Sigrid sat on the edge of the cargo platform, helmet off, a half-finished ration bar in one hand. Across the clearing, a new convoy rumbled in—four flatbed crawlers hauling crates of freshly extracted ore from the thorium deposit. At the head was Shirong, perched behind the wheel of the lead vehicle, his new vehicle already marked with mineral dust and the wear of rough work.

  She stood and waved as he pulled up. The driver’s hatch popped open, and Shirong emerged—tall, relaxed, a streak of dry soil down one side of his coveralls.

  “Good haul?” she asked.

  Shirong grinned. “Better than expected. The vein is richer than the scans predicted. We’ll need a second processing station if this keeps up.”

  “Better too much than too little,” Sigrid replied.

  As they walked along the makeshift depot’s perimeter, Sigrid glanced over toward the section where the cryopods were still being organized. Guowei and Kucugur were nowhere in sight, but she could feel the weight of their actions lingering over the manifest like a shadow.

  For a moment, she considered telling Shirong. He wasn’t aligned with CorpSec, and he had influence among the engineers and scientists. H was the first to take the implants, placing his trust in the Provider’s technology when many still hesitated. But stopped herself. Shirong wasn’t part of that game. Not yet.

  “We recovered a lot of pods, but we can’t carry everyone at once,” Sigrid said instead, motioning to the pods stacked by the loader. “We’re staggering them. It’s messy.”

  He gave her a sympathetic look. “Limited capacity’s going to be our story for a while. But every pod you bring back is a life saved. Even if they have to wait in line.”

  They stood for a moment in silence, watching ARI’s drones perform checks on the secured pods, scanning each for structural integrity and biological viability.

  Shirong raised an eyebrow. “Want to link up and hit the aft section wreck together? We brought drones and some crew we can spare.”

  Together, the teams organized and advanced toward the looming silhouette of the Dolya’s massive aft section wreck. The structure jutted from the cracked soil like the spine of a buried giant, alloy plating twisted and torn by atmospheric entry and the brutal crash. The ingress was slow—over broken hull panels and shattered scaffolding—but they made good progress. ARI’s lights mapped out safe pathways, and the main corridor yawned open ahead.

  Inside, it was cold and dim, dust filtering down from stress fractures in the ceiling. Metal creaked in the wind, and the emergency lights glowed faintly in places where ARI had partially restored systems to ease navigation.

  The group moved cautiously, helmet lights sweeping across the scorched and buckled walls.

  Sigrid was at the front with Otto and Shirong, with Guowei, Casimir and their CorpSec escort immediately behind. The moment they passed through the corridor breach, Otto slowed.

  Shirong glanced around. “This where that guy—what was his name—Pell? This where he got killed?”

  Sigrid nodded once. “Right there. The creatures ploughed him right under that pile of rubble. What we recovered wasn’t pretty.”

  They looked toward the spot. Bloodstains had dried into flaking streaks, reddish-brown against grey steel. Bits of cracked carapace still lay scattered in the shadows—scraps from the creatures Pom and Maximilian had incinerated in their retreat.

  One of ARI’s drones hovered in place nearby, then slowly descended toward the stained floor. It paused above a blood-slick patch, extended a fine manipulator arm, and began to collect samples from the dried residue. Tiny instruments flicked out to scrape tissue, vacuum particles, and extract what little biological material remained embedded amongst the debris.

  Shirong tilted his head. “Why’s it doing that?”

  “Crewmember Pell was recycled before reinstatement protocols were available,” ARI replied. “But his genetic structure, data logs, and epigenetic residue remain retrievable. I intend to restore him to the best of my abilities.”

  Shirong stared at the drone. “You’re going to bring him back… from that?”

  “There is sufficient data,” ARI said. “Not all memories can be recovered. But core identity, behavioral models, and emotional signatures are preserved. I will reconstruct the rest as necessary.”

  Shirong exhaled, eyes flicking back to the bloodstained wall. “That’s…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

  Sigrid glanced at him, voice quiet. “Strange, right? Knowing that someone who died screaming in this corridor is going to wake up one day with no memory of it. He’ll just come back and keep going. As if nothing happened.”

  “Maybe better that way,” Otto answered.

  The group pressed deeper into the wreckage. The air grew stiller, heavier, the silence broken only by the clank of boots and the occasional chirp from ARI’s scanning drones.

  But the memory lingered in the corridor behind them—the ghost of a man ARI refused to let stay dead, and the certainty that even being reduced a mere smear of blood on metal was no longer the end.

  The air grew colder and tighter as the crew moved deeper into the Dolya’s ruptured aft section. Their lights danced over rows of cryopods, stacked six high along the reinforced walls—neatly slotted like relics in a tomb.

