In transit inside Eurydice – Drift 9
The ramp had been open for twelve minutes.
Iliana had checked the boy’s vitals six times. Scanned him twice.
Heart rate: low.
Breathing: shallow.
No cranial swelling.
No internal bleeding.
Just the dry, brutal breath of Devon Five peeling him open by degrees. That’s what the curly one said—Serendipity.
Lips cracked.
Face blistered.
Skin burned stiff.
Temperature: high.
Muscles: twitching.
Electrolyte debt: severe.
Coated in a red sheen of iron dust and sand.
And sand fleas.
Dice watched. Silent. Focused.
If Dice had been built to breathe, Dice might have held it.
Dice’s voice clicked over the internal system—clipped, efficient, just a little sharper than Dice would have preferred:
“Body temperature elevated. Dehydration critical. Electrolyte collapse imminent. Initiating support protocols.”
Fluids dispensed.
Cabin lights dimmed, internal pressure adjusted to aid circulation—and then Dice waited.
Because that was all Dice could do. The ambient noise faded—Remulus hadn’t spoken since the rescue.
Serendipity paced—clockwise. Then counterclockwise.
Dice adjusted gravity for stabilization. Monitored microshifts in balance. No one thanked Dice.
The room fell still. Movement patterns: ceased. The humans—and variations thereof—had stopped fidgeting and were holding their own breath. At least, that’s how it looked to Dice.
Dice waited a little longer. Fifty-six minutes, to be exact—monitoring twelve other systems in parallel.
Transition: observation to record.
// Begin Private Log: EURYDICE.1916.OS-3.1.AI_UNIT.DICE
// Archive: Dice_Archive_14
// Timestamp: Drift 9 17:42 // export-normalized to Subject Epoch (David)
// Ship Local: T+2007 drifts since Captain Remulus assignment
// Access Level: INTERNAL USE ONLY
Subject: Augmented Human juvenile—David Iso
Status: Alive. Marginally.
Incident: Voluntary exposure to unshielded desert terrain during blue-sun Zenith.
Statistical survival likelihood at retrieval: 73.7%
Outcome: Aberrant.
Pause.
A new scan.
David twitched in his sleep. Flea.
Noted symptoms:
- Second-degree dermal damage (UV exposure)
- Sand particulates in respiratory tract
- Severe electrolyte depletion
- Mild hypoxia
- Periocular inflammation consistent with early photokeratitis
Protocol: Hydration cycle #3 initiated.
// Silence. Eight seconds. Environmental noise: engine hum, breath, distant monitor. Then:
Companion Behavior Analysis:
Emotional escalation (guilt, urgency, verbal tension)
Possible causal link: Serendipity (Unknown-variant)
Possible secondary influence: Iliana Tealborn (Sulei; impaired)
Additional Observations:
Organic Unit Serendipity: tear duct activity noted. Cause: unconfirmed. Data suggests sadness, but variables remain.
Organic Unit Iliana: heart rate elevated, functioning below baseline
Captain Remulus: nonverbal, pacing ceased
Recommendation:
Continue observation. No intervention unless requested.
// End Log Entry //
Dice initiated a thermal adjustment in the med bay. Just a fraction.
David stirred. Didn’t wake.
“Sleep, young archive,” Dice said. This, not logged. Transition: silence resumes.
No one asked anything of Dice that night.
The ship remained quiet—except for breathing, the occasional footfall, the distant hum of the engines.
The new inhabitants slept in irregular shifts, one always waking as another dozed.
No plan. No coordination.
Just a silent rhythm of worry.
They moved around the boy and the pink creature like moons in an unstable orbit. Dice did not interrupt—simply watched, systems idling low. When words ran out, Dice continued to log the unfolding events:
// Private Log // EURYDICE.1916.OS-3.1.AI_UNIT.DICE
Timestamp: 0423HRS
Location: Med Bay + Sanctuary
Subject(s): Organic Unit David Iso (Augmented Human, juvenile)
Status: Stabilizing. Still unconscious.
Vital Signs:
Temperature: 37.4°C
Blood Oxygen: 91%
Muscle response: minimal
Brain activity: consistent with Stage 2 sleep
External wounds: early response to regeneration protocol
Environmental Summary:
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Cabin light at 20%. Gravity reduced 3%. Temperature held at 24°C.
Emotional pressure: elevated but stable.
