The door to the triplets’ quarters slid open with its familiar soft hiss. Lira stepped in first, Nira right behind her. The room wrapped around them like an old blanket: warm, lived-in, and theirs alone. Once in the room the door shut with a similar hiss.
Along one wall, three bunks sat side by side. Lira’s had a rumpled blanket and a stack of signal-analysis pads shoved half under the pillow. Nira’s was a controlled explosion of nav chips, a worn flight glove draped over the corner like it had given up trying to stay tidy. Mira’s was neater cryo logs neatly aligned, but the carved wooden token Tsala had left her rested on the pillow like a talisman.
Opposite the bunks, was the locker that never seemed to be full no matter how many clothes were hung inside. A small shared table in the middle held a single holo-frame cycling through images. Images of half remembered times that never felt like they actually happened
Mira was already there, perched on the edge of her bunk in a loose tank and shorts, legs swinging. “You two took forever. I was about to send a search party.” Her eyes flicked between them, sharp and delighted. “And don’t even try to play it cool. Lira, you’re glowing like a reactor core.”
Lira kicked the door panel. It sealed with a soft thunk. She crossed the room in three strides, and collapsed face-first onto her bunk with a groan that was half exhaustion, half pure happiness. “Fine. Guilty.”
Nira laughed, already rummaging in the locker for a fresh shirt. “Knew it. Spill, little sister. Every detail.”
Mira scooted over, making room on her bunk and patting the spot beside her. “Start from when he walked in. I want the full play-by-play.”
Lira rolled onto her back, staring up at the low ceiling. “Dining pod. I’m nursing the worst cup of VersaForge sludge known to man, trying to pretend the route meeting isn’t giving me a headache. Dren walks in still covered in coil grease, hair sticking up like he stuck his finger in a power conduit and instead of grabbing food and vanishing like usual, he sits down. Right across from me.”
Nira pulled the clean shirt over her head and flopped onto the foot of Lira’s bunk, propping her chin in her hands. “And?”
“And we talked,” Lira said, voice softening. “About everything. The spacewalk. How scared he was when my suit got hit. How scared I was. How the bunkers feel like another lifetime.” She paused, cheeks pink. “Then he said he didn’t want to be just friends anymore. That he’s been hoping I felt the same for months.”
Mira let out a quiet squeal and tackled Lira in a hug. “Finally! I was starting to think I’d have to lock you two in the vault together.”
Lira laughed, shoving her sister off gently. “I kissed his cheek before I bolted. Duty called literally, my comm went off. But gods, Mira… it felt right.”
Nira grinned like a cat who’d stolen the cream. “Good. He looks at you like you hung the stars. You deserve that.” She paused, then added more quietly, “After Ceres, we all deserve something good.”
The room went quiet for a moment. The weight of that day still lingered Lira floating in the void, suit hissing, blood freezing on her shoulder. Mira reached over and squeezed Lira’s hand. “Doc said you healed faster than anyone should. Like… unnaturally fast.”
Lira’s smile faded. “I noticed. The scar’s already almost gone.” She pulled up her sleeve to show them a thin silver line where there should have been a jagged mess. “And the visions are getting stronger. The stone steps. The serpent glyph. Last night it felt like I was standing on them.”
Mira’s voice dropped. “Same. Crimson sky again. And I swear I heard chanting this time. Like it was calling me.”
Nira sat up, expression serious now. “Me too. I woke up with the glyph burned behind my eyes. I thought it was just stress, but…” She trailed off, looking between them. “We’re changing. All three of us. And it’s not just the visions.”
Silence settled, thick and heavy. The kind only sisters who’ve shared a womb can sit in without it feeling awkward.
Mira broke it first, voice soft. “Whatever it is, we face it together. Like always.”
Lira nodded, squeezing back. “Together.”
Nira exhaled, then forced a grin. “Okay, enough doom and gloom for one night. We’re supposed to be celebrating Lira finally growing a spine.” She dodged the pillow Lira threw at her.
“My turn. Don’t think I’ve forgotten you owe me details about a certain vault ensign who keeps finding reasons to ‘check the seals’ at the exact time you’re on shift.”
Mira’s blush was instant and fierce. “Tevan is… not what I expected.”
Lira propped herself on an elbow, eyes gleaming. “Define ‘not what you expected.’ Because last I checked, quiet, competent, and always showing up exactly when you need an extra pair of hands is exactly your type.”
