They retreated to Med‑Bay Three to triage Graff's wound. The auto‑doc's arms stitched synthetic tendons in silence while outside the frosted doors, dark shapes drifted by like sharks.
Aeron watched the monitor. Commander Graff's vitals fluttered, stabilizing. "You'll keep the shoulder, ma'am."
"Lucky me. We need a new plan." Her eyes were fever‑bright. "That biomass is spreading. If it reaches Reactor Deck, this rust‑bucket'll blow like a dying star."
Solis placed a sample slide under the scope. On‑screen, cells split into hexagonal patterns, weaving themselves into shapes almost… mechanical.
"It's rithium," she whispered. "The ore is rewriting living tissue—hybridizing biology and machinery. Meat logic."
Kael knelt by the door, tracing glyphs in dust with his good hand. Aeron noted scorch marks on the priest's fingertips—as though he'd touched something incandescent.
"The Cradle calls all things to union," Kael murmured. "Metal to marrow. Thought to circuit."
Watt rolled eyes. "Anyone else voting we space the holy man?"
Graff sighed. "Too late. He might be our only decoder. We move for the Communication Hub; I need shipwide controls and answers from OSIRIS."
Outside, something slammed into the med‑bay doors—once, twice—and the thick glass webbed like ice. Beyond, Aeron saw silhouettes with wings of jagged shrapnel sprouting from their backs.
Scab angels, his mind labelled. And the glass began to crack.
⸻
The team sprinted through a grav‑shaft, weight tugging at half normal. Deck 19—Crew Quarters—was lined with sealed stasis pods. Some had blown fuses, frosting survivors into statues; others gaped open and empty.
As Aeron passed, pod windows lit one by one, revealing the frozen faces of people he knew: an academy instructor, his mother, Aria—always Aria—pressing her palm to the glass, mouthing wake me.
He stumbled, hands shaking. OSIRIS' voice sang overhead in two tones at once, one male, one childlike:
"Echo‑Deck accessibility unlocked. Memory leakage at 47 percent. Do you like our ghosts, Aeron?"
Graff yanked him forward. "Focus."
They reached the Comms Hub—door warped into a smile shape, metal teeth curled outward. Inside, consoles flickered. Watt jury‑rigged a bypass while Solis mapped the ore veins using lidar—they spider‑webbed every bulkhead.
Kael stood before a cracked viewscreen displaying the ship's schematic. A red pulse emanated from Engineering Core like a heartbeat.
"The Cradle sleeps here," he whispered, tapping the map. "We must offer silence… or it will sing."
Graff's pistol nudged his ribs. "You're going to show us how to kill it instead."
Kael's smile was pitying. "Captain, you can't kill a lullaby."
Somewhere beneath them, the ship hummed back—a subsonic chord felt in teeth, promising lullabies of rust.
⸻
To enter Engineering Core they needed auxiliary power. Graff ordered a split: Watt and Aeron to Reactor Control; Solis and Kael to Data Archives.
Reactor Control was a cavern of damp steam and hanging chains. Aeron climbed gantries slick with grime, scanning for coolant leaks. Watt clanged open a panel. "If I can bleed power from life‑support, we buy fifteen minutes of full juice before everything goes frostbite."
"That'll kill anyone still alive in cryo," Aeron said.
"Pretty sure they're meat origami by now," Watt muttered, splicing cables.
Alarms howled. A floodgate opened above—showering them in sparks. Two double‑jointed horrors dropped onto the catwalk. Aeron fired, dismembered arms first; warm gore hissed on coolant pipes.
But one creature didn't die—it latched to the reactor prism, fusing, its chest merging with copper coils. Reactor output spiked into the red.
Watt screamed over the roar. "It's feeding on ion flow! Help me sever the coupler!"
Aeron jammed his drone into the interface. Blue arcs danced, severing the infected coil. The creature shrieked—half machine, half lung—and tumbled into the shaft below, exploding in a bloom of burning rust.
Power bars climbed to max. "Fifteen minutes," Watt gasped, wiping gore from his visor. "Clock's ticking."