Day 1: The Silence The jump drive didn't just fail; it vanished. One second, the hum of the core was a heartbeat; the next, total silence. We are drifting on the edge of the Oort cloud, light-years from the nearest relay station. The emergency lights are a sickly amber. I spent today counting oxygen scrubbers. We have enough air for six months, but the silence is already heavy.
Velocity is constant, but direction is meaningless. Without the nav-computer, I’m just a passenger in a tin can. I tried to repair the long-range comms, but the soldering iron sparked and died. Every mechanical failure feels like a personal insult. I’ve started talking to the ship’s AI, even though its personality matrix was wiped in the surge. I call it "Echo." Stranded in Space [Days 1-15]
I’m starting to hear things. Not voices, but rhythmic thumping against the outer hull. Probably thermal expansion as the ship cools, but my mind wants it to be a rescue team knocking. I caught myself dressing in my dress blues today, as if someone might walk through the airlock at any moment. The discipline is the only thing keeping the walls from closing in. Day 1: The Silence The jump drive didn't