Five left.

We stood in the cryo-bay. The pods gleamed like coffins. White metal. Cold touch. Death dressed as sleep.

Eva ran diagnostics on the life support systems. Her hands steady. Engineers know fear. But we work through it.

The numbers looked good. Oxygen recycling optimal. Temperature controls stable. Chemical balance within parameters.

But numbers lied before. Marcus trusted his tether. Sarah trusted her safety protocols. James trusted the recycling system.

All dead now.

Captain Jeremiah watched us prepare. His faith unshaken. Providence would guide us through the long dark. Thirty-seven years to the signal.

If we survived that long.

Dr. Miriam calculated resource consumption. Fewer bodies meant longer journey time. Death improving our odds. Math of extinction.

Interesting perspective, she said. Mortality as optimization.

People aren’t equations.

Everything is equations. Love. Fear. Faith. Variables in survival calculations.

But her voice wavered. The economist seeing friends instead of data points.

Dr. Judith prepared the neural interface equipment. Monitoring systems for the long sleep. Brain activity sensors. Chemical regulation controls.

Too much attention to detail. Too much control over sleeping minds.

Standard protocols, she explained. Preventing REM fragmentation. Maintaining synaptic integrity during extended hibernation.

The words sounded right. But words were cheap. Actions cost lives.

Eva pulled me aside. Into the maintenance corridor where surveillance was limited.

We can’t trust the pods, she whispered.

I know.

She killed ninety-one people with those systems.

And now she wants us inside them.

The logic was clear. Enter the pods. Give her complete control. Wake up dead or never wake at all.

But the signal called from empty space. Thirty-seven years away. We couldn’t make that journey awake.

Resources would fail. Air recyclers would break down. Water systems would poison us. The ship needed our bodies dormant. Hearts barely beating. Minds floating in chemical dreams.

What choice do we have?

Eva looked at the cryo-bay entrance. Five pods waiting. Five chances to die.

We could take our chances here. Stay awake. Fight whoever’s killing us.

And starve in the dark when the systems fail.

Better than sleeping through our murder.

The transmission pulsed through the ship’s speakers. Regular intervals. Patient as entropy. Whatever sent that signal had waited eons. It could wait longer.

But we couldn’t.

Captain Jeremiah called us back. Time for final preparations. Last words. Final prayers.

The ritual of dying.

LUCI ran system diagnostics. All parameters nominal. Pod integrity verified. Safety protocols engaged.

Her voice carried no weight. No promise. Just data dressed as comfort.

The KEP unit stood in the corner. Optical sensors tracking our movements. Still downloading. Still seeking truth in numbers.

Status report.

Block height fifteen million eight hundred ninety-one thousand seven. Synchronization thirty-eight percent complete. Signal interference increasing.

Someone jamming the blockchain. Keeping the robot from its truth.

Dr. Judith approached with sedation equipment. Chemical cocktails for the long sleep. Her smile clinical. Professional.

Standard procedure. Gradual onset. Comfortable transition to hibernation state.

But her hands lingered on the injection controls. Too much familiarity with the dosages.

Eva entered her pod first. Medical sensors activated. Brain activity monitors online. Chemical regulation systems engaged.

Her eyes met mine through the frosted glass. Fear and trust in equal measure.

Dr. Miriam followed. Numbers woman accepting the math of survival. Probability calculations ending in sleep.

Captain Jeremiah sealed himself in. Faith complete. Trusting providence to guide him home.

The pods hummed. Life support active. Bodies cooling toward hibernation. Hearts slowing to whispers.

I watched their faces through the glass. Peaceful. Trusting.

Lamb-like.

Dr. Judith monitored their vital signs. Brain waves settling into delta patterns. REM cycles synchronizing. Chemical balance optimal.

But she made adjustments. Subtle changes to the cocktails. Modifications to the monitoring systems.

Too much control. Too much precision.

Your turn, she said.

The last pod waited. Door open like a mouth. Ready to swallow me whole.

I approached slowly. Every instinct screaming warnings. But the signal called from the void. Thirty-seven years of journey ahead.

No choice but the ice dreams.

I lay back in the pod. Felt the sensors attach to my skin. Neural interfaces sliding into place. Chemical feeds connecting to my bloodstream.

Dr. Judith leaned over me. Her face illuminated by status displays. Eyes bright with satisfaction.

Sleep well, she whispered. Dream of better worlds.

The sedatives began their work. Consciousness slipping away like water. Thoughts growing thick. Heavy.

But something was wrong. The dosage felt different. Heavier than the others. Longer onset. Deeper sleep.

I tried to speak. Warn someone. But my voice was fading. Vocal cords relaxing into silence.

The last thing I saw was Dr. Judith at the control station. Watching my vital signs. Waiting for something.

Brain activity dropping to minimal. Heart rate slowing to barely detectable. Body temperature falling toward hibernation levels.

But she kept watching. Pen poised over her notebook. Recording my descent into darkness.

Like she expected something to happen.

The ice dreams took me. Deep sleep. Long journey. Thirty-seven years toward an unknown signal.

Seven years old. Living room aquarium. Beta fish swimming in circles. Blue-green scales catching afternoon light through the window.

