2466. Jupiter's high orbit. Aboard the Atomic Crab. Crew: 1 person...

  Something terrible was hiding behind the airlock. But an unseen force was drawing him towards it. In the midst of the darkness, Max floated slowly, moth—like, towards a source of light.

  His heart sank in his chest and an icy chill enveloped him. Sweat seeped through his worn, greasy, dirty overalls. The smell of sweat, ozone and dust permeated the interior of the ship, and the weak rays of the sun in high Jupiter orbit filtered faintly through the cockpit.

  When Max looked up, the gas giant remained undisturbed, half eclipsed. Its moons revolved around it next to a glowing artificial consteltion. They were the thousands of rusting orbital carousels, full of decay, organised crime and broken dreams.

  People used to talk about the third world. The Jovian system was the fifth, a few astronomical units away from hell. Toxic and stormy clouds. Callisto. Ganymede. Io and Europa, submerged in an eternal spiral. Below, miners, prostitutes and junkies crawled through its tunnels, chasing hopes like ethereal butterflies that flew from their hands. Its inhabitants, prisoners of the pnet's gravitational bonds, could never escape.

  A muffled thud startled him, meaty and dull. A gasp. Max knew the Atomic Crab well enough: his prison, his shelter, to know that it was not a sound peculiar to the ship. His muscles froze and his eyes widened like a frightened cat's, debating fight or flight.

  But the Atomic Crab was a sardine can with a couple of rockets in it. The hatches led to the void of space. With a suit, it had a range of three hours, and without a rescue, it was doomed to become a corpse, slowly falling into the oppressive gravity of Jupiter, like one of the many pieces of debris that surrounded the pnet. The only thing left to do was to keep going.

  When the hatch appeared, he hesitated. He wanted to turn around and return to the safety of the cockpit, but a small voice in his head told him otherwise. Max had to open that airlock, no matter what was on the other side. He swallowed dryly and tried to bite back his fear.

  Then he reached for the controls with a shaking hand. Irregur patches of an oily liquid smeared over his bony, elongated fingers and forearms. The ferrous smell reminded him that it was blood, and when he looked down he discovered that he was smeared like a butcher. A sob escaped his throat in horror as he realized that the inside of the hold was bloody.

  —. Max. — came a faint voice from behind him, from the cockpit. Max felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His hands were on the orange emergency lever under the panel, waiting to be pulled —. Max, please. For the love of everything, don’t open that hatch. — The walls became an oppressive steel press, slowly contracting to crush him. A presence manifested around him and yellowish sparks fshed in his peripheral vision. Suddenly Max was afraid to turn around. He was sure that what y behind him was more terrible than what y inside the airlock.

  2607. Chronos. Present day...

  As Max opened his eyes, his heart sank. Oppressive metallic walls greeted him as he sat up. A pale light filtered in from somewhere. An evolutionary remnant that refused to go away suggested to him that it might be sunlight, but logic quickly took over. The shadows did not move, as they would if he were in a rotating habitat. He remembered that they were downlights. A slight pressure in his temples hit him as he became aware of the rotation, along with a reflux rising up his throat, forcing him to lean back. As he freed himself from the cocoon that enveloped him, his senses began to discover where he was. He was lying on an inftable mattress tucked inside a sleeping bag. Max had no memory of taking off his shirt. When he tried to remember, his tired head protested with pain and he gave up. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end in arm, and he involuntarily jerked his head up in surprise. Fear had not had time to form when he discovered a series of robotic arms hanging inertly from tracks in the ceiling. All bck and white. Must be an industrial area, Max thought. But there was no sense of falling, and the weight of his body pulled him gently down to a not—so—annoying standard G. It had to be somewhere else.

  The smell of vender and detergent gave him a clue. The rows of silver industrial washers lining the walls of the room, and the dryers atop, gave him proof. The empty hamper next to him was confirmation. He was in the undry room.

  Before the incident, the oppressive silence that surrounded him would be repced by the constant hum of robotic arms moving back and forth, carrying loads of dirty undry, moving the washed clothes to the dryers, and then moving the clean, folded clothes to their respective baskets.

  Without further dey, each crew member would come for their own. There were never lines or congestion; they arrived just in time. And just as it happened with the daily chores, it was repeated with the rest of the ship's procedures.

  With the arrival of the fireflies, that was gone. Max's ear, adjusted to a lifetime aboard a Starscrapper, could pick up the nuances in the silence. There were no vibrations. There was no buzz or hiss of life support. There was nothing but his own breathing and his heart beating incessantly.

