How far can you go before the silence breaks you?
Commander Solene Ellis has left Earth behind forever. Now she drifts through the void aboard the colony ship Nia Kvara, watching over 100,000 colonists in hibernation. Only Ava, the ship’s AI, keeps her company.
The voyage spans 3,000 years, but for Solene, time comes in fragments—fleeting moments of wakefulness between long, frozen sleeps. Hours blur into decades. Memories unravel. In the stillness, she begins to lose track not only of time, but of herself.
And solitude in deep space doesn’t stay quiet for long. Whispers echo where no one should be. Shadows shift just beyond her vision. A mysterious vessel appears in the void. Even Ava starts to act… strangely.
As reality fractures, Solene must face a terrifying question: is something out there hunting them—or has her own mind become the true threat?
For readers of literary science fiction, space horror, and character-driven psychological drama, HomeAdrift is a story of isolation, survival, and what it means to find home when there's nowhere left to go.
How far can you go before the silence breaks you?
Commander Solene Ellis has left Earth behind forever. Now she drifts through the void aboard the colony ship Nia Kvara, watching over 100,000 colonists in hibernation. Only Ava, the ship’s AI, keeps her company.
The voyage spans 3,000 years, but for Solene, time comes in fragments—fleeting moments of wakefulness between long, frozen sleeps. Hours blur into decades. Memories unravel. In the stillness, she begins to lose track not only of time, but of herself.
And solitude in deep space doesn’t stay quiet for long. Whispers echo where no one should be. Shadows shift just beyond her vision. A mysterious vessel appears in the void. Even Ava starts to act… strangely.
As reality fractures, Solene must face a terrifying question: is something out there hunting them—or has her own mind become the true threat?
For readers of literary science fiction, space horror, and character-driven psychological drama, HomeAdrift is a story of isolation, survival, and what it means to find home when there's nowhere left to go.
I’m weightless. Floating in the cold emptiness of space. I try to scream, to cry out, but no sound escapes my throat.
Silence.
I slip farther and farther away from the ship—my ship.
Around me, hibernation pods lie scattered. Some hang open, their occupants unnervingly peaceful, drifting lifelessly with limbs outstretched toward the black infinity.
My lungs burn for air that isn’t there, yet death doesn’t claim me. Panic seizes me. I struggle to grasp at anything—a railing, a door, the ship—but my hands close on nothing.
I am powerless, unable to save myself, the vessel, or the colonists I am sworn to protect.
The abyss of space morphs into a sea of black liquid that envelops me with sinister warmth. It swallows me whole, pulling me deeper into its depths. My lungs, desperate for air, fill instead with a dark, viscous liquid. I sink, the pressure crushing me gently.
I sense movement around me—a flutter, a shifting of the dark. The liquid disperses into thousands of tiny black birds, their gleaming obsidian eyes staring intently at me. They rise, wings beating urgently against me. The birds sing—not with the melodies of nature but in harsh, discordant tones. Their chirping melds into a singular, deafening alarm. It crescendos—
My eyes snap open. I jolt upright, drenched in sweat, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Hair clings to my damp forehead as I clutch the edges of an unfamiliar bed. The sterile decor of a hotel room comes into focus—the beige walls, the bland furniture. Through the large window stretching from floor to ceiling, the sky begins to brighten, though the sun has yet to rise.
The relentless beeping of the suite’s messenger system pulls me back to reality. It flickers to life, and a clear voice fills the space.
“Commander Ellis, all colonists are now securely aboard the colony ship Nia Kvara, and preparations for departure are complete. A transport pod is en route to your location to bring you to the shuttle. Once you’re aboard, we’ll initiate takeoff for high Earth orbit, where Nia Kvara awaits.”
The message slowly penetrates the haze of my half-awake mind. I rub my eyes, the slight pressure beginning to clear persistent tendrils of sleep.
“Copy that,” I reply, my voice steady despite my pounding heart. “Let’s start this mission.”
I step into the small bathroom compartment. The cool light flickers on automatically, reflecting off the white tiles.
As I splash water onto my face, I catch my reflection in the mirror—light brown eyes slightly red, dark circles beneath them, my skin paler than usual. My hands tremble slightly as I take a deep breath. The cold water drips from my fingertips, each drop like the dark liquid from my dream. I try to shake the memory of the birds, their obsidian eyes watching me, the relentless weightlessness, and those lifeless bodies drifting away.