  Hundreds of them.

  Each with a name, a life frozen between ruin and rebirth.

  Otto paused at the edge of the chamber and swept his light across the wall of pods. "We're in it. Cryo Storage Bank 7A. This is the right deck structure, or close to it."

  Sigrid stepped up beside him, breath visible in the cold. “You think Jocelyn’s here?”

  “We need to find her,” Otto replied. “We owe that to Pom. We have the manifest. Her pod should be in the aft module.”

  “But this might not be the section she came down in,” Sigrid cautioned.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “I know,” Otto said. “We look anyway.”

  While he and Sigrid started cross-checking tags and pod IDs, CorpSec moved in to sweep the area and prep for transport. ARI’s drones floated overhead, projecting structural overlays and highlighting weakened supports.

  Yao Guowei and Kucugur paced the aisles, scanning pods and slapping yellow tags on high-priority targets. Casimir followed behind, a few steps slower, his suit not quite syncing with his movements.

  “I think I’ve got Jocelyn’s row,” Otto said over comms, just as a deep, wet hiss echoed from one of the side corridors.

  Everyone froze.

  Sigrid’s rifle came up instantly. “What was that?”

  Then it came again—closer.

  From the far end of the chamber, movement. Shadows twisting between the pods. Then the flicker of something fast—too fast.

  Otto’s pulse spiked.

  “No—no, no, no—” he gasped, reliving his previous encounter. He ducked instinctively, just as a gob of corrosive fluid splattered across the wall behind him.

  “Spitters!” Guowei shouted. “Stalkers too—contact left, rear bulkhead!”

  ARI reacted instantly. The drones unleashed a curtain of laser pulses, drawing targeting lines across the narrow corridors. Red beams slashed through the darkness, cutting down the first wave of beetles and stalkers, but more poured from side vents and fractured ductwork.

  “Fall back!” Guowei ordered. “Casimir, suppress the right lane!”

  Casimir’s rifle lit up the dark, rounds sparking against metal and carapace. The narrow corridors magnified the sound—each impact was deafening, a riot of fire and light in the choking dark.

  Then the bulkheads exploded inward—more stalkers, smaller swarm creatures, and one massive shape pushing through the wreckage like a freight train.

  “Big one!” someone shouted. “East corridor!”

  The creature’s claws tore through a pod frame, sending shattered metal fragments flying. Casimir turned, trying to adjust his aim. Guowei was already ahead, his suit reacting fluidly as he swept up two of his team and covered their retreat with burst fire.

  “Casimir, fall back!” Guowei barked.

  Casimir turned, saw the team retreating down a side corridor, then looked back at the advancing brute.

  He realized he wouldn’t make it if he ran.

  More importantly, they wouldn’t make it if he slowed them down.

  He opened the comms. “Go. I’ll hold it.”

  “Negative,” Guowei snapped. “Casimir, don’t—”

  But Casimir was already moving. He braced himself, firing his grenade launcher into the stalkers swarming toward him. The explosion shredded them, sending bits of carapace and fluid spraying down the hall.

  The brute roared.

  Casimir turned toward it, heart pounding, suit flashing red warnings. The massive creature barreled toward him.

  He fired again. The grenade impacted low, detonating against its knee joint and knocking it off balance.

  “Come on, come on—” he exclaimed. He switched to high-power grenade and unloaded into its exposed chest. The creature screamed and lunged.

  Simultaneously, a spitter launched its deadly glob at Casimir. It caught him in the side, burning through his armor. He staggered.

  Another stalker dropped from the ceiling, claws tearing through his shoulder plate.

  Casimir dropped his rifle, his strength fading.

  His remaining arm cycled his grenade launcher, and aimed straight down.

  “See you soon,” he whispered, closing his eyes.

  The blast rocked the corridor.

  The corridor lit up with flame and fragments.

  And then it was silent.

  A few moments later, ARI’s voice came in, clear and emotionless.

  “Casimir is deceased. Neural sync terminated.”

  The team stopped just outside the breach, gasping for breath.

  Otto leaned back against the cold wall, panting. His hands trembled slightly.

  “Hell of a way to go,” Sigrid said.

  “Indeed,” Otto agreed. “I'll have to thank him for that when we get back to base.”

  Guowei was quiet, staring at the sealed corridor behind them. Then he gave a curt nod.

  ARI’s drones reformed the forward perimeter, scanning for more dormant creatures while the crew circled back to retrieve the waiting pods.

  ===

  The atmosphere in the base was quiet, but not still. Screens along the command center flickered with telemetry from the field. A calm status tone emanated from the reinstatement chamber, a new slab of alien substrate being loaded up.

