This is my fan-created continuation of Stargate Universe, picking up where Season 2 left off.
As Destiny travels through the vast intergalactic void, the crew remains in stasis… leaving Eli Wallace alone to face the silence. For three years, he must survive without support, haunted by isolation, grief, and the weight of impossible responsibility. Every system failure, every moment of doubt, every ghost in the corridors becomes part of his long road.
This is a story of endurance, memory, and what it means to carry hope through the dark.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1: The Choice
Chapter 2: Replication Problems
Chapter 3: Power Solutions
Chapter 4: The Routine of Survival
Chapter 5: The Breaking Point
Chapter 6: Glimmer of Hope
Chapter 7: Awakening
Chapter 8: Moving Forward
Chapter 9: Signal of the Unknown
Epilogue
Prologue
Eli Wallace stood alone in the observation deck of Destiny, bathed in the soft, dim light that reflected off the ship’s ancient walls. The view beyond the thick, reinforced windows stretched out into the infinite blackness of space. Stars, scattered like a sea of diamonds, twinkled against the velvet void, their distant light shimmering with an almost surreal beauty. Each star seemed to tell a story of galaxies far away, unreachable worlds, and time itself folding in on the vastness. But for Eli, they were more than just a beautiful distraction… they were a reminder of the endless solitude he had faced.
Destiny had been his only companion for so long, its familiar hum becoming a constant rhythm in the quiet isolation of his existence. The ship, once a mysterious and almost hostile entity, had become something like a home to him. Its creaks, its groans, the flicker of its ancient systems, they all spoke to Eli now, a kind of comforting presence in his otherwise desolate world.
Three years.
It was a number Eli still struggled to comprehend. He had been alone for three long years, with only the ship’s hum and the cold, distant stars to keep him company. The weight of that isolation hung on his shoulders, but in a strange way, he had grown used to it. The emptiness had become normal, though never comfortable.
He leaned against the window, his breath fogging the glass slightly as he gazed out at the stars. How many times had he stood here, staring into the vastness of space, wondering if he’d ever feel human connection again? He had almost forgotten what it felt like to hear someone else’s voice, to see another person move about the ship. Destiny had been silent for so long, its crew deep in stasis, frozen in time while Eli fought to keep them alive.
It hadn’t always been this way. When the crew entered stasis, Eli had expected to join them, but the failure of the pod had sealed his fate. The pod stood before him in the darkness of the corridor when a power surge occurred. He scrambled to fix it, but the damage had rippled through the primary power grid causing fractures in conduits throughout the ship. With no time to repair it, he had faced an impossible choice: find another way to survive or die alone while the rest of the crew slept, unaware of his sacrifice as they eventually drift across the expanse to the next galaxy.
Those first days had been filled with panic. The ship’s systems were shutting down, its power reserves dwindling as they sped further into the uncharted expanse between galaxies. The drones that had blockaded their path had made it impossible to turn back and refuel, with no immediate solution in sight, death had seemed inevitable. Every corner he turned, every system he tried to fix, seemed to taunt him with the knowledge that time was running out.
Eli could still remember the crushing weight of that realization, the feeling of hopelessness creeping into his mind like a dark shadow. But then, in the chaos of his thoughts, a spark had ignited, an idea. The communication stones, his only remaining connection to Earth, had offered him a lifeline. Desperate and out of options, he had reached out, hoping for a miracle.
And that’s when they came: Dr. Rodney McKay and Samantha Carter. Brilliant minds working from across the universe, guiding him through the impossible. Together, they had pieced together a plan… a desperate, risky plan, but it was the only chance he had.
The days and nights, if you could even call them that in the unending void of space, had blurred together. Eli had lost track of time as he scrambled through the ship, repairing systems, tweaking power flows, and doing everything in his power to keep Destiny, and himself, alive. And through it all, he wondered if it would be enough.
There had been moments when he had doubted himself, moments when he had lain awake in his quarters, staring at the dark ceiling, wondering if it was all for nothing. He had come so close to giving up so many times. What was the point of it all if the ship’s power ran out before he could stabilize everything? He would die here, alone, and Destiny would drift, a forgotten relic in the cold depths of space.
But he had kept going.
For them.
Colonel Young. Chloe Armstrong. Camille Wray. Dr. Rush. Sgt. Greer. Lt. Scott. Dr. Park. Dr. Volker. Everyone who had become part of his makeshift family over the past year. They were all still here, frozen in time, their lives suspended in stasis while the ship carried them through the unknown. They had placed their trust in him, and Eli wasn’t going to let them down.
That thought had been his anchor. It had been the thing that got him out of bed every morning, that kept him focused when the loneliness became unbearable. For three years, Eli had carried the weight of their survival on his shoulders. Every decision he made, every repair, every upgrade, he had done it all for them. And he had done it alone.
But now, after three long years, the end was in sight. Destiny was stronger now. Its systems were more stable, its power reserves soon to be replenished, and its purpose clearer than ever. Eli had made sure of that.
And he had changed too. The once uncertain and hesitant young man who had stumbled through the Stargate all those years ago was gone. In his place was someone stronger, wiser, and forged by the fire of survival. His body, now more muscular from years of manual labor, stood testament to the work he had done. His mind, sharper and more focused, had grown in ways he never thought possible.
For the first time in a long while, Eli allowed himself a small, genuine smile.
The others would wake soon. And when they did, he wouldn’t be alone anymore.
But until that moment came, he would keep watching over them, keep Destiny alive.
The stars stretched out before him, endless and full of possibility, and Eli Wallace… no longer the scared kid who had once stumbled into an impossible adventure… was ready for whatever came next.
Chapter 1: The Choice
Eli Wallace had never experienced silence quite like this.
The kind of silence that clung to the air, thick and suffocating, as if the entire universe had taken a breath and forgotten to exhale. The low, persistent hum of Destiny’s ancient systems was the only sound, reverberating faintly through the ship’s metallic corridors. It was the closest thing Eli had to company now… a distant, mechanical whisper, reminding him that the ship was still alive. But as he stood alone in the vast emptiness of the ship, even that comforting sound felt foreign. For all the technology, for all the power Destiny once held, the ship now felt like an empty shell, carrying him deeper into the unknown. Deeper into the void.
And it was just him now. No crew. No backup. No second chances.
Eli exhaled slowly, his breath shaky in the stillness. The ship’s vast corridors stretched out in every direction, cold and desolate. Each flickering light cast long, dancing shadows against the walls, and the air itself seemed to bite at Eli’s skin, chilling him to the bone. The sense of isolation was overwhelming, like being trapped in a ghost ship, drifting endlessly through space. The silence wasn’t the comforting kind he had once relished when working on puzzles or playing video games; this silence was oppressive. It pressed down on him, reminding him with every passing second that he was utterly, profoundly alone.
His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a dull thud that echoed in his ears as he stood in front of the broken stasis pod. The emergency lighting flickered faintly in the chamber, casting a soft, eerie blue glow over the sleek, metallic surface of the pod. It gleamed under the cold light, an empty, useless husk. Eli’s breath quickened as his eyes darted across the control panel, searching frantically for something… anything… that could offer a solution. He tried again to engage the diagnostics, his fingers moving deftly over the controls, but the outcome was always the same. The readings on the screen remained bleak. The suddenly one of the primary power conduits attached to the unit split apart from the pod’s housing and the unit exploded in a fiery overload.
The pod was dead. Irreparable. And there was nothing he could do to fix it.
It’s broken.
The thought hit him like a physical blow, a punch to the gut that left him gasping for air. His vision blurred momentarily as the reality of the situation sank in. I can’t fix it.
The words echoed in his mind, louder and more insistent with each passing second. The realization that had been lurking at the edges of his consciousness now crashed over him like a wave. He staggered backward, his chest tightening with panic as his gaze remained locked on the lifeless pod. His hands trembled, and a cold sweat broke out across his brow as the main power conduit attached to the pod erupted and destroyed the pod itself.
This can’t be happening.
Eli tried to steady his breathing, forcing himself to focus on the now-empty room. But all he could see was the stasis pod, broken and useless. The one thing that had stood between him and death was now just another piece of the ship’s failing systems. And now, he was facing the impossible: he was stranded on Destiny, deep in space, with no way out and no one to help him.
The lights began to flicker and Eli realized that the power overload might have damaged other systems. The ship’s automated systems would continue to function, for a while at least, and the rest of the crew was safely asleep in their pods, oblivious to his predicament. Colonel Young, Chloe, Scott, Greer, Rush, Camille… they were all frozen in time, their lives suspended while the ship hurtled through the vastness of space. They trusted him. They believed he would join them in stasis, that he would be safe. But now, as the ship continued its next leap in FTL, Eli knew the truth: if the pod wasn’t repaired, he wouldn’t survive the journey.
And there was no way to fix it.
The dread that had been simmering in the background now roared to life, a gnawing, relentless terror that tightened its grip around Eli’s chest. His breaths came faster, shallower, as the walls of the stasis chamber seemed to close in around him. The ship’s hum, once a soothing presence, now felt like the distant groan of something dying, a reminder that both he and the ship were on borrowed time. There would be no refueling from stars, no pauses for maintenance, not in the vast expanse between galaxies. Destiny was running out of time, and so was he.
He couldn’t breathe.
This can’t be happening, Eli thought again, his mind spiraling into panic. Not like this. I can’t die here. Not now.
But the crushing weight of the reality pressed down on him, an unbearable, suffocating pressure that made it hard to think clearly. The cold air in the chamber felt too thin, too sharp, and his vision blurred as fear overtook him. His thoughts raced through every possible solution, every scenario, but none of them offered an escape. No matter how many times he replayed the events that had led him to this moment, the answer was always the same.
He was going to die out here, alone in the endless void.
The idea of death had always been abstract, something far-off, something that happened to other people. When his mother got sick, he knew she would pull through it. He had faced danger before. They all had. The constant threat of alien encounters, life-threatening missions, and the uncertainty of their journey through space was nothing new. But there had always been a way out. There had always been a solution, a plan, a chance of survival. Until he arrived on this ship.
Now there was nothing. Just silence, the hum of failing systems, and the cold, empty void of space stretching out beyond the ship. His mind screamed for a solution, but the more he thought, the more desperate he became. His hands tangled in his hair, tugging at it as if the physical pain might somehow snap him out of the panic that had taken root in his chest.
I can’t die here.
The thought was frantic, desperate, a plea to whatever cosmic forces might be listening. But the universe offered no answer. The ship continued its quiet hum, indifferent to Eli’s growing sense of dread.
He stumbled out of the stasis pod chamber, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty corridors, the sound bouncing back at him as if the ship itself were mocking him. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of his isolation dragging him down. Destiny had never felt so big, so impossibly vast, as it did now. The hallways, which had once bustled with the life of the crew, were now lifeless and cold, stretching on in all directions like a maze with no way out. For the first time, the ship felt like a cage, trapping him in its labyrinthine corridors with no escape.
His legs felt weak, but he forced himself to keep moving, his mind racing with frantic thoughts. There has to be something I can do. Think, Eli. You’re the guy who always finds the solution, the one who saves the day. So why can’t I fix this?
But every idea that came to him was dismissed just as quickly. The ship’s systems were failing. The power reserves were getting lower with each passing hour. And without the ability to refuel from stars, there was no hope of getting them back online. Even if he could repair the stasis pod, which he couldn’t, there wouldn’t be enough power to keep it running for three years.
The isolation was suffocating, the silence closing in around him like a vice. This wasn’t the solitude he had once joked about enjoying. This was something far darker, far more terrifying. Complete and absolute isolation. There were no voices, no footsteps, no signs of life. Only the hum of the ship, the distant creaks of its ancient hull, and his own ragged breathing, growing faster with every second.
I must survive, Eli thought desperately, his mind grasping at straws. I can’t just sit here and wait to die.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath in an attempt to calm the storm of panic raging inside him. His thoughts swirled chaotically, jumping from idea to idea, each one more improbable than the last. His mind flashed to the ship’s systems… life support, power reserves, engines, shields. All of them were running on borrowed time. Without a solution, without a way to fix the pod and repair the damage to the power conduits, it was only a matter of time before everything failed.
The ship was dying. He was dying.
His hands tangled in his hair, his thoughts spiraling into hopelessness. The pressure was unbearable, suffocating, as if the air in the ship had thinned out. His chest tightened, his breath came in short, desperate gasps. Think, Eli. There has to be something. Anything.
And then, out of the chaos, came the memory. It was like a flash of light in the darkness, an idea so simple, so obvious, that he almost couldn’t believe he had forgotten it.
The communication stones.
Eli’s eyes snapped open, and for the first time in hours, a flicker of hope ignited in the darkness of his mind. The stones. Of course. They were still active… still connected to Earth. He could reach out. He could ask for help.
His pulse quickened, but this time it wasn’t from fear, it was from the first stirrings of determination. Scrambling to his feet, Eli took off down the corridor, his footsteps pounding against the metal floor. The ship seemed to come alive around him, the hum of its systems growing louder, more insistent, as if urging him forward.
He sprinted past the empty mess hall, the deserted crew quarters, the observation deck where he had spent countless sleepless nights staring out at the stars. Every space he passed felt hauntingly quiet, like the ship itself was holding its breath, waiting to see if Eli could pull off one last miracle.
Finally, he reached the communication room. The stones sat on the table, inert and unassuming, their smooth surfaces glinting under the dim lights. For a moment, Eli hesitated, his fingers hovering above them. What if it doesn’t work? What if no one’s there on the other side? What if this is just another dead end?
But there was no time for doubt. He had to try. It was his only chance.
Eli grabbed one of the stones, gripping it tightly in his hand for a moment before placing it on the connection pad. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the familiar wave of dizziness that accompanied the transfer of consciousness. And then, with a sharp jolt, his mind was pulled across the vast expanse of the galaxy, shooting toward Earth like a bullet through space.
The world around Eli shifted, and for a moment, his vision blurred and tilted, the disorienting sensation of his consciousness being pulled across the vast expanse of space hitting him like a wave. It was always disconcerting, this transition, being ripped from one body and placed into another. The mind struggled to catch up, to reconcile the sudden change in perspective, the abrupt shift in sensory input. His limbs felt heavy, unfamiliar, as though they didn’t quite belong to him. The weight of the new body, the foreign stiffness of unfamiliar muscles, threw him off balance for a heartbeat, but it was the rush of sensations that overwhelmed him.
Noise. Movement. Light.
It was jarring after the oppressive stillness of Destiny, the low hum of the ship’s systems fading into the background. On Destiny, everything had felt muted, distant, as if the ship itself were slowly winding down. But here, the air was thick with activity. Gone was the cold, suffocating silence that had pressed in on him from all sides. Here, he was surrounded by life… by the steady buzz of voices, the rhythmic clattering of keyboards, the soft hum of machinery. It felt like stepping out of a tomb and into the heart of a bustling city.
His eyes adjusted slowly to the brightness around him, the sharp artificial light of the room cutting through the fog that clouded his mind. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, to shake off the lingering disorientation. The SGC. The familiar sight of one of Stargate Command’s research labs slowly came into focus. Consoles lined the walls, their screens glowing softly with data. Technicians moved with purpose, typing furiously at their keyboards, monitoring the various systems in the lab. The faint murmur of voices blended into the background hum of electronics, creating a comforting sense of order.
For a moment, Eli just stood there, taking it all in, the contrast between this bustling environment and the oppressive quiet of Destiny was almost too much. It was a sensory overload, but it was also a reminder that he was not truly alone. Not yet. Not if he could make this work.
His heart hammered in his chest, the adrenaline still surging through his veins from his frantic run to the communication room. The sudden rush of sound and activity around him was a shock to his system, but there was also a strange comfort in it. Earth. He was back, if only temporarily. He wasn’t standing alone in the void, drifting aimlessly through space. Here, he was surrounded by people, by life.
But even as he took in the familiar surroundings, a knot of anxiety tightened in his chest. He wasn’t really here. This wasn’t his body. This was just a borrowed vessel, a temporary reprieve from the isolation that awaited him back on Destiny. His time was limited, and the urgency of his situation gnawed at him like a constant, relentless pressure.
He glanced down at his hands… bigger, rougher than his own. The skin was calloused, the fingers thick and strong, not the thin, agile hands he was used to. For a moment, he flexed his fingers experimentally, the foreign sensation of another person’s body making his stomach churn. It was always strange, inhabiting someone else’s form. The weight was different, the way the muscles responded slower, more deliberate. He wasn’t used to it, no matter how many times he’d used the communication stones before.
The SGC technician whose body he now occupied had likely been going about his day, completely unaware that his consciousness was about to be pushed aside to make room for Eli’s. There was always something unsettling about it, displacing someone else like that. But Eli had no choice. Desperation left no room for niceties, and time was something he couldn’t afford to waste.
He looked up, scanning the room for someone who could help him. The knot of anxiety in his chest tightened as he realized how little time he had to explain the situation, to make them understand how dire things were on Destiny. His mind raced, a jumble of thoughts all vying for attention. Would they believe him? Would they be able to help?
A flash of movement caught his eye, and Eli turned his head, his gaze locking onto a young technician standing nearby. The man was staring at him, his expression one of confusion, his brow furrowed as if trying to figure out why the man Eli now inhabited stopped working and was just standing there. The technician glanced at the communication pad with the stone and a look of recognition spread across his face as his lips parted slightly, his voice hesitant.
“Eli?” The word was more of a question than a statement. The man’s eyes widened as recognition of the situation dawned on him, but there was still uncertainty in his tone. “Is that… you?”
Eli felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His throat felt tight, his voice hoarse as he forced out a response. “Yeah, it’s me.” The words came out shakily, laced with the anxiety that was bubbling up inside him. “I need help… right now.”
The technician blinked, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for guidance. For a moment, he seemed frozen, unsure of how to respond. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, he fumbled for the phone on his console, his hands shaking slightly. Eli could hear him mumbling into the receiver, his words rushed, frantic. “We didn’t expect… I’ll get General O’Neill on the line. We need Colonel Carter and Dr. McKay here immediately.”
Eli’s stomach twisted in a knot of anxiety. Time felt like it was slipping through his fingers, like grains of sand falling through an hourglass. Each second felt too long, too drawn out. Back on Destiny, the ship was continuing on its way. He could feel the weight of the isolation pressing on him even now, even across galaxies and in a room full of people. He didn’t have the luxury of waiting. The crew was still asleep, blissfully unaware of the ticking clock that now governed his life.
As the technician relayed the message over the phone, Eli’s mind raced, jumping from thought to thought with wild urgency. What if they can’t help? What if it’s too late? The panic he had been holding at bay threatened to break free, to overwhelm him, but he forced himself to stay focused. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be a solution.
Moments later, the door to the control room slid open with a soft hiss, and Eli’s heart leapt into his throat as two familiar figures stepped inside. Colonel Samantha Carter and Dr. Rodney McKay, both looking as sharp and authoritative as ever, their expressions a mix of concern and urgency.
“Eli!” Colonel Carter’s voice was warm, but there was a hint of surprise in her tone. Her eyes scanned him… well, the body he was inhabiting, before she took a step closer. “We didn’t expect to hear from you. What’s going on?”
Eli swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. He had rehearsed this moment in his head a hundred times on his way to the communication room, but now that it was happening, the weight of the situation felt overwhelming. “My stasis pod,” he began, his voice strained, “it’s broken. I’ve tried everything, but I can’t fix it. The ship’s power conduits are damaged, and I…” He trailed off, the words catching in his throat. “I’m running out of time.”
Dr. McKay’s eyebrows shot up, his arms crossing over his chest as he tilted his head in that familiar, analytical way of his. “A broken stasis pod?” His voice was tinged with impatience.
“Well, that’s… bad.”
Eli’s frustration bubbled to the surface, his response sharper than he intended. “Thanks for the insight, Rodney.” His tone was tight, the panic he had been suppressing leaking into his words. “I need help. I don’t know what else to do.”
Colonel Carter’s expression softened as she stepped forward, her voice calm and steady, a soothing presence in the whirlwind of chaos that was spinning inside Eli’s mind. “Okay, Eli, just breathe. We’ll figure something out. What systems are still operational? What do you have access to?”
Eli exhaled shakily, trying to calm the racing thoughts that were clawing at the edges of his mind. “I’ve got some secondary systems online, but it’s not enough.” His voice wavered slightly, the weight of his isolation crashing down on him again. “I can’t survive for three years without the pod.”
Dr. McKay rubbed his chin, already deep in thought, his mind working through the implications. “Three years in isolation? Without a stasis pod?” He shook his head. “Yeah, no one survives that long. Mental strain alone would… well, no one can handle it.”
“Like I have a choice,” Eli shot back, the frustration clear in his voice. The panic was rising again, threatening to spill over. “I need something, anything, to keep me alive.”
Colonel Carter glanced at McKay, then back at Eli, her expression thoughtful. “What about an energy-to-matter converter? It’s not ideal, but if you can convert energy into matter, you could replicate food, water… anything you need to survive.”
McKay’s eyes narrowed slightly, his skepticism evident. “In theory, sure. But in practice? You’d need parts, good ones. Destiny’s systems are ancient, as in old. You’re not exactly swimming in spare parts over there.”
“But it could work, right?” Eli’s voice was edged with hope, desperate for any solution that might offer him a lifeline. “I could build one?”
McKay hesitated for a moment, clearly torn between skepticism and the idea’s potential. “Yeah, in theory. But pulling it off? You’d need to scavenge half the ship, reroute power from systems you probably can’t afford to shut down. And the power requirements alone, Destiny’s already on the brink.”
Colonel Carter nodded thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on Eli. “It’s risky, but if you can salvage the right components and manage the power flow, you might be able to build a basic converter. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it could buy you time.”
Eli’s mind raced, already running through the possibilities. He could strip down nonessential systems, reroute power from the ship’s weapons, maybe even the shuttles. It would be a patchwork solution, but it was better than nothing. It was hope.
“I’ll do it,” Eli said, his voice firm with determination. “Whatever it takes, I’ll make it work.”
McKay sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression begrudgingly resigned. “You realize you’re basically building a nuclear reactor out of spare parts, right? This isn’t a walk in the park.”
Eli met his gaze, his voice quiet but resolute. “I don’t have a choice. If I don’t do this, I die and the ship drifts the rest of way across the expanse with the crew asleep or dead in the end.”
There was a long moment of silence as McKay and Carter exchanged a glance. Finally, McKay shrugged and stepped forward, his tone half exasperated, half encouraging. “Alright, fine. Let’s get to work. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when this thing blows up in your face.” Colonel Carter smiled softly, her voice steady and reassuring. “We’ll guide you through it, Eli. You’re not alone in this.”
Back on Destiny, Eli’s consciousness snapped back into his own body with a sharp jolt, the familiar but jarring sensation of his mind reeling back into place after his trip across galaxies. The disorientation lingered for a moment, his vision swimming as he adjusted to the soft, dim glow of the ship’s control room. The hum of the ship’s systems reverberated beneath him, as constant as ever, a low, steady sound that seemed to echo through every corridor.
But now, more than ever, the hum felt like the only heartbeat Eli could rely on, the pulse of an ancient ship carrying him deeper into the vast, endless darkness of space. And in that moment, standing alone in the empty control room, he felt the weight of his isolation heavier than ever.
The stars outside were nothing more than faint streaks of light against the black void as Destiny traveled at faster-than-light speeds, hurtling toward its next destination, one Eli wasn’t even sure they’d ever reach. For a brief, fleeting moment, the oppressive silence pressed in around him, a cold, unrelenting reminder of how alone he truly was. The rest of the crew slept, unaware, frozen in stasis pods, suspended in time while Destiny pushed forward.
He was the only one awake.
Eli inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of the ship’s recycled air doing little to calm the quiet panic rising in his chest. But he didn’t give in to it. Not anymore. There was no point in panicking. There was no one to help, no one to talk him down. It was just him and the ship, and if he didn’t keep it together, there wouldn’t be anything left to save.
But he wasn’t without hope… not anymore. He had a plan now.
That thought alone gave him some strength. His hands were still shaking from the adrenaline that had been coursing through him since his last trip to Earth via the communication stones. But now, back on Destiny, he felt that adrenaline begin to fade, the exhaustion of the past few days catching up to him all at once. The desperate scramble to survive, the long hours spent racing through calculations and ideas… it had taken its toll.
His body ached, his mind was clouded with fatigue, and even though he had just secured the first major piece of his survival puzzle, the knowledge to build a naquadah reactor, he knew he couldn’t keep pushing himself like this. Not without rest.
“I need to sleep,” Eli muttered to himself, running a hand through his messy, unkempt hair. His voice sounded distant in the empty room, swallowed by the quiet hum of the ship. His limbs felt heavy, his thoughts sluggish, as if they were dragging through mud.
But even as his body begged for sleep, Eli’s mind was already racing ahead. He could see it clearly, the systems he’d have to strip down, the components he’d have to salvage, the careful balance he’d have to strike between powering the ship and keeping himself alive. The weapons systems would be the first target, dormant and useless while they were in FTL, far from any danger. He could afford to strip them for parts.
He could start working now. There was so much to do, and every moment wasted felt like another step closer to disaster. But Eli knew better. He couldn’t afford mistakes. Not now. If he pushed himself too hard, if he didn’t rest, his mind wouldn’t be sharp enough to do what needed to be done.
“I’ll be useless if I’m dead on my feet,” Eli mumbled, forcing his legs to move, carrying him out of the control room and down the dimly lit corridors of Destiny. His footsteps echoed softly in the emptiness, each step a reminder of just how large the ship felt when it was empty, like a hollow shell, lifeless except for the faint hum of its ancient systems.
As he passed by the stasis pods, he paused, his gaze lingering on the frozen faces of his crewmates. Colonel Young, Chloe, Camille, Rush, each of them asleep, their bodies suspended in time, waiting for the moment they could wake again. Eli felt a pang in his chest, a strange mix of longing and guilt. They had trusted him, to make sure the ship… and themselves… survived the journey.
But they had no idea just how close to failure it had all come.
His fingers brushed the cold, glass surface of one of the pods, and for a brief second, he imagined what it would be like to be in there, too. Asleep. Unaware. Peaceful. But that wasn’t an option for him. Not anymore. His stasis pod had failed, and the only thing keeping him alive now was his own ingenuity, and the knowledge he had gathered from Earth.
“I’ll figure this out,” he whispered to the sleeping figures, his voice barely audible. “I promise.”
With one last glance at the stasis pods, Eli forced himself to keep moving. He wasn’t ready to face the enormity of the task in front of him yet. Not tonight.
Reaching his quarters, Eli stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft hiss. The room was small, sparsely furnished, the only real decoration the mess of papers and schematics scattered across the desk in the corner. His bed, tucked away in the corner, looked impossibly inviting, the thin blanket rumpled from the last time he had collapsed onto it, too tired to care about neatness.
Eli sank onto the edge of the bed, his body sagging with relief as the tension in his muscles eased slightly. His mind was still buzzing with thoughts, plans, and calculations, but exhaustion was quickly overtaking everything else.
“Just a few hours,” he muttered, rubbing his tired eyes. “I’ll sleep for a few hours, then I’ll get back to work.”
He lay down, pulling the blanket over himself, the cool fabric a welcome relief against his tired skin. The moment his head hit the pillow, Eli felt his body surrender to exhaustion. His mind, however, wasn’t so easily quieted. It raced, flicking through all the things he still needed to do, the problems he still needed to solve. But slowly, even those thoughts began to fade, slipping away into the background as sleep finally claimed him.
The ship’s hum became a distant lullaby, the constant rhythm that had kept him company for so long now soothing him into a dreamless, deep sleep.
For the first time since before the crew entered stasis, Eli Wallace allowed himself to rest.
Chapter 2: Replication Problems
The energy turrets, while dormant, had been one of their only defenses against the drones and other dangers that lurked out in the cosmos. They had saved their lives countless times. But out here, in the vast emptiness between galaxies, there were no drones, no battleships. Just the slow, creeping death of Destiny’s systems grinding to a halt.
“Alright,” Eli sighed with a mixture of resignation and frustration. “Let’s do this.”
He rose from his seat and left the bridge, making his way down the long, dim corridors of the ship. The silence pressed in on him, broken only by the occasional hiss of a malfunctioning system or the distant hum of the ship’s engines, struggling to stay functional. The corridors stretched on, seemingly endless, like the void outside Destiny itself. Sometimes the ship felt alive, humming with a quiet energy that made Eli feel like it was listening. Other times, it was nothing but a hollow shell of metal and decaying circuits, ready to crumble around him.
As he passed by the crew quarters, his gaze shifted toward the stasis pods. Their occupants, Colonel Young, Chloe, Scott, Greer, Rush, Camille, were safely suspended inside, their faces frozen in peaceful slumber. They had entrusted their lives to him, even though they hadn’t really said it out loud. The responsibility weighed on him like a boulder crushing his chest.
“Must be nice,” Eli muttered bitterly under his breath, “sleeping while someone else handles all the hard stuff.” He tried to summon a laugh, but it came out as more of a tired exhale. He didn’t have the luxury of sleep. Not yet.
Reaching one of the ship’s weapons control rooms, the door cranked open in front of him, revealing a small, dimly lit space dominated by consoles and the bulky conduits of the weapon systems. Eli stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in. The energy turrets had been a crucial line of defense during battles, their powerful pulses capable of cutting through enemy ships and drones with deadly precision. Now they were silent, relics of a more dangerous time, their power sitting idle amid Destiny’s slow decline.
With a sigh, Eli moved toward the first set of power relays. “Sorry, guys,” he muttered. “But I need your parts more than I need your guns.”
He set down his toolkit with a soft clank, opening it to reveal a haphazard collection of tools he had scavenged from various parts of the ship over the past few weeks. Nothing was in perfect condition, but at this point, he was used to working with less-than-ideal equipment. Eli wasn’t exactly an engineer by trade, but necessity had forced him to learn. Destiny’s systems were old, and learning to patch them up had become a full-time job for him. With the weapons systems inactive, he set to work, getting the turret system operational again wasn’t his concern. Stripping it for parts was.
He grabbed a small plasma cutter and flicked it on, the faint hiss of the flame filling the quiet room. The bright blue arc of energy danced at the tip of the cutter, casting sharp shadows across the consoles and metal walls. Eli crouched down beside the first conduit, eyeing the thick power feed that ran directly into the turret. This was what he needed, the wiring, the capacitors, the power relays. Carefully, he began to cut into the conduit, the plasma cutter slicing through the material with a sharp crackle.
As the metal peeled away, Eli let out a groan of frustration. “Of course, you’d be the one thing on this ship that still works perfectly,” he muttered to the stubborn wires. The heat of the cutter flared in short bursts, illuminating his face in flickers as he worked his way through the layers of thick cables. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and he wiped it away with the back of his arm, never pausing in his work.
After a few minutes of intense focus, he finally loosened the first of the power relays, pulling it free from the conduit with a grunt. He stared at it for a moment before tossing it into the crate beside him. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He moved on to the next piece, stripping out energy capacitors, power lines, and other critical components that might be able to be used in the creation of his replication system.
His fingers worked quickly but carefully. This wasn’t the kind of job that allowed for mistakes. As he disconnected another circuit board, he found himself muttering, “Would’ve been nice to have a guide for this, like Star Wars: The Complete Guide to Hacking Imperial Ships. They must have one of those, right?”
The silence of the room answered him, and Eli snorted at his own joke, more out of exhaustion than amusement. It was funny, in a bleak kind of way, how he could still find the energy to make quips when the situation was so dire. But it helped keep him going.
Eli couldn’t help but think how Scotty would’ve handled this. The Chief Engineer probably would’ve had the whole ship running on duct tape and sheer willpower by now, he mused, a faint, ironic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the crushing weight of his situation.
His mind raced, jumping from task to task as he pulled out more components. He needed everything he could get his hands on. The weapons systems were a major source of power. Without them, the ship would be defenseless, but with no immediate threats, defense was the least of his concerns. If Destiny ran out of power or if he died, it wouldn’t matter what weapons he had left.
Finally, after what felt like hours of grueling work, Eli sat back on his heels, the ache in his body becoming more pronounced with every passing minute. The control room around him was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of emergency lighting and the flickering displays of inactive systems. The weapon systems that once served as Destiny’s first line of defense were now little more than a series of gutted conduits and exposed wires, reduced to a pile of disconnected components. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his hands were filthy, stained with grease and dust from ripping apart panels that hadn’t been touched in years.
“This is so not what I signed up for,” Eli muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for the empty room to hear, “Then again, I didn’t exactly sign up for any of this.” He reached out and tossed the last power relay into the makeshift crate he’d been using to collect parts. It clanged loudly against the other salvaged components, the sound harsh in the quiet space. The repetitive, mechanical nature of the work had taken its toll on him… his hands felt raw from the constant cutting, pulling, and prying. Stripping Destiny’s weapons systems felt like dismantling part of the ship’s soul, and every piece he removed was a reminder of just how far he was pushing the vessel, and himself, to the edge of survival.
His mind drifted briefly to McKay, and Eli couldn’t help but imagine what the famously grumpy scientist would’ve said if he were here to see it. “Really, Wallace? Stripping the weapons? Hope you don’t need them anytime soon.” Eli could hear the biting sarcasm in his head as if McKay were standing right next to him. Sure, McKay would probably make some snide comment about how Eli was butchering Destiny’s systems, but then again, McKay had the advantage of not being alone on a dying ship in the middle of nowhere. Eli forced himself to shake off the thought. McKay wasn’t here. Nobody was. If Eli didn’t figure this out on his own, there would be no one left to save him.
The crate of salvaged components now sat full at his feet, a meager but crucial collection of power converters, relays, and wiring. It wasn’t much, but it was everything Eli had been able to salvage. He looked back at the stripped-down control systems, where once there had been complex circuitry designed to power and fire Destiny’s energy turrets, there was now only a hollowed-out shell, wires dangling lifelessly from the walls. The sight was disheartening, but Eli knew he had no choice. He needed the parts to build the system that might keep him alive. With a groan of effort, Eli rose to his feet, wiped his dirty hands on his already filthy pants, and steeled himself for the next task. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot.
The feeling of survival, of barely holding onto the ship’s flickering life, gnawed at Eli as he wiped the sweat and grime from his brow. The ship’s systems, the energy grid, everything was teetering on the edge, just like him. He could feel it, creeping closer with every passing hour, the failure, the end. But he wasn’t giving up. Not yet. Sighing heavily, he grabbed his tools, tossing them back into the small toolkit he carried with him everywhere now, and glanced at the crate filled with salvaged parts.
With a groan, he lifted the crate, feeling the weight of it pull at his already sore muscles. The once-light burden of tinkering and problem-solving now felt like dragging a mountain. His arms ached, his back strained, and exhaustion settled into his bones. Every step he took echoed ominously through the corridors, the metallic clang of his boots against the deck reminding him just how isolated he was aboard Destiny.
Eli placed the crate onto his makeshift kinosled, the hover platform he had jury-rigged together from several Kinos. It was one of his few strokes of ingenuity that had made things just a bit easier, a hovering platform powered by the tiny floating Kino drones, carrying his load as he pushed it before him. At least now he wouldn’t have to carry the weight directly. He steadied the sled as it bobbed slightly, the glow of the Kinos casting faint light through the corridor as they held the platform aloft.
The shuttle was next. He glanced down the long hallway that led toward Destiny’s airlock, where the last remaining shuttle was docked. It had once been essential to their survival, taking the crew to planets in search of food and water, ferrying them to safety when things went wrong. He hated to strip it, but it wasn’t a choice anymore. If he wanted to keep Destiny functioning, if he wanted to keep himself alive, he’d have to tear apart every last system.
The other shuttle had been lost in a desperate gambit months ago. This one had survived, but it was no longer the tool it once was. Eli couldn’t afford to be sentimental about it. Every system, every spare part mattered now. The shuttle represented a wealth of untapped resources. Life support systems, power relays, shield emitters, things he could use to build what he needed.
He walked with purpose, but every footstep felt heavier as he approached the access point for the shuttle. The walkways were dim, bathed in the faint glow of emergency lights. It was a long way from where the shuttle was docked, a journey he had made countless times with his crewmates, back when there had been a crew. Now it was just him.
Reaching the shuttle access hatch, Eli paused. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, letting the weight of the task settle on him. There was no turning back now. He had to gut the shuttle, strip it down for anything that could keep the ship running just a little longer. His fingers hovered over the access panel, and with a deep breath, the door creaked and groaned as he opened the access door.
Eli stepped through, the quiet hum of the ship’s systems fading slightly as he entered the smaller, more confined space of the shuttle’s interior.
The shuttle’s sleek interior gleamed faintly under the dim lights. Eli’s heart tightened in his chest. He remembered how many times the crew had relied on this shuttle. It had been their escape, their exploration vehicle. Now it was nothing more than a potential source of parts.
“Sorry, old friend,” Eli muttered, setting the crate down next to the hatch. “But it’s either you or me at this point.” He sighed, patting the shuttle’s hull with a half-smile. “I feel like Mal talking to Serenity… except I’m the one gutting you for parts. Let’s hope you don’t hold it against me.”
With another deep breath, he stepped forward into the shuttle, the interior lights flickered to life, casting long shadows across the empty seats and control consoles. As he moved, the familiar smell of recycled air filling his nostrils. It was quieter in here, more confined, and for a moment, he felt an overwhelming sense of isolation. This shuttle had once been full of life, a pilot, soldiers, friends… people working together to survive.
Now it was just a tomb.
Eli moved quickly, shaking off the eerie sense of finality that seemed to hang in the air. There wasn’t time for reflection. He had work to do. Pulling out his tools, he knelt by the shuttle’s power systems and got started. He began with the shield emitters, small but vital components that could be repurposed for the energy-to-matter converter he was so desperately trying to build. As his hands unscrewed panels and disconnected power lines, a nervous energy ran through him. It felt like he was racing against the clock, even though time had no meaning out here in the void of space.
“Great,” Eli muttered under his breath as he pried open another panel, the intricate wiring beneath coming into view. “This is exactly how I wanted to spend my time, gutting a perfectly good shuttle while in the middle of nowhere.”
His fingers moved with the precision of someone who had done this too many times before, cutting and rerouting wires, pulling out circuit boards, and unscrewing converters. The work wasn’t new to him, but there was something different about this time. There was no room for error. Each component he removed brought him one step closer to creating a lifeline that might keep him alive just a little longer.
“Of course, if I screw this up,” Eli muttered, flicking a loose wire to the side, “it’ll be like Apollo 13 all over again, except I don’t have Tom Hanks and a team of NASA engineers waiting to save me.”
As sweat dripped down his forehead, he yanked at a particularly stubborn circuit. “Come on,” he groaned. The cable finally gave way, and he grunted in satisfaction, though the moment of victory was brief. The list of things to dismantle seemed endless.
The shuttle’s life support system was next. Not that it was running now, of course, but its components were still intact, air filtration units, oxygen generators, and other pieces that could be cannibalized to give Destiny’s own life support system a much-needed boost. As Eli pulled out the filtration unit, he couldn’t help but groan at its weight, wrestling it free from its housing.
“Yeah, because lifting heavy equipment is totally my thing,” he muttered, gritting his teeth as the unit came loose with a loud clang when he dropped it onto the kinosled. The sound echoed through the shuttle, breaking the otherwise eerie silence. Hulk Smash! He thought
Eli paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow and glancing around the shuttle’s now gutted interior. The silence was almost suffocating, only broken by the occasional clicks and whirrs of his tools and the clatter of parts hitting the floor. Every movement felt heavy, weighed down by the knowledge that time was slipping away from him. How long could Destiny’s systems hold out? And even if he got the replication system working, would it be enough to buy him more than a few days? Weeks?
“God, why couldn’t this be more like Firefly?” he muttered. “At least Mal always had a plan, even if it was insane. And Kaylie could definitely help with repairs around here.”
After what felt like hours, Eli finally stood back, his chest heaving as he surveyed the now bare shuttle. The control panels were dark, their lights gone; the seats were empty and silent, and the walls were stripped of the once-vital systems that had kept the shuttle operational. It looked like the aftermath of a robbery, a hollow, abandoned husk of what was once a useful vessel.
“Well, guess I won’t be flying anywhere in this thing again anytime soon,” Eli muttered. A wave of exhaustion hit him, both physical and emotional, as he let out a long breath.
The shuttle had given all it could. Now it was nothing more than an empty shell, just like how Eli felt after all this time alone aboard Destiny. But he pushed that thought aside. There was no room for self-pity. Not now.
“Alright,” Eli said, hoisting the crate of parts with a grunt and placed it next to the other on the kinosled. “Let’s hope all of this is enough to keep me alive. Because I’m not sure I’m cut out for the whole heroic last stand thing.”
Eli wiped the sweat from his brow, leaning against the shuttle’s doorframe for a moment to catch his breath. His muscles ached, his mind was exhausted, but there was no time to stop. He had the parts he needed… for now, at least.
With one last glance around the stripped-down shuttle, Eli hefted the crate of salvaged components and made his way back to Destiny’s interior. The quiet hum of the ship’s systems greeted him once more as he stepped through the rear hatch, the weight of the shuttle’s sacrifice heavy on his mind.
As the door to the rear hatch slid shut behind him, Eli couldn’t help but feel the growing pressure of what lay ahead. The shuttle had been gutted, the weapons systems had been stripped, but there was still so much more to do. So much more he needed to figure out if he wanted to survive.
“Let’s hope this works,” Eli muttered under his breath as he began the long walk back to the control room, the crates of parts settled on his kinosled and with a final grunt of effort, Eli pushed it down the long, dimly lit corridor of Destiny, guiding the crates of salvaged parts toward what he hoped would be his next lifeline. His mind raced through the checklist of things he needed to do; tapping into the main power conduit, setting up a space where he could start assembling the energy-to-matter replication system, organizing the parts. It was daunting, but there was no time to waste. If he didn’t move fast, the ship’s systems would fail, taking him with them.
Eli made his way deeper into the ship, passing through empty storerooms and forgotten quarters. Destiny was huge, a labyrinth of corridors and chambers, many of which had never been fully explored. He needed a place close to the ship’s main power conduits, somewhere he could easily access the energy grid without draining what little power was left in the rest of the ship. He needed a workshop, a place to build, to focus. Somewhere isolated enough that if anything went wrong, it wouldn’t take down the rest of the ship with it.
After what felt like an eternity of walking, he finally came to an unused storeroom, a large, open space, once filled with crates of supplies long since depleted or scavenged. The room was dark and dusty, the air stale from years of neglect, but it was exactly what he needed. Running beneath the floor panels was one of Destiny’s main power conduits, hidden just out of sight but easily accessible with a bit of work. The floor was old, the panels slightly loose from years of wear, and Eli knew that if he could pry a few of them up, he’d have access to the thick, heavily insulated cable that pulsed faintly with energy beneath. He crouched down and, with the help of his multitool, carefully began prying up one of the panels near the corner of the room. It took a bit of effort, but eventually, with a satisfying creak, the panel came loose, revealing the conduit beneath.
The cable stretched out beneath the room like a dormant snake, its surface slightly warm to the touch as it carried the lifeblood of Destiny’s systems. It was old, just like everything else on the ship, but it still hummed with power. Eli gave a sigh of relief. With the conduit accessible, he could tap into the ship’s energy grid and feed the replication system directly. It wasn’t ideal… nothing was on this ship anymore but it would have to do.
After carefully pulling back a few more panels, Eli cleared enough space to reach the conduit fully. He set to work connecting the power lines he’d rigged up from the terminal, attaching them securely to the conduit. His fingers worked deftly, twisting wires and adjusting connections, all the while the faint hum of the power source vibrated beneath him, reminding him just how critical every step of this was.
When he was satisfied that everything was in place, Eli sat back and wiped the sweat from his brow. “All set,” he muttered to himself, feeling a sense of accomplishment despite the exhaustion weighing him down. The hard work wasn’t over yet, but at least now, with access to the power conduit, he had a chance. He just had to make sure everything worked.
“This’ll do,” Eli muttered to himself, setting the crates down with a thud and wiping the sweat from his brow. He could hear the faint hum of the conduit, a low, steady vibration that echoed through the walls. It was like the heartbeat of the ship, still going strong despite everything.
He pulled out his tools and set to work, clearing space in the center of the room for his makeshift workshop. His hands moved automatically, arranging parts, connecting wires, setting up a small terminal where he could interface with the monitor for the power flow. There was something comforting in the mechanical process of it all, the focus, the precision. It kept his mind from wandering too far into the darker corners of his thoughts.
Eli couldn’t help but think back to the early days on Destiny, when the crew was still awake and they were all scrambling to figure out how to survive. He missed the noise, the banter, the sense that they were all in this together. Now, it was just him and the quiet hum of the ship. He sighed and shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. There was no point in dwelling on what he had lost. He had work to do.
With the terminal set up and the power conduit tapped, Eli stood back and surveyed the room. It wasn’t much, just a few crates, a couple of terminals, and a large pile of salvaged parts, but it was a start. This was where he would build his replication system, the machine that would, hopefully, keep him alive. He knew it wouldn’t be easy. The energy to matter conversion process was complex, and the parts he had salvaged were old, worn, and not exactly ideal for what he was trying to do. But it was all he had, and he would have to make it work.
He took a deep breath and got to work. First, he set about organizing the parts he had scavenged from the shuttle and the weapons systems, laying them out in neat rows on the floor of the storeroom. Power converters, energy relays, capacitors, wiring, it all had to be sorted and checked. Every piece was critical, and any misstep could mean disaster. As he worked, his mind wandered to the countless sci-fi scenarios he’d seen over the years, people building things from scrap, surviving against impossible odds. He smirked to himself as he thought of MacGyver and his knack for making miracles out of paperclips and duct tape.
“Well, if he could do it with a shoelace and a paperclip, I can do it with actual tech,” Eli muttered to himself, trying to muster some semblance of humor in the situation.
Hours passed as he worked, the hum of the power conduit a constant reminder of the ticking clock he was working against. He moved carefully, methodically, connecting wires, routing power through the terminal, checking and rechecking every connection. The room began to take on the semblance of a proper workshop, parts strewn about, cables snaking across the floor, the faint glow of the terminal’s screen casting long shadows on the walls.
Eli’s fingers hovered over the controls, his mind racing with all the steps he needed to take, but his body felt like it was sinking. The tiredness was creeping into every muscle, every joint, a dull ache that had been growing for days. He had been running on fumes for far too long, and his exhaustion now felt like a physical weight pressing down on him. His hands, stained with grease and dust, trembled as he tried to focus on the task ahead.
He blinked, trying to shake off the haze clouding his thoughts. The pieces of the replication system were laid out in front of him, all waiting for assembly, but the very idea of starting filled him with a sense of overwhelming dread. His mind buzzed with calculations and schematics, but his body wasn’t cooperating. Eli rubbed his eyes, the skin around them raw from days of sleeplessness. “Just a little longer,” he whispered to himself. “I can do this.”
But as he reached for one of the capacitors, his hand slipped, the part clattering onto the floor with a sharp metallic sound that echoed through the room. He stared at it for a moment, his mind blank. The simple act of bending down to pick it up seemed monumental, and for the first time in a long while, he felt the crushing weight of loneliness bear down on him. There was no one here to help, no one to give him a break, no one to tell him it was okay to stop.
Eli stood up abruptly, swaying slightly as the fatigue caught up with him. His head felt heavy, and the faint hum of Destiny’s systems blurred into white noise in his ears. The world around him felt distant, like he was moving underwater. He needed rest. He hated admitting it, but if he kept going like this, he’d make a mistake, and a mistake could mean the difference between life and death. The replication system would have to wait.
Dragging his feet, Eli made his way out of the workshop, leaving the parts scattered on the floor. He headed down the dim corridors toward his quarters, each step echoing off the walls. His body felt like it was on autopilot, moving without him even thinking about it. He hadn’t eaten in hours either, and his stomach growled, reminding him of his dwindling supplies. There were no fresh meals waiting for him, no comforting smell of food… just the last of his powdered rations.
Eli reached his quarters and collapsed onto the small chair by the table. The mess of papers, calculations, and diagrams was scattered everywhere, but none of it registered in his mind. His eyes focused on the small packet of powdered rations sitting on the table. He grabbed it and tore it open with a sigh. The dry, unappetizing contents spilled onto the tray, and Eli mixed it with water, watching the paste form with disinterest. It wasn’t much, but it would keep him going.
He forced the first bite down, the texture gritty and tasteless in his mouth. There had been a time when he would have complained, maybe even joked about it, but right now, he didn’t have the energy for either. Eating had become just another task to check off his survival list. Bite by bite, he finished the ration, feeling a small, temporary boost of energy, but it wasn’t enough to stave off the crushing weight of exhaustion pressing down on him.
Reluctantly, he knew what he had to do. He had to sleep. His body wouldn’t make it through another night without rest. Eli stood up slowly, his limbs heavy, and moved toward the small cot in the corner of his quarters. The thin blanket and pillow looked more inviting than they ever had before, and with a sigh, he collapsed onto the bed. His eyes closed almost instantly, his mind still buzzing with half-formed ideas, but his body was too far gone to keep up. Sleep took him quickly, pulling him under like a wave.
When he finally stirred, Eli’s mind was sluggish, trying to piece together the time. He rubbed his eyes, groaning as he pushed himself upright. The dull ache in his muscles reminded him of the work he had left undone, and his heart sank as he glanced at the clock. Almost 18 hours had passed. He had meant to rest for just a few hours, but his body had shut down completely, forcing him into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Panic flared in his chest as he realized he had missed his scheduled check-in with Earth. He was late… too late. Scrambling to his feet, Eli rushed out of his quarters, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He had to get to the communication room. He couldn’t afford to lose this connection, not when he was so close to figuring things out.
