The glow of failing instrument panels painted Valerie Aislinn Byun’s pale face in hues of dim green and amber. Her breath fogged the cracked visor of her helmet, though she had long since unsealed it. The pod was cold now—frigid, silent save for the occasional sputter of life support systems struggling against entropy. Her lips were chapped. Her fingers trembled from exhaustion, not fear.
She’d already tried this seven times.
Valerie sat hunched over the narrow console, one knee propped against the wall for balance, a cable draped across her shoulder like a frayed scarf. She adjusted the transmission relay with delicate fingers, muttering under her breath in Korean as she bypassed the internal diagnostics. A final click. A static pop.
She hesitated. Swallowed.
And then, her voice, soft but steady, filled the silence of deep space—broadcasting blind on all channels.
“This is Commander Valerie Byun, U.S.S. Bastion, escape pod Theta-Seven-Delta. If you’re hearing this, then—by some miracle—you’re out there. I don’t know who you are, but I need your help. Please.”
She leaned forward slightly, letting her head rest against the side of the comms array for a moment. The sound of her own heartbeat had become louder than the systems.
“There was an event. I don’t know what it was. One second, we were in stable orbit—next thing I know, I’m being jettisoned out of Deck 3 like a bullet. I haven’t been able to raise anyone from the Bastion. I think—” she paused, clenched her jaw. “—I think I might be the only one left.”
She looked at the tiny plant taped to the corner of the console—a sprig of clover she’d tucked there before launch for good luck. Its leaves had begun to yellow.
“Oxygen is at... twenty-two percent. Food’s gone. Water’s gone. I re-routed power from the heaters and emergency beacon into this transmission. So if you’re hearing me... that means it worked.”
Her voice softened then, losing some of the military cadence as she choked back a sob.
“I don’t want to die out here. Not alone. Not with no one knowing what happened to the crew. Please—if you can hear me... talk to me. Just tell me I’m not shouting into the dark.”
And with that, she released the broadcast. The console dimmed again, blinking once, then falling into its power-saving slumber. Valerie stared out through the frost-dappled viewport. Stars. Infinite and uncaring.
She hugged her knees to her chest.
And waited.
