1.6 - Alba

  Before the landing,

  In the Parvus’ prison block.

  “What the hell’s going on, Ishigami?!”

  “Hell if I know, Fauster! We were hit by something — the whole lower level’s a wreck,” her superior shouted through the holo-screen. “But we made it through the wormhole — that’s the good news!”

  Alba was dazed and bruised, but alive. Barely.

  After the impact that had sent her skidding across the floor, the hull had clearly been breached. She’d been flung through the prison block corridors and toward an adjacent sector. If she hadn’t grabbed a doorframe in time, she’d be drifting in vacuum by now.

  Worse, she’d nearly lost both hands when the Janitor’s safety protocol sealed that same door. She’d let go just in time.

  “What should I do, Ishigami?”

  “Listen, Fauster… I don’t know exactly what’s happening, but we’re probably about to crash. Whatever hit us dragged the ship into the planet’s orbit.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “As for what you’re supposed to do — it doesn’t matter,” Ishigami went on. “The sectors around you are a hellscape with no atmosphere. Scipio’s lost control of most of them.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?!” Alba snapped.

  “Run, Fauster. Get to a landing pod. That’s what I’m doing — and given how things look, the order’s coming any minute anyway.”

  The hologram flickered.

  “Good luck, Fauster. Ishigami out.”

  For a moment she just stood there, trying to think.

  Running for a pod would be the smart choice. The safe one.

  But that wasn’t why she was here.

  “This is the perfect opportunity — the only one I’ll get,” Alba muttered.

  No one would notice what she did until it was already done.

  Detach the prison block. Let the cryo-capsules scatter across the planet. Free Zweihander and the other Alters.

  Nearly impossible — until now.

  Scipio had always been cut off from the prison block. The reason was suddenly obvious: keeping the AI unaware of the Alters.

  But Scipio still held control over the emergency detachment system.

  And Ishigami just said Scipio had lost control of the lower hull.

  That meant she could bypass it. Manually eject the prison block.

  The problem was still the same as before. She didn’t know how to open the capsules.

  They weren’t standard issue.

  She’d dug through their systems the day before and discovered their security was nothing like anything she knew. They didn’t answer to military codes — not even the admiral’s ID.

  The language wasn’t even UN.SY.

  They required something else. A Science Bureau unknown authorization, or a command buried so deep even she hadn’t found it during her past intrusions.

  I’ll worry about that later.

  After all, she’d soon have a capsule all to herself.

  First, she needed to survive the fall.

  Alba made her choice.

  Her fingers flew across the omni-com. A moment later, a familiar floating orb zipped toward her under the flickering emergency lights.

  “Boris!” she shouted, running toward the AI.

  “Can you activate the emergency evacuation system for the prison block, or do I need access to your mainframe?”

  “Warning: Maker, what you’re asking is a highly illegal procedure—”

  “Just answer, damn it!” she barked, then forced herself to breathe. “…Can you?”

  “Explanation: Since the ship’s main AI appears to be offline, I could — but you would require level-three authorization to orde—”

  “Oh, come on, Boris!” She patted the metal sphere like a bald head.

  “Whose orders take priority — mine or the admiral’s?”

  “Answer: Maker, of course it’s the— ERROR. Your orders, Maker.”

  “Then prep for detachment! We’re going to land!” She jabbed a finger at his optics. “When I give the signal, eject the entire prison block.”

  Boris vanished as suddenly as he’d appeared.

  Alba turned and sprinted toward Zweihander’s cell.

  Traveling with him had been her second decision — right after jettisoning the block.

  She would’ve liked to grab food, water, more tools, but her belt and overalls held enough junk food to survive a couple of days.

  And there was no time left to waste. She’d already burned too much of it convincing Boris.

  If they got any closer to the planet, they wouldn’t survive the fall.

  The prison block wasn’t in terrible shape. Flickering lights, a blaring siren, debris scattered across the floor — most of it dragged toward a breach that had opened minutes earlier.

  At least she had a clean path to her destination.

  As she ran, Alba prepped the copied De Chevelle ID on her omni-com with a few quick taps.

  Using his credentials again would save time.

  And I’m about to turn deserter — no reason to keep secrets now.