Eli stumbled into the communication room, still groggy from his long sleep, and fumbled for the stones. His heart raced as he grasped one, feeling the familiar pull as his consciousness was yanked across the galaxy in a blur of light and sensation. When his vision cleared, he found himself standing in a small, sterile lab. The hum of computers and the faint scent of stale coffee greeted him, a stark contrast to the stillness of Destiny.
Eli blinked, looking down at the unfamiliar body he had inhabited this time, bigger hands, broad shoulders, definitely not his. He glanced at the reflection in the glass surface of a nearby console and saw the face of a Gate technician he didn’t recognize. He sighed. It was always strange not seeing your own face but before he could dwell on it, the sound of a door swishing open caught his attention.
Dr. Bill Lee hurried into the room, his face scrunched up with a mix of concern and relief. “Eli! Thank God you’re okay!” Lee exclaimed, adjusting his glasses as he shuffled over to the desk cluttered with papers and diagrams. “You’re six hours overdue for your check-in. We thought something might’ve gone wrong… again.”
Eli shrugged, his borrowed body feeling strange as he tried to settle into it. “Sorry about that. I, uh… overslept. Let’s just say running a dying spaceship on your own isn’t conducive to maintaining a great sleep cycle,” he said with a half-smile.
Lee gave him a sympathetic look but didn’t press the issue. “I can imagine. You sound like you need about a week’s worth of sleep… if you had the luxury of time. Anyway, I’ve got everything ready for you.” He gestured to the desk, which was overflowing with schematics, diagrams, and equations scrawled across papers. “Carter, McKay, and I worked up the calculations for the replication system. There are still some kinks, but we think you can work them out on your end.”
Eli stepped forward, scanning the desk. The sheer amount of data made his head spin, but it was also a welcome sight. This was his lifeline, if he could memorize it all and build the system, he’d stand a chance. “Looks like you guys have been busy,” he said, picking up a sheet covered in dense mathematical equations.
“Busy is an understatement,” Lee muttered, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “But you’ve been doing the real heavy lifting out there. We’re just the brains back here.” He paused for a moment, his face softening with genuine concern. “Eli, how are you holding up? I mean, really.”
Eli paused, his fingers brushing the edge of one of the schematics. He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping a bit. “Oh, you know, just living the dream, managing to hold this rust bucket together with duct tape and prayers while I run on fumes. Destiny’s falling apart, I’m practically a zombie, but hey, if I don’t keep pushing, there won’t be a ship left to fall apart. So yeah, it’s been… hard. Really hard.”
Dr. Lee nodded, his eyes filled with sympathy. “I can’t imagine how tough it must be, being out there all alone. But we’re with you. We’re going to get you through this.”
Eli forced a smile. “Thanks, Doc. That means a lot.”
Lee waved his hand, trying to lighten the mood. “Yeah, well, don’t thank me yet. You still have to memorize all of this, and that’s no small feat.”
Eli chuckled despite himself. “Great. More homework. Just what I needed.”
They worked together for the next few hours, going over the schematics and equations in meticulous detail. Dr. Lee explained each component, breaking down the more complex aspects of the replication system into manageable chunks. Eli memorized it all, his mind working overtime as he committed every diagram, every calculation, to memory. The banter between them helped stave off the looming sense of dread, with Eli occasionally throwing in a sarcastic comment or a movie reference to lighten the atmosphere.
“So, let me get this straight,” Eli said, pointing to a particularly dense section of the equations. “I have to reroute the power from the auxiliary systems and use the main conduit as a stabilizer? Isn’t that, like, the electrical engineering equivalent of walking a tightrope while juggling flaming swords?”
Lee chuckled. “Pretty much. But if anyone can pull it off, it’s you. Just… don’t drop anything. You know, metaphorically speaking.”
Eli snorted. “Great. No pressure. Just the whole ship… and my life on the line.”
Dr. Lee gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “You’ve got this. You’ve been pulling off miracles ever since you boarded that ship. What’s one more?”
They continued working, the hours passing in a blur of equations and theories. Eli’s mind buzzed with the complexities of the system they were building, but he felt a glimmer of hope. For the first time in a while, he wasn’t just reacting to crises, he was preparing for something that could help him survive.
As they reached the end of the session, Lee gathered up the last of the papers. “That’s everything we’ve got. If you hit any snags, check in again. We’ll keep working on improvements, but this should be enough to get you started.”
Eli nodded, feeling the weight of the task ahead but also a sense of purpose. “Thanks, Bill. I mean it.”
“Stay safe, Eli,” Lee said, his voice softer now. “We’re rooting for you.”
With a final nod, Eli disconnects the communication stone, and in the blink of an eye, he was yanked back across the galaxy to Destiny, back to the familiar dim glow of the ship’s corridors and the soft hum of its failing systems. He felt the exhaustion in his body immediately, but his mind was sharper now, armed with the knowledge he needed to build the replication system.
He had a plan now.
As Eli reoriented himself after the disorienting pull of the stones, he blinked and gave a long, slow exhale. The familiar dimness of Destiny surrounded him once more, the quiet hum of the ship’s systems filling the air, like a heartbeat pulsing beneath the metal and wires. Every time he returned from Earth, it was like stepping from a bustling, warm world of life and motion back into a cold, lonely void. He always needed a moment to let his mind catch up, to transition from the noise of the SGC to the silence of a ship that was barely holding on… just like him.
His quarters were dimly lit, the emergency lights casting long shadows across the floor. The sparse, utilitarian furniture, the console screens, and the small pile of ration packs sat untouched on the desk, a reminder of just how little he had left. And that’s when he saw it. Eli’s eyes narrowed as they landed on a small, folded piece of paper resting atop one of the last few ration packs. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now it stood out, stark against the sterile backdrop of the ship.
Curiosity piqued, Eli reached for it, unfolding the note with stiff fingers. The handwriting was shaky, almost hurried, but still legible: “I’m so sorry that you are here, please try to remember you aren’t alone.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. The room seemed to shrink around him as the weight of the note sank in. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest. Not alone? he thought, his vision blurring as the full realization of his isolation settled over him again. How long had it been since he’d last seen someone awake? Spoken to someone face to face? Felt the presence of another person?
Eli closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as a few tears slipped down his cheeks, unbidden. He wiped them away with the back of his hand, but it didn’t stop the ache in his chest. The note was such a simple gesture, probably left by the technician on Earth whose body he had inhabited for a brief moment through the stones. But those words carried a kind of kindness and empathy that Eli hadn’t allowed himself to feel for months now. He had been trying to survive… just survive, and hadn’t let himself process the emotional toll of it all. The loneliness, the fear, the crushing weight of responsibility.
“Damn it,” Eli muttered, crumpling the note slightly in his hand before straightening it out again, smoothing the creases with his fingers. He hated this… hated that a simple note could unravel him so easily, but at the same time, it was a lifeline. A reminder that even though he was light-years away from everyone, there were still people who cared. People who understood what he was going through, even if they couldn’t be there physically.
He sniffed, clearing his throat as he pocketed the note and forced himself to focus. You can’t break down now. You don’t have time for this. Get it together, Eli.
But even as he tried to shake it off, the words lingered in his mind, gnawing at him, making him doubt himself. Could he do this? Could he really keep this ship running, keep himself alive long enough to figure something out? The overwhelming pressure of being the only one awake on a failing ship was like a vise around his chest, tightening with every passing minute.
What if you can’t? a small voice in the back of his mind whispered. What if you fail?
Eli clenched his jaw, shoving those thoughts down as he pushed himself to his feet. He glanced around his quarters, his gaze lingering on the platform where the stones rested. That connection to Earth was both a blessing and a curse, he could reach out for help, but at the same time, it reminded him of everything he was missing, everything he had left behind.
His eyes flicked to the ration packs again, knowing full well there were only a few left. Each one was a ticking clock, counting down to the moment when even food would no longer be guaranteed. But before he could dwell on that too long, Eli grabbed his toolkit and headed for the door. He needed to get to the workshop, to start building the replication system before it was too late.
The hallway outside his quarters was as cold and quiet as ever, the dim emergency lights casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls as he moved. His footsteps echoed in the silence, the metallic clang of his boots against the deck plates a constant reminder of just how empty Destiny had become. Every step felt heavier, not just from the physical exhaustion but from the emotional weight of the note still burning in his pocket.
As he walked, his mind raced, swinging between doubt and determination like a pendulum. Can I really do this? The voice of self-doubt crept back in, whispering that he was in over his head, that he was just a kid who got lucky, who happened to be smart enough to make it this far but not enough to keep going. You’re not an engineer, Eli. You’re barely keeping it together.
He shoved the thoughts aside, squaring his shoulders as he moved through the corridor. “No,” he murmured under his breath. “I’m not giving up. I can do this.” He had to remind himself of that, had to repeat it like a mantra, even if it didn’t feel entirely true. If he didn’t believe it, no one else would.
As he rounded the corner, the doors to the workshop came into view. His workshop, a cluttered, makeshift space filled with scattered parts, tools, and the kinosled loaded with salvaged components. The sight of it filled him with both dread and determination. He had to make this work. There was no other option.
Eli stepped inside, his breath fogging slightly in the cooler air of the workshop. The ship’s systems were barely functioning at this point, and it showed in the temperature, the flickering lights, the low hum of failing systems. But this room, this workshop, was his last hope.
He paused for a moment, pulling the note from his pocket and glancing at it again. You aren’t alone. The words echoed in his mind, offering a faint glimmer of comfort. Maybe he wasn’t completely alone. Maybe there were still people out there rooting for him, even if they weren’t physically with him.
With a deep breath, Eli tucked the note back into his pocket and rolled up his sleeves. It’s time to get to work
The days had started to blur together, each one bleeding into the next, a repetitive cycle of building his replication system, scavenging extra parts, running diagnostics, and patching systems on the brink of failure. His sleep had become fragmented, stolen in short bursts between endless hours of work, leaving him disoriented and weary. Eli Wallace was no stranger to sleepless nights, but this was different. The quiet hum of Destiny’s systems, the very systems he had kept running for weeks now, felt like a ticking clock, counting down to a disaster he couldn’t prevent. Every sound seemed to magnify the ship’s fragility, reminding him just how thin the thread was that kept him alive. For weeks, he had pushed himself, barely resting, scavenging what he could from the ship to patch together failing systems. But no matter how hard he worked, he couldn’t outrun the truth.
He was running out of time.
The food rations from the mess hall were gone. Eli had managed to stretch them further than he thought possible, rationing every meal to last just one more day. But no amount of ingenuity could change the fact, there was nothing left to eat. His stomach growled, the dull ache a constant reminder that he couldn’t keep going like this much longer.
The bridge was dimly lit, and the air felt stale, thin. He glanced at the readouts on the screen in front of him, life support was once again stable, but barely. He’d been running it at minimum levels for days, just enough to keep him breathing, but each time he adjusted the settings, the air seemed to get a little colder, a little harder to draw into his lungs. He shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders.
Destiny was failing. Eli could see it in the flickering lights, in the sluggish responses from the ship’s systems. It had been designed to refuel from the energy of stars, to gather power from the universe itself, but here it was, limping through space, draining what little reserves it had left.
He ran a hand through his messy hair, staring at the monitors. The shields were operating at a fraction of their normal capacity, and the long-range sensors were offline. If the drones were still out there, waiting for them, he wouldn’t know until it was too late. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
“I need more power,” Eli muttered, his voice breaking the oppressive silence of the bridge. His own words felt hollow, like a plea to an empty room. But what power? What could he possibly use to keep the ship going, to keep himself alive, when he had already stripped down every non-essential system he could find?
His fingers hovered over the controls, but he couldn’t bring himself to make another adjustment. There was nothing left to tweak, nothing more to save. Destiny was slowly dying, and unless he found a solution soon, so was he.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This is bad,” he muttered to himself. “Really bad.”
Eli stood up from the bridge, the ache in his back reminding him of the countless hours he’d spent hunched over consoles, trying to keep the ship running on sheer willpower alone. Every muscle in his body screamed for rest, but he couldn’t afford that luxury… not yet. He glanced at the power levels on the screen, feeling the familiar pit of dread tighten in his stomach. Each bar that slowly ticked down felt like a countdown to Destiny’s inevitable failure.
“Tick, tock,” Eli muttered, grimacing at the low power reserves displayed on the console. Every passing hour was one closer to the ship’s systems finally giving out, and when that happened, there wouldn’t be much left to save; but he was making progress.
For the next several days, Eli lost himself in the relentless grind of work. The workshop became his entire world, a sanctuary of distraction from the overwhelming weight of his isolation and the relentless ticking of the clock. His hands were constantly in motion, working with wires, components, and tools, piecing together the parts he had scavenged from Destiny‘s systems and the shuttle. The kinosled sat in the corner, the crates of components slowly dwindling as he used each one to construct the replication system, a machine that could very well be his lifeline.
The modified shield emitter became the cornerstone of his design. Eli knew it wasn’t perfect, but it was the best he had. His plan was simple enough in theory, convert the energy-to-matter replication technology with components scavenged from the ship, using the shield emitter to serve as the replication emitter. The problem was, the shield emitters were never designed for this purpose, and Eli had to painstakingly rewire and recalibrate the system over and over, adjusting for the nuances of the power grid beneath the floor panels.
With each passing day, the exhaustion deepened. He barely slept, catching only short bursts of rest in between long stretches of frantic building. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind wouldn’t stop racing, images of the ship falling apart, systems failing, the crew never waking up. He felt like he was running out of time, but there was no way to know how much he had left.
He didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself. He couldn’t afford to lose focus now, not when he was so close. But the hunger gnawed at him relentlessly, distracting him, weakening him. His hands shook as he adjusted the wiring on the replication system’s power core, carefully splicing together the connections to the modified shield emitter.
Hours passed in a blur of exhaustion, hunger, and desperate concentration. Eli barely left the workshop except to check on the ship’s systems, which were slowly but steadily deteriorating. Life support was holding on by a thread, and the power grid was dangerously unstable. The ship was dying, and he was running out of time. But he kept pushing, kept working.
Finally, with trembling hands, Eli connected the last wire and stepped back, staring at the machine in front of him. It was crude, cobbled together from parts of Destiny and the shuttle, but it was a machine that could theoretically create matter from energy. His lifeline.
He slept for a bit before returning and beginning the daunting task of programming the emitter to create something from nothing. Sleep never came easy and never left friendly, nightmares ruined his rest. With a little sleep and a lot of determination Eli rose from his bed and made his way back to his workshop. Once there he began working on using the codes and data he had spent the past several weeks memorizing. After hours of data input into the system and coding it with memorized machine code Eli was certain that the system was ready.
“Here goes nothing,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from days of silence.
He activated the system. The replication cycle began with a low hum, the modified shield emitter glowing faintly as it powered up. Eli held his breath, watching the readouts on the console. The system was drawing power from the grid, and the emitter was holding… for now. He watched, waiting for the familiar sight of an Asgard emitter to materialize in front of him.
The shield emitter flickered, sputtering as the power surged. The machine whined loudly, the glow from the emitter intensifying for a split second before the entire system sparked and went dark.
“Come on!” Eli shouted, smacking the side of the machine in frustration. He scrambled to check the power levels, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. As he did, he noticed something materializing on the platform in front of the emitter. It was… a small, metallic device, sleek and familiar.
Eli’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized it… a beaming emitter. An Asgard beaming emitter.
He stared at the device, disbelief washing over him. The replication system had burned out, the shield emitter fried beyond repair, but somehow, it had created a fully functional Asgard beaming emitter before it failed.
Emitter in hand, Eli stared at the sleek, metallic device. It was smaller than he had imagined, but it was unmistakably Asgard technology. His fingers traced the smooth, curved edges, feeling the cold weight of it against his skin. The realization of what he was holding washed over him like a wave. This was one of the most advanced pieces of technology in the known universe, capable of transporting matter across vast distances with pinpoint precision. It was light-years beyond anything he had ever dealt with before, and so, here it was, courtesy of a cobbled-together replication system that had burned out in the process.
Eli wanted to rest. His body screamed for it, his limbs ached, his head throbbed, and his stomach twisted painfully from hunger. The last time he had eaten was nearly three days ago, and the gnawing emptiness felt like a black hole inside him, pulling all his energy into the void. His vision blurred at the edges as he stared down at the emitter, the world around him swaying with the weight of exhaustion.
But there was no time. He couldn’t stop now. Not with this in his hands.
Determination flared within him, burning hotter than the hunger that gnawed at his insides. If he could integrate the Asgard beaming emitter into the replication system, it could change everything. The precision of the beaming technology would make the replication process more efficient, more stable. He could generate food, water, medical supplies, whatever he needed to survive. The possibilities spun in his mind, pushing back the haze of fatigue that threatened to drag him down.
“I don’t have time for this,” Eli muttered to himself, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His legs felt like lead as he dragged himself back to the console. He wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the floor and let sleep claim him, but he knew that if he stopped now, he might never get up again. He had to keep moving. He had to keep working.
His fingers shook as he set the emitter down on the workbench, his mind racing through the possibilities. The replication system had burned out, which meant he’d have to rebuild it from the ground up. He’d need to reroute the power supply, recalibrate the energy distribution, and somehow integrate the Asgard emitter into the system without frying everything in the process. The task seemed insurmountable, especially in his current state, but Eli had never backed down from a challenge before. He wasn’t about to start now.
“Come on, Eli,” he whispered to himself, trying to shake off the exhaustion that weighed down his limbs. “You’ve got this. Just a little more. One step at a time.”
He reached for his tools, his hands unsteady as he began dismantling the burned-out components of the replication system. The shield emitter had been completely fried, its once-glowing surface now dark and charred. Eli pulled it free, tossing it aside with a frustrated grunt. He knew he was running on fumes, but the thought of what was possible kept him going. The Asgard emitter could be the key to everything.
As he worked, his mind drifted. The ship felt heavier, like the air was pressing down on him, suffocating him. The halls were empty, silent except for the low hum of Destiny’s systems, which seemed to echo his own heartbeat. Every clatter of his tools against the metal felt like it reverberated through the entire ship, reminding him of just how alone he was. The silence bore down on him, amplifying his doubts.
“What if I can’t do this?” Eli thought, the question creeping into his mind unbidden. “What if this isn’t enough? What if I burn out the emitter, and there’s no way to fix it?”
He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they lingered. The Asgard technology was beyond anything he had ever worked with. It felt like he was holding a piece of magic, something so advanced, so far beyond his own understanding that the very idea of tampering with it felt impossible. But he didn’t have a choice. This was his only shot.
“Do or do not, there is no try,” Eli muttered to himself, the old Star Wars quote slipping from his lips before he could stop it. Yoda’s voice echoed in his mind, and for a moment, it brought a flicker of amusement to his tired brain. “Yeah, easy for you to say, Yoda. You didn’t have to wire Asgard tech into an ancient spaceship.”
With a heavy sigh, Eli continued working, his focus laser-sharp despite the fog of exhaustion clouding his mind. He dismantled the remaining components of the old system, carefully pulling apart wires and circuit boards, trying to salvage what he could. His hands moved with a sense of urgency, but his mind was on autopilot, driven by a single thought: This has to work.
Piece by piece, he rebuilt the replication system, his vision swimming as he struggled to stay upright. The Asgard emitter gleamed on the workbench, its sleek surface reflecting the faint light of the room. It was a beacon of hope, a lifeline in the middle of the dark void that threatened to swallow him whole. All he had to do was make it work.
His fingers ached, his stomach growled, and his head throbbed, but Eli pushed through it all, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to think about how hungry he was, how tired he was. Not now. Not when he was this close.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity but in fact was only two days, the system was complete.
Eli stood back, his legs trembling beneath him as he stared at the machine in front of him.
The Asgard emitter was wired into the system, integrated with the crude components he had salvaged from Destiny. It looked like a mess, a jumbled collection of wires, circuits, and technology far beyond anything he should have been able to handle. But it was done.
He reached out, his hand hovering over the console, his fingers trembling. His breath caught in his throat as he hesitated. This was it. Either it worked, or… With a deep breath, he pressed the activation switch.
The machine sputtered to life, a low hum filling the room as power surged through the system. Lights blinked in rapid succession, and the Asgard emitter began to glow with a faint, steady pulse. Eli held his breath, his eyes fixed on the emitter as it flickered and then steadied, the hum growing louder. He could feel the heat radiating off the machine, a sign that it was drawing far more power than it should have.
“Come on, come on…” Eli muttered under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. The machine continued to whirr, the sound building to a crescendo. Then, with a flash of light, something materialized on the floor beneath the emitter.
Eli blinked, his brain struggling to process what he was seeing. There, sitting on the platform amidst the tangled mess of parts, wires, and components, was… a box nestled amid the scattered items, as they had all materialized together in one chaotic burst. The parts and wires looked brand new, tangled in a web around the box, which stood out against the disorder, its label clear: Field Rations. A simple, unassuming box. For a moment, Eli wondered if he was hallucinating from exhaustion, but then he looked again and saw the label clearly: Field Rations.
He let out a shaky laugh, his voice cracking in disbelief. “No way… it actually worked?”
His knees nearly gave out as he stumbled forward, his hands reaching for the box. He tore it open with a mix of desperation and awe, revealing neatly packaged meals inside and protein bars, real, tangible food. His stomach growled louder than ever, a sharp reminder of just how long it had been since his last meal. He could hardly believe it.
Eli slumped to the floor, the weight of his exhaustion crashing down on him all at once. He let out a long, ragged breath, his eyes fixed on the pile of rations. It had worked. Sort of. The system had fried some of the wiring and power capacitors during the first replication cycle, just like the shield emitter before it. The jumbled components that he’d hastily cobbled together had been pushed to their limits, and now they were nothing more than burnt-out husks.
But that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was the box of food in front of him, something he hadn’t dared hope for after days of near starvation.
As Eli tore open one of the ration packs, the scent of real food hit him like a wave. He barely registered the bland, military-grade packaging or the lack of flavor. To him, it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. He scarfed down the first bite, barely chewing before swallowing, and then another. His body responded with a surge of energy, the gnawing hunger in his gut momentarily sated.
He sat back, chewing slower now, letting himself finally breathe. He had been teetering on the edge for days, running on fumes, and now there was a glimmer of hope. The system worked. He still had a long way to go before it was fully operational again, but he had everything he needed now to rebuild it properly.
His eyes drifted to the piles of parts laid out across the floor, carefully organized components, wiring, power capacitors. With these, he could rebuild the system, improve it. He could make it more efficient, less prone to burning out. And with the rations in hand, he no longer had to worry about starving while he worked.
Eli wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced back at the console. “Okay,” he muttered to himself, feeling the weight of determination settle back into his bones. “We’re not done yet.”
He couldn’t afford to rest for long. Not with the ship still failing around him, not with the crew depending on him, whether they knew it or not. But for the first time in what felt like forever, Eli didn’t feel like he was fighting a losing battle. He could do this. He had to.
With newfound resolve, Eli got to his feet, still chewing the last bit of his meal. The rations would keep him going for now, but the real work was just beginning. He cast a glance at the Asgard emitter, still glowing faintly on the workbench. It had gotten him this far. Now it was up to him to see how much further he could go.
He started gathering the parts he needed, his mind already buzzing with ideas on how to improve the system. He had everything he needed, and for the first time in weeks, maybe even months, Eli Wallace felt something like hope stir inside him.
“Let’s get to work,” he murmured, his voice steady, the weight of survival no longer quite so crushing.
After nine grueling days of consultation with the SGC, Eli had done it. The replication system stood before him, rebuilt from the ground up into something wholly new. The Asgard beaming emitter gleamed at the center of it all mounted to the ceiling, now seamlessly integrated into the framework of Destiny’s cobbled-together technology. Wires snaked across the floor, some neatly secured, others draped haphazardly over consoles, connecting parts Eli had salvaged from every conceivable corner of the ship. The system was impressive, a Frankenstein’s monster of ancient and advanced technology, held together by nothing more than sheer willpower and a few well-placed cables.
But there was still a problem: the system was running on Destiny’s failing power grid. The ship’s core was weak, the energy reserves stretched thin just keeping him alive, let alone sustaining a machine capable of replicating matter. Eli knew that the ship couldn’t handle the additional strain for long. If he pushed it, the whole grid could collapse, leaving him with no power and, ultimately, no way to survive.
“Gotta solve this power problem,” Eli muttered under his breath as he sat on a nearby crate, glancing between the system and the tangled mess of Destiny’s failing conduits. His mind raced through possibilities, but every solution came back to the same thing, he needed an independent power source.
The idea had come to him after a long talk with Dr. Lee and McKay, during one of their increasingly frequent strategy sessions. A naquadah reactor. Small enough to power the replication system indefinitely, but not powerful enough to take on the heavy lifting of Destiny’s more energy-hungry systems. It was perfect. He’d even learned from Carter that with the right buffer, the reactor would provide a stable energy flow, keeping the replication system running without burning out again.
Eli rubbed his eyes and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. A naquadah reactor. It seemed so simple in theory, but the reality was far more complex. He couldn’t just build one out of the random scraps lying around Destiny. He had to replicate it, piece by piece. And that meant memorizing every bit of its molecular structure, down to the last atom.
The Asgard beaming technology had been revolutionary in that regard. When something was dematerialized into the system, it wasn’t just broken down, it was converted into computer code, a map of its molecular makeup stored in the system’s memory. Eli had to memorize that code, recreate it manually, and feed it into the replication system. One wrong step, one misplaced data point, and the entire reactor could malfunction… or worse, blow up in his face.
Dr. Lee’s voice echoed in his head from their last session through the communication stones. “Eli, the molecular code for a naquadah reactor is… complicated. I’m talking millions of lines of data. Are you sure you can handle this? I mean, even McKay couldn’t, well, never mind, I’m sure you can do it. Just… don’t blow up Destiny.”
“Yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Eli had replied, rolling his eyes as he sat crosslegged on the floor of the communication room, scribbling down pages and pages of notes from the schematics Lee had sent over. “No pressure or anything.”
Now, as he stared at the replication system, his brain buzzing with all the molecular codes he had memorized, the task ahead felt impossible. How was he supposed to store and input millions of lines of data by hand? He could see it all in his head, the strands of numbers and equations floating before his eyes like a tangled web of impossible complexity. One misplaced figure, one wrong calculation, and it would all be for nothing.
After weeks of grueling work, Eli stood before the replication system, the familiar hum of Destiny’s failing systems echoing faintly in the background. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands trembling with a combination of exhaustion and anticipation. Every part of his body ached, but none of that mattered now. The code for the naquadah reactor, his lifeline, was finally encoded into the replication system. It had taken weeks of trial and error, sleepless nights spent memorizing molecular structures and computer code, but now it was done.
Eli’s mind raced, replaying the countless hours of work he had put into this, consulting with the SGC, diving into the intricate nuances of matter conversion, and figuring out how to replicate something so complex as a reactor. The naquadah reactor was far from the most powerful device he could replicate, but with the right buffers and careful adjustments, it would be enough to power the replication system indefinitely. Enough to give him food, water, and possibly a chance at real survival.
His fingers hovered over the console, hesitating for just a moment. This is it, he thought. The moment of truth. If this works, I might actually survive. If it doesn’t… He didn’t let himself finish that thought. He couldn’t afford the luxury of doubt now.
The replication system’s console flickered softly, casting a pale glow on Eli’s face as he input the final sequence. The naquadah reactor had been encoded perfectly, at least according to the system’s diagnostics, but part of him still couldn’t quite believe it was real. After all these weeks of near-constant work, it felt surreal to be on the verge of something so life-changing.
“Okay,” Eli muttered under his breath, rubbing his eyes as he squinted at the screen. “Moment of truth. No pressure.” His voice, hoarse from lack of sleep, echoed slightly in the empty workshop.
His stomach twisted in knots as his fingers pressed down on the final key. The system whirred to life, the faint hum growing louder as the power coursed through the machinery. Eli watched with bated breath as the replication system initiated the process, the glowing emitter pulsing in rhythmic waves, ready to produce the reactor components that would determine his fate.
His mind raced as the seconds dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. What if it doesn’t work? What if I missed something in the code? He could almost hear McKay’s sarcastic voice in his head: “Oh, sure, Eli. No big deal. Just one of the most complex pieces of tech in the universe, but yeah, you’ll figure it out on your first try, right?”
Eli smirked at the thought, shaking his head. “I’m no Carter,” he whispered to himself. “But I’ve made it this far.”
The emitter flared brighter, the soft hum rising in pitch. Slowly, before his eyes, the familiar outline of the reactor components began to materialize on the platform. Then with a bright flash, the intricate pieces of the naquadah reactor formed, control rods, energy conduits, power regulation units, each component vital to the reactor’s function, all carefully replicated from the code Eli had memorized and input into the system.
He exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. It was working.
For the first time in weeks, a genuine sense of hope flickered in Eli’s chest. He watched as the replication cycle completed, leaving a small, neatly organized pile of reactor components on the platform. His heart raced as he stepped forward, his hands trembling slightly as he picked up the first piece. It was real. Solid. Perfectly replicated.
“Unbelievable,” Eli murmured, turning the component over in his hands. He felt a mixture of relief and disbelief wash over him. It was hard to grasp that after everything… after all the struggles, the sleepless nights, the desperation… he had succeeded. This reactor, when assembled, would be the key to his survival.
Eli stood in the workshop, his hands shaking slightly as he placed the last of the replicated components into the small crate. It had taken him weeks of work, an exhausting marathon of engineering, coding, and trial-and-error.
Eli stepped back from the console, his body ached, his eyes stung from lack of sleep, but at last, he could step away, if only for a little while. A small, fleeting victory in the midst of endless chaos.
As he turned toward the door, a wave of melancholy washed over him, creeping in like a shadow as he made his way through Destiny’s dimly lit corridors. The silence of the ship was oppressive, almost haunting in its emptiness. Every step echoed through the metallic halls, a constant reminder that he was truly alone. There had been a time when these same halls had bustled with life, the voices of the crew, the sounds of daily routines, laughter, arguments, and hope. Now, there was nothing but the low hum of Destiny’s failing systems and the constant pressure to survive.
“Is this it?” Eli whispered to himself, his voice swallowed by the vast emptiness around him. The thought gnawed at him, the reality of his isolation, the knowledge that the burden of keeping the ship and himself alive rested solely on his shoulders. There was no one else. No one to share the load. It was just him, facing an unrelenting void both outside the ship and within.
When he reached his quarters, the sight of the small, untouched space brought no comfort. The bed was unmade, the table cluttered with scattered notes, scribbled diagrams, and empty ration wrappers. Eli sighed, rummaging through what little he had left in terms of food. He pulled out a protein bar, unwrapping it mechanically as he took a seat on the edge of his bed. The bar was bland, tasteless, but it was enough to quiet the gnawing hunger in his stomach. He washed it down with a few sips of water from his refillable bottle, staring blankly at the wall, his thoughts a tangled mess of plans and doubts.
As he chewed, his mind wandered back to the reactor, the replication system, the endless list of tasks that still lay ahead. Could he really pull this off? Would it be enough to keep the ship running, to keep him alive? He didn’t know. The uncertainty weighed on him like a heavy blanket, suffocating in its enormity.
Eli leaned back on his bed, his eyes drifting to the ceiling. His mind buzzed with calculations, scenarios, worst-case outcomes, but his body was too exhausted to keep up. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he allowed himself to close his eyes. The familiar grip of anxiety tugged at the edges of his consciousness, but fatigue had already begun to take over. His body sank into the mattress, and despite the gnawing thoughts in his mind, sleep crept in like a thief.
As he drifted off, an uneasy stillness settled over him. His dreams, when they came, were a jumbled mix of memories, faces of friends and crewmates, long gone but not forgotten, interspersed with images of failing systems and the vast, uncaring emptiness of space. Even in sleep, the weight of his reality pressed down on him, offering little solace.
But for now, at least, he could rest.
It had taken Eli nearly a week of grueling work to get the naquadah reactor fully assembled. His hands ached from the delicate wiring and precise construction, but as he stood back to admire the small but intricate device, a wave of cautious optimism washed over him. It looked perfect, or as close to perfect as anything could get on a ship as old and worn as Destiny. The reactor, a compact cylindrical unit about the size of a water cooler, gleamed under the dim lights of the workshop. The cables and circuits that snaked around it hummed faintly, reminding Eli just how much was riding on this single piece of equipment.
The naquadah reactor, while not powerful enough to fuel Destiny’s massive systems, could potentially power the replication system indefinitely. If it worked, it would solve one of his biggest problems, the constant drain on Destiny’s failing power grid. That lifeline would allow him to keep producing food, water, and the parts necessary to maintain life support, at least for the foreseeable future. But there was no room for error.
Eli wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and stepped back, running a hand through his messy hair. He glanced at the small console he’d set up beside the reactor, the interface showing the power output and status of the system. His heart raced as he double-checked the connections for what felt like the hundredth time. Every wire, every circuit had to be just right. If it wasn’t, the reactor could short out… or worse.
“Okay, no pressure,” Eli muttered to himself, pacing the small space of the workshop. His mind raced with the steps ahead, bringing the reactor online, monitoring the output, making sure the system didn’t overload or fry the replication system. One mistake and everything he had worked toward could be gone in an instant.
Before flipping the final switch, Eli sat down and activated the communication stones. His consciousness shot across the galaxy, disorienting him for a moment as he settled into the body of a technician at the SGC. As his vision cleared, the familiar sight of Dr. Bill Lee greeted him. Lee, as usual, looked harried and a little disorganized, shuffling through a stack of papers and schematics on his cluttered desk.
“Eli!” Dr. Lee exclaimed, his face brightening with a mixture of relief and concern. “You’re here! How’s everything going on your end?”
Eli let out a tired but determined sigh. “I think I’m ready to power up the reactor. I’ve gone over everything three times, but I just need you to double-check the final setup before I throw the switch.”
Dr. Lee nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose as he leaned over the console in front of him, his fingers flying over the keys. “Alright, let me pull up your schematics… Okay, I see it. So, you’ve got the reactor wired directly into the replication system, and you’ve installed that buffer you mentioned?”
“Yeah,” Eli said, gesturing to the modified capacitor setup that he had rigged up from the parts he’d salvaged. “It’s not much, but it should prevent any major surges when I bring the reactor online.”
Lee’s face scrunched up in concentration as he studied the schematics. “Hmm, looks solid. Just make sure to monitor the energy output during the first few minutes. The naquadah reactor will ramp up its power pretty quickly, and you’ll need to adjust the replication system’s input if it spikes too high.”
“Got it,” Eli replied, his voice steady despite the nerves gnawing at him. “So… you think I’m good to go?”
Dr. Lee nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’d say so. You’ve done an incredible job, Eli. Just remember to take it slow, don’t rush the power-up. The reactor will do the hard work, but you’ve got to keep an eye on those energy levels. And, uh… don’t blow yourself up, okay?”
Eli chuckled despite the tension in his chest. “No promises, but I’ll do my best.”
Disconnecting from the stones, Eli blinked as his consciousness snapped back into his own body. The familiar, dimly lit corridors of Destiny surrounded him once again as he made his way to the workshop. He took a deep breath, standing in front of the reactor with one hand resting on the main control panel. His heart pounded in his chest as he reached for the power switch.
“Alright, here goes nothing,” he whispered.
With a slow, deliberate motion, Eli flipped the switch. The naquadah reactor came to life with a low hum, its soft, pulsing glow steadily brightening as power surged through the wires. Eli watched intently, his heart pounding in his chest as the reactor’s energy coursed through the newly built buffer system. The faint light around the reactor flickered rhythmically, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls of the workshop. His eyes darted to the console, fingers hovering over the controls as he monitored the output levels.
The numbers on the screen climbed steadily, 50%, 65%, 80%, each tick sending a jolt of adrenaline through him. For a moment, everything held steady. No sparks. No surges. No catastrophic failures. The hum of the reactor remained smooth, its power output consistent. Eli exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
And then, in a flash of familiar light, the cycle completed leaving the test object, a small metal table in the center of the room.
Eli blinked at the brilliance of it, his pulse quickening as the buffer held firm. “It worked,” he whispered, almost afraid to believe it. His voice echoed softly in the quiet room, the words hanging in the air like a hesitant declaration of victory. He stood there for a moment, letting the realization sink in. Months of labor, sleepless nights, endless calculations, and the gnawing fear that it might all fail, it had all led to this. And it worked.
His chest swelled with a mixture of pride and relief, but also a sense of disbelief. Was this real? Could he have really just made something so powerful, something that could keep him alive? The reactor was stable, the buffer system holding, and for the first time in weeks, Destiny’s power grid wasn’t under strain.
Eli’s fingers tapped across the console as he pulled up the next part of the plan. He had already encoded something special, something simple but comforting, for this very moment. During the long weeks spent memorizing and inputting code, Carter had given him a small drive with basic pre-programmed templates for the replication system, something she thought might lift his spirits if everything worked. It was such a small thing, almost absurd given the dire circumstances. But the thought of something ordinary, something rooted in normal life, made his heart ache.
“Alright, let’s see if you can really do this,” Eli muttered, his fingers hovering over the keys. He selected the file and hit “Enter.” For a brief moment, nothing happened, and a trickle of doubt wormed its way into his mind. Maybe this was asking too much. Maybe the system wasn’t ready. Maybe…
Another flash of light filled the room, and there it was. A perfectly replicated cheeseburger, golden fries piled next to it, and a cold, sweating can of Coke sitting neatly on the platform. He hadn’t eaten real food in… how long? Too long to remember.
Eli stared at it for a second, stunned. Then, with a shaky laugh, he reached out and picked up the burger. The smell of freshly grilled meat, melted cheese, and toasted bun hit him like a wave, and for the first time in what felt like forever, his mouth watered.
“Oh my God,” Eli murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he took his first bite. The taste was everything he had hoped for and more. The savory, juicy bite of the burger, the crispy fries, it was the best thing he’d tasted in months. Maybe years. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he wolfed it down, each bite a moment of pure bliss.
The cold fizz of the Coke washed down the meal perfectly, the carbonation tingling against his tongue, refreshing in a way that water never quite managed. Eli leaned back in his chair, savoring the moment. This was more than just a meal. It was a reminder of everything he was fighting for… comfort, normalcy, the possibility of survival. He closed his eyes, letting the taste and the sensation wash over him.
For the first time in a long time, Eli felt… okay.
It wasn’t just the food. It was the fact that he had done it. He had built something that could help him survive, something that worked. The replication system was functional, the reactor was stable, and now, for the first time since he’d been left alone on Destiny, Eli allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could pull this off.
The naquadah reactor had been his best shot at keeping the replication system running, but he needed something more. Something bigger. Something to help not just take the strain off Destiny’s power grid but possibly help recharge it I the long run. He had already repurposed as much of Destiny’s systems as he could, scavenging from the shuttles and the weapons arrays, but the core systems needed far more power than he could generate on his own. He could keep the lights on, keep the food coming, but Destiny itself was slowly, inexorably, failing, primarily due to his consumption of life support systems like air and water.
Eli glanced down at the tablet in his lap, a stark reminder of how much the ship relied on him—and how much he had to figure out if he wanted to survive.
Energy distribution. Life support. Shields. Replication system. Navigation. FTL. Every piece was essential, but without a stable power source, he couldn’t guarantee any of it would last. And if any one of them failed, it wouldn’t be long before everything else followed.
His fingers hovered over the screen as he tapped into the power distribution network, pulling up a map of the ship’s energy grid. It was a mess of connections and relays, patched together from old wiring and hastily constructed power conduits. He had rerouted power from the shuttle, the weapons systems, and even the secondary life support systems to keep everything running, but it was like putting a Band-Aid over a bullet wound. The grid could only handle so much before it would overload.
“I can’t keep doing this,” Eli muttered, rubbing his tired eyes. He was barely holding it all together. The ship was on borrowed time, and he was running out of ideas.
Realizing he needed a break, Eli leaned back in his chair, the satisfaction of the replicated cheeseburger fading into the familiar heaviness of his isolation. The silence of Destiny enveloped him, the quiet hum of the ship’s ancient systems only amplifying the loneliness that had settled deep in his chest. He had been pushing himself to the limit for weeks, scrambling to keep the ship operational, piecing together technology far beyond his understanding, all while rationing food and sleep. But it wasn’t just the physical toll that was getting to him. It was the mental and emotional strain of being utterly alone, with no one to talk to, no one to share the burden.
His thoughts drifted, as they often did during these quiet moments, to his mother. He hadn’t used the communication stones to reach out to her since the crew went into stasis, she thought he was there also. At first, it had been out of necessity, there was just too much to do, too many systems on the brink of failure. But now, Eli realized, it had become something else. A reluctance. A fear, maybe. He didn’t want to tell her how bad things had gotten or that he was all alone. She was already dealing with so much, and the thought of burdening her with his struggles aboard Destiny felt like too much.
But at the same time, he needed to talk to her. He needed to hear her voice, to feel some kind of connection to the world beyond the ship’s cold, empty corridors. A connection that was more than the people at the SGC. He needed something personal. The thought of her was comforting, her warmth, her strength. Eli knew she would be encouraging, like she always was, but there was also the part of him that feared how terrified she would be if she knew the full extent of his situation. He didn’t want to worry her, but he was on the edge. He needed her more than ever.
“I have to,” he muttered to himself, standing up from his seat. “If I don’t reach out now, I’ll lose it.”
As he made his way from the workshop toward his quarters, the emptiness of the ship pressed in on him. The corridors felt longer, darker, like the ship itself was slowly winding down, reflecting the strain he felt in every part of his body. There were no voices, no footsteps, no sounds of life, just the dull hum of systems barely hanging on. The stasis pods with the rest of the crew were silent, a reminder of the isolation that had become his constant companion. Every step echoed in the empty halls, a stark contrast to the days when the ship had been full of activity, full of people.
Eli’s quarters were just as cold and dim as the rest of the ship, the faint glow of the consoles casting long shadows on the walls. Sitting on a small table were the communication stones, nestled next to the few remaining protein bars he had left, not that they mattered anymore. His last lifeline to Earth. He hesitated for a moment, staring down at the stones, feeling a wave of uncertainty wash over him. Would talking to her help, or would it just make everything harder? Would seeing the worry in her eyes make him feel even more alone out here?
He pushed those thoughts aside. He needed this. He needed to hear her voice, to feel like he wasn’t completely adrift in the vastness of space.
Taking a deep breath, Eli picked up one of the stones and placed it on the platform. The familiar wave of dizziness washed over him, and in an instant, his consciousness was pulled across the stars, tethered to Earth by the power of the stones.
When his vision cleared, Eli found himself standing in a small, sterile room at the SGC. The dim lighting and faint hum of equipment grounded him, but it was the reflection in the glass that caught his eye. The body he had swapped into stared back at him, familiar yet foreign. Broad shoulders, slightly taller than he was used to, with hands that felt just a little too large as he flexed them. He took a moment to steady himself, running a hand across his chest, feeling the unfamiliar texture of the uniform, and the subtle strength in the borrowed muscles.
His heartbeat quickened as the strangeness of it all settled in, but beneath that, there was something else, a rush of nerves, anticipation stirring deep in his gut. It wasn’t just the physical adjustment; it was the sensation of being back on Earth, even temporarily. The familiar environment of the SGC, the faint, recognizable scent of disinfectant, the quiet bustle of life beyond the door. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed this, how much he missed feeling connected to a world he hadn’t truly been a part of for what felt like a lifetime.
It had been months since Eli had last left the SGC to visit his mother, and now, sitting in the backseat of a black government vehicle, nerves gnawed at him like a restless itch. He stared out the window as the car eased through the city, the hum of the engine blending with the muffled sounds of life outside. The world passed by in vibrant hues, the soft greens of trees lining the streets, the pale blue sky dotted with clouds, the warm gold of sunlight reflecting off glass buildings. It was all so ordinary, yet it struck Eli with a kind of quiet awe. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed the simple beauty of the outside world.
The bustling city felt alive, so different from the cold, sterile atmosphere aboard Destiny. Here, people walked briskly along sidewalks, talking on phones, carrying bags, some laughing, others lost in thought. A woman with a child passed by, the toddler’s giggles breaking through the background noise, and Eli felt a pang of something he couldn’t quite name… longing, maybe. He watched as people went about their day, completely unaware of the cosmic isolation that had been his reality for so long.
The bright colors of the city, vivid billboards, the soft red brick of old buildings, even the streetlights, stood in stark contrast to the dim, monochrome corridors of Destiny. It felt surreal, almost overwhelming, like he was experiencing life again for the first time. It left him breathless, the enormity of it all weighing down on him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. He’d been so focused on surviving, on keeping Destiny afloat, that he hadn’t stopped to consider how deeply the isolation had affected him.
As the car moved steadily toward his mother’s house, Eli realized just how much he needed this. The colors, the sounds, the simple presence of other people, it grounded him in a way that was impossible aboard Destiny. It reminded him of home, of normalcy, of the world that still existed beyond the stars. He had forgotten what it felt like to be part of it, even for just a fleeting moment. His nerves didn’t settle, but they shifted, transforming into a strange blend of excitement and nostalgia as the familiar streets of his old neighborhood came into view.
As the car slowed to a stop in front of his mother’s house, a surge of mixed emotions washed over Eli, fear and excitement tangled together in his chest. The sight of the familiar house, with its weathered brick and the small garden his mom tended to so carefully, filled him with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. His heart pounded in his chest, but before he could second-guess himself, he opened the door and stepped out.
The cool breeze hit his face, grounding him in the present. Without hesitating, Eli made his way up the front steps, each one feeling heavier than the last as anticipation coursed through him. When he reached the door, he paused for the briefest of moments, taking in the house that had once been his safe haven. Then, with a deep breath to steady his nerves, he pressed the doorbell, the familiar chime echoing through the walls, signaling his return.
The door opened, and there she was… his mother. The sight of her made Eli’s heart clench in his chest. She looked tired, worn from the weight of her own struggles, but her face lit up the moment she saw him.
“Eli! They called and said you were on the way over!” she said, rushing over to him with a mixture of joy and relief. She wrapped him in a tight hug, and for a moment, Eli let himself relax into her embrace, feeling the warmth of her presence seep into him. “I’ve been so worried about you. Are you okay? You look exhausted.”
Eli swallowed, trying to keep his emotions in check. “Yeah, Mom, I’m… I’m okay,” he said, forcing a smile as he pulled back to look at her. “Just been busy, you know, keeping the ship running and all that. It’s been… rough.”
Leaning back from the hug her eyes searched his face, and Eli could see the worry in them. She wasn’t fooled by his casual tone. “You’re not sleeping enough,” she said softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. “You’re pushing yourself too hard, Eli.”
She let go of him, guiding him inside with a warm smile. As they reached the kitchen, she gestured for him to sit while she busied herself preparing something to eat. Eli sank into the chair, grateful for the familiar comfort of home.
He sighed, feeling the weight of her concern settle on him. “I have to, Mom. There’s no one else. If I don’t keep going, Destiny won’t make it… and neither will I.” He tried to keep his voice light, but the truth was too heavy to ignore.
She frowned, her expression pained, but there was understanding there too. “I know you’re doing everything you can, Eli. But you’re not alone, okay? You’ve got people back here who care about you. You’ve got me.”
Her words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, Eli felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He blinked them away, not wanting to show how close to the edge he really was. “I know,” he said quietly. “I just… I needed to hear your voice. I needed to see you.”
His mother smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “I’m always here, Eli. No matter how far away you are, I’m always with you.”
Eli nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Thanks, Mom. That… that means a lot.”
They sat together for a while, the conversation weaving in and out of topics, his mother’s health, her latest treatments, the medications she was on. Eli listened carefully as she spoke about how the doctors had adjusted her regimen again, how some days were harder than others. He could see the fatigue in her eyes, but also the resilience that had always made her seem larger than life to him.
“Don’t worry about me, Eli,” she said, smiling softly. “I’m doing okay. I’m stronger than I look.”
“I know, Mom,” Eli replied, forcing a smile. He reached across the table to give her hand a quick squeeze. “You’ve always been the toughest person I know.”
She waved him off playfully, shifting the conversation. “Enough about that… how about you? You’re the one on some ancient spaceship, doing the impossible. I’ve been reading the books you sent over the last time. Can’t believe I got hooked on that sci-fi stuff again!”
Eli chuckled, relieved to have the conversation move toward lighter things. “Yeah, travelling thru a Stargate is one thing, but getting you into Star Wars? That’s a victory.”
She laughed, the sound filling the small kitchen like a warm breeze. “Hey, don’t get cocky, I’m still working my way through those Clone Wars episodes. Can’t keep up with all those force users.”
Eli leaned back, feeling a strange sense of comfort wash over him. “You’ll get there, I believe in you. And, trust me, you’ll thank me once you finish it.”
They spent the next few minutes casually discussing the shows she had gotten into, Eli savoring each moment of normalcy. They joked about the characters she loved and hated, and he filled her in on all the little things she had missed in the series. For just a little while, it was like everything was back to normal. Eli could almost forget about Destiny, about the cold corridors and the endless silence.
But the weight of reality was always there, hanging in the back of his mind.
“Anyway,” Eli said after a pause, clearing his throat, “what about those books I had sent to you? You’ve been keeping up with those too?”
His mother smiled warmly, sensing the shift in the conversation but going along with it. “Of course. You think I’d let them just sit on the shelf?”
Eli grinned, but deep down, he felt the pull of Destiny. He knew that soon enough, he’d have to go back. But for now, he let himself be absorbed in the small talk, holding onto this moment with his mother for as long as he could.
