Corridor 23

DOOR UN–

DOOR CLOSIN–

DOOR UNLOC–

DOOR CLOOOSSIN–

“Piece of shit box.”

“Whoa, Daniels. Ease up on the controls.” Ryan scoffs, reaching past my head to yank the lever.

The door whooshes shut.

DOOR CLOSED

I press my forehead to the frame and rap a knuckle against the small window. The metal bites cold against my skin, pulling the heat from it and dulling my temper—for now. I hate maintenance calls in Corridor 23. Something is always wrong here.

“Well, looks like that’s it.” Ryan pats the control panel, satisfied. “Didn’t even have to do anything. The dang lever was stuck.”

I exhale dramatically, but it comes out as a scoff. Ryan pauses, his sneer turning my way. If I’m not careful, he’ll start lecturing me about my emotions and how I need to breathe when fixing things.

Despite my own warning, I roll my eyes. I know what’s coming.

“Be careful with that temper of yours, Daniels. If I wasn’t here, you’d probably blow a new hole through that window—kill us all.” His hands fly apart in a wide imitation of an explosion.

“Yes, Ryan. I would’ve killed us all with my anger.”

I push away from the door and reach for the small tool bag I tossed on the floor earlier. My mismatched boots clunk against the metal as I head down the hall toward the exit. Ryan, all good-natured teasing and old-man grumbling, lumbers behind me.

Once we exit Corridor 23, I reach up and press the button to let zero-gravity take over.

There are protocols for this side of the shipbase. Gravity normally runs in the sleeping quarters, but whenever something breaks in Corridor 23 the system redirects it here so we can work without drifting. Which means every repair turns into a fight with our own weight. Ryan hates it.

DO YOU WANT TO INITIATE ZERO-G?

A holographic screen blooms in front of me. I tap YES and wait for the familiar lift. My heavy boots are the first sign—rising from the floor.

Ryan’s startled gasp is the second.

DO YOU WISH TO QUARANTINE CORR.23?

My fingers hover over the YES prompt.

“Hurry up, Daniels! You know I hate staying here after fixes, man.” Ryan pushes himself back beside me. In the floating light he looks like one of those orange, bulging fish that used to swim near the captain’s deck—before we were subjected to the zero-gravity protocol. Before the—

DO YOU WISH TO QUARANTINE CORR.23?

The reminder chimes louder this time.

I press YES. Air hisses through the corridor. I close my eyes for a moment. It almost feels the way my mother once described skydiving.

PLEASE PROCEED TO EXIT CORR.24

Ryan pushes off and stretches toward the doorway leading into our living quarters. I follow, leaving behind the strange pause I had at the console.

Inside the living corridor, the rest of the crew drifts in their usual places. Captain Jerome floats in a loose ball near the observation window, staring out at the white-yellow sun we’re trapped orbiting. The glare reflects off his bald head and the thought makes me chuckle.

I push toward the food cabinet where Klemins and Chekhovsky are slurping from meal pouches.

“So what’s on the menu, boys?” I hook an arm around the cabinet frame while they eye me.

With a pop, Klemins answers first. “Green beans and mash, mate. Chek’s finishing the last applesauce.” He nods toward Chek, who answers with a sour look.

“I never get the cold fruit, man. What’s even sweet that’s left?” I grimace as Chek pulls open the tray.

Roast beef.

Squash and peas.

Salted salmon.

Eugh.

“Don’t be a poor sport, Daniels. You know that’s all Chek eats at midday.” Harrison clamps a hand on my back. His scarred palm squeezes my shoulder as he reaches for the salted salmon pouch. “You need the protein anyway.”

I glance down at the roast beef and mumble a thanks before pushing away to the biometric screen near the captain’s controls.

The display scrolls through our vitals for the day. Anklets track our stress levels and a dozen other things I’d rather not think about. Mine is always high, no matter how calm I look. The heart-rate meter spikes the moment I pull it up.

I tear open the pouch and suck from the corner. Tastes like clay.

Beyond the observation window, the gas-star burns white-yellow against the black. It appeared a year ago—dragged us out of our planet’s orbit and locked us here. Every rescue ship that tried to reach us was shoved away, like something invisible surrounds it.

We were told it was temporary. It hasn’t been.

I suck the last of the meal from the pouch. The plastic collapses toward my lip. My mustache is the only thing keeping it from sticking to my nose.

The rest of the crew drifts through the room, trapped here with me and that burning star. Ryan floats perpendicular to the captain, his back against the ceiling, hands clasped over his belly. Jerome has uncurled from his ball and now stretches before angling toward the observation window beside the controls. He nods at me and taps away at the board’s keys.

When the pouch is empty, I crumple it and push myself toward the compressor beside the CORR.24 door. Alarms suddenly blare.