  She reached Block 9. The cell was in sight.

  As soon as the control panel came within range, she swiped her wrist. The door hissed open.

  Alba dove through it, landing hard on her stomach.

  There was one minor issue. One she knew perfectly well — and was willing to risk anyway.

  These cells weren’t meant for guests.

  One room. One capsule. Maximum security.

  No seats. No restraints. No safety systems.

  But that didn’t mean no solutions.

  “Guess I’ll just have to strap myself… there.”

  She staggered toward the thick, curved bars protecting Zweihander’s capsule.

  She yanked a heavy carabiner from her belt and unspooled a reinforced strap from the attached winch — standard issue for zero-gravity repairs.

  She looped the strap around her hips, cinched it tight like a seatbelt, then threaded the line through the capsule’s ice-cold bars. She wound it twice, locked the carabiner, and cranked the motorized winch until the cable groaned.

  She tugged it once. Twice. Again.

  It held.

  She took a deep breath. Then a silent curse for every reckless idea she’d ever had.

  Only one thing left to do.

  She raised her arm and typed three letters into the omni-com.

  N. O. W.

  A second later, the door slammed shut.

  No going back.

  *CLANK — CLANK — CLANK — CLANK*

  Four mechanical thuds reverberated through the block. The cell shook. Her stomach flipped.

  The descent had begun.

  The dizziness swelled into crushing pressure — like a giant hand trying to force her through the ceiling.

  Every second it worsened.

  The pull stronger. The air hotter, despite being below zero moments before.

  The strap bit into her hips, cutting circulation — but it held her in place.

  “Gyyyaaaaa!”

  The entire cell rattled like it was tearing itself apart. Her scream vanished under the roar, inaudible even to her own ears.

  She kept screaming anyway.

  Minutes — or seconds — blurred together until something slammed her down.

  Gravity returned like a greedy lender — dragging her down with interests.

  “The parachute! I’m safe!”

  Tears streamed as she checked her arms, her legs.

  “I’m still in one piece!”

  But the worst hadn’t come yet.

  The real landing.

  Gravity-dampening parachutes reduced speed. They didn’t perform miracles.

  Steel screamed. The entire capsule jerked violently.

  Down became up — then down again.

  Reality spun, slammed, rebounded.

  She couldn’t scream anymore. Trapped inside an iron hurricane.

  —Pain detonated at the back of her skull, the shock rippling through her brain.

  The blurred cell vanished as consciousness slipped away.

  —

  She blinked several times, trying to figure out whether she was actually awake.

  Darkness. Cold.

  If she could see anything, it would probably be spinning. Her skull throbbed like she’d downed cheap Venusian beer the night before.

  “W-w-where am I?” Alba croaked.

  Her hand fumbled to the back of her head, fingers finding a swollen lump beneath her hair.

  Memory trickled back. The capsule. The descent.

  “R-right… I landed… I’m alive…”

  She groaned, stretched her arms — and froze.

  “W-wait — why are my arms up?!”

  Her hair brushed against her hand. The world tilted.

  Everything was upside down.

  She was upside down — still hanging from the strap she’d tied around her waist. Her boots touched something icy.

  A sneeze blasted out of her, doubling the headache.

  At least her senses were back.

  Zweihander’s capsule looks intact, she noticed.

  She had actually made it.

  Not a perfect landing — but a landing. Solid ground, judging by how the capsules had tumbled.

  It took several minutes of awkward squirming before Alba managed to unhook the strap and drop onto what used to be the ceiling. She stood, swayed — then went straight to her knees.

  Her stomach lurched.

  She threw up.

  The next half hour passed with her sitting against the wall, sipping water from her metal bottle.

  “Ugh… I really took a beating,” she muttered, rubbing the lump again.

  Another sneeze hit her like a second impact.

  “But most of all… I’m freezing!” she snapped. “I need to open this thing.”

  The capsule had turned the entire cell into a freezer.

  After another minute of breathing through the pain, she pushed herself up. Her legs trembled, her skull pounded, but she could move. A real rest might fix the rest — probably.

  She stumbled toward the exit, guided by the faint blinking of the control panel now hanging sideways above her. She touched her omni-com.