  The ship was falling apart. Over the smell of detergent, a faint stench of stale and damp air. Life support was failing. The lights were flickering, which meant they would soon be in the dark. Sooner or ter they would have to divert energy to essential processes if they wanted to survive, but no one seemed to be in charge, not even EREBUS.

  Defects would chain themselves together and the cascade failure would become irreversible. The hanging arms of the undry, motionless and paused in their endless task, were a reminder that peace was the calm before the storm. If they did nothing to regain control of the ship, Chronos would plunge into complete darkness. The sickly glow of the fireflies would be all that remained.

  His heart leapt into his throat, and a shiver ran down his spine. Every one of his nerve endings screamed danger. Something was lurking in the darkness, crouching like a scrawny scavenger monster.

  Piercing bck eyes were fixed on him, and the nose stood out among his sharp features, crowned by a Cheshire cat smile. Strands of unkempt bck hair fell to the sides of his forehead, and where his left ear should have been, there was a silicon pte framed by geometric scars under his eyelids. Then Max sighed with relief as he realized that this creature was, in fact, human.

  —. Murat. — recognized him.

  —. Max. — The man nodded in return. A gesture with his head and hands, like a mocking, if unintentional, bow. Typical Strider. —. Fuck man, you look like I feel. —

  Under other circumstances, Max would have responded with a rude gesture. But he shrugged his shoulders and emphasized with open hands, as if he were wearing a space suit that hid the intent of subtle gestures. But among the Striders, they understood each other.

  —. How long have you been sitting there? – Max asked as he leaned back. Frowning, Murat tilted his head and waved his hands as if juggling.

  —. Twenty minutes. Naomi asked me to wake you up, but you were sleeping so soundly it seemed like Morpheus had beaten you, and I didn't want to break it up.. —

  —. I was having a nightmare, you bastard. Thank you. — Max wanted to tell him. His friend seemed to read his mind and a sarcastic smile appeared on his face.

  —. You're welcome. — But he knew very well that the smile was not intended, but rather a reminder of a failed pirate attack five trips ago. Murat ate a shotgun round that pulverized his face. The shunk was still boiling in his blood when he received it, and he felt no pain at all.

  Three sessions of Reconstructive Nanotherapy and weeks of Somatic Gel on his face were not enough to erase the only consequence, a permanent twisted and mocking smile. There were options, like extending the treatment, but Murat left it as it was. That way he remembered never to go into a shootout without a helmet again.

  Of all those who could survive a crisis aboard the Chronos, Murat was one of them. For a few seconds, Max was happy to see a familiar face. But then he felt a sudden emptiness in his chest, coupled with an urgency to get up.

  —. Naomi... —

  —. Take it easy, sad boy. Didn't I tell you she sent me to find you? Naomi is okay. You'll see her. Just give yourself a break. — Murat interrupted him. Max nodded as he held his heart, waiting for its rhythm to return.

  —. I need a cig. — Max said in a low voice.

  —.We have a smoke extractor. It still works. I didn't touch your Joey Jim. If I do, Naomi would kill me. — he continued. A small smile broke out on Max's face.

  —. Thank you. —

  —. You're welcome. —

  For a few seconds, Max looked at his own distorted face through a window, like a fish—eye lens. A tired, pale man with baggy eyes watched him from the other side.

  —. I never thought that of all the pces on the ship, the undry would serve as a refuge. –

  —. Well, yeah. Actually, the whole module level is strategic. We have a panoramic view and direct access to life support and maintenance shafts. And it's easy to defend. We raise the pressure bulkheads in the areas we don't enter. It's not the bridge. But we've done a good job. And since this shit started, these things haven't shown up around here. I think that's enough. — Max nodded in silence.

  But a doubt crept up on him as he digested the information. The memories soon came flooding back. That yellow slime. The monstrous fairy that hunted him. His yellowing, throbbing flesh. The smell of charred flesh. The timely appearance of Naomi and the mix of emotions that swirled around him when he realized she was alive. It hurt to remember.

  —. How did I get here? – Max asked.

  —. You fainted. — Murat said —. They brought you in as a lump. It was those fireflies, wasn't it? – The very mention of those things sent a chill down his spine. Between fleeing the creatures and waking up in the undry room, there was an abyss, dark as a singurity and vast as the void itself. The pain was like an ax to his brain. And then he remembered.

  When the fairy had escaped the fmes, everything had become confusing. Max stood and stared into the glow of the crackling fmes that burned over the corpses that had turned into living wood. The screams stopped and he heard voices in the distance. A voice speaking to him. They were calling him. They said his name.

