First message
There were stories about how the Atlantis would die. Fire. Collision. Reactor failure. A thousand endings whispered by passengers who believed a ship that large could never truly disappear. None of them had imagined the sound.
Zav heard it three decks below the habitation ring, a violent groan rolling through the ship’s bones. The lights died. Emergency red flooded the corridors. Alarms screamed as something massive tore somewhere above them.
He was already running when the evacuation announcement began. Being a pod technician had never felt particularly glamorous. Tonight, it was the only reason he knew exactly where to go.
He reached an emergency pod as the deck buckled beneath his boots, threw himself inside, and began sealing the hatch.
Then he saw someone running toward him.
A stranger, sprinting through the red-lit corridor as smoke and debris filled the passage behind them.
Zav looked at the closing hatch. Then back at them.
He swore and reopened it.
They stumbled inside just as the seal locked.
“Stay back.”
The warning barely left his mouth before their hand slammed against the launch panel.
EJECT.
The pod tore free.
Zav hit the seat hard as the Atlantis fell away behind them, its enormous silhouette breaking apart against the stars.
Then the oxygen monitor flickered on.
ONE PERSON: 18 HOURS. TWO PEOPLE: INSUFFICIENT.
Zav stared at the display.
Then slowly looked at the stranger beside him.
“You have got to be kidding me.”