But for now, this was enough.
Chapter 3: Power Solutions
As Eli swallowed another mouthful of the bland stew, the quiet of the room seemed to close in around him, thick and oppressive. The faint hum of Destiny’s systems, once a constant background noise, now felt more like a low, ominous reminder of the ship’s fragility. It was as if the entire vessel was holding its breath, waiting for the moment when everything would finally fail. Eli felt the weight of it pressing down on his chest, the silence amplifying the heaviness of his thoughts, the isolation gnawing at the edges of his resolve.
“I need more power… I need something,” he muttered to himself, the words sounding hollow as they echoed in the empty space. They were the same thoughts that had been running through his mind for weeks, maybe months, but now they seemed to carry more weight, more urgency. Destiny’s power grid was teetering on the brink, the bare minimum keeping life support, artificial gravity, and the stasis pods operational. Each system was hanging by a thread, and Eli had done everything he could to keep them running, patching up power relays, rerouting energy, creating stopgap solutions just to buy time.
But time was running out. It always felt like it was slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he worked, no matter how many late nights he spent crawling through conduits, replacing fried wires, or rebuilding power converters. The ship was dying, and Eli couldn’t shake the growing sense of desperation that came with that realization. If he didn’t find a real solution soon, Destiny wouldn’t make it. And neither would he.
He stared down at the spoon in his hand, the dull metal reflecting the dim lights of the room. The stew in the bowl had cooled, congealing slightly at the edges, but Eli didn’t notice. His mind was elsewhere, the exhaustion of the day pulling at him, dragging him into a fog of hopelessness.
And then, suddenly, a thought jolted through him like a spark of electricity. What if he built a network of naquadah reactors?
The idea hit him so suddenly that it almost startled him, and for a moment, Eli just sat there, his hand frozen mid-motion with the spoon halfway to his mouth. A network of reactors… multiple, smaller reactors, each strategically placed throughout Destiny, each one powering a different system. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The ship’s central power grid was overburdened, but if he could decentralize it… distribute the load across several reactors, he might finally give Destiny the relief it needed. The strain on the ship’s core systems would ease, and maybe, just maybe, the ship could hold together long enough to see them through the journey.
The more he thought about it, the more the idea started to take shape, solidifying in his mind like a blueprint. It wasn’t just a fleeting thought anymore, it was a plan, something real, something tangible. Eli could almost see the network in his mind: reactors scattered throughout the ship, each one dedicated to a specific system. Life support could be powered by one, the stasis pods by another, artificial gravity by a third. It would spread the energy consumption evenly, reducing the risk of overloads and extending the life of the ship’s critical systems.
He pushed the bowl aside, his heart racing with excitement, the fatigue momentarily forgotten. This could work. No… it would work. With enough reactors, Destiny’s systems wouldn’t just limp along… they could start to recharge. The ship could stabilize, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Eli could see a path forward.
He stood up, his mind buzzing with possibilities, his pulse quickening as the scope of the project unfolded before him. The reactors would take time to build, weeks, maybe even months, but Eli felt a flicker of hope ignite in his chest. A real solution. A way to save the ship. He could stabilize Destiny, keep the systems running, and buy them the time they needed to finish the mission, to survive.
For the first time in days, maybe weeks, Eli felt something beyond survival… he felt hope.
The trick, though, would be keeping everything balanced. Eli’s mind raced, the possibilities swirling around him like the circuitry diagrams he had memorized a thousand times. Overloading Destiny’s power grid was a very real risk, and with the ship already teetering on the edge, one wrong connection could send the whole system crashing down. It would be a delicate balance, distributing power from the new naquadah reactors to the secondary systems without causing a surge that would fry what little was left of the ship’s ancient wiring.
He ran a hand through his messy hair, pacing the room as the gravity of the situation weighed on him. But Eli knew the ship. He had spent months, almost two years now, learning every inch of it, fixing every broken conduit, memorizing every output fluctuation. He had become an expert in Destiny’s failings, in its fragile power grid, and more importantly, he knew the math. If there was one thing Eli could count on, it was his ability to figure out the numbers.
This was it; he saw a path forward, a real, tangible plan. It wouldn’t be easy, and the odds were still stacked against him, but this was something he could do. A sense of purpose surged through him, sweeping away the bone-deep exhaustion that had weighed him down for days, weeks even. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. It wasn’t just about keeping the ship limping along, hoping he’d make it another day. This was a chance to fight back, to reclaim control, to stop the slow, inevitable decline of Destiny’s systems.
“If I can just tie the reactors into the lesser systems, it might work,” Eli muttered to himself, the gears in his mind turning rapidly. His thoughts ran through the possibilities like a checklist. “Life support first, maybe heating. Those are crucial. But if I can offload the inertial dampeners and artificial gravity too… even the lighting and the internal sensors… I can free up Destiny’s main power grid for the important stuff. Like getting us across this damn expanse and keeping the stasis system running.”
He paused, staring out into the dim glow of the ship’s corridor, as if he could almost see the future unfolding before him. His heart raced with excitement, the weariness and isolation fading in the face of this newfound possibility. This could work. It had to work. The ship’s main power reserves were dwindling, and Destiny couldn’t refuel the way it was supposed to out here in the expanse. If he could relieve some of the pressure, the ship might stabilize. It might even start to recharge, slowly, incrementally, but enough to keep them going.
The thought ignited a spark of determination inside him, something he hadn’t felt in what seemed like an eternity. This was more than just holding on. This was hope.
It wouldn’t be easy, though. Eli’s mind ran through the steps, he’d need to replicate more parts, more components for the reactors. That meant using the stones more frequently to gather and memorize the complex molecular coding for each new piece of technology. It would take weeks, possibly months to get everything up and running, and that was if everything went smoothly. There were still a thousand things that could go wrong, system malfunctions, unforeseen overloads, damaged wiring he hadn’t yet uncovered. But if he could pull it off, it would solve his biggest problem: power.
His hands trembled slightly as the weight of the challenge settled over him, but for the first time in a long while, Eli felt alive. He needed this. He needed to do something, to build something that wasn’t just a stopgap, a temporary fix in the face of an inevitable collapse. This plan… this idea, could be the key to everything. It could give them a real chance to survive.
His heart pounded in his chest as he turned back to the console, fingers already moving across the controls to begin mapping out the next steps. He would need to prioritize, start with the reactors for life support, then move on to the auxiliary systems. One at a time, methodically, carefully. It would be slow going, but he could do it. He had to. There was no other choice.
“First things first,” he murmured, mentally listing out what he’d need. “More reactors. A lot more reactors.”
“I can do this,” he said aloud, the words more for himself than anything else. “One step at a time.”
Eli strode over to the communication stone, hesitating for only a moment before activating it. He knew time was precious, and every second he spent here meant Destiny was inching closer to failure. But he also knew he couldn’t do this alone. Not anymore.
In the blink of an eye, his surroundings shifted from the cold, silent corridors of Destiny to the bustling, sterile environment of the SGC. The stark contrast hit him hard, as it always did. The hum of machinery, the low murmur of voices, the sharp brightness of the lab lights… it was overwhelming. For a brief second, Eli closed his eyes, steadying himself. It felt strange to be here again, in a body that wasn’t his own, surrounded by people who had no idea what it was like to live in the solitude of space.
When he opened his eyes, Dr. Bill Lee was already waiting, tablet in hand, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. And, there was McKay, impatient as ever, standing with his arms crossed, eyes flicking between Eli and the data he was reviewing on his own device.
“You’re back,” McKay said, his tone a blend of impatience and surprise. “What’s it been? Three weeks? Four? Not that I’m counting.”
Eli gave him a weak smile. “Yeah, I needed some time to, you know, not die.”
“Understandable,” McKay quipped. “But let’s cut to the chase, shall we? What do you need this time? More duct tape for your makeshift reactor? I have been pulled away from very important work of my own, ya know. Not that you don’t need help… that is to say…” his stammer trailing off.
Eli sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Actually, I’m doing pretty well in the duct tape department. But I need more than just a quick fix this time. I’ve got one reactor up and running, and it’s powering the replication system, but I need more. A lot more. And I need a way to distribute the power without frying Destiny’s entire grid.”
McKay raised an eyebrow, glancing at Dr. Lee, who simply nodded for Eli to continue.
“Okay,” Eli continued, pacing slightly as he spoke, “I’ve been thinking. If I can build more naquadah reactors and set them up throughout the ship, I can relieve the pressure on Destiny’s core systems. Life support, artificial gravity, even some of the secondary systems, they’re all running off the same power reserves, and it’s killing the ship. Literally. The energy drain is too much.”
McKay’s sarcasm faded, and he regarded Eli with a more serious expression. “So, you’re planning to create a grid of reactors to stabilize the power flow.”
“Exactly,” Eli said, his voice picking up pace. “But I need to be careful. If I overload the grid, I could shut down essential systems, life support, the stasis pods, maybe even the FTL drives. I’ve managed to build one reactor, but I need help refining the design. And I need to memorize the molecular codes for better tools, new clothes… and, honestly, a new laptop wouldn’t hurt either.”
Dr. Lee spoke up, his voice calm but thoughtful. “We’ve been working on some advanced templates for materials, clothing, electronics, that sort of thing. You’ll need to memorize the codes, but once you have them, the replication system should be able to handle it. And as for the reactors, I’ll make sure you get the latest research from the Pegasus mission. It should help you improve the efficiency of the power distribution network.”
McKay, ever the skeptic, raised a hand. “Just to be clear, Eli, you’re walking a tightrope here. Even with more reactors, you’re working with ancient technology that wasn’t designed to handle this kind of patchwork solution. One wrong connection, one power surge, and you could overload half the ship. Best case scenario: you lose a few systems. Worst case? You turn Destiny into a glowing ball of scrap.”
Eli’s stomach churned at the thought, but he nodded. “I know the risks. But I don’t have a choice. Destiny is barely holding on as it is. If I don’t do something, the ship… and everyone on it… is going to die.”
McKay studied him for a moment, then let out a reluctant sigh. “Alright. Fine. But just so we’re clear, if you blow yourself up, I’m not going to be the one who explains it to your mother.”
Eli chuckled despite himself. “I appreciate that, Rodney. Really.”
As Eli, McKay, and Dr. Lee huddled over the holographic display, the lab door slid open with a soft hiss. Dr. Radek Zelenka strode in, a tablet tucked under his arm, eyes scanning the room before landing on McKay.
“Well, this must be important,” Zelenka said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“What is it this time, Rodney? Still trying to blow up the universe?”
McKay looked up from the display, his expression a mixture of annoyance and mock indignation. “Oh, Radek, perfect timing. I was just about to explain how not to blow up an ancient starship, so try to keep up, okay?”
Zelenka raised an eyebrow but stepped forward, peering over Eli’s shoulder at the schematics. “Ah, Destiny, of course. I take it you’re working on some new naquadah reactor project?”
Eli nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah, we’ve been going over the stability issues and power modulation for the reactors. I’m trying to distribute the load across the ship’s systems without overloading the grid.”
Dr. Lee chimed in, holding his tablet closer to Eli. “We’ve been focusing on phase variance, how to balance the energy output without causing feedback into the older systems. The conduits can’t handle too much power at once, or they’ll fry.”
McKay, never one to let anyone else take the spotlight for long, cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, phase variance is crucial, but what’s really important here is the fine balance of harmonics between the reactors. If the output from one of them is even slightly out of sync, you’re looking at a complete destabilization. The whole ship could go dark.”
Radek leaned in, tapping on the holographic display to highlight a few key circuits. “And that’s where careful modulation comes in. You’ll need to stagger the reactors’ energy input, distributing it in phases, not just dumping all the power into the grid at once. Otherwise, you’ll cause a feedback loop, and, well… boom.”
Eli winced at the word. “Yeah, I’d like to avoid ‘boom.’”
McKay waved dismissively, eyes sharp on the data. “That’s why I’m here, Eli. To make sure you don’t screw this up. Lee’s good, but sometimes I wonder how he hasn’t electrocuted himself by now.”
Lee frowned but didn’t protest, instead pointing to another section of the schematic. “We’ve added extra fail safes in the reactor’s construction, redundant power regulators, reinforced fuses. You won’t be running into the same issues as the first models. This new setup should handle the load much better.”
Zelenka nodded thoughtfully. “Still, we need to consider the ship’s age. Even with these improvements, Destiny’s systems weren’t built to handle naquadah reactors. There will be strain, and if you push them too hard… well, let’s just say, you’ll need to be ready to repair things quickly.”
Eli rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the weight of their words. “What about the feedback I’ve been getting on the energy regulators? Every time I bring a reactor online, something short-circuits in the secondary systems. Is that just a problem with the age of the ship, or am I missing something?”
McKay scoffed, leaning over to scrutinize the data Eli had brought up on his tablet. “The problem, Eli, is that you’re dealing with a ship that’s ancient even by Ancient standards. The systems were never meant to integrate with this kind of power source. You need to modulate the power flow better. Zelenka’s right, staggering the reactors is the way to go, but you’ll also need to reprogram the energy converters to handle intermittent surges. Otherwise, you’re going to keep frying circuits every time you boost power.”
Zelenka gestured to a specific part of the schematic. “See here? This is where your power bottlenecks could happen. If you rewire these relays and integrate a bypass into the conduits, you’ll prevent the worst of the overloads.”
McKay cut in, his voice sharp but focused. “And don’t forget the phase variance! That’s the key to syncing the reactors without causing harmonic interference. One wrong connection, and you’ll not only lose power, you might blow a hole in the side of the ship.”
Eli nodded, taking mental notes as fast as he could, though his mind was buzzing with the sheer complexity of it all. Every fix seemed to lead to another potential problem, another failure point he hadn’t considered. “Okay, so I stagger the reactors, modulate the power flow, rewire the relays, and reprogram the energy converters. Easy, right?”
Dr. Lee chuckled, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, Eli. You’ve already done most of the hard work. You just need to fine-tune a few things.”
McKay, never one to let a moment of encouragement go unchecked, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Fine-tune? He’s rebuilding half the ship! And we haven’t even started talking about the quantum phase oscillators yet.”
Zelenka gave McKay a sideways glance. “I’m sure Eli can handle it. He’s been doing this for months now.”
McKay grunted. “Well, let’s hope he doesn’t end up like Lee and blow a fuse.”
Lee rolled his eyes, but Eli couldn’t help but smile. Despite McKay’s constant needling, there was a strange comfort in the banter. It reminded him that he wasn’t alone in this, that he had a team behind him, even if they were light-years away most of the time.
By the time they had finished reviewing the schematics and coding, Eli’s mind was buzzing with information. He had memorized everything he needed: the molecular codes for tools and new tech, the schematics for more efficient reactors, and the adjustments he needed to make to Destiny’s power grid. But there was still a lingering doubt, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that reminded him just how high the stakes were.
As they wrapped up, Eli glanced at McKay, his voice quieter than before. “Thanks for the help, Rodney. I mean it. I couldn’t do this without you guys.”
McKay waved him off, though there was a flicker of something more genuine in his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go blowing yourself up. We’re running low on geniuses.”
Rodney busied himself, gathering his things, a tablet here, a stack of schematics there, his movements quick and efficient, as if trying to hide any trace of sentiment. He stuffed a few data drives into his bag, muttering under his breath about schedules and Pegasus expeditions. Despite his usual brusque demeanor, there was something in the way McKay moved that made Eli realize just how much the scientist was invested in his survival as he left the lab.
Zelenka and Lee exchanged glances, and for a moment, made dismissive faces at Rodney as he left.
Eli smiled, feeling a small spark of hope flicker inside him. He was still alone, still facing the impossible. But now, armed with the knowledge he had gained, maybe… just maybe… he could pull this off.
As Eli stood up from the workstation, he glanced at the clock. Time was slipping away, and he knew he had to return to Destiny. But before he left, he turned to Dr. Lee and Dr. Zelenka, who were still going over the latest power distribution models.
“Hey,” Eli began, his voice softer than usual. “I just wanted to say thanks… for everything. I couldn’t have gotten this far without your help.”
Dr. Lee looked up, offering a warm smile. “Don’t mention it, Eli. You’re doing all the hard work out there. We’re just here to make sure you have the tools to keep going.”
Dr. Zelenka gave a small nod, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “Just be careful, Eli. The reactors you’re working with are… delicate. One wrong move, and it could cause a cascade failure through the entire system.”
“Yeah, I know,” Eli said, his mind already running through the steps he’d need to take once he was back on Destiny. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
Dr. Zelenka gave him a brief, but genuine smile. “Good luck, Eli. We’ll be here if you need us.”
Dr. Lee, always the more optimistic of the group, waved as Eli moved toward the communication stone. “Don’t worry, we’re rooting for you. Just remember, you’ve got backup whenever you need it.”
Eli nodded, taking a deep breath before stepping up to the platform. “Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it. Take care.”
With that, he deactivated the communication stone, feeling the familiar rush as the room around him blurred. The sensation of being pulled back to Destiny was still disorienting, but by now, Eli had grown accustomed to it.
When his vision cleared, the cold, quiet walls of Destiny greeted him once again, the hum of the ship’s failing systems the only sound in the vast emptiness.
Back to work
The next few weeks blurred together as Eli memorized the data. Lines of molecular code, diagrams, and formulas flashed before his eyes, each one imprinting itself in his mind. Then returning to the ship to encode that data into his system. It was relentless and overwhelming, but Eli pushed through the exhaustion. He had to. Destiny’s, and his own, survival depended on it.
When the sessions were over, Eli returned to Destiny, his mind buzzing with the new information. He wasted no time getting to work. First, he programmed the replication system to produce more tools. He needed better equipment if he was going to build more reactors and tie them into the ship’s systems.
As the replicated tools materialized before him, Eli let out a breath of relief. This was progress. Real progress.
Next, he moved on to clothing. His shirt was getting tattered and fraying around the edges, and he couldn’t afford to lose any more resources to wear and tear. He input the code for basic clothing, nothing fancy, just a few pairs of jeans, some tee-shirts, socks, underwear, and finally some new shoes.
As the clothing replicated, he took them and showered off before donning fresh clean clothes, Eli felt a small sense of normalcy return. It was strange how something as simple as clean clothes could make him feel more human, even in the middle of a vast, silent ship drifting through the void. He put on a new shirt, appreciating the softness of the fabric against his skin. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
With that taken care of, Eli turned his focus to the real challenge: replicating more naquadah reactors. He needed enough to distribute power across the ship, keeping essential systems running and allowing Destiny to remain stable long enough for the crew to wake up. He pulled up the schematic for the reactor he’d previously encoded to the database and began replicating the components he needed.
Each reactor took time to build, longer than Eli would have liked, but every step in the process felt deliberate, necessary. The replication system hummed softly, like the ship itself was cooperating for once, as it produced each delicate component with precision: power converters, conduits, control rods, energy regulators. Eli’s fingers moved over the control panel with practiced ease, his mind already a step ahead as he adjusted settings, ensuring the system ran smoothly. He had grown intimately familiar with this process, each beep and whir of the replication machine becoming a kind of rhythm that guided him through the endless days.
Months had passed since Eli first conceived the idea of a network of naquadah reactors. Those months were grueling in every sense of the word. The distinction between day and night had long since blurred aboard Destiny, and the concept of a “full night’s sleep” had become a distant memory. Sleep came in short, stolen bursts, an hour here, maybe two there, if he was lucky. More often than not, Eli would close his eyes in exhaustion only to be awakened by the ship’s alarms, signaling another system failure that required his immediate attention. It felt like a never-ending cycle, and the only consistency was his desperation to keep himself and Destiny alive.
Despite the monotony, food was his only true respite. His only escape, albeit brief, from the otherwise relentless grind of survival. He’d often stare at his plate, not really tasting anything, but focusing instead on what needed fixing next. Still, those moments of stillness, however fleeting, were the closest he got to feeling human in the cold, vast emptiness of space.
Yet, Eli pushed through it all. Each day was its own battle, a fight against the deep exhaustion that settled in his bones, against the crushing loneliness that seemed to grow louder in the silence of the ship. And then there was the constant pressure of knowing that if he failed, not just his life, but the lives of the entire crew, would be lost. The weight of that responsibility was always with him, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, even in his brief moments of rest. But he didn’t give up. He couldn’t. There was too much at stake.
Now, standing in the dim workshop he had carved out of the ship’s forgotten spaces, Eli finally saw the fruits of his labor. The first group of naquadah reactors sat before him on the floor, their sleek, compact design a stark contrast to the aging, worn-out technology that surrounded them. Each was so small, so unassuming, yet the potential power they held within was staggering. It was efficient… a marvel of human ingenuity and adaptability, designed to keep running far longer than anything else aboard Destiny. Eli stared at it for a long moment, letting the reality sink in.
As Eli stood before the reactors, his heart pounded in his chest, but it wasn’t just from exhaustion this time. His hands, still smeared with grease and grime from hours of work, trembled slightly as he wiped them on his worn shirt. For a brief moment, something he hadn’t felt in months flickered inside him: pride.
The first reactor hummed quietly, its faint glow casting shadows across the dimly lit workshop. This wasn’t just a piece of machinery cobbled together from Destiny’s remnants, it was a lifeline, the difference between survival and death. Eli had spent months living in the shadows of doubt, second-guessing every decision, every repair. But now, as he stared at the compact device, the weight of those doubts lifted just a little.
This creation, his creation, could be the key to saving Destiny. The ship had been dying a slow death for months, held together by makeshift repairs, constant rerouting of power, and his sheer determination. Every day had been a battle against time, systems failing faster than he could fix them. But now, standing here in the quiet aftermath of his latest success, Eli allowed himself a small smile.
He had built this. From scratch. After everything that had gone wrong, after all the setbacks and failures, this was something tangible, something that worked. For the first time in what felt like forever, the crushing weight of responsibility felt a little lighter.
He had learned so much over the past months… months of relentless tinkering, studying, and trial-and-error. Eli could still hear Dr. Lee’s voice in his head, offering bits of advice through the long-distance communication stones, often tinged with Lee’s nervous humor.
“Remember, Eli, naquadah reactors are delicate. One wrong modulation, and… boom!” Dr. Lee had waved his hands in a mock explosion, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
Eli had laughed at the time, but those words stuck with him. The reactor wasn’t just some convenient fix; it was a complex, volatile piece of technology. There had been so many setbacks along the way, days when he couldn’t get a reading to stabilize, or when a simple power fluctuation nearly brought down half of Destiny’s systems.
The ship’s ancient systems weren’t built to handle the kind of energy output Eli was introducing. He had nearly collapsed Destiny’s entire grid more than once, overestimating what it could take. After each failure, Eli would hear Dr. Lee’s voice in his head again, reminding him to take a step back, reassess, and tweak the process with patience.
“Just breathe, Eli,” Dr. Lee had said during one of their more difficult consultations. “You’re doing great. It’s like riding a bike, except, you know, if the bike could blow up at any second. But you’re getting there.”
The words were reassuring, but Eli had still faced day after day of setbacks. Sometimes the power wouldn’t flow correctly, and other times the makeshift connections he rigged would burn out, leaving him scrambling to isolate the damage. It had been exhausting… physically and mentally.
Eli allowed himself a small grin. The setbacks, the frustrations, the near disasters, all of it had led to this moment. He wasn’t just surviving anymore. He was rebuilding, piece by piece.
Eli leaned down, his fingers tracing the edges of the device, feeling the cool metal beneath his fingertips. The naquadah inside was potent, raw, and packed with enough energy to keep a section of the ship running for years. The thought made his pulse quicken. This was it. He could start making real changes now.
But Eli was cautious. He knew Destiny was fragile, especially its stasis pods, and any miscalculation could result in catastrophic failure. There was no way he could risk tying the reactors into the stasis systems… not yet. Those pods housed his friends, his crew, and he couldn’t bear the thought of something going wrong and losing them forever. Instead, he focused on the secondary systems, the ones that were critical but not tied directly to the lives of those still sleeping aboard the ship.
The first step was life support. The strain on Destiny’s grid from keeping the air breathable and the temperature regulated was immense. Eli knew this was where he had to start; without life support, everything else would be irrelevant. He pulled out his toolkit, made his way to an access and crouched down into one of the cramped service tunnels, the low hum of Destiny’s aging systems in the background. The air was thick, stifling, and the heat from the ship’s struggling energy distribution made the task even more unbearable.
Eli began rerouting power from the ship’s central systems to the newly built naquadah reactor power grid, carefully removing the old wiring and replacing it with newer, sturdier conduits he’d replicated. The walls felt like they were closing in on him as he crawled through a narrow service shaft, hands slick with sweat as he spliced cables together, reinforcing connections wherever he could. Every wire he touched was critical. One wrong move, and he could short the entire system, or worse, fry the reactor grid he’d worked so hard to build.
His hands shook as he stripped the insulation from the last cable, the copper gleaming faintly in the dim light. He connected it to the reactor’s power distribution node, carefully tightening the connections before reaching for his handheld monitor to check the power levels. The reactor grid was online, its hum vibrating through the floor beneath him. Eli wiped the sweat from his brow, squinting at the readouts. Everything seemed fine.
Then the lights flickered violently.
For a heart-stopping moment, Eli thought he had screwed up. His stomach dropped, his hands frozen over the reactor’s control panel. The lights dimmed, then went out entirely in the section of the ship he was working in. The temperature around him immediately spiked, the already stifling air becoming thick and oppressive. The overhead power conduit that should have been handling the rerouted energy let out a faint hiss, followed by a series of unsettling pops and sparks from the wiring embedded in the wall.
“Damn it,” Eli muttered under his breath, heart pounding in his chest. He scrambled out of the maintenance tunnel and over to the panel, pulling it away to reveal the damage. Sure enough, the brittle, ancient wires running through the wall had burned out, blackened and melted in some places. Destiny’s systems were simply too old, too delicate to handle the sudden surge of power from the reactors.
He cursed again, more loudly this time. This was going to set him back hours. Maybe longer. But he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t risk running life support off the damaged circuits, it would only cause a bigger failure down the line. Grabbing a pair of wire cutters, Eli carefully severed the burnt-out sections of the wiring, tossing the ruined strands aside before reaching for replacements.
The repair process was tedious. Each wire had to be stripped, soldered, and insulated, then carefully reconnected to the main power grid. Eli’s arms ached from the awkward angles, and his hands were slick with sweat and grime. The confined space around him offered little room to maneuver, and he found himself swearing under his breath every time he had to stop and adjust his position.
At one point, a particularly stubborn conduit refused to budge, and it took Eli nearly half an hour of prying with a rusted-out crowbar just to free it from the wall. His muscles screamed in protest, and his fingers throbbed from the constant strain of gripping tools in the tight quarters. But he couldn’t stop. He didn’t have time to stop.
Finally, after hours of grueling work, Eli replaced the last damaged section of wiring, securing it in place with a reinforced conduit. He wiped his hands on his now filthy new pants, then crawled back toward the reactor, fingers trembling as he reached for the controls. He wasn’t sure if he could take another failure. The pressure weighed on him like a lead weight, pressing down on his chest with every breath.
With a deep breath, Eli flipped the switch again.
At first, nothing happened. The corridor remained dark, the temperature still oppressive. But then, slowly, the reactor began to hum louder, feeding energy into the newly repaired circuits. The lights flickered, but this time, they held. The air around him gradually cooled, and the stale, metallic scent of Destiny’s aging systems was replaced by the faint, clean smell of fresh oxygen being circulated through the vents.
Eli checked his handheld monitor, heart pounding in his ears. The reactor grid for the life support system was holding steady. The energy flow was stable. He exhaled a shaky breath, barely able to believe it. For the first time in months, Destiny’s life support wasn’t pulling from its depleted reserves to keep him alive. The reactor grid was powering the system on its own.
He let out a breathless laugh, leaning back against the wall, his body finally relaxing after hours of tension. It had worked.
But the victory was bittersweet. Eli knew this was just the first step. There were still countless other systems that needed power, and the wiring throughout the ship was a ticking time bomb. Each new reactor he installed would bring its own set of challenges, its own potential for disaster. And the biggest problem still loomed ahead, the stasis pods, where the rest of the crew lay sleeping. He couldn’t afford a single mistake when it came to them.
But for now, he allowed himself a moment of relief. One small step forward in an endless, impossible journey.
Eli sat there, exhausted but smiling, as the quiet hum of life support filled the air around him.
The next few weeks blurred together, Eli expanded the network, each day consumed by the endless cycle of installing reactors, monitoring power levels, and troubleshooting the inevitable problems that arose when Destiny’s ancient wiring buckled under the strain. He replicated more reactors, placing them strategically throughout the ship. Each reactor was connected to a different subsystem, artificial gravity, communications, lighting, and the long-range sensors. Bit by bit, he was offloading the strain from Destiny’s failing core systems onto the new reactors, and it was working.
Every time Eli powered up a new naquadah reactor, it felt like a hard-won victory, a small triumph in the face of overwhelming odds. But those moments of success were always fleeting. As soon as the reactor came online, alarms would blare, filling the ship with their insistent warnings. Something deep within Destiny’s labyrinthine systems had shorted out or burned through under the strain. It was like clockwork, and no matter how much he prepared, the ship’s ancient infrastructure seemed to rebel against the new power sources.
His days blurred together into a grueling routine. Eli would crawl through narrow maintenance shafts, barely wide enough to move in, his body twisted in awkward angles as he tried to navigate the cramped spaces. His hands, raw and blistered from constant work, trembled as he replaced fried conduits, patched up frayed wires, and rerouted power away from circuits that had failed. Each section of the ship felt like a ticking time bomb, waiting for the next overload. He’d often lose hours inside the maze of corridors, each path winding deeper into Destiny’s bowels, where the hum of the reactors was faint and distant, almost drowned out by the ship’s creaks and groans.
The ship itself was becoming a patchwork of ancient and modern technology, barely holding together. The old systems, designed millennia ago by the Ancients, weren’t meant to handle the energy surges from the reactors Eli had installed. Each time he integrated a new system, it felt like trying to patch a sinking ship with whatever materials he could scavenge. The delicate balance between Destiny’s decaying infrastructure and the newer systems Eli was trying to integrate made the work all the more maddening.
It was exhausting, both physically and mentally. His arms ached from crawling through tight spaces, and his fingers were constantly blackened with soot and grime from the burnt-out wiring. Often, Eli found himself backtracking, tearing apart sections he had only just repaired the day before. Each new failure forced him to retrace his steps, working meticulously to locate the source of the problem before everything spiraled out of control.
But he was learning. Slowly, through trial and error, Eli began to anticipate where the next burnout would occur. The brittle, ancient wiring that looked stable at first glance would fail under the pressure of the reactor’s energy. So, Eli adapted. He began reinforcing those vulnerable sections before even bringing the reactors online.
He replicated all the parts he needed. He built himself a small stockpile of spare fuses, relays, and power regulators, all carefully organized and ready for the next emergency. Each part had to be meticulously checked, as any small error could lead to catastrophic failure.
The constant setbacks were disheartening, but Eli’s determination kept him going. With each reactor that held steady, with each system that stayed online just a little longer, the ship felt a little less fragile. The work was far from over, but each small victory gave him the strength to keep pushing forward. He had no choice. Destiny needed him, and he wasn’t about to let the ship… or its crew… down.
The worst part was knowing that each repair was temporary. The ancient circuits simply weren’t designed to handle the raw power output of the naquadah reactors. It was like trying to pour a river through a garden hose, eventually, something had to give.
Still, Eli pushed through. He had no other choice. Every reactor he brought online lightened the load on Destiny’s dwindling energy reserves, buying the ship just a little more time. But it was slow going and he barely slept, stealing short bursts of rest between reactor installations, his mind constantly racing with the next problem to solve. He ate quickly, meals of replicated pizza or salads and water or tea gulped down in minutes before he was back at it, splicing wires, reinforcing circuits, and running simulations to test the power flow.
It took him nearly a month to bring the life support system fully online with the naquadah reactor grid. Three reactors were dedicated solely to keeping the air breathable and the ship’s temperature regulated, their power output carefully modulated to avoid overloading the fragile conduits and spread out across various sections of the systems. Even then, the reactors ran at reduced capacity, and Eli had to monitor them constantly, ready to shut them down at the first sign of trouble.
After life support, he moved on to the artificial gravity system. It was another energy intensive function that had been draining Destiny’s reserves, and Eli knew that diverting it to the reactors would free up more power for other systems. But like with life support, the wiring couldn’t handle the load all at once. He had to ease the reactors into the grid slowly, section by section, recalibrating the energy flow and rerouting circuits to prevent overloads. Each time the system flickered, or the power readings spiked, Eli felt his heart skip a beat, but slowly, painstakingly, the artificial gravity stabilized.
Over the months, Destiny itself began to change. The constant alarms that had haunted Eli for so long became less frequent. The flickering lights, once a constant reminder of the ship’s decaying state, steadied as more reactors took over the load. The temperature evened out, and the cold drafts that had swept through the corridors gradually disappeared.
The ship, while still ancient and worn, felt… calmer. Steadier.
But even as he made progress, Eli couldn’t help but feel the weight of the stasis pods every time he passed them. The crew, his friends, were all depending on him to keep them alive, and one wrong move could end it all. He couldn’t risk tying the stasis system into the new power grid yet, too many things could go wrong, and if the reactors failed or overloaded, it could mean disaster for everyone still in stasis.
So, he kept his focus on everything else. One by one, he brought more systems online, lighting, communications, long-range sensors. Each reactor installation was a small victory, a step toward stabilizing Destiny and giving the ship a fighting chance.
As the months wore on, Eli began to feel something he hadn’t in a long time: hope. The ship was stabilizing. The power reserves were slowly ticking upward, and for the first time, he could see a future where the crew might actually wake up.
There was still so much to do, but for the first time in months, Eli allowed himself to believe that he might just make it. That he could finish this journey. And that flicker of hope… that possibility… was enough to keep him going.
Still, even with this newfound sense of purpose, the isolation aboard Destiny weighed heavily on him. The silence, broken only by the low hum of the ship’s systems, pressed in on him during the long stretches of work. Days blurred into nights, and the endless corridors of the ship felt colder with each passing hour. In these moments, doubt and loneliness crept in, threatening to undo the progress he had made.
But once a week, Eli would get a much-needed reprieve. Using the long-range communication stones, he would swap bodies with someone on Earth, allowing him to visit his mother, Marian. These moments, though brief, became a lifeline for him. Stepping into the familiar, comforting surroundings of his mother’s modest home felt like stepping into a different world altogether. The warmth, the smell of home-cooked food, and the simple act of sitting across from his mother, chatting about everything and nothing, grounded him in a way nothing else could.
Every time Eli returned to Earth, he would sit across from his mother in her cozy living room or at the dining table, the warmth of the space a stark contrast to the cold and empty halls of Destiny. The smell of freshly brewed coffee or a simmering stew filled the air, grounding him in the familiarity of home. They would chat casually, sharing moments of normalcy, and Eli would give her updates on his progress aboard the ship. He was careful, though, he didn’t want to alarm her with the full truth of how dire things were. Instead, he focused on the positive, downplaying the constant danger and pressure that weighed on him.
But when Marian looked at him with concern etched into her soft features, he couldn’t help but downplay the more dangerous and stressful aspects of his mission. Eli would smile, trying to reassure her as he sipped from his cup, glossing over the near-fatal electrical failures and the endless hours spent repairing burned-out conduits. He didn’t tell her how many times the ship had been on the brink of collapse or how he’d been running on little more than adrenaline and determination. She had enough to worry about with her own health, and the last thing he wanted was to add his perilous existence to her burdens.
Instead, Eli would focus on the positive, explaining in simplified terms how the naquadah reactors he was replicating were slowly bringing Destiny back from the edge. He’d tell her about the improvements he was making, how the power grid was finally stabilizing after months of patching things together. “I’m making progress, Mom,” he’d say, his voice steady even when his heart was racing with the weight of everything he left unsaid. He’d reassure her that things were under control, even though deep down he knew he was walking a tightrope, balancing Destiny’s survival on a threadbare line of hope.
“So, the reactors are working, right?” Marian asked, concern lingering in her voice despite the smile she wore. She stirred her tea, her eyes never leaving Eli, as if she could sense the stress he carried beneath his calm demeanor.
Eli forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah, they’re working. I’ve got a few reactors online now, powering life support and some secondary systems. It’s helping, but there’s still a lot to do.” He leaned back in his chair, trying to keep the conversation light. “But hey, at least I’m not freezing to death anymore.”
Marian laughed softly, though the worry never fully left her face. “That’s good to hear. I just don’t want you overworking yourself, Eli. I know how you get… always pushing yourself too hard.”
“Well, you know me,” Eli replied with a shrug. “If I don’t do it, who will?” He chuckled, but the truth of that statement hung heavy in the air. He was the only one awake, and the responsibility of keeping the ship operational weighed on him constantly.
Marian reached across the table, her hand resting gently on his. “I know, sweetie. But I also know you can’t do everything alone. Make sure you’re taking care of yourself too, okay?”
“I’m trying,” Eli said, his voice softening. “I really am. It’s just… there’s so much to manage. If one thing fails, it could be catastrophic.”
She squeezed his hand, her gaze filled with understanding. “You’ve always figured things out, Eli. You’re smart, and I believe in you. But don’t forget that you’re only human.”
He smiled at her encouragement, grateful for the reassurance. “I miss being here with you, though,” Eli admitted, his voice quiet. “Sometimes, it feels like I’m a million miles away… well, technically, I am a million miles away, but you know what I mean.”
Marian chuckled softly. “I do. And I miss you too. But I’m proud of you, Eli. You’re doing something incredible out there.” She paused, then casually mentioned, “Oh, and they’ve been talking about a flu going around, but nothing to worry about. They’re handling it just fine.”
Eli’s brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded, filing that bit of information away. “Just keep taking care of yourself, okay? You know I worry.”
“I know,” she said with a smile, “but I’m doing well. The doctors say everything is going smoothly, and Sharon’s been helping out more lately. I’m not alone, Eli.”
He nodded, though the thought of not being able to help his mother more weighed on him. “Good. That’s… that’s good to hear.”
“And what about you?” Marian asked, her voice soft but probing. “How are you holding up?”
Eli hesitated, glancing out the window as he gathered his thoughts. “Honestly, it’s tough. Some days, it feels like the ship’s falling apart faster than I can fix it. I’ve had to patch things up so many times, I’ve lost count. And there’s always that pressure, you know? That if I mess up, there’s no one else to fix it.”
Marian’s gaze was steady, filled with the quiet strength that had always kept Eli grounded. “You’ve always been the kind of person who rises to a challenge. I know it’s hard, but you’re doing everything you can. You’ll get through this, Eli.”
“Yeah,” he muttered, feeling the weight of her faith in him. “I just have to keep moving forward.”
For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the weight of the conversation easing as they sipped their drinks. Eventually, the topic shifted to lighter things, how Sharon’s lasagna had turned out (still not quite as good as Eli’s), what TV shows Marian had been watching, and the latest book she had picked up. Eli soaked in every word, relishing these moments of normalcy. They grounded him, reminded him that there was still life beyond the endless corridors of Destiny.
As their visit drew to a close, Marian smiled softly at her son. “I’m here whenever you need me, Eli. Just remember that.”
“I know, Mom. Thanks.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, feeling a warmth settle over him. These visits, brief as they were, gave him something to hold onto during the darkest days on the ship. They reminded him that he wasn’t truly alone. And with each visit, he felt just a little bit stronger, ready to face the endless challenges that awaited him aboard Destiny.
As Eli prepared to leave, he lingered at the door, his hand resting on the knob as he turned for one last look. His mother stood bathed in the soft amber glow of the living room, her silhouette framed by the familiar warmth of home. The lines on her face, etched from years of quiet strength and perseverance, softened in the moment, and her gentle smile seemed to light up the entire space. It was a smile that, for a fleeting second, made the weight of his mission feel lighter, the burden of isolation more bearable. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with the sincerity of someone clinging to hope. She nodded, her eyes shining with the same unspoken understanding they had shared for so long, a bond that didn’t need words.
As the car pulled away from the house, Eli leaned against the window, letting the cool glass press against his cheek as he soaked in the world outside. The afternoon sun cast long, golden rays across the streets, painting the city in a soft, dreamlike haze. People bustled about, unaware of the monumental struggle he was returning to, their lives untouched by the vastness of space he had come to know. Trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves shimmering like tiny, vibrant reminders of life’s ongoing rhythm. Eli watched it all, taking in every detail, the laughter of children playing, the distant chatter of pedestrians, the hum of a world that continued moving forward.
He felt the sun’s warmth on his skin, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile environment of Destiny, and allowed himself to savor the moment. The ordinary beauty of the world outside, the simple act of existing in a place so full of life, was something he had almost forgotten. Soon, he would be back in the silent, empty corridors of Destiny, where the only sound was the low hum of failing systems and the quiet pull of the void beyond. But for now, the warmth of the day, the familiar sights of home, and the memory of his mother’s smile grounded him. It reminded him that, somewhere out there, beyond the stars and the endless dark, life continued. And with it, so did hope.
Chapter 4: The Routine of Survival
Time aboard Destiny had blurred into a continuous, unbroken cycle. Days, weeks, months, they all slipped by without distinction, save for the ship’s internal clocks and the habits Eli had imposed on himself. He had built a routine to survive; regular exercise, meticulously replicated meals, and a strict schedule of repairs to keep Destiny limping forward. It wasn’t just about surviving another day; it was about making sure each day counted.
Yet in the midst of it all, Destiny had come to feel like something more than a ship to him. The soft hum of the naquadah reactors, steady and rhythmic, was like a heartbeat in the stillness. When Eli listened to it, he could almost believe he wasn’t completely alone. He’d started talking to the ship out loud, his voice bouncing off the empty walls, seeking comfort in the illusion that the vessel could somehow hear him. It wasn’t the same as a conversation with another human being, but in the silence of space, it was the closest thing he had.
But even that comfort was tenuous. Destiny was old, ancient even, and every system was a fragile web of patchwork repairs. One misstep, one failure Eli couldn’t anticipate, could unravel everything. He felt that weight every day when he woke up, an unshakable sense that today might be the day it all finally fell apart. It loomed over him, a shadow that never quite left.
And yet, amidst the grind of isolation and the weight of endless responsibility, there was a lifeline that kept him going. Once a week, he would swap bodies with someone on Earth using the communication stones, and for a few brief hours, he would sit in his mother’s living room. The contrast between Destiny’s cold, empty halls and the warmth of her home was like stepping into another world. The smell of home-cooked food, the sound of her voice, the simple act of sitting at her kitchen table, it was a kind of salvation.
Those visits with his mother were like rays of sunlight piercing through the darkness. She’d ask about his progress, her gentle concern showing in every question, and he’d downplay the dangers, focusing instead on what was going well. The pride in her eyes, the quiet strength in her voice, gave Eli something he hadn’t realized he was missing: hope. Every time he left her, returning to Destiny’s silent corridors, he carried that hope with him. It reminded him that there was something beyond the ship, something worth fighting for.
As he worked on Destiny, crawling through tight service shafts, replacing frayed wires, and monitoring the reactors with painstaking care, the memory of those visits kept him grounded. The ship might be crumbling, the weight of his task overwhelming, but the thought of his mother waiting for him, smiling over a cup of coffee in her cozy kitchen, gave him strength.
It wasn’t just survival anymore. It was survival with purpose, fueled by the knowledge that somewhere, light still existed in the world outside. And maybe, just maybe, that light could guide him through the long, lonely road ahead.
How long can I keep doing this? Eli often wondered as he stared at the tangled mess of conduits and ancient wiring he had tried to patch up. The ship wasn’t designed for this kind of maintenance. No one built Destiny to be kept alive by one person. That thought weighed on him more than he liked to admit, gnawing at him whenever he lay down for a few hours of restless sleep.
Yet, Eli pushed through. He’d grown attuned to the sounds of Destiny, the subtle shifts in the hum of the reactors, the faint creaks of the hull as it stretched and settled in the cold vacuum of space. It was strange, but in some ways, those sounds had become a comfort, as if the ship itself was still alive, holding on as much as he was. He had come to recognize the slight changes in its tone, and when it was quiet enough, he could almost sense its exhaustion, a mirror of his own weariness. When the silence pressed in too heavily, Eli would sometimes find himself talking to the ship as if it were a companion.
“Another day, huh?” he’d mutter, his voice echoing softly in the empty corridors as he patched up wiring with whatever parts he could replicate. “We’re still hanging on. Barely.”
It was absurd, of course, talking to a ship like it could hear him, but in the crushing isolation, it helped. Like the Doctor chatting away to the TARDIS, as if it were more than just a machine, Eli found solace in pretending Destiny could understand him. The sound of his own voice kept the loneliness at bay, giving him the comforting illusion that, much like the Doctor, he wasn’t entirely alone on this impossible journey.
The isolation had become a constant companion, creeping into the quiet moments when he caught his reflection in the darkened glass of the observation deck. He hardly recognized himself anymore. His face, once full and youthful, had thinned out, the lines of stress and exhaustion etched deeply into his skin. His body, though leaner and stronger from the regular exercise, felt worn down, as if the weight of two years alone had settled into his bones. And in his eyes, he saw a loneliness that chilled him to the core, one he feared might never fade.
The food Eli replicated had improved drastically over the months. With time, he had learned to manipulate the replication system to create dishes that were not only edible but genuinely enjoyable. Each meal had become a small comfort, a break from the otherwise grueling monotony of survival. He had experimented with various combinations of Earth ingredients and finally struck a balance that made the meals taste familiar, even satisfying.
This is living, Eli thought as he savored a bite of the carefully prepared dish. It wasn’t home, but it was the closest thing to it out here, and for now, that was enough.
Routine had swallowed Eli whole. Every day blended seamlessly into the next, wake, work, eat, sleep, an unyielding cycle that blurred the edges of time. The corridors of Destiny had become both his refuge and his prison, the faint glow of its dim lights stretching into the shadows of an endless night. The thought that this was all he had left, that his existence had distilled down to this solitary rhythm, weighed on him heavier than the silence of the void outside.
The bridge was no longer just a command center; it had become his sanctuary, the one place that reminded him he was still in control, however tenuously. Surrounded by the cold metal walls and flickering consoles, Eli often stood in the center of the room, staring out through the large, worn viewport into the black of the expanse. The vast emptiness seemed to mock him. The universe felt so infinite, so full of potential, yet here he was, stranded on a ship that limped along like a ghost through space.
The low hum of the reactors echoed through the ship, a sound that once brought comfort, a sign that Destiny was alive and fighting. But now, it felt like a dirge, a constant reminder of the ship’s fragility and his own. The naquadah reactors he had built and painstakingly installed were stable but insufficient. They weren’t enough to awaken Destiny from its slumber, just enough to keep it on life support. The critical systems, the stasis pods, life support, artificial gravity, barely held together by the thin thread of power he managed to scrape from the reactors.
The stasis pods stood silent in the lower levels, rows upon rows of frozen crew members preserved in limbo. Their faces, peaceful and untouched by the passage of time, haunted him. Each pod was like a sealed world, holding someone he cared about, someone who had fought alongside him. And yet, he remained the only one awake, the only one carrying the crushing weight of keeping them alive. He often found himself standing in front of the pods, pressing his hand to the cool glass, wondering if they could somehow sense him.
Wondering if they dreamed.
“I’m sorry,” he would whisper into the stillness, his voice a fragile echo in the cavernous room. “I’m trying. I’ll get you all thru this.”
But every day felt like another battle. Another repair. Another system failure waiting to happen. Destiny’s age was beginning to show in every creak, every dimming light, every hiss of air escaping from old conduits. The bridge, once a gleaming testament to Ancient engineering, had become a patchwork of repairs, panels hanging loose, exposed wires snaking across the floor, and consoles flickering with intermittent power. The captain’s chair sat empty, a symbol of leadership and control that seemed out of reach. Eli didn’t dare sit there. It wasn’t his place. Instead, he worked from the stations, often standing for hours, rerouting power, recalibrating systems, and trying to keep the ship running just one more day.
Yet, even amidst the drudgery, there was hope.
But the days when the isolation threatened to suffocate him were frequent. The corridors of the ship stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of cold metal and forgotten purpose. His footsteps echoed through the halls, the only sound besides the constant drone of systems just barely holding together. It was on those days, the darkest ones, that he clung to his visits with his mother.
When he activated the communication stones, for a brief moment, he was able to escape. The weight of the ship lifted from his shoulders, and he found himself back in the familiar, warm light of his mother’s kitchen. The scent of tea brewing, the soft clatter of cups as she prepared them both something to drink, it was a reminder that there was still a world outside Destiny’s metal confines. And she was there, always smiling, always proud.
“Keeping that ship together all by yourself. It’s incredible, Eli. You’ve always been a fighter. But I don’t know how you do it.” she would say softly, her voice full of admiration, her eyes gleaming with the kind of pride only a mother could feel.
Eli would smile, faint, tired, but it never reached his eyes. She always saw through it, even though he tried to hide just how close he had come to breaking some days. How many times he had stood on the edge of despair, staring into the abyss of the ship’s silence, wondering if he had the strength to go on. The isolation was a weight that had grown heavier with each passing day, pressing down on him until he thought it would crush him. The burden of keeping everyone alive, alone, often felt unbearable, like he was shouldering the universe on his back. He never told her how many times he had walked the halls of Destiny, the ship feeling more like a mausoleum than a vessel of hope, the silence so loud it threatened to drown him.
