Chapter 21: One Hundred Twenty Heartbeats
Day 115 – 02:10 ship time
Coast speed: 1 480 km/s
Distance to Haven-3: 0.8 light-hours
Interior: med-bay dorm, 0.05 g gentle thrust
The ship sounded different—cries overlapping laughter, bare feet padding on warm deck-plate, a child asking if tomatoes really came from dirt. One hundred twenty heartbeats now lived inside Hearth-Hammer's steel skin, and the metal sang a new tune.
Karl drifted aisle to aisle between stacked stasis pods—most open, a few still closed for kids too sedated to wake. Tala moved ahead, checking vitals, marking malnutrition scores, whispering lullabies. Ayla followed, handing out basil leaves like green coins. Each child took one, crushed it, smelled summer, smiled or wept.
He counted again—one, two… one hundred twenty—no longer a cadence of revenge but a census of responsibility. Forty-three had brought him here; one hundred twenty would take him home.
Day 115 – 06:30
Resource math
Breakfast became logistics. Nutrient bricks designed for five now fed one hundred twenty-five. Water recycler ran at 110 %, filters clogging hourly. Oxygen scrubbers hissed overtime. Miguel rerouted secondary coolant loop to act as thermal buffer—kids generated surprising heat.
Selene stripped non-essential mass again—spare tools, extra bunks, the coffee machine (again). Every kilo gone meant velocity saved, meant earlier arrival, meant less time children spent in limbo.
Jun calculated: current delta-v reserve 580 m/s; required for Haven brake 570 m/s. Margin: 10 m/s—less than a child's breath. He wrote 10 on the console and circled it in red.
Karl approved the strip list without blinking. "Feed them first. Fly second."
Day 115 – 12:00
Voices
A small boy—maybe eight, stick-thin, huge eyes—tugged Karl's sleeve. "Sir, is the garden big?"
Karl knelt. "Big enough for every leaf you want to pick."
The boy considered. "Can I plant my name there?"
Karl's throat tightened. "We'll find you a spot and label it forever."
The boy floated away, clutching basil like treasure.
A teenage girl asked Tala, "Will they come for us again?"
Tala answered, "Only if they want to meet steel and leaves."
Word spread—leaves became currency, basil became shield. Children tucked sprigs behind ears, into pockets, under pillows. Green against fear.
Day 115 – 18:45
The count shifts
Tala reported: two critical cases—malnutrition third degree, IV lines needed. She requested 4 litres of nutrient concentrate from garden reserve. Approval meant less calories for adults, slower recovery for plants. Karl signed without hesitation. "Leaves grow back. Kids don't."
Rios worked overtime—pruning, cycling, replanting. The bot's lenses flashed softer green, as if understanding urgency. It presented Karl with a single perfect cherry tomato. He placed it in the foil star's hollow—food for food, promise layered on promise.
Day 116 – 03:00
Night watch ghosts
Karl took bridge alone, lights dimmed. Scope showed clean space—no pursuers, no stray hunters. The cluster behind them glowed dull red, one hub darker than before. He whispered to the dark, "We took your hand. Next we take your throat."
He opened the log, wrote:
Day 116 – One hundred twenty voices breathing. Resource margin 10 m/s, spirit margin infinite. Children planting names in garden soil. Next burn: Haven-3, gentle 0.05 g, ETA 52 hours. We deliver life, then return to hunt. Steel remembers, garden grows, hearts multiply. – Karl
He closed the book, touched the pocket star—now heavier with tomato and nutrient film—and let the new heartbeat march inside his chest: one hundred twenty plus five plus one bot plus infinite reasons to keep burning.
Day 116 – 09:30
Education hour
Tala instituted "garden class"—kids learned to plant, prune, taste. Ayla became assistant teacher, counting leaves instead of seconds. She showed them how to crush basil between fingers, how to breathe calm. The forty-three interval faded, replaced by slow inhale-exhale of living plants.
Karl watched from the hatch, rifle slung but unnecessary here. Leaves were weapons enough.
Day 116 – 15:00
The promise spoken
He gathered the oldest children—thirteen of them, ages twelve to sixteen—in the blister. Through the viewport Haven-3 swelled, a green-lit wheel promising soil and safety. He spoke quiet:
"You will walk in dirt. You will taste rain we make. You will never again be cargo. The garden belongs to you, and you to it. Tend it, and it will tend you. Forget the cages—they're slag now."
One girl asked, "What about the ones still caged?"
He touched the foil star. "We go back. We keep going until every cage is memory."
Applause started—not loud, but leaf-rustle soft, steady. One hundred twenty voices became one voice.
Day 116 – 22:45
Final approach
Miguel lit drives—0.05 g, soft as lullaby. The ship eased toward Haven-3's docking cone. Range 40 000 km, closure 5 km/s. RCS budget: 9 m/s—every pulse measured by breath.
Karl sat bridge, hand on throttle, counting with children singing in the corridor behind him—one, two… one hundred twenty…
At 20 km he flared RCS—2 m/s, 2 m/s, 1 m/s—kiss gentle. Magnets locked; umbilical pressurised. Haven-3's lights blinked welcome—green, green, green.
He opened the log, final entry of the run:
Day 116 – Docked Haven-3. One hundred twenty souls delivered alive. Resource margin: 3 m/s left in tank, infinite in heart. Garden ready for planting names. Next mission: hunt upstream, free upstream, burn upstream. – Karl
Outside, the wheel turned, garden lights glowing like fireflies. Inside, one hundred twenty children stepped into gravity—feet wobbling, eyes wide, basil leaves tucked behind ears.
Forward, forward—until every cage is memory and every name grows in soil.
The trumpet blues played soft as they walked—first notes only, sunrise promise. Steel remembers, garden welcomes, hearts multiply.