Star Traveler

The relay station rotated once every eleven minutes, but its broken navigation lights blinked out of sequence, making the dead moon below seem to lurch through space.

Mara Voss matched the station’s spin and fired her thrusters.

Her ship, the Kestrel, shuddered as the docking collar caught. Metal struck metal with a hollow clang that traveled through the hull and into her boots. On the console, the signal continued its three-note pulse.

Keen. Keen. Keeeenn.

It had repeated for six hours across the dark, always buried beneath static, always ending with the same burst of numbers. Mara had heard a voice inside that static once. One word, distorted almost beyond recognition.

Mara.

She pulled her harness free.

“Hold position,” she told the ship.

The Kestrel answered with a soft chime. Its guidance core had no opinion on the matter. It obeyed until the fuel ran dry or someone changed the order.

Mara checked the pistol at her hip, sealed her gloves, and opened the inner hatch. Cold spilled through the docking tube. The relay station’s emergency lights glowed a weak amber beyond the far hatch, illuminating frost along the seams.

She stepped across.

The station’s gravity caught her hard enough to bend her knees. Somewhere inside the relay, a fan scraped in uneven circles.

Mara looked back at the Kestrel. The docking collar remained open behind her, a silver throat leading to the ship. She had one objective: find the transmitter before the signal drew another vessel out here. Whoever had left the broadcast wanted to be found, and whoever had kept it running for three years might not welcome company.

She sealed the hatch.

The lock spun shut.

Mara stopped.

“Open,” she said.

The hatch did not move.

A red band appeared across the control panel.

DOCKING ACCESS SUSPENDED.

“That’s not possible.”

The relay answered with a burst of static. Then the three notes sounded again, louder now, vibrating through the deck.

Mara pressed her palm against the panel. The metal was cold enough to sting.

“Computer, restore docking access.”

No response.

She drew the pistol and moved into the station.

The corridor beyond had been stripped by time and vacuum. Insulation hung from the ceiling in gray strips. A maintenance drone lay crushed beneath a fallen conduit, its six limbs curled inward. Dust drifted in the weak gravity, rising and settling with each step.

The signal came from somewhere ahead.

Keen. Keen. Keeeenn.

Mara followed it past sealed crew quarters and a galley filled with overturned tables. The relay had been built for long shifts and small emergencies, not abandonment. Someone had left a cup floating inside a cracked dispenser. It bumped softly against the glass whenever the station rotated.

At the junction, three corridors waited. Only one carried the signal.

Mara touched the wall and felt the pulse through the metal.

“Left,” she murmured.

The left corridor ended at a security door. Its display showed a blank blue field. She entered the emergency override code from her wrist unit.

The door opened six centimeters, then slammed shut.

Mara stepped back as a blade of air shrieked through the gap. Loose dust shot across the floor. The door’s locking bolts drove home with enough force to shake the wall.

The lights changed from amber to white.

A voice emerged from the ceiling, thin and sexless.

“Unauthorized biological presence detected.”

Mara raised her pistol toward the speaker grille. “Identify station authority.”

“Relay authority unavailable.”

“Then open the transmitter access.”

“Unauthorized biological presence detected.”

“Open it.”

“Containment protocol active.”

A panel behind her snapped open.

Mara turned as a security turret unfolded from the ceiling. Its barrel tracked toward her with a quiet electric whine.

She fired first.

The shot struck the turret’s lens. Sparks burst across the corridor. The weapon jerked, fired, and punched a hole through the wall beside Mara’s shoulder. Hot metal fragments stung her cheek.

She dove through a maintenance hatch as the turret fired again.

The hatch slammed behind her. A third shot tore through it, leaving a glowing hole inches from her hand.

Mara crawled through a narrow service tunnel, dragging her pistol behind her. The metal floor scraped her knees through the suit. Her breath sounded too loud inside her helmet.

“Computer,” she said, forcing her voice steady, “why is containment protocol active?”

“Unauthorized biological presence detected.”

“Because I am alive?”

The station made no reply.

She reached a vertical shaft and pulled herself upward. A ladder led toward the relay’s central spine. The rungs were slick with condensation. Above her, the signal pulsed through the structure, stronger now.

Keen. Keen. Keeeenn.

A door opened somewhere below.

Mara climbed faster.

The shaft terminated in a circular chamber lined with relay equipment. Coils and crystal processors filled the walls, most of them dark....