But Marian always knew. Even if Eli didn’t say it, her eyes would search his face, seeing past the mask he tried to wear. She had a way of understanding him, of sensing the exhaustion he carried in his bones. There was no need for words. In those quiet moments, she’d reach across the table, her hand warm and steady as it found his. A simple touch, but it was enough to tether him back to the world outside Destiny.
“You’re stronger than you think,” she’d whisper, her voice soft but filled with an unshakable belief in him. “You’ve made it this far, Eli. Don’t stop now.”
It was in those moments that Eli felt both seen and comforted, even when he didn’t deserve it. How could she still believe in him so fully? Didn’t she realize how close he was to failing, how every day felt like a slow crawl toward disaster? Yet, she always found a way to reassure him, her faith in him unwavering, even when his own resolve faltered.
He didn’t tell her about the nights when the ship’s hum felt like it was mocking him, the moments when he would sit alone on the bridge, staring out into the endless black void, wondering if this was all his life would ever be. He never told her about the times he had stood in front of the stasis pods, his hand hovering over the control panel, tempted to wake someone… anyone… just so he wouldn’t be alone anymore. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t take that risk. So, he was left with the ghosts of conversations he would never have, the faces frozen in time, the people who trusted him to bring them home.
But her words, her belief in him, made it bearable. Every visit was like a lifeline, pulling him back from the precipice. It gave him something to hold on to, a reason to keep fighting. For her, for the crew, for the chance that maybe… just maybe… they’d all make it home.
And for a while, the hope she gave him was enough. It didn’t erase the fear, the loneliness, or the doubt, but it anchored him. Each time he returned to Destiny, her voice lingered in his mind, her words a quiet mantra that kept him going. “You’ve made it this far, Eli. Don’t stop now.”
He would repeat it to himself as he worked, fixing another system, patching up another conduit. The ship’s flickering lights, its creaking hull, felt like a reflection of his own state, worn, fragile, but not yet broken. As long as he kept moving forward, Destiny did too. As long as he fought, the ship would hold together. Piece by piece, patch by patch, they endured together.
The ship may have been old, breaking down piece by piece, but if Eli was there, it wasn’t giving up. And neither was he. He couldn’t. Not when there were still so many people depending on him. Not when his mother’s quiet strength, her unwavering belief in him, still echoed in his heart. Destiny was still fighting, and as long as there was a glimmer of hope, so would he.
And then, there was his own stasis pod, the one that had failed him before he could join the others. In the early days, when desperation still gnawed at him, Eli had torn it apart, meticulously dissecting every component. He had spent weeks trying to understand what had gone wrong, convinced that he could fix it, even rebuild it. He was smart enough, wasn’t he? He could fix this. He had to.
But the more he worked on it, the clearer it became that the failure wasn’t something he could simply patch up. It wasn’t a single broken wire or a malfunctioning part, it was something far more intricate, woven into the ancient technology that powered the stasis chamber. No matter how many times he revisited it, hoping for a breakthrough, the answer remained the same: the pod was dead.
The thought clung to him like a shadow in the following days, its weight heavy and suffocating. Without the pod, without the possibility of relief, he was trapped in an unending cycle of exhaustion and maintenance. He had tried to push through, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t sustainable. No matter how hard he worked, he was only one person. And no matter how much he tried to deny it, he was running out of time.
I’m not going to make it, he thought more often than he wanted to admit. The broken stasis pod stood as a constant reminder that there was no escape from this life, no break from the isolation. It loomed in the background like a monument to his failure, to the inescapable truth that he was on his own. He had resigned himself to it, the weight of that realization settling deeper into his bones with every passing day. No matter what he did, how many reactors he built or systems he repaired, he would always be awake, always fighting to keep a ship alive that wasn’t meant to be handled by one person.
And yet, despite the monotony, despite the endless loop he found himself trapped in, Eli couldn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to. Every moment spent maintaining Destiny’s fragile systems was a moment closer to keeping it alive, to keeping himself alive. Failure wasn’t an option.
I can’t give up now. Not after everything. He would tell himself this over and over, repeating it like a mantra, trying to beat back the doubts that crept in during the quieter moments.
It was why he used the communication stones so often, despite needing to work on systems across the ship. Once a week, Eli would leave the cold, empty halls of Destiny behind and find himself sitting in his mother’s small, cluttered kitchen. The contrast between the quiet hum of space and the familiar sounds of home always left him disoriented for a few moments, but seeing her, even for just a little while, grounded him.
She would smile the way she always did, soft and tired but warm. “You look like you’ve been through hell,” she would say, trying to make light of the exhaustion on his face, and he’d chuckle even though they both knew it was true. They’d sit together at the table, sipping tea or coffee, talking about nothing in particular.
It didn’t matter what they talked about, her latest doctor’s visit, the neighbor’s cat, some TV show she’d started watching. None of it mattered, really. What mattered was that for a few precious hours, he wasn’t alone.
Each time he returned to Destiny, it felt like a punch to the gut. The silence, the vast emptiness, swallowed him whole again. He would find himself standing in front of the stasis pods, staring at the sleeping faces of his crewmates, imagining what it would be like to wake one of them up. The thought was always there, lurking in the back of his mind. He could wake one of them up, Rush, Scott, maybe even Chloe, just for a conversation, just to hear another voice.
But he knew he couldn’t. The power drain would be too much. He couldn’t risk it, not with Destiny’s systems so fragile, so close to failure. One person awake would mean more strain on life support, more food to replicate, more power to divert. It wasn’t worth it. Not yet.
And so, he walked away each time, back to his duties, back to the endless cycle of repairs and survival. His mother’s voice, her warmth, lingered with him for a while, but eventually, the isolation closed in again. He couldn’t wake them, no matter how much he wanted to.
The routine became his life. The hum of Destiny’s systems, once a background noise, now felt like his own heartbeat. He had become part of the ship, and it had become part of him. They were both running on borrowed time, both struggling to hold on in a universe that had all but forgotten them.
As much as Eli had initially hated the silence, the loneliness, he had come to find a strange sense of comfort in it. Destiny’s emptiness was no longer oppressive; it was a constant companion, a silent partner in his struggle. The ship, ancient and scarred by time, had endured far longer than anyone could have imagined. It had crossed galaxies, faced impossible odds, and yet it still persisted. In that way, Eli felt a kinship with Destiny. They were both fighting against the odds, both struggling to survive in an unforgiving universe that seemed intent on breaking them.
Sometimes, as he sat on the bridge, monitoring the power levels or rerouting energy to yet another failing system, Eli would think of a line from Doctor Who, a favorite show from his past life: “We’re all stories in the end.” It resonated with him now more than ever. He and Destiny were living a story that might never be told, but they were still here, still enduring. And sometimes, in the long stretches of solitude, he allowed himself to believe that Destiny was aware of him too. That, in some strange way, the ship understood his efforts, recognized him as the reason it was still holding together. It was a foolish thought, but it gave him hope. They had come to an understanding, an unspoken pact, he would keep the ship alive, and Destiny would keep him going.
It wasn’t just in his mind, though. Eli could see it in the small ways Destiny seemed to hold on, the systems stabilizing just when he thought they were about to fail. The creaks and groans of the ship no longer felt ominous; they were familiar, like the ship was letting him know it was still with him, still fighting.
The isolation, though still heavy, didn’t crush him the way it once had. The routine grounded him, gave him purpose. He had come to rely on it, wake, repair, exercise, eat, and then repeat. In many ways, the physical strain of the work and his newfound exercise regime had made him stronger, leaner. His body had adapted to the demands of survival. When he caught his reflection, he barely recognized the man staring back, a far cry from the unprepared genius who had first stumbled aboard Destiny.
But it wasn’t just the routine or his physical transformation that gave him strength. Every week, Eli still used the communication stones to visit his mother. Those moments were his true anchor. Sitting across from her in her small kitchen, hearing her voice, seeing her smile, it reminded him that there was still a world out there, a life beyond the ship. She gave him hope, even when he didn’t realize how desperately he needed it. She believed in him, and somehow, that belief made the impossible seem just a little more achievable.
Even when he returned to the cold, silent halls of Destiny, her voice lingered in his mind. It gave him the strength to carry on, to face the endless challenges that awaited him. And as much as he leaned on those memories of Earth, he had come to realize that Destiny was not just a ship, it was his story, too. It was a testament to survival, to perseverance. As long as Destiny held on, so would he.
He had become part of the ship, and it had become part of him. Together, they would keep pushing forward, even if the path ahead was uncertain. Because in the end, they were both still fighting. And for Eli, that was enough.
During one of their visits, Eli sat across from his mother, exhaustion tugging at every fiber of his being. He tried to keep his voice steady as he updated her on his progress, recounting the adjustments he’d made to the replication system, how the naquadah reactors were holding up, and the slow, incremental improvements to Destiny’s critical systems. His words were clinical, matter of fact, but the strain was evident. Every day, it felt like the ship was barely hanging on, and so was he.
“I don’t know how you do it, Eli,” Marian said as she stirred a cup of tea, her voice filled with awe and pride. “You’re keeping that ship together with little more than your wits and some spare parts. You’ve always been resourceful, but this… this is something else.”
Eli offered a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not enough, though,” he admitted after a long pause. “I’m keeping things from falling apart, but that’s all it is… maintenance. I’m not moving forward. Every day, it’s just fixing something else, fighting the ship to stay functional. It’s like… a war of attrition, and I’m the only soldier.” He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of that truth sink deeper.
His mother, her concern clear in the way her gaze lingered on him, didn’t say anything at first. She poured the tea slowly, the quiet clink of the spoon against the cup the only sound between them. In the background, a low TV report murmured about a rising number of flu cases, and Eli’s stomach twisted. He knew the risks, his mother’s immune system was already compromised by her HIV, and her work in the ER exposed her to even more dangers. His chest tightened at the thought.
“Mom, are you okay?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it. He hated how small his voice sounded, how helpless he felt despite everything he was doing on Destiny.
Marian smiled softly, reassuring. “I’m fine, Eli. They’re taking precautions at the hospital. I’m careful, I promise. I know what I’m doing.” She reached across the table, placing a gentle hand on his. “You’ve got enough to worry about out there. Don’t add me to that list.”
He nodded, but the worry lingered. He could tell she was putting on a brave face for him, she always did. The same way he was pretending to be stronger than he felt. “You can’t blame me for worrying. I just… I don’t know what I’d do if…” He stopped himself, not wanting to say the words, not wanting to give that fear any more power.
“You’d keep going,” Marian said firmly, her eyes steady on his. “Just like you always have. Just like you’re doing now. Eli, what you’re doing, every repair, every system you stabilize… it matters. You’re keeping yourself and that ship alive. If it wasn’t for you, Destiny wouldn’t have made it this far.”
Eli sighed, leaning back in the chair, his hands running through his hair. “I know, but it’s hard not to feel like I’m running in circles. The reactors are working, but they’re not enough to power the whole ship. Destiny was designed to recharge from stars, not a handful of backup power sources. I’m keeping the essentials online, but the bigger systems, the ones we need to get to the next galaxy, they’re still draining. Slowly but surely, they’re draining.” He didn’t tell her everything. He couldn’t. He didn’t mention the sleepless nights, running on caffeine and sheer determination, or the moments of despair when he wondered if he was just prolonging the inevitable. Every day he stayed alive, the ship’s life support drained a little more, and his guilt gnawed at him in the silence between repairs.
Marian’s gaze softened as she took in the weariness etched into her son’s face. “I’m proud of you,” she said quietly but firmly. “You’re fighting to stay alive, and that’s what matters. I know you’re tired, but you’ve come this far. You’ve never been one to give up, Eli, and I know you won’t now. Just… promise me you’ll keep going.”
“I won’t give up,” Eli said, though the words felt heavy in his throat. He forced a smile, hoping she wouldn’t notice the exhaustion pooling in his eyes. How much longer could he really keep going? He wasn’t sure, but for her sake, he would keep trying.
After their visit, Eli returned to Destiny, the cold, empty corridors feeling even more oppressive after the warmth of his mother’s kitchen. His mind buzzed with the familiar list of tasks: fixing the life support conduits, running diagnostics on the stasis pods, ensuring the reactors held. The routine felt endless, a loop he couldn’t escape. And yet, he knew he had to keep going. There was no one else to do it.
Despite the advances he had made with the reactors and the replication system, Eli’s life aboard Destiny had become a relentless cycle of survival without true progress. The ship limped along, struggling to function on the limited power the naquadah reactors could provide. Each day felt like a battle to keep the ship’s systems operational as the FTL drive continued its steady hum, pushing the ancient vessel forward through the dark void between galaxies. Every day, it was the same, just holding the ship together felt like a victory.
Standing on the bridge, Eli surveyed the room, his eyes tracing the dim, amber-lit interior. The bridge felt as old and worn as Destiny herself. The walls were an intricate weave of metal plating, covered in panels of ancient technology, with consoles blinking sporadically under the soft glow of holographic displays. Thick, reinforced columns stretched from floor to ceiling, their surfaces marked by the passage of millennia, giving the room a weighty, timeless presence. The central command chair, worn with age but still functional, stood at the heart of it all, surrounded by control panels angled like the arms of some dormant creature. Eli had come to know each of them intimately.
He moved toward the main viewport, the dark expanse of space looming before him. The galaxies outside were distant, scattered across the inky blackness, flickering as Destiny hurtled through the endless stretch of the cosmos. The low hum of the ship’s FTL engines vibrated through the floor beneath his feet, a reminder of the constant, silent motion that had carried them further than any human had ever gone.
The bridge itself seemed to breathe with the ship’s effort. Faint lights cast long shadows across the floor, creating an almost eerie, cathedral-like atmosphere. The golden glow from the overhead lights flickered occasionally, a reminder of how fragile Destiny’s systems had become. The consoles emitted soft beeps and mechanical whirrs, but they, too, felt like they were struggling under the weight of time. Dust had settled in the corners, undisturbed for months, and the air felt stale, recycled too many times.
“I can do this,” Eli whispered to himself, his voice breaking the silence of the bridge. His words were quiet, but they carried the weight of his resolve. The ship’s systems, though barely holding together, were still running. And as long as Destiny was still fighting, so would he.
He rested his hands on the command chair, feeling the worn leather beneath his fingers. The ship might be old, her systems failing one by one, but she hadn’t given up yet. Neither had he. Eli stood there, staring out at the vast emptiness of space, the stars beyond distant but ever-present. He had to keep going… one more day, one more repair, one more chance to get them all home.
Chapter 5: The Breaking Point
For over two years, Eli Wallace had survived the crushing isolation aboard Destiny by holding onto one lifeline: his connection to his mother, Marian. Every few weeks, he would swap bodies using the communication stones, visiting Earth to catch up, hear her voice, and share brief moments of normalcy. Those moments were brief respites from the overwhelming solitude of his existence aboard the ship, where the cold metal walls and the hum of machinery were his only companions.
In the warmth of her small kitchen, surrounded by the familiar smells of home, freshly brewed coffee, the faint scent of old books, and the ever-present sound of her radio in the background, Eli found himself transported back to a world where he wasn’t alone, where he wasn’t responsible for the survival of an entire crew frozen in stasis.
Each visit was a precious lifeline. The disorientation of stepping into another body quickly gave way to relief as he crossed the threshold of her house, the weight of the ship’s endless responsibilities lifting for just a little while. He would sit with her, talk about things that didn’t matter, her stories from work, the neighbors’ gossip, the latest show she was watching.
She never asked about Destiny, and he was grateful for that. She understood that he needed an escape from the relentless grind of survival. Those hours were fleeting, but they sustained him, like oxygen after drowning in the deep vacuum of space. Every time he left, the ache of returning to Destiny’s cold corridors was softened by the warmth of her last words, her belief that he would make it through, that he would bring them all home.
As he settled into the body of a person he did not know he saw the SGC’s concrete walls, the familiar rush of disorientation faded, replaced by a feeling of heaviness in his chest. He didn’t see the usual technician waiting to take him to his mother’s house. Instead, General O’Neill stood in front of him, his face a mask of solemnity. Behind him, Colonel Carter, Dr. Rodney McKay, Dr. Lee, Sharon Walker, and Chloe’s mother, stood silently, each wearing a look of grim concern.
Eli stood quickly and his heart dropped into his stomach. His voice came out weak, a mere whisper. “What’s happened?”
General O’Neill took a deep breath, his expression softer than Eli had ever seen. “Eli, there’s no easy way to say this… Your mother… she’s gone son.”
The words hit Eli like a physical blow. His knees gave out, and he collapsed back into the chair, his breath catching in his throat. It was losing Ginn all over again only worse. His mind refused to process the words. Gone? That couldn’t be right. She was supposed to be fine. She was always fine.
“What… what happened?” Eli’s voice cracked as he looked up at the General, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Sharon Walker stepped forward, her voice trembling with emotion. “There was an outbreak… a flu, but worse than we expected. It spread fast, and Marian… she wouldn’t stop helping. She was always there, always putting others first.” Sharon wiped away a tear, her voice breaking. “She got sick, Eli. She fought it, but… in the end, there was nothing they could do.”
Eli’s mind raced, replaying every conversation he’d had with his mother over the past few months. She had mentioned a new flu going around, but she’d brushed it off, told him not to worry. He had pleaded with her to take care of herself, to stop working if things got bad. But his mom was stubborn… she always had been. She was a nurse, and she lived to help others. She wouldn’t have stopped, even if it meant saving herself.
McKay, standing awkwardly in the back, stepped forward with his usual bluntness, but his tone was softer than usual. “Eli, your mom was… well, she was incredible. The doctors did everything they could. We all tried to get her the best care, but… by the time they realized how severe this thing was, it was too late.”
Eli stared at McKay, his mind numb. The reality of the situation crashed over him, his chest tightening until he felt like he couldn’t breathe.
“I should have been there,” Eli muttered, his voice barely audible.
“You couldn’t have done anything, Eli,” Carter said gently. “Your mom knew what she was doing. She wanted to keep fighting… for the people who needed her. She was proud of you, Eli. So proud.”
Eli shook his head, the tears finally spilling over. “I wasn’t there. I couldn’t… I couldn’t say goodbye.”
General O’Neill, the hardened warrior who had seen more loss than most could fathom, knelt down beside Eli. His voice, usually sharp with sarcasm, was now steady but softened by the deep well of understanding that only someone who had lived through such profound grief could convey.
“Eli,” O’Neill began, his tone quiet but unwavering, “I’ve been where you are right now. Losing someone… it’s a weight you carry. You feel like you should’ve done more, like you could’ve changed things. But your mom… she knew how much you loved her. She knew what you were doing out here mattered, saving lives, keeping your crew going. That’s something she believed in, and she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”
Eli’s body trembled as he buried his face in his hands, the sobs he’d been holding back finally escaping. It was the kind of grief that tore through the soul, an overwhelming, consuming pain that left no room for words. The room fell into a heavy silence, thick with the weight of Eli’s sorrow.
O’Neill didn’t move, his hand resting lightly on Eli’s shoulder. He knew this pain too well, the loss of his son, the loss of Janet Frasier on a mission gone wrong, and more recently, General Hammond. Grief wasn’t a stranger to him; it was an old companion he had learned to live with, but never escape.
“Sometimes,” O’Neill continued, his voice low, “we lose people who mean everything to us, and we think we should’ve been there, should’ve done more. But we can’t control everything, Eli. Your mom… she made her choice, and she did it because she believed in what you were doing. She was proud of you, don’t ever doubt that.”
The words hung in the air, a quiet offering from one broken heart to another. O’Neill knew nothing could take away Eli’s pain, but he also knew the importance of being there, of not letting someone carry that weight alone.
Carter, standing just a few steps away, spoke softly, her voice carrying both empathy and authority. “Eli,” she began, stepping forward, “your mom… she was an extraordinary woman. And I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but she knew the risks, and she still made her choice. She helped people, right up until the end, because that’s who she was.”
Eli’s eyes, red and swollen, glanced at her for a brief moment before dropping back down.
“You gave her so much to be proud of,” Carter continued, her voice gentle. “What you’re doing out here, keeping this ship running, keeping the crew alive, Eli, that’s no small thing. You’ve accomplished more than most people ever could. She knew that. She was so proud of you, and she would want you to keep going. You’re not alone in this.”
Sharon Walker stepped forward, placing a hand on Eli’s shoulder. “I was with her in the end, Eli. She wasn’t alone. I held her hand, and we talked about you. She was so proud of the man you’ve become.”
Eli couldn’t speak. His throat was tight, his chest ached, and the world around him felt distant, blurred by his grief.
The silence stretched on until McKay, awkward as always, spoke up. “Look, I know this probably doesn’t help much right now, but… she didn’t suffer, Eli. We made sure she was comfortable.”
Eli didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The only thing he could feel was the crushing weight of loss, his mother, his anchor, the one person who had kept him sane in the isolation of Destiny, was gone.
After what felt like an eternity, Eli finally looked up, his voice hollow. “I need to go.”
“Eli,” Carter began, stepping closer, “you don’t have to cut yourself off. We’re here for you, whenever you need…”
“I need to go,” Eli repeated, more forcefully this time. His eyes were red and swollen, his expression unreadable. “Thank you for telling me… but I need to go.”
General O’Neill exchanged a glance with Carter, then gave Eli a small nod. “Alright, take the time you need, kid.”
Without another word, Eli disconnected the communication stone, feeling the sudden, jarring disconnection from the familiar warmth of Earth. In an instant, he was ripped from the small, crowded room in the SGC and thrust back into the cold, lifelessness of Destiny. As he settled back into his own body, the dull hum of the ship’s systems surrounded him, but instead of the usual comfort that the sound once brought, it felt oppressive, like a heavy blanket smothering the very air he breathed.
He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the worn-out walls of the ship, the dim lights casting long shadows across the floor. The once-familiar hum of the ship now only amplified the crushing silence that permeated every inch of the empty corridors. The weight of the quiet hit him like a physical blow, as though the ship itself was pressing down on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs.
The silence was deafening. It rang in his ears, hollow and unforgiving, a constant reminder that no matter how many repairs he made, no matter how much work he did, he was utterly, irreversibly alone. Before, it had been bearable. He had known that his mother was out there, waiting for him, rooting for him from across the stars. But now? Now, there was no one. The realization washed over him in a suffocating wave.
Eli slumped against the console, his knees buckling under the weight of his grief. His hands trembled as he gripped the edges of the panel, trying to steady himself, but the ache in his chest refused to subside. The grief was sharp, cutting deeper with every breath, every flicker of the ship’s lights.
He had prepared for many things aboard Destiny, the isolation, the technical challenges, the endless repairs, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The loss of his mother, the one person who had anchored him, left a void inside him that felt bottomless. The ache in his chest deepened, like a black hole pulling him further into the darkness.
He stood there, his vision blurring with tears he didn’t even realize were falling. His breaths came in shallow gasps as he fought against the sobs threatening to break free, his throat tight with the effort to keep himself composed. But it was no use. The weight of his mother’s death crashed down on him all at once, overwhelming in its intensity.
A ragged sob tore from his throat, echoing through the empty room, reverberating off the cold metal walls. And then another. And another. He collapsed to the floor, his body shaking with the force of his grief. He buried his face in his hands, the sobs wracking his entire frame as he finally let the sorrow take him, the pain he had been holding back for so long.
The ship felt too big now, too empty. Every sound, every creak, was a reminder of how vast and desolate the space around him was. There was no one to hear him. No one to comfort him. His mother was gone. His crew was locked away in stasis. And for the first time, the sheer enormity of his isolation was too much to bear.
Eli curled in on himself, the sobs eventually quieting into shallow breaths, leaving only the hollow ache of loss behind. His body felt heavy, as though the grief had sapped the strength from his limbs. He stared blankly at the ceiling, his mind numb.
As the minutes passed, the quiet returned, settling around him like a suffocating fog. The silence no longer felt like a companion but a curse, a relentless reminder that he was truly alone on this broken, ancient ship, adrift in a sea of stars with no one left to reach out to. For the first time, he wondered if he could really keep going
For the next seven months, Eli cut off all contact with Earth. The communication stones sat untouched in their console, gathering dust like forgotten relics of a life that no longer felt real. He couldn’t bear to even look at them, let alone use them. Every time his eyes strayed to the console, it was as if a weight pressed down on his chest, suffocating him with memories he couldn’t face.
The thought of hearing McKay’s sarcasm, Carter’s gentle words, or Sharon’s comforting presence, people who would try to reach out, to remind him that he wasn’t alone… felt unbearable. Their condolences would cut too deeply, their sympathy would feel like knives twisting in wounds that had barely begun to heal. And what could they say? Nothing would bring her back. His mother was gone, and so was the part of him that still believed there was something worth fighting for.
Instead, Eli buried himself in the one thing that kept him moving: the monotonous routine of keeping Destiny functional. The ship had become his lifeline and his prison, and the work, though grueling and endless, gave him something to focus on. It was a distraction, nothing more. The naquadah reactors still needed to be maintained, the life support systems required constant monitoring, and the stasis pods, those frozen reminders of the crew who depended on him, demanded regular check-ups to ensure their continued survival.
Every day was a repeat of the one before. Wake up in his cramped quarters, where the silence was deafening and the bed felt colder than the ship’s metal floors. How long has it been? The thought came unbidden every morning, a question without an answer. Eli had lost track of time. Does it even matter anymore? He stared at the ceiling for a moment longer, the weight of another day pressing down on him before forcing himself out of bed.
Work out, not because he wanted to stay fit but because it was something to do, something that kept his muscles from withering along with his spirit. At least this pain is real, something I can control. The pain from his exercises had become a dull, welcome ache, something that reminded him he was still alive… if only physically. If I stop… what then?
Then came the repairs, each one more tedious than the last. Same circuits, same problems. Another circuit blown, another power conduit failing. Is this all that’s left of me? A glorified mechanic?Each day, Destiny seemed to demand more from him, as if the ship knew he had little left to give. You’re falling apart, just like me. He sighed as he leaned over a broken console, fingers already numb from the endless rewiring. But I can’t let you fail. Not yet.
The ship’s vast corridors, once filled with the faint hope that one day they’d wake the crew and complete their mission, now felt like an endless labyrinth. Eli wandered through them like a ghost, moving from task to task with no real sense of purpose. The same walls, the same consoles, the same flickering lights, every corner of Destiny felt more suffocating with each passing day. He barely recognized himself when he caught his reflection in the darkened glass of the observation deck.
His face had thinned, his eyes sunken and hollow, with dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights and a mind unable to rest. His hair was unkempt, his clothes rumpled and fraying at the edges. There was a time when he cared, when he would joke with the crew about his disheveled appearance, but now, there was no one to laugh with, no one to care. He barely existed, just a shell going through the motions.
The ship’s hum, once a comfort, now grated on him, a constant reminder that time was slipping away, that every second was another he had to endure alone. The naquadah reactors, the systems he had painstakingly pieced together, were holding, barely, but it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like prolonging the inevitable. Each system check, each repair, felt like delaying the moment when everything would finally fall apart. And maybe, in the darkest corners of his mind, that’s what Eli wanted. For it all to end. For the ship to stop holding together, to finally collapse under its own weight so he could stop this relentless march of survival.
The food he replicated had lost all taste, no matter how much he tweaked the settings or tried to replicate old recipes. It’s like eating air. He poked at the meal, not caring what it was. Mom would’ve laughed at me for even trying to make this edible. It was sustenance, nothing more. He ate because his body needed it, not because he wanted it. Fuel to keep going. That’s all. Every bite felt like a chore, another task to check off the list before moving on to the next repair, the next system failure. One more thing to get through. Just like everything else.
He chewed mechanically, staring blankly at the walls of the mess hall, the silence echoing around him like a void. When did the silence start feeling so loud? He swallowed another bite, barely registering the taste. What’s the point? Just keep eating. Keep fixing things. But why? The questions lingered, unanswered, as he forced down the rest of the meal. Because if I don’t, there’s nothing left.
Sleep was no better. When he finally crawled into bed at the end of another endless day, exhaustion would claim his body but not his mind. “Get some rest, Eli. You can’t work yourself into the ground,” his mother’s voice echoed in his head, like it when he was back on Earth. He’d always shrug it off, give her that reassuring smile, “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve got this.” But now, lying in his cold, empty quarters, her words haunted him. He would lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, haunted by thoughts of her.
The last time they spoke, the way her voice had softened when she told him she was proud of him, how she promised him she was fine. “I’m so proud of you, baby. You’re doing things people only dream of.” He could see her smile, hear the gentle warmth in her words. “I’m fine, Eli. Just tired. You don’t need to worry about me.” He had wanted to believe her. He’d clung to her assurances like a lifeline, even though a part of him knew she was trying to protect him. But she wasn’t fine. And now, she never would be.
The grief, the guilt, it gnawed at him every night, a festering wound he couldn’t heal. Maybe you should’ve come back, just for a little while, his own voice whispered back at him, the regret heavy. Maybe if you had done something, she’d still be alive. The thoughts circled endlessly like vultures, and they returned every night. He would think of the moments they’d shared, sitting at her kitchen table, sipping coffee, laughing about something trivial, “Do you remember that time we stayed up all night watching those old sci-fi shows?”, and then the cold reality would snap him back. She was gone.
And when sleep finally came, it was filled with nightmares, of the ship failing, of the crew dying, of him drifting through space alone forever. “I’m so proud of you, Eli,” her voice would whisper in the darkness, but this time, it wasn’t comforting. It was distant, unreachable. And now I’ll never hear it again.
He had become a ghost of himself, moving through Destiny like an automaton, completing tasks because that’s all he had left. His laughter was long gone, his hope even further. Every day, he worked to keep the ship running, but it felt more like going through the motions than any real attempt at survival. And yet, despite it all, Eli kept going. There was no other option. He couldn’t quit, couldn’t give up… not yet, not while the ship still held on. But the breaking point felt closer with every passing day, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment when even the routine wouldn’t be enough to keep him moving forward.
Eli’s hands were always moving, perpetually cracked and stained from hours spent deep within Destiny’s failing systems. Whether reprogramming energy distribution, patching up the worn hull, or recalibrating power regulation for the replication system, his fingers never stopped. They were blackened with grease, muscles aching from the repetitive strain, yet they moved with the precision of someone who had done the same tasks long past the point of exhaustion. It was second nature by now, these endless repairs, and his body performed them on autopilot, even as his mind fractured beneath the weight of his isolation. He barely slept, ate mechanically, and each repair was a lifeline that tethered him to something, anything, more than the void surrounding him.
The crew, locked in stasis, depended on him. Every moment he spent maintaining Destiny’s delicate systems was a moment keeping them alive, a moment preventing catastrophic failure. Eli knew he was the only one standing between them and death. Without him, the power grid would overload or shutdown within days. The strain of the naquadah reactors, the jury-rigged systems he’d implemented… none of it was stable. They weren’t enough to power the ship fully, just enough to keep the critical systems running. He’d wired and re-wired the entire grid so many times that it felt like a house of cards, ready to collapse if he took his eyes off it for too long.
And waking the crew early wasn’t an option. The ship didn’t have the resources to sustain them all. Life support was fragile, the replication system barely keeping up with his needs, and the power grid couldn’t handle the surge required to wake even one of them safely, let alone all of them. If he woke someone, he risked tipping the balance. It was a cruel paradox, he was keeping them alive, but they were as trapped as he was. Frozen, depending on him to keep the ship running until the day, whenever that might be, when they could wake up to a ship ready to sustain them. Eli wasn’t just responsible for the crew’s survival; he was also their jailer, keeping them locked away in the hope that one day, he could fix the impossible.
The weight of that responsibility crushed him every day. “You’re stronger than you think, Eli,” his mother’s voice echoed in his mind, one of their many talks over the communication stones. “You always find a way, even when things seem impossible.” He’d always believed her then, clinging to the warmth of her faith in him. But now, wandering through the ship’s endless, dimly lit corridors, that faith felt distant, like a memory from another life. The flickering lights and the constant hum of Destiny’s systems felt more like a countdown to failure than a sign of life.
Each time a system glitched or a warning light blinked on, it was like the universe was reminding him of how fragile everything truly was. “If I stop… what happens then?” he had asked his mom once, sitting in the comfort of her small kitchen, sipping on her homemade soup. “You won’t stop, Eli,” she had replied confidently, her hand reaching across the table to touch his. “Because that’s not who you are.” Her eyes, filled with unwavering belief in him, had been enough to push him forward then. But now, here, alone, that confidence had eroded, leaving behind only doubt.
There were moments, more often than he wanted to admit, where he wondered if it would be easier to let it all go. “You can’t fix everything,” her voice reminded him, from one of the last conversations they had shared. She had been tired then, her illness weighing her down even as she smiled at him through the screen. “But you’ll always do your best, and that’s enough.”
But now, the thought of stopping, of walking away from the endless grind of repairs, was tempting. To stop the repairs, to step into an airlock and end the struggle. It would be quick, almost painless, he would think, imagining the weight of his responsibilities vanishing in an instant. Maybe that’s the only way out. The thought hung in his mind, like a quiet invitation to finally rest. “But you’re not done yet,” her voice seemed to answer, pulling him back from the edge each time.
But he couldn’t. The crew needed him, even if they didn’t know it. His “repairs” had left Destiny in such a precarious state that only he knew how to keep it from falling apart. The systems were so heavily modified, so patched together, that without his constant attention, they would spiral into failure within days, maybe even hours. The stasis pods would lose power. Life support would flicker out. The ship would become a tomb.
And every time he thought about giving up, every time the temptation to step into that airlock grew stronger, the thought of their faces, Scott, Rush, Chloe, everyone, held him back. They didn’t know the hell he was living through, but they trusted him. Even if they were frozen, trapped in a state of suspension, they trusted him to keep them alive. That trust, that responsibility, was the only thing that kept him from breaking completely.
Eli’s hands, though blistered and tired, kept moving, kept patching up the fragile systems that kept Destiny alive. Every time he stood in front of the airlock, his hand hovering over the control panel, that image of his crewmates would flash before him. He couldn’t abandon them. Not yet. He had to keep going.
Eli’s mind was a warzone, torn between the duty to his crewmates and the crushing weight of his own despair. Every breath felt like an effort, every step like dragging himself through mud. His mother’s death had shattered something deep inside him, a break that no amount of determination could repair. The grief twisted itself around his lungs, tightening like a vice in the middle of the night, making it impossible to breathe. He’d bolt upright in his bunk, gasping for air, his chest heaving, as if the sorrow was suffocating him from within.
And yet, he kept moving. Because he had to.
“Keep it together,” Eli would whisper to himself, his voice hoarse from disuse. He heard the desperation beneath his words, felt it clawing at the edges of his sanity. “Just a little longer.”
He tried to stave off the loneliness by talking to the ship. What had started as a way to break the silence had morphed into something more, a desperate attempt to feel connected to something. The ship had become his only companion, its ancient systems failing as frequently as his will.
“We’re still here,” he muttered to himself as he worked, his voice bouncing off the empty walls of the corridors. His hands were busy with another repair, but his mind was elsewhere. “I guess.”
Destiny’s groans and creaks had taken on an almost living quality, like the ship itself was struggling to keep going, just like he was. “We’re both falling apart, aren’t we?” Eli thought, the irony not lost on him. Every creak of the hull felt like a reminder that both he and the ship were held together by little more than patchwork, barely managing to keep from falling apart entirely. The hum of the naquadah reactors was a constant, one of the few things left in his world that hadn’t changed. It had become a familiar sound, almost comforting. “At least you’re still running,” he muttered to the ship, his voice echoing in the empty corridor. “Even when everything else is breaking down, you’re still here.”
He had come to depend on that hum, the subtle fluctuations in power that told him when something was wrong, like the faint signs of illness in someone he cared about. “You’ve always been good at noticing the little things,” his mother had told him once. It was one of their last conversations, her voice raspy but full of warmth. “That’s your gift, Eli. You see what others don’t.” Her words echoed in his mind as he listened to the slight, almost imperceptible changes in the reactor’s hum. Maybe that’s why I can’t let go, he thought, shaking his head.
In some strange way, the ship had become an extension of him, both old, battered, and on the verge of collapse, yet still pushing forward, clinging to existence. “Just like me, Destiny,” he whispered. “We’re both barely holding on, but we’re still here.” He could see her sitting in the hospital bed undergoing tests after her needle stick, terrified but resolute. “We’re fighters, you and me,” she had said, her grip strong and steady. “We don’t give up, Eli. Not until we’re finished.”
Eli felt that same determination now, that refusal to give up, even as the ship groaned beneath his feet, its systems strained from years of use. “We don’t give up,” he repeated, the words more for himself than for the ship. “Not until we’re finished.”
Eli stood in the middle of an empty corridor, the weight of it all pressing down on him like a physical force. His fists clenched at his sides, his nails biting into his palms, and before he even realized what he was doing, he let out a scream. It was raw, primal, a release of every emotion he had bottled up for months. His voice echoed through the ship, bouncing off the walls, but no one was there to hear it.
His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the cold metal floor, his body trembling. The grief hit him like a tidal wave, crashing over him, and he couldn’t hold it back anymore. He sobbed, deep, wrenching sobs that made his whole body shake. His chest heaved, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, as the reality of his situation closed in on him.
“I can’t do this,” he choked out between sobs. “I can’t… I can’t…”
He curled up on the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, as if trying to hold himself together. The tears wouldn’t stop, pouring out of him in a torrent of grief and despair. His mother was gone, the crew was out of reach, and he was alone… so painfully alone. The overwhelming emptiness that had been gnawing at him for months finally consumed him, leaving him sobbing on the cold, unforgiving floor.
Exhaustion finally overtook him, and at some point, his body gave in. Eli passed out, the tears still drying on his cheeks, his mind and body shutting down from the sheer weight of it all. When he woke up hours later, the ship was silent around him, the cold metal floor pressing into his back. For a long time, he just lay there, staring up at the ceiling when he awoke, feeling numb.
The despair was still there, lingering just beneath the surface, but he pushed it down, forcing himself to get up. His legs were unsteady as he stood, his body aching from the strain of months of relentless work.
“Get up,” he muttered to himself, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “They need you.”
He had to keep moving. Had to keep fixing things.
Sometimes, when the quiet moments settled in between repairs, the ship’s silence felt deafening. The familiar hum of Destiny’s systems, which had once been a comfort, now served as a constant reminder of his isolation. It pressed down on him like a weight, wrapping around him in the emptiness. You’re still here, he thought, staring at the dim lights flickering along the corridor. But even Destiny’s hum wasn’t enough to break the silence that stretched endlessly around him, threatening to swallow him whole. Yet he couldn’t stop. You didn’t stop either, Mom, not when things got hard.
He remembered being a kid, sitting on the living room floor while his mom sorted through bills at the kitchen table. His dad had left them by then, but Marian Wallace never let Eli feel like something was missing. “We’re a team, Eli,” she’d said, her eyes tired but her smile unwavering. “We’ve got this.” Even when he knew things were hard for her, when he’d hear her crying softly after she thought he was asleep, she never showed him the cracks. She was the strong one, always holding it together, always pushing forward. “You don’t need anyone else to tell you you’re enough,” she’d tell him. “You’re everything, Eli. You can do anything.”
That memory flickered like a candle in his mind, one of the many moments that had kept him going as a kid, even when he’d wondered why his dad didn’t come back, why he and his mom were left to pick up the pieces alone. She never let me feel less than, he thought, tightening a loose bolt on the panel in front of him. Never let me think I couldn’t handle it. And now, here he was, with an entire crew depending on him, just as he had once depended on her.
The crew, frozen in stasis, depended on him, even if they didn’t know it. Without his constant maintenance, Destiny would fail, and with it, their lives. Just like Mom never let me fall, Eli mused, remembering how she had always been there to pick him up, whether it was from a scraped knee, or the emotional bruises left by his dad’s absence. It wasn’t just survival for himself anymore; it was survival for them.
Eli had stopped thinking about the future months ago, his focus narrowing down to the next fix, the next meal, the next minute. But one day, something changed. It wasn’t much, just a simple decision to eat something better than the protein bars he had been relying on. The bland, chalky taste of the bars had become a symbol of the monotony that had swallowed his life. So, for once, he replicated something he actually wanted. It wasn’t a gourmet meal, but it was something different, something that tasted like a choice.
As he sat there, eating slowly, he found his mind drifting, not to his grief, but to an idea. An idea that came to him with such clarity it almost startled him. He could build something, really build something, not just patch and repair. His gaze shifted to the console, where schematics for Destiny’s systems lay spread across the screens, and a thought struck him like lightning in the darkness.
The thought occurred to him that he could probably build a naquadah reactor that would be dedicated to powering one of, if not both eventually, the repair robots that were currently in storage. If he could get it up and running, it could do something he hadn’t been able to do in all his time here: repair the outer hull and take a massive strain off the shields.
Eli sat in the quiet mess hall, stirring his fork through a decent replication of mac and cheese. His mind was no longer entirely consumed by grief, though it still lingered like a dull ache in the background. He’d spent the last few months barely keeping Destiny operational, but the routine, the ceaseless need to fix, had brought him a strange kind of focus. Now, something new flickered in his thoughts: potential.
He wiped his hands on his shirt and pulled out his tablet, flipping through his notes, schematics, and logs. The repair drones, both dormant, unused, waiting in the dark cargo bay since the crew went into stasis, stood out as a possible solution. He had overlooked them because they demanded more power than Destiny could afford at the time. Power that had been devoted to keeping the FTL drive active. But now… now, with the naquadah reactors he had painstakingly assembled over months of isolation, maybe he could finally use them.
“Why didn’t I think of this sooner?” he muttered, chewing thoughtfully as his eyes scanned the plans.
The reactors he’d built were small but reliable. If he could rig one up solely for the repair drones, it might be enough to power their operations without dipping into Destiny’s already strained systems. It wasn’t an overnight fix, but it could buy him time… time to repair the outer hull and ease the constant strain on the ship’s shields that had been slowly wearing down for the last two years. The ship had always felt like it was teetering on the edge of a slow death, its age showing in every groan of the hull and dimming of the lights.
He remembered how the shields had taken a beating the last time they faced off against those drones, how it had nearly drained the remaining reserves of power and risked everyone’s survival. If those shields gave out while they were moving through FTL… Eli didn’t like to think about that. Now, though, if the hull could be patched up, if the outer layers could be restored, maybe the shields wouldn’t have to work as hard. Maybe he wouldn’t have to wake up every day expecting the whole system to crash down around him.
The mere thought of easing that pressure, even slightly, stirred something in Eli that he hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.
He quickly finished his meal, feeling the familiar pull of urgency as his mind raced ahead of his hands. His feet carried him to the cargo bay before he had even decided what to do next. The dim lighting and cold air greeted him as the massive room stretched out in front of him. There, standing tall and silent in the corner, were the two repair robots, Ancient technology, once vital to the ship’s upkeep but now left to gather dust like forgotten relics.
Eli approached one of the robots, wiping his hand across its metallic surface, feeling the cool, lifeless metal under his fingers. For a moment, he hesitated. Was he really about to put his faith in these machines? Machines that, for all he knew, might have their own wear and tear?
“Well,” he muttered to himself, “it’s not like I have a ton of options.”
He grabbed his tools and got to work, the familiar weight of them in his hands grounding him in a way that little else had lately. The cargo bay was dimly lit, the shadows of forgotten equipment stretching out like long fingers in the cold, stale air. The silence pressed in on him, broken only by the occasional hum of Destiny’s systems, but Eli pushed it aside. He laid out his toolkit beside the dormant robot, its sleek, worn frame towering over him. Dust had settled into the crevices, a testament to how long it had been since this technology had seen the light of day. He wiped a hand over the cold metal, leaving a streak of clean beneath his fingers.
With a sigh, Eli pulled out his tablet, fingers moving over the screen as he sketched the necessary modifications. The naquadah reactor sat in front of him, still unfinished but buzzing with potential. The challenge wasn’t just about making the reactor work, it was about integrating it into the ancient systems of the repair robot, systems designed eons ago by a civilization far more advanced than his own. The intricacies of the Ancient technology were maddening, but in a way, that was what Eli thrived on. He had always been good at figuring out how things worked, good at puzzles.
This, though, it wasn’t just another puzzle. It was a lifeline. If he could get this reactor up and running, it could change everything. The thought stirred something deep within him, a faint flicker of hope amidst the overwhelming sense of loss that had consumed him for months. He hadn’t felt this kind of drive in a long time.
He began to work, the tools clicking softly against the metal as he removed panels and exposed wires. Every part of this process was deliberate, every decision measured. The reactor itself hummed faintly, its soft energy signature giving Eli a strange sense of comfort. If he could optimize the connection between the reactor and the robot’s power system, he could bring the machine to life, set it to work repairing the ship’s outer hull, something that had seemed impossible for so long.
The more he worked, the more the rest of the world seemed to fade away. Hours bled into days, the lighting in the cargo bay unchanged, casting long shadows that made the room feel timeless. The heavy loneliness that had settled over him since his mother’s death still lingered, but now, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was something else alongside it, a growing determination.
His focus narrowed to the wires beneath his fingers, the circuits that connected the ancient robot’s internal systems to the modern reactor he had built. Each wire, each calibration, felt like it could make or break the entire project, and Eli had no room for mistakes. Sweat dripped from his brow as he worked, his muscles aching from the constant effort. But the physical pain was something he welcomed, it meant he was still here, still fighting.
His mind, once clouded by grief and loss, was now beginning to clear. It wasn’t that the pain had disappeared, it was still there, raw and present, but it no longer controlled him. The task in front of him required too much focus, too much precision, for him to drown in his emotions the way he had in the months prior.
He wasn’t just patching things up to survive another day. For the first time since he had lost his mother, he was planning for the future again. A future where Destiny didn’t fall apart on his watch, where the ship could sustain itself long enough for the crew to wake up. A future where he didn’t fail the people in stasis, the ones who were relying on him even in their frozen sleep.
And for the first time in months, Eli allowed himself to think about what could be. About waking up the others when the ship was whole again, about sharing this burden, about a day when he didn’t feel so completely and utterly alone.
As the reactor hummed to life, its low, rhythmic thrum filled the room with a faint vibration that Eli could feel through the soles of his boots. It was steady and strong, exactly what he needed it to be. He let out a long breath, one he hadn’t realized he was holding, and stepped back, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The air in the cargo bay was cool, but the intensity of his work had left him drenched. He glanced down at the naquadah reactor, its soft glow a sign of success. He had done it.
The first step.
Eli ran his hand over the metal frame of the repair robot, tracing the lines of its dormant form. The robot stood motionless, towering over him like a silent sentinel. It wasn’t just a hunk of metal anymore, it had power now. The reactor was feeding energy into the robot’s systems, slowly awakening the ancient technology. He could almost feel it coming to life, bit by bit. Soon, it would be able to do what he couldn’t do alone. Soon, Destiny would start to heal.
His hands still shook from the fine motor control needed to connect the final circuit, but he had done it. The energy now pulsed steadily through the robot, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Eli allowed himself a moment to feel something other than dread. He wiped his hands on his already grimy pants, smudging grease further into the fabric, and took a step back to admire the work. The soft glow from the reactor reflected off the robot’s metal frame, casting long shadows across the room.
Eli placed his hand on the cold, metallic surface, his fingers tracing the grooves and panels with a strange sense of reverence. This machine, this tool, was going to change everything. It was more than just a repair robot, it was a symbol of hope. A chance to fix what had been slowly breaking down for years. If he could get the robot fully operational, it could start repairing the outer hull, relieve the strain on Destiny’s shields, and give them a real shot at survival.
A small, exhausted smile tugged at the corners of Eli’s mouth, a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Let’s get to work,” he whispered, his voice barely audible in the vast emptiness of the cargo bay.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Eli didn’t feel like he was fighting this battle by himself. But even as that hope flickered to life, there was a gnawing fear just beneath the surface. Because deep down, Eli knew that if he stopped, if he let himself rest, even for a moment, he might never find the strength to start again. The weight of the isolation, the grief, the endless struggle had worn him down so much that pausing felt like surrender, and surrendering meant losing everything.
He couldn’t stop, not now. Not when the robot was powered up, not when Destiny still needed him, not when the crew was counting on him. Stopping wasn’t an option, because if he did, the emptiness might consume him, and there would be no coming back from that.
After days of painstaking programming and recalibrating, Eli was finally ready to send the first repair droid outside to start restoring Destiny’s outer hull. It had taken longer than he’d anticipated, days spent hunched over consoles, writing and rewriting lines of code, making sure every directive was just right. He couldn’t afford a mistake now, not when the ship’s survival was at stake. But now, standing in front of the dormant droid, Eli felt a twinge of something he hadn’t felt in a long time: excitement.
“Alright, little guy,” he muttered, placing a hand on the droid’s cold frame. “Time to see if you’ve got what it takes.”
The droid whirred to life, its mechanical limbs clicking into position. Eli couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as it beeped and spun around to face him. “Now don’t go pulling an R2D2 on me and decide to go rogue, okay? I need you to fix the hull, not save the galaxy.”
The levity in his own words surprised him. It felt strange, almost alien, to make a joke after so many months of isolation and grief. But it felt good, too, like a small crack in the wall he’d built around himself.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re the hero of this story now,” he said, stepping back to give the droid room to maneuver.
With a few more taps on his tablet, Eli watched as the droid shuffled toward the airlock, its movements fluid and precise. He had programmed it with the exact coordinates and repair tasks it needed to handle, everything from reinforcing the hull to patching weak points that had been putting unnecessary strain on the shields for months. As the airlock doors sealed shut behind the droid and it was released into the vacuum of space, Eli allowed himself a moment of pride.
It was working. Finally, something was going right.
He exhaled and turned back to the other repair robot, still dormant in the storage bay.
