “Where?”
Arthur clicks through the data. “Right there — lower section of that wall.”
He digs through the bag of supplies he hauled from the cargo bay.
“Oh, thank the gods.” He grabs a can of welding spray and a ceiling panel.
Varhee crawls out from under her blankets and helps him lift it into place.
Arthur sprays the damaged section. “I hope that holds.”
The alarm fades.
Varhee exhales in relief. “The oxygen’s processed by the ship… but a microfracture could collapse the system. That’d leave us with less than three hours of air.”
Arthur gives a half-shrug. “A lack of oxygen won’t kill me. But I can’t stop breathing.”
Varhee lowers her eyes. “Without you, I wouldn’t have survived this long.”
A faint smile warms her face. “Thank you.”
---
In the Void, Sarah sits in a memory — bright, golden, peaceful.
A banner hangs across a backyard fence: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANNA.
Children race by with streamers, frosting smeared across their faces. Presents sit on a picnic table.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
Sarah sits back on the red couch, watching, the memory surrounding her — happiness and grief braided together.
She smiles — not with joy, but with the weight of love.
Anna runs to her. “Mommy! Can I open presents now?”
Sarah’s heart breaks. Tears glisten. “Of course you can, sweetie.”
Arthur materializes beside her. He walks forward, kneels, and hugs their daughter tightly — a man holding something he knows he’ll lose.
He glances back toward Sarah. “I’m gonna go.”
Sarah steps toward him, reaching out. “Stay. Please.”
But Arthur is already gone.
---
Varhee works at a secondary station. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Arthur standing still near the comm panel — shoulders heavy, eyes unfocused.
“You alright?” she asks gently.
Arthur blinks out of the memory. “I’m fine. It’s my daughter’s birthday.”
Varhee pauses. “How old?”
Arthur’s eyes fall back to the console. Silence stretches between them.
“She passed… long ago.”
Another quiet moment.
“Sarah and I share our children’s memories every year on their birthdays. It makes her happy — seeing Anna happy.”
Varhee steps closer. “What about you? Does it make you happy?”
Arthur’s voice trembles, grief leaking through every seam. “I try not to think about them. It’s too painful. Even now.” His breath shudders. “But I love seeing them. My children meant everything to me.”
A long pause.
Softly, Varhee asks, “Have you ever thought about having more?”
She winces immediately. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to hurt either of you.”
Arthur shakes his head, eyes fixed on the console.
He looks up, eyes lost in loss and love. “Let’s focus on something else.”
Arthur moves constantly through the freezing air, breath turning white as it leaves him. Ice crackles across his back each time he bends or stretches. His face tightens with quiet, constant pain.
“Do you need one of these blankets?” Varhee asks, watching him shiver.
“I’m fine, for now. I’ll let you know if I can’t handle it.”
Sarah’s voice slips gently into his mind, soft as drifting snow.
“It’s okay, Arthur. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had to share body heat with someone.”
Arthur exhales through a tired smile. “I know. But it still always feels awkward.”
He shifts, stiff from the cold. “Varhee, crawl back to the engine room. Make sure that fix is holding. If we wait any longer, you won’t be able to. And I’m already too big to fit.”
Varhee starts to climb into the vent, but a comm light pulses yellow.
A voice crackles through the static:
“Kalghtee… Kalghtee… come in, Kalghtee.”
The room goes still. Hope fills the air.
“This is the colonial ship Gerion. Come in.”
Arthur lunges for the comm panel.
“This is the Kalghtee. We read you, Gerion.”
He smooths the static, pulling the signal together.
“This is Captain Arthur Hammond. Cadet Juliet Varhee and I are the only known survivors. We’re requesting immediate evacuation.”
He presses his forehead to the wall, breath unsteady.
The reply comes slow and rough.
“This is Captain Drevick. We are six hours out. Is the cargo intact?”
Arthur hesitates. His eyes narrow.
“Unknown. We’re unable to access the hold.”
He reaches for the switch slowly — then cuts the line.
—
Sarah is still inside the birthday memory, surrounded by warm sunlight and children’s laughter.
The moment stops as Arthur steps into the memory — tense, distant.
“Something’s wrong,” he says.
Sarah raises her hand. The world freezes mid-motion. Balloons hang perfectly still. A candle flame becomes a sculpture of fire.
She turns to him slowly. Her silence is sharper than anger. She lets it sit.
“You can’t step into the middle of her party and act like this.”
“It’s just a memory,” he says — the words escaping too fast, too cold.
He regrets them instantly.
Sarah remains still, expression unreadable. He searches her face — then swallows. “I’m sorry.”
She watches him, hurt tucked deep behind her calm.
“I’m in the middle of the ocean, Arthur… adrift. And you are the wind. Be kind.”
He closes his eyes, shame burning at the edges.
“You’re right.” He shakes his head, angry at himself. “They’re more than memories — especially to you. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He reaches for her hand. “I’m sorry.”
Sarah steps into him, resting her head against his chest.
“I know what they mean to you. But I need you to understand what they mean to me.”
“I do,” he whispers.
The memory collapses gently back into the White Void. The red couch appears. Soft piano hums like breath in the background.
Sarah looks up, knowing. “I heard it too.”
Arthur nods. “There’s a chance they kill us both.”
“Something is in that cargo bay,” she says. “And it shouldn’t be.”
He nods again. “Exactly.”
—
Back on the cold bridge, Varhee turns from her console, confused.
“Did you just hang up on them?”
Arthur’s smile is thin. “Yeah. They’ll get over it.”
“Why?” Varhee’s expression is pure confusion. “They’re supposed to be rescuing us.”
Arthur lets out a tired, empty laugh. “They already said they’re coming. And if we’re lucky, they won’t kill us when they get here.”
Varhee stiffens. “Why would they kill us?”
“Because of the cargo,” he says. “They didn’t ask how we were. Only about the cargo.”
Her face pales.
Arthur looks toward the sealed bay doors, breath fogging the air.
“Which means we have six hours to figure out what’s sitting in that cargo hold.”
Please consider following, commenting, or leaving a review.
Thank you for reading.