Red and white lights strobe across the room.

“Shit, I don’t know what’s going on!” Jerome slams the red button on the board. Everyone abandons what they’re doing and crowds around him. A message flashes in front of our faces.

DO YOU WISH TO TAKE SHELTER?

The star outside the window swells.

Too bright.

Too fast.

“What the hell—”

Ryan never finishes.

A blinding white flare erupts from the star outside the observation window. I throw up a hand against the glare as curses echo through the room.

I blink—

DOOR UN–

DOOR CLOSIN–

DOOR UNLOC–

DOOR CLOOOSSIN–

“Piece of shit box.”

My vision swims. The commands grow louder as the world snaps back into focus.

“Whoa, Daniels. Ease up on the controls.” Ryan scoffs, reaching past my head to yank the lever.

The door whooshes shut.

I stare at him once the sound dies. Same toothy grin. Same satisfied pat on the control panel. Then he glances back at me, a puzzled look crossing his face.

“Wait… what just happened?” My hand rises to my temple. “Didn’t we just—”

“Be careful with that temper of yours, Daniels. If I wasn’t here, you’d probably blow a new hole through that window—kill us all!” His hands burst outward in a wide imitation of an explosion.

I freeze at the phrase. I’ve heard it before. I’m sure of it.

The room hasn’t changed. Ryan still wears the same grin. My toolbag sits in the same place on the floor. I lift one foot and stomp it down, testing the pull of gravity.

Ryan jumps at the noise, his usual sneer snapping into place. “Can you NOT.”

I nod and head for the exit, brushing past him. Something is wrong. Corridor 23 always feels wrong, but this time the feeling settles deeper in my gut.

A hand clamps onto my shoulder and turns me around. Ryan’s thin lips stretch tight.

Before he can start lecturing me, a screen flashes into existence in front of my face.

DO YOU WISH TO QUARANTINE CORR.23?

Huh? Am I losing my mind?

I swipe Ryan’s hand off my shoulder and point to the screen. “It missed a step.” Which is strange. There are protocols for this.

Ryan leans closer to read the display. “Oh. Where’s the zero-g notification?”

I shake my head and swipe at my screen. The prompt refuses to disappear.

“Whatever. Just say yes. Maybe the other one will pop up.” Ryan pats my shoulder and heads for the exit, the same walking gait and superstition as always.

I press YES.

Air hisses through the corridor.

The pull of gravity vanishes as our weight lifts.

I try not to think about it and push toward the door leading to Corridor 24.

PLEASE PROCEED TO EXIT CORR.24

Ryan enters first.

The room beyond is identical—Captain curled in a ball, Klemins and Chek at the food drawer, the white-yellow glare of the sun-star flooding the space.

I stop in the doorway, floating.

Klemins catches my stare and waves me over, pointing toward the food cabinet.

I drift toward the cabinet to grab something to eat. The drawer slides open and my stomach drops at the labels on the pouches.

Roast beef.

Squash and peas.

Salted salmon.

I groan and reach for the roast beef pouch when Harrison clamps a hand on my back.

“Gotta get that protein, mate.” He chuckles and grabs the salted salmon pouch.

I bite into mine and nod. Harrison pauses mid-slurp, mouth still wrapped around his pouch.

“Something wrong, Daniels? You look like you’re about to barf.” He presses the back of his hand to my forehead, the pouch dangling from the corner of his mouth.

I shake my head and push away from him toward the biometric screen. My cortisol levels spike across the display, but no alarm sounds. I tap the screen and pinch to zoom. My holographic panel blooms into view with a soft beep.

“Daniels, you better not be having a heart attack!” Chek shouts from across the room, crushing his pouch in his thick hands.

“Fwuckth ohff,” I mumble, the pouch still in my mouth. I suck harder, trying to finish it so I can lie down.

Chek pushes off toward me just as the captain drifts past to the controls.

“Chek, leave the boy alone. He’s probably just tired.” Jerome doesn’t look up, only gives a low grunt to show he knows I’m nearby.

“I’m just making sure he’s good. Can’t have him dropping on us when we’ve got a video call in—”

Alarms explode through the room.

Red and white lights strobe across the walls.

“Shit, I don’t know what’s going on!” Jerome slams the red button on the board.

I stop mid-sip and look up.

A blinding white flare tears from the star outside, stretching toward the observation window.

I drop the pouch and kick off the console.

“What the fuck.”

White swallows the room.

I shut my eyes as it engulfs me.

DOOR UN–

DOOR CLOSIN–

DOOR UNLOC–

DOOR CLOOOSSIN–

“Piece of shit box.”

Ryan’s hand swings into view, yanking the lever beside my face.

