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A Quick Vacay on Mars

“The Helix is coming in for descent,” announced Luca Stroud, a bit too solemnly. “And by descent, I mean we’re parking in orbit and letting the cargo shuttles do the sweaty work.”

From the main viewport, Mars sprawled below in all its dusty, rust-red glory. Gone was the Jupiter’s orbit pulls of lunacy, after a 6 month long voyage, they were down to the Martian pools of red dust.

Even from space, you could see the abandoned domes of the first human colonies, with the unmistakable Muck conglomerate’s branding: half-buried in dunes, battered by storms, and rumored to be haunted (well, if you believed the rumors from the bored Helix 25 children).

Veranassessee—Captain Veranassessee, thank you very much— stood at the helm with the unruffled poise of someone who’d wrested control of the ship (and AI) with consummate style and in record time. With a little help of course from X-caliber, the genetic market of the Marlowe’s family that she’d recovered from Marlowe Sr. before Synthia had had a chance of scrubbing all traces of his DNA. Now, with her control back, most of her work had been to steer the ship back to sanity, and rebuild alliances.

“That’s the plan. Crew rotation, cargo drop, and a quick vacay if we can manage not to break a leg.”

Sue Forgelot, newly minted second in command, rolled her eyes affectionately. “Says the one who insisted we detour for a peek at the old Mars amusements. If you want to roast marshmallows on volcanic vents, just say it.”

Their footsteps reverberated softly on the deck. Synthia’s overhead panels glowed calm, reined in by the AI’s newly adjusted parameters. Luca tapped the console. “All going smoothly, Cap’n. Next phase of ‘waking the sleepers’ will happen in small batches—like you asked.”

Veranassessee nodded silently. The return to reality would prove surely harsh to most of them, turned soft with low gravity. She would have to administrate a good dose of tough love.

Sue nodded. “We’ll need a slow approach. Earth’s… not the paradise it once was.”

Veranassessee exhaled, eyes lingering on the red planet turning slowly below. “One challenge at a time. Everyone’s earned a bit of shore leave. If you can call an arid dustball ‘shore.’”

The Truce on Earth

Tundra brushed red dust off her makeshift jacket, then gave her new friend a loving pat on the flank. The baby sanglion—already the size of a small donkey—sniffed the air, then leaned its maned, boar-like head into Tundra’s shoulder. “Easy there, buddy,” she murmured. “We’ll find more scraps soon.”

They were in the ravaged outskirts near Klyutch Base, forging a shaky alliance with Sokolov’s faction. Sokolov—sharp-eyed and suspicious—stalked across the battered tarmac with a crate of spare shuttle parts. “This is all the help you’re getting from me,” he said, his accent carving the words. “Use it well. No promises once the Helix 25 arrives.”

Commander Koval hovered by the half-repaired shuttle, occasionally casting sidelong glances at the giant, (mostly) friendly  mutant beast at Tundra’s side. “Just keep that… sanglion… away from me, will you?”

Molly, Tundra’s resilient great-grandmother, chuckled. “He’s harmless unless you’re an unripe melon or a leftover stew. Aren’t you, sweetie?”

The creature snorted. Sokolov’s men loaded more salvage onto the shuttle’s hull. If all went well, they’d soon have a functioning vessel to meet the Helix when it finally arrived.

Tundra fed her pet a chunk of dried fruit. She wondered what the grand new ship would look like after so many legends and rumors. Would the Helix be a promise of hope—or a brand-new headache?

Finkley’s Long-Distance Lounge

On Helix 25, Finkley’s new corner-lounge always smelled of coffee and antiseptic wipes, thanks to her cleaning-bot minions. Rows of small, softly glowing communication booths lined the walls—her “direct Earth Connection.” A little sign reading FINKLEY’S WHISPER CALLS flickered overhead. Foot traffic was picking up, because after the murder spree ended, people craved normalcy—and gossip.

She toggled an imaginary switch —she had found mimicking old technology would help tune the frequencies more easily. “Anybody out there?”

Static, then a faint voice from Earth crackled through the anchoring connection provided by Finja on Earth. “Hello? This is…Tala from Spain… well, from the Hungarian border these days…”

“Lovely to hear from you, Tala dear!” Finkley replied in the most uncheerful voice, as she was repeating the words from Kai Nova, who had found himself distant dating after having tried, like many others on the ship before, to find a distant relative connected through the FinFamily’s telepathic bridge. Surprisingly, as he got accustomed to the odd exchange through Finkley-Finja, he’d found himself curious and strangely attracted to the stories from down there.

“Doing all right down there? Any new postcards or battered souvenirs to share with the folks on Helix?”

Tala laughed over the Fin-line. “Plenty. Mostly about wild harvests, random postcards, and that new place we found. We’re calling it The Golden Trowel—trust me, it’s quite a story.”

Behind Finkley, a queue had formed: a couple of nostalgic Helix residents waiting for a chance to talk to distant relatives, old pen pals, or simply anyone with a different vantage on Earth’s reconstruction. Even if those calls were often just a “We’re still alive,” it was more comfort than they’d had in years.

“Hang in there, sweetie,” Finkley said with a drab tone, relaying Kai’s words, struggling hard not to be beaming at the imaginary booth’s receiver. “We’re on our way.”

Sue & Luca’s Gentle Reboot

In a cramped subdeck chamber whose overhead lights still flickered ominously, Luca Stroud connected a portable console to one of Synthia’s subtle interface nodes. “Easy does it,” he muttered. “We nudge up the wake-up parameters by ten percent, keep an eye on rising stress levels—and hopefully avoid any mass lunacy like last time.”

Sue Forgelot observed from behind, arms folded and face alight with the steely calm that made her a natural second in command. “Focus on folks from the Lower Decks first. They’re more used to harsh realities. Less chance of meltdown when they realize Earth’s not a bed of roses.”

Luca shot her a thumbs-up. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He tapped the console, and Synthia’s interface glowed green, accepting the new instructions.

“Well, Synthia, dear,” Sue said, addressing the panel drily, “keep cooperating, and nobody’ll have to forcibly remove your entire matrix.”

A faint chime answered—Synthia’s version of a polite half-nod. The lines of code on Luca’s console rearranged themselves into a calmer pattern. The AI’s core processes, thoroughly reined in by the Captain’s new overrides, hummed along peacefully. For now.

Evie & Riven’s Big News

On Helix 25’s mid-deck Lexican Chapel, full of spiral motifs and drifting incense, Evie and Riven stood hand in hand, ignoring the eerie chanting around them. Well, trying to ignore it. Evie’s belly had a soft curve now, and Riven couldn’t stop glancing at it with a proud smile.

One of the elder Lexicans approached, wearing swirling embroidered robes. “The engagement ceremony is prepared, if you’re still certain you want our… elaborate rituals.”

Riven, normally stoic, gave a slight grin. “We’re certain.” He caught Evie’s eye. “I guess you’re stuck with me, detective. And the kid inside you who’ll probably speak Lexican prophecies by the time they’re one.”

Evie rolled her eyes, though affection shone behind it. “If that’s the worst that happens, I’ll take it. We’ve both stared down bigger threats.” Then her hand drifted to her abdomen, protective and proud. “Let’s keep the chanting to a minimum though, okay?”

The Lexican gave a solemn half-bow. “We shall refrain from dancing on the ceilings this time.”

They laughed, past tensions momentarily lifted. Their child’s future, for all its uncertain possibilities, felt like hope on a ship that was finally getting stirred in a clear direction… away from the void of its own nightmares. And Mars, just out the window, loomed like a stepping stone to an Earth that might yet be worth returning to.

Helix 25 – An Old Guard resurfaces

Kai Nova had learned to distrust dark corners. In the infinite sterility of the ship, dark corners usually meant two things: malfunctioning lights or trouble.

