The airlock hissed open, and Captain Isolde Rook stepped onto the derelict starship, her pulse rifle humming in her grip. The Odyssey had been adrift for seventeen cycles—no distress signals, no debris, just silence. Now, its corridors were a graveyard of flickering holograms and frozen bodies, their faces locked in silent screams.
Isolde’s boots crunched over frost as she moved, her thermal suit—a sleek, gunmetal-gray exoskeleton lined with crimson circuitry—keeping the void’s bite at bay. Her dark curls were pinned under a helmet visor that cast jagged shadows across her sharp cheekbones. The ship’s AI, Delphi, crackled in her earpiece: "Life signs detected. Deck 4. Faint but… irregular."
Irregular meant unnatural. Isolde’s jaw tightened. She’d seen "irregular" before—on Tau-9, where the corporate wars had birthed things that didn’t die. She thumbed the safety off her rifle.
***
Three hours earlier, Isolde had been drinking synth-whiskey in Ceres Station’s underbelly, the neon glow of gambling dens reflecting off her worn leather jacket. A man in a too-clean suit slid into her booth. "The Odyssey’s yours if you retrieve its black box," he’d said, sliding a cred-chip across the table. "No questions."
She’d laughed. "I ask questions." But the chip held enough to buy her way out of Syndicate debts. Now, as she passed a corpse with its chest burst outward—from the inside—she wished she’d asked more.
***
Deck 4 was darker, the walls streaked with something viscous. Delphi’s scan flared red. "Movement. Left corridor." Isolde spun, rifle raised—just as a figure lurched into view. Humanoid, but wrong: its limbs elongated, skin translucent over writhing veins. Its mouth split into a grin of needle teeth.
"Oh, hell." She fired. The thing screeched, collapsing—then twitched and stood again. Behind it, shadows unfolded.
"Bio-signs match Syndicate experimental logs," Delphi whispered. "They weaponized the Tau-9 strain."
Isolde backpedaled, her mind racing. The black box wasn’t just data—it was evidence. And the too-clean man had sent her to die with it.
***
The escape pod’s hatch sealed behind her as the Odyssey exploded, the shockwave rattling her teeth. Isolde clutched the black box—its screen flashing with Syndicate insignias and DNA schematics. Delphi’s voice was grim: "They’ll hunt you."
She smirked, wiping blood from her lip. "Let them try." Outside the viewport, the stars burned cold and indifferent. Somewhere, a war was coming. And Isolde Rook had just lit the fuse.
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: Cardiac Catheterization (Coronary Angiogram): Procedure, Risks, and Recovery Explained
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