004.01 – Ashes of Silence
The mess hall was quieter than usual, but not entirely quiet. Plates scraped, utensils tapped, and at the end of the counter Rotan was fiddling with a broken nutrient synthesizer and mumbling under his breath. He’d sworn he’d fix this thing several times in the past few weeks. Meanwhile, everyone was gathered for an impromptu ship update.
Hagok stood at the head of the table, arms loosely folded.
“We need to address a few things,” he began. “Zion, let’s start with sensor diagnostics. How we doin’ there?”
Zion looked up from her tablet. “The sensor net has been recalibrated to detect the radiation that corrupted our utrium supply. It’s tuned now to detect that particular band of UV. If anything even similar is out there, we’ll know before it reaches us or we reach it.”
“That’s good to hear,” Hagok said.
“We should move the ship farther from the gravitic flux zone,” Rotan added, not looking up from his repairs. “We’re still skimming the outer distortion ring of the singularity. Makes my blood feel all buzzy.”
“That’s just the caffeine,” Rhea quipped. A couple of tired chuckles rippled around the table.
“We are far enough, Gizi assures me. What about food?” Hagok moved on.
Kuma pulled up a report. “Hydro cells are stable. We lost a batch during the corruption, but we’ve re-seeded. Rations will hold another 40 days, well within accepted parameters. We’ll be fine if we stick to the schedule I’ve prepared.”
“And repairs?” Hagok asked.
Getro spoke up, his tone gruff but even. “Micro fractures on the hull in subdeck four cargo bay, patched. The main propulsion grid is still rerouting power in waves, but she’s holding. Gizi’s been compensating well.”
Artelle crossed her arms. “Then, there’s the child.”
Silence, like a stone in a pond.
Zea didn’t move. The others looked to him.
“Still in stasis,” he said quietly. “Vitals are stable, no change.”
Zion tilted her head. “He doesn’t register on any of our genetic markers. Doesn’t match any known lineages, not even the older records.”
“So where is he from?” Oromi asked, voice low.
No one answered.
As the others continued discussing contingencies, theories, and philosophical implications, Zea’s eyes glazed slightly. There was a flicker not in his vision, but in his mind. Like something brushed against his consciousness. Cold, measured yet familiar.
He reached inward.
A shimmer, a voice without words, a memory not yet lived.
Carodia. It had entered his mind.
He inhaled slowly and blinked the moment away. The crew hadn’t noticed.
His mind snapped back to the gathering.
“He came here for a reason…” Rhea said.
Kolnar interrupted, “We need to put him back. He didn’t come here; we brought him here, and maybe against his will.”
“…We need to figure out who he is and why he was there before we do anything,” Artelle replied.
Hagok gave a small nod. “Agreed. Let’s try and do some good here. Let’s figure out who he is, and we can move from there.”
The hum of the ship continued beneath their feet, steady but distant, like the heartbeat of something ancient and waiting.
004.02 – Beneath the Dust
Zion sat alone in the sensor bay, the lights dimmed to their lowest glow. A soft hum radiated from the walls as data poured across the display in slow, measured waves. The slab’s entry trajectory blinked in gold, twisting like a thread unraveling from space itself.
She frowned. “Gizi, is this path correct?”
“Yes,” Gizi replied. “The trajectory has been extrapolated from the slab’s onboard guidance system. It arrived autonomously. It appears the ship in which you found it had only just intercepted it.”
“I don’t understand,” Zion said. “What happened to the ships? Who destroyed them?”
“I am picking up no residual weapons discharges in the area,” Gizi offered.
Before Zion could respond, a low chime pulsed through the particle sensor array. She leaned closer.
“There’s a quantum field forming around the slab,” Gizi reported. “Virtual particles are blinking in and out of existence at irregular intervals, but no consistent pattern has emerged.”
Zion’s eyes widened. “That’s not a static disturbance… it’s ramping up.” She stood. “Gizi, erect a localized containment field around the slab. Full harmonic isolation.”
“Confirmed,” Gizi replied. “Temporal dampening grid is now active.”
Artelle called everyone to the cargo bay. Hagok listened quietly as Zion briefed the team. A hollow map projected the derelict zone, dozens of wrecks frozen in silent orbit around a single void.
“This wasn’t random,” Zion began. “This corridor was a kill zone. Most of the ships were destroyed before they had time to engage.”
“An ambush?” Rhea asked, gripping her sword.
Zion shook her head. “An unintended massacre.”
Kolnar crossed his arms. “And yet somehow, one object survived. The slab.”
