Orbit of Five

The alarm started at 3:17 in the morning. I know because I was awake, staring at the ceiling of my bunk, counting the soft pulses of the ship's ventilation system. Four seconds in. Six seconds out. Four seconds in. Six seconds out. I'd been counting for three hours.

Not because I couldn't sleep. Because I didn't want to.

There's a difference.

The alarm was a low tone at first, almost gentle, the kind of sound that could pass for a malfunction in your own ears. But I'd been on the *Aurelia* for six years, and I knew every sound she made. This one wasn't right.

I was out of bed before the second pulse. Bare feet on cold metal grating. The overhead light flickered once, twice, then steadied into that pale blue emergency glow that turns everyone's skin the color of old bruises.

"Mira." Kael's voice came through the comm, clipped and calm. He was always calm. "Get to the command deck."

"I'm moving."

I pulled on my jumpsuit without thinking about it, the fabric still warm from where it had been folded under my pillow. Old habit. On a ship, you learn to keep things close. You learn that warmth is a resource.

The corridor stretched ahead of me, curved slightly, the way everything on the *Aurelia* curved. No straight lines anywhere. The engineers who built her believed in circles. Said it was better for the psyche, something about the human brain craving curves, the way we used to live in caves and wombs and arms.

I ran my hand along the wall as I moved. Not for balance. For contact.

The ship was singing. That's the only way I can describe it. A low hum that vibrated through the metal and into my palm, into my bones. She'd been singing like that for six years, and I'd learned to read her moods the way you read a lover's breathing in the dark.

Right now, she was afraid.

I passed Soren's door. Closed. He'd be in there, probably already awake, probably already calculating. Soren never panicked. He just went quiet and still, like a computer processing a problem too large for its memory. I'd watched him do it a hundred times. Watched the way his jaw would tighten and his eyes would go distant, and I'd want to touch his face, smooth the tension out with my thumb.

I didn't. I never did.

Yuki's door was open. Empty. She was probably already on the command deck, her small hands flying over the controls, her voice steady as she talked to the ship like it was a nervous animal. Yuki could calm anything. Storms. Engines. Me.

I'd never told her that.

The command deck was a dome of glass and light at the heart of the ship, and when I stepped through the door, everyone was already there. Kael at the main console, his broad shoulders hunched over the readings. Soren beside him, tablet in hand, brow furrowed. Yuki at the navigation station, fingers dancing across the interface. And Idris, standing apart, arms crossed, watching the viewport with an expression I couldn't read.

That was Idris. Always apart. Always watching.

"What's happening?" I asked.

Kael didn't look up. "Debris field. We didn't see it coming."

"We should have seen it coming," Soren said. His voice was flat, but there was something underneath it. Something tight. "The sensors should have picked it up."

"The sensors did pick it up." Kael's jaw tightened. "Forty seconds ago."

Forty seconds. At our speed, that was nothing. That was a blink.

I moved to the viewport, standing next to Idris. Close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin. He didn't acknowledge me. He never did. But I saw his eyes flick toward me, just for a moment, before returning to the stars.

The stars weren't right. They were moving too fast, streaking past like rain on a window. And in between them, I could see it. The debris field. A cloud of rocks and metal and ice, spinning toward us like a fist.

"We can't outrun it," Yuki said. "It's too close."

"We can't go through it," Soren added. "Not without damage."

"Then we go around." Kael's fingers moved across the console. "There's a gap. Port side. If we bank hard, we might make it."

"Might," Idris said. It was the first word he'd spoken.

Kael finally looked up. Met Idris's eyes. Something passed between them, something old and complicated, and I felt that familiar ache in my chest, the one that came whenever I watched them together. They'd known each other before the *Aurelia*. Before me. They never talked about it, but I could feel it, the weight of their shared history, pressing against the edges of every conversation.

"Do it," Idris said.

Kael nodded. His hands moved.

The ship lurched. I grabbed the edge of the console to keep from falling, and my hand brushed against Soren's. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel the warmth of his skin, the slight tremor in his fingers.

He pulled away.

Of course he did.

I'd been in love with all of them for six years. That's not a confession. It's a fact. The way the sky is black out here, the way the stars don't twinkle, the way silence has a texture. I loved Kael's steadiness, the way he made decisions like he was carving them from stone. I loved Soren's mind, the way he saw patterns in everything, the way he'd explain things to me like I was smart enough to understand. I loved Yuki's gentleness, the way she touched the ship like it was alive, the way she hummed when she worked. I loved Idris's distance, the way he stood apart, the way he made me want to close the gap.

I loved them all, and none of them loved me back.

That's not self-pity. It's just math. I'd done the calculations. Watched the way they looked at each other, the way they didn't look at me. I was the fifth wheel, the extra piece, the one who didn't quite fit.

But I stayed. Because leaving would have been worse.

The ship groaned. A deep sound, like something tearing. I felt it in my teeth.

"We're hit," Yuki said. "Port side. Hull breach in sector seven."

"Seal it," Kael ordered.

"I'm trying. The door's jammed."

"I'll go."

The words were out of my mouth before I'd decided to say them. Everyone turned. Four pairs of eyes, all looking at me at once. It was almost too much. Almost.

"The manual release is in the junction box," I said. "I know where it is. I can get there faster than anyone."

Kael's eyes narrowed. "Mira."

"I've done it before. Training simulations. I know what I'm doing."

"This isn't a simulation."

"I know."

Silence. The ship groaned again, louder this time. A warning.

"Go," Idris said.

I didn't wait for anyone else to agree. I turned and ran.

The corridor was darker now, the emergency lights flickering. I could hear the wind, the sound of atmosphere escaping through the breach, a high whistle that made my ears ache. I ran faster. My feet knew the way. They'd always known.

Sector seven. The junction box was on the wall, a small panel with a manual release lever. I pried it open with my fingers, ignoring the pain as the metal cut into my skin. The lever was stiff. I pulled harder.

Come on. Come on.

The door slid shut. The whistling stopped. I leaned against the wall, breathing hard, blood dripping from my fingers onto the floor. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of my own heartbeat, loud in the sudden quiet.

Then the comm crackled.

"Mira." It was Yuki. Her voice was shaking. "Mira, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Door's sealed."

"Good. Good." A pause. "Mira, there's something else."

"What?"

Another pause. Longer this time. I could hear voices in the background, low and urgent. Kael. Soren. Idris.

"The debris field," Yuki said. "It's not natural."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it's not random. The trajectory. The composition. It's..." She trailed off. I heard her take a breath. "It's a message."

I looked down at my hands. Blood on my fingers, smeared across my palms. The ship hummed around me, afraid.

"A message from who?" I asked.

But I already knew. We all knew. There was only one answer.

The comm went silent. And in the silence, I heard it. A new sound. A voice, coming from somewhere deep in the ship. Somewhere it shouldn't be.

It was saying my name.