It was just a dream.
After a quick shower, I dry off and start dressing, piece by piece. Underwear. Socks. I fasten my bra tighter than usual, adjusting the straps until the fit feels right. Then I pull on a fitted tank top, followed by my uniform, a gray jumpsuit with a few buttons on top and a zipper along the side. Finally, my boots. I slide my feet in, and the inner lining adjusts automatically, molding to their shape.
I glance at myself in the mirror, absently touching the faint mark on the left side of my neck—a birthmark. My gaze shifts to my hair, ash brown, unkempt, still slightly damp. Reaching for a hair band on the counter, I gather my hair at the back of my head, pulling it into a loose ponytail. I smooth down a few stray strands, my image now a touch more composed, more like the commander I need to be—ready to face whatever comes her way.
I straighten, rolling back my shoulders. It’s time to face the day.
As I reenter the main room, the early-morning light seeps into the space. I watch the sun crest the horizon, its rays heralding the start of a new day. A holographic display flickers to life, casting the day’s news in a muted glow across the room.
“Today marks the historic launch of Nia Kvara, the fourth colony ship in Earth’s monumental evacuation mission to escape the impending supernova,” a news anchor announces. “In just a few hours, this vessel, currently stationed in high Earth orbit, will begin its journey to establish a new home for its assigned community of colonists. Nia Kvara is one of nearly five thousand ships completed or still in construction, designed to transport five hundred million volunteers who have opted to leave Earth behind. Each of these vessels is bound for a unique star system, as humanity attempts to create multiple new homes across the galaxy. While this is only the fourth ship launch, many more will follow, supported by Earth’s brightest minds to ensure a safe passage for all . . .”
The broadcast drones on in the background. I smooth the front of my crisp commander uniform. In my reflection in the window, I catch a glimpse of my badge gleaming in the early-morning light. I take a deep breath, adjusting my collar. I am ready. This is what I’ve prepared for—every training, every simulation, every briefing leading me here.
On the TV, a live feed of the shuttle on the launchpad flickers into view. It sits solitary in an expansive field close to the sea. I can also see the shuttle through the window on my left, its mighty silhouette against the brightening sky mirroring the vivid image on the screen. My chest tightens as I look between the display and the window. My fingers tap a silent drumroll on the wall. My eyes dart back and forth, absorbing every detail.
The transport pod arrives just as I tear my gaze away. I head for its door, and with a press of a button, it hisses open, revealing the sleek, compact body of the pod.
As I step into it, my heart flutters like a hummingbird’s rapid wings. The spacious interior holds a single seat bathed in soft light. It seamlessly glides down the elongated hallway, moving past a few chambers. We reach a glass bridge offering a panoramic view—our shuttle ready at the launchpad, mountains rippling to the horizon, expansive forests, and the faint cityscape silhouetted against the sky. Each detail intensifies the knot of anxiety in my stomach, my fingers tingling. This world—my home—will soon be nothing more than a memory.
As the pod advances, it weaves past a series of towering gantries before plunging into the transfer tunnel. I’m enveloped in darkness, the smooth walls of the tunnel occasionally broken by streaks of light flashing past. As I near the launchpad, the tunnel’s end brightens, revealing a breathtaking view: the shuttle stands before me, its massive form dominating my vision. The pod slows and stops at the shuttle’s entrance.
I step into the compact shuttle cabin, where a single chair dominates the command panel surrounded by auxiliary seats. I sink into the chair before the panel. A myriad of stats concerning the shuttle emerge, interspersed with vivid visualizations of our voyage and target destination punctuating the expanse on the map. The speakers come to life, the voice of the control operator cutting through the ambient mechanical buzz.
“Welcome, Commander. I’ve been keeping a close watch on our mission’s status. All systems are operating within the acceptable ranges. The automated mission briefing should begin momentarily.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I reply, the weight of duty pressing harder against my shoulders.
I reach for the harness, snapping it into place with a click. As I finish securing myself, the briefing engages, its holographic display materializing before me.
“Mission overview: Project Haven.” The briefing begins. “The designated destination for ship number four, Nia Kvara, is Kepler 409-C, located two hundred twenty-two light-years from Earth. Total mission duration: approximately three thousand years.”
