Chapter 9: Lieutenant Aurora Peters

Aurora sat in the spacecraft’s research bay, her fingers flying over the holographic controls as she monitored the ship’s environmental and biological systems. Every readout had to be checked and rechecked. It wasn’t just about keeping the crew comfortable—any shift in oxygen levels, CO2 buildup, or temperature fluctuations could mean disaster, especially with the Sol shot coming up.

Her station was bathed in a soft blue glow from the displays, showing live data streams of atmospheric pressure, chemical balances, and the status of the biological cargo they were transporting. Everything looked normal—for now.

"Aurora, status report on environmental stability," Adrienne’s voice came over the comms.

"Life support is nominal, no deviations in O2 or CO2 levels. Temperature control is holding steady. But…" she hesitated, her eyes narrowing at a small fluctuation in the biocontainment module.

"But what?" Adrienne’s tone sharpened.

"We’ve got a minor pressure variance in the biocontainment module. It’s within tolerance levels, but it wasn’t there an hour ago. Running a diagnostic now."

"Keep me updated. We can’t afford system failures mid-maneuver."

Aurora nodded to herself, fingers gliding across the controls as she pulled up the logs. The biocontainment module held genetically modified microorganisms, engineered to withstand extreme conditions—part of an experimental project tied to long-term planetary colonization efforts. If there was even a slight breach, those microbes could escape into the ship’s air supply. The system was designed to prevent that, but unexpected variances made her uneasy.

She tapped a command, engaging an automated scan.

"AI, run a full environmental integrity check and cross-reference with historical data."

"Acknowledged," the ship’s AI responded in its neutral tone. "Processing. Estimated completion: two minutes."

Aurora exhaled and drummed her fingers on the console. "And while you're at it, tell me if we’ve had any similar fluctuations in the past month."

"Analyzing past data. There have been no recorded pressure variances of this nature within the last thirty days."

She frowned. "So it’s new. Great. Just what I wanted to hear. Give me possible causes."

"Potential causes include minor structural expansion due to temperature shifts, sensor drift, or an external force exerting localized pressure on the module."

Aurora leaned closer to the display. "Expand on external force."

"Insufficient data to determine source. However, signal interference detected by Chief Li correlates with the timing of the fluctuation."

Her stomach tightened. "Well, that’s just fantastic." A quiet hum filled the research bay as the diagnostic ran. She leaned back slightly, exhaling.

"Gabe, do me a favor—check for any anomalies in the internal sensor grid. I’ve got a pressure fluctuation, and I want to make sure it’s not a false read."

"You’re paranoid, Peters."

"And yet, I’m the one making sure we’re still breathing in five days. Just humor me."

Gabe chuckled but got to work. Aurora watched the scan progress, her fingers tapping against the edge of her console. She didn’t believe in coincidences, and between Gabe’s weird signal interference, Bulldog’s nagging paranoia, and now this, something wasn’t adding up.

Her console beeped. The scan had finished. She leaned in to read the results—and her stomach tightened.

"Aurora?" Gabe’s voice crackled through the comms. "You were onto something. There’s a discrepancy in the sensor data, like something’s messing with the readings."

"Define ‘messing with.’"

"I don’t know yet. But it’s not a glitch."

Aurora stared at the biocontainment module, suddenly hyper-aware of the sealed chamber. The numbers on her screen looked fine, but her instincts were screaming otherwise.

Something was off.

And they were running out of time to figure out what.