An enormous explosion thundered through the hull, a booming percussion of chaos that caused the entire ship to shudder. The shockwave resonated through the spacecraft, reverberating through its structure and shaking the very foundation of its construct.

  In the blink of an eye, the leisurely ambience of the ship was shattered, replaced by a symphony of chaos. Warning sirens wailed, their high-pitched keening echoing throughout the ship’s corridors. The sound was a shrill counterpoint to the deep, resonant groan of the vessel’s hull, groaning under the stress of the unexpected blast. The harsh clatter of misfiring components replaced the harmonious hum of the ship’s engines, a comforting constant until now.

  Bright strobes of red light—emergency indicators—cut through the dimmed lights, casting a harsh, foreboding glow throughout the interior. The flash of crimson painted a tableau of alarm across the ship’s interior, transforming the serene atmosphere into one of crisis.

  On the main console, dormant warning icons sprang to life, pulsating with urgency. Bright red and yellow lights blinked rhythmically on the control panel, and dire messages scrolled across the interface. Anomalies were being reported across various systems, their locations pinpointed on a virtual blueprint of the Valtorian.

  This sudden cacophony of alarms jolted Gan from the edge of slumber, the startling shift in the ship’s environment acting as a chilling splash of icy water. A surge of adrenaline replaced his relaxation, borne from the comfort of the holo show. His heart pounded in his chest as he leapt from his seated position, his eyes wide and alert.

  The quiet hum of the ship had been his lullaby, the soothing rhythm of the Valtorian’s flight promising a moment of respite. But now, the harsh symphony of alarms and warnings ripped through that promise, replacing the tranquility of near sleep with a sudden, breathless alertness.

  Gan blinked his eyes and shook himself as he tried to come to his senses. The most concerning noise attacking his hearing was the shrill ack-ack-ack of the oxygen sensor. That meant that there must be a leak somewhere. A cast off uniform floated before him like a ghostly apparition and was lit by flickering light. He quickly concluded that the gravity generator was off as well and that power was intermittent. Neither were crucial life-support systems, he remembered from his training.

  Quickly, Gan grasped an edge of the counter and propelled himself forward. Zero gravity meant that he floated quickly towards the door. As he did this, his Paktu’s hologram appeared.

  Despite the disarray caused by the explosion, Pelve was proactive, initiating emergency protocols and attempting to maintain as much control as possible over the situation. One such protocol involved sending out a priority distress signal on all channels, a beacon of urgent information that broadcasted the crisis to all connected entities.

  Elo was connected to the Valtorian’s system through an advanced communication interface. This interface was designed to alert Elo to any emergencies, enabling swift intervention in crisis situations. The instant the distress signal was broadcast, Elo’s own systems were alerted. His interface was synched with the Valtorian’s systems, allowing him real-time access to the ship’s status reports, navigational data, and other crucial information.

  Because of this close connectivity, Elo was aware of the explosion and the critical condition of the ship mere moments after the event occurred. His system received the distress signal and decoded it in the blink of an eye, presenting him with the dire information—the ship was severely damaged, air leaks were detected in the Galley, and Gan’s life was in immediate danger.

  “You have less than five minutes of air left. There are multiple leaks coming from the Galley,” the Paktu announced disapprovingly.

  Five minutes of air left? Multiple leaks coming from the Galley? How was all of this possible? He had left Pelve alone and in charge for less than thirty minutes. What had the AI done?

  Gan didn’t have time to either comment or argue with him. He only had time to react. He grasped the handrails and propelled himself forward down the hallway through the darkness. Gan stopped in the central command office—which not only was lit but also had power—where he could survey the damage to the ship.

  “Prepare a hologram of the interior of the Galley,” Gan commanded Pelve.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “You got it! Hologram prepared,” the AI responded after only a moment’s hesitation.

  “Display hologram!” Gan commanded.

  Pelve produced a hologram of the Galley floating in mid-air before Gan. The soft glow of the hologram cast an eerie illumination over the scene, making the Galley seem both familiar and alien at the same time. He recognized most of the Galley, but not the jagged hole near the corner where his table had been. That was gone as well.

  The edges of the breach were sharp and uneven, giving the impression of a violent force that had torn through the metal and left a gaping maw in its wake. The scene was a stark reminder of the perils of his chosen profession and the vulnerability of even the most well-armed and well-prepared vessel in the face of the unknown.

  “Four minutes of oxygen left, Boss,” Pelve reminded him. It shocked Gan that he had that much oxygen left with such a large hole. Pelve must have already re-routed some systems.

  “Close and seal the Galley door,” Gan ordered the AI.

  “Problem. Galley door will not close,” Pelve responded in a neutral tone.

