Captain Mara Rawling and her crew board the silent Prometheus station, where fresh traces, a strange echo, and something moving in the dark suggest the dead outpost is not empty.
Beyond the Libra’s panoramic bridge window, space lay open and merciless, black as spilled ink and stitched through with hard, distant stars. The research vessel drifted on a slow approach, its hull dusted with cosmic frost. At the console, Captain Mara Rawling watched the image on the main display tighten around a shape she knew from old files and old warnings: Prometheus Station, abandoned ten years ago at the edge of mapped space, silent ever since.
Nikolai Grun frowned at the scan feed. “There’s residual energy,” he said, then hesitated. “And movement. Not much. But it’s there.”
Tessa Jun, who had spent most of the approach silent, leaned closer to the screen as if it might confess something if she stared hard enough. The station hung ahead of them like a burned-out cathedral, all bent struts and dark windows. Mara did not like the way it seemed to be watching them back.
“Dock us,” she said. “Slowly. If there’s anyone inside, I want them to know we’ve arrived.”
A few minutes later, the three of them crossed the connecting corridor in sealed flight suits, their breathing loud in their helmets, the Libra’s steady hum fading behind them. The outer hatch released with a low, reluctant groan. Inside, the Prometheus greeted them with stale air, emergency lights, and corridors that vanished into dim red shadow.
Tessa crouched near the threshold and lifted a service key from the deck. It was still warm.
Mara looked up sharply. “That’s impossible.”
“It gets worse,” Nikolai said.
Fresh footprints marked the dust in the corridor ahead, leading deeper into the station. Not old prints. Not theirs. The three crewmen followed them with careful steps until the trail brought them into the main hall, where the air shimmered with drifting grit and the emergency lights pulsed like a failing heartbeat.
Then came the sound.
Not a voice. Not quite footsteps, either. Something in the dark answered them with a slow, hollow echo, as if another set of feet had begun to move where no one stood.
Mara raised her torch. “We’re not alone,” she whispered.
A metallic scream tore through the corridor behind them.