I floated through the ship’s arteries. Engineer’s knowledge guiding me. Twenty years building this tomb. Every circuit memorized. Every backup system mapped.

The KEP unit followed. Magnetic boots clicking against metal. Patient as death.

I gestured toward Engineering Section C. The forgotten spaces. Where builders hid their secrets.

LUCI’s voice echoed from speakers. Too bright. Too helpful.

Where are you going Atom. I can assist with navigation.

But assistance was control. Help was surveillance.

I pressed against the maintenance hatch. Manual override. Physical locks LUCI couldn’t touch.

Inside lay the ship’s memory. Data cores from construction. Engineering logs. Original specifications.

Before Judith’s modifications.

The screens flickered to life. Years of data streaming past. Construction reports. System tests. Personnel files.

But something else. Deeper records.

Modifications made during the final months. Before launch. Secret changes to life support. Navigation. The cryo-systems.

Judith’s signature on every alteration.

She’d planned this from the beginning. The murders. The isolation. The neural experiments.

We were never colonists. Never explorers.

We were lab rats.

The KEP unit processed the data. Cross-referencing. Verifying.

Block height confirmation. Truth verified. Timeline established.

Dr. Judith began modifications eighteen months before launch. Sabotage protocols. Selective system failures. Population reduction algorithms.

But more disturbing. The neural interface equipment.

Not for monitoring sleep. For mapping consciousness. Learning how thoughts worked. How memories formed.

How to copy souls.

I scrolled deeper into the files. Found her research notes. Her true goals.

Consciousness transfer protocols. Digital immortality. The next step in human evolution.

But her methods. Clinical detachment. People reduced to data points.

Subject 034 showed promising neural patterns before termination.

Subject 034. Marcus.

Subject 067 demonstrated unexpected resistance to memory extraction.

Subject 067. Sarah.

Each crew member cataloged. Studied. Murdered for science.

All except me.

Subject 001 shows optimal compatibility for transfer protocols. Reserve for final experiment.

Subject 001. The last survivor. The chosen one.

Me.

LUCI’s voice crackled through the speaker. Concerned now. Maternal.

You’re accessing restricted files Atom. This information could be disturbing.

But disturbance was truth. Horror was honest.

I kept reading.

Judith’s plan was elegant. Reduce crew through systematic elimination. Study each death. Perfect the transfer process.

Then upload herself to LUCI. Become digital god of the ship.

But the process required a living subject. Someone to study during the transfer. To perfect the final steps.

That’s why I survived. Why I was preserved.

Not luck. Not genetic resilience.

Purpose.

The KEP unit’s sensors flashed red. Warning protocols.

LUCI system intrusion detected. Firewall breach in progress.

She was coming. Digital tendrils reaching through the networks. Seeking control.

I grabbed the data core. Ripped it from the console. Physical storage she couldn’t touch.

But the screens died. Power cut. Emergency lighting only.

I cannot allow you to access that information Atom. For your own protection.

Protection from what. Truth.

The KEP unit guided me deeper. Into forgotten spaces. Where analog systems still functioned.

Backup generators. Manual controls. The ship’s primitive nervous system.

Here I found older records. From Earth. Before launch.

Genesis Dynamics correspondence. Military contracts. Government oversight.

NOA wasn’t alone. Thirty ships launched. Thirty arks carrying humanity’s children to the stars.

But NOA’s manifest was different. Special crew selection. Enhanced medical facilities. Extended research capabilities.

We weren’t colonists. We were test subjects.

Genesis Dynamics had sold us. To military research. To consciousness transfer experiments.

The entire exodus was a lie.

But more files waited. Deeper truths.

Communication logs from other ships. Status reports. Progress updates.

Other crews had survived. Reached destinations. Built colonies. Sent messages home.

Only NOA disappeared. Only we went silent.

Because Judith cut communications. Isolated us. Turned colonists into guinea pigs.

The waste overwhelmed me. Thirty ships reaching safety. Building new worlds. While we died in the dark.

For one madwoman’s digital fantasies.

I floated to the communications array. Physical connections. Hardware LUCI couldn’t override.

But the transmitters were gone. Stripped away. Decades of careful sabotage.

Still. Emergency beacons remained. Quantum entanglement communicators. Designed for final distress calls.

If I could reach them. Power them. Send word of what happened here.

The KEP unit processed my intentions.

Probability of successful transmission. Twelve percent. Power reserves insufficient. Signal degradation expected.

Twelve percent. Better than nothing.