  Naomi grabbed his arm and forced him to run. From that moment on, he felt like he was in a feverish dream. He heard sounds in the distance and his vision became blurred. The fmes took on a greenish hue. The sparks crackled before he lost sight of them. He felt his head separate from his body. The pounding of his legs became unreal and he developed an unpleasant synesthesia, with green fshes appearing in his peripheral vision with every step.

  It seemed as if the fire was catching up to them. They flickered on and off as he closed his eyes. In the midst of the turmoil, Lay watched him. Her big, sad eyes seemed to call out to him, and then, when Max recognized her, she turned and walked away slowly, as if those rampaging monsters were not nipping at her heels.

  A small fluorescent bug passed in front of his eyes, drawing a spiral and disappearing. Fireflies. Thousands of them formed a swarm of bright clouds in the hallway. Max tried to swat them away. They flew through his arms like particles of ionizing radiation.

  The world began to spin as the swarm merged into a dense and bright mist. The light burned his retinas and soothing vocal harmonies began to resonate in his head. Naomi yelled at him. She pulled on his arm. She lifted the visor of her helmet, but instead of seeing her face, a million fireflies flew out. The glowing mist dissolved into a pure white void. Reality disappeared completely.

  As the door opened with a hiss, a familiar face entered the room. Max stared at her for a few seconds, wondering if it was really her. She was wearing an oversized white t—shirt along with baggy navy blue overalls and comfortable white sneakers. Her body was athletic and toned, as if she were an agile mixed martial artist. In contrast, her face exuded a certain innocence and vulnerability, like a soul doll with the body of a war machine. That's what the Bck Shadows were, after all.

  —. You’re awake – she said with a kind but tired voice. The bags under her green eyes were not the only signs of sleep deprivation —. I brought you clothes. I think they’re your size. — Naomi entered the cell without looking at him, neatly arranged the clothes on the chair, and knelt next to the mattress —. Here. — She offered him a gss of water and a few white Alfevac pills. Max involuntarily swallowed. Without warning, she pointed an infrared thermometer directly at him.

  —. You still have a bit of a fever, but the Alfevac should work. You should feel better. If the fever comes back after that, ask me for an aspirin...—

  Max looked at her almost in disbelief. He was thinking about finding Naomi dead. He didn't understand a word she said, but her voice became the most beautiful melody he had ever heard. Max put his hand on Naomi's cheek. She put her face into his palm and held it there.

  She closed her eyes and stayed there for several minutes. By chance or miracle, they realised they were alive and had each other. As the fairy chased him, Max thought he would never see Naomi again. He would never touch her skin, smell her perfume or look into her eyes. He wished this moment would never end. For what seemed like hours, Max felt that all was well and that all aspects of his life had been resolved. Naomi brought him back to the present.

  —. Get dressed. I’ll be waiting outside. We’re going to have breakfast. — Upon hearing her st words, Max looked at her in confusion. He wanted to say something, but the words stuck on the tip of his tongue when Naomi gave him an Eskimo kiss. Naomi left with Murat.

  The door closed, and Max was left alone, accompanied only by his own thoughts. The outfit consisted of loose grey joggers much warmer than they looked, a fitted bck t-shirt, thermal underwear, and comfortable grey slip-on sneakers.

  There was a faint light coming from a corner, and it wasn't the radiator. As Max approached, he realised it was a small window. Looking out, he found an inner garden. At first gnce, nothing strange was happening. The mist from the watering cycle fell away with a snap, right on time. Max concluded that it must be morning. Silhouettes moving through the corridors and boulevards of the lower levels reminded him of the crew, absorbed in their constant routine. But something about their erratic and awkward movements revealed their terrible nature. After a few seconds he recognised their swollen and disfigured forms and remembered that what he saw were no longer human.

  Max swallowed hard, and if there was a God above, he thanked him for keeping him far away from these things. At least for the moment. As those distant and nebulous living tumours crawled aimlessly, Max noticed that the shadows were slowly stretching and shrinking. Looking up, he saw the module's skylights open, casting the amber light of Lacaille 8760. In the steady rotation, he glimpsed Lohengrin with its rusty, cold, hostile surface.

  A gaunt face stared back at him through the gss. It was his own face, and there were yellow circles under the eyelids. Sleeping without rest. He felt the need to wash his face. His breath smelled of a hangover. He wondered if there was toothpaste or something for his cigarette breath. The very thought of cigarettes made him a little anxious to smoke. He took one st look around before the Coriolis effect kicked in, and then left through the door.