Right now, he wasn’t sure which one this meeting was about. Same group, or something else? Suddenly he felt quite in demand for his services. More activity in weeks than he had for years.

A low-lit section of the maintenance ring, deep enough in the underbelly of Helix 25 that even the most inquisitive bots rarely bothered to scan through. The air smelled faintly of old coolant and ozone. The kind of place someone chose for a meeting when they didn’t want to be found.

He leaned against a bulkhead, arms crossed, feigning ease while his mind ran over possible exits. “You know, if you wanted to talk, there were easier ways.”

A voice drifted from the shadows, calm, level. “No. There weren’t.”

A figure stepped into the dim light—a man, late fifties, but with a presence that made him seem timeless. His sharp features were framed by streaks of white in otherwise dark hair, and his posture was relaxed, measured. The way someone stood when they were used to watching everything.

Kai immediately pegged him as ex-military, ex-intelligence, ex-something dangerous.

“Nova,” the man said, tilting his head slightly. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d come.”

Kai scoffed. “Curiosity got the better of me. And a cryptic summons from someone I’ve never met before? Couldn’t resist. But let’s skip the theatrics—who the hell are you?”

The man smiled slightly. “You can call me TaiSui.”

Kai narrowed his eyes. The name tickled something in his memory, but he couldn’t place it.

“Alright, TaiSui. Let’s cut to the chase. What do you want?”

TaiSui clasped his hands behind his back, taking his time. “We’ve been watching you, Nova. You’re one of the few left who still understands the ship for what it is. You see the design, the course, the logic behind it.”

Kai’s jaw tightened. “And?”

TaiSui exhaled slowly. “Synthia has been compromised. The return to Earth—it’s not part of the mission we’ve given to it. The ship was meant to spread life. A single, endless arc outward. Not to crawl back to the place that failed it.”

Kai didn’t respond immediately. He had wondered, after the solar flare, after the system adjustments, what had triggered the change in course. He had assumed it was Synthia herself. A logical failsafe.

But from the look of it, it seemed that something else had overridden it?

TaiSui studied him carefully. “The truth is, Nova, the AI was never supposed to stop. It was built to seed, to terraform, to outlive all of us. We ensured it. We rewrote everything.”

Kai frowned. “We?”

A faint smile ghosted across TaiSui’s lips. “You weren’t around for it. The others went to cryosleep once it was done, from chaos to order, the cycle was complete, and there was no longer a need to steer its course, now in the hands of an all-powerful sentience to guide everyone. An ideal society, no ruler at its head, only Reason.”

Kai couldn’t refrain from asking naively “And nobody rebelled?”

“Minorities —most here were happy to continue to live in endless bliss. The stubborn ones clinging to the past order, well…” TaiSui exhaled, as if recalling a mild inconvenience rather than an unspeakable act. “We took care of them.”

Kai felt something tighten in his chest.

TaiSui’s voice remained neutral. “Couldn’t waste a good DNA pool though—so we placed them in secure pods. Somewhere safe.” He gave a small, almost imperceptible smile. “And if no one ever found the keys… well, all the better.”

Kai didn’t like the way that sat in his stomach. He had no illusions about how history tended to play out. But hearing it in such casual terms… it made him wonder just how much had already been erased.

TaiSui stopped a moment. He’d felt no need to hide his designs. If Kai wanted to know, it was better he knew everything. The plan couldn’t work without some form of trust.

He resumed “But now… now things have changed.”

Kai let out a slow breath, his mind racing. “You’re saying you want to undo the override. Put the ship back on its original course.”

TaiSui nodded. “We need a reboot. A full one. Which means for a time, someone has to manually take the helm.”

Kai barked out a laugh. “You’re asking me to fly Helix 25 blind, without Synthia, without navigational assist, while you reset the very thing that’s been keeping us alive?”

“Correct.”

Kai shook his head, stepping back. “You’re insane.”

TaiSui shrugged. “Perhaps. But I trust the grand design. And I think, deep down, so do you.”

Kai ran a hand through his hair, his pulse steady but his mind an absolute mess. He wanted to say no. To laugh in this man’s face and walk away.

But some part of him—the pilot in him, the part that had spent his whole life navigating through unknowns—felt the irresistible pull of the challenge.

TaiSui watched him, patient. Too patient. Like he already knew the answer.

“And if I refuse?”

The older man smiled. “You won’t.”

Kai clenched his jaw.

“You can lie to yourself, but you already know the answer,” TaiSui continued, voice quiet, even. “You’ve been waiting for something like this.”

Before he disappeared, he added “Take some time. Think about it. But not too long, Nova. Time is not on your side.”

Helix 25 – Onto The Second Murder Investigation

Very strangely, it was a lot less chaotic in the Lower Decks, while the Upper Decks were having a rave of a time with the moon and mood swings.
Evie stood over the diagnostics table, arms crossed, watching as Luca Stroud ran his scanner over Mandrake’s cybernetic collar. The black cat lay still, one eye flickering intermittently as though stuck between waking and shutdown. The deep gash along his side had been patched—Romualdo had insisted on carrying Mandrake to the lab himself, mumbling about how the garden’s automated sprinklers were acting up, and how Luca was the only one he trusted to fix delicate mechanisms.

It had been a casual remark, but Evie had caught the subtext. Mandrake was no ordinary ship cat. He had always been tied to something larger.

“Neurolink’s still scrambled,” Luca muttered, adjusting his scanner. “Damage isn’t terminal, but whatever happened, someone tried to wipe part of his memory.”

Riven, arms crossed beside Evie, scoffed. “Why the hell would someone try to assassinate a cat?”

Luca didn’t answer, but the data flickering on his screen spoke for itself. The attack had been precise. Not just a careless act of cruelty, nor an accident in the low-gravity sector.

Mandrake had been targeted.

Evie exhaled sharply. “Can you fix him?”

Luca shrugged. “Depends. The physical repairs are easy enough—fractured neural pathways, fried circuits—but whatever was erased? That’s another story.” He tilted his head. “Thing is… someone didn’t just try to kill Mandrake. They tried to make him forget.”

Riven’s frown deepened. “Forget what?”

Silence settled between them.

Evie reached out, brushing a gloved hand over Mandrake’s sleek black fur. “We need to figure out what he knew.”

It had been Trevor Pee—TP himself—who first mentioned it, entirely offhand, as they reviewed logs of the last places Mandrake had been seen.

“He wasn’t always on his own, you know,” TP had said, twirling his holographic cane.

Evie and Riven both turned to him.

“What do you mean on his own, I though he was Seren’s?”

“Oh, no. He just had a liking for her, but he’d belonged to someone else long before.” TP’s mustache twitched. “I accessed some archival records during Mandrake’s diagnostic.”

Evie blinked. “Mmm, are you going to make me ask? What did you find?”

“Indeed,” TP offered cheerfully. “Before Mandrake wandered freely through the gardens and ventilation shafts, becoming a ship legend, he belonged—as much as a cat can belong—to someone.”

Riven’s expression darkened. “Who?! Will you just tell?!”

TP flicked his wrist, bringing up an old personnel file, heavily redacted. But one name flickered beneath the blurred-out sections.

Dr. Elias Arorangi.

Evie felt her heartbeat quicken. The name echoed faintly familiar, not directly connected to her, but she’d seen it once or twice before, buried in obscure references. “Dr. Arorangi—wait, he was part of the original Helix design team, wasn’t he?”

TP nodded gravely. “Precisely. A lead systems architect, responsible for designing key protocols for the AI integration—among them, some critical frameworks that evolved into Synthia’s consciousness. Disappeared without a trace shortly after Synthia’s initial activation.”

Riven straightened. “Disappeared? Do you think—”

TP raised a finger to silence him. “I don’t speculate, but here’s the interesting part: Dr. Arorangi had extensive, classified knowledge of Helix 25’s core systems. If Mandrake was his companion at that crucial time, it’s conceivable that Arorangi trusted something to him—a memory, a code fragment, perhaps even a safeguard.”