  The door hissed open.

  Warm air rushed in — Breathable, clean air.

  Humid, carrying scents she couldn’t name but instantly recognized as alive.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as the cold haze from the cell spilled out behind her.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  When she opened them again, light struck her face.

  The fog was gone.

  Two moons hung above — one pale gray, the other faint green — their glow washing over the landscape. Unknown constellations gleamed sharp across the sky.

  It felt like standing in open space.

  But she wasn’t.

  Her gaze slowly dropped.

  An alien world unfolded before her: a vast plain of tall grass rippling under the wind. The smell — sharp, earthy — was the scent of life itself.

  “T-they really told the t-truth…” she stammered, voice trembling with awe. “This place exists. We really can start over.”

  Tears welled as she smiled at the wild, untouched beauty.

  This is where it could happen.

  No UN.SY.

  No Science Bureau.

  No rules and controls to hide from.

  A clean slate.

  She, Zweihander, the Alters — all of them could live here.

  Alba wiped her face, but the tears kept coming — not from fear, but something rarer.

  She raised her fist toward the twin moons and drew a deep breath.

  “Freedom!”

  The cry was carried far across the plains.

  When the excitement subsided and the headache took over, she waited for dawn slouched against the capsule, drifting between half-sleep and shallow dreams.

  At some point she must have passed out properly, because the next thing she felt was warmth on her face — sunlight filtering through her eyelids.

  She stirred, groaning, and rubbed the back of her head.

  Feels better already.

  She’d never truly been sick — except on paper, to skip work.

  Maybe her Alter blood was to thank for that.

  “I Guess regeneration’s one of the perks too.”

  Stepping out of the pod, she took in the view.

  To the left, a forest-draped hill rose toward a towering, white-capped mountain. To the right, endless plains stretched until they met another forest smudged against the horizon.

  The air was heavy and wet — tropical, she thought.

  “Well… not a bad place for a fresh start,” she said, unzipping her overalls and slipping her arms out of the sleeves.

  Judging by the sun’s height, it was near midday already.

  As tempting as it was to wander, strolling around blind would be idiotic.

  Exploring Agua could wait.

  First priority: make sure no one could find her.

  The fate of the other ships was still unknown, but nothing good waited in a reunion — not with UN.SY. survivors, not with Science Bureau retrieval teams, and definitely not with the admiral.

  The Tabula Picta didn’t worry her much. But if the Parvus had crashed, her pod wouldn’t be the only one down here. And the Mater Patriae was full of Bureau personnel.

  She’d quit the Navy a bit too dramatically.

  Technically fired herself mid-flight.

  She would probably soon be on a wanted list.

  Not only her, surely.

  “I might’ve gotten the cap’n into some trouble using his ID… but he’ll manage,” she muttered, waving the thought away.

  There was one critical task before anything else: finding and disabling the tracker buried inside the cryo-capsule.

  Her omni-com tracker had been deactivated ages ago so she could sneak her breaks unnoticed. The capsule’s was still active.

  If anyone was looking, that signal would lead them straight here.

  Alba ducked back inside and pulled a compact welder from her belt, crouching in the sunlight spilling through the hatch.

  Hours blurred together.

  At some point she had to remove her overalls entirely, working in boots, sports underwear, and soldering goggles.

  Despite the capsule’s chill, the air outside was suffocating — and welding didn’t help.

  The hard part wasn’t removing the locator.

  It was finding it without frying the capsule’s systems — or its occupant.

  She’d studied cryo-capsule schematics before, but Zweihander’s design was different. Not just the software, but the internal layout too. Even the tracker placement defied standard logic.

  By the time she found and destroyed it, her arms were shaking and the light outside had turned red. Scraps of metal littered the floor around her. Beyond the hatch, the sun was sinking while the two moons climbed, sharpening the grass into dark silhouettes.

  She gulped a sip of water and collapsed onto the floor with a long exhale.

  Night returned — and so did her headache.

  Her first day on Agua had ended in success.

  She fished a full-meal bar from the uniform she’d tossed aside and took another careful sip from the bottle.

  I should start exploring tomorrow. Find more supplies, she thought, shaking the nearly empty bottle.

