Arthur stands near the console, rubbing his arms for warmth.
“I have to get to the hold again.”
Varhee raises an eyebrow. “You could always just take another stroll.”
Arthur shakes his head, already knowing it’s the only way. His mind already trying to pull away from the inevitable.
“If you knew what that felt like, you wouldn’t offer it up so quickly.”
Varhee looks down. “You’re right, sir.”
Arthur smiles faintly. “No. You were right. It’s the only way. And don’t call me sir.”
Varhee lifts her head, a small smile breaking through. “Alright, Hammond.”
—
Arthur closes his eyes.
The White Void surrounds him — hidden inside the memory of a bonfire.
Corn stretches as far as the eye can see.
A pit twelve feet wide, flames rising fifteen feet into the air.
Some country song hums from a radio in an old truck.
Arthur looks around, firelight flickering across his face.
“Where is everyone?”
Sarah takes his hand. “It’s just us.”
They dance beside the fire.
“Be careful out there.”
Arthur locks eyes with her, the flames reflected in his gaze.
“If I didn’t have to go, I wouldn’t.”
He swallows. “I don’t want to.”
His voice falters — fear cutting it off before the words can finish.
A beat.
“I will,” he says quietly. “It’s just so damn cold. I can feel the blood in my veins freezing.”
Fireworks explode overhead.
His expression softens — fear buried beneath resolve. His face lit in red and white light.
“It makes that winter I spent buried under that snowdrift feel like a summer day.”
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Sarah leans in arms around him gently.
“I’ll have a warm memory waiting when you get back.”
Arthur vanishes.
—
Back in the real world, Arthur prepares to open the inner hatch.
He smiles to hide the fear — and the pain.
“I’ll be back soon, Varhee. Try to keep the fires burning.”
The inner hatch closes.
The outer hatch opens.
Arthur steps into the black.
He moves along the ship’s hull, tied to the guideline system.
The cold hits like a hammer. Each movement stiff, skin cracking, breaking, healing —
an endless, brutal rhythm. His body fights to stay whole.
“Think of the suns on Goures Two,” Sarah whispers from the Void. “That should warm you up.”
“I will,” he laughs through the pain. “One hundred twenty-three degrees at night. Maybe we can take a trip there, after all this.”
Reaching the cargo bay doors,
he grabs the manual release — pulls.
Nothing.
“It worked last time. What the hell?”
He tries again. Still nothing.
A third pull —
a hiss. The latch gives way. The hatch opens.
Arthur exhales, mouthing, Thank you.
He climbs inside and slams the inner seal shut.
He grabs a cutting torch and ignites it.
“Gotta have some heat. Maybe this’ll help.”
Orange light flickers across his face.
The cargo bay hums quietly — waiting.
Arthur blinks.
—
A golden field sways beneath warm sunlight.
The air hums with a single violin note.
Sarah stands barefoot in the grass, smiling.
Down the hill, her old dog Rex runs wild — tail high, ears flapping.
Arthur steps beside her.
He picks up a stick and hurls it across the field.
Rex bolts after it, barking with joy.
They walk hand in hand beneath the endless sky.
Arthur smiles. “Thanks for pulling me in.”
He spins her gently. She laughs. They kiss.
Sarah kneels, taking the stick from Rex’s mouth.
“I know it only helps keep your mind off it a little,” she says, throwing it again.
A long silence follows.
Just wind.
And Rex’s panting somewhere in the distance.
Varhee’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“You okay in there?”
Arthur looks toward the horizon, then back to Sarah.
“A job’s never done.”
They kiss.
Arthur vanishes.
Sarah watches the grass bend again —
as if he were still standing there.
—
The cargo bay is a ruin.
Debris scattered. Pressure seams hissing faintly in the dark.
Arthur steps to the comm console.
“I’m fine. Just taking a second to warm up.”
Varhee exhales, relief bleeding through her voice.
“I was getting worried.”
Arthur smiles softly. “Thanks.”
He turns, scanning the room.
At the far wall — ten long, pressure-sealed containers stacked together.
Each one hums faintly.
“I’ll call you back,” he says, and closes his eyes.
—
In the Void, a memory book drops onto Sarah’s table.
She touches it, and the scene unfolds across the shallow water —
Arthur’s view of the containers.
“Could be medical supplies,” she says. “But it’d have to be a pandemic to need that much.”
Arthur smirks. “This is what we’re looking for.”
He opens the clamps — one by one.
Each click echoes too loud in the silence.
“Even if there was a pandemic, the Colonial government wouldn’t send this much.”
The final seal hisses. Steam curls into the air.
The lid creaks open.
Inside: a dead Allui male, perfectly preserved.
Arms crossed. Expression blank.
Another memory book lands in front of Sarah.
She opens it — eyes narrowing.
“What does this mean?” she whispers.
“Why would there be Allui inside the crates?”
Arthur studies the pod.
“Bio-weapons, maybe.”
He checks the readings — no life signs, no freezing systems.
“It’s not cryo-sleep. They’re dead.”
“There are nine more containers,” Arthur says.
“Let’s find out.”
He opens the manifest log.
“The manifest says Clove Flu vaccine.”
He shakes his head.
Sarah’s voice drops low.
“Whatever’s happening here… I don’t like it.”
His eyes drift to the plasma cutter mounted on the wall — and its backup cells.
Then he moves with grim purpose.
Using a powered lifter, he drags all ten containers to the center of the bay.
Methodical.
Silent.
He inserts a power cell into each pod — one by one.
Then activates the plasma cutter.
White light arcs to life —
and touches the first cell.
FWUMP.
The interior erupts into plasma. The lid slams shut.
The pod shakes —
hisses —
then goes still.
Arthur moves to the next. And the next.
Ten contained plasma incinerations.
No fire. No oxygen. Just light, smoke, and silence.
When he’s finished, he puts everything back exactly as he found it.
“The confusion might be enough,” he murmurs. “Might keep us alive.”
Sarah’s voice carries a faint smile.
“At least if they kill you first, they’ll have a lot of unanswered questions.”
A pause.
“I wonder what they were going to do with them.”
Arthur steps toward the hatch.
"Doesn't matter now."
—
The trip back is worse.
Jagged crystals of frozen blood course through his veins cutting like razor blades.
Skin freezes, cracks, snaps away —
new flesh forming again beneath it.
A brutal cycle of endurance.
He reaches the hatch. The door seals shut behind him.
Arthur stumbles inside —
knees buckling —
and collapses to the floor.
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