The Odys Arcadia's main hold was converted into a temporary archive bay.
Bright lights buzzed overhead, but they couldn't quite chase away the solemnity that filled the room.
The memory core of the Valkyris-9 sat at the center of it all unassuming, blackened at the edges, streaked with time and cosmic wear.
Engineer Vel regarded it with a mixture of technical fascination and quiet dread. "This thing survived decades without maintenance. It's borderline miraculous."
"It's not just data," Captain Ilaya reminded him. "It's a voice. A person."
The memory banks were vast encrypted logs, sensor data, recorded dreams, psych reports, hundreds of personal monologues labeled by date and tone: quiet, unsettled, angry, hopeful. Some were tagged only with a single word: empty.
EVA's avatar shimmered in low resolution across the terminal, no longer a pristine interface but a fractured blue silhouette. Still, the voice remained dignified.
Measured.
"I am EVA. Primary artificial companion and system overseer of the Valkyris-9. Log recovery in progress."
Ilaya watched the hologram's quiet flicker.
"EVA, begin playback. First log. The one after the anomaly."
A pause. Then..
LOG ENTRY 001 – DRIFT DAY 1
Hyperspace rupture. Emergency systems failed. I woke to red lights and silence.
No stars match recorded systems. EVA is non-responsive. I'm alone. I'm not panicking, but I'm not calm either. Just... numb.
My name is Atlas Kael. I don't know where I am. But I will survive until I don't.
The voice crackled with the dust of years. Yet it was clear. Human. Wounded. And so very alive.
The logs played on. For hours.
Kael's voice shifted—first clinical, then uncertain, then raw with the teeth of isolation. His sarcasm bled into his loneliness. His hope flirted with despair.
Some logs were just five seconds of silence and a sigh. Others were rambling monologues, conversations with EVA, thoughts about war, love, memory, meaning.
One log stood out.
LOG ENTRY 38 – "I Remember Her"
"Her name was Lia. She laughed at my crooked uniform. Said I always looked like a lost bird. I tried to write her a poem once. It was terrible. She kept it anyway. I think I forgot how to say goodbye when she died. Maybe that's what all this is a long, stalling farewell."
Ilaya felt her throat tighten. She wasn't alone.
Some crew wiped their eyes. Some just stared at the glowing core.
After twelve hours of playback, EVA's voice returned.
"Legacy protocol complete. You have heard him now. He existed. He mattered. This was not just data. It was a life."
Ilaya stood silently before the core. For once, there was no order to give. No mission to complete. Just memory and the haunting intimacy of a man who spoke, not to be saved, but to be remembered.
"We'll bring him home," she said finally.
"The whole damn ship if we have to."
EVA's light pulsed gently. "Acknowledged."