Mira buried her face in her hands, laughing despite herself. “He’s… steady. Thoughtful. We talk about the embryos, about legacy, about what it means to guard something that might outlive us all. And then he left this.” She reached under her pillow and pulled out the small, polished data-chip pendant he’d given her simple silver, etched with a tiny star map of the route to Kepler. “Said it’s for protection. From his own backup files. He told me if anything ever happened to the vault systems, this chip has every cryo log I’d ever need.”
Nira let out a low whistle. “That’s not a casual gift, Mira. That’s ‘I see you and I’ve got your back’ territory.”
Mira traced the etching with her thumb. “I know. It scares me a little. Feels like I’m standing on the edge of something huge.”
Lira’s voice softened. “Good huge or bad huge?”
“Both,” Mira admitted. “But mostly good.”
Nira leaned back, folding her arms behind her head. “Well, while you two are collecting heartfelt tokens and cheek kisses, I’m over here trying to figure out if Juan Martinez is ever going to use actual words or if I have to keep flying perfect maneuvers until he spontaneously combusts.”
Lira snorted. “He’s quiet. You’re… not. It’s adorable.”
“Shut up,” Nira grumbled, but she was smiling. “He asked about my family yesterday. Actually asked. Not the standard ‘so, triplets, huh?’ line. He wanted to know what it was like growing up with you two lunatics.”
Mira grinned. “What’d you tell him?”
“The truth. That you two are the only reason I’m still sane.” Nira’s voice turned quieter. “He said he envied that. Having people who always have your back, no matter what.”
The room went still again. Outside, the ship’s lights dimmed another notch night cycle creeping in. The three of them moved without speaking: Lira pulling a blanket over her shoulders, Mira tucking the token back under her pillow, Nira kicking off her boots and stretching out across the foot of Lira’s bunk like she owned it.
Mira broke the silence. “We’re really doing this, aren’t we? Thirty years to Kepler. New world. New everything.”
Lira nodded. “And whatever these visions are… whatever we’re becoming… we do it together.”
Nira reached up and flicked off the overhead light, leaving only the soft glow of the holo-frame cycling through their memories, smiles that felt real, even if the past was starting to fracture.
“Together,” she echoed.
In the dark, three hands found each other. The ship hummed around them, carrying them deeper into the black, but in that moment the void felt a little less empty.
#
The klaxon ripped through the ship: three sharp bursts, then the calm recorded voice everyone hated.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“General quarters. General quarters. This is a drill. All hands to emergency stations. Repeat: this is a drill.”
Tevan Ryde was already moving.
He had been in the armory, running inventory on NPS-H charge packs, when the alarm hit. Boots pounded deck plating as he sprinted the familiar route to the embryo vault two decks down, mid-ship, the single most protected compartment on the Hope. Red strobes painted the corridors in pulsing blood-light.
He rounded the final corner at a full sprint and skidded to a stop outside the vault’s outer hatch. Mira Nexys had just sealed it behind her; she was on shift and was keying the inner lockdown sequence when she saw him.
“Tevan,” she breathed, relief and something warmer flickering across her face.
“Status?” he asked, voice low, already scanning the corridor out of habit.
“The vault's locked down. Embryos stable. Inner seals engaged the second the klaxon sounded.” She hesitated, then added quietly, “I was hoping you’d be the one they sent.”
He let the corner of his mouth lift just enough. “Captain knows the vault is my responsibility.” He keyed the outer panel; the hatch irised open. “Inside. Drill rules no one opens until all-clear or the captain countersigns.”
They stepped into the narrow antechamber together. The inner door sealed behind them, cocooning them in the soft blue glow of the cryo monitors. Rows of embryo pods lined the walls, each one a silent promise of tomorrow. The air was colder here, almost reverent.
Mira leaned against the bulkhead, arms folded, watching him run the final lockdown checks. “You always make it here first.”
“Practice,” he said, but his eyes flicked to her, not the panels. “You okay?”
She gave a small, tired laugh. “I hate drills. They remind me how much is riding on this room.”
Tevan finished the sequence, then turned to face her fully. The red strobes from the corridor had died the moment the inner door closed, leaving only the vault’s steady blue. “Nothing will touch this room. Not while I’m breathing.”
The words came out rougher than he intended more vow than protocol.