Zion nodded. “Because that’s what destroyed every ship out here.”
A stillness took hold of the room as everyone turned their attention to the slab at once.
“We need to get rid of it,” Kolnar suggested.
Just then, a tremor passed through the floor, barely perceptible, but real. A ripple of distortion flickered across the hologram, scattering light.
“What was that?” Hagok snapped.
Zion turned back to the console. “A temporal shockwave. The slab is generating a quantum field around it and is emitting pulses in short bursts. I think that’s what destroyed the ships in the zone. Not weapons. Time itself.”
Rotan interrupted her. “Wait, are you saying that this slab is from the future?”
Gizi’s voice echoed overhead. “The containment field is holding, but energy build-up continues. Utrium appears to be stabilizing the slab’s core reaction.”
“Yes,” Zion replied.
“Of course—utrium!” Rotan interjected. “Utrium naturally contains the build-up of virtual particles.”
“Exactly. I took our utrium reserves and placed it inside the slab,” Zion continued. “I believe the previous crew realized what was happening. They placed utrium on the slab to neutralize the cascade…”
Kuma interrupted, “It wasn’t storage, it was containment. They were trying to hold something back.”
“…And I’m guessing it was already too late for them,” Zion concluded.
“So, time is pulling its property back to its point of origin, and there’s nothing we can do,” Hagok thought out loud.
“We can destroy it,” Kolnar suggested.
“We are not destroying it. We are not killing the child inside,” Zea said in a commanding voice. Kolnar’s stare was cold and cut straight through the tension.
“Gizi, how long can the containment field hold?” Hagok asked.
“The quantum field is being partially neutralized with the utrium reserves. It is continuing to generate at a much slower pace. However, it’s still building up. I calculate it will hold until this time tomorrow, unless we take all the utrium full cells we just installed and place them back into the slab. If we do that, the field will hold indefinitely.”
“Alright, twenty-four hours. Let’s figure this out.”
As everyone walked out, Hagok pulled Kolnar back.
“If we can’t figure it out, we need a plan B,” Hagok said. He nodded slowly and deliberately. A calculated motion laced with unspoken meaning.
Kolnar didn’t blink. “Yes, Captain. I understand.”
004.03 – The Child and the Rift
The chamber where the boy lay was dark, bathed in a low violet hue that pulsed in sync with his breath. Stasis kept him warm, stable, quiet but not entirely still. The child’s eyes didn’t open, yet beneath the lids, they moved rapidly, tracking dreams no one could see.
Artelle and Rotan stood at separate consoles, working, desperately trying to figure out what to do to save him.
“You think he’s aware of us?” Artelle asked, her voice soft so as not to wake the passenger.
Rotan didn’t turn. “I think he was aware of us before we ever opened the slab.”
Artelle snorted but didn’t disagree. “I ran every bio-check I know. He’s not in suspended animation, not really. It’s like… his body’s waiting for a signal.”
Rotan tilted his head slightly. “Who is he? Is he scared, in a happy place?” He scratched the back of his neck. “So what’s your take?”
“He’s not in danger. But he isn’t a passenger either. He’s… connected. I’ve never seen anything like it. His neural patterns echo like music repeating itself in waves. It’s not random; it’s almost like he’s talking out loud.”
“Think he’s trying to communicate?” Rotan asked.
Just then a massive shock rocked the ship, alarms started screeching, metals buckled.
Rotan was knocked off of his feet. “Are we under attack?”
“Gizi, route all available reserved power to the containment field.”
A few tones later: “Containment field restored.”
Down in the engineering deck, a cooling intake had burst from the last shockwave, and vapor filled the room in low, slow waves. Zea leaned over the console, eyes locked on the rippling data feed Gizi had extrapolated from the slab. There, beneath the main trajectory, a deeper waveform shimmered like a heartbeat buried inside an engine’s hum.
“Gizi, shut off the pressure valve to the secondary unit,” Kuma ordered. “I’ll repair it manually through the utility corridor.” The vapor flow slowed to a hiss before shutting off. Kuma walked out, mumbling under his breath something about not liking to crawl through the hot utility corridors.
Zea was focused on the singularity when he felt it again.
Not fear, not confusion—a familiar brush at the edge of thought, something reaching, not random. Carodia.
But this time he accepted the call, exhaled through his nose, and let his mind slip inward, unannounced, unseen.
The ripple met him halfway.
In that place where time had no voice, he found the boy.
Floating. Flickering.
“Hey,” Zea said, not aloud, but within. “You’re not alone.”