  “A primitive planet, huh?” she murmured, leaning back.

  In the chaos of the crash, she hadn’t noticed how alive the plains were.

  Now she heard it clearly — calls, cries, chittering.

  Dark shapes flitted across the red horizon: birds, or something close enough.

  “I wonder what kind of animals I’ll find tomorrow.”

  The buzzing reached her before the thought finished.

  Something landed on the toe of her boot.

  Hairy. Winged. The size of her hand. Too many legs. Four antennae already prodding at her boot.

  —A freaking alien bug.

  “Gyaaa!”

  She shrieked, snatching up the welder and firing.

  *Fwoosh.*

  The creature burst.

  Her boot smoked.

  The bug was gone.

  “That could’ve been bad. That could’ve been really bad,” she gasped, heart hammering.

  Maybe teeming with life wasn’t such a good thing after all.

  UN.SY. had mentioned native species, sure. But hearing it in a briefing was one thing.

  Facing them alone in the dark was another.

  She slapped her Omni-com, sealing the blast door. Better cold than in bad company.

  “What if that thing bit me? What if it was poisonous?” She froze. “Or intelligent?!”

  Her imagination went rogue.

  We welcome you to our planet, human. I am—

  *Fwoosh.*

  —Torched again.

  “I don’t want to think about that anymore.” Muttering to herself, Alba slid back into her overalls and curled up on the cell’s floor.

  The alien night buzzed around her — clicking, chirping, skittering sounds leaking even through a meter of metal.

  Probably just her imagination.

  Probably.

  —

  Her second day began better.

  She woke an hour after dawn with no headache and silently thanked her Alter-human blood for the second time since landing. That alone might keep her alive on a world probably crawling with alien bacteria, parasites, and viruses.

  “—and bugs,” she added with a grimace.

  Today she’d meet them all.

  “I-I guess it’s finally time,” she muttered, swallowing hard.

  A touch to the panel, and the blast doors hissed open. Morning air poured in, warm and heavy with scent.

  Before stepping out, she ran through a quick mental checklist.

  Food: limited — mostly junk snacks stuffed into uniform pockets.

  Water: none — already thirsty.

  Shelter: the capsule — for now.

  She glanced up. Not a cloud in sight.

  “I don’t think it’s raining anytime soon…”

  Her eyes drifted left, toward the distant mountain where sunlight caught on snow.

  “Snow means water, right? I’ll head there.”

  Water came first. Then food.

  Her hand brushed the UN.SY. Navy sidearm at her hip.

  Every crew member carried one, even technicians. Nothing fancy — a magnetic pistol firing flat, disc-shaped rounds. Reliable to forty meters.

  She wasn’t a sniper, but Eden training had taught her enough.

  The gun had several modes — non-lethal, semi-auto, full-auto, five-shot burst — but she only had one magazine.

  Fifty rounds.

  “Guess hunting’s safer than eating random plants.”

  If there were insects and birds, there had to be bigger things in the forest.

  …bigger bugs too.

  The thought made her shiver, fingers tightening on the grip.

  Once she secured food and water, there was still the capsule. She needed to open it and wake Zweihander.

  And she didn’t have much time. The longer she stayed near the crash site, the higher the chance someone would find her.

  A UN.SY. patrol might already be searching for ejected pods — ones that, unlike hers, had sent distress signals.

  Some might have landed close.

  She’d considered cutting power to the capsule. But that would kill the Alter — or leave him dormant for weeks.

  She needed the password.

  And it wouldn’t be numbers or letters.

  She flicked open her omni-com and projected the capsule’s prompt.

  —Τ? ζητε??;

  The translator recognized it, luckly.

  What do you seek?

  She hadn’t dared answer.

  The wrong input could trigger something irreversible.

  —And she couldn’t make sense of it anyway.

  UN.SY. loved dead languages, but Latin was their usual poison. Greek was new.

  Still, dehydration would kill her faster than a bad guess — and hacking ancient Greek security systems required a full stomach.

  With her priorities settled, Alba took a deep breath and stepped into the sea of grass — the first human explorer of Agua, she liked to think — walking straight into the unknown.

  —

  Not even a kilometer in, the thicket turned steep and tangled. The higher she climbed, the denser it grew.