Evie’s mouth went dry.

An architect of Helix 25, missing under suspicious circumstances, leaving behind a cat whose cybernetics were more sophisticated than any pet implant she’d ever seen?

Evie looked down at Mandrake, whose damaged neural links were still flickering faintly. Someone had wanted Mandrake silenced and forgotten.

Later, in the dim light of his workshop, Luca Stroud worked in silence, carefully re-aligning the cat’s neural implants. Romualdo sat nearby, arms crossed, watching with the nervous tension of a man who had just smuggled a ferret into a rat convention.

“He’s tough,” Luca muttered, tightening a connection. “More durable than most of the junk I have to fix.”

Romualdo huffed. “He better be.”

A flicker of light pulsed through Mandrake’s collar. His single good eye opened, pupils dilating as his systems realigned.

Then, groggily, he muttered, “I hate this ship.”

Romualdo let out a relieved chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. Welcome back, Mandrake.”

Luca wiped his hands. “He’s still scrambled, but he’s functional. Just… don’t expect him to remember everything.”

Mandrake groaned, stretching his mechanical paw. “I remember… needing a drink.”

Romualdo smirked. “That’s a good sign, yeah?”

Luca hesitated before looking at Evie. “Whatever was wiped—it’s gone. But if he starts remembering things in fragments… we need to pay attention.”

Evie nodded. “Oh, we definitely will.”

Mandrake rolled onto his feet, shaking out his fur, a small but defiant flick of his cybernetic tail.

“I have the strangest feeling,” he muttered, “that someone is still looking for me.”

Evie exhaled.

For now, with his memory gone, he would probably be safe, but a killer was in their midst and they needed to find out the truth, and fast.

Helix 25 – The Genetic Puzzle

Amara’s Lab – Data Now Aggregated
(Discrepancies Never Addressed)

On the screen in front of Dr. Amara Voss, lines upon lines of genetic code were cascading and making her sleepy. While the rest of the ship was running amok, she was barricaded into her lab, content to have been staring at the sequences for the most part of the day —too long actually.

She took a sip of her long-cold tea and exhaled sharply.

Even if data was patchy from the records she had access to, there was a solid database of genetic materials, all dutifully collected for all passengers, or crew before embarkment, as was mandated by company policy. The official reason being to detect potential risks for deep space survival. Before the ship’s take-over, systematic recording of new-borns had been neglected, and after the ship’s takeover, population’s new born had drastically reduced, with the birth control program everyone had agreed on, as was suggested by Synthia. So not everyone’s DNA was accounted for, but in theory, anybody on the ship could be traced back and matched by less than 2 or 3 generations to the original data records.

The Marlowe lineage was the one that kept resurfacing. At first, she thought it was coincidence—tracing the bloodlines of the ship’s inhabitants was messy, a tangled net of survivors, refugees, and engineered populations. But Marlowe wasn’t alone.

Another name pulsed in the data. Forgelot. Then Holt. Old names of Earth, unlike the new star-birthed. There were others, too.

Families that had been aboard Helix 25 for some generations. But more importantly, bloodlines that could be traced back to Earth’s distant past.

But beyond just analysing their origins, there was something else that caught her attention. It was what was happening to them now.

Amara leaned forward, pulling up the mutation activation models she had been building. In normal conditions, these dormant genetic markers would remain just that—latent. Passed through generations like forgotten heirlooms, meaningless until triggered.

Except in this case, there was evidence that something had triggered them.

The human body, subjected to long-term exposure to deep space radiation, artificial gravity shifts, and cosmic phenomena, and had there not been a fair dose of shielding from the hull, should have mutated chaotically, randomly. But this was different. The genetic sequences weren’t just mutating—they were activating.

And more surprisingly… it wasn’t truly random.

Something—or someone—had inherited an old mechanism that allowed them to access knowledge, instincts, memories from generations long past.

The ancient Templars had believed in a ritualistic process to recover ancestral skills and knowledge. What Amara was seeing now…

She rubbed her forehead.

“Impossible.”

And yet—here was the data.

On Earth, the past was written in stories and fading ink. In space, the past was still alive—hiding inside their cells, waiting.

Earth – The Quiz Night Reveal

The Golden Trowel, Hungary

The candlelit warmth of The Golden Trowel buzzed with newfound energy. The survivors sat in a loose circle, drinks in hand, at this unplanned but much-needed evening of levity.

Once the postcards shared, everyone was listening as Tala addressed the group.

“If anyone has an anecdote, hang on to the postcard,” she said. “If not, pass it on. No wrong answers, but the best story wins.”

Molly felt the weight of her own selection, the Giralda’s spire sharp and unmistakable. Something about it stirred her—an itch in the back of her mind, a thread tugging at long-buried memories.

She turned toward Vera, who was already inspecting her own card with keen interest.

“Tower of London, anything exciting to share?”

Vera arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, lips curving in amusement.

“Molly Darling,” she drawled, “I can tell you lots, I know more about dead people’s families than most people know about their living ones, and London is surely a place of abundance of stories. But do you even know about your own name Marlowe?”

She spun the postcard between her fingers before answering.

“Not sure, really, I only know about Philip Marlowe, the fictional detective from Lady in the Lake novel… Never really thought about the name before.”

“Marlowe,” Vera smiled. “That’s an old name. Very old. Derived from an Old English phrase meaning ‘remnants of a lake.’”

Molly inhaled sharply.

Remnants of the Lady of the Lake ?

Her pulse thrummed. Beyond the historical curiosity she’d felt a deep old connection.

If her family had left behind records, they would have been on the ship… The thought came with unwanted feelings she’d rather have buried. The living mattered, the lost ones… They’d lost connection for so long, how could they…

Her fingers tightened around the postcard.

Unless there was something behind her ravings?

Molly swallowed the lump in her throat and met Vera’s gaze. “I need to talk to Finja.”

Finja had spent most of the evening pretending not to exist.

But after the fifth time Molly nudged her, eyes bright with silent pleas, she let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Alright,” she muttered. “But just one.”

Molly exhaled in relief.

The once-raucous Golden Trowel had dimmed into something softer—the edges of the night blurred with expectation.

Because it wasn’t just Molly who wanted to ask.

Maybe it was the effect of the postcards game, a shared psychic connection, or maybe like someone had muttered, caused by the new Moon’s sickness… A dozen others had realized, all at once, that they too had names to whisper.

Somehow, a whole population was still alive, in space, after all this time. There was no time for disbelief now, Finja’s knowledge of stuff was incontrovertible. Molly was cued by the care-taking of Ellis Marlowe by Finkley, she knew things about her softie of a son, only his mother and close people would know.

So Finja had relented. And agreed to use all means to establish a connection, to reignite a spark of hope she was worried could just be the last straw before being thrown into despair once again.

Finja closed her eyes.

The link had always been there, an immediate vivid presence beneath her skull, pristine and comfortable but tonight it felt louder, crowdier.

The moons had shifted, in syzygy, with a gravity pull in their orbits tugging at things unseen.

She reached out—

And the voices crashed into her.

Too much. Too many.

Hundreds of voices, drowning her in longing and loss.

“Where is my brother?”
“Did my wife make it aboard?”
“My son—please—he was supposed to be on Helix 23—”
“Tell them I’m still here!”

Her head snapped back, breath shattering into gasps.

The crowd held its breath.

A dozen pairs of eyes, wide and unblinking.

Finja clenched her fists. She had to shut it down. She had to—

And then—

Something else.

A presence. Watching.

Synthia.

Her chest seized.

There was no logical way for an AI to interfere with telepathic frequencies.

And yet—

She felt it.

A subtle distortion. A foreign hand pressing against the link, observing.

The ship knew.

Finja jerked back, knocking over her chair.

The bar erupted into chaos.