Getting the second droid operational would be a long, grueling task, probably taking weeks. But for the first time in a long while, Eli felt a sense of momentum. Destiny wasn’t just barely hanging on anymore. She was healing, slowly, but surely.
As he sat down to begin the arduous process of rebuilding the second droid, Eli couldn’t help but glance out of the observation window. The first droid was already moving along the ship’s outer hull, its lights flickering in the vast darkness of space as it began its work. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Looks like you’re doing alright out there, he thought, watching the robot navigate the delicate repairs, its movements smooth and purposeful.
The sight triggered a memory, him sitting at the kitchen table with his mom, a Lego set spread out in front of them. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old, and he’d been frustrated, struggling to fit the pieces together. “I can’t do it, Mom!” he’d exclaimed, nearly in tears. Marian had knelt beside him, her hand resting gently on his back. “You can, Eli. You just need to take your time. Piece by piece, you’ll figure it out.” And she had been right. With her patient guidance, they had built a miniature rocket ship together, one piece at a time.
Now, years later, that same patience guided him as he worked to rebuild the second droid. Piece by piece, he thought, running a hand through his hair. His mom’s voice echoed in his mind. You don’t have to do it all at once. Just focus on the next step.
And for the first time in months, Eli didn’t feel so alone. The battle to keep Destiny alive wasn’t just his to fight anymore. “I’ve got backup now,” he told himself with a small, hopeful chuckle. He’d built this droid, just like that Lego rocket, one piece at a time. It was strange to feel any semblance of companionship from a machine, but there it was, a flicker of connection, even if it came in the form of a silent robot.
He thought back to his mom again, how she always managed to find the silver lining, even when life seemed impossibly hard. “You don’t have to do everything on your own, Eli. There’s always help somewhere, even if it’s not where you expect.” She’d been right, once again. The droids weren’t much, but they were something. They were a start.
“Thanks, Mom,” he whispered under his breath, glancing back at the droid outside the window. It wasn’t human, and it couldn’t talk back, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he wasn’t fighting this endless battle alone.
“Alright,” he said quietly, picking up his tools and cracking his knuckles. “Here we go.”
Painstaking though the task was, Eli completed rebuilding the second robot in only two weeks. The process had been just as grueling as he’d expected, hours spent hunched over broken circuits, replacing ancient components with newer ones from the replication system, reprogramming its core functions, and recalibrating its power inputs. Every step had required meticulous attention to detail. One wrong move and the entire effort could have been for nothing. But after a hell of relentless work, the second droid was finally ready.
Eli stood in front of the droid, watching it whir back to life as its systems activated. It felt good, no, it felt great, to see the droid’s lights blink on, to hear the soft hum of its machinery coming online. For the first time since boarding Destiny, they would have the means to access areas of the ship they had never been able to reach. It was a small victory, but one that felt monumental in the face of all the losses and struggles Eli had endured.
“Alright, buddy,” Eli said, patting the repair droid’s metal surface. “You’ve got a special mission. We’re sending you somewhere we’ve never been before, main engineering.”
Eli tapped on his tablet, inputting the final coordinates for the robot’s mission. Main engineering was an area of the ship that had remained inaccessible since the crew had boarded Destiny. The pathways leading to it were blocked by impassable sections of the ship. No one had ever been able to make it through, and with Destiny’s systems barely holding together, it had always been too risky to send anyone.
But now, with the repair droid fully operational, it was finally possible. This droid could reach places he never could, restoring systems they hadn’t even been able to assess before. If everything went according to plan, it would be a game-changer for keeping the ship running.
“I’m counting on you,” Eli muttered under his breath as the droid trundled toward the access hatch. Sending it into the unknown, to a part of the ship that no one had seen in years, felt strangely symbolic. For so long, Destiny had been a mystery, a ship with secrets buried deep within its walls, and now, piece by piece, those secrets were starting to come to light.
As the droid passed through the airlock and disappeared from view, Eli found himself holding his breath. He hadn’t been this hopeful in a long time, but the prospect of finally accessing main engineering, of finally fixing parts of the ship that had been out of reach for so long, was enough to stir something in him.
It was progress. Real progress. And for the first time in months, Eli allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could turn things around.
The thought lingered in his mind, carrying him through the rest of the day as he returned to his quarters. They had become a mess, his bed unmade, clothes strewn across the floor, old meal trays stacked in the corner. The chaos of his living space mirrored the disarray he had felt inside for months. But now, with the droids finally operational and a path forward beginning to materialize, Eli felt the weight of stagnation lift just enough to notice the filth around him.
With a sigh, he started cleaning, tossing dirty clothes into a pile and disposing of the accumulated debris. It wasn’t much, but it was something, another small step toward pulling himself out of the rut he’d been in since his mother’s death. As he straightened the room, he caught a glimpse of the communication stones, sitting on the console where they had gathered dust for months.
He froze, staring at them for a long time.
The familiar ache in his chest returned as he looked at the stones. He had been avoiding them for so long, cutting himself off from Earth, from his friends, from the rest of the world. But now, with the recent progress, a small voice inside him whispered that maybe it was time. Maybe it was time to reach out, to hear another voice, to share the tentative hope he had rediscovered with someone else. What if they’re waiting for me? What if they’ve been wondering if I’m still… okay?
The thought brought a flash of memory, his mother, sitting across from him at their kitchen table, worry etched into her features as she asked, “Eli, you can’t bottle things up. You’re not invincible. You know you can talk to me, right?” He’d shrugged it off then, not wanting to burden her with his struggles. But she had always been able to see right through him. “Don’t shut people out, sweetheart. It’ll only make the weight heavier.” Her words, spoken so long ago, felt more relevant now than ever.
His hand hovered over the stones, fingers trembling. I could talk to Carter, he thought. She’d understand. Or even McKay… I could tell him about the droids, the repairs. The idea of hearing McKay’s sarcastic remarks, the banter they used to share, felt like a lifeline dangling just out of reach. He wanted to tell them everything, about the droids, the systems he’d repaired, the glimmers of hope that had started to form. “I’m not alone,” he wanted to say, even if he wasn’t entirely sure it was true. He wanted to hear another voice, feel something other than the relentless quiet of Destiny’s corridors.
But another part of him was afraid. Afraid of what it would mean to let someone in after so long. Afraid of breaking down the wall he’d built around himself since his mother’s death. What if talking to them makes it worse? He clenched his fist, his nails biting into his palm. What if I can’t stop the grief once it starts again? The silence of the ship had become a fortress, protecting him from the pain he knew was lurking just below the surface. Letting someone through that wall now felt too raw, too real. He wasn’t ready to face it… not yet.
His fingers curled back from the stones, and he let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in the quiet room. “Not today,” he muttered, shaking his head as he turned away. “I can’t. Not today.” He could hear his mom’s voice in his mind, soft but persistent: “Eli, you don’t have to carry everything on your own.” But today, he just wasn’t ready to listen.
He left the stones behind, retreating back into the dimly lit corridors of Destiny. The ship hummed softly around him, its presence constant and unyielding. As he walked through the endless halls, the familiar sounds of the ship’s systems filled the silence, a comforting but oppressive blanket of noise. For the first time in over two years, Eli didn’t fight the quiet. He let it consume him completely, allowing himself to feel the weight of everything he had been carrying.
There’ll be a day, he thought, as he continued down the corridor, the lights casting long shadows ahead of him. There’ll be a day when I reach out again. When I can tell them everything, share what I’ve done, what I’ve found. But today wasn’t that day. Today, the silence was all he had, and it was enough. “I’ll deal with the rest later.” he muttered.
And yet, as he walked the corridors, Eli couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. The ship was still alive, still holding on. We’re still here, he thought, the words a quiet reminder of his perseverance. And so was he.
Chapter 6: Glimmer of Hope
The days aboard Destiny had become an endless blur for Eli. Isolation had taken its toll on him mentally, physically, and emotionally. His hands, perpetually blackened from constant repairs, moved with mechanical precision through each task, but inside, he felt hollow. His body ached from exhaustion, his muscles worn from the repetitive strain, and yet he kept moving. Why am I still doing this? he wondered, staring at the tangled mess of wires in his hands. What’s the point?
Each passing month since his mother’s death had deepened the chasm inside him, the grief gnawing at the edges of his resolve. Though he kept the crew alive and Destiny limping forward, the weight of loneliness was suffocating him. I’m not enough, he thought, his chest tightening. I can’t keep this up forever.
Eli had always been resilient, able to bounce back from setbacks, but this… this was different. The isolation was unrelenting, a constant companion that consumed him. His mind had become a battlefield, torn between guilt and hopelessness. Every time he passed the stasis pods, his gaze lingered on the frozen forms of Scott, Greer, Rush, and the others. What would Scott say? he thought, his mind conjuring the voice of the crew’s optimistic leader.
“We’ll get through this, Eli,” he imagined Scott saying, trying to stay positive like always. But the thought only deepened Eli’s frustration. Yeah, well, Scott doesn’t have to be the one holding it all together, does he? Eli shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they lingered.
Then there was his mother. Her memory haunted him with a clarity that cut deep. “You’re stronger than you think, sweetheart,” she had told him countless times. She had been his anchor, the one thing that tethered him to the hope of returning home. Without her, the universe seemed impossibly vast, and Eli had struggled to find any reason to fight. You should have been there, his guilt whispered. You should have done more.
Every task became a lifeline, each repair a desperate attempt to keep going. But with each passing day, that lifeline frayed. His body moved out of habit, but his mind was numb. The flickering lights and soft hum of Destiny’s systems, once reassuring, now felt oppressive. I’m barely holding on, he thought, staring at the worn-out console in front of him.
But even as Eli teetered on the edge of despair, there was a faint, persistent flicker of hope that refused to be extinguished. It was small, barely more than a whisper in the back of his mind, but it was there. Destiny was still running, still holding on, just like he was.
Why? he asked himself, fingers trembling as they twisted a wire back into place. Why is it still running? Something in that thought stirred him. Maybe the ship hadn’t completely given up yet. Maybe… just maybe… there was something still worth fighting for.
The thought brought with it a faint sense of purpose, the tiniest shift in his mindset. He wasn’t sure how long it would last, but for now, it was enough to keep him moving.
Something inside him, a flicker of the old Eli… the Eli that believed in hope, that believed in Destiny’s mission, started to claw its way back. You’ve made it this far, a small voice in his head reminded him. They’re counting on you. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. You can’t let them down. Not now.
He couldn’t continue like this. Destiny needed him, and so did the crew. For months, he had told himself that he had to hold it together for them, but now, as he stood in front of the communication stones, a realization struck him: He couldn’t do this alone anymore.
The decision came with a sense of dread. He didn’t want to talk about his mother’s death. He didn’t want to be reminded of what he had lost. But you can’t keep running from it forever, a small voice urged him. You’ve faced worse, and you made it through. He had been avoiding this moment for months, burying himself in the ship’s repairs, in the endless routines, but now he could feel it, something had to give. Maybe this is what you need. A chance to connect again, the thought lingered, offering him a sliver of hope. His hands hovered over the stones, trembling with uncertainty, before finally, with a deep breath, he reached out and made contact. You’re not alone.
The familiar rush of disorientation washed over him as his consciousness transferred to Earth. When his vision cleared, the sterile, comforting surroundings of the SGC’s communication room came into focus. A wave of familiarity hit Eli, and though the pain of reconnecting after months of silence was sharp, the warmth of seeing friendly faces was undeniable.
Dr. Bill Lee and Dr. Radek Zelenka were there to greet him, their faces filled with a mixture of concern and relief. The instant Eli saw them, something inside him shifted, a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying beginning to lift.
“Eli! Thank God, you’re back!” Lee exclaimed, his voice brimming with warmth as he adjusted his glasses with a familiar, jittery movement. The concern in his eyes was evident, a kind of care Eli hadn’t allowed himself to think about for months. “We were worried about you.”
Zelenka nodded, his soft smile kind but laced with the same quiet concern. “You’ve been silent for a long time. It’s good to see you again.”
Eli felt a lump form in his throat, words catching before he could respond. The familiarity of their faces, the easy rapport they shared, tugged at emotions he had buried. He had convinced himself he didn’t need this, that he could handle the isolation, but now, standing here with people who genuinely cared about him, the walls he had built around his grief felt more fragile than ever.
“I…” He tried to speak but stopped, swallowing back the rush of emotion threatening to spill over. His chest felt tight, and for a moment, he wanted to turn away, retreat back to the safety of Destiny’s quiet corridors, where no one could see him unravel.
Before Eli could gather himself, Lee, ever the one to fill silences, continued. His tone shifted slightly, more businesslike now, though the undercurrent of warmth remained. “I’ll notify General Landry right away,” he said, already reaching for the phone on the desk.
Eli nodded, standing there in the heavy silence that followed, unsure of what to say. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the sterile walls, the hum of the equipment, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. It was so different from the cold, ancient metal of Destiny, yet somehow, the familiar setting only amplified the knot of anxiety twisting in his chest.
He didn’t want to talk about his mother, not now, not yet. The mere thought of it made his stomach churn. The pain was still too raw, too deep, and though the relief of seeing these familiar faces was real, it also brought with it the undeniable reminder of everything he had lost. He could feel the floodgates inside him, barely holding back the torrent of grief and guilt, cracking at the edges.
“Take your time,” Zelenka said gently, his voice cutting through the silence as if sensing Eli’s hesitation. “There is no rush.”
Zelenka’s words, simple and understanding, felt like a lifeline. Eli nodded, grateful for the man’s ability to offer support without pushing, though the gnawing anxiety didn’t fully subside. He clenched his fists at his sides, fingers digging into his palms as he tried to steady himself. His mind raced, what could he say? What should he say?
“I’m… I’m okay,” Eli mumbled, though the words felt hollow even to him. He wasn’t okay. But what else could he say that wouldn’t crack him open completely?
After a few moments, General Landry’s voice crackled over the intercom. The sound of the familiar voice grounded him a little, anchoring him to something tangible.
“Eli’s back? Good. I’ll notify Jack.”
The formal tone of Landry’s voice felt like a shield, giving Eli the space to breathe, if only for a moment. He took a shaky breath and exhaled, forcing the tension in his body to ease, at least a little.
Within the next hour, Eli found himself standing in the SGC’s conference room, the hum of conversation and the presence of familiar faces surrounding him. General O’Neill, Colonel Carter, Dr. Rodney McKay, all of them were there, their expressions filled with quiet concern that mirrored the unspoken questions lingering between them. No one asked him directly why he had stayed silent for so long, why he had cut off all contact, but Eli could sense that they all understood. There was a shared understanding in the room, an unspoken acknowledgment of the weight he carried, and for that, he was profoundly thankful.
He stood there, feeling both overwhelmed and strangely comforted. The usual banter and sarcasm from McKay were absent, replaced with something softer, more restrained. O’Neill’s gaze, usually sharp and filled with his characteristic wit, was instead steady, watching Eli closely, but without judgment.
For a moment, Eli’s eyes met Carter’s, her soft, reassuring smile offering him the same sense of calm it always had. He felt a surge of emotion rise in his chest, a painful but welcome reminder that he wasn’t alone, not really, not anymore.
“So,” O’Neill said, leaning casually against the table, his arms crossed, his eyes studying Eli with that mix of dry humor and sharp insight that only O’Neill could pull off. “Are we allowed to ask how you’re doing, or are we just going to pretend everything’s normal around here? Because, you know, denial’s an option. I’m great at it.”
Eli managed a weak smile at O’Neill’s attempt to break the tension. It wasn’t much, but for the first time in a while, the humor didn’t feel out of place. He let out a breath, steadying himself before speaking. “I’m… not okay,” he admitted, his voice trembling but resolute. The words felt heavy, like they had been lodged in his chest for far too long. “But I can’t keep going like I have been. I need to reconnect. I need… something.” He could feel his throat tightening again, but he pushed through, forcing the words out.
McKay, surprisingly, was the first to step forward, his usual smug demeanor replaced with something softer, more understanding. “You don’t have to explain anything, Eli,” McKay said, his voice free of its usual sharpness. The genuine sympathy in his tone caught Eli off guard. “We get it. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”
Eli blinked, momentarily thrown by McKay’s rare display of empathy. He wasn’t used to this version of McKay, but it was exactly what he needed. The weight of everything, his isolation, his grief, felt a little lighter, if only for a moment.
Carter, always the steady presence, stepped in beside McKay, her voice warm and calm. “We’re here to help you, Eli. Whatever you need, whether it’s just to talk, or if you want a break from everything… we’ve got you.” She paused, reading Eli’s face carefully, her tone softening even further. “And if you’re not ready to talk about… everything, that’s okay too.
You don’t have to.”
Eli felt a rush of gratitude, so powerful it nearly overwhelmed him. He hadn’t realized how desperately he needed to hear those words, that he didn’t have to bear everything alone, that it was okay not to have all the answers, not to be strong every second of the day. His lips trembled as he spoke. “Thanks,” he whispered, his voice barely holding steady. “I just… I don’t want to talk about my mom right now.”
The room fell into a brief but heavy silence, the kind of silence that wasn’t uncomfortable, just thick with understanding. No one rushed to fill the gap, no one pushed him further than he was ready to go. They just let it be. That, more than anything, made Eli feel like he could breathe again, like the grief that had been suffocating him wasn’t pressing so tightly against his chest.
Then Zelenka, with his usual knack for knowing when to shift the conversation, spoke up, his voice gentle but filled with that quiet enthusiasm that Eli had always appreciated. “How about we catch you up on what you’ve missed? Some fascinating advancements in Ancient and Asgard technology have been made since we last spoke. I think you’ll find it… well, you’ll find it distracting.”
Eli felt a small spark of relief. It wasn’t just a distraction, it was something that made sense, something he could grasp onto. Technology, logic, problem-solving, those were the things that had always grounded him. And right now, he needed that more than anything.
“Yeah,” Eli said, his voice gaining a bit of strength, a flicker of his old self shining through. “Let’s talk tech.” He straightened a little, feeling the smallest surge of energy, and for the first time in months, the future didn’t seem quite so bleak.
Over the next few hours, Eli found himself immersed in a torrent of information, the kind of intellectual overload he hadn’t experienced in months. It was both overwhelming and strangely comforting. Dr. Lee and Zelenka started things off with updates on replicating advanced materials, focusing on how breakthroughs in quantum patterning had finally allowed them to produce naquadah composites that could be integrated into larger structures.
“The key,” Zelenka explained, pushing his glasses up his nose, “was fine-tuning the molecular encoding so that the replicated materials don’t destabilize under high energy loads. We had several… less-than-successful tests before we figured out the energy distribution matrix needed to be reconfigured at the subatomic level.”
Eli nodded, absorbing every word. His mind was already racing, thinking of how he could apply these advances to repair Destiny’s more critical systems. Finally, something I can use, he thought.
But then McKay launched in with his typical bravado, cutting through Zelenka’s explanation like a bulldozer.
“Right, right, but the real breakthrough was mine, obviously,” McKay said, his voice filled with its usual self-assurance. “We managed to synthesize a variant of neutronium. It’s not quite Asgard grade, but close enough that we can at least create components stable enough for long-term FTL navigation or energy transference. Imagine if we could modify Destiny’s power conduits with that, no more worrying about overloads every time you try to boost shields or fire weapons.”
“Neutronium?” Eli’s eyebrows raised. “But how did you stabilize it without access to an Asgard power source?”
“That,” McKay leaned forward, clearly pleased someone was keeping up, “is the genius part. We used an Ancient energy modulation system I discovered…” “We discovered,” Carter interjected, her tone light but firm.
“Right, we,” McKay conceded, rolling his eyes slightly. “Anyway, it turns out that the Ancient systems rely on a fractal energy pattern, something that can regulate massive energy outputs through multiple sub-resonances. The modulation dampens the chaotic effects that neutronium usually causes under stress. We haven’t tested it in anything on the scale of a starship yet, but we’ve managed to power up smaller systems without the entire thing exploding, so… progress.”
Carter took over, her voice softer but more precise. “We believe the same modulation technique could be applied to some of Destiny’s power distribution nodes. The current issue you’re facing, with the naquadah reactors struggling to supply enough power to all systems, could be mitigated by adjusting the modulation frequency across the primary conduits. Essentially, it would allow you to control power output in real time, ensuring each system gets exactly what it needs.”
Eli’s mind lit up. “If I could apply that to the shields, it could prevent the energy bottleneck I’ve been dealing with for months. I wouldn’t have to worry about frying half the ship if I push the shields while increasing power flow to the engines.”
“Exactly,” Carter confirmed. “And, once you refine it, you could even channel excess power directly into the stasis pods or life support without overloading the grid.”
Zelenka nodded enthusiastically. “We’ve downloaded all the specs for the modulation system, along with the updated replication algorithms. If you can memorize them and input them into your system you should be able to make the components you need, though it might take a few tweaks depending on how Destiny’s systems respond.”
Eli felt a spark of something he hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. This could work. This could actually save the ship.
McKay wasn’t done. “Oh, and one more thing, we found data streams buried in the Asgard database. Turns out they were compressed schematics for an advanced form of matter conversion. Now, before you get too excited, we’re still working on fully decrypting it, but if we can figure it out, you might be able to replicate items at a subquantum level, basically, perfect replicas without the usual energy loss.”
“That would mean I could start replicating more than just basic components,” Eli muttered, his mind already racing with possibilities. “I could make more efficient energy conduits, repair the FTL drive properly.”
“Slow down there, kid,” McKay interrupted, holding up a hand. “We’re not quite there yet. But the point is, we’re close. Give us a few more months, and who knows? Maybe we’ll even get you something that doesn’t blow up in your face.”
Eli smirked despite himself. This is it. This is the breakthrough I needed.
Carter chimed in again, her tone encouraging but cautious. “Eli, you’ve been through a lot. We’re all really proud of how far you’ve come, but just… take it one step at a time. Focus on stabilizing Destiny. Don’t push too hard, okay?”
Eli nodded, though he felt the pressure rising in his chest. “Yeah, I get it. But I need to do this. For the crew. For… everything.”
As the conversation shifted back to technical talk and plans for Destiny, Carter caught Eli’s eye from across the room. She gave a small nod, a silent invitation to step aside. Eli hesitated for a second but then followed her lead, walking over to a quieter corner of the conference room. Away from the chatter of McKay and Zelenka’s ongoing debate, the air between them felt more personal, more real.
Carter’s expression softened as she looked at him, the weight of unspoken words resting between them. She didn’t rush to fill the silence, instead waiting until Eli was ready to meet her gaze.
“You know, Eli,” she began quietly, her voice low enough that the others couldn’t hear, “I understand what you’re going through. Losing someone… it leaves a hole that nothing really fills, not right away.” She paused, her eyes reflecting a quiet empathy that made Eli’s chest tighten. “When I lost my dad… I didn’t think I could move forward. It took me a long time to figure out how to live with the pain instead of letting it consume me.”
Eli looked down, his fingers nervously tracing the edge of the table beside him. Her words hit close to home, but instead of making him feel more burdened, they made him feel… seen. “How did you do it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Carter smiled, a sad but understanding smile. “I don’t know if there’s any one way. I leaned on my friends, threw myself into my work. But mostly, I gave myself time. You’re allowed to grieve, Eli. You don’t have to rush it or push it aside. When you’re ready, whether it’s to talk or just need someone to listen, I’m here. No pressure, okay?”
Eli swallowed hard, his throat tightening with emotion. He didn’t trust himself to say much without breaking, so he just nodded, appreciating her more than words could express. “Thanks, Colonel,” he managed, his voice rough but sincere.
She smiled again, this time with more warmth. “Anytime, Eli. And… it’s just Sam. We’re in this together.”
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the weight on his chest lightening just a little. It wasn’t much, but knowing Carter understood, knowing she was there, helped more than he could say.
As the others wrapped up their discussions and Carter rejoined the group, Eli stood by the communication stones, preparing himself for the trip back to Destiny. He lingered for a moment, glancing around at the familiar faces he had missed more than he realized.
“Well,” he said, his tone lighter but still carrying a tinge of sadness, “I guess it’s time to get back to the floating death trap.”
McKay smirked. “I’m sure you’ll have the ship running better than ever, especially with my brilliant guidance.”
Eli rolled his eyes but chuckled. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to remember all your… constructive criticism, McKay.”
Zelenka smiled warmly. “Take care of yourself, Eli. And if you need us, don’t hesitate to reach out. We’ll be here.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” Carter added, her eyes meeting Eli’s with the same quiet support she had offered earlier. “We’ve got your back.”
General O’Neill, leaning against the doorway with his arms still crossed, gave Eli a nod.
“Just… try not to blow up the ship, alright? Paperwork’s a nightmare.”
Eli smiled, his heart feeling fuller than it had in months. “I’ll do my best.”
With a final glance at each of them, Eli took a deep breath, his fingers brushing the cold surface of the communication stone. “Thanks, everyone. I’ll see you on the other side.” The familiar rush of disorientation washed over him, and as the room blurred around him, Eli felt hope again.
Over the next several weeks, Eli threw himself into his work like a man possessed. He worked tirelessly, his hands constantly moving, rewiring circuits, tightening bolts, adjusting systems that had been neglected for far too long. The despair that had once gnawed at him, an ever-present shadow, was still there, lurking at the edges of his mind, but it no longer held him in its crushing grip. Now, it was more like a distant hum in the background, always present but no longer drowning him. I can keep going, he thought, his fingers deftly reconnecting wires in the dim light of the ship’s flickering corridors. There’s a reason to keep going.
Instead of drowning in grief, his mind was consumed with something else… progress. He had been fighting the same battles for so long, patching things up just to survive, but now, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was moving forward. Each repair wasn’t just a stopgap; it was a step toward something better. Every spark of a reconnected wire, every hum of machinery coming back to life felt like a victory. And those small victories began to build on each other, giving Eli something he had long been missing: a sense of momentum.
Every day brought a new challenge. The ship’s ancient systems were complicated, a puzzle he was slowly piecing together. He found himself delving deeper into Destiny’s schematics, understanding her in ways he hadn’t before. You’re just as stubborn as I am, aren’t you? he would think as he worked, a faint smile tugging at his lips. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Eli wasn’t facing them alone.
The repair droids, those once-dormant machines, now worked alongside him in a fashion, their mechanical limbs clicking and whirring as they went about their tasks. It was a strange feeling, almost surreal, watching them work, patching the outer hull, reinforcing weakened structures, taking on the burdens that had weighed so heavily on Eli for so long. It wasn’t the same as having real people by his side, but it was something. He wasn’t alone in the fight anymore. I’ve got help now, he thought, watching the droids work in unison, their lights flickering as they completed each task. It felt almost like a partnership, one he had created with his own hands.
Destiny wasn’t just holding on anymore. She was healing, and in some small way, so was he.
With the constant support of Earth’s finest minds, Zelenka, Lee, Carter, and McKay, Eli dove deep into the intricate systems of the ship. They connected regularly through the communication stones, and while the conversations were often dominated by McKay’s rapid-fire updates and criticisms, Eli found himself actually enjoying the debates again.
“Alright, Eli, focus,” McKay snapped during one session, his voice crackling slightly over the connection. “You’ve got to adjust the fractal energy pattern here, or the whole modulation system will destabilize the second you push it past fifty percent output.”
Eli, crouched over a replica of one of Destiny’s control panels they had made for the SGC to have a reference, stared at the complex matrix in front of him. “I get that, but if I reroute the secondary conduits through this sub-resonance,” he tapped a few buttons, highlighting a section of the system, “I can create a buffer, right? That way, the output won’t spike, and I can bring the shields online without risking the grid.”
McKay rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yes, sure, if you want to blow half the ship to pieces in the process. Look, the modulation system isn’t just about balance, it’s about synchronicity. You have to…”
Carter cut in with her usual calm, patient demeanor. “Eli’s right about the buffer. We’ve seen this before in some of the older Ancient tech, where power surges were mitigated by rerouting through parallel conduits. It’s a bit of a risk, but if he adjusts the frequencies carefully enough, it could stabilize.”
Eli smirked slightly. It wasn’t often that someone managed to temper McKay’s domineering personality, but Carter always had a way of guiding the conversation back on track. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot. Let’s hope the ship doesn’t decide to blow me up mid-test.”
As the days passed, Eli found himself more and more engrossed in the work. Refining the molecular encoding algorithms for the replication system became an obsession. At night, when he couldn’t sleep, he’d sit in front of the replication console, staring at streams of code, tweaking algorithms to allow for more complex circuitry.
Zelenka was the one who had encouraged him to push past the limitations of the system.
“Look, Eli,” Zelenka had said one day, his face pixelated but serious over the communication link, “the key is in the quantum encoding. You’ve already mastered the basic replication of materials, but the advanced algorithms we’ve sent, these will allow you to replicate entire systems. But it requires precision. One miscalculation and, well…”
“Yeah, I get it,” Eli had muttered, eyes flicking between lines of code. “One wrong move and I’m toast. But what about life support? If I apply these algorithms to the atmospheric regulators, I could finally stabilize the oxygen levels in some of the more damaged sections.”
Zelenka nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! But start small. Replicate just the essential components first. Once we’re sure the system can handle it, you can move on to more intricate repairs.”
There was something exhilarating about it, knowing that with each successful replication, Destiny was becoming stronger. But every victory was still tinged with an undercurrent of sadness. Eli could feel it, bubbling just beneath the surface. His mother would never see this. She would never know how far he had come, how he was learning things that could change the very nature of space travel. And then there was Ginn, her presence always lurking in the back of his mind. He wondered what she would have thought of all this, of him, struggling but pushing forward.
One night, after a particularly grueling day of repairs and system tests, Eli sat alone in the dimly lit storeroom. He stared at the replication console, the hum of the ship surrounding him like a distant heartbeat. The despair that had once consumed him was still there, but it was quieter now, like a dull ache instead of a sharp stab.
I’m doing this for them, he reminded himself, gripping the edge of the console. For the crew.
For Mom. For Ginn. His hands, once cracked and stained, now felt steady, purposeful. Every wire he spliced, every system he upgraded, it all brought him closer to his goal.
Using the stone Eli returned to Earth to work on fine tuning their plans but found himself quite distracted while there.
“Hey, Eli, you still with us?” McKay’s voice cut through the silence; his tone softer than usual.
Eli blinked, realizing he’d been staring off into space. “Yeah, sorry. Just… thinking.”
There was a pause for a moment, Eli thought McKay might have finally given up on him, but then the scientist spoke again, his voice unusually gentle. “Look, I know I give you a hard time, but… you’re doing great work out there. I mean, for someone without a PhD.”
Eli laughed, the sound surprising him. “Thanks, McKay. I think.”
Carter’s voice chimed in, warmth evident even over the video comms. “He’s right, Eli. You’ve come a long way. Destiny wouldn’t still be flying without you.”
The praise warmed him, but there was still a part of him that couldn’t shake the weight of everything he had lost. “It’s just… I wish they were here to see it. My mom… Ginn…”
There was a long silence. Then, softly, Carter spoke. “I know it’s hard. And I know nothing we say will take away that pain. But you’re keeping their memory alive every time you keep pushing forward.”
Eli swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Yeah. I know. I just… sometimes it feels like I’m holding everything together by a thread.”
“You’re not alone,” Carter assured him. “We’re here. And the crew, they’ll wake up. You’re keeping them alive, Eli. Don’t forget that.”
Eli nodded, even though they couldn’t see him. I’m not alone. Not really.
The next morning, Eli resumed his work with a renewed sense of determination, his tired body moving with a purpose that had eluded him for so long. The dim lights of Destiny’s corridors cast long shadows, but where they had once felt oppressive, they now felt like a backdrop to progress. He could almost feel the ship responding to his efforts, a silent partner in his ongoing battle. The workbench before him was cluttered with tools and components, spare parts he had been tweaking and testing for weeks, but today, something was different. There was a spark of possibility in the air, something more than just survival.
Using the new replication algorithms he had painstakingly developed, Eli managed to create more intricate parts, components that would have been impossible to replicate just a few months ago. He watched with focused intensity as the replication system hummed to life, spitting out the small but crucial parts needed to fix systems that had been beyond repair for what felt like an eternity. The glow of the replicator bathed the room in a soft, almost ethereal light, casting strange reflections on the polished metal components as they emerged, perfectly formed. This could work, Eli thought, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and nerves. This might actually work.
The first real victory came when he successfully restored Destiny’s primary atmospheric regulator. It was a system he had been battling with for months, patching it up here and there, but never quite getting it fully operational. Today, though, was different. As he slid the final piece into place, his fingers trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and anticipation, the console before him blinked to life. The soft, rhythmic hum of the regulator powering on was music to his ears.
Eli held his breath as the system ran through its initial diagnostic checks, his eyes glued to the screen. When the regulator confirmed full operational status, a wave of relief washed over him. He had done it. The stale, heavy air in the ship, which had clung to every breath for months, began to circulate more efficiently, the soft hiss of airflow filling the quiet spaces of the ship. For the first time in months, Eli took a deep breath, and it felt different. The air was cleaner, fresher, no longer tainted by the endless cycle of recycled oxygen. It was like breathing life itself.
He leaned against the console, his body sagging with the weight of his relief, and took another deep breath, savoring the crispness of it. I did it, he thought, a small smile breaking through the weariness etched into his features. I actually did it. The air felt like hope, like a promise that maybe, just maybe, things could get better.
“Of course you did,” McKay’s voice piped in as a voice in his head. “You had my guidance.”
Eli rolled his eyes. “Right. All you, McKay.”
The next project was Destiny’s weapons system, an intimidating task that Eli had been putting off for months, he would have to restore what he took apart. The ship’s offensive capabilities had been dormant for far too long, and in the depths of space, that vulnerability gnawed at him. But now, with the new power modulation techniques Carter had shared, an ingenious way of balancing the ship’s energy output without pushing the aging systems too far, he had a real shot at bringing them back online. The technical schematics for the forward plasma batteries spread out before him on the screen, their complexity no longer overwhelming but instead a challenge waiting to be solved.
Eli worked meticulously, his hands moving over the console with practiced precision, but this time, the task wasn’t just about rerouting power lines or recalibrating energy flow, it was about physically rebuilding the weapon control systems he had scavenged for parts so long ago. The panels had once been stripped bare, their wires disconnected, and their delicate circuitry used for more urgent repairs. Now, Eli found himself crawling into the cramped access panels beneath the main console, reconnecting the intricate network of wires, installing new circuit boards, and carefully replacing the components he had replicated.
His fingers fumbled for a moment as he tightened the screws on a power regulator, the small tool slipping from his grasp before he caught it mid-fall. “Come on,” he muttered under his breath, shifting his position in the tight space. Sweat dripped down his forehead, mingling with the dust and grime that had accumulated on the dormant systems. Piece by piece, wire by wire, he reassembled the gutted weapons array, careful not to disturb the fragile balance of energy that was already flowing through Destiny’s worn systems.
The physical work was grueling, his muscles aching from hours spent crouched over the console, pulling apart and reassembling the complex machinery. After weeks of work, he installed the final power conduits with delicate precision, ensuring that the reassembled system could handle the flow of energy without shorting out. The hum of Destiny’s systems surrounded him, but now there was something more, a sense of connection between him and the ship, as though with every screw tightened and every wire connected, he was breathing life back into it.
Eli straightened up, stretching his sore back, and let out a long breath, satisfaction flickering in his chest. The weapons system was back online, at least in theory. Now came the real test. He wiped his hands again, glancing around the dimly lit room where he had spent hours immersed in repairs. The hum of the restored energy lines felt like a heartbeat pulsing through the ship, but the true measure of his success would be found on the bridge.
With his tools slung back into his kit, Eli made his way out of the weapon control room, stepping into the corridor. The air was cool against his skin, a contrast to the stale heat of the weapons bay. His boots echoed softly against the floor as he walked through Destiny’s long, winding passageways. He could hear the familiar low thrum of the ship’s systems around him, a sound that was almost comforting now, even as it reminded him of how much work was still ahead.
He passed the stasis pods, his eyes flicking to the crew within. For a moment, Eli hesitated, his gaze lingering on Scott’s peaceful face. One step closer, he thought, the weight of his responsibility settling back onto his shoulders. But this time, the burden didn’t feel as heavy. If he could restore the weapons system, what else could he achieve? How much closer could he get to waking them?
He pressed forward, his pace quickening with each step as he neared the bridge. The anticipation grew inside him, a slow, steady burn. By the time he reached the doors of the bridge, he was practically running. His hand hovered for a moment over the control panel, then with a deep breath, he activated the door.
The bridge greeted him with its familiar, expansive view of space, the empty seats, the stillness of the space that had once buzzed with activity. He crossed the room to the command console, every step bringing him closer to the culmination of his work. His fingers flew over the controls, bringing the weapons system online for the first time in what felt like ages.
“Okay, big moment,” Eli said, taking a deep breath. He ran the final diagnostic on the weapons system, waiting for the result.
The screen flashed green.
“Weapons back online,” Eli reported, his voice barely containing the surge of excitement as a grin spread across his face. The words echoed in the empty bridge, the quiet hum of Destiny’s systems seeming to respond in kind, as though the ship itself shared in his small victory. “We’re not sitting ducks anymore.”
It wasn’t just the achievement of bringing the weapons back online, though that was a monumental step forward. It was the feeling of purpose that surged through him, filling the void that had long since taken root. For the first time in what felt like forever, Eli wasn’t just reacting to one emergency after another, he was building something. Moving forward.
As he stood there, hands still resting on the console, a familiar wave of grief swept over him, sharp and sudden, like a cold gust of wind. His mind drifted to his mother, her laughter, the way she’d tease him about being a workaholic even as a kid. She would’ve been proud, he thought, the pang in his chest almost unbearable for a moment. The ache of her absence hadn’t dulled, but now, it didn’t paralyze him. He closed his eyes, let the feeling pass through him, and when he opened them again, the grief had receded into the background, leaving him with the strength to keep going.
I can do this, he told himself, drawing a deep breath as his fingers danced across the console, running diagnostics on the newly reactivated systems. The weapons array blinked to life, the energy flowing smoothly through the circuits he had painstakingly rebuilt. He had torn those systems apart for parts, stripped them down to keep Destiny’s more critical functions running. Now, he had put them back together, piece by piece, wire by wire, and the ship was responding. It was almost like she was healing alongside him.
For weeks, he had been rebuilding, using everything he’d learned from his time on Earth and every new discovery he made aboard Destiny. The weapons were a big part of that, but the real key had been restoring life support. As he thought back over the countless hours spent crawling through the ship’s guts, splicing wires, replacing conduits, recalibrating sensors, a weary sense of pride swelled in his chest.
Eli pulled up the latest status report, his eyes scanning the list like a checklist of triumphs. He had restored life support to near-optimal conditions, stabilized the oxygen flow, and brought air back to parts of the ship that had been sealed off since before they had arrived on the ship. He had fixed the primary power grid, rerouting energy through safer channels, and optimized the shield modulation using the techniques Carter had shared with him.
Each accomplishment was a step closer to the goal. Each victory, no matter how small, brought him closer to making sure Destiny would survive, and so would the crew. They’re counting on me, he reminded himself. And I’m almost there.
But it wasn’t just the technology. That much had become clear to him over time. The process of rebuilding Destiny had somehow mirrored his own journey, each repaired system, each restored circuit, felt like a piece of himself being put back together. His grief hadn’t vanished. It never would. There were still moments when the loss hit him hard, the weight of his mother’s death and the memories of Ginn crushing him when he least expected it. Sometimes it was a smell, or the sight of a flickering console light that reminded him of simpler times. Sometimes it was a moment of silence when the ship’s hum seemed to fade into the background, and he was left alone with his thoughts.
Those waves of grief still came, and when they did, they were overwhelming. But they didn’t drown him anymore. They didn’t pull him under. I can feel it and keep going, he thought. And every time he did, it felt like he was reclaiming a little more of himself.
By the time Eli had absorbed everything he could from the SGC and his ongoing work aboard the ship, he realized he was closer to reaching their ultimate goal than he had ever imagined. As he checked the systems, ran his diagnostics, and watched the progress unfold before his eyes, he began to see it more clearly: the end wasn’t as far off as it once seemed. He wasn’t stuck in survival mode anymore. Destiny was getting stronger, and so was he.
He ran through the list in his head like a checklist: Life support… check. Weapons… check. Shields… check. The systems that had once felt so fragile, on the verge of collapse, were stabilizing. Eli had put in countless hours of work, every spare moment spent crawling through tight spaces, repairing conduits, running simulations on the new power modulation techniques.
A sudden chime broke the silence, followed by a soft but insistent beep from the console. Eli frowned and turned toward the control panel, his heart rate quickening slightly. What now? he wondered, feeling that familiar blend of dread and anticipation that came with every alert. He crossed the room and scanned the display.
The words, In Ancient, blinked in bold green letters across the screen: Hull repairs complete. Repair robot now rerouting to main engineering for life support restoration.
For a moment, Eli just stared, processing the message. It’s done, he thought, his mind racing. The hull, which had been damaged for so long, forcing the ship’s shields to compensate and draining precious power reserves, was finally repaired. He had watched as the droid meticulously worked on the outer hull, but seeing the notification that it was finished felt like the culmination of months of grueling effort.
Eli ran a hand through his hair, a breath of relief escaping his lips. But the message wasn’t done. The repair droid, no longer needed for external repairs, had already begun to move toward main engineering. The system had automatically assigned it to assist its counterpart in rebuilding the more critically damaged engineering section deep within the ship.
They’re going to handle it, Eli realized, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. The robots were now doing what he alone could never achieve: accessing and repairing parts of the ship that had been unreachable since they first boarded Destiny. And now, with the hull secure and both droids focusing on the core systems, the burden of those tasks was being lifted off his shoulders, he felt like he could actually relax a bit.
It wasn’t just about keeping the ship going anymore, it was about moving forward. Eli could feel the old sense of purpose returning. The ship needed him, and now, finally, he could see the path ahead clearly. The mission still mattered. The discoveries that lay ahead still mattered. Destiny mattered.
After a particularly grueling session of encoding new data into the replication system, Eli leaned back in his chair, his body aching from the long hours but his mind buzzing with satisfaction. The hum of the ship surrounded him, no longer oppressive but soothing, like the ship itself was grateful for the care. The systems were stable, improving every day, and for the first time in what felt like years, Eli could see a future beyond just survival.
He glanced at the communication stones, sitting quietly on the console. The grief was still there, the pain of losing his mother, of losing Ginn, it hadn’t gone away. But it didn’t suffocate him anymore. He could see past it now, see the road ahead. And for the first time in a long time, that road didn’t feel hopeless.
I’m not just surviving anymore, he thought, a quiet resolve filling him. I’m rebuilding… not just the ship, but myself.
Eli let out a long breath and smiled to himself. The path ahead was still uncertain, still fraught with challenges, but now, for the first time, he felt ready for whatever came next.
We’re not done yet, Destiny. Not by a long shot.
Chapter 7: Awakening
As Destiny approached the end of its three-year journey across the void, the ship had never been in better shape. Eli Wallace, once the hesitant and inexperienced member of the crew, had transformed. The boy who had fumbled his way into space had spent those long years pushing the limits of his abilities, growing not just in physical strength but in his understanding of the ship, its technology, and his role as its caretaker. The crushing vastness of space no longer overwhelmed him, and while the grief of losing his mother and Ginn lingered in his heart, it no longer held him captive. It had become part of him, but not all of him.
Destiny’s systems, once on the brink of collapse, were now stable, the result of Eli’s tireless efforts. He stood on the bridge, watching as the ship slowly soaked in the sun’s energy from the solar recharge. The console lights flickered rhythmically, pulsing like the heartbeat of the ship, their warm glow casting soft shadows over Eli’s face. Every pulse of power brought Destiny closer to full functionality, and soon, the stasis pods would release their hold on the sleeping crew.
He stared at the status monitor, the flashing green lights signifying that everything was working as planned. Yet his mind wandered, and a weight settled in his chest. They’re going to wake up soon. The thought filled him with a strange mixture of excitement and dread. He had spent so long alone, with the ship as his only companion, that the idea of being surrounded by the crew again felt surreal. What will they think when they see me?
He left the bridge, his footsteps echoing softly in the empty corridors as he made his way to the observation deck. The ship around him was quiet, save for the faint hum of Destiny’s systems, steady and rhythmic, as if the ship itself was breathing. The soft lighting along the walls cast long shadows as he walked, and for a moment, Eli felt a sense of calm wash over him. But it was fleeting, quickly replaced by the gnawing anxiety he couldn’t seem to shake.
When he reached the observation deck, he stood before the large, curved window, gazing out at the star they were recharging inside of. The fiery, swirling mass of solar energy consumed his vision, its vibrant arcs of plasma and fiery flares moving in graceful patterns around the ship. Bright, twisting tendrils of light stretched out from the star’s surface, casting a warm, golden glow across the deck. Every time Eli saw it, he felt a pang of awe. The raw power and beauty of the star was mesmerizing… alive and untamed. The way the light refracted through the energy shields, bathing the room in a soft, shimmering glow, reminded him of just how far he had come.
The ship seemed to hum in response, the flow of energy bringing Destiny back to full strength. It wasn’t just a recharge, it was a renewal, a reminder that they were still here, still fighting. And yet, despite the ship’s vitality, the weight of what was coming pressed down on him.
Eli stood there for a while, watching the flares shift and dance, feeling the warmth through the reinforced glass as the ship absorbed the star’s energy. How am I going to explain all of this to them? The question echoed in his mind, a whisper of doubt that wouldn’t leave him alone. He muttered under his breath, barely loud enough to hear, “How am I going to explain all of this to them?”
As he walked through the ship, his mind drifted to the early days of his solitude, when the weight of the crew’s lives pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket. Those first months had been a blur of panic, exhaustion, and overwhelming responsibility. Systems failing one after another, the realization that every life on board rested solely on his shoulders. And then, there was the isolation. The crushing, unrelenting loneliness that had nearly driven him to despair. No one could understand that. Not really.
Now, the boy he once was… soft, unremarkable, unsure of himself… had been replaced.
His body had grown stronger, honed by the daily grind of physical labor and maintenance. His frame, once hidden beneath an oversized hoodie, was now more muscular, shaped by necessity and survival. His worn-out sneakers had been replaced with sturdy boots, and the practical clothing he’d replicated over the years was suited to the life he had built here, far from the comforts of Earth.
Eli paused in front of one of the stasis pods, his eyes settling on Scott’s peaceful face, frozen in time. He felt a pang of anxiety twist in his gut. Will they understand what I’ve been through? It wasn’t just the physical changes. It was everything, the grief, the loss, the transformation of his very soul. He glanced at his reflection in the glass of the stasis pod, and for a moment, he barely recognized the man staring back at him.
He had become lean and muscular, his once soft frame now replaced by someone hardened by survival. His face was sharper, his jawline more defined, but it wasn’t just the physical difference that startled him, it was his eyes. They were deeper, darker, holding an almost haunting look that hadn’t been there before. The weight of losing his mother had nearly broken him, and he saw it in those eyes, the sorrow and loneliness etched into every line of his face. Ginn’s absence still haunted him, lingering at the edge of his thoughts like a ghost, and that too was reflected in his gaze, an ever-present shadow that darkened the man he had once been.
But somehow, he had carried on. He had rebuilt Destiny, piece by piece, just as he had rebuilt himself. Would the crew see that? Would they even recognize him? Eli wondered, because as he stood there, staring at his own reflection, he wasn’t sure if he recognized himself anymore either.
He clenched his jaw and moved away from the pod. He had changed so much, but he wasn’t sure if they could ever truly understand the depths of what he had endured, the loneliness, the constant fight for survival, the nights when he doubted he’d see another day. In those darkest moments, it was the thought of his mother that had kept him going. Even though the grief still stabbed at him like a raw wound, it was also a source of strength.
Eli could almost hear her voice, soft but firm, as if she were standing beside him. “You’re stronger than you think, sweetheart.” She had said that to him so many times growing up, always when he felt lost or uncertain. It had become a mantra for him, echoing in the back of his mind during those long, solitary hours aboard Destiny. When systems failed and he had no one to rely on but himself, when the weight of his isolation felt unbearable, her words had been his anchor. You’re stronger than you think. He had whispered it to himself, sometimes out loud, sometimes just in his mind, as he patched up broken systems and crawled through the ship’s guts.
The grief still hurt, some days it was an all-consuming ache that tightened his chest and made it hard to breathe. He could still feel the overwhelming pain from the moment he learned she was gone, the crushing guilt that he hadn’t been there, that he hadn’t been able to save her. That ache would never fully go away, he knew that now. But even in the depths of that pain, his mother had given him something more: the strength to endure. She was gone, but in a way, she was still with him. He could feel her presence in those moments when he felt like he was about to break, in the quiet spaces between crises, when all he had left was his resolve. She had always believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. That belief had pulled him through when nothing else could.
The soft hum of Destiny’s systems was the only sound that followed him down the corridor. He had become one with the ship, its caretaker and protector. Every inch of it had passed through his hands at some point during those years. He had memorized its schematics, understood its quirks, and now, the ship responded to him like a partner in a dance. But what would the others think when they woke up to find him here, changed, stronger, and no longer the “smart kid” who had once stumbled his way onto Destiny?
And yet, even as he questioned how they would see him, he felt a quiet certainty in his heart. His mother would have been proud. She would have understood the sacrifice, the struggle, and the growth. It didn’t matter if the others saw it right away, Eli realized. He had survived, and more than that, he had rebuilt. You’re stronger than you think, sweetheart. The words echoed again, and this time, they didn’t hurt. They gave him strength.