The display flickers, and an image of Earth appears, with five thousand ships projecting outward from it, their trajectories marked as faint lines piercing the blackness of space. One ship, highlighted in bold, is ours: Nia Kvara. The briefing continues. “The impending supernova, estimated to impact Earth by the year 2350, necessitates humanity’s evacuation. Project Haven was initiated as the most viable plan for the survival of our species. This ship’s path to Kepler 409-C was chosen specifically to ensure both distance from the supernova and the potential for long-term habitability.”
I take a deep breath, the enormity of our journey sinking in.
“The mission is divided into multiple stages. Our first stop is Proxima Centauri, four point two light-years away. Estimated travel time: forty-two years. Throughout the three-thousand-year journey, all colonists will remain in hibernation. You, Commander, will be awakened at each stop to oversee ship functions, ensure progress, and make necessary adjustments.”
A 3D projection of our trajectory materializes before me, highlighting each star in our path. The trail, a string of lights across the cosmos, undulates with our projected course, the daunting distance to Kepler 409-C noted at its end.
“Preliminary analyses suggest an Earthlike atmosphere within the star Kepler 409-C’s habitable zone, potentially capable of supporting human life. This will be the new home for the colonists aboard Nia Kvara.”
The briefing pauses, allowing me to absorb the information. I stare at the projected path, each point representing a moment I’ll wake, check our progress, and return to sleep. I’ll be guiding humanity to its new home, one stop at a time, over thousands of years.
“A critical reminder: As the sole overseer, your responsibility is to handle and resolve the full range of ship operations.”
At each stop along the projected path, small pop-ups begin to appear, showcasing my core duties: Routine Ship Diagnostics, Hibernation Maintenance Check, Gravity Engine Efficiency Confirmation, Water & Oxygen Recycling Unit Maintenance, Mining and Resource-Gathering Inspection. These reminders emphasize the countless systems I must inspect, the data I must confirm, and the status reports I must compile—all part of my role as the lone commander on this journey.
“The safety and success of this mission rest on your ability to address all but the most extreme challenges independently. Only in the event of an emergency, where the situation is beyond your expertise and jeopardizes the mission, may you consider waking a member of the crew for specialized support.”
The path forward now lies quiet, the pop-ups fading. “The well-being of these essential crew members is paramount. Each was selected for mission-critical expertise required upon arrival; their hibernation should be interrupted only as an absolute last resort.”
The hologram dims slightly, signaling the end of the briefing. “Good luck, Commander. The future rests in your hands.”
“Commander, initiating final prelaunch diagnostic sequence,” Control’s voice resonates within the small cabin. “Running checks on life support, propulsion, and navigation systems.”
I watch as status indicators flicker across my display, each system flashing green in quick succession.
“All systems nominal,” Control reports after a moment. “Telemetry link is stable. Pressure and temperature readings are within acceptable parameters. We’re ready for launch.”
“Copy that, Control,” I respond, my voice steadier than my nerves. “Awaiting final clearance.”
“Roger, Commander. T-minus thirty seconds. Transferring launch control to your console . . . now. You are cleared to initiate the jump sequence when ready. Destination: colony ship Nia Kvara, high Earth orbit. Expected flight duration: four minutes, twenty-seven seconds. Good luck.”
I take a deep breath, my hands hovering over the console. But before I can initiate the launch, I halt, words swelling within me like a tide ready to break.
“Mike,” I begin, shaky yet resolute, “I want you to know it’s been an honor. All these years working together, your guidance, your support . . . they weren’t just appreciated. They were the anchor that held fast. Thank you.”
There’s a brief pause, then Mike’s voice filters through the speaker. “It’s been an absolute privilege. We did this together. And now all our trust is in you. You’ll do great. Remember, you’ll be among the stars—but never alone. We’re all cheering for you back here on Earth. Stay safe, Solene.”
My gaze sweeps over the sleek control panel, with its minimalist design. Despite the complexity of our mission, the launch interface is elegantly simple. I place my palm on the biometric scanner, and the system comes to life, recognizing my unique signature. A projection materializes before me, showing a single pulsing initiator. This isn’t a mere button or lever. It’s a gateway between worlds, a threshold I’m about to cross—the people I’ll never see again. I hover my hand over the initiator, feeling the weight of the moment.
With a deep breath, I make the gesture to activate it. The hologram responds to my movement, glowing brighter as it registers my command.