  Alba hiked for hours, relying on the compass projected by her omni-com to stay oriented. At some point the trees swallowed the mountain from view entirely.

  Her uniform had become a portable sauna. The canopy spared her the worst of the sun, but the humidity made it feel like she was breathing through a wet cloth.

  And she had nothing to drink.

  Without water, her tongue felt drier than the leaves crunching under her boots. Still, she refused to unzip the overalls. Better to sweat than find out what these plants or bugs could do to bare skin.

  Roots twisted across the ground like veins. Plants of all kinds sprouted in clusters between them. Sinuous branches blocked the path at times, forming shallow walls she had to push through.

  The whole forest felt alive, overwhelming her senses with alien signals.

  Sharp, organic scents. A chorus of buzzing and chirping. Wet greens and purples shimmering in the light.

  Sunbeams cut through clouds of golden pollen and hung there, visible lines trembling like threads underwater. When they passed through dew, they scattered into ripples of color.

  She felt less like she was walking through a forest and more like she was moving across the floor of a pond.

  Slow. Submerged. Every sound muffled and strange.

  She’d never hiked anywhere outside a park before. And that had been years ago.

  But Alba was learning fast.

  The vegetation followed a pattern. Two or three tree types repeating endlessly.

  The first resembled a palm, with smooth purple trunks and wide, green-striped leaves fanning out like fronds. Dark red, pinecone-shaped fruits crowned each one. She’d seen birds circling them.

  “Maybe edible,” she muttered. “If I find one on the ground, I’ll risk a bite.”

  The second type grew in twisted tangles of thin green trunks, several braided together before splitting apart again. Clusters of yellow flowers hung between them.

  Lovely. And absolutely suspicious.

  She gave them a wide berth. Flowers meant bugs. Sure enough, she spotted those hairy flying centipedes buzzing lazily around them.

  The third kind was rarer. Thick and solid, its bark covered in orange fur. Earth-like, but wrong. Hairy.

  Fungus, by the looks of it.

  It might be edible, but mushrooms were a pro-level gamble, and she was a beginner explorer at best.

  For now, her safest bet for food was the birds.

  She hadn’t seen one clearly yet, but they had wings, beaks, two legs. Close enough to Earth’s recipe for edible after a good roast.

  Their distant chirping was oddly comforting.

  Everything else around her crawled, clicked, or scampered.

  She even spotted green, moss-covered land crabs about the size of MSS rats.

  Or at least she hoped they were crabs. The alternative — giant spider-like insects — was not something she wanted confirmed.

  When one climbed down a trunk near her, she started checking every branch before taking another step.

  MSS rats could eat those pampered dogs the upper class liked to show off. She doubted those pincers would be gentle.

  But if the birds proved too quick, well… the crabs would be dinner.

  “Ugh,” she groaned at the thought.

  A few meters ahead, a purple, fist-sized blob clung to a root, sucking on it with obscene devotion. Alba stepped wide around it and finally emerged at the top of a cliff.

  She exhaled in relief and let her burning legs rest.

  “Downhill should be easier…”

  Her body was done, but she still needed water and food before heading back to the pod.

  And quickly. She didn’t want to imagine what this forest turned into at night.

  “I guess it’s hunting time.”

  She shut her eyes, focusing on the chorus of chirps and cries, trying to isolate a single target.

  Then she blinked.

  There was another sound.

  A low murmur beneath everything else. Faint but steady. Making the air vibrate. Cool wind brushed her cheeks.

  Something flowing.

  “Is that… water?” she gasped. “Flowing water?! A river!”

  She picked up the pace, chasing the sound downhill. A few puddles appeared, some covered by leaves. Alba followed the trail westward, and before long—

  A stream.

  It wasn’t deep or wide enough to be called a river, but the water was so clear she could see gray stones glittering beneath the surface.

  She knelt by the edge, plunged her hands in, and scooped some up.

  Cold. Clean. Real.

  Her parched lips twitched, but she stopped herself.

  “Careful now, Alba…”

  She let the water fall through her fingers. She needed to drink, but she wasn’t stupid enough to gulp down alien water raw. What looked pure here could kill a stranger like her.