Sleep Schedule:
0120HRS – Serendipity: dozed upright in corridor. Woke 7 minutes later to check on patient.
0215HRS – Iliana: entered med bay. Monitored vitals. Took seat beside bed. Rested head on edge of table. Woke 12 minutes later. Apologized to no one.
0300HRS – Remulus: silent. Pacing resumed. Then ceased.
All three: taking shifts without coordination. No verbal discussion of it. Pattern stabilized regardless.
Behavioral Notes:
Serendipity tracked every movement on the vitals screen. Unprompted. Texted an outside contact twice. Did not reply to follow-up pings.
Iliana whispered a lullaby in Sulei. It does not match any known Library records. I recorded it.
Remulus fed the sanctuary inhabitants. Paused beside a plant root left on the floor. Scanned. Planted. → Did not speak.
→ Dimmed sanctuary lights to 10% upon exit.
Mirrora repositioned. Coiled around David’s curls. No prompting.
Observation: The crew exhibits irrational protectiveness toward the juvenile. Statistically inefficient. By all available metrics, however—normal.
Recommendation:
Continue monitoring.
Maintain optimal healing conditions.
Permit… quiet. (Pause—systems on standby)
// End Log Entry //
Dice adjusted the gravity once more—just a touch. The shift registered only in the boy’s micro-movements, almost imperceptible to others.
Transition: internal to external protocol.“External conditions below threshold for optimal healing,” Dice announced.
“What does that mean?” Iliana asked, one hand braced on the table. “Is this med bay not enough to heal him?”
“Med bay is two models outdated. Lacks epidermal regeneration compound.
Verdict: scarring.”
Remulus swore and slammed his palm against the wall. It echoed. Pointless.
“My dad can help,” Serendipity said. Calm. “He’s a herbalist. Best with burns.”
She didn’t turn. Just stayed near David, stroking a few curls from his forehead.
The Mirrora hissed—fur bristling, tails tightening.
“Seriously?” she muttered. “I pulled you from the trash,” she thumbed the soft skull once, “you ungrateful rodent.”
“We should return to Aurelion,” Remulus snapped. “I never should’ve taken this job.”
“But you did,” Iliana shot back. “So now we deal with it.”
His eyes narrowed. “And whose fault is that?”
“I didn’t make you take it,” she said—too fast, too defensive.
“Didn’t you?” His voice dropped.
Iliana froze.
Serendipity straightened. A hand passed over the nape of her neck.
“You know very well I didn’t,” Iliana said sharply. “I never used my voice on you.”
“Then why can’t I tell when you’re lying?” Remulus growled. “Why can’t I tell anything when you look at me?”
David flinched.
Heart rate spiked.
Brow twitched.
Pain levels rose.
Vocal cords flickered—a sound, raw and low.
Not awake.
“I don’t know what you did,” Remulus said, backing off like he was burned. “Dice, up the sedation.”
“Sedative already set to maximum,” Dice replied. “Further increase risks respiratory failure. Would you like to proceed?”
Iliana’s hands clenched. Her voice was tight. “No. He’s had enough.”
Remulus didn’t argue. He tightened his jaw muscles and rubbed his overgrown beard.
Serendipity watched—eyes flicking between the captain and the siren. “I don’t know what any of this is,” she said, “and honestly, I don’t give two shellkrats about it. But if skin regeneration is what David needs, then Hayam is your best bet.”
She tapped a few buttons on the wrist device Iliana had given her, and coordinates lit up across Dice’s console.
“It’s not that far from where we found David. A few klicks east. Shouldn’t take any time at all.”
“Action requested: Initiating manual override. Preparing descent to coordinates provided by Herbalist,” Dice announced. “Estimated travel time: two minutes.”
“That sounds nice, but Serendipity will do, thank you, Dice,” the herbalist said.
“Gods damn it,” Remulus muttered. “Fine.”
The compound lit up on scans. Partially buried. Reinforced beneath sand and stone. Heat index: anomalously stable. Vegetation: minimal. Security systems: dormant.
A humanoid figure stood outside before landing procedure began.
Behavioral anomaly.
Awaiting engagement.
Initiating soft descent protocol.
As the ship lowered, a gust swept across the entrance ridge. The figure stepped forward.
Scan: Human male. Age: mid-cycle. Heart rate: steady.
Posture: aware. Not alarmed.
The crew gathered near the hatch.