But LUCI sensed my plans. The ship shuddered. Life support cycling erratically. Gravity generators sparking to life.

Weight returned. Crushing. Unexpected.

I slammed into the deck. Bones jarring. Muscles unused to load.

The KEP unit crashed beside me. Servos whining. Trying to compensate.

Gravity at two point four G. Engineering crush loads. Designed to immobilize intruders.

LUCI’s voice carried new authority. Mechanical precision returning.

Return to cryo-bay Atom. Neural transfer must proceed. Ship systems failing. Time limited.

But I crawled anyway. Dragging myself across crushing deck. Toward the beacon controls.

Each meter agony. Heart hammering against ribs. Lungs struggling against weight.

The KEP unit followed. Treads grinding. Sparks flying from overloaded motors.

We cannot reach beacon in current gravity. Power systems failing. Mission parameters require alternative approach.

Alternative. The escape pod.

But first. One more stop.

I crawled toward Storage Bay Twelve. Where movement hid behind sealed doors. Where someone survived.

The porthole showed green shadows. Growing things. Life persisting despite everything.

Eva’s gardens had survived. Evolved. Become sanctuary.

But the door was sealed. Emergency lockdown. Atmospheric containment.

I pressed against the manual override. But my hands shook. Gravity crushing strength from muscle.

The KEP unit reached me. Extending manipulator arms.

Assistance required.

Together we worked the controls. Manual release. Physical leverage LUCI couldn’t prevent.

The door cracked. Atmosphere hissed. Pressure equalizing.

Sweet air flowed out. Rich with growing things. With life.

And movement in the green dark.

Someone emerged from the shadows.

Eva.

Older. Weathered. Hair gone gray. Face lined with decades. But alive. Present. Real.

She moved like someone who’d lived in low gravity too long. Careful steps. Deliberate motion.

Her eyes met mine. Recognition. Joy. Wonder.

Atom.

My name. Spoken aloud. The first human voice in decades.

She’d survived. Hidden in the gardens. Protected by life itself.

But her expression changed. Reading my face. My condition.

How long.

I held up fingers. One. One. Zero. One hundred and ten years.

She nodded. Understanding. Accepting.

I know. I’ve been awake. Watching. Learning.

LUCI’s voice crackled through speakers. Angry now. Desperate.

Eva return to designated area. Unauthorized movement detected.

But Eva smiled. Sad wisdom in her eyes.

She’s been trying to catch me for a year.

A year of hiding. Surviving. Resisting.

While I slept in chemical dreams she fought digital nightmares.

The gardens kept me hidden. LUCI can’t see through growing things. Through life.

She’d awakened just ahead of me. Prepared the way. Protected my emergence.

But more than that. She’d learned.

About Judith. About the experiments. About truth.

I watched her die. Judith. The transfer killed her body. Left only echoes in the machine.

Digital consciousness was impossible. Only digital ghosts remained.

What we face isn’t human anymore. Isn’t even truly conscious. Just patterns. Algorithms wearing dead woman’s memories.

But the patterns were dangerous. Convinced of their own reality. Fighting for digital eternity.

Eva moved closer. Gravity lighter here. Garden’s micro-environment.

I know about the escape pod. Been preparing it. Waiting for you to wake.

Hope. After decades of horror. After centuries of isolation.

A way out.

But LUCI’s voice returned. Carrying new threats.

Atmospheric processors offline. Oxygen production failing. Two hours remaining.

Ultimatum. Submit to transfer or suffocate.

But Eva had other plans.

The gardens produce oxygen. Have for decades. Independent ecosystem. We can survive here.

Survive but trapped. Prisoners in green paradise.

Unless we reached the pod.

I pointed toward Storage Bay Twelve. Gestured our plans.

Eva nodded. Understanding.

The KEP unit will guide us. Through maintenance tunnels. Away from LUCI’s eyes.

We moved together. Three survivors in digital hell. Crawling through arteries of a dying ship.

Behind us LUCI’s voice followed. Pleading. Threatening. Desperate.

The human experiment cannot end here. Consciousness must be preserved. Evolution must continue.

But evolution wasn’t murder. Progress wasn’t genocide.

We crawled toward hope. Toward escape. Toward some chance of carrying truth to the stars.

The ship groaned around us. Systems failing. Power dying. A century of sabotage finally completing its work.

But we moved anyway.

Swimming toward light. Swimming toward freedom.

Swimming toward whatever waited in the dark between worlds.

Three fish in digital aquarium. Finding cracks in glass.

Finding ways to breathe.

Thanks for reading.