“Launch sequence initiated,” the system confirms.
The countdown starts, and a sheen of sweat clings to my palm. The rhythm of the impending launch sets my nerves tingling and my senses on fire.
“Ten.” This is it, the point of no return. I glance once more at Earth. My home, now just a view from the window.
“Nine.” My pulse quickens in sync with the decreasing numbers. Every beat is a reminder of the journey ahead.
“Eight.” I recall the faces of friends, family, and all the people I’m leaving behind.
“Seven.” The training, the preparations, the endless drills; everything has led to this moment.
“Six.” I try to center myself. I am the commander, responsible for a hundred thousand lives.
“Five.” I tighten my grip on the handles, my sweaty palms leaving a damp imprint.
“Four.” The roar of the rockets grows louder, becomes almost deafening.
“Three.” A soft vibration travels up from beneath me, a beastly growl from the rocket preparing to devour the distance between us and Nia Kvara.
“Two.” The final instructions flash on the panel: Trajectory confirmed, destination set. All systems are go.
“One.” There’s a brief, almost imperceptible pause, as though the universe itself were drawing a breath.
“And takeoff.” I hurtle upward at an astounding speed, pressed into my seat. Through the window, the curvature of Earth comes into view, gradually shrinking as we rise, its deep blues and whites blending into a serene, distant globe.
I’m in the silence of space. The vibrations fade, and I sense the stages of the rocket separating.
The colony ship expands and sharpens in view as I near it. It looms large, a titan among the stars. Its massive size dwarfs my pod. The ship’s cylindrical form resembles an immense capsule, streamlined and sleek, a marvel of engineering built for a singular purpose: to safeguard and transport its slumbering passengers across the stars. Its exterior, a smooth expanse of reflective silver, shimmers under the faint starlight, revealing little of what lies within.
Breaking its surface are only a few windows, strategically placed ports alongside the large, clear panel at the front that marks the Command Room—my soon-to-be station. The midsection bulges slightly where the Hibernation Hall lies, housing the colonists who are in their suspended sleep, waiting to awaken on a distant world. At the rear, the colossal thrusters lie dormant, poised to ignite and propel us into the unknown. The ship is a cocoon, a safeguard for humanity’s brave pioneers as they sleep and dream of their new home.
I peel my gaze away from the vessel. Then a soft thud snaps me back to reality, signifying the completion of my docking procedure. The engines wind down, and with a hiss, the cabin door slides open, announcing my arrival. A gust of sterile recycled air greets me. The corridor of the colony ship stands eerily silent, broken only by the soft vibrations of the engines echoing off the metallic walls. Dim lights cast long, dancing shadows across the cold and utilitarian gray walls.
The floor is made up of metal panels, each seamlessly connected, forming the ship’s vast network of corridors and rooms. As I navigate the labyrinthine corridors, my steps reverberate through the stillness. After what feels like an eternity, I reach the Command Room. Before entering, I take a moment, steeling myself. Then, pushing open the door, I step inside.
The Command Room is alive with activity, a sharp contrast from the lifeless corridor outside. Screens flicker with streams of data and status updates, casting an eerie blue light. The buzz of electricity and the faint tap-tap-tap of unseen machines fills the room with a rhythmic chorus.
In the center of the room is the command desk and chair, with holographic displays that come to life when needed. I run my fingers over the smooth synthetic black leather of the chair, untouched and pristine. I settle into it, the material yielding to my form, fitting me like a glove, as if it were tailored just for me. Directly ahead, a large observation window, framed by two cozy chairs and a small table, dominates the far wall, offering an unobstructed view of the stars.
I glance to my left and see my hibernation pod nestled in its recessed space—a sealed metal shell that will be my refuge during the voyage. Just beside it, the entrance to the Mining Bay hallway looms, dimly lit and shadowed. Turning to my right, I see the sliding door to the galley. Adjacent to that, another hallway leads to the Hibernation Hall. Each space connects seamlessly, the Command Room serving as a central hub, with every direction leading to a vital part of our mission.
The moment lingers as I stand from the chair, my eyes taking in the Command Room once more. It’s efficient, meticulously designed, yet oddly intimate. This carefully crafted haven, with its medley of high-tech consoles and displays, will serve as my sanctuary, my base, my dwelling for the next three thousand years. As I prepare to engage with the main console, a voice fills the quiet.