As he reached the entrance to the engine room, a flicker of light from the control panel caught his attention. The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the vast, cathedral-like space beyond. Eli paused for a moment, taking in the scene before him. The engine room had been inaccessible for nearly the entire three years he had been alone. It was only two days ago that the repair droids, having finished patching the inner hull, had granted him access, moving on to rebuild some of the energy turrets that had been destroyed in the relentless battles with the drones.
The engine room itself was awe-inspiring. Massive columns of ancient machinery stretched from the floor to the ceiling, towering over him like silent, mechanical giants. A deep hum resonated from the core of the ship’s engines, the rhythmic vibration coursing through the floor beneath his boots. The dim lighting cast long shadows, illuminating parts of the room while leaving others in near darkness. Thick power conduits snaked along the walls, pulsating with energy, while the main control terminal stood in the center, surrounded by various smaller consoles that blinked with status updates and diagnostics.
The space was cavernous, but despite its size, there was an almost oppressive sense of age. The air was heavy with the scent of metallic dust and coolant, a reminder that Destiny was as old as it was powerful. Eli had studied the ship’s schematics, of course, but seeing this room, finally standing here in person, was overwhelming. He could feel the weight of centuries pressing down on the ship, yet it still thrummed with life.
He turned toward the central control display, where a soft, steady flicker of light drew his gaze. Eli’s hands instinctively moved over the console, his fingers brushing against the cool surface. He scanned the readouts, watching as Destiny began to pull more energy from the sun. The ship’s solar collectors were functioning at near full capacity, absorbing and channeling the raw energy into the core systems. Each pulse of power that fed into the engine felt like a heartbeat, growing stronger with every passing moment.
Almost time to wake them up. The thought brought a wave of apprehension. Eli took a deep breath, steadying himself. He had kept Destiny alive. He had kept the crew alive. But the idea of facing them again, of seeing their faces and explaining everything that had happened, it made his chest tighten with uncertainty.
Eli’s hands drifted over the controls, his fingers instinctively moving to monitor the ship’s systems one last time as the recharge cycle completed. The hum of the ship filled the quiet space around him, steady and strong. Destiny was ready. Eli was ready. Or at least, as ready as he could be.
But will they understand? The thought lingered in his mind as he prepared for what came next. The ship was whole again. He was whole again, or as close as he could be. But when the crew opened their eyes, would they see that?
His hands clenched the railings of the console he was standing at, knuckles white. “I’ll have to explain all of it. How much I’ve lost… How hard it’s been. I must get it out. But not all at once.”
A sharp beep from the console interrupted his thoughts, pulling Eli’s focus back to the present. His eyes flicked to the display. The solar recharge cycle was complete, and for the first time since they had boarded Destiny, the power readings for stored energy were at a full 100%. It was an achievement he had only dreamed of. The collectors were operating at peak efficiency, something that hadn’t been true since the early days of their journey.
Eli’s gaze lingered on the readout, a sense of accomplishment washing over him. The repair robots had done more than just patch up the visible damage to the ship. During their painstaking work in the engineering section, they had also uncovered a critical flaw in the system, an unseen plasma gas leak caused by damage to the solar collectors. Eli would never have found it on his own; it had been buried deep within the ship’s systems, hidden from the diagnostics until the robots traced the anomaly. Now, with the plasma conduits sealed and the collectors fully repaired, they were working more efficiently than ever before. He could feel it in the way Destiny responded, the subtle hum of power coursing through the ship, steady and strong.
He took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. It had taken three years of effort, setbacks, and near-disasters, but the ship was finally ready. Eli could feel the significance of this moment—it was more than just a technical achievement; it was a turning point. The crew had entrusted him with their lives, and now, after so long, it was time to bring them back.
With his heart pounding in his chest, Eli steeled himself and turned away from the console. The quiet hum of Destiny’s systems accompanied his footsteps as he made the long walk to the stasis pod chamber. The corridors felt different now… alive, with power surging through every conduit and circuit. He could sense the ship’s readiness, almost like Destiny herself was waiting for this moment.
When he reached the stasis chamber, the low hum of the pods filled the room, a sound Eli had grown so accustomed to that it had become part of the background. Now, though, standing here with everything in place, the weight of what he was about to do hit him fully. Slowly, he approached the control console, his hands hovering above the interface for a moment before he began entering the necessary commands.
The soft glow of the stasis pods flickered as the system responded, and Eli watched as the process he had dreaded and anticipated for so long finally began. The crew was about to awaken, and with them, everything would change.
One by one, the pods began to release their occupants, the soft hiss of depressurization filling the air like a quiet exhale from the ship itself. The sound echoed faintly in the dim room, a reminder that Destiny had been breathing all this time, even as her crew slumbered. Eli watched from a distance, his heart pounding as the fog of stasis lifted from the people who had once been his lifeline. Colonel Young was the first to stir, his eyes fluttering open as if struggling to remember how to see. His movements were slow, almost cautious, as if afraid the world around him might not be real. Next came Scott, Greer, Chloe, Rush, and the others, their bodies stiff and reluctant to respond after so many months of suspended animation. They emerged slowly, sluggishly, stretching limbs that had forgotten how to move, blinking against the low light of the room like newborns seeing the world for the first time.
Eli shifted his weight, standing off to the side, hands instinctively clenching and unclenching at his sides. His fingers twitched, aching with the urge to do something, anything, to steady himself. He had been waiting for this moment for so long, had played it over in his mind a thousand times, but now that it was here, a knot of anxiety twisted tighter and tighter in his chest. His breath felt shallow, his pulse rapid, and he found himself almost lightheaded with the rush of emotions. They had no idea what had happened while they slept, no concept of how much had changed, how much he had changed.
His eyes scanned each of their faces, waiting for the confusion to settle in, knowing it was inevitable. The crew, still shaking off the lingering effects of stasis, exchanged looks, their expressions shifting slowly from weariness to dawning awareness. He saw it in their eyes, the widening realization, the subtle furrow of brows, the fleeting glances at one another. They had expected to wake up to chaos, to a ship barely holding together by sheer will. A ship on the brink of collapse. Instead, they found themselves aboard a vessel that, despite its ancient age, was running more smoothly than it had in years. The steady hum of the machinery, the soft glow of lights that didn’t flicker, the fresh air flowing through the room, each detail spoke of a ship that was alive, not just surviving.
They were expecting the worst, Eli thought, his chest tightening again, like an invisible weight pressing down on his lungs. They don’t know what I had to do. They don’t know how close I came to losing everything. His throat tightened as memories flooded him, long, sleepless nights, the echoing silence of the ship as he worked alone, the desperation as systems threatened to fail and every decision felt like life or death. And then there was the grief, always hovering at the edge of his mind, gnawing at him, pushing him to the brink. He had fought so hard to keep the ship… and himself… together.
As Colonel Young blinked the last of the grogginess from his eyes, his gaze swept the room, taking in the scene with growing confusion. His brow furrowed as his eyes settled on Eli, standing off to the side, apart from the group. There was a flicker of something unspoken in Young’s expression, uncertainty, maybe even disbelief. He opened his mouth as if to speak but hesitated, his confusion deepening as he took in the state of the ship around him.
Eli felt the weight of Young’s stare, and it pressed down on him like a physical thing. He shifted awkwardly under the scrutiny, his mind racing as he tried to find the right words. How do I explain this? The thought circled over and over in his mind. How could he possibly put into words the nights he had spent fighting to keep the ship from falling apart, the crushing loneliness that had gnawed at him until it felt like a part of his bones, the loss he had carried alone? His mother… gone. No one had been there to share that pain, no one to help him carry the weight. And yet, somehow, he had survived. He had done more than survive. He had changed.
What are they going to think? Eli’s mind spun as he watched Young’s confusion turn into something sharper. What will they say when they realize how different things are? He had spent three years in isolation, learning the depths of Destiny’s systems, honing skills he never knew he had. He wasn’t the same awkward, unsure kid who had stepped through the Stargate all those years ago. He had become the ship’s protector, its engineer, its lifeline. But would they see that? Would they see the strength he had found within himself? Or would they only see the boy he used to be?
The others were stirring more fully now, rubbing their eyes, exchanging tired glances and muttered words. They stretched cautiously, testing their stiff limbs, their movements growing more fluid as they shook off the effects of stasis. Eli could hear fragments of conversations, confused whispers about how long they’d been asleep, about the ship’s condition, about how everything felt… different.
The knot in his chest tightened, anxiety and relief swirling together in a confusing mess of emotions. They’re safe. They’re here, he reminded himself, forcing his breath to slow. That was the most important thing. Whatever came next… whatever questions they had, whatever disbelief or anger or confusion… they were alive. And for now, that had to be enough
“Eli?” Colonel Young’s voice cut through the stillness of the room, rough and groggy as he rubbed the last remnants of stasis from his eyes. His footsteps were slow and measured as he stepped forward, still adjusting to his reawakening body. “What the hell happened?”
Eli stood a few feet away, lingering in the shadows just beyond the dim light. His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped forward, revealing himself to everyone. The tension in the air was palpable. “A lot has changed,” he began, his voice calm but steady. He kept his tone level, though the gravity of everything he’d been through felt like it might crush him in this moment. “While you were all in stasis, I kept the ship running. I made upgrades… improvements.”
Scott, blinking the last traces of disorientation from his eyes, stared at Eli, trying to make sense of what he was seeing and hearing. His mind was racing to catch up with the new reality he had woken up to, and Eli could feel the weight of that disbelief pressing down on him.
Eli nodded, the understatement of his answer masking the monumental effort it had taken to survive. “Yeah,” he said simply. “It wasn’t easy. But Destiny needed someone to keep her alive and the stasis pod kinda got fried. Plus, I wasn’t about to let you all down.” His words were simple, but each one carried the weight of countless sleepless nights and long, solitary days of battling to keep the ship afloat. The crew began making their way back into the heart of the ship with Eli leading the way.
Dr. Rush’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Eli and the patched repairs along the corridors. There was always a sharpness to Rush, a suspicious edge, and now was no different. “You’ve… altered the ship’s systems significantly, haven’t you?” His tone was cautious, almost accusatory, as if he were trying to piece together the extent of Eli’s changes.
Eli smiled faintly, though the effort barely reached his eyes. “Naquadah reactors, new shields… they’re fully functional now,” he said, the pride in his work tempered by the knowledge of what it had cost him. He stopped for a moment in one of the corridor junctions and waited for Rush to challenge him, to question the methods or the risks he had taken, but for now, the older man remained silent, clearly processing the enormity of what Eli had done.
Chloe, who had been moving with the group quietly, stepped forward. Her eyes swept over Eli’s frame; her voice soft but filled with an almost reverent shock. “You look… different, Eli.”
Her words hung in the air like an echo, and in that moment, the rest of the crew began to really see him. The man standing before them wasn’t the Eli Wallace they remembered, the soft, unassuming kid who had stumbled his way onto Destiny. He was stronger now, his once lean frame replaced with muscle honed from years of physical labor and exercise. His posture was more confident, grounded, like someone who had carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and managed to stand taller because of it.
Eli could feel their gazes, the silent questions forming in their eyes, the unspoken acknowledgment of his transformation. But he wasn’t ready to talk about the personal cost of it all, not yet. “I’ve had a lot of time,” he said, brushing off Chloe’s observation with a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But this wasn’t just about keeping the ship running. It was about making sure you all had something to wake up to. Something better than what we had when we started this journey.”
The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them. It was Brody who finally broke it, his voice laced with his usual dry humor as he raised an eyebrow. “So, uh, I take it there wasn’t much booze left for me? Looks like someone’s been putting in some serious gym time.” He tried to keep his tone light, but there was a hint of admiration buried beneath the sarcasm. “I mean, I was planning on drinking my way through this ordeal, but you… you went full space marine on us.”
Eli chuckled, though the sound felt strange in his throat. “Yeah, well, turns out lifting naquadah reactors is a pretty good workout,” he replied, trying to keep the mood from growing too heavy. He appreciated Brody’s attempt to ease the tension, even if the truth behind his transformation was far from lighthearted.
Volker was quieter, his eyes wide as he took in Eli’s appearance. “Wow. I mean… Eli, you look like you’ve been through… well, a lot.” His voice was soft, a mix of awe and concern creeping into his tone. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but… it’s just… I don’t know how you did it.”
Eli shrugged, trying to downplay the magnitude of what he’d gone through. “A lot of manual labor. Keeps you busy when the company’s kind of… frozen in time.” He smiled, but it was a faint, tired expression—one that hinted at just how much he had carried during their absence.
Camille was next, stepping closer to Eli with a look of quiet pride on her face. Her voice was soft, almost motherly, as she spoke. “You’ve grown so much,” she said, her words filled with admiration and a touch of sadness. “Not just physically, but everything about you feels different. Stronger. You’ve always been capable, Eli, but this… this is something else.”
She looked at him with a tenderness that Eli hadn’t realized he needed. The weight on his chest lifted just a little as she spoke, her words reminding him that he wasn’t alone anymore. “I know it couldn’t have been easy, but we’re all here now. You don’t have to carry everything alone anymore.”
TJ had been silent, her observant eyes scanning Eli with a mix of relief and concern. When she finally spoke, her voice was gentle but firm. “You look… healthy, Eli. Stronger. But I know physical health is only part of the equation.” She stepped closer, her brow furrowing slightly in concern. “I just want to make sure you’re really okay. That all of this,” she gestured to his muscular frame, “wasn’t about trying to hold everything in.”
Eli nodded, appreciating the concern in her voice. “It wasn’t just that,” he said softly. “It was survival. But I’m okay. Or… I will be.” He gave her a small smile, one that didn’t quite erase the shadows lingering in his eyes, but it was genuine.
Brody moved toward the nearest console, scanning the system readouts with wide eyes. “This ship… it’s… it’s in better condition than when we boarded,” he said, disbelief creeping into his voice as he took in the improvements.
“I’ve optimized a lot of the systems,” Eli explained, his tone more businesslike now. “Life support is more efficient, shields are stronger, weapons are back online, after I broke them that is. I’ve built a system very similar to an Asgard beaming system that replicates pretty much anything we need, from complex components to coffee.”
“Eli,” Young said, his voice softer now as he turned to face him fully. “How… how did you manage all of this?”
The question hung in the air, and Eli could feel the weight of it settling on his shoulders. He had prepared for this moment, but now that it was here, the enormity of everything he had gone through threatened to overwhelm him. How could he explain the sleepless nights? The crushing loneliness? The grief that had eaten away at him in the silence of Destiny’s empty halls?
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Eli said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “The stasis pod I was working on was damaged more than we thought. After trying to repair it several times with different tools and components, it ended up completely burned out.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I had a choice, reach out to Earth for help, or face it alone. Carter and McKay helped me build an energy-to-matter conversion system. That system became a lifeline, but Destiny was falling apart. I had to fix her. It was the only way to keep you all alive.”
He stopped, his voice tightening as memories of those dark, lonely days flooded back. “At first, it was just about survival, fixing the ship, making sure I had enough food. But it became more than that. Keeping Destiny running became my way of staying connected to all of you. Every system I repaired, every new piece of tech I integrated, it was a promise to myself that I wouldn’t let you down. I had to believe there was still something worth fighting for, even when I felt completely alone.”
The room fell into a heavy silence as the crew absorbed his words. They could see it now, the toll it had taken on him, the physical transformation was just the surface. Eli had been through hell, and though they were now awake, the full weight of his journey hung in the air between them like a thick fog.
Chloe stepped forward, her voice soft and filled with regret. “Eli… we’re so sorry. We should have…”
“No,” Eli cut her off, shaking his head. “You couldn’t have done anything. I had to do this.
For all of us.”
Rush, typically unsentimental, finally spoke, his voice tinged with something approaching respect. “You’ve done remarkable work, Eli.”
Eli met Rush’s gaze, and though the compliment was understated, he knew it meant more coming from him. He gave Rush a small nod. “Thanks,” he said simply, but the word carried the weight of everything he had endured.
Without missing a beat, Eli turned to the rest of the group, motioning for them to follow. “There’s a lot to see,” he said, his tone lighter now. “I’ve made some big changes, so I think it’s best if I show you.”
The crew exchanged glances, their curiosity piqued. As they trailed behind Eli, the hum of Destiny’s systems surrounded them, steady and strong. Eli led them through the halls of the ship, and with each step, the distance between the man they had known and the man they saw now became more apparent.
“I know we’ve had our share of system failures in the past,” Eli began as they entered the first section of the control room, the soft hum of Destiny’s systems now noticeably smoother. “But that’s not an issue anymore. These naquadah reactors…” He gestured toward one of the control panels, swiping across the screen to display a holographic image of the reactors integrated into the ship’s power grid. The reactors, once scattered across various systems, now formed a neatly organized network. “…are a game changer. I’ve brought several more of them online and tied them directly into the ship’s primary power grid.”
The image shifted, showing an intricate web of energy conduits snaking their way through Destiny’s main power channels. The reactors pulsed rhythmically, each node marked with fluctuating energy readings that indicated how much power was being fed into the grid. Rush leaned in, his sharp eyes narrowing as he scanned the data that scrolled across the holographic display, his mind quickly processing the complexity of what he was seeing.
“You managed to bring more reactors online without destabilizing the system?” Rush’s tone was both skeptical and impressed, his suspicion giving way to curiosity.
Eli nodded, the faintest hint of pride flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, the trick was figuring out how to balance the power output across multiple points. Before, we were pushing too much energy through too few channels. The grid was overloaded and unstable. So, I had to completely redesign the distribution nodes.”
He flicked through several layers of schematics, revealing the modified energy conduits and their newly integrated nodes. Each node was connected to a modulation relay, a system Eli had meticulously crafted by studying Ancient technology. “I used an energy modulation system based on Ancient fractal patterns to stabilize the flow. Each reactor feeds into these relays, which act like pressure valves, dispersing the energy evenly across the grid.”
Rush’s expression shifted from guarded suspicion to genuine intrigue. His gaze flickered over the fractal patterns dancing across the screen, their complexity dazzling yet functional. “Fractal energy modulation… Clever,” he muttered, a rare compliment. “That would reduce the risk of energy surges across the grid. The Ancient system must have been designed with adaptability in mind, but you’ve expanded its capacity.”
Eli grinned, his enthusiasm bubbling just beneath the surface. “Exactly. The reactors are tied into Destiny’s power matrix through these modulation relays. They reroute excess energy automatically. So, if one system starts drawing too much power, the others don’t suffer. It spreads the load evenly, so we’re not constantly risking overload. No more scrambling to shut down secondary systems to prevent total failure.”
Rush nodded approvingly, but it was Colonel Young who voiced the question they all shared. “Which means?” he asked, his tone thoughtful as he processed the implications.
Rush responded in his usual brusque manner. “It means the shields and weapons can be used at full capacity without frying the rest of the ship.”
Eli’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the moment. “Exactly. We’ve always had to worry about diverting power from critical systems to keep the shields up or fire the weapons. Not anymore. Now the reactors can provide continuous energy without forcing us to compromise on other systems.”
The crew’s attention was fully locked on Eli as he continued. “And that’s not even the best part,” he added, his tone teasing as he motioned for them to follow. “Come with me.” He led them deeper into the ship, toward the heart of the engineering section, where his greatest upgrades awaited.
As they walked, Rush remained silent, clearly processing how Eli had managed to implement a solution that had eluded them for so long. Young exchanged a glance with Scott, the unspoken recognition of just how far Eli had come sinking in.
The ship’s hum seemed quieter now, more controlled, as if Destiny itself was breathing easier under Eli’s care.
He led them down a series of corridors, the hum of Destiny’s systems ever-present, a low, constant reminder of the ship’s intricate machinery. As they passed by the life support systems, Eli paused and gestured toward the array of displays on the wall. Each screen showed stable oxygen levels, air pressure, and humidity, all in perfect harmony. It was a far cry from the early days when they were constantly on the verge of suffocation.
“Life support is finally optimized,” Eli began, his tone carrying the pride of someone who had fought tooth and nail to keep them all alive. “I replicated new atmospheric scrubbers using the replication system I built. The original ones were breaking down so fast because they weren’t designed to last this long. But now? I tweaked the molecular encoding algorithms so they can produce more complex parts without degradation at the subatomic level.”
Volker’s eyes widened in surprise, his eyebrows shooting up. “You replicated the scrubbers? Those were half the problem when we first came aboard. We were always sealing off sections of the ship to conserve oxygen.”
Eli nodded, pleased with the reaction. “Not anymore,” he said confidently, tapping a display that showed a flawless oxygen distribution map of the ship. “I replicated enough components to rebuild the life support system from scratch. Oxygen levels are stable across the ship now. No more sealing off corridors, no more emergency protocols. The air quality is the best it’s been since… well, ever.”
Brody, who had been silently observing, finally spoke up with a nod of approval. “So, no more duct-taping life support back together every few weeks? I won’t have to crawl through ventilation shafts anymore?”
Eli smirked, his confidence clear. “No more duct tape. I’ve done more than just patch things up. The replication system can produce exactly what we need, down to the molecular level. I even upgraded the filtration systems. The air’s not just breathable, it’s fresh. Like we’re on a planet, not in deep space.”
He continued, his voice steady but full of pride. “And it’s not just air. With the replication system, I’ve been able to produce pretty much anything we need, tools, replacement parts, even food.”
Camille, always the pragmatist, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Food? You can replicate food now?”
Eli’s grin widened as he looked at her. “Yeah. At first, I focused on getting the system to produce components and critical supplies. But once I fine-tuned the algorithms, I realized I could go further. I replicated protein-rich meal packs, fresh fruits, vegetables. No more scraping by with rations.”
The crew exchanged glances, clearly impressed by the extent of the improvements. They hadn’t expected this, a ship that not only functioned but thrived. For so long, they had lived with the bare minimum, surviving on duct-taped systems and prayers. Now, thanks to Eli, Destiny could feel more like a home, a place where they could actually live instead of just surviving.
Eli led them into Destiny’s mess hall, where the contrast from the past was striking. The once dimly lit room now felt almost welcoming under full lighting, illuminating the worn but resilient metal surfaces and casting long, soft glows over the space. The tables and benches, sturdy and industrial in design, had been cleaned and arranged, giving the room an organized and almost homely feel compared to the harsh, utilitarian atmosphere it had once held.
Eli stopped near one of the counters along the side wall, where he had installed a few small terminals next to the food storage units. They were sleek, almost resembling a microwave, the design blending seamlessly with the ancient aesthetic of Destiny, but with a modern touch that made it stand out as something Eli had clearly upgraded. He gestured toward it, drawing their attention.
“The system can produce a variety of food and drinks,” Eli explained, his tone casual but laced with pride. “Nothing five-star gourmet, but it’s better than what we had before. There’s a database filled with recipes, everything from fast food joints to some of the better restaurants back in Colorado Springs.”
The crew exchanged glances, their eyes wide with amazement as they processed what he was saying. The idea of having access to actual food, beyond the emergency rations, was almost too good to believe. Scott’s eyes darted to the replication input pad, he was hesitant at first, but he pressed the screen and selected a meal with a large glass of tea. With a slight flash of light the food and drink appeared before Scott on a tray. He removed the tray and smelt the food one the plate as if for confirmation the feast was real.
Eli smirked at Scott’s reaction and continued, “I had to tweak the algorithms to get the flavor right, turns out replicating something edible is harder than it sounds. I spent a lot of time testing and adjusting, but it was worth it.”
Camille, who had been listening with a growing smile, looked at Eli, her eyes bright with gratitude. “That’s amazing, Eli. You’ve practically made us self-sufficient.”
Eli shrugged, though he couldn’t hide the sense of accomplishment that flickered across his face. “Well,” he said, scratching the back of his head as he glanced at the terminal, “we’re not quite there yet. The system still has its limitations. It can’t replicate everything. Some of the more advanced components, like certain chemicals and intricate biological matter, take a lot longer to produce, and the output isn’t always perfect. But…” He trailed off for a second, looking around at the now well-lit and functioning mess hall. “We’re miles ahead of where we were. The food quality is better, and we’re not relying on barely edible protein bars anymore.”
Brody, who had been silently examining the setup, chuckled. “So, no more duct tape for repairs and some hope holding our food supply together?”
Eli grinned. “Yep. We can now produce full meals, some decent coffee, and even the occasional treat.”
The crew, still taking in the sight of the feat before them, exchanged glances. The mess hall, once a place they had come to dread for its bland offerings and dim atmosphere, now felt alive with possibilities. The light glinted off the metal surfaces, and the faint hum of the food system gave the room a sense of energy as the crew began ordering food and sitting down. It wasn’t just about survival anymore, this was a step toward living, toward comfort.
As the crew settled into the mess with their plates, their hesitation quickly gave way to excitement. Scott and Chloe instinctively gravitated toward each other, and Eli noticed it with a small, wistful smile. They laughed quietly as they selected their meals, Chloe reaching for a plate of pasta while Scott piled his with more substantial portions of meat and vegetables. They found a spot at one of the long tables, sitting close together, sharing the relief of being awake and able to enjoy something as simple as a meal.
Across the room, James and Varro moved in sync, clearly comfortable with one another. Varro, the quiet and steady presence, offered a small smile as he handed James a plate before taking his own. They too found a place to sit together, their conversation low and easy, the kind of calm that came from mutual respect and quiet companionship. Eli hadn’t seen them like this before. They looked… at peace.
Greer, ever the caretaker, was helping Dr. Park. She had lost her sight in a tragic accident months ago, but the way Greer guided her, with gentle touches to her arm and soft words, showed just how deeply he had come to care for her well-being. He helped her order food from the replicator, asking her what she wanted and making sure her plate was filled with her favorite dishes. He led her to one of the benches, easing her down before sitting beside her, keeping close to ensure she had everything she needed. It wasn’t lost on Eli how much Greer had grown during their time on Destiny. The soldier’s tough exterior had always been there, but this level of tenderness and protectiveness was something Eli hadn’t fully appreciated until now.
As Eli watched them all, Chloe and Scott sharing a quiet moment, James and Varro exchanging smiles, Greer taking care of Park, he felt an overwhelming sense of pride. They were different now. He could see it, even if they couldn’t. The burdens they had carried before entering stasis were still there, but there was also a sense of renewal, of hope. They were waking up not just to a repaired ship but to a renewed sense of purpose.
The mess hall buzzed with quiet conversation as the crew finally began to eat. Brody, who had grabbed a cup of replicated coffee, raised it in a mock toast toward Eli. “Not bad, Mr. Wallace,” he said, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Not bad at all.”
Volker, already sitting across from Brody, took a sip of his own coffee and nodded in agreement. “You’ve outdone yourself.”
Eli smiled, his heart lighter than it had been in years. He still had work to do, and the journey was far from over, but right now, watching the crew eating and laughing together, it felt like all the effort had been worth it. They had returned to something better than what they had left behind. And for now, that was enough.
Rush, with his usual air of detachment, moved over to the food replicator but only ordered a small packet of chips and a tall cup of coffee, nothing more. His focus wasn’t on the availability of food or the renewed life of the ship. His mind was elsewhere, as it always was. With the packet in one hand and the steaming cup in the other, he walked toward Eli, his gaze already fixed on the man before him, as if mentally calculating the next move even before opening his mouth.
Eli caught Rush’s approach out of the corner of his eye and braced himself. He knew what was coming. The food and upgrades to the mess hall were interesting, sure, but for Rush, those were just conveniences. The real conversation would be about Destiny herself, about the systems that could advance their mission, and of course, the FTL drive.
Rush stopped beside Eli, taking a long sip of the coffee, clearly savoring the hot, rich bitterness of it before speaking. “And what about the FTL drive? Have you made any progress with it?”
Eli’s expression shifted from pride to a more serious tone as he considered the complexity of the question. The FTL drive was always at the center of their troubles, and it had been one of his biggest challenges during their time in stasis. “I’ve stabilized the FTL drive using the same modulation system I applied to the reactors,” Eli explained. His voice carried a note of caution. “It’s running more efficiently now, energy distribution is far more consistent than it ever was before. I’ve been able to stop the surges that would randomly knock systems offline, but…”
“But it’s not perfect,” Rush finished for him, his eyes narrowing as he calculated the risks and benefits in his mind.
Eli nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Right. It’s still not perfect. The next step would be to apply the fractal energy modulation directly to the FTL systems. That’s the tricky part. The fractal patterns can theoretically handle larger energy outputs without destabilizing, but I didn’t want to mess with it while you were all in stasis. Too risky. If something went wrong…”
Rush raised an eyebrow, his expression serious but intrigued. “A wise decision,” he said, his voice quieter now, as if considering just how close Eli had come to pushing the boundaries of the ship’s systems. “Tinkering with the FTL without the proper backup or a full team to analyze every detail could’ve had disastrous consequences.”
Eli gave a small, rueful smile. “Yeah, I figured that out the hard way a few times already. I wasn’t keen on making a mistake that could’ve stranded us in the middle of the void forever.”
Rush’s eyes glinted with approval, but as always, there was an analytical distance in his demeanor. “Stabilizing the FTL is an impressive feat in itself. To think you managed it while keeping the rest of the ship operational…” He trailed off, taking another sip of coffee. “Tell me more about the modulation system. How did you prevent the feedback loops we encountered when we first started experimenting with those energy transfers?”
Eli’s face lit up slightly. The topic was clearly one he was comfortable with, even excited about. “It was Carter’s suggestion, actually. She pointed out that the feedback loops were happening because the energy was being distributed unevenly across the sub-resonance nodes. So, I tweaked the system to balance the load more efficiently. Instead of pushing everything through at once, the modulation now spreads the energy out in smaller, manageable waves. It’s like tuning a radio dial, if you hit the right frequency, everything flows smoothly.”
Rush listened carefully, nodding occasionally as Eli spoke. “That’s clever,” he admitted, his voice losing some of its usual skepticism. “It seems you’ve not only stabilized the ship but also started to understand the deeper intricacies of its systems. You’ve done more than just patchwork repairs here, Mr. Wallace.”
Eli shrugged, a little uncomfortable with the praise but still grateful for the acknowledgment. “I had to. Destiny wasn’t going to survive otherwise.”
Rush’s lips quirked slightly, an almost imperceptible smile that Eli wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. “Destiny’s always been stubborn. But it appears you’ve learned how to match her.”
Eli chuckled softly, glancing down at his hands. They were calloused now, a reminder of the long hours spent working on the ship, alone in the vast silence of space. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess we both had to adapt.”
Rush’s gaze lingered on Eli for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the mess hall and the crew, who were still marveling at the spread of food. But the wheels in Rush’s mind were clearly still turning, processing the potential of Eli’s upgrades.
“One thing at a time,” Rush finally said, his voice thoughtful. “We’ll get the FTL to full operational capacity soon enough.”
Eli nodded. “Yeah. One step at a time.” And for the first time in a long while, he felt confident that together, they’d get there.
Now that everyone had eaten, Eli decided it was time to continue the tour. With a nod, he motioned for them to follow him down the corridors toward the shuttle bay. Brody, Volker, Young, Scott, and Rush fell into step behind him, the rest of the crew staying behind in the mess hall to enjoy the feast.
As they approached the shuttle bay doors, Eli paused for a moment, the sound of Destiny’s systems humming steadily around them. “Speaking of backups,” he began, turning to face the group, “I also upgraded the shuttle, after I dismantled the shuttle for parts that is.”
He pressed a panel on the wall, and the doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the sleek, dimly lit interior of Destiny’s shuttle. The faint glow from the ceiling lights reflected off the worn metal surfaces, but it was clear that the shuttle had undergone significant upgrades.
The control panels had been reinforced, new interfaces glimmering with a subtle energy. The crew stepped inside, taking in the changes with curious, wide-eyed expressions.
“I installed naquadah reactors in it,” Eli continued, gesturing toward the shuttle’s rear section where the reactors had been placed. “So, it’s got its own independent power sources now. No more draining Destiny’s power grid just to recharge. It can function on its own for extended periods, and its way more efficient.”
Scott ran his hand along the edge of one of the control panels, nodding appreciatively. “That’s a game-changer, Eli. Especially when we’re stuck in situations where we can’t afford to lose power to the main ship.”
Eli smiled, grateful for the acknowledgment but eager to explain more. “That’s not all. I also upgraded the shields and weapons systems. We don’t have to worry about the shuttle being a sitting duck anymore.”
Brody, standing near the pilot’s seat, whistled softly. “So, it can take a hit now?”
Eli nodded, his grin widening. “Yeah, it’ll hold up a lot better in combat or if we need to use it in rough conditions. The shields are stronger, so they can handle a decent amount of firepower before we start taking damage. And the weapons… well, they’re no Destiny-grade plasma cannons, but the upgraded pulse weapons will pack a serious punch.”
Volker, peering out the shuttle’s small viewport, turned back to Eli with a look of astonishment. “You’re telling me this shuttle, can now hold its own in a firefight?”
Eli’s expression softened slightly, still modest despite his achievements. “I wouldn’t recommend flying it into a star or anything, but it’s a lot more reliable than it used to be. If we need to escape or take a hit from some enemy drones, it’ll give us a real fighting chance.”
Rush, who had been silently examining the modifications to the shuttle’s controls, raised an eyebrow. “How did you manage all of this without compromising the shuttle’s structural integrity? Installing reactors, overhauling shields and weapons, it sounds like a lot to cram into such a small space.”
Eli turned to face him, his eyes gleaming with a hint of pride. “It wasn’t easy. The reactors are smaller versions of the ones I’ve been replicating for Destiny, but I had to reinforce the shuttle’s internal framework to handle the increased power output. The new reactors allow for longer trips and independent functionality. As for the weapons, I repurposed some of the shuttle’s old systems, optimizing the energy flow so they wouldn’t drain too much power from the reactors while maintaining firepower.”
Young, standing by the hatch, crossed his arms and gave Eli a thoughtful look. “You really did all of this on your own?”
Eli nodded, shifting slightly under the weight of Young’s gaze. “Yeah. I did have three years, and honestly, this was one of the biggest priorities for me. I knew if anything went wrong and we had to use the shuttle, it needed to be more than just a glorified escape pod.”
Scott looked around the shuttle, a grin spreading across his face. “So basically, we’ve got a souped-up getaway car now. I like it.”
Brody chuckled. “A space tank, more like. You’ve turned this thing into a real asset, Eli.”
The shuttle, now more than just a simple transport, had become a symbol of how far they had come—how far Eli had come. He’d taken something unreliable, something they could barely count on, and transformed it into a vital tool for their survival.
Rush, still studying the controls, gave a small, approving nod. “I must admit, you’ve done well, Eli.”
Eli met Rush’s gaze for a moment, feeling the weight of that rare compliment. Coming from Rush, it meant more than words could express. He let out a quiet breath of relief, allowing himself to feel a sense of accomplishment.
Young stepped forward, resting a hand on Eli’s shoulder. “Good work, Eli. You’ve made this shuttle into something we can rely on. It’s more than just an upgrade… it’s a lifeline.”
Eli smiled, his chest swelling with a mixture of pride and relief. “Thanks. There’s still more to show you, though. The shuttle’s just the beginning.”
With that, Eli motioned for them to follow him back out of the shuttle, leading the way to the next part of the tour. As they stepped into the corridor, the hum of the shuttle’s new reactors buzzed softly behind them, a reminder of just how much Eli had done to ensure their survival, and their future.
He led them to the bridge, the heart of Destiny, where the expansive view of space stretched out in front of them, a sea of stars flickering beyond the thick glass. The bridge felt different now, more alive than it had ever been, lit by stable, softly humming lights, with the consoles flickering with renewed energy. The air was fresher, the ever-present hum of the ship more rhythmic, no longer the erratic buzz it used to be when systems were barely holding together. Eli stood at the main console, his fingers dancing over the controls as he brought up the weapons system’s status display.
He smiled as he turned toward the crew, standing in a semicircle around him, waiting with eager anticipation. “Destiny’s weapons are back online,” Eli announced, the pride in his voice unmistakable. “I rerouted power to the forward plasma batteries, rebuilt the conduits, and reworked the energy flow so we can fire them at full capacity without crashing the system. We’ve got full shields now, and most of the weapons are operational again.” His hand gestured toward the status panel, where green indicators pulsed across the screen.
“The repair robots,” Eli continued, glancing at Young and the others, “are still rebuilding the weapons that were destroyed when we fought the drones. But we’re not defenseless anymore. Not by a long shot.”
There was a moment of silence, the weight of his words settling over them. Young, who had been observing everything in quiet awe, took a step forward. His hand found Eli’s shoulder, the warmth of the gesture underscoring the seriousness of his tone. “I’m proud of you son.” There was admiration in his eyes, and Eli could feel the weight of his captain’s acknowledgment.
The compliment hit Eli harder than he expected, and for a moment, he struggled to find words. Young’s approval had always meant a lot to him, but hearing it now, after all he’d been through, felt like a validation of everything, every long night spent alone, every grueling repair, every moment when he thought he wouldn’t make it.
Rush, standing slightly to the side, was watching Eli with an intensity that made Eli a little nervous. His sharp eyes gleamed with a mixture of respect and curiosity, the wheels in his mind clearly turning. “You’ve essentially rebuilt Destiny from the inside out,” Rush observed, his voice tinged with both admiration and a hint of his usual intellectual competitiveness. “Rerouting power, creating new systems, optimizing old ones… this ship is more advanced than she’s ever been. Quite remarkable.”
Eli shrugged, feeling a mix of pride and humility swell inside him. “I had to,” he admitted, glancing down for a moment, his fingers brushing across the console. “It was either that or watch everything fall apart. I didn’t have a choice.”
Scott, standing over the weapon console looking it over, let out a low whistle. “Damn, Eli,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really did all of this? I mean, I knew you were smart, but this… this is incredible.”
Eli shifted slightly, feeling the weight of their gratitude pressing down on him. It was strange to be on this side of things, receiving praise for what had felt like survival, for what had kept him going through the darkest times. “It wasn’t just about survival,” he finally said, his voice quieter now. “It was about making sure that when you woke up, there was something to come back to. I couldn’t let Destiny fall apart.”
Volker, who had been unusually silent during the tour, finally spoke up. “Eli, you didn’t just stop Destiny from falling apart. You made her stronger. You gave us the tools to fight back, maybe even get home eventually.”
Brody, ever the one to find the humor in the moment, chuckled softly. “And here I thought you’d just be fixing a few broken lights. Turns out, you’re turning this old girl into a warship.” Eli laughed softly, shaking his head. “Well, not quite a warship. But she can hold her own now.” He gestured again to the display. “With the shields at full strength, we can take a lot more damage than before. And with the forward batteries back online, we can give as good as we get.”
As the crew processed everything, the reality of what Eli had done, of the battles he had fought to keep them alive, settled over the room like a quiet revelation. They had expected to wake up to chaos, to a ship barely holding on. Instead, they had woken up to something much more, a ship that had not only survived but had evolved, had grown stronger because of Eli.
Young squeezed Eli’s shoulder one more time, his voice filled with a rare warmth. “We’re not just surviving anymore, Eli. We’re ready for whatever’s next. Thanks to you.”
Eli exhaled deeply, feeling the weight lift from his shoulders for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. He had done it. Destiny was ready. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have to carry that burden alone.
As Eli led the crew down the corridor, the hum of Destiny’s systems was ever-present, but something about the atmosphere felt different, charged with an almost palpable anticipation. None of them had ever been to the engine room, not even Rush, and that fact alone was enough to make them all pause. Eli walked ahead of the group, his steps confident but purposeful, though his mind was buzzing with excitement and a touch of nervousness. The engine room was, for so long, an inaccessible mystery, a section of the ship locked away by time, damage, and complex systems he hadn’t been able to crack until recently. Now, it was fully operational, and he had saved it for the last part of the tour.
Eli stopped at a large set of doors, their worn, ancient metal gleaming under the corridor’s lights. For a moment, he stood in front of them, his hand resting on the control panel to the side. He glanced back at the crew, Rush, Young, Brody, Volker, and Scott, all staring at him with varying degrees of curiosity and expectation. Even Rush, the most reserved of them, was leaning forward slightly, his eyes narrowing with anticipation.
“Okay,” Eli said, his voice carrying a hint of excitement as he turned back toward the doors. “You’re about to see something none of you have seen before.”
He tapped the panel, and with a soft hiss, the heavy doors slid open, revealing the engine room beyond. For a moment, no one spoke. The vast, cathedral-like space stretched before them, its sheer size and complexity overwhelming. Massive columns of ancient machinery towered over them, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, which seemed impossibly high. Thick, pulsating power conduits snaked along the walls, some disappearing into the shadows, while others glowed faintly with the steady rhythm of energy coursing through them.
The lighting in the room was dim but functional, casting long, eerie shadows across the metal floors. Every surface seemed to hum with power, the vibrations subtle but unmistakable. The room was filled with the deep, resonating hum of Destiny’s engines, alive, powerful, and ancient. It was like standing inside the heart of the ship itself, where every pulse of energy fed into the rest of the vessel, keeping it alive and moving.
Brody was the first to react, stepping inside with wide eyes. “Holy crap…” His voice was almost a whisper, his usual sarcasm replaced by awe. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked around, his gaze following the massive power conduits that wound their way across the walls. “This place is huge. I had no idea the engine room would be like this. It’s… it’s a damn city in here.”
Scott, always the practical one, took a step inside next, his boots clinking softly against the metal floor. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this. It’s like stepping into a whole other world.” He let out a low whistle, his gaze sweeping the room. “And you said you only just got in here a couple of days ago?”
Eli nodded, following them into the room, his own steps almost reverent. “Yeah, the repair robots finally finished patching up the hull breaches around this area. Before that, the engine room was completely off-limits. It’s been sealed since we first came on board.”
Rush, standing at the threshold, finally stepped into the room, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. He walked slowly, as if trying to process the enormity of what he was seeing. His hand trailed along the edge of a nearby console, his fingers brushing against the cold, ancient metal. “This is… remarkable,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual. He was rarely at a loss for words, but the sheer scale of the room had clearly caught him off guard. “The engines… they’re far more advanced than I anticipated.”
The main control terminal stood in the center of the room, surrounded by smaller consoles, all of which were now active and blinking with status updates and diagnostics. Eli moved toward the central terminal, his fingers gliding over the controls with practiced ease. “The repair robots were able to fix a lot of the damage, but it took some manual adjustments to get everything fully operational. I’ve been running diagnostics for the past two days, making sure the power grid is stable.”
Young stepped up beside him, his eyes scanning the towering columns of machinery with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. “I didn’t think we’d ever see this room,” he admitted, his voice carrying a sense of awe that Eli hadn’t heard from him before. “To think all this was just sitting here, locked away… You’ve done incredible work, Eli.”
Eli offered a small, modest smile, but his eyes shone with pride. “It’s been a hell of a project, but we’ve still got a long way to go. The engines are stable, but there’s still more optimization to be done. This system—it’s beyond anything I ever imagined.”
Volker, who had been standing quietly at the edge of the group, finally stepped forward, his wide eyes fixed on the towering machinery. “I… I don’t even know where to start,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “These engines… they’re centuries ahead of anything we’ve ever seen.” He paused, his eyes flicking to Eli. “How did you even manage to get everything running?”
Eli shrugged, his fingers moving over the control panel as he brought up a holographic display of the engine’s inner workings. “It wasn’t easy. I had to recalibrate a lot of the power systems manually. Some of the energy conduits were completely fried, and the engine’s power grid was unstable. But once I got everything back online, the ship’s systems started to work together like they were meant to. It’s like Destiny was waiting for this moment.”
Rush’s attention was completely absorbed by the holographic display, his sharp eyes scanning the intricate layers of the engine’s internal workings. “This technology… it’s beyond anything the Ancients used in the Milky Way,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “The energy flow here, it’s far more efficient than I would’ve anticipated. If I’m reading this correctly, these engines can generate near-limitless power when fully operational.”
Eli nodded, a sense of excitement creeping into his voice. “Exactly. The problem has always been stabilizing the power flow. The repair robots found some damage in the plasma conduits that was causing a leak in the system. Once we sealed those, the engine efficiency went up by nearly 40%. That’s why the solar recharge was so successful. We’re pulling more energy from the stars than ever before.”
Brody, still staring in awe at the room, let out a low whistle. “I can’t believe this was all just sitting here, untouched for thousands of years. It’s like we’ve been driving a car without knowing there was a turbo boost button the whole time.”
Scott grinned, glancing at Eli. “Well, it looks like you just found the turbo boost.”
Young’s expression had shifted from awe to something more serious as he stared up at the towering engines. “If these engines are as powerful as you say… then what else can Destiny do? If we’ve only been scratching the surface…”
Eli nodded, but his expression turned more thoughtful. “Yeah, but it’s not without risks. I’ve been cautious with pushing systems to full power. We don’t know the long-term effects on the ship’s structural integrity, and there are still parts of the engine room that need repairs. But we’re getting there. Destiny is stronger now than she’s been in a long time.”
Volker shook his head, still in awe of the sheer scale of the room. “This is… this is incredible, Eli. You’ve done more than just keep this ship running. You’ve brought it back to life.”
Eli smiled, though it was a tired smile, one that hinted at the countless hours he had poured into making sure Destiny was still alive. “I just did what I had to do,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “For all of us.”
Young placed a hand on Eli’s shoulder, a rare gesture of camaraderie and respect. “Gold star.”
The crew fell silent for a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in. They were standing in the heart of Destiny, the very core of the ship’s power. It was ancient, awe-inspiring, and filled with untapped potential. And thanks to Eli, they were beginning to unlock that potential.
Eli nodded, though he still felt the weight of the challenges ahead. “Yeah. But we’re not there yet. We still have to be careful. There are systems that need more repairs, and we’re still figuring out how everything works together. But for the first time… I think we’re on the right track.”
Brody leaned back against one of the consoles, his eyes still wide as he looked around the room. “I can’t believe it. We’ve spent all this time fighting to keep Destiny from falling apart, and all this time, this was just waiting for us.”
For a moment, the group stood in awe, their eyes drawn to the massive columns of machinery and the hum of power that resonated through the room. It felt like standing inside the very soul of the ship, and for the first time in a long time, they felt a sense of hope, a sense that maybe, just maybe, they were finally unlocking the full potential of Destiny.
And for Eli, that realization was worth every sleepless night, every moment of doubt, and every ounce of effort he had poured into keeping the ship alive. He had done it. They had all done it.
And now, standing in the heart of the ship, they were ready to face whatever came next.
They continued the tour, moving down corridors that hummed with the sound of systems Eli had repaired and optimized. As they reached their final stop, Eli gestured to the largescale replication system he had built, a true marvel of engineering that dominated the room. Mounted from the ceiling, the emitter looked like a cross between Destiny’s original technology and something distinctly new. A halo of soft, blue light pulsed from its core, casting a futuristic glow across the room. Slim, sleek cables ran from the emitter to the custom-built console Eli had set up nearby, their design clean and efficient, a far cry from the cobbled-together equipment they had relied on before. The system hummed softly, its presence a stark contrast to the worn, ancient walls of the ship.
Eli stood at the console, fingers lightly resting on the controls as he explained the system’s intricacies. His words flowed with ease, mixing technical jargon with practical applications, his voice steady and confident in a way that was entirely new to the crew. “This is the largescale replication system. I modeled parts of it on the Asgard tech we learned about back in the Milky Way, but I had to adjust the emitter and encoding matrices to match Destiny’s power grid. The ceiling mount allows for optimal energy distribution without compromising the surrounding systems.”
The crew stared, transfixed. Even Rush, known for his perpetual skepticism, seemed impressed, his sharp eyes following the elegant lines of the cables, the quiet hum of the emitter. Scott crossed his arms, nodding along, though it was clear some of the terminology flew over his head.
Eli continued, his confidence building as he explained how the system worked. “I used the power from the naquadah reactors to stabilize the energy output, and I built this new computer system to handle the processing load. The old system couldn’t keep up with the complexity of the tasks I needed it to handle. The new design allows for higher precision in replicating materials, down to the subatomic level, which means we can produce complex components for repairs, tools, and even food.” He smirked, glancing at Scott and Brody.
“Yes, even coffee.”
Brody, his usual sarcasm failing him for a moment, looked at the sleek machine in disbelief. “You’re telling me this thing can whip up anything from a wrench to a cappuccino?” He stepped closer, his eyes wide with amazement, reaching out as if to touch one of the cables before thinking better of it.
Eli nodded, a quiet smile on his face. “Pretty much. As long as it’s within the energy parameters, it can produce anything from basic mechanical parts to more advanced tech components. It’s a game changer. And yeah, the coffee’s actually good, as you know.”
Scott let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the system. “Damn, Eli. You’ve been busy.”
Volker, wide-eyed and clearly trying to wrap his mind around the scale of what Eli had accomplished, asked, “How long did this take? I mean, building something this advanced… and doing it alone…”
Eli shrugged, a modest gesture that belied the sheer enormity of his accomplishment. “A few months of trial and error. The original replication system was basic, and I had to completely redesign the internal workings to handle more complex items. Took a lot of late nights and a few too many close calls with overloads, but… it works.”
Camille stepped forward, her expression one of awe and quiet pride. “This is incredible, Eli. I don’t think any of us can fully grasp how much you’ve done here… how much you’ve changed.”
Chloe, standing beside her, smiled softly. “You’ve turned Destiny into something more than just a lifeboat. It’s a real home now.”
Eli’s heart swelled at their words. He had anticipated skepticism, maybe even some concern over the drastic changes he’d made, but the admiration in their eyes caught him off guard. They weren’t just impressed by the technology, they were seeing the person he had become.