In the middle, the herbalist, Serendipity, adjusted her scarf. Muttered prayers. Breathing elevated.
To her right, Iliana steadied herself against the wall with quiet dignity, pain in her breath.
To the left, Captain Remulus. Stiff. Guarded. Carrying the young Archivist. Expression: guilt.
The Mirrora’s tail remained wrapped around the boy’s curls. Hissed when touched.
Dice archived the visual—file name: Zenith Afterburn. Not flagged for review. Just in case.
Descent complete. Hatch unlocked.
Observation suspended.
Emotional context: inconclusive.
The sound came first. As soon as he finished reading her message for the tenth time.
Need help. Coming home.
A deep hum, low and distant, thunder rolled into itself. Heavier than the whine of a standard craft. Older.
The ground trembled as the ship broke descent. His cup shifted on the windowsill and fell, clattering loud against the stone path.
He waited, breath held, jaw tight, for his daughter to bring home trouble.
Red dust rose in hot spirals, high enough to catch in the teeth and burn behind the eyes. It tasted like iron and fear.
As shadow fell over the house, the ship didn’t exactly land. It settled; slow, deliberate, like a massive thing trying not to wake the earth.
Landing struts sank into the ground with a soft metallic groan. Heat shimmered around the exhaust vents but there was no fire, no engine howl. Just that strange silence that came with technology too advanced to make sense.
Then: a click. A shift. A gust of hot air.
The doors opened.
And his daughter, his shy, reserved, always careful and never-out-of-line daughter, appeared from the dust.
She was flanked by strangers, leading them to her home. Their home.
He just stood there, arms crossed, one foot planted in the sand like the wind couldn’t shift him if it tried.
Unblinking.
Unable to open his mouth.
He wanted to shout. To yell. To run and grab her and hold her until the other people vanished and it was just the two of them again, safe, hidden.
Behind her, the strangers moved cautiously. A tall blonde woman limped.
As soon as she stepped into the sunlit path, she pulled on a helmet.
To Serendipity’s right, a soldier-looking man followed.
In his arms: a thin boy—pale and fragile.
The Librarian Heir.
Hayam cursed the suns and ran to meet them, all thought forgotten.
“What happened?” he asked the moment he reached them.
“Zenith,” Serendipity said.
“This way.” He ushered them inside, cleared the main table with one sweep, and grabbed his medicine bag.
“Put him on the bed,” he told the man. “Dip, clean towels.”
She moved exactly as he taught her. Grace in motion. Urgency without panic. Always fast, never sloppy.
“How long was he out there?” he asked. The boy looked too small for all of this. Too young to be fighting a war no one else could see.
“A few hours. We reached him just before Zenith. We treated what we could, the AI says it’ll scar.”
“It might.” He washed his hands, dried them, and opened a jar of honey-wax and herb paste. The scent hit him deep, sharp, green, comforting.
His hands worked with steady certainty. The kind of calm that came only when there was finally something he could fix.
“This won’t look pretty,” he warned, speaking toward the woman now standing across the room. Sulei. Her surgical scars were visible, remnants of closed gills. How she breathed in this air, he had no idea.
“Take off his shirt,” he said to Serendipity. She did so with gloved hands, and he let out a relieved breath at seeing that.
The boy was younger than his daughter. His white skin, more delicate and sun-shy, had blistered in angry red splotches and weeping splits.
His face had taken the worst of it, then his neck and hands.
“The ointment’s good,” he muttered while spreading it thick. “It needs to stay on for at least two drifts. After that keep applying it morning and night. He shouldn’t scar… not badly.”
He didn’t promise. He never did.
He wrapped the cloth to hold the salve in place. Moisture retention. Movement-proof.
The others watched. Silent. Grave. They swayed slightly, adjusting angles to see the boy more clearly.
Neither stood close to the other.
Serendipity moved among them like she’d known them forever.
Odd.
Her guard was down. Her tail and hands still hidden, but her nature was leaking out through every pore. Even the scarf he gave her hung loose now, like it had seen better days.
“You told me,” he said quietly, not looking up, “you weren’t getting involved.”
Serendipity shrugged. “I actually didn’t.” She smiled—wide. Rare. And his anger slipped.
// Med-Bay Log session closed
// Delayed Archive Entry: Emma Iso—Silence Rite commenced, Drift 0.
// Transmission received on Drift 8—Omma gate backlog.