Chapter 10 – Living Archive

  Approach Vector: LG-12JUN–09 – Drift 6

  ?

  They had passed four gates, with one left to go. Each jump made his stomach drop; the thought of Emma, his only sister, locked away in darkness and silence gnawing at the back of his mind. He feared the loneliness would change her before he had a chance to do something about it. Dice complained about asteroid traffic near the last window, explaining a collision would mean certain death since Remulus hadn’t fortified the outer hull since the last time they had passed through a debris field. Iliana locked herself in the galley after calling the protein bricks a crime against Sulei and humanity, though David felt like she was avoiding Remulus. Remulus, who had barely spoken since the second leap, was working on panels and cursing whenever sparks flew. Every malfunction seemed like just another Tuesday to him.

  And David… Well, he had run out of things to clean, count, take stock of, or pretend not to worry about. So he wandered.

  As he paced, the ship seemed to reveal a door he hadn’t noticed before, and lights flickered in its direction like an arrow pointing ahead. At the end of a corridor, half-hidden in shadow, a bit of text flickered once, then went dark. The label read: Oxygen Factory, written in Lyra script. Strange.

  Oxygen was supposed to be made by chemical processes, or maybe that was just another word for manufactured. He wasn’t sure. He had only seen diagrams, never the real thing. It was supposed to be standard and boring. He tried the handle, but it was locked. Below it, a keypad with ten digits blinked faintly in the dark.

  He thought about everything he knew about Remulus: sparks, spirits, value, fixes, negotiations, Eurydice, Dice, and Iliana. Then he remembered—1916. That was it. He entered the code.

  The door hissed open. Wet, living air hit his face, cold and green. Darkness pulled back. Something clicked above him; a single orange firefly lit up, then another, moving slowly like embers. Humidity drones floated low, tracing a thin path of light through the shadows. He stepped inside and let the door close almost all the way behind him. The ship’s sounds faded, replaced by new scents: green leaves, damp bark, metal, earth, petrichor, and life. As his eyes adjusted, shapes appeared: shields of leaves, ropes of vine, blue-green grass that moved gently. The small drones skimmed past his knees, their tiny lights sliding over wet blades, beads of condensation along the veins. Ahead, faint and steady, a pressure valve adjusted, like a held breath.

  He walked further in. The drones followed, bobbing and revealing more color. A low artificial dawn spread from the canopy, more a promise of light than real brightness. He placed his palm on a trunk. The bark vibrated with a pulse that wasn’t his, almost warm to the touch.

  A breeze reached him before he found its source. Air moved past his cheeks, gentle but steady, and he felt a flicker of something—perhaps apprehension, or curiosity—urging him to step forward. The tall grass leaned in one direction, fronds bowing as if to a tide. The pull faded, and a soft exhale rustled back, leaves lifting together. He hesitated, caught between the urge to explore and a latent caution whispering to stay put. At the far wall, he saw them: intake valves as large as doors, dark ribs flexing open and closed in turn. Draw. Release. Draw. Release. The canopy responded to each cycle, tilting, rising, and settling like a body breathing. Consciously deciding to move further in, he pressed his palm against his chest, feeling his own heartbeat echoing the forest's rhythm, simultaneously awed and unnerved.

  He stood still, palm on the wood. Orange fireflies circled his wrist. Moisture soaked into his shoes, chilling his toes. Above him, the artificial dawn grew a little brighter, enough to bring color to the stems and lift a thread of mist from the soil. In the undergrowth, something small darted as the valves pulled again, a hush moving through the leaves.

  ?

  A hedgehog waddled by, almost touching him. He quickly pulled his foot back and froze, not daring to breathe as the small animal passed, completely unaware.

  Ahead, the tall grass rustled. Something moved behind a red-veined bush. A fox stepped out, small, compact, and Earthborn. Her russet fur was bright against the glowing foliage. She sniffed the air, ears twitching with caution, but she didn’t run. Her hind leg shone with silver filaments plated in gold, cables so fine they moved like muscle. Not welded, but grown and rebuilt.

  Awe and grief mixed inside him. She saw him, blinked, and stepped closer without fear. His heart pounded as he stayed perfectly still, afraid any movement would break the moment.

  High above, the canopy rustled and branches shook. A bird suddenly launched from a high branch, gliding into the open air. Its wings caught the artificial sunlight and shone like spider silk, not feathers but silver webbing. Jointed and shining. He stood transfixed as the bird flew overhead, its wings whispering softly.

  He held his breath. That material was organ-repair filament. It was rare, restricted, and illegal in most sectors. Originally designed for medical miracles, the filament's potential for misuse was too tempting for many, leading authorities to clamp down on its distribution. He had only seen it in files before. Stories told of underground labs where once it was used to splice genes, merge mechanical with biological, creating hybrids beyond regulation. Now it was here, on a bird, in a forest, inside a ship. His mind spun. None of this should exist, yet it was right in front of him.

  What was this place? And who was Remulus, really?