  She filled her metal bottle, then gathered dry leaves and twigs. A flick of her welder birthed a small flame, and she set the open bottle near it to boil.

  “Basic survival,” she muttered with a faint smirk. “Purify the water first. Rule one.”

  Her gaze lingered on the stream, almost hungry. She couldn’t drink yet — but she could wash.

  She didn’t need her nose to know she reeked. And she refused to meet Zweihander for the first time looking like a monkey-girl.

  After a few nervous glances around, she undressed slowly, hesitating with each piece.

  By the time she was done, the water inside the bottle was bubbling. She capped it, wedged it in the wet gravel to cool, and stepped barefoot into the stream.

  The shock made her gasp. The chill bit into her skin — but in a way that felt satisfying.

  That sudden cold felt like proof she’d survived.

  What the hell have I done?

  The thought she’d been burying clawed its way back.

  She’d released one-hundred and eight wanted criminals. Turned herself into an outlaw when she barely knew how to shoot a gun. Betrayed the only superior who’d ever been kind to her.

  Now she was alone — stranded on a planet she knew nothing about — with a cryo-capsule she couldn’t open and a man inside she only knew through old tales.

  All for a dream belonging to people long dead or frozen. For stories her grandfather once told of a life different from the one UN.SY. offered.

  Maybe she really was insane. Maybe this was just suicide wrapped in a romantic ideal, pushed into being by her impulsive nature.

  —But she’d done it.

  And now she’d found water.

  She would make it another day.

  That alone already felt like hope.

  Alba splashed her face, water mixing with tears. For the first time since landing — maybe long before that — she felt at peace.

  Standing naked in the stream, surrounded by untouched wilderness, what she longed for felt close.

  She let the current run over her skin, rinsing sweat, dirt, and fear alike.

  *Gruh-gruh.*

  A low, guttural sound rolled through the trees.

  “That’s not a bird,” she whispered.

  To her left, on the far side of the stream, three shapes were drinking.

  Brown, fuzzy balls.

  She bolted for her belt, yanked her pistol free, and turned toward the noise.

  Now she could see them clearly.

  Creatures like a mix between a rodent and a platypus. Short, shiny fur. Black webbed paws on stubby legs. Rounded snouts without visible teeth. Bulbous foreheads drooping over tiny black eyes.

  A giant mouse? Or maybe some kind of alien pig…

  The creatures turned to stare at her in eerie unison.

  They didn’t run.

  She froze. Waited.

  They resumed drinking.

  “Kind of cute,” she whispered.

  Then she raised her gun.

  “But edible.”

  *Ptew-ptew-ptew.*

  Three silent shots. Magnetic rounds. The closest creature squealed and collapsed face-first into the stream, twitching. The other two bolted into the brush.

  “Sorry, little guy,” she murmured. “I’m just hungry.”

  When she stood over it, she fired once more, mercifully ending it.

  Silence returned.

  She crouched, studying the small body.

  “No muscle tone. No awareness,” she muttered. “And with those stubby legs, you weren’t going anywhere.”

  Whatever it was, it wasn’t dangerous. Almost domestic.

  “If this overgrown hamster’s living here, these woods can’t be that bad,” she smirked. “I just have to get used to the bugs.”

  She paused.

  “You know what? Since you look like a hamster and I’m about to eat you, I’ll call your species ham.”

  Water and dinner. Lucky day.

  After slipping back into her clothes, Alba tried lifting the carcass — and immediately realized it was far too heavy to carry all the way back.

  With a sigh, she pulled out her utility knife and began her first attempt at skinning and butchering.

  It was a truly disastrous one.

  She managed to hack off the four legs and two thick slabs of fat from the back. Nothing clean, nothing elegant. Just brute force and bad angles.

  During the process, she drained her bottle again and had to repeat the water purification routine a second time.

  Then she began the walk back.

  —

  By the time she made it to the landing pod, the sun was sinking fast.

  Before leaving the woods, she’d gathered enough dry wood for a modest fire. Not much, but enough to cook.

  Now Alba sat cross-legged before the flames, glaring at the four legs skewered upright in the dirt. Fat sizzled and popped as the heat caramelized the surface.