The boy turned in the void, or maybe it was just a thought shifting. His shape was young, uncertain, and trembling. Zea felt the panic before he heard it. The boy was reaching out with his mind without any knowledge of what he was doing. They were both sharing space where minds could meet, unspoken and bare. Even without their universal translator, their thoughts spoke to one another.
“Where am I?”
“You’re safe,” Zea answered. “You’re on a ship. We found you inside the slab.”
“I don’t remember… I don’t know where I was before.”
Zea knelt within the thoughtspace, the folds of Carodia responding like breath. “That’s okay. You don’t need to remember everything yet.”
“Am I going home?”
Zea hesitated. Then: “I’ll make sure of it.”
The current surged briefly. Zea could feel the boy trying to form a question, something about where he was, about who Zea was, but it dissolved before it became whole.
“What’s your name?” Zea asked.
The boy’s presence flickered. A word hovered in Carodia, not spoken, but true.
Casey.
“Casey, my name is Zea, and we will help you get home.”
The connection rippled violently and was interrupted.
Zea’s senses were yanked back into the room as Artelle’s voice cut through the haze over comms.
“Zea! Kolnar’s pulling the Vaila out of the dock. He’s got the team trying to eject the slab into space.”
The last whisper of Carodia faded. Zea’s jaw clenched.
004.05 – Contact
The bay doors opened. The slab began its slow journey outward, gliding above the deck. The containment field held the atmosphere in place, allowing the Savasu to remain pressurized even as the monolith drifted closer to the cargo doors.
Zea stood near the edge of the bay, his hands clenched. “We never agreed to this.”
Hagok’s tone was neutral. “Your disagreement is noted.”
Farther out, the slab cleared the edge of the field. Kolnar’s voice came through the comms.
“Should I begin utrium extraction?”
Everyone looked at Hagok. Silence fell as he looked through the field out at the slab. “Cleared, begin extraction.”
Almost immediately, the quantum field surrounding the slab surged. Readings spiked. Static buzzed through the bay’s instruments.
Zea felt it more than the others. Casey’s thoughts still lingered in his mind. He had spoken with him, seen his fear. The child didn’t deserve this fate.
“Captain,” Gizi’s voice broke through. “Incoming transmission.”
“Route it to the cargo bay,” Hagok ordered.
A moment later, a voice echoed through the speakers.
“This is Major Maru of the Nelica vessel Delerator. Our sensors are detecting high levels of virtual particles. We’ve been searching for a vessel with a child. Is anyone there? We are here to retrieve the child.”
Getro’s brow furrowed. “Our sensors aren’t picking up any vessels.”
The voice responded calmly, “That’s because we are not from your time.”
Zion spun toward the console. “It’s coming from the singularity.”
Artelle stepped forward, urgency rising. “They’re using a temporal anchor. If we can get the slab close enough, they can pull him through but it has to be timed perfectly. If the field collapses before the transfer completes, it will implode on itself.”
“Yes, we have the vessel. We will send it your way.” Zion offered
“Thank you. We are prepared to receive it.”
“We’ll guide it manually,” Hagok said.
“No,” Getro cut in. “The slab’s quantum field will cause feedback through our tractor beam”
“Then cycle the beam,” Zion offered quickly. “Short bursts to reduce any risk of feedback.”
It was slow, painfully so. The slab crawled toward the singularity while the field around it shimmered with volatile pulses. Seconds stretched. The Savasu’s hull groaned from the strain. One final push, then silence.
The slab vanished.
The transmission resumed.
“Thank you,” Major Maru said. “We have him. You’ve saved him.”
A pause.
“As you’ve likely guessed, we are from far into your future. I can’t say much; too much knowledge may damage our timeline. But I can tell you this: I don’t know who you are, but I am Iovian.”
“We are also from Iova,” Hagok responded.
“Then a big thank you is in order. Nai-kura vera no-ta.”
Then the channel cut.
The bay fell quiet. No cheers, no relief. They had saved the child, but not themselves. The betrayal of some of the crew, Kolnar and Hagok, still lingered, more immediate and raw than any promise of a bright distant future—their future, where Iovians still lived even after their planet had been destroyed. One by one, they returned to routine. No words, just the echo of what had nearly been lost.
Nobody knew what Major Maru had uttered: Nai-kura vera no-ta.
Nobody gave it a second thought—except for Zea.
He knew the words. He understood Surusu, the ancient language of the Water People of Iova.
And he whispered it under his breath: “Your path brings rewards.”
His eyes narrowed. How could Major Maru know the language?