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The words knifed the hush. He spun around. There was Remulus, an imposing shadow framed by the corridor's cold light, his presence more than just physical. One hand cradled a hedgehog, its little body exhibiting the only movement, while Remulus himself stood as still as a carved monument. "You're not supposed to be here," he said, his voice low. "Dice, how did he find this place?"

  “I nudged a sad boy toward fresh air,” Dice said primly from the ceiling. “Also: your passcode is stupid.”

  Remulus stepped in. David reflexively stepped back, heel brushing blue grass. Remulus’s gaze swept the valves, the fox half-hidden in brush, the orange humidity drones drifting like fireflies. Then it fixed on David.

  “This isn’t a museum,” he said. “It’s a sanctuary.”

  “I didn’t know,” David blurted. “I thought—oxygen filtration. I haven’t logged a word.”

  “You’re a Librarian Heir,” Remulus said. “You were trained to keep things.”

  “I haven’t kept this,” David said, steadier. “I won’t. Flagged private if you want—gone, if you say.”

  Remulus’s mouth twitched, his jaw tightening in restraint. He knelt and set the hedgehog down. It blinked once and toddled after an orange drone, its spines catching the false dawn.

  “They wouldn’t survive out there,” he said, not looking at David. “Not the fox with the printed leg. Not the bird with silk for wings. Not after what had been done to them.” His hand hovered over a fern, then dropped. “I rebuilt what someone else destroyed. That means it is important. It stays here.”

  Silence pressed in. His heartbeat felt loud enough to hear.

  Remulus broke it without turning, "Dice, if anyone else finds this door—lock it."

  “Gladly,” Dice said. “After you change that passcode.”

  Remulus straightened. The room seemed to shrink.

  “Out,” he said quietly. “Get out of my sanctuary.” Remulus looked at him for a long moment, then shook his head.

  After holding his breath for what felt like forever, Remulus turned stiffly and walked deeper into the forest. “Go!”

  David walked past without another word, back into the corridor’s sterile chill. The door hissed shut behind him. The plaque still read: Oxygen Factory.

  What it wasn’t.

  He marked the memory in the vault as Private. Even though he felt foolish for overstepping, he was glad he had found it.

  “You lit up the sign for me. Why?” he asked the ceiling.

  “You were bumming me out,” Dice’s voice came through the overhead speakers, flat and unimpressed.

  David almost smirked. He kept it to himself.

  “Now go find the blonde. She has food.”

  His stomach growled, loud enough to echo.

  He muttered a curse and started walking. The corridor turned left, then right. One bulb lagged the others, stuttering. Humidity clung to his skin.

  The galley door was already open. Iliana’s voice drifted out, low and half-singing to herself or maybe to the pan.

  He stopped in the doorway, half in shadow.

  Iliana didn’t look up. She crouched by the heating plate, nudging something with the point of a knife.

  “Smells better than bricks,” he said.

  “That’s not hard.” A beat. “You found the forest.”

  He hesitated. “You knew?”

  “I told Dice not to lead you to it,” she said. “Didn’t think you’d figure out the code.”

  He stepped in carefully, as if he might startle her. “Didn’t need to. It made sense.”

  “That’s how they get you,” she muttered, tapping the pan. “Things that don’t make sense.”

  Her hair was tied back with something that looked like cloth but shimmered like algae. She didn’t wear gloves. The webbing flashed between her fingers as she moved.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” she said, killing the heat, “they’re strange creatures, he and Dice. Their habits are unusual. Rescuing merchandise instead of delivering it. How they stay in business is beyond me.”

  “Were you one of the ‘merchandise’ they rescued?” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

  Iliana tilted her head, then smiled sharply. “My, my. Aren’t you clever?” She slid a plate toward him. “Eat.”

  “You cook?”

  “I survive. Food helps.”

  His stomach answered for him. He bit in—salty, soft, earthy—and tried not to groan.

  “I was,” she said, stacking dishes. “That’s how I met him. I was a girl looking for purpose. He was a man looking for peace.” She paused, a shadow flickering in her eyes. “I remember the confines of a shipping container, the hum of engines beneath my feet, and the smell of rust.” She set a mug down. “Maybe I stumbled into the forest too. Maybe I’ve been wondering what this place is for a long time.”

  “But that’s in the past.”

  “That’s not cryptic at all,” he muttered. “You said a lot and yet nothing.”

  A hint of amusement crossed her face as she turned away with the cloth.

  The door hissed. Remulus stepped in, tension hanging in the air.

  David didn’t flinch. “I was out of line,” he said. “It’s flagged private. If you want it gone, say so.”

  Remulus’s gaze slid past him, through him, to some fixed point on the wall. Boots scuffed. A long breath.

  “Keep it,” he said at last. “You saw enough to understand why it stays hidden.” Then, without looking up: “Dice—change the passcode.”

  “Finally,” Dice said. “I was embarrassed for you. There. Mirrored. I won’t escort any more sad boys without supervision.”

  Remulus stepped around David and lowered himself into the other chair. “What are we having?” he asked Iliana.