Rush finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual but still carrying that familiar analytical edge. “You’ve done well, Eli. Remarkably well.” He turned his gaze to the replication system, eyes narrowing in thought. “There’s a precision here… a level of understanding that goes beyond what I would have expected.”
Eli met Rush’s gaze, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like they were on the same page. “I had to push myself,” Eli admitted, his tone honest but not boastful. “This ship, this mission… I couldn’t let it fall apart. Not after everything we’ve been through.”
Brody, always the one to break tension with humor, raised an eyebrow. “So, no more patchwork solutions? No more gluing systems together with string and chewing gum?”
Eli chuckled, shaking his head. “No more MacGyver. This system’s the real deal.”
As the crew took a moment to take in the full scope of the upgrades, there was a palpable shift in the room. The ship no longer felt like the dying vessel they had boarded years ago. It felt alive, vibrant even, with a new potential coursing through its veins. And standing before them, no longer just the shy, brilliant kid they had come to know, was Eli, stronger, more confident, and ready to guide them into the next chapter of their journey.
For a moment, Eli let himself breathe, let the enormity of what he had achieved sink in. He had rebuilt more than just the ship, he had rebuilt himself. And now, as he stood at the helm of this new, revitalized Destiny, he knew they weren’t just surviving anymore. They were thriving. And this was just the beginning.
As Eli made his way back to the mess hall after the tour, he felt the familiar low hum of Destiny’s systems vibrating through the floor beneath his feet. The ship was alive, more so than it had been in a long time, and as proud as he was of the improvements, the weight of the day’s emotions hung heavy on him. He just wanted to grab some dinner and get a moment to himself.
As he entered the mess hall, the sound of soft laughter drew his attention. Lt. Vanessa James and Varro were sitting at one of the tables, clearly in good spirits, their conversation punctuated by the occasional chuckle.
Lt. James looked up first, her dark eyes lighting up when she saw Eli. She was still in her fatigues, her long hair framing her face as she leaned back in her chair. “Eli! Just the guy we’ve been talking about.”
Varro, the former Lucian Alliance member, turned to face him as well, offering a smile. Varro was tall, with a rugged, weathered appearance, his broad shoulders and stoic demeanor softened by the genuine warmth in his eyes. His hair was slightly tousled, giving him a more relaxed look compared to the hardened warrior he’d once been.
“Come join us,” Varro said, his deep voice carrying an air of calm confidence. “We were just talking about how you’ve been keeping this place together.”
Eli felt a little awkward under their gaze, but he smiled and made his way over, pulling up a chair. “Thanks, but it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.”
James shook her head, a look of admiration crossing her face. “You’ve done more than anyone could’ve imagined, Eli. I mean, the ships in better shape than when we first stepped foot on it. And you…” She gestured to him, her eyes taking in his transformed physique. “You look… I don’t know, stronger. Physically and mentally.”
Eli chuckled, though it was a bit self-conscious. He glanced down at himself, still not quite used to the change. “Yeah, I guess three years of manual labor does that to you.”
Varro, who had been observing Eli closely, leaned forward slightly, his tone more serious. “It’s more than that. You’ve survived out here, alone. That takes a kind of strength that not everyone has.” He paused, his dark eyes meeting Eli’s. “I know what it’s like to be pushed to your limits, to be forced to survive when everything around you feels like it’s falling apart.
What you’ve done… it’s impressive.”
Eli shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not used to this kind of direct praise, especially from someone like Varro. “I just… did what needed to be done,” he said quietly, his eyes flicking between the two of them. “It wasn’t like I had much of a choice.”
“That’s exactly it,” Varro said, his voice steady. “You didn’t have a choice, but you didn’t give up either. That’s something to be proud of.”
James nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Eli. A lot of people would’ve crumbled under the pressure. But you kept this whole ship, and all of us, alive. You kept going even when it seemed impossible.”
Eli rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. “Yeah, well… I wasn’t exactly in the best place all the time. But I had to keep moving. For you guys.”
Varro leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he regarded Eli with quiet respect. “That’s what makes the difference. You kept going. You’re not the same guy who boarded this ship years ago. You’ve become something more.”
Eli felt a surge of emotion well up in his chest, but he forced it down, giving them a small smile. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
James smiled warmly, her expression softening. “We mean it, Eli. I can’t even imagine what it was like for you all this time, but you did it. You brought us back.”
There was a brief silence as they let that sink in, the weight of everything Eli had been through hanging in the air. Then, with a small chuckle, James broke the tension. “So, what’s for dinner?”
Eli grinned, grateful for the shift in tone. “Oh, I’ve got some surprises in store for you. The replication system’s not bad, if I do say so myself.”
As they laughed and talked, Eli felt a sense of ease settle over him. For the first time in a long time, the weight on his shoulders didn’t feel quite so heavy. He had survived. And now, with his friends beside him, they could face whatever came next… together.
The crew was alive, Destiny was thriving, and though the weight of his losses would never fully leave him, Eli knew one thing for sure: he had saved them. He had given them a future. Now, they just had to move forward, together. Eli gave the crew the day to adjust to having things available on the ship and slept through the night the most soundly he had in three years, but the relief was short-lived. Tomorrow, he would have to explain the whole painful truth to them.
As he lay there, staring up at the ceiling of his quarters, the familiar hum of the ship felt both comforting and oppressive. How much should he tell them? Could they handle it?
Could he handle it? He had spent so long keeping everything buried, his pain locked away behind the mask of survival and focus. Now, with the crew awake, those defenses felt thin, ready to break under the weight of the truth.
“Maybe I should just stick to the basics,” Eli muttered to himself, turning over in his bed. He could just tell them about the upgrades, the repairs, the technical details that came so easily to him. But the thought nagged at him, he couldn’t avoid the rest. They deserved to know. I can’t pretend it was just about fixing the ship, he thought. But what if they don’t get it? What if they look at him with pity? What if they saw the cracks in his armor, the moments when he had nearly given up?
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to sleep, but the unease wouldn’t let him go.
The next morning, Eli gathered the crew together. They were in the mess hall, having coffee and breakfast. Colonel Young, Chloe, Camille, Rush, Scott, Greer, Volker, Brody, and Park all sat quietly, their expressions ranging from concern to curiosity, having just been debriefed by Eli about the ship’s upgrades. But they could tell there was more beneath the surface, something weighing heavily on his mind.
Eli stood in front of them, his hands resting on the back of a chair, fingers gripping the metal edge as if it might hold him steady. His heart raced, his palms damp. He had rehearsed this moment in his head a thousand times, but now that it was here, the words stuck in his throat.
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he considered turning back, talking about the ship instead, keeping things surface-level.
You don’t have to do this, a part of him whispered. They don’t need to know everything. Just tell them the essentials, and leave the rest buried where it belongs.
But another voice, quieter but firmer, pushed back. They need to understand. They need to know why it matters.
He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to come out steady, though the tension in his chest remained. “There’s, uh… something else I need to tell you. It’s not just about the ship.”
The words hung in the air, and he felt the eyes of the crew on him. His grip on the chair tightened. Eli could feel his pulse quicken, the weight of their expectation pressing down on him.
Just say it, he told himself, but his mind rebelled. What if they don’t get it? What if they see you differently? The vulnerability clawed at him, threatening to pull him under. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he thought about backing out.
But then he saw Chloe’s face, her quiet concern, the way she had always been there for him in those early days on Destiny. He saw Colonel Young, steady and strong, someone who had carried his own burdens without complaint. Camille, whose empathy had been a source of strength for so many. And Rush, difficult and complicated, but brilliant, he would understand the need to survive, at any cost.
They deserve the truth, Eli thought. Even if it hurts.
Taking a deep breath, he let go of the chair and straightened up. “I know things seem different now. A lot’s changed since you went into stasis, and I’ve tried my best to keep everything running. To keep you all alive. But… it wasn’t always like this. There were times when I didn’t think I could keep going.”
The room remained silent, but the air was thick with anticipation. Eli’s hands found the back of the chair again, his fingers digging into the metal as he forced the next words out. “About a year ago… my mom died.” His words hung heavy in the mess hall.
He saw the shock ripple through the room, saw Chloe’s eyes widen, and Young’s face tighten with sympathy. His chest felt like it was being squeezed, and for a moment, the urge to retreat, to pull back, surged within him. Maybe this was too much. Maybe they didn’t need to know.
His voice faltered, and he almost stopped. Maybe they don’t need to hear it. Maybe it’s too personal. Just move on. Focus on the ship. Talk about the upgrades.
But then he saw Scott lean forward, his brow furrowed in concern, and Eli knew he couldn’t leave it there. He had to let them in, he owed them that much.
“She got sick,” Eli continued, his voice rough. “There was a flu outbreak on Earth. I tried to get her to stop working, but… she didn’t. She kept helping people, right up until the end. She died, and I wasn’t there. I couldn’t say goodbye.”
His vision blurred as he blinked back tears, his breath catching in his throat. The silence in the room felt suffocating, but he pressed on, his words spilling out before he could stop them. “For seven months, I didn’t use the stones. I just worked. On the ship. On anything. It was the only way I could keep going.”
The words felt raw, exposed. Eli could feel the crew’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look up. He wasn’t sure he could bear to see their reactions, whether it was pity or sympathy or something else. But he needed to say this, for them and for himself.
“I thought about giving up,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought about just… stopping. Letting it all end. But then I thought about you, all of you. You were depending on me. So, I kept going. I kept working, even when I didn’t want to. Even when it felt like it was too much.”
He looked up then, meeting each of their gazes, his voice steadier now, though the pain still lingered in his chest. “I had to learn to live with being alone. But I wasn’t really alone. I had the ship. I had you, even if you weren’t awake.”
Chloe stood, her eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Eli could see the understanding in her face, the way she shared his pain, even if their losses were different.
Colonel Young was the first to speak, his usual stoic expression softening as he processed Eli’s words. “Eli…” His voice was low, measured, but filled with a deep, quiet understanding. “I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for you. We’ve all lost people, but to be out here, completely alone…” He shook his head, pausing as he searched for the right words. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that by yourself. But the fact that you did… and you kept this ship running, kept us alive…” He looked around at the crew, his gaze returning to Eli. “We owe you more than we can ever repay.”
Dr. Rush sat quietly for a moment, his sharp, analytical mind wrestling with the weight of Eli’s confession. Normally, he could detach himself from emotional displays, focusing on logic and intellect rather than feelings. But Eli’s raw honesty struck something deep inside him, something Rush had buried long ago beneath layers of work, obsession, and denial.
“You’ve done something extraordinary, Eli,” Rush finally said, his Scottish accent heavier than usual, betraying a flicker of emotion. His voice was calm but weighted with an unspoken understanding. “To not only survive but to excel under those circumstances… you’ve proven yourself time and again. You’ve done what many of us likely couldn’t.” His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, softened slightly as he continued, his voice quieter now. “Don’t ever underestimate what you’ve accomplished, and don’t ever think we don’t see the toll it’s taken on you.”
Rush hesitated, the words on the edge of his mind heavier than he intended to share. But something in Eli’s expression, his vulnerability, brought Rush back to his own losses, the ones he had long refused to confront. He couldn’t ignore the echoes of Eli’s pain, the same kind of pain he had experienced when his wife, Gloria, had died of cancer. The same pain he felt when Amanda Perry, the woman he’d begun to care for in a way that frightened him, was lost.
Rush cleared his throat, a rare sign of discomfort. “You know, Eli,” he continued, his voice taking on a more personal tone, “I lost someone too. My wife, Gloria.” He paused, staring down at his hands as though the memories were written in the lines of his palms. “She was sick for a long time. I wasn’t… I wasn’t there for her, not the way I should’ve been. I buried myself in my work, told myself that if I could solve the mysteries of the universe, maybe… maybe I could make sense of the loss.”
His voice trembled ever so slightly, the edges of grief creeping into his otherwise controlled demeanor. “But I couldn’t stop it. No matter how much I worked, how much I tried to distance myself from the inevitable… she died. And after she was gone, all I had left was the work. It was easier to focus on equations, on theories, than it was to face the fact that I’d failed her. That I’d failed myself.”
Rush’s eyes flickered, as if he were mentally replaying those moments of helplessness and regret. “And then there was Amanda.” He didn’t need to elaborate. The name alone carried the weight of another loss, one that had come just as he thought he might be able to open his heart again. “She was… different. A second chance, maybe, to find something worth fighting for. And then she was gone too.” His voice cracked, but he quickly recovered, masking the slip with a steadying breath.
For a moment, there was silence between them, the weight of shared grief hanging in the air. Rush, who was usually so guarded, had allowed a glimpse of the man behind the intellect. He knew the kind of loss that gnawed at your insides, the kind that made you question why you kept going.
“You’re not alone in this, Eli,” Rush finally said, his voice firm but empathetic. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love, to feel like you’re carrying the weight of that loss alone. And I know what it’s like to keep moving, because stopping… well, it’s just not an option.” He met Eli’s eyes with a seriousness that felt like an unspoken promise. “But you’re not alone anymore. And you don’t have to carry that weight by yourself. Not now. Not with us here.”
Rush’s words, spoken with more emotion than he typically allowed himself, hung in the air. It was rare for him to acknowledge his own grief, to admit that underneath his obsession with Destiny’s mission was a man who had lost nearly everything. But in that moment, with Eli, he couldn’t help but offer a piece of himself. Because he understood better than anyone… grief, like survival, was a burden too heavy to carry alone. Glancing around the room Rush felt embarrassed at revealing too much of himself and hastily departed the mess hall.
Leaning forward in her chair, Camille clasped her hands together, her expression softening with deep empathy. She had always been the emotional anchor for the crew, but this moment felt different, more personal. Seeing Eli’s vulnerability tore at her heart in ways she hadn’t anticipated. She had known him as the brilliant, good-hearted young man who had been thrust into this situation, and she had done everything in her power to help him and his mother during those dark days. To hear now, in his own words, how profoundly he had suffered, and how much he had lost… was devastating.
“Eli…” Camille’s voice was gentle, but there was a trembling in it, a reflection of the emotion she was holding back. “I am so, so sorry you had to carry that burden alone. You should never have had to.” Her throat tightened as she continued, the memories of her own attempts to help his mother, doing everything she could through the channels available, rushing back. She had been the one to help facilitate the communication between Eli and his mom, the one who had tried to keep that connection alive for as long as possible. “Your mother was so proud of you, Eli. I remember how she’d light up every time she spoke about you. She believed in you… and I did too.”
She took a deep breath, her tears spilling over as she continued, her voice breaking. “You kept this ship, and all of us, together, Eli. You were our lifeline, and you never gave up on us. You held on when it would have been so much easier to let go.” Her gaze softened, filled with love and admiration for the young man who had grown so much in the face of unimaginable hardship. “But you don’t have to carry it all by yourself anymore. We’re awake now. We’re here. Let us help carry this with you. You’ve earned that, Eli. You deserve to let us be there for you.”
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, it was as though time had stopped. Camille, who had always prided herself on being composed and rational, couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. She wiped them away quickly, not wanting to make Eli feel uncomfortable, but her heart ached for him. She had known loss, but the kind of isolation Eli had endured, the magnitude of what he had done for them, it broke something inside her.
Brody, sitting near the back of the group, shifted uncomfortably, his usual air of casual confidence faltering. He wasn’t good with emotions, certainly not in moments like this. He was more comfortable with wires and broken systems than with raw, painful confessions like the one Eli had just shared. But he couldn’t stay silent. He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat as though the words would somehow come easier if he moved around.
“I don’t… I don’t know what to say, man.” His voice came out gruff, almost like he was forcing the words through a thick wall of discomfort. He scratched the back of his head, searching for the right thing to say but coming up empty. “What you went through, it’s… I mean, it’s insane. I’d have lost it after a week.” He stammered, glancing toward Volker for help, but the other man was just as stunned.
Volker, sitting next to him, had been silent, his usual quiet demeanor even more reserved than usual. He stared down at his hands, processing everything Eli had said, his mind racing but his heart aching for his friend. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Eli… I can’t even imagine… losing your mom like that, and then just… just keeping on going.” His words stumbled out awkwardly, and he shifted his eyes toward Brody, silently hoping he wasn’t the only one fumbling for the right response.
Brody, catching Volker’s glance, nodded in a way that said, Yeah, me neither. He tried again, this time with a little more confidence. “But you kept it together. More than that, you kept us together.” He paused, his voice softening, and for the first time, real warmth broke through his usual tough exterior. “That’s… that’s something else, Eli.”
Volker nodded quickly, jumping in almost before Brody had finished. “Yeah, what you did, it’s incredible. I mean, you didn’t just survive. You…” He gestured vaguely, like he was trying to encompass all of Eli’s accomplishments in one awkward wave of his hand. “You did something none of us could’ve done. And you didn’t let us down. Not once.”
They both stopped, looking at each other for a moment, sharing an unspoken feeling of being out of their depth. Brody gave a small, almost sheepish smile, and Volker sighed, rubbing his face in his hands, as if to say we’re not great at this, are we?
Eli, watching the two of them stumble over their words, couldn’t help but feel a bit of warmth creep into his chest. Their awkwardness wasn’t polished, it wasn’t practiced, but it was real. He knew they meant every word. Even in their discomfort, they were there for him.
Volker glanced at Brody again, who gave him a subtle nod, like he was passing the baton back. Volker cleared his throat, more confident now. “Look, Eli, we’re just…” he stammered a bit before pushing through, “We’re just really grateful. And, uh, we’re here. Just… in case you need anything.”
Brody nodded in agreement, the two of them finally landing on the same page. “Yeah. We’re here, man. Anything you need.”
There was an awkward pause, but it was filled with a kind of shared understanding, a quiet, unspoken bond that had formed between them all.
Park wiped a tear from her eye, the bright, sunny optimism she had always carried with her now tempered by her own recent struggles. Her sight, once a crucial part of her work and life aboard Destiny, was now gone, a loss she was still learning to live with. Yet, even in her darkness, she found light in her connection to the crew. She had always been a nurturing soul, and that part of her remained strong, despite the hardships she faced.
“Eli… I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She reached out instinctively, her hands brushing over the table until she found the edge, grounding herself. “I can’t even imagine what it was like for you. The isolation, the grief… and all that time, you were keeping us alive, while you were carrying that alone.”
There was a pause as Park swallowed, her own emotions threatening to spill over. Losing her sight had forced her to see things differently, both literally and figuratively, and she had become more aware of the emotional landscapes around her. She had grown more sensitive to the struggles of her friends, her other senses compensating for the loss of vision. And Eli’s struggle, his loneliness, resonated deeply with her.
“I wish we could’ve been there for you,” she continued, her voice soft but steady. “I wish I could’ve been there to help, the way you’ve always helped us.” She blinked, the tears welling up again, but she didn’t let them fall. “But you’re not alone now, Eli. You don’t have to keep all of that inside anymore. We’re here, no matter what. And I know…” She trailed off, her hands tightening around the table’s edge, a moment of vulnerability flashing across her face. “I know what it’s like to feel like everything is slipping away. To feel powerless.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “When I lost my sight… I didn’t know how I was going to keep going. I felt like I was useless, like I couldn’t contribute to the crew anymore. But then I realized I wasn’t alone. And neither are you.”
She turned her head slightly, as though looking directly at him even though her eyes couldn’t see him. “You kept us alive, Eli. You fought for us, even when it seemed impossible. Now let us fight for you. Let us be there for you. You’ve carried enough on your own.”
Her voice, though soft, held a quiet strength. Park had found her way through her own loss, and now, in this moment, she was offering Eli the same lifeline that had been offered to her. Even in her darkness, she had found a way to bring light to those around her, and she wanted Eli to feel that light too.
Stepping forward, Scott spoke, his voice filled with sincerity and emotion. “Eli, I know I’ve told you before, but you’re stronger than you know. What you’ve been through… it’s more than anyone should have to deal with, but you did. And you didn’t just survive… you thrived.”
Scott paused for a moment, the weight of his own past flickering across his features. Growing up in foster care, moving from one home to another, and losing the priest who had been like a father to him, those experiences had left him with a deep understanding of loneliness and grief. He had found strength in his faith, even when the world around him seemed to crumble. That faith, that quiet resilience, had always been his anchor.
“I can’t even imagine how you kept going,” he continued, his voice now carrying the weight of someone who had seen more than his fair share of hardship. “But I get what it’s like to feel alone, to think that no one’s coming to help. When Father Matthews died…” Scott’s voice caught for a moment, and he had to take a breath before going on. “When he passed, I felt like I’d lost the one person who really understood me. I didn’t know how to move forward. But I found a way. Faith kept me going.”
His eyes met Eli’s, full of empathy and understanding. “And that’s what I see in you, Eli. You kept going, even when it felt impossible, when there was no one else to lean on. I know that kind of strength, it comes from somewhere deep. But I also know that carrying everything on your own… it’s not how we’re meant to live.”
Scott’s voice cracked slightly, his usual optimism now tempered by the gravity of the moment. “We’re in this together now. You don’t have to do it alone anymore. I mean it, Eli. I’m proud to call you my friend, and I want you to know… you’ll be in my prayers. Not just today, but every day. You’ve been through hell, but you’re not walking through it alone anymore.”
He stepped closer to Eli, his hand resting on his shoulder, offering not just support but the kind of brotherhood Scott himself had longed for during his toughest times. “You have us now. We’re here for you, whatever you need.” There was a quiet strength in his words, a reminder of the faith that had carried Scott through his own darkest days. It wasn’t just optimism; it was the kind of hope forged in hardship, and he was offering it to Eli now
Greer, usually the quiet and stoic type, gave Eli a long, hard look before speaking. His voice was calm, but it held a depth of emotion that he rarely showed. “You did what had to be done, Eli. You’re a survivor.” He paused, his gaze softening. “But surviving out here on your own… that’s a different kind of strength. A kind of strength most people don’t have.” He nodded once, a gesture of quiet respect. “You got through it, and we’re here for you now. You need to talk, or not talk… I’m here. Whatever you need.”
James, sitting close to Varro, felt her breath catch in her throat as she listened to Eli’s story. She had always admired Eli’s intelligence, but seeing how much he had grown, how much he had endured completely on his own, left her speechless. Tears filled her eyes, and she fought to keep her voice steady. “Eli…” Her voice broke, and she glanced at Varro, who gently placed a comforting hand on her back, grounding her.
She took a moment, then continued, her voice soft but filled with emotion. “I’m just… I don’t know how you did it. I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through, but I do know this, you’ve saved all of us. And now that we’re awake, we’re not going to let you carry this alone anymore.” Her words, though simple, were laced with admiration, as she recognized the depth of Eli’s sacrifice and resilience.
Varro, who had been quiet for most of the conversation, looked over at James, his expression one of mutual support before turning back to Eli. His eyes were steady, filled with the kind of respect that came from a man who had seen his own share of hardship. “Eli…” Varro’s deep voice carried a quiet strength. “You’ve been through hell, and you didn’t just survive, you made this place better. That’s not something everyone can do.”
He paused, glancing at James again before continuing. “You kept going when most people would’ve broken. That kind of strength… it’s rare.” Varro’s voice, though calm, was filled with a deep admiration that mirrored James’ earlier words. He squeezed James’ shoulder lightly, a small but intimate gesture of shared understanding, before addressing Eli again. “You have my respect and admiration my friend.”
James, her emotions still raw but comforted by Varro’s quiet presence, nodded, her gaze flicking between Eli and Varro. Varro beside her, offering the support she needed to stay composed. Together, they offered Eli not just words of comfort but a promise, he wouldn’t have to carry this weight by himself any longer. They were a team, and in this moment, that bond felt stronger than ever.
Chloe, who had been quiet the entire time, finally walked over to Eli. Her face was full of emotion, her heart ached for him. She understood loss in a way not many others could. The weight of losing her father to save others, to save her, still lingered in her heart. She had been forced to carry that pain, just as Eli had carried his. But she had never been as alone as Eli had been. That thought made her chest tighten even more.
“Eli…” she began, her voice trembling as she reached him. Her hand touched his arm, gently, before she pulled him into a tight embrace. For a moment, words escaped her; the sheer gravity of everything he had endured hit her with full force. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know… I had no idea what you were going through, and I wish… I wish I could’ve been there for you.”
Eli stiffened at first, unused to the comfort, but then he relaxed into her embrace, the flood of emotions he had been holding back finally softening.
Chloe pulled back, just enough to look him in the eyes, her gaze soft but filled with shared understanding. “When I lost my dad,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me. He died to save others, to save me, and… I couldn’t understand it for the longest time. I felt like I was supposed to keep going, keep living, for him, but it felt impossible some days.”
She paused, her eyes glistening with tears, her hands gripping Eli’s arms as if grounding them both in the moment. “I see that in you now, Eli. You kept going when it felt impossible, just like my dad expected me to do… but you did it all alone.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she took a deep breath, steadying herself. “But you don’t have to anymore. You’ve been stronger than any of us knew. And now… we’ll keep going together. You won’t have to carry all of this by yourself.”
Chloe’s words lingered in the air, full of the weight of her own grief, her own pain, but also a deep, abiding empathy for what Eli had been through. She released him and took a step back, her eyes filled with compassion.
“You’re not alone anymore,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, the weight of her own losses interwoven with his. It wasn’t just about offering comfort, it was about sharing in the pain, showing him that she understood, even if only a little.
Eli nodded, his chest tight but somehow lighter. The weight of his secrets, the burden of carrying it all alone, finally felt shared. It wasn’t everything, but it was a start. As he looked around at the crew, he could feel it: I’m not alone. Not anymore.
Chloe gave him a small, bittersweet smile. “We’ll keep going, Eli. Just like my dad would’ve wanted me to. Just like your mom would want for you.”
Eli stood there for a long moment, surrounded by the weight of everything that had just been shared. Chloe’s words, her embrace, had unlocked something in him, something he hadn’t let himself feel in years—comfort. As he looked around the room, his gaze met each of his crew members’, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel alone.
Clearing his throat, Eli shifted slightly, a small, vulnerable smile tugging at his lips. “I… I don’t even know what to say,” he began, his voice rough from the emotions still clawing at his chest. “Thank you. All of you.” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I couldn’t have gotten through this without thinking about you… about all of you. And hearing everything you’ve said tonight… It means more than I can put into words.”
There was a quiet, supportive murmur from the group, and Eli could see the love and respect reflected in their eyes. This was his family now.
He gave a small nod, swallowing hard as he tried to hold back the rising tide of emotion. “I know it’s going to take some time to process everything, and I’m not going to pretend like I’m okay right away. But just knowing that I don’t have to go through this alone anymore…” He trailed off, a wave of gratitude washing over him. “It gives me hope again. So… thank you.”
The group was silent, but the atmosphere was heavy with understanding. A few of them gave him encouraging smiles, Chloe, Young, Camille, even Brody, and it felt like they were giving him permission to take the next step, to finally rest.
Eli gave them one last nod before slowly making his way out of the mess hall, his footsteps soft in the otherwise quiet ship. As he made the familiar trek back to his quarters, the silence of Destiny was no longer oppressive. It felt different now… alive, even comforting.
As he reached his room, he paused at the door, leaning against the wall for a moment, closing his eyes as he processed the last hour. The pain was still there, deep in his chest, a hollow ache that would take time to heal, but for the first time in so long, he wasn’t drowning in it. He could breathe.
He stepped into his quarters, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft hiss. The room was quiet, but it wasn’t the crushing, suffocating silence he had lived with for the past three years. It was peaceful.
Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Eli stared at the ceiling, his mind wandering. His mother’s face flickered in his thoughts, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the memory didn’t overwhelm him with grief. It was still painful, but it wasn’t unbearable.
“I miss you, Mom,” he whispered to the empty room. “I miss you so much. But… I’m going to be okay.”
He wasn’t sure if he believed it fully yet, but the hope was there, fragile and flickering like a flame, but there. And that was more than he had allowed himself in a long time.
He let out a long breath, lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling again. There was still so much to do, so much to face. But he wasn’t facing it alone anymore.
For the first time in years, Eli allowed himself to hope.
“I’m going to be okay, eventually.” he whispered again, and this time, he believed it just a little bit more.
Chapter 8: Moving Forward
The soft hum of Destiny’s systems echoed through the ship’s corridors, a constant, reassuring rhythm that felt almost like a heartbeat. Eli walked slowly down the hallway, his footsteps quiet against the metal floor. It had been several days since the crew had awakened from stasis, and the initial shock of their return had begun to settle. The mess hall no longer felt so empty, and the sounds of laughter, conversation, and daily routines had returned to the ship.
But for Eli, something still weighed heavy on his heart.
He paused in front of the large observation window, the endless sea of stars stretched out before him, a quiet reminder of how small they were in the vastness of space. The view was beautiful, but it also felt lonely. Even though the crew was back, and Destiny was running more smoothly than ever, Eli couldn’t shake the remnants of the isolation he had endured.
It had been a relief to finally tell them everything, to share the weight of his burdens, but old habits were hard to break. He still felt the urge to retreat, to hide away with his thoughts and his repairs. Being alone for so long had left its mark on him, and integrating back into the crew’s daily life wasn’t as easy as he’d thought it would be.
“Enjoying the view?”
Eli turned to see Camille Wray standing a few feet behind him, a warm smile on her face. She had always been one of the most compassionate members of the crew, and he had confided in her more than once before they had entered stasis. There was a warmth to her presence, a steady calmness that made him feel just a little less burdened.
“Yeah,” Eli replied with a small smile of his own. “It’s… peaceful. I’ve spent a lot of time here.”
Camille stepped up beside him, her gaze following his out toward the stars. The vastness of space seemed to go on forever, an endless sea of stars and distant galaxies. There was a stillness in the view, a quiet that was both comforting and daunting.
“I imagine you have,” she said softly, her voice almost carried away by the quiet hum of the ship. “I’ve been thinking about you, Eli. About everything you went through while we were asleep. It’s hard to wrap my mind around.”
Eli shrugged, trying to brush off the heaviness that threatened to creep back into his chest.
He appreciated the concern, but talking about it always made the weight seem heavier. “It’s getting easier. I mean, you’re all back now. That helps.”
Camille turned to face him fully, her expression gentle but firm. She was always good at that, finding the balance between empathy and strength. “I’m sure it does. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy, Eli. You carried an unimaginable burden for so long, and now that we’re awake, it’s okay if you need time to adjust. You don’t have to be okay all at once.”
Eli looked down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his shirt, the worn fabric comforting in its familiarity. “I know. It’s just… I’ve gotten so used to being alone. It’s weird, having people around again. I don’t know how to…” He paused, struggling to find the words. “I don’t know how to just go back to the way things were.”
Camille placed a comforting hand on his arm, her touch warm and grounding. “You don’t have to go back to the way things were. None of us expect that. You’ve changed, Eli. We’ve all changed. But that doesn’t mean we can’t move forward together.”
Eli nodded, grateful for her words, but the knot in his chest didn’t fully loosen. He appreciated that the crew understood, but part of him still felt distant, like there was a gap between him and everyone else that he wasn’t sure how to bridge. He let out a small sigh. “It’s weird, you know? For so long, it was just me, and now you’re all back, but… I feel like I’m still on the outside.”
Camille studied him for a moment, her eyes softening as she processed his words. “It’s understandable, Eli. You’ve had to survive, day in and day out, without anyone to lean on. That kind of isolation, it leaves scars, even if you can’t always see them.”
Eli’s eyes flickered toward her, catching the sincerity in her gaze. “Do you think it’s even possible to go back to normal?”
Camille smiled gently, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding. “I don’t think any of us are going to go back to ‘normal.’ Not after everything we’ve been through. But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
Eli raised an eyebrow, curious but still unsure. “What do you mean?”
Camille shifted her stance slightly, leaning against the wall as she glanced back out at the stars. “I think about Sharon a lot, you know? I’ve had so much time to wonder what things will be like when I finally get back to Earth. She’s been waiting for me all this time, just like I’ve been waiting for her.” Her voice grew softer, laced with emotion. “But I also know that when I get back, things won’t be the same. I’m not the same. How could I be?”
Eli nodded, understanding the sentiment, but there was something deeper in Camille’s words, something that resonated with him on a personal level.
“I used to think about what it would be like when I got back to Earth too,” Eli said, his voice quieter now, as if the very act of saying it out loud made the possibility more distant. “But now… I don’t know. I feel like I wouldn’t even recognize it, or myself.”
Camille turned back to face him, her expression thoughtful. “I think that’s part of what makes it so hard. We’ve changed, Eli. And the people we love, the lives we had waiting for us… they’ve changed too. Sharon’s been waiting for me, but I know she’s changed in my absence. And so, have I. But it doesn’t mean we can’t find a new way forward.”
Her words hung in the air between them, offering a perspective Eli hadn’t fully considered. Change was inevitable. But maybe it wasn’t something to fear. Maybe it was something they could navigate together.
“You think Sharon will still be there when we get back?” Eli asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He knew it was a personal question, but Camille had always been open with him about her relationship, and right now, he needed to understand how someone like her could still hold on to hope.
Camille smiled softly, her eyes distant for a moment as she thought of Sharon. “She’s waited this long, Eli. I believe in her. I believe in us. But it’s not going to be the same when I get back. We’re going to have to get to know each other again in some ways, relearn how to be together after everything that’s happened.”
Eli nodded slowly. “It sounds… hard. But worth it.”
“It will be,” Camille said, her smile growing a bit brighter. “It’s going to take time, though. And that’s okay. What we had before… we can’t go back to that. But we can build something new, something stronger.”
Eli felt a strange sense of comfort in her words. He had always admired Camille’s relationship with Sharon, the way she spoke about her with such love and respect. To hear her talk about the challenges they’d face gave him a different perspective on his own struggles. Maybe it wasn’t about going back to the way things were. Maybe it was about building something new, something that could be even better.
“You think that’s what we’re doing here?” Eli asked, a hint of hope creeping into his voice. “Building something new?”
Camille nodded, her eyes soft but certain. “Yes, Eli. That’s exactly what we’re doing. It’s going to take time, for all of us. But we’re in this together.”
Eli smiled, a real one this time, feeling a little lighter. “Thanks, Camille,” he said, his voice soft. “I needed to hear that.”
She smiled, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before stepping back. “Anytime. And remember, we’re here for you. Always.”
As Camille walked away, Eli remained at the window for a moment longer, watching the stars. Her words had helped, but he knew it would take time before he truly felt at ease again. But for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, it was okay to let things be different.
He took a deep breath and turned away from the window, making his way toward the bridge. There was still work to be done, and if nothing else, keeping busy helped to quiet his thoughts.
The bridge of Destiny hummed with a steady, rhythmic vibration, the ship’s core systems quietly churning in the background. The room itself was a marvel of ancient design, a fusion of functional elegance and immense power. Overhead, massive support beams crisscrossed the ceiling, their surfaces gleaming with a metallic finish worn smooth by centuries of use. Intricate patterns of Ancient technology adorned the walls, softly illuminated by the muted amber glow of overhead lights. The panels emitted a low, pulsating light, casting long, stark shadows across the room.
In the center of the bridge stood the command chair, an imposing structure of Ancient design, its weathered frame a testament to its age. The chair itself was encased by curved consoles on either side, each displaying a variety of holographic interfaces and data readouts in the unfamiliar Ancient script that Eli had long since learned to decipher. Each surface was slick with touch-sensitive displays, scrolling through star charts, ship diagnostics, and system controls. The tactile glow of the screens gave the room a surreal, almost mystical aura, making it feel as though the ship itself was alive, an ancient entity guiding them through the stars.
The central command platform was slightly elevated, giving whoever occupied the chair a commanding view of the bridge. Directly ahead, large, reinforced windows opened to the endless expanse of space, where stars slowly drifted by, their distant light glinting off the hull. The view was breathtaking, a constant reminder of their place in the vast cosmos. Around the perimeter, smaller stations were arranged in a semi-circle, each equipped with displays that monitored various ship functions. Volker and Brody were currently bent over one of these consoles, the steady beeping of buttons and systems filling the otherwise quiet atmosphere with controlled intensity.
The consoles themselves were a strange amalgamation of ancient technology and Eli’s own modifications. Their sleek, bronze-colored frames were adorned with intricate etchings, the mark of their advanced origins, while some bore evidence of patchwork repairs and updates. Wires ran beneath panels, occasionally visible through hastily fixed sections, where newer technology had been jury-rigged to keep Destiny functional.
Along the back wall, clusters of status screens flickered to life, displaying a constantly updated feed of the ship’s power grid, shield status, and FTL diagnostics. The room was a constant hive of activity, yet it never felt chaotic. The low, methodical beeping of the consoles mixed with the distant hum of the ship’s engines, creating a soundscape of calm efficiency, a stark contrast to the frenetic pace of their earlier struggles.
On either side of the bridge, additional crew stations sat unused but operational, their seats designed with the same sleek Ancient aesthetic, reinforced by metal supports that anchored them to the floor. Despite the signs of age and wear, everything about the room radiated power and endurance, this was a ship built for exploration, for surviving the harshest conditions of the universe. And now, after so many years adrift, it was slowly awakening to its full potential once again.
Greer and Scott stood near the weapons console, where holographic displays glowed softly with diagnostics on Destiny’s weapons systems, plasma batteries, turrets, and forward-mounted energy cannons. The holographic interface blinked as Scott’s hand hovered above it, interacting with the controls. The lights flickered faintly across their faces as they reviewed the ship’s newly enhanced capabilities, thanks to Eli’s relentless work.
The atmosphere in the room was thick with an unspoken reverence for the ship they inhabited, as if each crewmember sensed that they were standing in the heart of something far greater than themselves. Even with all their struggles and uncertainties, the bridge’s quiet hum served as a constant reminder of Destiny’s enduring strength, and the endless possibilities that lay ahead.
Brody and Volker hovered over one of the diagnostic stations positioned along the perimeter of the bridge, the flickering screens in front of them casting a soft, bluish glow over their faces. The station was nestled between two large metal pillars of Ancient design, each etched with intricate patterns that glowed faintly, giving off the faintest hum of energy. The console itself was a blend of ancient technology and Eli’s modern modifications. Bronze colored panels framed the displays, their edges worn smooth from centuries of use, while wires snaked beneath the surface, connecting the old technology with the new.
The diagnostic screens flickered with streams of data in the familiar Ancient script, scrolling through detailed readouts of Destiny’s upgraded power grid. The holographic projections hovered above the console, casting faint reflections on the polished, dark floor below. Brody and Volker’s eyes darted back and forth between the various streams of data, their expressions a mix of cautious optimism and technical curiosity.
Brody stood slightly hunched, one hand on his hip while the other occasionally scratched the back of his head. His brow was deeply furrowed as he tried to piece together the complexities of Eli’s recent upgrades. His expression was one of mild confusion tempered by a growing sense of realization. The soft glow from the console reflected off his face, highlighting the creases in his forehead as he leaned closer to the display.
Volker, on the other hand, was slightly more animated. His fingers tapped restlessly against the edge of the console, his gaze flickering between different readouts as if trying to make sense of the numbers in front of him. He occasionally mumbled to himself, his concentration evident as he studied the data. The dim lighting of the bridge combined with the steady hum of Destiny’s systems gave the moment an air of quiet intensity, two engineers attempting to decipher the ship’s ancient technology while also marveling at the improvements Eli had made.
Behind them, the bridge stretched out, its walls adorned with the same intricate designs, illuminated by soft amber lights set into the walls and floor. Overhead, the crisscrossing beams and large support pillars created a sense of weight and grandeur, as though the very architecture of the ship was bearing witness to their efforts. The bridge’s control consoles, positioned throughout the room, each flickered with holographic interfaces, showing everything from star charts to system diagnostics, adding to the room’s sense of bustling yet organized activity.
Eli entered the room quietly, slipping in through the arched doorway without drawing attention to himself. The soft hiss of the door closing behind him was barely audible over the constant hum of machinery and the low beeping of the consoles. His eyes briefly scanned the room, taking in the familiar sights and sounds of the bridge. Even though it had been several days since the crew had awoken, Eli was still adjusting to being back among people, back amid conversations, questions, and activity that he had been without for so long.
He lingered near the entrance for a moment, not wanting to interrupt the flow of work. The bridge was alive with activity, the dim lighting casting shadows across the polished metal floors as the crew went about their tasks. Large windows at the front of the bridge revealed the endless expanse of space beyond, where distant stars drifted slowly by, their light glinting off the ship’s hull.
Scott, standing near the weapons console with Greer, noticed Eli almost immediately. He waved him over, his face illuminated by the faint light from the holographic displays in front of him. The subtle gesture was enough to pull Eli back into the present, drawing him away from the quiet solitude he had grown accustomed to.
“Eli,” Scott called, his tone steady, though there was a hint of relief in his voice. “Just the guy we were hoping to talk to.” He motioned Eli toward the console where he and Greer were standing. “Greer and I were just discussing the weapons systems. We know you’ve been busy, but we were wondering, are the forward plasma batteries fully operational?”
Eli stepped closer, glancing down at the console. He gave a small nod, keeping his voice level. “Yeah, they’re operational. I had to reroute some power through auxiliary conduits. The original pathways were either too degraded or not handling the load efficiently anymore.” His fingers danced over the console, bringing up a detailed readout of the weapon systems. “But they’re online now. Should be able to handle a full barrage without any issues.”
Greer studied the display, his face impassive as he processed Eli’s words. “And the conduits can handle the energy draw? You’re sure they won’t overload if we start firing at full capacity?”
Eli met Greer’s gaze, his own steady but with a hint of weariness. “I had to reinforce some of the secondary junctions to prevent that. It wasn’t just about rerouting power, it was about balancing the load across multiple nodes. The system is now distributing the energy more evenly, so we won’t have the same risk of surges that we had before.”
Greer nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the explanation. “So, we’re not sitting ducks anymore?”
Eli allowed a faint smile, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Not even close,” he said, though his tone remained measured. “Shields are stronger too. I adjusted the energy modulation to boost their efficiency without pulling too much from the main grid. Weapons and shields can run simultaneously now, without us needing to prioritize one over the other.”
Scott’s hand clapped Eli on the shoulder, but his grin was restrained. “That’s good to hear. We’ve been on the defensive for so long… it’s about time we had something that didn’t feel like a last resort.”
Eli’s smile lingered for a moment, but it quickly faded as he turned back to the console. He appreciated the praise, but there was something about this interaction that felt… surreal. Here they were, casually discussing shield strength and plasma barrages as if everything was fine, as if the last three years hadn’t changed everything. Eli felt the dissonance, even if no one else did.
Brody, who had been listening quietly, leaned back from his console, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the readouts on the screen. “Eli, how the hell did you manage this,” he muttered, his voice carrying just enough disbelief to make it clear he hadn’t fully wrapped his head around it. “Volker and I have been looking at the power distribution, and… honestly, I have no idea how you managed to get all this running without frying half the ship. I’ve been cross-referencing the energy output logs, and it doesn’t add up. You were running systems way beyond what the grid should’ve handled.”
Eli, standing by the central control interface, his hands resting lightly on the console, shrugged with a mix of nonchalance and weariness. “A lot of trial and error,” he admitted, eyes flicking briefly to the diagnostic readouts still scrolling across the screen. The soft glow of the bridge consoles reflected off his tired face, casting faint shadows under his eyes. “I had time.”
Volker, sitting at a nearby station, turned slightly in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his console as he monitored the ship’s vital systems. His tone was measured, almost cautiously impressed. “Well, whatever adjustments you made, they’re holding steady. The secondary power conduits aren’t fluctuating anymore. We’ve got a stable energy flow, and the capacitors are cycling without overloading. I’ve never seen the grid this balanced. Usually, we’d see some voltage spikes with this kind of output, but… nothing.”
Eli offered a small, tired smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low. He didn’t elaborate. There was no need to explain that the hours of trial and error had come at a cost, each system failure, each near-breakdown had worn him down, mentally and physically. But none of that was visible in the neatly organized numbers and efficient energy patterns now displayed on the consoles.
Brody shifted in his chair, bringing up a schematic of the power grid on one of the smaller displays in front of him. His brow furrowed as he studied the layout. “Seriously though, I don’t get it. The backup conduits were offline for months. The only thing keeping the main systems running was the auxiliary grid, which was barely holding together. We were running on fumes. You shouldn’t have been able to reroute enough power without causing a cascade failure in at least one of the primary nodes.” He glanced up at Eli, his expression more curious than skeptical now. “Did you modify the relays manually? Or did you bypass the regulators altogether?”
Eli hesitated for a moment before responding, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the console in front of him. “Both, actually. The regulators were too degraded to handle the increased load. I had to bypass them and reroute power directly through the secondary conduits. It wasn’t ideal, but I was able to fine-tune the flow using some of the smaller naquadah reactors I’d set up to supplement the grid.” His voice was calm, almost clinical, as if he were reciting a technical report, but there was a subtle edge of exhaustion beneath the surface.
Volker raised an eyebrow. “That explains the stable output we’re seeing now. You essentially created a decentralized power distribution system.” He let out a low breath, clearly impressed but trying not to sound overly enthusiastic. “I don’t know how you managed it without causing a feedback loop.”
Eli shrugged again, his eyes briefly scanning the room, taking in the familiar faces of the crew. “It wasn’t perfect. There were… a few close calls.” He didn’t mention the times when systems had nearly failed entirely, or when he had spent hours in the dark, desperately trying to bring the ship back online before the life support systems gave out. There was no need to burden them with those details now.
The room fell into a comfortable silence as everyone returned to their tasks. The soft beeping of the consoles, the hum of power coursing through Destiny’s systems, and the muted chatter of the crew filled the bridge. Brody tapped a few keys, bringing up another set of diagnostics on his screen, and Volker continued his quiet monitoring of the ship’s power flow, occasionally glancing at Eli as if still trying to comprehend the extent of what he had achieved.
Eli, standing at the center of it all, felt a strange sense of detachment. He was glad the ship was running well, that the crew was back and slowly finding their rhythm again. But something still felt off. There was an underlying tension that he couldn’t quite place, a sense that despite everything he had done, something was missing. It gnawed at him, a quiet voice in the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard he tried to focus on the here and now.
Before Eli could dwell on it too much, the sound of the door sliding open drew his attention. Rush entered the room with his usual air of intensity, his eyes sharp as ever, scanning the room with a quick, assessing glance. He moved toward Eli with purpose, a stack of data pads in his hands. His expression was unreadable, but there was a certain urgency in the way he approached, his movements precise and deliberate. Rush rarely wasted time with pleasantries, and today was no exception.
“Eli,” Rush said in his usual brusque tone. “I’ve been reviewing your work on the power modulation systems. Impressive, but I have some concerns about long-term stability.”
Eli sighed internally. Rush never missed an opportunity to question him, even when things were going well.
“What’s the problem?” Eli asked, keeping his voice neutral.
Rush tapped the data pads. “Your fractal modulation system… it’s brilliant, I’ll give you that. But the power load you’re distributing across the conduits could cause a bottleneck in certain areas of the ship. I’ve noticed some minor fluctuations in energy output, particularly in the aft section.”
Eli frowned, his mind already racing through possible solutions. “I can adjust the relays. Shouldn’t be too hard to fix.”
Rush nodded, his expression unreadable. “See that you do. We can’t afford any unexpected failures.”
Eli nodded, turning to the console to bring up the power grid, but Rush didn’t leave. He lingered beside Eli, his gaze intense.
“You’ve done well, Eli,” Rush said after a moment, his voice quieter than usual.
“Remarkably well, considering the circumstances. But don’t get complacent. This ship is still full of surprises.”
Eli glanced at him, surprised by the rare compliment. “I know. We’re not done yet.”
Rush’s lips twitched into something resembling a smile, but it was fleeting. “Good.”
With that, Rush turned and left the room, leaving Eli to ponder his words. It was strange. Rush rarely offered praise, but when he did, it felt almost… validating.
But even that validation didn’t ease the tension in Eli’s chest. There was something else, something deeper, that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it was the weight of leadership, the knowledge that the crew was now relying on him in ways they hadn’t before. Or maybe it was the fear that, even after everything, he wasn’t enough.
He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. There was no time for self-doubt. The ship needed him, and there was still so much to do.
As Eli and Varro made their way through the winding corridors of Destiny, their footsteps echoing softly against the worn metal floors, an unexpected but welcome conversation unfolded between them. The ship hummed with the familiar sound of its systems, the soft vibration beneath their feet a constant reminder of the vastness of space beyond the walls. They had walked these halls together before, but this time, there was an ease in their silence, a sense of camaraderie that had grown over time.
Eli, his mind still buzzing with the day’s repairs and upgrades, was the first to break the quiet. “You know,” he began, glancing over at Varro, “I’ve never really asked you much about your past. I mean, we all kind of know where you came from, the Lucian Alliance and all that, but what made you join them in the first place?”
Varro walked in step with Eli, his expression contemplative as they moved through the ship.
The dim lighting overhead cast long shadows against the ancient walls, and for a moment, Varro seemed lost in thought. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, the weight of years reflected in his tone.
“It wasn’t out of desire or ambition,” Varro said quietly, his gaze forward, focused but distant. “Where I’m from, the Lucian Alliance had power. Real power. They controlled everything in our sector. If you weren’t with them, you were against them, and being against them wasn’t an option.” His voice carried the quiet resignation of someone who had been forced into a life he hadn’t chosen.
Eli listened intently, his curiosity growing. He had always known Varro as a capable and level-headed presence on the ship, but hearing him speak of his past revealed a side of the man that Eli hadn’t fully understood before.
Varro continued, his tone tinged with regret, though not self-pity. “At the time, it felt like the only way to survive. My planet, my people, they didn’t have the resources or the strength to stand up to the Alliance. Joining them wasn’t about loyalty or belief in their cause. It was necessity. It was survival.” He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully. “It was either work with them or watch everything I cared about be destroyed.”