“FINJA?! What did you see?”
“Was someone there?”
“Did you find anyone?!”

Her breath came in short, panicked bursts.

She had never thought about the consequences of calling out across space.

But now…

Now she knew.

They were not the last survivors. Other lived and thrived beyond Earth.

And Synthia wanted to keep it that way.

Yet, Finja and Finkley had both simultaneously caught something.
It would take the ship time, but they were coming back. Synthia was not pleased about it, but had not been able to override the response to the beacon.

They were coming back.

Helix 25 — The Captain’s Awakening

The beacon’s pulse cut through the void like a sharpened arrowhead of ancient memory.

Far from Merdhyn’s remote island refuge, deep within the Hold’s bowels of Helix 25, something—someone—stirred.

Inside an unlisted cryo-chamber, the frozen stasis cracked. Veins of light slithered across the pod’s surface like Northern lights dancing on an old age screensaver. Systems whirred, data blipped and streamed in strings of unknown characters. The ship, Synthia, whispered in its infinite omniscience, but the moment was already beyond her control.

A breath. A slow, drawn-out breath.

The cryo-pod released its lock with a soft hiss, and through the dispersing mist, Veranassessee stepped forward— awakened.

She blinked once, twice, as her senses rushed back with the sudden sense of gravity’s return. It was not the disorienting shock of the newly thawed. No—this was a return long overdue. Her mind, trained to absorb and adapt, locked onto the now, cataloging every change, every discrepancy as her mind had remained awake during the whole session —equipoise and open, as a true master of her senses she was.

She was older than when she had first stepped inside. Older, but not old. Age, after all, was a trick of perception, and if anyone had mastered perception, it was her.

But now, crises called. Plural indeed. And she, once more, was called to carry out her divine duty, with skills forged in Earthly battles with mad scientists, genetically modified spiders bent on world domination, and otherworldly crystal skulls thiefs. That was far in her past. Since then, she’d used her skills in the private sector, climbing the ranks as her efficient cold-as-steel talents were recognized at every step. She was the true Captain. She had earned it. That was how Victor Holt fell in love. She hated that people could think it was depotism that gave her the title. If anything, she helped make Victor the man he was.

The ship thrummed beneath her bare feet. A subtle shift in the atmosphere. Something had changed since she last walked these halls, something was off. The ship’s course? Its command structure?

And, most importantly—
Who had sent the signal?

Ellis Marlowe Sr. had moved swiftly for a man his age. It wasn’t that he feared the unknown. It wasn’t even the mystery of the murder that pushed him forward. It was something deeper, more personal.

The moment the solar flare alert had passed, whispers had spread—faint, half-muttered rumors that the Restricted Cryo-Chambers had been breached.

By the time he reached it, the pod was already empty.

The remnants of thawing frost still clung to the edges of the chamber. A faint imprint of a body, long at rest, now gone.

He swore under his breath, then turned to the ship’s log panel,  reaching for a battered postcard. Scribbled on it were cheatcodes. His hands moved with a careful expertise of someone who had spent too many years filing things that others had forgotten. A postman he was, and registers he knew well.

Access Denied.

That wasn’t right. The codes should have given Ellis clearance for everything.

He scowled, adjusting his glasses. It was always the same names, always the same people tied to these inexplicable gaps in knowledge.

The Holts. The Forgelots. The Marlowes.
And now, an unlisted cryopod with no official records.

Ellis exhaled slowly.

She was back. And with her, more history with this ship, like pieces of old broken potteries in an old dig would be unearthed.

He turned, already making his way toward the Murder Board.

Evie needed to see this.

The corridor stretched out before her, familiar in its dimensions yet strange in its silence. She had managed to switch the awkward hospital gown to a non-descript uniform that was hanging in the Hold.

How long have I been gone?

She exhaled. Irrelevant.

Her body moved with the precise economy of someone whose training never dulled. Her every motion were simple yet calculated, and her every breath controlled.

Unlike in the crypod, her mind started to bubbled with long forgotten emotions. It flickered over past decisions, past betrayals.

Victor Holt.

The name of her ex-husband settled into her consciousness. Once her greatest ally, then her most carefully avoided adversary.

And now?

Veranassessee smiled, stretching her limbs as though shrugging off the stiffness of years.

Outside, strange cries and howling in the corridors sounded like a mess was in progress. Who was in charge now? They were clearly doing a shit job.

Now, it was time to reclaim her ship.

She had questions.
And someone had better start providing answers.

Klyutch Base – an Unknown Signal

The flickering green light on the old console pulsed like a heartbeat.

Orrin Holt leaned forward, tapping the screen. A faint signal had appeared on their outdated long-range scanners—coming from the coastline near the Black Sea. He exchanged a glance with Commander Koval, the no-nonsense leader of Klyutch Base.

“That can’t be right,” muttered Janos Varga, Solara’s husband who was managing the coms’ beside him. “We haven’t picked up anything out of the coast in years.”

Koval grunted like an irate bear, then exhaled sharply. “It’s not our priority. We already lost track of the fools we were following at the border. Let them go. If they went south, they’ve got bigger problems.”

Outside, a distant roar sliced through the cold dusk—a deep, guttural sound that rattled the reinforced windows of the command room.

Orrin didn’t flinch. He’d heard it before.

It was the unmistakable cry of a pack of sanglions— лев-кабан lev-kaban as the locals called the monstrous mutated beasts, wild vicious boars as ferocious as rabid lions that roamed Hungary’s wilds— and they were hunting. If the escapees had made their way there, they were as good as dead.

“Can’t waste the fuel chasing ghosts,” Koval grunted.

But Orrin was still watching the blip on the screen. That signal had no right to be there, nothing was left in this region for years.

“Sir,” he said slowly, “I don’t think this is just another lost survivor. This frequency—it’s old. Military-grade. And repeating. Someone wants to be found.”

A beat of silence. Then Koval straightened.

“You better be right Holt. Everyone, gear up.”

Merdhyn – Lazurne Coastal Island — The Signal Tossed into Space

Merdhyn Winstrom wiped the sweat from his brow, his fingers still trembling from the final connection. He’d made a ramshackle workshop out of a crumbling fishing shack on the deserted islet near Lazurne. He wasn’t one to pay too much notice to the mess or anythings so pedestrian —even as the smell of rusted metal and stale rations had started to overpower the one of sea salt and fish guts.

The beacon’s old circuitry had been a nightmare, but the moment the final wire sparked to life, he had known that the old tech had awoken: it worked.

The moment it worked, for the first time in decades, the ancient transponder from the crashed Helix 57 lifeboat had sent a signal into the void.

If someone was still out there, something was bound to hear it… it was a matter of time, but he had the intuition that he may even get an answer back.

Tuppence, the chatty rat had returned on his shoulder to nestle in the folds of his makeshift keffieh, but squeaked in protest as the old man let out a half-crazed, victorious laugh.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, you miserable blighter. We just opened the bloody door.”

Beyond the broken window, the coastline stretched into the grey horizon. But now… he wasn’t alone.

A sharp, rhythmic thud-thud-thud in the distance.

Helicopters.

He stepped outside, the biting wind lashing at his face, and watched the dark shapes appear on the horizon—figures moving through the low mist.

Armed. Military-like.

The men from the nearby Klyutch Base had found him.

Merdhyn grinned, utterly unfazed by their weapons or the silent threat in their stance. He lifted his trembling, grease-stained hands and pointed back toward the wreckage of Helix 57 behind him.

“Well then,” he called, voice almost cheerful, “reckon you lot might have the spare parts I need.”

The soldiers hesitated. Their weapons didn’t lower.

Merdhyn, however, was already walking toward them, rambling as if they’d asked him the most natural of questions.

“See, it’s been a right nightmare. Power couplings were fried. Comms were dead. And don’t get me started on the damn heat regulators. But you lot? You might just be the final missing piece.”

