Cold. Still.
The ship is silent. Lifeless.
Arthur wakes wrapped tightly in thermal blankets.
Varhee lies nestled in his arms.
Both are layered in silver insulation.
Frost creeps along the walls — ice blooming over consoles and wires.
—
In the White Void, Arthur and Sarah sit together on a couch, bundled beneath a blanket.
They sip hot cocoa while an old movie flickers on the screen.
Sarah nestles deeper into his arms.
“I love this memory. You’d just gotten a promotion. We went to Martini’s to celebrate. It was the perfect day.”
Arthur leans in and kisses her. She kisses him back.
They sit there — no fear, no pain. Just quiet joy.
Varhee’s voice echoes faintly through the Void.
“Those spacewalks really mess you up, huh, Hammond?”
Arthur vanishes.
—
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Back in the real world, ice cracks and falls from the thermal blankets.
“Yes,” Arthur answers. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. It just really hurts.”
Varhee smiles softly. “Thanks for making the trip for me.”
Arthur’s reply carries a faint smirk.
“I don’t intend to spend a millennium on this moon freezing and starving. My reasons were purely selfish.”
Varhee laughs. “I don’t believe that for a second. Even in the little time I’ve known you… I know you wouldn’t give up on anyone.”
Arthur’s eyes drift, unfocused — lost to memory.
—
The woods.
A campfire flickers in the dark.
A small family sits close — William, Debra, and Zelda.
Worried faces. Shared warmth.
From the shadows, a stranger appears — ragged, shaking.
“Mind if I sit?”
William hesitates.
Arthur nods. “It’s cold. Let him sit. We don’t have much, but we can always share a fire.”
The man lowers himself near the flame, silent. Watchful.
Zelda holds up a small loaf of bread.
“Mommy, can I eat a piece?”
The stranger leans forward, eyes hollow with hunger.
“I sure would like some bread too.”
Debra’s voice tightens. “We don’t have much.”
“Then I’ll take it,” he growls — lunging.
The knife flashes.
Arthur moves — too late.
William is stabbed. Debra too.
Zelda — gone in seconds.
Arthur tackles the man into the firelight.
The knife flashes again and again — blood soaking the dirt.
Arthur’s hands close around the stranger’s throat.
The blade slows.
Then stops.
He digs three graves, crying.
—
The memory fades.
Cold reality returns.
Arthur lies facing Varhee, eyes steady now.
“We need to talk about what’s going to happen when the Gerion arrives.”
Varhee frowns. “What do you mean?”
Arthur’s voice stays calm, but the warmth is gone.
“If we say the wrong thing… they’ll kill us.”
A beat.
“Well — they’ll kill you. Me? They’ll just make me wish they had.”
Varhee pulls back, startled. “Why?”
“We weren’t supposed to survive this crash,” he says.
“And we might know things we shouldn’t. So no matter what they ask — we never left the command post or the engine room.”
Varhee hesitates. “What was in the cargo bay?”
Her voice trembles, afraid of the answer.
Arthur studies her.
“It’s better you don’t know.”
Varhee’s face hardens. “If I’m going to die for this, I’d like to know what I’m dying for.”
Arthur’s lips curve faintly.
“You’re exactly the kind of soldier I want under my command.”
He shifts closer, pulling her into his chest, shielding her from the cold biting into his back.
“I’ll tell you… when we’re safe.”
She nods, turning away, sinking into his warmth.
He tells her about a time when he was a general.
She talks about her childhood.
Sarah listens from the Void, smiling — her voice carried gently through Arthur, warm and steady.
For a while, the three of them simply exist —
sharing borrowed heat,
and borrowed hope.
Then—
The comms panel beeps.
Arthur opens his eyes.
“They’re here.”
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