The docking mechanisms gripped the station with three muffled impacts.
Thud.
A brief pause.
Thud.
Another.
Thud.
“Docking successful,” Nojus reported. “Pressure in the outer airlocks stable.”
No one applauded. There was nothing to celebrate.
In thirty-two years, not a single person had set foot on the “Erebus.”
Lyra put on her helmet. Dozens of green indicators lit up on the visor.
“Communication every five minutes only,” she said. “If anyone gets lost, we don’t play heroes. We return to the airlock.”
“Understood, Captain,” the crew answered, almost in unison.
The metal doors slowly slid open.
They entered the station.
Inside it was warm.
That was the most surprising thing.
After so many years it should have been cold, dark, full of frost crystals.
Yet the corridor lighting worked.
The ventilation hummed quietly.
Emergency lamps glowed on the walls.
It looked as if the crew had left only an hour ago.
Only the air held a strange smell.
Not decay.
Not dust.
The smell resembled an old library after rain.
“Oxygen levels normal,” Mira reported.
“Radiation?”
“Background.”
“Life signs?”
Salomė looked at the scanner.
“Zero.”
Lyra exhaled quietly.
She herself didn’t know if she was disappointed.
A transport cart stood in the main corridor.
Its battery had long since drained.
A crate lay on the platform.
Unopened.
A label was still stuck to it.
FRESH FOOD.
The expiration date had passed thirty-one years ago.
“They didn’t even have time to unload it,” Nojus murmured.
No one answered.
In the mess hall, everything was in its place.
An open book lay on one table.
A cup held a hardened stain of coffee residue.
A metal spoon still lay on one plate.
“Impossible…” Mira said quietly.
“What?”
“No dust.”
Lyra looked at the table.
True.
Over thirty years, at least a thin layer should have gathered on the surfaces.
But the table was clean.
As if someone had been cleaning it regularly.
They reached the control center.
The huge circular room was full of screens.
Some of them still worked.
One flickered with orbital data.
Another — energy distribution.
A third…
The third screen showed the surveillance camera network.
Salomė froze.
“Captain…”
“What?”
“One camera is active.”
The screen showed a long corridor.
Empty.
Lit.
No people.
Suddenly something ran past.
Just for an instant.
A dark silhouette.
“Stop it.”
The image froze.
The corridor was empty.
“Rewind.”
They reviewed the recording again.
The same thing again.
Barely one second.
As if a person had run past the lens.
Yet once the frame was paused, there was nothing there.
“Maybe a system glitch,” Nojus said.
“Maybe.”
But no one believed his voice.
While the others checked the generators, Lyra went alone to the residential module.
She knew the number.
Cabin 14.
Aronas’s.
The door opened easily.
Silence hung inside.
The bed was made.
Clothes neatly folded in the cabinet.
The same star chart he’d had back at the academy hung on the wall.
As if no one had ever touched it.
Lyra walked to the desk.
A notebook lay there.
A real one.
Paper.
She carefully opened it.
The first pages were full of calculations.
Then — short sentences.
“I keep dreaming of Earth more and more often.”
“We feel like something is walking in the ventilation.”
“I thought I saw myself in the lab.”
After that came a long empty stretch.
The last entry was written in a very uneven hand.
“If you see yourself…”
The sentence broke off there.
The ink was smeared.
“Captain?”
Salomė’s voice came through the radio.
“We found the archive.”
“Coming.”
Lyra closed the notebook.
As she was leaving, something crackled quietly behind her back.
She spun around sharply.
The cabin was empty.
Only the cabinet door was ajar.
Though she was certain it had been closed.
She approached.
Slowly opened it.
A single spacesuit hung inside.
Her own reflection flashed briefly on the helmet’s visor.
But…
The reflection wasn’t looking at her.
It was looking somewhere past her shoulder.
Lyra spun around sharply.
There was no one behind her.
When she looked back at the glass, the reflection was already mirroring her every movement.
An even stranger find awaited them in the archive.
The station’s central computer wasn’t broken.
It was running.
“Login date?” Lyra asked.
Salomė swallowed.
“Twenty-three minutes ago.”
Everyone fell silent.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
“Maybe an automatic system?”
“No.”
Salomė showed the screen.
Last user.
ARONAS VEGA
Login time.
08:14
Current time.
08:37
“Someone’s falsified the data,” Nojus said.
“Who?”
No one answered.
That evening the crew split into two groups.
Mira and Nojus checked the medical bay.
Lyra and Salomė went down to the lower modules.
The corridors there were narrower.
The light flickered.
The metal looked darker.
“Did you hear that?” Salomė suddenly asked.
“What?”
“Footsteps.”
Both stopped.
Silence.
A few seconds later…
Tak.
Tak.
Tak.
Someone was walking.
Not toward them.
In a parallel corridor, beyond the wall.
Slow, calm steps.
Lyra drew out her flashlight.
“Let’s go.”
They rounded the corner.
The corridor was empty.
Only at the very end did someone stand.
A person.
Not moving.
Too far to see the face.
“Hey!” Lyra shouted.
The figure slowly turned.
And walked around the corner.
Both of them rushed forward.
The corridor ended in a dead end.
No doors.
No shafts.
No place to hide.
“Where did he go?” Salomė whispered.
Lyra didn’t answer.
She was looking at the metal wall.
There was a polished steel panel on it.
Smooth enough to reflect.
She saw herself.
And Salomė.
But between them stood a third person.
He had his back turned.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Fair-haired.
Lyra turned slowly.
There was no one behind them.
When she looked at the metal again, the third reflection had already vanished.
Only somewhere deep in the station, those same calm footsteps echoed again.
Tak.
Tak.
Tak.
As if someone knew they had finally arrived.