  She grabbed the first leg by the joint.

  And realized something.

  She had never eaten real meat before.

  Only synthetics — artificial flesh grown in vats, sometimes molded around fake bone for nostalgia.

  She bit in, cautious.

  Then flavor exploded across her tongue.

  “Wow… this is good!”

  Half the meat vanished in two bites.

  “Delicious!”

  By the third, stopping was no longer an option.

  She tore into the second leg, devouring it.

  Tender. Smoky. Faintly sweet. It melted in her mouth like hot pudding — probably tasted like what people claimed fried chicken once did.

  Soon only bones remained.

  Luckily, she’d had the foresight to keep the two back cuts for tomorrow. Zweihander’s capsule made an excellent fridge.

  As the fire dimmed and night crept in, Alba leaned against the capsule’s wall — stuffed, exhausted, and strangely proud.

  She pulled out her omni-com and began scrolling through the data she’d copied from Boris.

  She’d scanned the backup countless times. Still no sign of a key. Nothing buried. Nothing encrypted. Nothing useful.

  Does it even make sense to store the capsule key in an AI’s memory? she wondered. If the plan was to retrieve the Alters later, it wouldn’t.

  She sighed. Detaching the power supply and praying might be her only option.

  Out of boredom, she kept browsing Boris’s memory.

  Her eyes stopped on the playlists folder.

  “This music sucks,” she muttered, “but maybe there’s something that’ll help me sleep.”

  She was more tired than she’d ever been. Agua’s gravity was slightly heavier than Earth’s, and after a full day of hiking, it felt like the planet had tried to crush her under its boots.

  She flicked through the playlists — mostly UN.SY. hymns.

  Then one file made her grimace.

  Sounds of Heavy Artillery Throughout Human History.

  “Ugh — H.O.Pe. humans’ taste in music is truly something else.”

  She stopped for a second, frowning.

  Then opened the file details.

  No author name. Only a date: one year ago.

  But she already knew who had uploaded it.

  The Janitor had told her that morning, when it had played that horrible record to wake her up — Admiral Cornelius himself.

  The prison block AI had been isolated from the rest of the ship. Cornelius must have uploaded it there personally. The Janitor had logged his access to the core — that’s how it knew.

  “Now… why would the admiral do something like that?” she muttered.

  She launched a scan for hidden encryption.

  As the omni-com hummed through the night, Alba’s eyelids grew heavier.

  She drifted off.

  When she woke, the grass outside was rustling in the sun.

  Morning already.

  A hologram blinked beside her.

  Her gaze snapped to the screen.

  “I knew it!”

  The scan had finished while she slept — a hidden file embedded beneath the music.

  “UN.SY. level-three encryption?”

  Government-level classified material. And, curiously, something only the admiral’s authorization could open.

  But this — unlike the capsule’s ancient Greek riddle — was something she’d dealt with before.

  It’s the capsule key. What else could it be?

  She ran one of her black-market decryptors, tapping through menus with a grin.

  A progress bar appeared.

  Estimated time: 4 hours, 50 minutes.

  “Oh, come on!”

  Still. Progress was progress.

  No point wasting five hours sitting around.

  She turned toward the mountain again.

  “Guess I’ll head back to the river. Need more water. More food. And a little less anxiety…”

  She paused, finger tapping her chin.

  “If I can catch another one of those docile furballs alive, I can test which plants are edible.”

  “Zweihander’s going to be impressed when I wake him up tonight.” The following chuckle came out half-proud, half-deranged.

  She skipped breakfast — still full from the ham’s meat — and decided saving two steaks for two people would make her look far more competent.

  Alba headed out.

  Her pace was slower today. Her legs ached from yesterday’s climb. Still, she pushed on toward the stream, driven by excitement more than hunger.

  “Finally!” she exclaimed at the crest of the hill. “Now it’s a walk in the park.”

  She massaged her thighs, catching her breath.

  At first, she didn’t notice it.

  The forest ahead was quieter than before. Fewer birds. Only faint chirping behind her.

  Then she heard it.

  A distant sound rising from the valley below.

  A shout — low, guttural, echoing.

  Not the call of a beast.

  Not words either.

  But it was a voice.

  And not a human one.