  Casimir Stephanov’s name glowed in amber on the queue.

  In the admin wing, Mei stood with Tamarlyan near the overlook, where one could see the crater edge and the dust drifting in lazy coils beyond the outer towers.

  “They’re already printing him,” Mei said quietly. “Casimir.”

  Tamarlyan nodded. “So ARI said. They’ll finish the sync once the hauler gets back.”

  Mei was silent a moment. “He was scared when he came in for the scan. Said it felt wrong. Like a copy, even though he agreed to it.”

  Tamarlyan gave a dry smile. “Fear doesn’t cancel faith. He did it anyway. And ARI made sure it mattered.”

  The bioframe was already forming, white flesh knitting itself over a scaffold of accelerated cell growth and lattice templates. His latest backup was fully integrated, and the final memories from the convoy would be merged when it returned—memories of his last moments, of what he’d seen, felt, and done.

  Death had become but a minor inconvenience.

  ===

  Elisa looked up from her screen as Tamarlyan stepped in. The office door slid closed behind him.

  “You saw the report?” she asked.

  “I did,” he replied. “Casimir’s already halfway through reconstruction. The team got what they came for.”

  “Yes. And ARI says Jocelyn’s pod may be amongst the retrieved." Elisa sighed. "That’s going to be complicated.”

  Tamarlyan took the seat across from her without asking. “You didn’t call me here to talk about Casimir or Jocelyn.”

  “No.” Elisa folded her hands. "I want your take on the resurrection tech. And the Provider."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Personal opinion or political calculus?"

  “Both.”

  Tamarlyan leaned back. “The technology is transformative. Immortality, neural duplication, reconstructive recovery. This is the culmination of everything the topscalers were pushing for back home—longer life, more influence, more leverage. Every technological advantage was ultimately just a means to that end. It was always about gaining or preserving dominance.”

  “And now?” Elisa asked.

  “Now, the playing field is being leveled," he said. "Which is... thrilling." He smiled faintly. "To have what they were always reaching for, but here, where it might actually matter. It’s something I’m personally excited about.”

  Elisa studied him, then said carefully, “You don’t seem too enthusiastic about bringing the other topscalers back.”

  Tamarlyan's smile faded.

  “No,” he said. “I'm not.”

  “That surprises me,” Elisa said.

  “It shouldn’t,” he replied. “The Provider’s technology flips the entire hierarchy on its head. If no one dies, no one needs heirs. That makes people like me a competitor—unless I adapt.” He looked at her sharply. “And the others won’t want to adapt. They’ll want their old game back, the game that they know they can win.”

  “And you inherited the share package,” Elisa said quietly.

  Tamarlyan gave a dry chuckle. “Yes. And I foresee conflict. Endless litigation. Power plays. They won’t want to be equal participants. They will divide and manipulate. Right now, the biggest wedge they can drive is between us and the Provider. They’ll stoke the distrust some already feel. Push every narrative of dependency, of alien control. And some will listen.”

  Elisa was quiet for a moment. “And you? To be absolutely frank, I still don’t know if I can trust you.”

  Tamarlyan looked at her for a long moment. “Because I’m one of them.”

  She nodded.

  He didn’t speak right away. Then, softly: “I don’t benefit from the old order anymore, Commander. It was already fraying before we left Sol. Now it’s shattered.” He stepped closer. “And frankly? I don’t want to rebuild it. I want something better.”

  “Do you think the Provider’s system is better?”

  “I think it has to be,” he said. “We squeezed everything we could from human civilization. We broke the wheel and spun the pieces. The Provider? Whatever it has, whatever Empire it built—at least it moved forward. I want in on that.”

  There was a long pause. Then Tamarlyan leaned forward slightly.

  “Let me offer something in return.”

  He tapped his wrist console. A file pinged on Elisa's screen.

  Elisa blinked as she read the notification. It was short. Direct.

  Legal confirmation of heir designation.

  She looked up, stunned. “You named me?”

  “If I die,” Tamarlyan said smoothly, “you will inherit my shares. And no, the company bylaws haven’t changed. Immortality doesn’t nullify succession clauses. It just makes them awkward.”

  Elisa stared at him. “You’re serious.”

  “Deadly.” He smirked. “Well—formerly deadly.”

  Her voice caught slightly in her throat. "Why?"

  "Because you don’t want power for its own sake," he said. "That’s the kind of person who should have it."

  She stared at him for a long moment. And for the first time since their alliance began, she believed him.

  “Alright, Tamarlyan,” she said. “I trust you.”

  He nodded once.

  “Then let’s change everything.”