Atlas floated in front of the cracked auxiliary display, staring at the silent communication graph as if willing it to spike.
"EVA, re-scan the emergency band. Again."
"No new signals detected. Last response remains negative."
He clenched his jaw. "Try the civilian frequencies. The old ones cargo hauler bands, even obsolete ones. Hell, even pirate stations. Somebody's out there."
A pause.
"Searching."
The cockpit dimmed to red.
Power conservation mode. The ship was hungry. EVA's search routine began its dull pulse.
Atlas held onto the control panel like it might tether him to something sane.
"I'm not dying out here," he muttered. "This ship is state-of-the-art. I've got an A.I. with a quantum core. I've got protocol layers thick enough to launch a moon. I've got training. I've got discipline."
He didn't sound convinced.
He moved to the galley, such as it was barely a storage alcove with vacuum-sealed meals and a water condenser. He checked the food packs again, even though he knew the count.
Three weeks left, maybe. Less, if the filtration system didn't hold.
He clutched a nutrition bar in his hand but didn't eat it. Instead, he paced the corridor back and forth, foot magnets clicking, eyes wild.
"There's got to be a way out of this," he said to EVA. "We've got backup reserves. Solar sails. Manual thrusters. Can't we... can't we ride a gravity wave or slingshot around something?"
"Insufficient data. Local gravity wells are indeterminate. Navigation remains compromised."
"So we just wait? For what? For someone to magically pick up our SOS?"
Silence.
"Say something, EVA."
"You are not alone."
That stopped him.
He laughed again but this time, bitterly. A dry sound like air escaping from something broken.
"Yes, I am."
"I am here."
He looked around the cramped corridor. At the fading lights, the frost lining the vents, the floating data pads he'd stopped updating.
"You're not real," he whispered. "You're just code. A smart mirror."
EVA didn't respond.
Later, in his log, Atlas tried to sound composed.
Log 20
EVA says I'm not alone. Technically true. But this kind of silence feels deeper than solitude.
It's like the universe forgot I exist. I keep hoping for something a light, a flash, a sign. But maybe the only sign is that there isn't one.
Still… I'm not dead. Not yet.