Mira looked up at him, the space between them suddenly smaller than the vault itself. “I know.”
Silence stretched, broken only by the low thrum of the cryo units and the distant muffled sounds of the crew running their stations. Somewhere far off, Costa would be barking at engineers, Jax timing his mock evasion maneuvers, Selene watching the clock.
Mira reached out, fingers brushing the data-chip pendant he’d given her weeks ago; she wore it on a thin cord around her neck now, hidden beneath her uniform. “Do you ever think we practice for disasters that might never come… just so we’re ready when the real one does?”
“Every day,” he said.
Her hand lingered on the chip. “And when it does come when it’s real will you still be the first one here?”
He didn’t answer with words. Instead he lifted his hand, slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted, and rested it over hers where it touched the pendant. The contact was light, but it felt like the only steady thing in a ship full of alarms and red light.
The intercom crackled. Selene’s voice, calm and clipped: “Drill concluded. All stations report green. Stand down.”
The lights returned to normal white.
Mira didn’t move her hand. Neither did he.
Outside, the ship returned to routine. Inside the vault, for one more heartbeat, neither of them did either.
#
Over the course of the first few months en route to Vega, Doc had collected a blood sample from every crew member. Even Costa, though she had to track him down in engineering because he flat-out refused to set foot in med-bay. She had done it quietly, casually, one hypo-spray at a time, citing “routine post-Ceres health checks.”
Now, late one ship-night when both her assistants were off-duty, she sealed med-bay and sat alone in her office. The lights were low. The only sound was the soft thrum of the analyzer and the distant heartbeat of the Flux Drive. Secrecy was the only way.
The first sample was labeled:
Nexys, L
SN# 08963
Type: O+
She loaded it into the analyzer. Her fingers were steady, but her stomach knotted with anticipation she couldn’t quite name. Lira had been the index case. The shoulder that healed too fast after Ceres. If this was a fluke, it would show here first.
The machine hummed softly.
Under magnification, the blood came alive. Little machine-like structures nanoscale, helical moved with purpose. One latched onto a damaged red blood cell, repairing it in seconds before gliding to the next. Amaya leaned closer, breath fogging the screen. She watched the dance, fascinated and horrified, until every cell in the sample gleamed perfect. Then the structures folded in on themselves and went dormant. Waiting.
The full analysis popped up:
Telomere length: 312 % of baseline.
Nanoscale helical lattices in 98 % of sampled cells.
Regeneration rate: 418 % of normal.
Neural density, elevated. Metabolic efficiency, elevated.
Amaya exhaled sharply. Frustration bubbled up, hot and sharp.
"What is this?" she muttered to the empty room.
It wasn’t a virus. Not a contaminant. It was engineered. Deliberate.
She set aside the basic stats and ran a deeper sequence on the lattices themselves. The holo bloomed with a 3D model: elegant spirals folding and unfolding like living origami, pulsing faintly as if aware of her scrutiny.
No. This was no fluke.
But was it isolated? The Nexys sisters were monozygotic triplets, genetics identical. If Lira had it, the others should too. Confirmation first, then panic.
She loaded Mira’s sample next.
Nexys, M
SN# 08964
Type: O+
The analyzer whirred. Amaya held her breath, hoping, praying for a difference. A glitch in Lira’s draw. Something explainable.
The results flashed.
Match.
Telomere length: 312 % of baseline.
Nanoscale helical lattices in 98 % of sampled cells.
Regeneration rate: 418 % of normal.
Neural density, elevated. Metabolic efficiency, elevated.
Amaya rubbed her temples, a low groan escaping. "Come on..."
She slammed Nira’s cartridge in without pause.
Nexys, N
SN# 08965
Type: O+
Ten seconds.
Match.
All three sisters carried the anomaly. The lattices were the same, the stats a mirror.
Amaya leaned back, staring at the holo. This wasn’t genetic, it was in the blood, the cells. Acquired. But how? When? The triplets were inseparable; if it was environmental, the whole ship could be contaminated.
She had to know.
She pulled the full crew grid and started with the captain Selene Deimos, the one person Amaya knew had to be clean. If Selene showed it, they were all doomed.
Deimos, S: Captain
SN# 04791
Type AB+
The analyzer hummed. Amaya held her breath.
Telomere length: 100 % of baseline.
No nanoscale helical lattices in sampled cells.