  This was bad news.

  “Are all vents connected to the Galley sealed?”

  “Negative.”

  “Seal all vents off that connect to the Galley.”

  Gan heard the clanging of metal impacting metal and then a loud whoosh as the rushing air was cut off.

  “All vents connected to the Galley are sealed and off,” Gan heard Pelve inform him as he leapt towards the doorway and left the central command office.

  Gan headed down to the Galley as fast as he could manage in zero gravity. While he was gliding through the corridor, Pelve announced Gan was down to three minutes of oxygen left.

  No pressure, no pressure at all, Gan thought to himself. His training had prepared him for situations like this. Gan could have gone much faster floating down the corridors, but he was having to contend with random floating equipment that the lack of gravity had liberated. He would have to secure all of it when this was over. He would learn from this and not let this mistake haunt him again.

  Gan made it to the Galley and realized what was wrong. The door was not getting any power to it and would have to be closed manually. To make matters worse, the explosion had knocked it off its track.

  He would have to put it back on track first before he could close and seal it.

  Gan grabbed the edge of the door and pulled it towards his body. It barely moved at all. He tried several more times and was only rewarded by the sound of Pelve announcing that he was now down to three minutes of oxygen left.

  He tried once more. Nothing.

  Gan looked down into the track and saw that a shard of his former table was wedged deep inside the door’s track. He tried gripping it with his bare hands, but it was too deep inside for him to pry it out.

  Gan needed a tool. He didn’t think that he had enough time to make it to the nearest maintenance hub, so it would need to be something from close by.

  Gan entered the Galley and saw the ship’s temporary force field flickering. He hoped it would continue to hold while he made repairs or else all would be for naught.

  Gan started rifling through the various drawers until he found a thin, long metallic shaft belonging to a Ramorian eating utensil. This would have to do.

  Gan took the eating utensil and placed it on the track by the wood. He pried up the shard of his table that was preventing him from getting the door back on track.

  Gan grabbed the edge of the door again and pulled it towards his body like before. This attempt rewarded him by falling onto the track with a loud clicking noise.

  “Two minutes of oxygen left.”

  Gan pushed the door until he heard a loud click. It was shut, but not sealed. Oxygen would continue to escape, albeit at a slower rate until he could seal the Galley door.

  Fortunately, all he had to do was activate two large manual switches that were at the top and bottom of the door itself. Gan tried the bottom one first. It took a lot of effort, but he could finally latch it shut.

  “One minute of oxygen left.”

  The top one refused to budge! Just his luck.

  Gan examined the top latch more closely and saw that it appeared to be corroded. It needed lubricant. He remembered there being some nearby in the supply closet.

  The sudden urgency of his situation injected a surge of adrenaline into Gan, accelerating his actions. He released the counter’s edge, propelling himself toward the supply closet in a swift, controlled glide. With practiced precision, he navigated the zero-gravity environment, his muscular physique streamlined for optimum efficiency in such conditions.

  His movements were quick but deliberate, a skill honed over countless hours spent in space. Time was his enemy, and every second was precious. Gan navigated the ship’s narrow corridors and sharp turns with ease, the familiarity of the ship’s layout aiding him in his desperate quest.

  The supply closet was a small room cluttered with a multitude of tools, containers, and equipment— essentials for a vessel traversing the vast expanse of space. Gan’s gaze immediately scanned the shelves for the lubricant he needed, his mind sorting through the myriad of items in an attempt to locate it.

  He spotted the canister nestled between a pair of pliers and a roll of sealing tape. Its bright yellow label was a beacon of hope amidst the dull, metallic tones of the surrounding tools. Reaching out, he snatched it from its perch and pushed off the shelf with his feet to reverse his direction.

  In this tense situation, even Pelve’s monotone voice seemed to take on a grave edge. As Gan’s fleeting lifeline of oxygen dwindled, Pelve’s voice echoed throughout the ship, “Oxygen levels critically low. Forty-five seconds remaining.” There was just enough time to find the lubricant and make it back.

  Except the lubricant can was not there! Gan remembered using the last of it on a project last week. There wouldn’t be enough time left for him to replenish it before his oxygen supply ran out. Game over.

  race against oxygen. Space isn't just about adventure—it's a constant battle for survival, and even the smallest mistake can mean game over.

  Gan’s boots, feeling the weight of every ticking second as he fights to save himself and the Valtorian. What would you have done differently in his place? ??

  thoughts, theories, and feedback! Do you think there’s more going on behind the scenes with Elo and Pelve? What’s next for Gan now that he’s running on borrowed time? Drop a comment, leave a review, and let’s keep this journey going together! ????