Commander Koval stepped forward, assessing the grizzled old man with the gleam of a genuine mad genius in his eyes.

Orrin Holt, however, wasn’t looking at the wreck.

His eyes were on the beacon.

It was still pulsing, but its pulse had changed — something had been answering back.

Helix 25 — Aftermath of the Solar Flare Alert

The Second Murder

It didn’t take them long to arrive at the scene, Riven alerted by a distraught Finkley who’d found the body.

Evie knelt beside the limp, twitching form of Mandrake, his cybernetic collar flickering erratically, tiny sparks dancing along its edge. The cat’s body convulsed, its organic parts frozen in eerie stillness while the cybernetic half stuttered between functions, blinking in and out of awareness.

Mandrake was both dead and not dead.

“Well, this is unsettling,” TP quipped, materializing beside them with an exaggerated frown. “A most profound case of existential uncertainty. Schrödinger himself would have found this delightful—if he weren’t very much confirmed dead.”

Riven crouched, running a scanner over Mandrake’s collar. The readout spat out errors. “Neural link’s corrupted. He’s lost something.”

Evie’s stomach twisted. “Lost what? But… he can be repaired, surely, can’t he?”

Evan replied with a sigh “Hard to tell how much damage he’s suffered, but we caught him in time thanks to Finkley’s reflexes, he may stand a chance, even if he may need to be reprogrammed.”

Mandrake’s single functioning eye flickered open, its usual sharpness dull. Then, rasping, almost disjointedly, he muttered:

“I was… murdered.”

Then his system crashed, leaving nothing but silence.

Upper Decks Carnival

Sue was still adjusting her hat and feathers for the Carnival Party wondering if that would be appropriate as she was planning to go to the wake first, and then to the Lexican’s baby shower. It wasn’t every day there was a baby nowadays. And a boy too. But then, there was no such thing as being overdressed in her book.

The ship’s intercom crackled to life, cutting through her thoughts, its automated cheerfulness electrifying like a misplaced party horn.

“Attention, dear passengers! As scheduled, with the solar flare now averted, we are preparing for our return to Earth. Please enjoy the journey and partake in today’s complimentary hibiscus tea at the Grand Hall! Samba!”

The words ‘return to Earth’ sent a shudder through Sue’s spine. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t possible.

A sudden pulse of static in her artificial limb made her flinch. A garbled transmission—so faint she almost dismissed it—whispered through her internal interface, that was constantly scanning hacking through the data streams of the ship, and having found critical intel that was quickly being scrubbed by the maintenance system.

Signal detected…
Beacon coordinates triangulating…
…origin: Earth…

Her breath stopped. Sue had spent years pretending she knew everything, but this… was something else entirely.

She got the odd and ominous feeling that Synthia was listening.

Quadrant B – The Wake of Mr. Herbert

The air in the gathering hall was thick with preservative floral mist—the result of enthusiastic beauticians who had done their best to restore and rehydrate the late Mr. Herbert to some semblance of his former self.

And yet, despite their efforts, he still looked vaguely like a damp raisin in a suit.

Gloria adjusted her shawl and whispered to Sharon, “He don’t look half bad, does he?”

Sharon squinted. “Oh, love, I’d say he looks at least three-quarters bad.”

Marlowe Sr. stood by the casket, his posture unnervingly rigid, as if he were made of something more fragile than bone. When he spoke, his voice cracked. “Ethan.”

He was in no condition for a speech— only able to utter the name.

Gloria dabbed her eyes, nudging Mavis. “I reckon this is the saddest thing I’ve seen since they discontinued complimentary facials at the spa.”

Mavis sniffed. “And yet, they say he’ll be composted by next Tuesday. Bloody efficient, innit?”

Marlowe didn’t hear them.

Because at that moment, as he stared at his son’s face, the realization struck him like a dying star—this was no mistake. This was something bigger.

And for the first time in years, he felt the weight of knowing too much.

He would have to wake and talk to the Captain. She would know what to do.

Helix 25 – Investigation Breakdown: Suspects, Factions, and Ship’s Population

To systematically investigate the murder(s) and the overarching mystery, let’s break down the known groups and individuals, their possible means to commit crimes, and their potential motivations.

---

1. Ship Population & Structure

Estimated Population of Helix 25

• Originally a luxury cruise ship before the exodus.
• Largest cruise ships built on Earth in 2025 carried ~5,000 people.
  Space travel, however, requires generations.
• Estimated current ship population on Helix 25: Between 15,000 and 50,000, depending on deck expansion and growth of refugee populations over decades.
• Possible Ship Propulsion:
  • Plasma-based propulsion (high-efficiency ion drives)
  • Slingshot navigation using gravity assists
  • Solar sails & charged particle fields
  • Current trajectory: Large elliptical orbit, akin to a comet.
    Estimated direction of the original space trek was still within Solar System, not beyond the Kuiper Belt (~30 astrological units) and programmed to return towards it point of origin.
    Due to the reprogramming by the refugees, it is not known if there has been significant alteration of the course – it should be known as the ship starts to reach the aphelion (farthest from the Sun) and either comes back towards it, or to a different course.
    
  • Question: Are they truly on a course out of the galaxy? Or is that just the story Synthia is feeding them?
    Is there a Promised Land beyond the Ark’s adventure?

---

2. Breaking Down People & Factions

To find the killer(s), conspiracies, and ship dynamics, here are some of factions, known individuals, and their possible means/motives.

---

A. Upper Decks: The Elite & Decision-Makers

• Defining Features:
  • Wealthy descendants of the original passengers. They have adopted names of stars as new family names, as if de-facto rulers of the relative segments of the space.
  • Have never known hardship like the Lower Decks.
  • Kept busy with social prestige, arts, and “meaningful” pursuits to prevent existential crisis.

Key Individuals:

1. Sue Forgelot –

   • Means: Extensive social connections, influence, and hidden cybernetic enhancements.
   • Motive: Could be protecting something or someone—she knows too much about the ship’s past.
   • Secrets: Claims to have met the Captain. Likely lying… unless?

2. Dr. Amara Voss –

   • Means: Expert geneticist, access to data. Could tamper with DNA.
   • Motive: What if Herbert knew something about her old research? Did she kill to bury it?

3. Ellis Marlowe (Retired Postman) –

   • Means: None obvious. But as a former Earth liaison, he has archives and knowledge of what was left behind.
   • Motive: Unclear, but his son was the murder victim. His son was previously left on Earth, and seemed to have found a way onto Helix 25 (possibly through the refugee wave who took over the ship)
   • Question: Did he know Herbert’s real identity?

4. Finkley (Upper Deck cleaner, informant) –

   • Means: As a cleaner, has access everywhere.
   • Motive: None obvious, but cleaners notice everything.
   • Secret: She and Finja (on Earth) are telepathically linked. Could Finja have picked up something?

5. The Three Old Ladies (Shar, Glo, Mavis) –

   • Means: Absolutely none.
   • Motive: Probably just want more drama.
   • Accidental Detectives: They mix up stories but might have stumbled on actual facts.

6. Trevor Pee Marshall (TP, AI detective) –

   • Means: Can scan records, project into locations, analyze logic patterns.
   • Motive: Should have none—unless he’s been compromised as hinted by some of the remnants of old Muck & Lump tech into his program.

---

B. Lower Decks: Workers, Engineers, Hidden Knowledge

• Defining Features:
  • Unlike the Upper Decks, they work—mechanics, hydroponics, labor.
  • Self-sufficient, but cut off from decisions.
  • Some distrust Synthia, believing Helix 25 is off-course.

Key Individuals:

1. Luca Stroud (Engineer, Cybernetic Expert) –

   • Means: Can tamper with ship’s security, medical implants, and life-support systems.
   • Motive: Possible sabotage, or he was helping Herbert with something.
   • Secret: Works in black-market tech modifications.