“Greetings, Commander Ellis. I am Ava, the ship’s artificial intelligence—your primary point of contact during this journey,” she begins, her voice smooth and calm, a familiar presence now made official. “As your navigation and system-management assistant, I will provide continuous updates on our trajectory, ship status, and destination. You may access all data via the command panel at any time. The success of this mission is of utmost priority.”
“Thanks, Ava. It’s good to finally start this mission with you,” I reply, my fingers lightly tapping on the smooth surface of the panel.
“Affirmative, Commander. My function is to assist in overcoming the challenges that lie ahead,” Ava continues.
I glance away from the console for a moment, contemplating her words. “Before we start, are any of the colonists still awake in the Hibernation Hall? I’d like to see some familiar faces before the long sleep,” I ask.
“Indeed, Commander. A few colonists are in the process of their pre-hibernation routines. It would be an excellent opportunity to visit the Hibernation Hall.”
I smile at the thought, a warmth spreading through me. “That sounds perfect. Let’s head there first.”
I walk through the long corridor and reach the entrance to the Hibernation Hall. The massive doors slide open, revealing the vast space beyond. Inside, the ambient buzz of last-minute preparations fills the space. Only a few colonists are still active, their movements purposeful and efficient, like worker bees securing their hive before winter sets in. Making my way through the hall, I spot James tucked away to the side, half submerged in an open cabinet filled with engineering tools. His bulky frame, broad shoulders straining against his uniform, and close-cropped black hair are unmistakable. A short, neatly trimmed beard frames his strong jaw, adding to his rugged appearance. The familiar sight of our chief engineer absorbed in his work brings a smile to my lips. He’s always in his element.
“Lost something in there, James?” I call out.
His head pops out from the labyrinth of tools, a grin spreading across his weathered face. “Commander! Just makin’ sure everything’s ready before we hit the sack.”
The sight of him stirs memories of past missions, and I can’t help but tease him: “Reminds me of the time you practically rebuilt the Mars rover just to replace a loose bolt!”
His laughter fills the room. “Ah, but it was worth it, wasn’t it?”
Nodding in agreement, I steer the topic to something closer to the heart. “How did Laura and the kids handle their hibernation process? They all right?”
His grin softens into a warm smile. “They’re in their pods, sleepin’ like babies. Excited about the adventure that awaits when they wake.”
We all carry something precious on this voyage, a piece of home we’re determined to safeguard in the new world. Just as I’m about to turn away, a flash of movement across the hall catches my eye. A figure with blond hair, her thin frame hunched slightly over the main console of the Hibernation Hall, diligently works at the controls. The professional yet gentle touch gives her away.
“James, isn’t that Sarah over there?” I ask, squinting slightly to confirm my suspicion.
James follows my gaze. “Sure is. Our chief medic—always the perfectionist. The title suits her, doesn’t it?”
I nod, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “It really does.”
Leaving James to his preparations, I make my way toward Sarah, my boots echoing on the metal floors. She’s deeply engrossed in her work, her fingers moving with practiced precision
over the console as she checks the vitals of the hibernating colonists. Just as I approach, she looks up, a welcoming smile spreading across her face.
“Sol, you snuck up on me.” She chuckles, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.
With a playful grin, I respond, “Just keeping you on your toes. We wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable now, would we?”
She laughs and pulls me into a warm hug, which I return. “Comfort and I haven’t been on speaking terms since the Cygnus mission. Speaking of which . . .” She arches an eyebrow, her look a silent reminder.
Laughing, I raise my hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. Once we’re settled, the first glass of wine’s on me.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
As the laughter fades, I notice the focused look on her face and ask, “Everything all right?”
Sarah nods, her fingers still moving deftly over the console. “Yes, just giving everything a final check to make sure it’s perfect.”
She glances down the hall, her expression turning thoughtful as she watches a young woman absorbed in her pre-hibernation procedures. “But, before you head off,” she begins, her gaze lingering on the woman, “you might want to have a word with Elena. She’s one of my most promising students. Brilliant, but a little anxious about hibernation. Maybe a word from you would help?”
Seeing the concern in her eyes, I nod. “Will do.”
I approach Elena, noticing the way her shoulders are slightly hunched, her brow furrowed in thought. Even from a distance, she seems consumed by a mix of focus and uncertainty, one hand absently twisting a strand of her black hair.