Regeneration rate: 100 % of normal.
Neural density in normal range. Metabolic efficiency normal.
Relief flooded her like cool water. "Thank gods," she whispered, slumping in her chair for a moment. Selene was within normal ranges for a human. Whatever this was, it wasn’t ship-wide.
Energized, she moved faster now, grouping the normals first to build a control set.
Costa, M: Chief Engineer
SN# 02534
Type B+
Normal. Elevated cortisol stress, as always but clean.
Maka, T: Chief Security
SN# 06789
Type A-
Normal.
Onizuka, H: Security
SN# 07890
Type O-
Normal.
Ryde, T: Security
Wait.
Ryde, Tevan
SN# 09123
Type A+
The holo lit red.
Telomere length: 312 % of baseline.
Nanoscale helical lattices in 98 % of sampled cells.
Regeneration rate: 418 % of normal.
Neural density, elevated. Metabolic efficiency, elevated.
Amaya froze. "What?" She re-ran it. Same result.
Frustration surged; how had she missed this? Tevan was vault security, close to Mira. If he had it...
She grabbed the next.
Volk, K: Engineering
SN# 08567
Type B-
Anomaly.
Brown, L: Engineering
SN# 09345
Type AB+
Anomaly.
Navarro, M: Security
SN# 08234
Type O-
Anomaly.
Amaya’s hands shook now. That’s seven more. With the triplets, ten.
She pulled Davikar’s.
Davikar, A: Chief Science
SN# 05678
Type A+
Anomaly.
Amaya drew her own blood with practiced efficiency, though her pulse thundered in her ears. If she had it...
Maekawa, A: Chief Medical
SN# 04123
Type B+
The analyzer whirred.
Match.
Telomere length: 312 % of baseline.
Nanoscale helical lattices in 98 % of sampled cells.
Regeneration rate: 418 % of normal.
Neural density, elevated. Metabolic efficiency, elevated.
Amaya stared, the room spinning. "No..." Frustration boiled into anger. How did this happen? To her? To all of them?
She slammed her fist on the bench, the cartridges rattling. This wasn’t a disease. It was designed. Those lattices weren’t random; they were machines. Nanocytes. Rewriting them from the inside.
She ran the composite on the ten. The holo bloomed a human genome, yes, but elevated. Optimized. The lattices pulsed in unison, like a heartbeat.
A name floated up from the analyzer’s database, cross-referenced from old bunker files she had never seen before: Homo ascendentis. Ascendant man.
Amaya killed the display. The room plunged into shadow save for the faint glow of the cartridges.
She sat back in her chair, preparing to write the most uncomfortable report in her medical career.
Medical Report: Anomalous Blood Analysis
Prepared by: Dr. Amaya Maekawa, Chief Medical Officer, UES Hope
Date: [Insert Ship Date, En Route to Vega]
Classification: Captain’s Eyes Only
Captain Deimos,
Pursuant to your order for a full crew blood panel post-Ceres, I conducted analyses on all thirty-seven samples in secrecy. The results are as follows:
Methodology: Samples drawn via hypo-spray over the past months. Analysis via deep sequencer (med-bay unit #47), cross-referenced with bunker databases. Focus: Cellular integrity, genetic markers, and any anomalies.
Findings: Twenty-six samples (including yours and Costa’s) are baseline human. No deviations.
Ten samples show profound alterations:
Telomere length: 312 % of baseline (implying extreme longevity).
Nanoscale helical lattices (nanocytes) in 98 % of cells active repair mechanisms observed.
Regeneration rate: 418 % of normal (damaged cells healed in seconds under test).
Neural density and metabolic efficiency elevated (enhanced cognition and energy use).
Affected crew:
Jaxon McAlister
Anjali Davikar
Lira Nexys
Mira Nexys
Nira Nexys
Karl Volk
Liam Brown
Tevan Ryde
Maria Navarro
Amaya Maekawa (self)
The nanocytes are identical across samples engineered, not natural. The origin of this engineering is unknown at this time. I will continue to analyze this situation by conducting interviews with each of the listed individuals.
Recommendations:
Isolate for observation? No, nanocytes are non-contagious.
Inform affected? At your discretion, risk of panic.
This is bigger than us, Captain. We’re not just crew anymore. The crew is all that is left of humanity. Whatever this is, it is waking up.
Dr. Amaya Maekawa
