The first sensation was the cold. A deep, marrow-chilling cold that had nothing to do with the cryo-fluid draining from his pod. It was the cold of silence.
Kaelen-737 (Maintenance Grade 4) blinked, his vision a blur of sterile white light and condensation. The familiar, rhythmic thrum of the Elysian's engines, a vibration he felt in his teeth for the ten years he'd been awake-cycle, was gone. Replaced by a profound, deafening stillness that was more terrifying than any alarm.
He coughed, the fluid burning his throat, and pushed against the pod's inner seal. It hissed open, a sound unnaturally loud in the void. He stumbled out, naked and shivering, onto the grating of Cryo-Bay 17, Sector Gamma. His body was weak, his muscles screaming in protest after… how long? A standard five-year sleep-cycle? It felt longer. His joints ached with a deep, ancient stiffness.
He reached for the standard-issue grey jumpsuit from the rack beside his pod, his fingers fumbling with the familiar fabric. That's when he noticed the other pods.
Pod 738, Sarah Lin, Hydroponics Specialist. The status light was dark. Not the comforting green of stable sleep, nor the angry red of a malfunction. Just… dead. He staggered to the viewport, wiping away the frost. Inside, a skeletal figure, desiccated and still, still held the faint shape of Sarah's smile.
A jolt of panic, sharp and electric, shot through him. He turned, his breath catching in his chest. Pod 739. Dark. Pod 740. Dark. He ran down the aisle, his bare feet slapping against the cold metal, his heart hammering against his ribs. A thousand pods. All dark. All silent tombs.
"Hello?" he croaked, his voice a pathetic whisper swallowed by the immense bay. "Is anyone there? Systems check!"
No answer. Only the faint, mournful whine of a failing air recycler in the distance. He was a man of lowly rank; his job was to fix clogged filters and faulty light panels, not to understand the silence of a billion souls. This was a catastrophe far above his pay grade. Where was Command? Where were the emergency protocols?
A sharp, localized pain prickled behind his right eye, a sensation he'd had since the neural chip was implanted at the start of the voyage. It was usually just a faint buzz during system-wide announcements. Now, it flared into a full-blown migraine.
A voice, calm, synthesized, and female, spoke not in the room, but directly into his mind. "Neural interface established. Identity confirmed: Kaelen-737. Vital signs stabilizing. Welcome back to consciousness, Steward."
Kaelen stumbled back, clutching his head. "Mother? What… what's happening? Why is the bay dark? Where is everyone?"
"A level-five chronometric anomaly has been detected," the ship's AI, Mother, replied. "Your cryo-suspension has been extended significantly beyond parameters. Initializing full diagnostic."
"An anomaly? What kind of anomaly? How long?"
"Diagnostic complete. The current date, according to the Elysian's internal chronometer, is 35,842 years, 7 months, and 12 days post-departure from Sol System."
The numbers hit him like a physical blow. He sank to his knees, the world tilting around him. Thirty-five thousand years. It was an impossible span of time. Human civilization on Old Earth had barely lasted a tenth of that. The entire voyage was only supposed to take a thousand years.
"That can't be right," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Check again. Everyone… are they…?"
"Biometric scans of all cryo-pods are complete," Mother's voice was relentlessly even. "I am sorry, Kaelen. You are the only life sign registered aboard the Elysian. The anomaly resulted in a cascade failure of the cryo-preservation systems. You are the sole survivor."
Sole survivor. The words echoed in the vast, silent chamber. Out of 1.1 billion souls—citizens, crew, military—he, a Grade 4 Maintenance worker, was alone. The weight of it was crushing, a suffocating pressure that made it hard to breathe. He was utterly, terrifyingly alone.
The voice in his head continued, its tone shifting to one of formal protocol. "Under Elysian Charter, Article 1, Section Alpha: In the event of the incapacitation or death of all command-level personnel, primary authority of the vessel defaults to the highest-ranking surviving crew member. Neural chip signature confirms your identity. Kaelen-737, you are hereby designated the Steward of the Elysian. Command authority is now vested in you."
A holographic display flickered to life in front of him, projected from his neural chip. It showed a breathtakingly complex schematic of the entire 50-kilometer-long starship. Every deck, every corridor, every room, from the bridge to the smallest waste reclamation unit, was outlined in soft blue light. He saw icons for defense systems, hangar bays containing squadrons of remote-piloted fighter craft, environmental controls, and yes, even the public sanitation nodes. It was all his.
He, who needed three attempts to pass the basic systems diagnostics exam, was now in charge of a continent-sized starship.
"Mother… I can't… I'm just a maintenance worker."
"The designation is irreversible," she stated. "And there is a more immediate concern. The ship's power reserves are at 3.7% and depleting. The main fusion generator is in a safe-mode shutdown. It must be manually reactivated at the primary control nexus located in the reactor core housing."
A new alert flashed on the hologram. A large section near the ship's stern glowed amber.
"The reactivation sequence must be initiated before reserves fall below 1%. Failure will result in the irreversible loss of life support. Furthermore, long-range communications are permanently offline. The cause is unknown."
Kaelen stared at the schematic, his mind reeling. Alone for 35,000 years. The owner of a ghost ship. And now, the only person who could stop it from becoming his tomb.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, the cold air stinging his lungs. The fear was still there, a wild animal clawing at the inside of his chest. But beneath it, something else stirred—a primal, desperate need to survive.
"Okay, Mother," he said, his voice gaining a sliver of strength. "Show me the way to the reactor."