I clear my throat softly, not wanting to startle her. “Elena?”
Her head snaps up, a flash of surprise in her eyes quickly masked by a professional, though slightly shaky, smile. “Commander,” she greets me, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Sarah told me you’re one of her top students,” I say, hoping to break the ice and ease some of her nerves.
She blinks, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as her look of surprise shifts into one of pride. “I . . . I do my best, Commander. Medicine is . . . a challenging field.”
I chuckle. “That’s putting it lightly. Medicine is one of the hardest disciplines out there. We’re counting on you to carry this knowledge forward—to bring modern medicine to a new world. That’s an incredible honor.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly as she absorbs my words, and a small, genuine smile forms on her lips. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, Commander. It’s . . . a lot to live up to, but I’ll do my best.”
I soften my voice. “Elena, I know all of this might feel overwhelming. Hibernation, the journey . . . It’s a lot to take in. But you’ve been through the simulations, the drills. You’ve got this.”
She nods, though there’s still a shadow of doubt in her eyes. I press on. “Hibernation is one of the safest procedures we have. You’ll be under before you even realize it, and the next thing you know, you’ll be waking up in a new world.”
She meets my gaze, a flicker of determination replacing her hesitation. Her grip on the hibernation pod tightens as she straightens her posture. “Yes, Commander. I . . . I’ve got this.”
As I walk away, a sense of pride fills me, admiration swelling for the courage of those entrusting me with their lives in these pods. The collective dream of a new home feels like a steady force, grounding me and propelling me forward. I will not let them down.
Back in the Command Room, I’m drawn to the observation window as if by some magnetic force. I gasp, my throat tightening as Earth, a vibrant marble of blues and whites, swirls beneath me. The realization that I’m seeing Earth perhaps for the last time engulfs me like an icy wave. I can feel the tendrils of reminiscence winding through my thoughts. I take a moment, breathing in deeply as I commit this view to memory.
Turning from the window, I approach the console. My fingers trace the predetermined course, the luminous line that charts our path through the abyss to our final destination: Kepler 409-C. First stop: Proxima Centauri. I can feel the ship thrumming under my feet, echoing the beating of my heart, ready for the leap into the unknown.
“Commander,” Ava’s voice slices through the hush, her tone calm and monotonous, “the jump will be initiated as soon as the hibernation process for all colonists is complete. In the meantime, it is advisable for you to retire to your designated hibernation pod. Upon arrival at the next stop, I will facilitate your awakening.”
I take in the room, soaking in the details—the hum of the ship, the dim lights casting long shadows, the panel flickering with information—all these will become my constants during this journey.
Approaching the hibernation pod, I marvel at its design. A sleek cylinder of silver material, the pod extends to about seven feet long and four feet in diameter, its surface reflecting the room’s dim lights. A large, thick glass panel, currently opaque, stretches across its front. I know from my training that it will become transparent once the pod is activated, allowing a view of the interior. The front section of the pod is designed to slide open completely, providing easy access. The familiar control panel nearby glows with an array of buttons and indicators, each symbolizing a crucial function of the pod.
The whole structure seems to vibrate faintly under my touch. The sterile chill of the metal grazes my spine with a sudden cold thrill as I press the button, the front panel hissing open to reveal its womb-like interior.
Just as I’m about to prepare myself for the hibernation process, Ava’s voice cuts through the ambient hum of the room. “Commander, you have a transmission request.”
“Patch it through,” I respond, stepping back from the pod.
The console flares to life, and Rebecca’s image shimmers into focus. Her eyes, steady and warm, meet mine, carrying a familiarity that instantly eases some of my tension.
“I was just about to go under, Bec. How’s everything shaping up for your ship?” I ask, a smile tugging at my lips.
“On track for launch in six months,” she replies. The faint lines around her eyes tighten as she studies me. “You’re dwelling on it again, aren’t you?”
I try to brush off the doubt, forcing a shrug. “I’m fine. It’s just . . . a lot to think about.”
She leans forward, her face filling my screen, her gaze unflinching. “Sol, don’t do that. You have to trust in your training, your capabilities.”
I glance away, my eyes landing on my hibernation pod. My grip tightens around the handle, the cool metal grounding me. For a moment, the silence stretches between us, heavy with everything I don’t want to say.
