Everything vibrated.
The cabin shook, as though something massive were dragging along the hull. Kael felt it in his jaw, in his spine. The restraints kept him floating, but not from trembling. The viewports showed nothing but fielded static. Everyone had gone silent—except one of the techs. He whispered in cycles. Not prayers. Just old comms codes. Someone coughed. Another clutched their collar. The recycled air reeked of scrubbers and disinfectant, with a strange metallic aftertaste.
The tech who had dosed them was slumped near the hatch. Her visor fogged. A biometric readout blinked on her wrist, out of sync with the others. At Kael’s feet, a disinfectant pouch had ruptured, the gel slick and sour. The vibration was getting worse. Overhead lights stayed red. A boy with green hair retched quietly, his vomit floating across the room. Kael checked his pack. Still sealed.
Kael kept still, listening to the hum. Something somewhere rumbled at odd intervals. The girl kept whispering. The cadence of it changed—slower, less coherent. A few syllables almost sounded like names. Kael wasn’t sure if she was coding or unraveling. He shut his eyes, not to sleep, but to block the view of everyone else. The lights flickered. Kael opened his eyes. No one had moved. The only change was the faint hiss of pressurization, followed by the unmistakable sensation of gravity.
*****
The corridor lights were blue.
The hatch hissed. No voices. Just the hum and an automated pulse counter. The evacuees stepped out single file, barefoot, sleeveless. The floor was clean metal. No handrails. Just arrows. Kael followed a woman whose spine was laced with chrome. Her face was scarred.
“Strip. Rinse. Step forward.”
Decontamination wasn’t a room—it was a sequence. First came the spray, then the gel, then the mist that clung like frost. Kael flinched. When the vapor reached his eyes, they stung terribly. Someone ahead collapsed, and was carried off by men in hazsuits.
When it was done, they received their own suits—thin black fabric lined with reactive mesh. The seal points glowed faintly until body heat registered. They were told nothing. Nobody spoke to them. A countdown blinked above the exit lock. When it hit zero, the corridor opened. Armed guards waited there, rifles shouldered, looking bored.
*****
“You’ll speak only when addressed.”
The staging bay was narrow. Each evacuee stood inside a ring, while sensors scanned from above. Kael’s ring pulsed yellow, then green. One officer frowned. The other typed something.
“Name.”
“Kael Renn.”
“Compact tags you as pre-sync positive. Exo-eligible.”
Kael didn’t reply. The officer moved on.
Along the far wall, the girl who had whispered codes now sat with her knees up. Her eyes were open, but unfocused. A med-drone scanned her and moved on. No one spoke to her. Behind Kael, the line was still moving. More evacuees entered the chamber—some children, others too old to stand upright. Whatever algorithm decided who stayed, it was scraping the bottom of the barrel.