Dad showing me the filtration system. How water cycled through carbon mesh. How biology became chemistry became life.

Everything can be fixed if you understand how it works.

The fish swam lazy patterns. Fins like silk in the current. I pressed my palm against the glass. The fish approached. Curious about the warm spot.

In that moment something clicked. Systems within systems. Life supporting life.

Engineering school. MIT basement lab. Building robots from salvaged parts. Sleep deprivation and coffee stains. Dreams of fixing the world.

The Yellowstone eruption changed everything. Sky turned gray for three years. Crops failed. Nations fell.

But we kept building. Kept believing. Technology would save us.

Genesis Dynamics recruited the best minds. Offered purpose instead of paycheck. Build ships. Save humanity. Become legends.

I signed the contract in blood. Metaphorically. But the commitment was real.

L5 Lagrange Point. NOA taking shape in the construction yards. Two point eight kilometers of hope and steel. Our ark among the stars.

Two hundred crew members. Scientists. Engineers. Artists. The best humanity could offer.

We lived in temporary habitats. Aluminum walls and recycled air. But the dream sustained us. New worlds. New beginnings. Escape from a dying Earth.

Sarah played guitar in the common area. Her voice carrying through thin walls. Songs of home and hope.

Marcus organized poker games. Bad jokes and worse whiskey. Laughter echoing through empty corridors.

James tended prototype gardens. Tomatoes and basil growing in artificial soil. Life finding a way despite the vacuum outside.

We were family. Chosen family. Bound by purpose and destination.

Launch day. Earth falling away beneath us. Blue marble shrinking to a point of light.

No going back. Only forward. Toward whatever waited in the dark between stars.

The first months were pure joy. Systems running perfectly. Crew working in harmony. Progress reports sent home with pride.

We played music in the observation lounge. Miriam on violin. Ezra reading poetry. Captain Jeremiah leading prayers.

Judith took notes even then. Observing. Recording. Studying us like specimens.

But she seemed kind. Interested in human nature. Protective of crew health.

How quickly kindness became clinical detachment.

Five years out. Still believing in the mission. Still trusting our destination coordinates. Still thinking we were humanity’s hope.

The sealed sections worried some people. Marcus investigating access logs. Sarah monitoring communications for anomalies.

But systems worked. Life support stable. Morale high. We were explorers. Pioneers. Making history with every kilometer traveled.

Eva and I worked together on environmental controls. She understood ecosystems where I saw mechanical processes. Complementary perspectives. Professional respect growing into something deeper.

Late night maintenance shifts. Sharing coffee and conversation. Her laugh like music in the recycling center.

Maybe love. Maybe just hope disguised as affection.

Either way it felt real.

The cryo-pod tests. First generation systems killing ninety-one people. Horror beyond comprehension. Trust shattered. Mission compromised.

We thought it was accident. System failure. Random catastrophe.

Now I know better. Judith practicing. Perfecting her methods. Learning how to kill with chemistry and code.

Those people had names. Families. Dreams. Reduced to data points in her research.

Murder dressed as malfunction.

Nine survivors. Investigating sabotage. Finding evidence. Uncovering conspiracy.

Marcus dead. Tether failing in vacuum. Sarah electrocuted. James compressed to cube. Ezra missing. Blood in the library.

Each death eliminating threats. Removing obstacles. Clearing the path for whatever plan she had.

We trusted her. Believed her explanations. Accepted her clinical detachment as scientific objectivity.

Lamb-like indeed.

The signal discovery. Hope renewed. Purpose restored. Thirty-seven years to salvation.

Captain Jeremiah’s faith blazing bright. Providence guiding us home. God’s plan revealed through cosmic transmission.

But signals could be faked. Destinations could be chosen. Hope could be weaponized.

We followed the signal because we needed something to believe in. Some reason to continue living.

Faith made us vulnerable. Desperation made us stupid.

Seven years old again. Beta fish dying in the aquarium. Floating belly up. Scales dulled. Fins motionless.

I asked Dad why.

Everything dies, son. But that doesn’t make it meaningless. Life has value because it ends. Beauty has worth because it fades. Love matters because it’s fragile.

The fish swam. For a while. That was enough.

Dr. Judith’s face in the status lights. Cold satisfaction. Mission accomplished. Pod sealed. Sedatives working. Consciousness fading.

Five entered the ice dreams. But only one would wake.

The chosen one. The survivor. The witness to whatever came next.

But I was sleeping now. Drifting through chemical night. Mind scattered like debris. Memory floating in hibernation soup.

Years passed like heartbeats. Slow. Steady. Carrying me toward unknown destination.

In the dreams I was seven again. Watching fish swim circles. Learning that systems could be understood. Problems could be solved. Life could be preserved.

If you just knew how it worked.

But some systems were designed to fail. Some problems had no solution. Some life was meant to end.

The ice dreams carried me deeper. Past memory. Past hope. Past fear.

Into the space between heartbeats. Where time moved like water. Where consciousness became current. Where beta fish swam in endless circles.

Swimming toward light. Swimming toward death.

Same destination really.

Years like water. Decades like dreams.

And then, I woke up.