I exhale, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I know, but . . . it’s just the enormity of it all. I can’t stop thinking about how many lives are counting on me . . . and how easy it would be to let them down.”
“Trust me, I feel it too. Any sane person would. Each of us is responsible for a city’s worth of lives . . . It’s daunting, to say the least. But, listen to me, no one is better suited to this than you. Remember the trials? You were the best, no contest. You’ve got this.”
Her words are a balm, loosening the tight knot in my chest. I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Thanks. I needed it.”
Her grin is like dawn breaking after a long night, her voice steady and resolute. “Remember, our destination isn’t far from yours. Don’t be a stranger.”
“Maybe I’ll pay a visit,” I respond, mirroring her smile.
“Good luck. We’re all counting on you, just as you’re counting on us.”
Her words linger in the silence. A lump forms in my throat. Bec’s confidence, a lifeline, steadies me against the tide of my doubts. If she believes in me—if she can see strength where I see cracks—maybe I can believe in myself too.
I nod, touched by her support. “Good luck to you too. May our paths cross again under the lights of new stars.”
Her image fades, the console slipping back into standby. The quiet of the ship surrounds me once more. I turn back to the hibernation pod, and the cold metal feels a little less intimidating.
I unfasten the buttons at my collar and chest, tug down the side zipper, and slip out of my uniform, folding it carefully before placing it on the small shelf beside the hibernation pod. The thin utility belt woven into it clinks softly before it settles.
I sit on the edge of the pod, unzipping my boots and pulling them off one by one, then reaching behind to unhook my bra, feeling the relief as it slips away. Finally, I peel away the last
of my layers—underwear, socks—until nothing remains. The cold air of the room brushes against my bare skin, goose bumps
rising in response.
I take a moment to let the reality sink in—this is how I’ll spend the next decades, completely exposed and vulnerable yet safely cradled within this cocoon.
My hand moves to the back of my head, loosening the hair tie, and the strands fall softly, brushing against my shoulders. I set the tie down beside my folded uniform and lie back into the pod.
My bare skin meets the cool, soft lining, which adjusts slightly to cradle my form. The sensation is almost soothing, a comforting embrace that reassures me as I prepare for the long sleep. For my body, this will feel like a single night’s rest, though forty-two years will pass. My temperature and metabolism will drop to near stasis, slowing time for my cells and keeping age at bay. The low whisper of the cooling system begins to resonate in the chamber, a signal that the process is starting.
The pod closes around me, sealing me in with a soft hiss. A faint mist seeps into the chamber, its cool touch like morning frost against my skin. I close my eyes as my heart rate begins to slow, each beat softer and further apart. My breaths become shallow, barely stirring the chilled air. The weight of consciousness slips away, and the faint whir of the ship surrounds me—a mechanical lullaby that guides me gently into the depths of hibernation.
Solene is the commander of a ship filled with 100,000 people in hibernation. She takes her work seriously, having trained for years. She questions whether she has made the right choice. Many friends chose Earth, settling below the planet’s crust, as they await a meteor with the potential to destroy the planet.
Before entering the first jump, she listens to her friends’ farewell messages knowing she will never hear from them again. They will be light-years away.
Solene has chosen humanity’s future and a chance for redemption. Every 40 years, Ava, the supercomputer that runs the ship, awakens her. She completes her duties to check the hibernation deck, complete repairs, and maintain the required records. The first jumps are so routine, she feels confident. This changes when she receives no message from Earth, not knowing whether it has survived.
She gets awakened by a malfunction and finds a butterfly lodged in engineering. People die in the hibernation chambers, and she is too late to save them. She detects the saboteur after shutting down part of Ava’s operating system. She fights the intruder and puts him in solitary.
These two adversaries have different beliefs, even though they have much in common. As elites, they have augmented bodies with extended lives. He volunteered to destroy this ship because he believes humans are not worthy. They debate each other about whether the human species should survive. Solene contemplates the strength of his beliefs during the remaining years.
The narrative builds, revealing Solene's relationship with memories as she shuffles through her duties on the ship. She doesn't notice that Ava, the ship's computer, carefully monitors her as she wakes her from hibernation and supports her decisions during malfunctions and crises. Ava even helps her deal with her disturbing experiences in hibernation.
This book uses science fiction as a launching point to explore themes of loss, isolation, and purpose. Beautifully written. Thanks Reedsy, for letting me have an ARC copy.