Pain detonates behind my eyes.

Static hisses through my skull, like vacuum clawing at my thoughts. This time it takes a moment for my vision to stop doubling.

My knees hit the floor.

I clutch the back of my neck and press my forehead against the doorframe. The metal bites cold against my skin, grounding me as the door finally stops talking.

“Daniels—whoa. You okay?”

Ryan crouches beside me, resting a hand on my head. He presses the back of his palm to my forehead and cheeks.

“Oh dude, you’re burning up. Let’s get you to the sleeping quarters.”

He starts hauling me upright when my screen flashes into existence in front of my face.

I hiss at the sudden brightness and squint.

What the hell is going on?

DO YOU WANT TO INITIATE ZERO-G?

I stare at the screen and freeze.

I’ve been here before.

Same Corridor 23 bullshit, right?

Ryan rambles about finishing the job and getting me to Corridor 22 so I can sleep off whatever’s going on. I shake my head and slam my hand down on YES.

My body lifts from the floor and I welcome the loss of weight. The pressure in my skull eases slightly. Ryan still grips my arm, guiding me toward the exit.

DO YOU WISH TO QUARANTINE CORR.23?

What. The. Fuck.

I’ve done this before.

“Huh? What are you talking about, dude?” Ryan frowns at me.

I finally turn toward him. Concern spreads across his face.

“This has happened before. I’ve done this before.” I wave at the screen and instantly regret it when the motion sends a spike of pain through my head.

“Yeah, man, we’re always fixing shit in CORR.23. You okay?” Ryan glances between me and the screen, waiting for me to hit the approval so we can leave.

“No—we’ve… Ryan, we’ve done this before.”

“Sure. Let’s just get back into the room, okay?”

I shake my head and hit YES. Just to get out of here. Just to get away from Ryan and breathe for a second.

Air hisses through the corridor. The door slides open behind us and Ryan pulls me along with him. I shrug off his grip and press my back against the wall as the door seals shut.

Something is wrong. The moment feels familiar. Too familiar.

Like I’ve stepped into the same scene twice.

My headache eases slightly as the thought flickers through my mind—like respawning in an old video game.

I finally lift my head and scan the room.

Everyone is exactly where they were before. The observation window glows with the same burning star.

“Harrison,” I say, my voice rough. “Where did that bright light come from?”

Harrison bites down on his pouch and stares at me, sucking loudly. The bottom of the pouch shrivels as he drains it. The sound makes my skin prickle.

I glance back toward the star.

“That star… what’s its name?” I bring the pouch to my mouth. Harrison won’t leave me alone unless I eat. The stale beef slides onto my tongue—wet, clumpy.

“Aurolais.” Slurp. “Captain Jerome named it three weeks ago after some movie he saw about stars.” Slurp. “You okay, mate?” Slurp. “Ryan said you almost collapsed in there.” Slurp. “You’re the one who usually keeps us patched up around here.” Slurp. “Besides me.”

I clamp the pouch shut with my teeth, stopping the flow of food.

The pieces begin to fall into place.

We’re stuck here—yes—in orbit around this strange star.

I breathe slowly and start counting.

The captain will uncurl from his ball in a moment and drift to the controls. Chek will crush his applesauce pouch and float toward us. Ryan will pause, glance at me, then push himself up to the ceiling.

The same motions. The same timing. I flex my hand and bring up my screen. Since leaving CORR.23, thirteen minutes have passed.

Harrison watches quietly as I swipe the display away. I draw in one steady breath before turning to him.

“Harry. We’re in danger.”

That’s all I manage before the sequence begins again.

Alarms erupt through the room.

Red and white lights strobe across the walls.

“Shit, I don’t know what’s going on!” Jerome slams the same red button on the board.

My eyes snap across the room.

Everyone is too far.

Except Harrison.

I’ve been through this already. And if I’m right, I’m the only one who remembers. The thought claws through my chest. I can’t do another loop alone.

I seize his arm and yank him close. He gasps—thankfully the alarms drown it out, because the door behind us is already sliding open from CORR.24.

I kick off the wall and twist into the room, dragging Harrison with me.

“Quickly, Harry—I don’t have time! Close your eyes!” I shout as we drift toward the door leading from CORR.24 into CORR.25.

I kept my eyes closed.

That’s the only thing I did differently.

“Mate—Daniels, hold on, bruv!” He panics, clutching my arm.

I swipe my screen open.

A prompt flashes across it.

DO YOU WISH TO PROCEED TO OPEN DOOR TO CORR.25?

I slam my hand down on YES—

DOOR UN–

DOOR CLOSIN–

DOOR UNLOC–

DOOR CLOOOSSIN–

“Piece of shit box.”