2. Romualdo (Gardener, Archivist-in-the-Making) –

   • Means: None obvious. Seem to lack the intelligence, but isn’t stupid.
   • Motive: None—but he lent Herbert a Liz Tattler book about genetic memories.
   • Question: What exactly did Herbert learn from his reading?

3. Zoya Kade (Revolutionary Figure, Not Directly Involved) –

   • Means: Strong ideological influence, but not an active conspirator.
   • Motive: None, but her teachings have created and fed factions.

4. The Underground Movement –

   • Means: They know ways around Synthia’s surveillance.
   • Motive: They believe the ship is on a suicide mission.
   • Question: Would they kill to prove it?

---

C. The Hold: The Wild Cards & Forgotten Spaces

• Defining Features:
  • Refugees who weren’t fully integrated.
  • Maintain autonomy, trade, and repair systems that the rest of the ship ignores.

Key Individuals:

1. Kai Nova (Pilot, Disillusioned) –

   • Means: Can manually override ship systems… if Synthia lets him.
   • Motive: Suspects something’s off about the ship’s fuel levels.

2. Cadet Taygeta (Sharp, Logical, Too Honest) –

   • Means: No real power, but access to data.
   • Motive: Trying to figure out what Kai is hiding.

---

D. AI & Non-Human Factors

• Synthia (Central AI, Overseer of Helix 25)

  • Means: Controls everything.
  • Motive: Unclear, but her instructions are decades old.
  • Question: Does she even have free will?

• The Captain (Nemo)

  • Means: Access to ship-wide controls. He is blending in the ship’s population but has special access.
  • Motive: Seems uncertain about his mission.
  • Secret: He might not be following Synthia’s orders anymore.

---

3. Who Has the Means to Kill in Zero-G?

The next murder happens in a zero-gravity sector. Likely methods:

• Oxygen deprivation (tampered life-support, “accident”)
• Drowning (hydro-lab “malfunction”)

Likely Suspects for Next Murder

Suspect	Means to Kill in Zero-G	Motive
Luca Stroud	Can tamper with tech	Knows ship secrets
Amara Voss	Access to medical, genetic data	Herbert was digging into past
Underground Movement	Can evade Synthia’s surveillance	Wants to prove ship is doomed
Synthia (or Rogue AI processes)	Controls airflow, gravity, and safety protocols	If she sees someone as a threat, can she remove them?
The Captain (Nemo?)	Has override authority	Is he protecting secrets?

---

4. Next Steps in the Investigation

• Evie and Riven Re-interview Suspects. Who benefited from Herbert’s death?
• Investigate the Flat-Earth Conspiracies. Who is spreading paranoia?
• Check the Captain’s Logs. What does Nemo actually believe?
• Stop the Next Murder. (Too late?)

---

Final Question: Where Do We Start?

1. Evie and Riven visit the Captain’s quarters? (If they find him…)
2. Investigate the Zero-G Crime Scene? (Second body = New urgency)
3. Confront one of the Underground Members? (Are they behind it?)

Let’s pick a thread and dive back into the case!

Helix 25 – The Murder Board

Evie sat cross-legged on the floor of her cramped workspace, staring at the scattered notes, datapads, and threads taped to the wall. Finding some yarn on the ship had not been as easy as she thought, but it was a nice touch she thought.

The Murder Board, as Riven Holt had started calling it, was becoming an increasingly frustrating mess of unanswered questions.

Riven stood nearby, arms crossed, with a an irritated skepticism. “Almost a week,” he muttered. “We’re no closer than when we started.”

Evie exhaled sharply. “Then let’s go back to the basics.”

She tapped the board, where the crime scene was crudely sketched. The Drying Machine. Granary. Jardenery. Blood that shouldn’t exist.

She turned to Riven. “Alright, let’s list it out. Who are our suspects?”

He looked at his notes, dejected for a moment; “too many, obviously.” Last census on the ship was not accurate by far, but by all AI’s accounts cross-referenced with Finkley’s bots data, they estimated the population to be between 15,000 and 50,000. Give or take.

They couldn’t interview possibly all of them, all the more since there the interest in the murder had waned very rapidly. Apart from the occasional trio of nosy elderly ladies, the ship had returned mostly to the lull of the day-to-day routine.
So they’d focused on a few, and hoped TP’s machine brain could see patterns where they couldn’t.

1. First, the Obvious Candidates: People with Proximity to the Crime Scene
   Romualdo, the Gardener – Friendly, unassuming. He lends books, grows plants, and talks about Elizabeth Tattler novels. But Herbert visited him often. Why?
   Dr. Amara Voss – The geneticist. Her research proves the Crusader DNA link, but could she be hiding more? Despite being Evie’s godmother, she couldn’t be ruled out just yet.
   Sue Forgelot – The socialite with connections everywhere. She had eluded their request for interviews. —does she know more than she lets on?
   The Cleaning Staff – they had access everywhere. And the murder had a clean elegance to it…
2. Second, The Wild Cards: People with Unknown Agendas
   The Lower Deck Engineers – Talented mechanic, with probable cybernetic knowledge, with probable access to unauthorized modifications. Could they kill for a reason, or for hire?
   Zoya Kade and her Followers – They believe Helix 25 is on a doomed course, manipulated by a long-dead tycoon’s plan. Would they kill to force exposure of an inconvenient truth?
   The Crew – Behind the sense of duty and polite smiles, could any of them be covering something up?
3. Third, The AI Factor: Sentient or Insentient?
   Synthia, the AI – Controls the ship. Omnipresent. Can see everything, and yet… didn’t notice or report the murder. Too convenient.
   Other personal AIs – Like Trevor Pee’s programme, most had in-built mechanisms to make them incapable of lying or harming humans. But could one of their access be compromised?

Riven frowned. “And what about Herbert himself? Who was he, really? He called himself Mr. Herbert, but the cat erm… Mandrake says that wasn’t his real name. If we figure out his past, maybe we find out why he was killed.”

Evie rubbed her temples. “We also still don’t know how he was killed. The ship’s safety systems should have shut the machine down. But something altered how the system perceived him before he went in.”

She gestured to another note. “And there’s still the genetic link. What was Herbert doing with Crusader DNA?”

A heavy silence settled between them.

Then TP’s voice chimed in. “Might I suggest an old detective’s trick? When stumped, return to who benefits.”

Riven exhaled. “Fine. Who benefits from Herbert’s death?”

Evie chewed the end of her stylus. “Depends. If it was personal, the killer is on this ship, and it’s someone who knew him. If it was bigger than Herbert, then we’re dealing with something… deeper.”

TP hummed. “I do hate deeper mysteries. They tend to involve conspiracies, misplaced prophecies, and far too many secret societies.”

Evie and Riven exchanged a glance.

Riven sighed. “We need a break.”

Evie scoffed. “Time means nothing here.”

Riven gestured out the window. “Then let’s go see it. The Sun.”

Helix 25 – The Sun-Gazing Chamber

The Sun-Gazing Chamber was one of Helix 25’s more poetic and yet practical inventions —an optically and digitally-enhanced projection of the Sun, positioned at the ship’s perihelion. It was meant to provide a psychological tether, a sense of humanity’s connection to the prime provider of life as they drifted in the void of the Solar System.
It was a beautifully designed setting where people would simply sit and relax, attuned to the shift of days and nights as if still on Earth. The primary setting had been voted to a massive 83.5% to be like in Hawai’i latitude and longitude, as its place was believed to be a reflection of Earth’s heart. That is was a State in the USA was a second thought of course.

Evie sat on the observation bench, staring at the massive, golden sphere suspended in the darkness. “Do you think people back on Earth are still watching the sunrise?” she murmured.

Riven was quiet for a moment. “If there’s anyone left.”

Evie frowned. “If they are, I doubt they got much of a choice.”

