Chapter 2: Orion

The Orion slid through the void like a silver blade, hull lights tracing sleek contours against the dark. A science vessel, top of the line. New. Powerful. Built for deep-space exploration and the rigors of the outer solar system.

Inside, however, the ship felt like a pressure cooker.

For forty-eight hours, the four-person crew had been locked in a nightmare of relentless calculations and dwindling air. Every display glowed with columns of numbers. The gentle hum of life support, once unnoticed, had become a cruel reminder of how little oxygen remained.

Astrid Vaughn, the mission commander, sat hunched at the helm, eyes gritty and red. A veteran of long-duration lunar operations and one of the youngest officers ever to helm an interplanetary vessel, she carried her reputation for cool precision like armor. But now, tension furrowed her brow. Tarek, the propulsion specialist, hovered nearby, scanning the feed of fuel consumption rates and burn times. Anika and Graham, both scientists, clung to their consoles, running scenario after scenario, hunting for any margin of survival.

“How the fuck did this happen?” Tarek muttered, voice raw. “This ship’s brand new.”

Astrid didn’t answer. The question felt like an accusation she couldn’t deflect. The logs told the story in brutal detail: a misconfiguration in the life support system had bled away a dangerous portion of their oxygen reserves. Instead of a measured flow, precious O₂ had vented into empty corridors and storage bays.

Checking that system had been her responsibility back at their last port. She’d followed every protocol, ticked every box. And still, something had gone wrong. Even if it wasn’t her fault, she felt the weight of it pressing down on her chest.

Once they realized the misconfiguration, they’d scrambled to conserve every molecule of oxygen. They’d sealed off half the ship. Shut down labs, observation decks, even the galley’s heating coils. But none of it had been enough.

Anika’s voice cracked as she spoke. “At this rate, we’ll black out long before Titan Outpost. We’d barely make it halfway.”

Silence pressed in around them. Graham rubbed at his eyes, shaking from exhaustion. “We could try an emergency decel and go into cryo.”

Astrid shook her head. “Not enough oxygen for the decel burns and the cryo startup cycle. We’d die halfway into freezing.”

Outside, stars drifted by like silent dust. The Oort Cloud, once the prize of their mission, now felt like a graveyard.

Then a soft tone chirped from the nav console. Anika leaned forward, frowning, and tapped a key. A new icon blinked into existence—a faint green dot against the starfield.

“What is that?” Tarek breathed.

Astrid’s eyes narrowed. “Another ship. Old-school freighter. It’s close.”

“How close?” Graham demanded, the first spark of hope in his voice all day.

“Within a day’s burn,” Astrid said.

They all stared at the tiny blip, watching the sensor data flicker in. Metallic mass. Energy signatures. Heat radiating from engines or life systems. A vessel, no question.

It wasn’t on any traffic registry. Ships like these never were. They did their own thing, away from the authorities. It shouldn’t have been out here. But it was. And right now, it was their only chance.

“Plot us a course,” Astrid ordered. “We’re going to intercept.”

Anika punched in the numbers, hands steadier than they’d been in hours. A new vector appeared on the nav plot, angled toward the distant ship.

Half a day later, the main viewscreen zoomed in. Against the glittering spray of stars, they glimpsed the outline of the vessel. Dark hull, battered and patchworked. Old. Weathered. But undeniably there. Hope stirred in the silence, fragile but real.

A ship.

A chance to live.

Astrid exhaled slowly, steadying herself. “We’re in range. Open a channel. Let’s hail them.”