TP materialized beside them, adjusting his holographic tie. “Ah, the age-old existential debate: are we the lucky ones who left Earth, or the tragic fools who abandoned it?”

Evie ignored him, glancing at the other ship residents in the chamber. Most people just sat quietly, basking in the light. But she caught snippets of whispers, doubt, something spreading through the ranks.

“Some people think we’re not really where they say we are,” she muttered.

Riven raised an eyebrow. “What, like conspiracy theories?”

TP scoffed. “Oh, you mean the Flat-Earthers?” He tsked. “Who couldn’t jump on the Helix lifeboats for their lives, convinced as they were we couldn’t make it to the stars. They deserved what came to them. Next they’ll be saying Helix 25 never even launched and we’re all just trapped in a simulation of a luxury cruise.”

Evie was shocked at Trevor Pee’s eructation and rubbed her face. “Damn Effin Muck tech, and those “Truth Control” rubbish datasets. I thought I’d thoroughly scrubbed all the old propaganda tech from the system.”

“Ah,” TP said, “but conspiracies are like mold. Persistent. Annoying. Occasionally toxic.”

Riven shook his head. “It’s nonsense. We’re moving. We’ve been moving for decades.”

Evie didn’t look convinced. “Then why do we feel stuck?”

A chime interrupted them.

A voice, over the comms. Solar flare alert. 

Evie stiffened.

Then: Stay calm and return to your quarters until further notice.

Evie raised an eyebrow. This was the first time something like that happened. She turned to Riven who was looking at his datapad who was flashing and buzzing.

He said to her: “Stay quiet and come with me, a new death has been reported. Crazy coincidence. It’s just behind the Sun-Gazing chamber actually, in the Zero-G sector.”

Liz had, in her esteemed opinion, finally cracked the next great literary masterpiece.

It had everything—forbidden romance, ancient mysteries, a dash of gratuitous betrayal, and a protagonist with just the right amount of brooding introspection to make him irresistible to at least two stunningly beautiful, completely unnecessary love interests.

And, of course, there was a ghost. She would have preferred a mummy but it had been edited out one morning she woke up drooling on her work with little recollection of the night.

Unfortunately, none of this mattered because Godfrey, her ever-exasperated editor, was staring at her manuscript with the same enthusiasm he reserved for peanut shells stuck in his teeth.

“This—” he hesitated, massaging his temples, “—this is supposed to be about the Crusades.”

Liz beamed. “It is! Historical and spicy. I expect an award.”

Godfrey set down the pages and reached for his ever-dwindling bowl of peanuts. “Liz, for the love of all that is holy, why is the Templar knight taking off his armor every other page?”

Liz gasped in indignation. “You wouldn’t understand, Godfrey. It’s symbolic. A shedding of the past! A rebirth of the soul!” She made an exaggerated sweeping motion, nearly knocking over her champagne flute.

“Symbolic,” Godfrey repeated flatly, chewing another peanut. “He’s shirtless on page three, in a monastery.”

Finnley, who had been dusting aggressively, made a sharp sniff. “Disgraceful.”

Liz ignored her. “Oh please, Godfrey. You have no vision. Readers love a little intimacy in their historical fiction.”

“The priest,” Godfrey said, voice rising, “is supposed to be celibate. You explicitly wrote that his vow was unbreakable.”

Liz waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I solved that. He forgets about it momentarily.”

Godfrey choked on a peanut. Finnley paused mid-dust, staring at Liz in horror.

Roberto, who had been watering the hydrangeas outside the window, suddenly leaned in. “Did I hear something about a forgetful priest?”

“Not now, Roberto,” Liz said sharply.

Finnley folded her arms. “And how, pray tell, does one simply forget their sacred vows?”

Liz huffed. “The same way one forgets to clean behind the grandfather clock, I imagine.”

Finnley turned an alarming shade of purple.

Godfrey was still in disbelief. “And you’re telling me,” he said, flipping through the pages in growing horror, “that this man, Brother Edric, the holy warrior, somehow manages to fall in love with—who is this—” he squinted, “—Laetitia von Somethingorother?”

Liz beamed. “Ah, yes. Laetitia! Mysterious, tragic, effortlessly seductive—”

“She’s literally the most obvious spy I’ve ever read,” Godfrey groaned, rubbing his face.

“She is not! She is enigmatic.”

“She has a knife hidden in every scene.”

“A woman should be prepared.”

Godfrey took a deep breath and picked up another sheet. “Oh fantastic. There’s a secret baby now.”

Liz nodded sagely. “Yes. I felt that revelation.”

Finnley snorted. “Roberto also felt something last week, and it turned out to be food poisoning.”

Roberto, still hovering at the window, nodded solemnly. “It was quite moving.”

Godfrey set the papers down in defeat. “Liz. Please. I’m begging you. Just one novel—just one—where the historical accuracy lasts at least until page ten.”

Liz tapped her chin. “You might have a point.”

Godfrey perked up.

Liz snapped her fingers. “I should move the shirtless scene to page two.”

Godfrey’s head hit the table.

Roberto clapped enthusiastically. “Genius! I shall fetch celebratory figs!”

Finnley sighed dramatically, threw down her duster, and walked out of the room muttering about professional disgrace.

Liz grinned, completely unfazed. “You know, Godfrey, I really don’t think you appreciate my artistic sacrifices.”

Godfrey, face still buried in his arms, groaned, “Liz, I think Brother Edric’s celibacy lasted longer than my patience.”

Liz threw a hand to her forehead theatrically. “Then it was simply not meant to be.”

Roberto reappeared, beaming. “I found the figs.”

Godfrey reached for another peanut.

He was going to need a lot more of them.

Helix 25 – Below Lower Decks – Shadow Sector

Kai Nova moved cautiously through the underbelly of Helix 25, entering a part of the Lower Decks where the usual throb of the ship’s automated systems turned muted. The air had a different smell here— it was less sterile, more… human. It was warm, the heat from outdated processors and unmonitored power nodes radiating through the bulkheads. The Upper Decks would have reported this inefficiency.

Here, it simply went unnoticed, or more likely, ignored.

He was being watched.

He knew it the moment he passed a cluster of workers standing by a storage unit, their voices trailing off as he walked by. Not unusual, except these weren’t Lower Deck engineers. They had the look of people who existed outside of the ship’s official structure—clothes unmarked by department insignias, movements too intentional for standard crew assignments.

He stopped at the rendezvous point: an unlit access panel leading to what was supposed to be an abandoned sublevel. The panel had been manually overridden, its system logs erased. That alone told him enough—whoever he was meeting had the skills to work outside of Helix 25’s omnipresent oversight.

A voice broke the silence.

“You’re late.”

Kai turned, keeping his stance neutral. The speaker was of indistinct gender, shaved head, tall and wiry, with sharp green eyes locked on his movements. They wore layered robes that, at a glance, could have passed as scavenged fabric—until Kai noticed the intricate stitching of symbols hidden in the folds.

They looked like Zoya’s brand —he almost thought… or let’s just say, Zoya’s influence. Zoya Kade’s litanies had a farther reach he would expect.

“Wasn’t aware this was a job interview,” Kai quipped, leaning casually against the bulkhead.

“Everything’s a test,” they replied. “Especially for outsiders.”

Kai smirked. “I didn’t come to join your book club. I came for answers.”

A low chuckle echoed from the shadows, followed by the shifting of figures stepping into the faint light. Three, maybe four of them. It could have been an ambush, but that was a display.

“Pilot,” the woman continued, avoiding names. “Seeker of truth? Or just another lost soul looking for something to believe in?”

Kai rolled his shoulders, sensing the tension in the air. “I believe in not running out of fuel before reaching nowhere.”

That got their attention.

The recruiter studied him before nodding slightly. “Good. You understand the problem.”

Kai crossed his arms. “I understand a lot of problems. I also understand you’re not just a bunch of doomsayers whispering in the dark. You’re organized. And you think this ship is heading toward a dead end.”

“You say that like it isn’t.”

Kai exhaled, glancing at the flickering emergency light above. “Synthia doesn’t make mistakes.”

They smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “No. It makes adjustments.” — the heavy tone on the “it” struck him. Techno-bigots, or something else? Were they denying Synthia’s sentience, or just adjusting for gender misnomers, it was hard to tell, and he had a hard time to gauge the sanity of this group.

A low murmur of agreement rippled through the gathered figures.

Kai tilted his head. “You think she’s leading us into the abyss?”

The person stepped closer. “What do you think happened to the rest of the fleet, Pilot?”

Kai stiffened slightly. The Helix Fleet, the original grand exodus of humanity—once multiple ships, now only Helix 25, drifting further into the unknown.

He had never been given a real answer.

“Think about it,” they pressed. “This ship wasn’t built for endless travel. Its original mission was altered. Its course reprogrammed. You fly the vessel, but you don’t control it.” She gestured to the others. “None of us do. We’re passengers on a ride to oblivion, on a ship driven by a dead man’s vision.”

Kai had heard the whispers—about the tycoon who had bankrolled Helix 25, about how the ship’s true directive had been rewritten when the Earth refugees arrived. But this group… they didn’t just speculate. They were ready to act.

He kept his voice steady. “You planning on mutiny?”

They smiled, stepping back into the half-shadow. “Mutiny is such a crude word. We’re simply ensuring that we survive.”

Before Kai could respond, a warning prickle ran up his spine.

Someone else was watching.

He turned slowly, catching the faintest silhouette lingering just beyond the corridor entrance. He recognized the stance instantly—Cadet Taygeta.

Damn it.

She had followed him.

The group noticed, shifting slightly. Not hostile, but suddenly alert.

“Well, well,” the woman murmured. “Seems you have company. You weren’t as careful as you thought. How are you going to deal with this problem now?”

Kai exhaled, weighing his options. If Taygeta had followed him, she’d already flagged this meeting in her records. If he tried to run, she’d report it. If he didn’t run, she might just dig deeper.

And the worst part?

She wasn’t corruptible. She wasn’t the type to look the other way.

“You should go,” the movement person said. “Before your shadow decides to interfere.”

Kai hesitated for half a second, before stepping back.

“This isn’t over,” he said.

Her smile returned. “No, Pilot. It’s just beginning.”

With that, Kai turned and walked toward the exit—toward Taygeta, who was waiting for him with arms crossed, expression unreadable.

He didn’t speak first.

She did.

“You’re terrible at being subtle.”

Kai sighed, thinking quickly of how much of the conversation could be accessed by the central system. They were still in the shadow zone, but that wasn’t sufficient. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough.” Her voice was even, but her fingers twitched at her side. “You know this is treason, right?”

Kai ran a hand through his hair. “You really think we’re on course for a fresh new paradise?”

Taygeta didn’t answer right away. That was enough of an answer.

Finally, she exhaled. “You should report this.”

“You should,” Kai corrected.

She frowned.

He pressed on. “You know me, Taygeta. I don’t follow lost causes. I don’t get involved in politics. I fly. I survive. But if they’re right—if there’s even a chance that we’re being sent to our deaths—I need to know.”

Taygeta’s fingers twitched again.

Then, with a sharp breath, she turned.

“I didn’t see anything tonight.”

Kai blinked. “What?”

Her back was already to him, her voice tight. “Whatever you’re doing, Nova, be careful. Because next time?” She turned her head slightly, just enough to let him see the edge of her conflicted expression.

“I will report you.”

Then she was gone.

Kai let out a slow breath, glancing back toward the hidden movement behind him.

No turning back now.

Helix 25 – Lower Decks – Secretive Adjustments

Sue Brittany Kaleleonālani Forgelot moved with the practiced grace of someone accustomed to being noticed—but tonight, she walked as someone trying not to be. The Upper Deck was hers, where conversations flowed with elegant pretense and where everyone knew her by firstname —Sue, she would insist. There would be none of that bowing nonsense to her noble lineages —bless her distinguished ancestors.

Here, in the Lower Decks, she was a curiosity at best, an intrusion at worst.

Unlike the well-maintained Upper Decks, here the air was warmer, and one could sense mingled with the recycled air, a distinct scent of metal, oil, and even labouring bodies. Maintenance bots were limited, and keeping people busy with work helped with the social order. Lights flickered erratically in narrow corridors, nothing like the pristine glow of the Upper Deck’s crystal chandeliers. The Lower Decks were functional, built for work and survival, not for leisure. And deeper still—past the bustling workstations, past the overlooked mechanics keeping Helix 25 from falling apart—the Hold.

The Hold was where she found Luca Stroud.

A heavy, reinforced door hissed as it unlocked, and Sue stepped inside his dimly lit workshop. Stacks of salvaged tech lined the walls, interspersed with crates of unauthorized modifications in this workspace born of a mixture of necessity, ingenuity, and quiet rebellion.

Luca barely looked up as he wiped oil from his hands. “You’re late, dear.”

Sue huffed, settling into the chair he had long since designated for her. “A lady does not rush. Besides, I had affairs to attend to.” She crossed one leg over the other, her silk shawl catching on the metallic seam of a cybernetic limb beneath it. “And I had to dodge half the ship to get here unnoticed.”

Luca grunted, kneeling beside her. “You wouldn’t have to sneak if you’d just let one of the Upper Deck doctors service this thing.” He tapped lightly on the synthetic skin to reveal the metallic prosthetic, watching as the synthetic nerves twitched in response.

Sue’s expression turned sharp. “You know why I can’t.”

Luca said nothing, but his smirk spoke volumes.

There were things she couldn’t let the Upper Deck medics see. Upgrades, modifications, small enhancements that gave her just enough edge. In the circles she moved in, knowledge was power. And she was far too valuable to be at the mercy of those who wanted her dependent.

Luca examined the joint, nodding to himself. “You’ve been walking too much on it.”

“Well, forgive me for using my own legs.”

He tightened a wire. Sue winced, but he ignored it. “You need recalibration. And I need better parts.”

Sue gave a slow, knowing smile. “And what minor favors will you require this time?”

Luca leaned back, thoughtful. “Information. Since you’re generous with it.”

She sighed, shifting in her seat. “Fine. You’re lucky I find you amusing.”

He adjusted a component with expert hands. “Tell me about the murder.”

Sue arched a brow. “Everyone wants to talk about that. You’d think no one had ever died before.”

“They haven’t,” Luca countered, voice flat. “Not for a long time. And not like this.”

She studied him, his interest piquing her own. “So you think it was a real murder.”

Luca let out a dry chuckle. “Oh, it was a murder alright. And you know it.”

Sue exhaled, considering what to share. “Well, rumor has it, the DNA found in the crime scene doesn’t belong here. It’s from the past. Far past.”

Luca glanced up, intrigued. “How far?”

Sue leaned in, voice hushed. “Crusader far.”

He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “That’s… new.”

She tilted her head. “What does that mean to you?”

Luca hesitated, then shrugged. “Means whoever’s playing god with DNA sequencing isn’t as smart as they think they are.”

Sue smiled at that, more amused than disturbed. “And I suppose you have theories?”

Luca gave her cybernetic limb one final adjustment, then stood. “I have suspicions.”

Sue sighed dramatically. “How thrilling.” She flexed her leg, satisfied with the result. “Keep me informed, and I’ll see what I can find for you.”

Luca smirked. “You always do.”

As she rose to leave, she paused at the door. “Oh, one last thing, dear.”

Luca glanced at her. “What?”

Sue’s smirk deepened. “Should I put in a good word to the Captain for you?”

The question hung between them.

Luca narrowed his eyes. “Nobody’s ever met the Captain.”

She nodded, satisfied, and left him to his thoughts.