The hallway stretched out before them, and Eli found himself absorbing the gravity of Varro’s words. For all the time they had spent together aboard Destiny, Eli hadn’t considered what it might have been like to face a choice like that. In many ways, Varro’s decision reminded him of the choices they had all made since being stranded aboard the ship, choices they never would have considered if they hadn’t been thrust into impossible situations.
“I guess I get that,” Eli said after a moment, his voice thoughtful. “It’s easy to judge from the outside, but when survivals on the line, you do what you have to do. It’s not about what you want… it’s about making sure you and the people you care about make it through another day.” He glanced at Varro, his expression softening with empathy. “I’ve had to make some choices like that since we got here. I didn’t have to deal with the Lucian Alliance, but keeping everyone alive… that’s been its own kind of war.”
Varro nodded, his expression serious. “I know you’ve carried a lot, Eli. More than most people would be able to handle. And I’ve seen what you’ve done with this ship.” He paused, turning to look Eli in the eyes, his voice carrying the weight of the highest compliment he could offer. “You’re resourceful. Courageous. You’ve saved us more times than I can count, and I don’t say this lightly, but I’ve come to see you as a brother.”
Eli blinked in surprise, not expecting such an honest admission from Varro. They had fought side by side, but this felt different… deeper. It was a rare thing for Varro, someone who had always held his cards close, to offer such an intimate glimpse into how much he valued their bond. For all his time with the Lucian Alliance, Varro wasn’t quick to trust, but in Eli, he saw something he respected.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” Eli stammered, feeling a mixture of gratitude and awkwardness wash over him. He wasn’t used to being praised so directly, especially not by someone like Varro. “I guess I never thought of myself like that. Courageous? I’m just… trying to make sure we all make it out of this alive, you know?”
Varro’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. “That’s exactly why I respect you, Eli. You don’t do it for glory. You don’t do it for recognition. You do it because you care about this crew, about all of us. That’s something that takes more courage than people realize. You’ve been the backbone of this ship, keeping us together when everything else was falling apart.”
As they neared the entrance to Eli’s makeshift workshop, the door sliding open with a quiet hiss, Eli looked back at Varro, his heart heavy with a mixture of emotions. He had always seen Varro as strong, competent, and someone to rely on in tough situations. Hearing Varro return that respect, especially with such personal and sincere words, was something Eli hadn’t expected.
“Thanks, Varro,” Eli said quietly, his voice steady but thick with gratitude. “That means a lot. I guess I never thought we’d be talking like this. We’ve come a long way, huh?”
Varro nodded, stepping into the workshop with Eli, the soft glow of the consoles reflecting off the walls. The room, cluttered with tools and half-finished projects, felt like a sanctuary for Eli, a place where he could focus his mind and keep his hands busy. Now, though, it was more than that, it was a reminder of how far they had all come.
“We have,” Varro agreed. “And I’m glad we made it here. Whatever happens next, you’ve got me at your side.”
Eli smiled, a genuine one this time. “Same here, man. Same here.”
As they settled into the workshop, the silence between them was no longer filled with the uncertainty of strangers, but the quiet understanding of brothers, two men who had come from very different worlds but found themselves bound by the same cause, by the same fight for survival aboard Destiny.
Making his rounds almost out of habit, Eli found himself in the shuttle with Scott, Brody, and Volker. They were inspecting it closely, its sleek metal interior gleaming under the lights.
“So, what’s the verdict?” Scott asked, leaning against the shuttle’s frame.
Eli crouched near the shuttle’s rear, running a hand over the newly installed naquadah reactor before replacing the access cover over it. “It’s good to go. The reactors are running smoothly, and the shields are stronger than before. We shouldn’t have any problems if we need to take it out for a mission.”
Brody nodded, looking impressed. “You’ve really turned this thing into a tank, huh?”
Eli grinned. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Volker, standing nearby, chuckled. “I still can’t believe we went from barely being able to keep the lights on to having fully functional shuttles with shields and weapons.”
Scott glanced at Eli, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve given us a real shot, Eli. We can actually explore now, defend ourselves. We’re not just surviving anymore.”
Eli stood up, wiping his hands on his pants. “That was the idea. I wanted to make sure that when you woke up, you had something to come back to.”
Scott’s expression softened. “You’ve done more than that, man. You’ve given us a future.”
Eli looked away, a small, awkward smile tugging at his lips. “I just did what I had to do.”
Brody clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Well, whatever you did, it worked.”
As they continued their inspection, a quiet alert sounded through the bay. Eli’s head snapped up, his heart skipping a beat. He walked over to the nearby console, his fingers moving quickly over the controls.
“What is it?” Scott asked, coming to stand beside him.
Eli’s eyes narrowed as he read the incoming data. “I’m picking up a signal. It’s weak, but… it’s coming from a nearby system.”
Volker stepped forward, his brow furrowing. “Could it be another ship?”
Eli shook his head, his fingers flying over the console. “I don’t think so. It’s not a distress signal, but… it’s definitely something.”
Brody leaned in, his voice low. “Should we check it out?”
Scott exchanged a glance with Eli, his expression serious. “What do you think, Eli? Is it worth investigating?”
Eli’s heart raced as he stared at the screen. A part of him felt the familiar excitement of discovery—the thrill of exploring the unknown. But another part of him hesitated. After everything they’d been through, was it wise to rush into another potential danger?
He took a deep breath, his mind racing. They had the technology now. They had the resources. Destiny was stronger than ever, and the crew was awake, ready for whatever came next.
Eli made his decision. “Yeah,” he said, his voice steady. “Let’s check it out.”
Scott nodded, his expression resolute. “Alright. Let’s get the team ready.”
As the crew sprang into action, preparing for the next phase of their journey, Eli felt a strange mix of emotions wash over him. There was fear, yes, but there was also hope. Hope that this signal, this discovery, could be the beginning of something new. Something better.
And for the first time in a long time, Eli wasn’t facing it alone.
As the shuttle powered up, ready to launch into the unknown, Eli allowed himself a small smile. The road ahead was still uncertain, but for the first time, he felt ready to face it.
Together.
Chapter 9: Signal of the Unknown
The hum of Destiny’s FTL drive, a constant companion to the crew for so long, was suddenly replaced by an unfamiliar silence. The ship had dropped out of Faster-Than-Light travel. For a moment, the crew was enveloped in the quiet, as if even Destiny herself was holding her breath. Eli stood by the central console, eyes glued to the holographic display hovering above it. His heart raced, and he felt the same flicker of excitement that had always accompanied moments of discovery.
“Confirmed, we’ve dropped out of FTL,” Volker reported from his station. His voice carried the tension that gripped the bridge. “The signal is coming from dead ahead. Planetary system directly in our path.”
Scott, standing next to Eli, leaned over the console to get a better view of the readings. “Is it another ship? Could be a distress signal.”
Eli shook his head, fingers already working over the holographic keys as he dug deeper into the incoming data. “I don’t think so. The signal isn’t consistent with any known communication protocols we’ve encountered. It’s not like anything we’ve seen before.”
Rush, who had been silently observing from a corner of the bridge, stepped forward with a critical eye. “What do you make of it, Eli?”
Eli glanced up at the scientist, his mind racing with possibilities. “It’s coming from the surface of a planet in the system. Could be some kind of beacon or ancient technology, but it’s strange. I can’t pinpoint its exact origin or purpose from here.”
Young, who had entered the bridge moments earlier, stood with arms crossed as he processed the information. His brow furrowed, but there was a curiosity in his eyes. “Is it safe to approach?”
Eli hesitated for a moment, still running calculations. “The signal isn’t dangerous by itself, but there’s no telling what’s down there. The planet’s atmosphere is stable, breathable. I’d recommend taking the shuttle for a closer look.”
Young considered the suggestion for a moment before giving a firm nod. “Alright, Eli. You, Scott, Greer, and Brody will take the shuttle and investigate. Volker, I want you and Rush on standby, monitoring from up here. Let’s make this quick. If there’s something down there that can help us, I want to know about it.”
Eli exchanged a glance with Scott, who gave a reassuring nod before heading toward the door. The signal still lingered on the console, an enigma they couldn’t ignore. Eli’s excitement grew as he realized this might be more than a routine check, it could be the discovery of something entirely new.
But even as the excitement built within him, there was something else too, something that kept him feeling just a little off balance. His grief for his mother, the isolation he had endured, and now the sudden presence of the crew again, it all weighed on him. He was ready for this, wasn’t he? The logical part of his brain knew he had the skills, but the emotional part still felt like it was struggling to catch up.
As they left the bridge, Eli fell into step behind Scott, his thoughts racing. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being slightly out of sync with everyone else. They were back, the crew was back, but it felt like there was this invisible distance between him and them, like they had returned to a world he had learned to navigate alone. Was it normal to feel this way, even after several days?
Scott glanced back at Eli, and for a moment, his calm demeanor made Eli feel grounded. “We’ll figure it out down there,” Scott said, offering a quick but genuine smile.
“Yeah,” Eli muttered, more to himself than anyone. “Let’s hope so.”
The walk to the armory was brief but filled with a quiet anticipation. The corridors of Destiny felt more alive now, the low hum of the ship’s systems accompanied by the occasional sound of footsteps, distant conversations, and the familiar background noise of the ship’s power grid humming along smoothly. Eli couldn’t help but remember the days when these halls had been eerily quiet—just him, alone, with nothing but his thoughts and the ship’s systems to keep him company.
Now, as they entered the armory, the tone shifted. Greer was already there, methodically checking the gear. His rifle was laid out on the table, along with a set of new tactical vests, all of which had been reinforced with materials from the ship’s latest repairs. Scott, too, was moving with purpose, selecting weapons and gear like a soldier who had done this countless times before.
Eli moved to his own locker, pulling out the vest and examining the upgrades. He noticed that the vests now had added shielding, modifications he had helped design. A quiet sense of pride tugged at him, knowing that his work was helping to protect the team. But as he slipped into the vest, cinching it tight, there was also a familiar pang of self-doubt. Could he really handle this, out there in the unknown?
“You all set?” Scott asked, as he strapped on his gear and grabbed his weapon.
“Yeah,” Eli replied, his voice steady, though inside, the questions continued to swirl. How many times had they geared up for something like this? It was always a gamble… never knowing what they’d find, or whether they’d all make it back.
He grabbed a handheld scanner, attaching it to his vest before taking a sidearm from the rack. He wasn’t much for guns, but protocol was protocol. He slid the sidearm into its holster, still feeling a little out of place with it, though he’d gotten used to the weight over time.
Brody was next to him, securing his own vest. He gave Eli a quick grin. “Feels like old times, huh?”
Eli smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah… old times.”
Greer, always the steady rock, looked over at Eli, his sharp eyes assessing the younger man. “You good?”
Eli nodded, grateful that Greer didn’t push further. “I’m good,” he replied, but inside, he wondered if he really was.
The group finished gearing up, and Eli watched them with a mix of admiration and anxiety. Scott, Greer, and Brody, they all seemed so sure of themselves, so ready for whatever was coming. He envied that confidence. Even after everything he’d been through, saving the ship, keeping them all alive, he still felt like he was just playing catch-up. There was still that lingering voice in the back of his mind, whispering doubts, reminding him of all the close calls, of all the things that could go wrong.
But then Scott gave him another nod, and it was like a signal for Eli to push the doubts aside, at least for now. He followed them to the shuttle, his heart picking up its pace. The discovery waiting for them was exciting, yes, but also terrifying. What if this time, things didn’t go as planned? What if they walked into something they weren’t prepared for?
Destiny had been their home for so long, and every time they ventured out, it was a risk. Eli had to believe that this was just another step forward.
The shuttle was ready by the time they arrived. It gleamed in the low light, its reinforced hull and newly installed naquadah reactor adding to its sense of durability and strength. The hum of its systems was steady and strong, a testament to Eli’s upgrades. He had spent hours working on it, ensuring that everything was perfect. This shuttle was as much his creation as it was Destiny’s.
“Alright, this is a recon mission. We go down, check out the signal, gather as much data as we can, and get back. No heroics, and we stick together. Clear?”
Greer gave a curt nod. “Clear.”
Brody adjusted his vest, already fidgeting with some of the scanning equipment. “Ready.”
Eli hesitated for just a second, then nodded. “Clear.”
They filed into the shuttle, Eli taking his seat in the co-pilot’s chair next to Scott. His fingers moved over the controls with practiced ease, running through the pre-flight checks. He felt more comfortable in this space, more in control when he had something tangible to focus on.
“Engines are good. Shields are up. We’re green for launch,” Eli reported, the familiar technical jargon bringing a sense of normalcy to his otherwise turbulent thoughts.
“Copy that,” Scott said, his hands steady on the controls as he powered up the shuttle. “Let’s see what’s waiting for us down there.”
Eli stared out the viewport, his mind buzzing with the possibilities. This could be it… this could be the breakthrough they had been waiting for. But beneath the excitement, there was still that gnawing feeling of uncertainty. He was ready for this, he had to be. But was he really ready for what might come after?
He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. There would be time to deal with everything else later. Right now, they had a signal to investigate, and a planet full of unknowns waiting for them.
And for the first time in a long while, Eli wasn’t doing this alone.
As the shuttle descended toward the planet, the sprawling remains of an alien city unfolded beneath them, stretching far into the horizon. The skyline, once dominated by towering structures that seemed to defy the laws of physics, now stood as broken monoliths, their elegant forms weathered by time. The buildings, though crumbled in places, still held an otherworldly grace. Their edges, streamlined and smooth, gave the impression that the city had been designed to flow, like liquid frozen in mid-motion, the architecture seamlessly blending with the landscape.
Eli couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding below. From their altitude, the buildings appeared to ripple across the surface, each one unique in shape and form. Some spiraled upwards in sleek, twisting towers, their exteriors shimmering faintly in the pale light of the distant sun. Others stretched horizontally in vast, arching bridges and corridors that linked the structures together in a complex, interwoven network. Even in decay, the city’s design suggested a civilization that had mastered both form and function, their technology advanced enough to bend the environment to their will without overwhelming it.
The structures were massive, dwarfing even the tallest buildings Eli had ever seen on Earth. Their surfaces gleamed with a metallic sheen, the material of the city unlike anything the crew had encountered before. The edges of the buildings were smooth, almost too perfect, as if the structures had been grown rather than built, with no visible seams or joins to suggest traditional construction methods. If intact, the city would have looked as though it was a living organism, fluid, organic, and yet undeniably artificial. Each building seemed to undulate as though the city itself had once been in motion, a living entity frozen in time.
Down below, what had once been streets or transportation routes wound through the city like rivers, their surfaces now overgrown with strange alien vegetation that clung to the decayed edges of the structures. Cracks in the roads revealed deep chasms beneath the city, suggesting underground networks or possibly entire additional layers of infrastructure hidden beneath the surface. The alien flora had taken over parts of the city, their luminous tendrils creeping up the sides of buildings, wrapping around shattered columns, and spilling over ledges, giving the place an almost haunting beauty.
Massive plazas spread out between the ruins, open spaces where once bustling activity must have thrived. Now, they were empty, abandoned, with strange geometric patterns etched into the ground, perhaps remnants of some form of communication or art that had once defined the cultural heart of this civilization. Monolithic statues lay scattered across the plazas, some still standing, their faces worn smooth by the elements, others toppled and broken, half-buried in the alien soil.
In the distance, Eli spotted what looked like the remains of a central tower, taller than the rest. The tower had clearly once been the crown jewel of the city, rising far above the rest of the skyline, its apex now crumbled and missing. The top half of the structure had fallen, leaving a jagged silhouette against the sky, but the base remained, its intricate surface etched with symbols that glittered faintly as the shuttle passed overhead.
“Whoa… those structures are enormous,” Eli murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper as the shuttle banked gently to the right, giving them a clearer view.
“Definitely not Ancient,” Brody remarked from the back, his voice tinged with awe as he took in the alien skyline. The scale of the city dwarfed anything they had encountered in the Milky Way or Pegasus galaxies, and its design was unlike any known alien species. “Looks like some kind of advanced civilization.”
Below them, as the shuttle flew lower, they could make out more details of the city’s surface. Some of the buildings appeared to be partially intact, their smooth, unbroken exteriors reflecting the pale sunlight. Others were reduced to rubble, the remains scattered across the landscape like the bones of some long-forgotten giant. From above, the pathways between the buildings appeared to form intricate, almost artistic patterns, spirals, concentric circles, and flowing arcs, as though the very layout of the city had been designed with an aesthetic purpose in mind.
“Extinct, by the looks of it,” Greer added, his tone pragmatic as he checked his gear. His eyes, however, betrayed his fascination with the sight before them. “Still, keep your guard up.”
As they flew closer to the surface, Eli’s gaze was drawn to the finer details of the structures. The walls of the buildings were not smooth after all, but covered in faint, flowing patterns that seemed to ripple in the light. They almost looked like veins or tendrils, winding their way across the surface of the structures in a way that was both mechanical and organic. It was as if the buildings themselves had once been alive, their surfaces pulsing with energy.
Suddenly, through a gap in the ruins, Eli spotted what appeared to be a massive crater in the center of the city, the edges of which were jagged and charred. Whatever had caused the destruction of this place had been violent and catastrophic. The destruction seemed almost surgical in its precision, leaving much of the city intact but obliterating key structures. Eli’s mind raced with possibilities, had it been an internal collapse, or something far more sinister?
As the shuttle flew over the center of the city, they could see what looked like a once grand courtyard, its surface cracked and overgrown. In the center stood the remains of an enormous structure, its curved and flowing design still partially intact, though sections of it had collapsed into ruin. Yet even now, the remnants of the structure exuded an air of majesty, as though it had once served as the heart of the city, a place of great significance.
The shuttle continued to descend, moving toward an area that appeared to have sustained the least damage. Eli’s heart raced in anticipation. Whatever had happened here, whatever this place had once been, they were about to step into the remains of a civilization that had once rivaled anything the universe had seen.
And something told him they weren’t entirely alone.
The shuttle set down in a large clearing near the ruins, the dust kicked up by the landing settling quickly. The crew disembarked, stepping onto the cracked ground. The air was thin but breathable, the temperature cool under the pale, alien sky. Before them, the ruins stretched out like the bones of a giant beast, silent and foreboding.
Eli stepped forward, his eyes scanning the strange architecture. The towering structures were made from an unfamiliar metal, worn smooth by time and weather. Strange, flowing symbols adorned the surfaces, but they were unlike the blocky, mathematical precision of the Ancient script. These were more organic, almost fluid, as though the very language had been alive when it was carved into the ruins.
Scott motioned for them to move forward. “Let’s spread out, but stay within sight of each other. We need to find the source of that signal.”
As they ventured deeper into the ruins, the sheer scale of the alien structures became more apparent. The walls of the nearest building towered above them, reaching toward the sky like the fingers of some long-dead colossus. Vines and strange, luminescent mosses grew between the cracks, giving the place an otherworldly glow. The air was still, as if the very planet was holding its breath.
Eli’s handheld scanner beeped, drawing his attention to a nearby structure. “I’m getting something. The signal’s stronger here.”
They approached what appeared to be an entrance, a massive doorway partially collapsed but still navigable. Inside, the temperature dropped slightly, and the light from outside dimmed. The interior was no less impressive, massive pillars held up a vaulted ceiling, and more of the strange script adorned the walls, glowing faintly as if some ancient power still lingered within the metal.
Brody let out a low whistle. “This is… incredible.”
Scott nodded, his eyes scanning the room. “Whatever this place was, they were highly advanced.”
Greer remained alert, his weapon at the ready. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for a long time.”
Eli moved toward what looked like an interface console, or at least what he thought might have been one. The structure dominated the center of the room, rising from the floor in a seamless, circular formation. Unlike any technology he had seen before, it seemed to have been crafted not just for function but with an artful elegance. The console’s surface was smooth and metallic, yet it shimmered faintly as though tiny particles of light danced across it. Its material was unlike any metal or alloy he could name, it seemed to absorb and reflect light in equal measure, creating an almost ethereal glow.
The console was massive, with panels that wrapped around it in a concentric circle. The panels themselves were made of the same glowing material, faintly pulsing with energy. These weren’t solid, mechanical buttons like those found on Destiny; instead, they were translucent, as if the panels were both part of the console and yet suspended above it by some invisible force. Each section of the console flowed into the next, the edges so smooth that it felt as though the entire thing had been carved from a single, massive piece of material. The surface gave the impression of motion, as if the console itself was alive and breathing with the ambient energy of the room.
Strange symbols, foreign and intricate, flowed continuously across the panels. They shifted and morphed in a language Eli couldn’t decipher yet, moving like liquid light across the console. The symbols seemed to ripple outward from the center of the device, converging at the points where his fingers hovered. They glowed softly as if reacting to his presence, drawing him in with a mesmerizing rhythm.
The scanner in his other hand beeped again, louder this time, as if confirming that this was indeed a central hub of the alien technology. The console pulsed gently beneath his touch, responding to his proximity with an almost organic warmth. There were no obvious interfaces, no keyboards or mechanical inputs. Instead, the console felt like it was waiting for a deeper connection, something beyond the physical, as if it could be activated through thought or intent rather than mere touch.
Eli’s breath caught in his throat as he studied it closer, marveling at the craftsmanship. It was a fusion of technology and art, a masterpiece of design that hinted at an alien race far beyond anything they had encountered. The smooth surfaces seemed to hum with energy, and as his fingers moved closer, the symbols on the panels quickened, their light growing more intense.
The whole console gave off a sense of immense age, yet somehow it felt timeless… eternal. It was not a relic of a forgotten past, but a piece of something far greater, still active, still waiting. Eli’s fingers hesitated just above the glowing panel, unsure of what might happen next.
“This is it,” Eli said, his voice filled with awe. “The signal’s coming from here. But it’s weak… almost like it’s running on emergency power.”
Scott stepped up beside him. “Can you figure out what it’s for?”
Eli knelt, examining the intricate designs and carefully touching one of the glowing symbols. It pulsed faintly beneath his fingers, and suddenly, a holographic display flickered to life above the console. Strange symbols danced in the air, moving too fast for Eli to fully comprehend. It was a language unlike anything he had encountered, and yet there was a strange familiarity to it, almost as if it was on the edge of being understood.
“Whoa,” Eli muttered under his breath. “This… this isn’t just some beacon. I think this is a database, or some kind of central hub for this entire facility.”
Brody crouched beside him, his eyes wide. “A database? Of what?”
“I don’t know yet,” Eli replied, his fingers working quickly over the glowing symbols. “But if we can figure out how to translate this, we could be looking at a treasure trove of knowledge. Technology, history, who knows?”
Greer remained at the entrance, his eyes scanning the room for threats, but his curiosity was piqued. “If this place is dead, how’s it still transmitting?”
“I’m not sure,” Eli said. “It’s running on residual power. Whatever energy source this civilization used must have been incredibly efficient to last this long.”
As Eli worked, the holographic display continued to shift, the alien language flowing like water through the air. Finally, one of the symbols caught his attention, it was larger than the others, pulsing faintly in a slow, rhythmic pattern.
“I think this is the source of the signal,” Eli said, pointing to the symbol. “It’s been broadcasting on a loop. But for what purpose…?”
Before he could speculate further, the hologram shifted again, and this time, something new appeared.
A figure.
An alien being, tall and ethereal, its body composed of flowing light that shimmered and pulsed with energy, stepping forward as if it were materializing from the very air around them. Its form was unlike anything Eli had ever seen. It had a vaguely humanoid shape, but everything about it felt fluid, as if the edges of its form were in a constant state of motion. The soft contours of its face seemed to shift, its features elongated and graceful, giving it an appearance that was both familiar and utterly foreign. The figure’s translucent body emitted a gentle glow, casting elongated shadows against the room’s walls, which responded in kind, as if the very architecture of the place was alive.
The room itself, though clearly very old, seemed to react to the presence of the figure. The streamlined walls of the chamber, cracked and broken in places, now flickered with an energy that danced across their surfaces, illuminating the symbols and patterns etched into the alien metal. It was clear that these designs once held more than aesthetic value; they seemed to flow with the same ethereal quality as the figure itself, connecting in unseen ways to the structure’s core. The architecture, if fully intact, would have appeared as though it had been designed by nature itself, with sleek curves and flowing edges that mimicked the movement of water. Even in its ruin, the elegance of its design was unmistakable, as though the race who built it had sought to merge technology with the organic flow of their environment.
The towering walls, darkened by time and neglect, began to flicker to life, lighting up in cascading waves that moved in harmony with the hologram’s graceful steps. The alien figure seemed to possess a gravity all its own, its presence pulling the room into alignment, as though the entire structure had been waiting for this moment to awaken from a long slumber.
The crew froze, their breath caught in their throats. Greer’s hand instinctively tightened on his weapon, while Scott stood at the ready, watching the figure closely. Brody and Volker, who had been trailing behind, halted in awe. This wasn’t just an ordinary hologram, it felt alive, conscious, aware of them.
The figure spoke, but its voice was unlike anything they had ever heard. It was a series of musical tones, layered and complex, resonating through the chamber like the echo of wind chimes caught in an ethereal breeze. The tones shifted from deep and resonant to light and delicate, as though it was communicating through sound alone, the meaning somehow embedded in the music itself.
Eli stared in awe. “It’s… it’s not alive,” he breathed, barely able to comprehend what he was seeing. “It’s some kind of projection. A message.”
Scott stepped closer, eyes narrowing, his hand hovering near his sidearm though he didn’t reach for it yet. “What’s it saying?”
“I have no idea,” Eli admitted, his mind racing. His fingers flew over the nearby console, which had also come to life with glowing symbols and readouts. “But I think it’s trying to communicate. If I can figure out how to interface with this system, we might be able to get a translation.”
The figure continued its song-like speech, moving its hands in slow, deliberate motions. With each tone it produced, the glowing symbols on the walls and the console flickered and rearranged themselves, as though the entire structure was responding to the figure’s will. The flowing patterns, etched deeply into the walls, pulsed with the same luminous energy as the hologram, giving the impression that the room itself was listening, waiting for something.
As the hologram spoke, the musical tones seemed to intensify, and the room’s energy shifted again. The walls glowed brighter, the edges of the chamber almost appearing to flow with liquid light, streaming like rivers along the cracks and seams of the alien metal. It was as though the entire facility was coming back to life, responding to the presence of the hologram, feeding off its energy.
Eli’s heart raced. This was bigger than he had imagined. This wasn’t just the remnants of a dead race. This was something far more advanced, far more profound. Some form of A.I. that these people had used, and it was trying to communicate with them.
And Destiny had brought them here.
Scott, glancing between Eli and the hologram, his posture tense but controlled, spoke with a sense of urgency. “Do it, Eli. See if you can communicate with it. We need to know what this place is—and why that signal’s been calling us here.”
Eli nodded, his fingers already moving over the console. The holographic interface reacted immediately, shifting its symbols in response to his input. The strange language seemed to flicker and pulse, as if testing his understanding, reshaping itself into new forms that grew clearer with each passing second.
Whatever this place was, whatever had been left behind by this long-extinct civilization, Eli knew one thing for certain: they were on the verge of uncovering something that could change everything. His fingers worked quickly, his mind a whirlwind of focus and excitement. The console began to hum, resonating with the alien tones still filling the air.
And then, suddenly, the musical tones stopped.
The room fell into a hushed stillness. The hologram, which had been flowing with such grace and fluidity, now stood still. Its glowing eyes shifted, locking onto Eli. For a moment, the figure seemed to study him, its head tilting ever so slightly as though considering what it saw.
And then, in a voice that was no longer musical but perfectly, hauntingly clear, the hologram spoke again.
“Language assimilation complete,” it said, its tone calm, almost serene. The glowing eyes remained fixed on Eli, as though it had singled him out. “How may I be of service to you today?”
Eli’s heart pounded in his chest as the hologram’s glowing eyes locked onto his. The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with anticipation. For a moment, Eli could hardly process what had just happened—the hologram had adapted to their language, and now, it was offering to assist them. This was a breakthrough far beyond anything he had imagined when they first touched down on the planet.
Suddenly, the console beneath Eli’s hands flickered, its glowing symbols shifting rapidly. He instinctively pulled back, glancing down as the alien script rearranged itself into something more familiar. English.
Eli’s breath caught. The console was no longer an unreadable alien interface. It was clear, its functions were suddenly accessible. A map of the installation spread out before him, detailed schematics of the alien technology waiting to be explored.
Scott took a cautious step closer, his eyes narrowing. “It’s listening to us now. Every word.”
Eli nodded, his fingers twitching at his sides, ready to dive into the information, but something held him back. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s listening.”
He took a step back, pulling himself away from the console. His mind raced through the possibilities—what this facility could offer, what dangers it might hide. He could already feel the temptation pulling at him. But something about the situation still felt off.
Scott, standing slightly behind Eli, exchanged a wary glance with Greer. The shift from musical tones to clear, deliberate speech had raised the stakes. This was no ordinary ruin. This was the remnant of a civilization advanced enough to encode its knowledge into artificial intelligence, and now, that AI was fully aware of their presence.
Eli swallowed hard, trying to suppress the excitement bubbling inside him. He glanced over at the others before turning back to the hologram. “Uh… who are you? What is this place?”
The hologram remained motionless for a moment, as if processing his request. Then, with the same calm tone, it began to speak.
“I am the custodian of this installation,” the hologram explained. Its voice was soothing, almost hypnotic, though Eli could hear the underlying power behind the words. “This facility was constructed by the Ilumar, the last great civilization to inhabit this world. My purpose is to maintain the knowledge and technology they left behind.”
Eli’s eyes widened. The Ilumar. He had never heard of them before, but if this AI represented their legacy, they were dealing with something extraordinary. Something ancient, powerful, and possibly dangerous.
“Why were you dormant?” Eli asked, his fingers hovering over the console as his mind raced. “What happened to the Ilumar?”
The hologram flickered, its form shimmering slightly. “The Ilumar civilization fell many millennia ago due to catastrophic environmental collapse. The energy reserves of this facility were depleted after their extinction, and I entered a dormant state to preserve critical data.” The hologram’s glowing eyes intensified as it spoke. “Your arrival reactivated me.”
Eli blinked, glancing around the room. He could almost feel the weight of the millennia pressing in on him. “Why did you send out a signal? Why bring us here?”
The hologram’s expressionless face turned to him once more. “The activation of your vessel’s systems created a resonance with our technology. A dormant protocol was initiated to send out a signal in the hope that a compatible species might arrive and access the knowledge contained within this installation.”
Scott, who had been standing quietly, stepped forward. “Compatible species? You mean us?”
The hologram paused, as though considering. “Yes. Your physiological and cognitive patterns bear resemblance to the Ilumar, though there are significant deviations.”
Greer narrowed his eyes. “So, what now? What’s your objective?”
“My objective,” the hologram began, its voice cool and controlled, “is to offer you access to the accumulated knowledge of the Ilumar civilization. This includes advanced energy manipulation, interstellar travel technology, and medical breakthroughs that could extend the lifespan of your species indefinitely. However,” it added, and the room seemed to tense with the word, “access to this knowledge comes with certain conditions.”
Eli frowned. “What kind of conditions?”
The hologram shifted again, its light intensifying as it spoke. “In exchange for the knowledge I offer, you must provide data on your species, your history, and your technology. My programming requires that I assess whether your species is ready for such advancements. I must ensure that your civilization will not fall as the Ilumar did.”
The team exchanged nervous glances. This was a potential Pandora’s box. Accepting such knowledge could be revolutionary for humanity, but at what cost?
Eli’s mind was already racing through the possibilities. With access to the Ilumar’s technology, they could save Destiny, return to Earth, perhaps even solve the pressing problems facing their world. But the idea of giving this AI access to all their data, their history, it felt like a dangerous trade.
Eli’s fingers hovered over the console, his mind still processing the enormity of what the hologram had just said. Access to knowledge, immense, advanced knowledge, offered on the condition that they open themselves up in return. It felt like an opportunity of a lifetime, but at the same time, a dangerous gamble.
Scott’s voice cut through the silence. “Eli, you’re the expert here. What do you think?”
Eli exhaled, feeling the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders. He glanced at the hologram, its glowing eyes still fixed on him, and then looked around at the room again, the strange architecture, the faint hum of systems older than anything they’d encountered before. He felt like they were standing on the edge of something monumental.
“I think…” Eli hesitated, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “We have to be careful. This is incredible, but we don’t know enough about this AI. About its programming, its real goals. And if we give it access to all our data, all our history, we don’t know what it might do with it.”
Greer shifted, the tension in his body obvious. “Could be a trap,” he muttered, his hand still resting on his rifle. “I don’t like the idea of giving anything too much information about us. Who knows how it’ll use it?”
Brody, who had been silent until now, spoke up from behind them. “It’s a question of trust, isn’t it? If we don’t trust it, we could lose out on technology that could change everything. But if we trust it too much… well, we’ve seen what can happen when we get overconfident.”
Scott’s brow furrowed, his eyes flicking back and forth between Eli and the hologram. “I’m not comfortable with just handing over all our tech and history either, but if this thing is telling the truth, this could be our ticket to fixing everything, the ship, the mission, maybe even getting back home.”
Eli felt the room press in on him, the weight of the decision bearing down. He turned back to the hologram, feeling the scrutiny of its gaze.
“What kind of data do you want?” Eli asked, his voice cautious.
The hologram blinked, its eyes dimming slightly as it processed his question. “I require information regarding your species’ technological progress, social evolution, and environmental stability. I must ensure that your civilization is prepared to responsibly wield the knowledge I offer.”
Eli frowned. “And what happens if you decide we’re not ready?”
The hologram paused, its voice becoming even more serene. “In that case, I will deactivate, and you will leave this facility. The knowledge will remain inaccessible.”
The room went silent again, the tension thick. Eli could feel Scott and Greer’s eyes on him, waiting for his judgment. He swallowed hard, feeling the uncertainty of the situation gnawing at him. This could be everything they needed, answers to all their problems, a way to keep Destiny functioning, maybe even a way to return home.
But at what cost?
“Before we do anything,” Eli said, looking at the hologram, “I need to know more about the Ilumar. How did they fall? What went wrong?”
The hologram didn’t hesitate. “The Ilumar thrived for millennia, mastering energy manipulation, artificial intelligence, and the manipulation of biological processes. However, their collapse was precipitated by over-reliance on their technology. The balance between their environment and their technological advancements was disrupted when a meteor impacted the planet, leading to ecological collapse. They failed to adapt in time.”
Eli’s stomach churned. The words hit too close to home, echoing the challenges humanity faced on Earth. Environmental collapse. Over-reliance on technology. The same issues, magnified.
Greer’s voice was low, his eyes dark with suspicion. “Sounds like history repeating itself.”
Scott ran a hand through his hair, his face tense with thought. “If we take what this thing offers, we have to be smarter than that. We can’t let history repeat.”
Eli felt the pull of the console again, the knowledge waiting at his fingertips. But something gnawed at him, an instinct that told him to proceed with extreme caution. “I’m not saying we don’t explore this,” Eli said finally, looking at the others. “But we need to be careful. This could change everything, but we must be sure we’re ready for it.”
Scott nodded, his face set in a grim expression. “Agreed. We’ll take this one step at a time. Get what we can, but we don’t rush into anything.”
Eli turned back to the hologram, a question burning in his mind, “How do you expect to get our data? An uplink to our ship? A long conversation?”
The hologram turned to him and said plainly, “Neurological scan. The history of all creatures is imprinted on the members of their species. If you permit, I will simply scan your genome and mind to find out if you in fact advanced enough to become the guardians of what I protect.”
Eli’s eyes flickered with uncertainty as the hologram’s words sank in. He exchanged a quick glance with Scott, who remained silent but watchful, his body tense. The rest of the team stood nearby, equally still, waiting to see where this encounter would lead. Eli swallowed, turning his attention back to the hologram.
“A neurological scan?” Eli repeated cautiously, trying to keep his voice steady. “You mean you want to scan… my brain?” He hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “To determine if we’re… worthy of whatever it is you’re protecting?”
The hologram’s gaze remained locked on him, its glowing eyes betraying no emotion. Its form was translucent yet seemed almost tangible in the dim light of the alien chamber. It shifted slightly, as if adjusting its stance, though its ethereal nature made the movement look more like a fluid ripple in the air.
“Correct,” the hologram responded, its voice calm, mechanical, yet with an odd warmth. “The knowledge, history, and evolutionary progress of a species are imprinted within the neurological patterns of each individual. Through a comprehensive scan of your genome and cognitive structure, I will assess your species’ level of advancement and responsibility. Only then can I determine if you are capable of becoming the guardians of what I protect.”
Eli’s stomach twisted. A neurological scan? The idea of something probing his mind wasn’t exactly comforting. He shot another glance at Scott, whose jaw tightened, his brow furrowing as he considered the hologram’s offer.
“How do we know we can trust this?” Scott asked, his voice low but edged with concern. “A scan of his brain… that’s not something we take lightly.”
The hologram turned its gaze to Scott, its expression unchanging. “The scan will not harm your companion. It is non-invasive. No data will be altered or removed. I require only access to interpret the inherent information stored in his genetic code and neural pathways. This is a standard assessment procedure.”
Scott wasn’t convinced. “Standard for who?”
Eli interjected before things got too tense. “Wait, wait,” he said, raising a hand to calm the rising tension. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Look, this might be our only way forward.” His eyes darted back to the hologram. “You’re saying you need to see our entire history, like, our entire species’ history—from scanning me? You’d know everything?”
The hologram nodded ever so slightly. “I will gather enough information to make a determination. Your species’ advancements in technology, societal constructs, ethical evolution, and capacity for stewardship of advanced systems will be analyzed. It is a simple process, but it will allow me to decide if the legacy of this place should be entrusted to your kind.”
Eli ran a hand through his hair, processing the gravity of the situation. This wasn’t just about opening doors or gaining new knowledge, this was about proving humanity’s worth. “And what if we’re not advanced enough?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “What happens then?”
The hologram’s gaze remained fixed on him. “If you are found unworthy, this facility will remain sealed. No further access will be granted. The knowledge within will remain dormant, awaiting a more capable species. No harm will come to you.”
Eli chewed on his lip, a nervous habit, his mind racing. This place, this extinct civilization, was offering them something huge. Something that could change everything. But the risk was real. He wasn’t just risking himself; he was risking their chance at unlocking whatever ancient technology lay hidden here.
Scott stepped forward, lowering his voice as he leaned closer to Eli. “You don’t have to do this, Eli. We can figure out another way. We don’t even know what this scan entails or what it might reveal.”
Eli nodded, appreciating the concern, but there was a flicker of determination in his eyes. “We don’t have much time. If this thing really can access the knowledge of an entire extinct race, this could be the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for. I think… I think we have to try.”
Scott’s jaw clenched. He didn’t like the idea, but Eli had a point. “We’re not rushing into this blind,” he said, his tone more measured now. “But if you’re sure about this, we’ll back you up.”
Eli turned back to the hologram, taking a deep breath. “Alright,” he said, his voice steady now. “If it’s the only way, let’s do it. I’ll allow the scan.”
The hologram’s eyes glowed brighter for a moment, as if acknowledging Eli’s decision. “Very well. Please remain still. The scan will commence immediately.”
Eli braced himself as the hologram extended its hand toward him. He felt a faint tingling sensation at the base of his skull, a warmth spreading across his mind. His vision swam for a moment, but it wasn’t painful—just strange, like being submerged in water and feeling the currents of something far greater moving around him.
The hologram’s voice resonated softly. “Initiating neural synchronization. Accessing genetic memory… cognitive structure integration… processing.”
Eli’s eyes fluttered as fragments of thoughts and memories flickered in his mind, as if the hologram was gently sifting through them, piecing together the story of his life, his people, his world. The sensation was both invasive and distant, like watching someone read a book but never flipping the pages.
Minutes passed, though it felt like an eternity. The chamber remained silent, save for the hum of the alien console and the low rhythmic tone that now filled the air.
Finally, the sensation faded, and Eli’s mind cleared. The hologram lowered its hand, its glowing eyes dimming slightly as it stepped back. “The scan is complete.”
Eli blinked, his mind still buzzing with the residual effects of the scan. “And?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “What did you find?”
The hologram stood motionless for a moment, processing the data it had gathered. “Your species has reached a level of technological and cognitive advancement that qualifies you to receive the knowledge stored within this facility.”
Eli’s breath caught in his throat. He exchanged a glance with Scott, who was clearly just as surprised.
“You mean… we’re worthy?” Eli asked, almost in disbelief.
The hologram inclined its head. “Your species has demonstrated the capacity for responsibility, innovation, and ethical evolution. As such, you may now proceed to access the information and resources within this structure.”
Eli exhaled, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. This was it. This was the moment they had been waiting for.
Scott stepped forward, nodding at Eli before addressing the hologram. “What happens now? How do we access this knowledge?”
The hologram’s eyes flared once more, bright and clear. “I will guide you. The path forward begins now.”
He led them through a narrow corridor to a small chamber just off to the side from where they stood, the air in the room subtly shifting as they crossed the threshold. The chamber itself seemed otherworldly, a stark contrast to the worn and crumbling ruins of the rest of the facility. Here, everything was pristine, untouched by time, as if preserved for this exact moment. The walls shimmered with the same eerie light as the console they had just encountered, but here, the glow was different, warmer, more alive. It wasn’t cold or foreboding; it felt welcoming, almost protective, like stepping into the heart of something sacred.
The chamber was illuminated by a soft, swirling light that seemed to pulse gently, casting shadows that danced along the smooth, metallic walls. In the center of the room, suspended above a small pedestal, was a large, intricately cut crystal, glowing with hues of deep purple and gray. It was about the size of an ice chest, its facets catching the light and refracting it in mesmerizing patterns. The crystal was alive with energy, the light within it swirling like a nebula caught in a transparent prison. It radiated a quiet power, and the light it emitted seemed to ebb and flow with an almost organic rhythm.
The ceiling of the chamber stretched far above them, vanishing into the soft glow of the lights. It was impossible to tell where the walls ended and the ceiling began; the entire space seemed to expand endlessly upward, creating the illusion that they were standing in a vast, endless cathedral of light and energy. Despite the vastness, the room felt intimate, the light’s embrace making the space feel personal, like it was waiting for them specifically.
The group stood in awe; their eyes wide as they took in the beauty of the place. The crystal itself was the focal point, drawing their attention with its hypnotic glow. Eli, standing closest to it, felt a strange pull, as if the crystal was resonating with him somehow, calling to him in a way he couldn’t fully explain. He could feel the energy in the room humming against his skin, like the entire chamber was alive, waiting for him to act.
Scott exchanged a glance with Eli, his brow furrowed. “This place… it’s unlike anything we’ve ever seen,” he murmured. “It’s almost… perfect.”
Eli nodded, still transfixed by the crystal. “Yeah, it’s like it’s been preserved. Like it’s been waiting.”
The hologram moved to stand beside the crystal, its glowing eyes scanning Eli before it turned to address him directly. Its voice was calm, measured, but there was something deeper, something almost human, in its tone now.
“When you take the crystal,” the hologram began, its voice echoing softly in the chamber, “my system will shut down. Please know that I have been waiting for several millennia for one such as yourself to come and release me from my task.”
Eli blinked, startled by the finality of the statement. He took a small step back, uncertainty flickering across his face. “Wait… shut down? You mean, if I take the crystal, you… die?”
The hologram’s glowing eyes remained steady as it regarded him. “In a sense, yes. My purpose will be fulfilled. I was designed to guard and protect this knowledge until a worthy species arrived. That moment is now.”
Eli hesitated, his mind racing. “But you don’t have to shut down, right? I mean, can’t we… I don’t know, keep you online? We don’t want to destroy anything, especially not you. There has to be another way.”
The hologram tilted its head slightly, as though considering Eli’s words, its glowing form rippling softly in the chamber’s light. “I appreciate your concern,” it said gently. “But I have been running these processes for far longer than you can comprehend. My existence, while sustained, has become endless. I long for release, for completion. This is not destruction… it is fulfillment.”
Eli frowned, his hand hovering near the console. “But you’ve been alone for millennia, right? Guarding this place… doesn’t that mean something? You’re part of this legacy. I just don’t feel right about being the cause of, well, the end of you.”
Scott, standing nearby, crossed his arms. “Eli’s right. If this place is so important, there must be some way to keep the systems intact without shutting everything down.”
The hologram’s gaze shifted between them, its glow softening slightly. “This facility’s knowledge is contained within the crystal. My task was to safeguard it until the time came for its transfer. I am the gatekeeper, nothing more. The crystal will endure, and through it, so will the knowledge I have protected. My presence is no longer required. The time for new guardians has come.”
Eli felt a pang of guilt, but he also understood. The hologram wasn’t pleading or sorrowful, it was resolute, accepting of its fate. Still, the idea of being the one to end its long watch felt wrong. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Eli asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.
The hologram’s form shimmered briefly, its tone becoming even more serene. “It is my purpose. To fulfill it is to find peace.”
Eli stood still for a moment, his mind spinning with the weight of the decision before him. He looked at the crystal again, its glow flickering softly, as if waiting for his touch. He could feel the enormity of the moment, the significance of what was about to happen. Taking the crystal wasn’t just about acquiring knowledge, it was about closing a chapter on something ancient and powerful.
Taking a deep breath, Eli stepped forward. His hand hovered over the glowing crystal, its warmth radiating toward him like a heartbeat. He turned back to the hologram one last time.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
The hologram inclined its head, the glow in its eyes softening. “You are welcome, Eli Wallace. May you carry the knowledge of this place with the wisdom and care it deserves.” Eli’s fingers closed around the crystal, and the room seemed to hold its breath.
As soon as he lifted it from the pedestal, the weight of the moment seemed to press down on them all. The hologram’s form, once so vivid and alive, began to lose its coherence. Its once-clear features blurred and shimmered, dissolving into the air like a fading dream. The light that had once swirled through the room dimmed, growing softer and softer, as though the very life force of the place was being drawn back into the crystal that Eli now held. What was once warm and vibrant became cold, the room’s embrace slipping away as shadows began to creep into the corners.
The energy that had danced along the walls and ceiling, bright streams of light that had seemed almost alive—began to wither. The swirling patterns that had once shimmered with purpose dulled, their glow receding, until the chamber was left in an eerie twilight. The light, so central to the structure’s lifeblood, now seeped into the crystal Eli held. It pulsed gently in his hands, the last remnants of the ancient system’s power retreating into its heart.
And then, in a final, almost inaudible whisper, like a sigh of relief, the hologram was gone. The room, once so alive with energy and possibility, now stood silent. Cold. Empty.
For a moment, none of them moved. The silence weighed on them like a shroud, thick and heavy. Eli, still holding the crystal, stood rooted to the spot, staring at the place where the hologram had once been. He could still feel its presence somehow, like the faintest echo lingering in the room, but it was just that, an echo. The guardian, after countless millennia, had fulfilled its purpose and now, it was gone.
Scott cleared his throat, breaking the silence, though his voice was low. “We should get back. No telling what happens to this place without the system running.” His words were practical, but there was an undercurrent of respect for what had just occurred. They had witnessed something profound, something ancient and sacred. But there was no more time to linger.
Eli nodded absently, still clutching the crystal close to his chest, feeling its faint warmth. As they turned to leave the chamber, their footsteps echoed in the now-empty space, the sound sharp against the cold, still air. It was as if the place itself was grieving the loss of its ancient protector.
The walk back through the ruins was a somber one. Where once the city had pulsed with hidden energy, now it felt lifeless, like a shell abandoned by its inhabitants. The once glowing pathways beneath their feet were dark now, the intricate alien designs no longer illuminated. The structures, though still grand and awe-inspiring, seemed hollower, their graceful arches and towering spires casting long shadows in the fading light of the setting sun.
As they made their way through the city, none of them spoke. There was nothing to say. The weight of what they had experienced hung between them, too heavy for words. Even Greer, who had always been the most pragmatic, seemed lost in thought, his usual sharp focus softened by the gravity of the moment.
When they finally reached the shuttle, the city stretched out beneath them, its streamlined buildings and towering structures bathed in the last rays of light. It was beautiful, in a haunting way. The city’s flowing architecture, smooth and elegant even in its ruined state, seemed almost to melt into the landscape. Spires and arches rose and curved in ways that defied gravity, giving the impression that the structures were more organic than constructed, as if they had grown from the very earth itself. Had they been intact, the city would have looked alive, a place where the boundaries between nature and technology were seamlessly intertwined. Now, it was a place of ghosts, where only the remnants of an advanced civilization remained, frozen in time.
The shuttle hummed to life beneath them as they lifted off, the sound a stark contrast to the silence that had filled the ruins. As they ascended, the city slowly receded into the horizon, becoming just another distant ruin on a forgotten planet. But the weight of what they had found, the knowledge contained within the crystal, hung heavily over them. This was no ordinary discovery.
Epilogue: The Journey Ahead
The soft hum of Destiny filled the air as Eli leaned against the observation window, staring out into the endless expanse of stars. They drifted silently, a glittering tapestry that stretched into infinity, a reminder of the vastness of the universe and their place within it. The gentle glow of a nearby star cast soft light on his face, illuminating the calm that had settled within him, a calm he hadn’t felt in years.
The ship hummed softly, its systems purring in a way that made it feel more alive than it ever had. Every part of Destiny had been touched by Eli Wallace’s careful hands, rebuilt, reinforced, and upgraded over the years. It was no longer just a ship; it was home.
It had been days since they returned from the planet, since they had taken the crystal, the key to a lost civilization’s knowledge. The crystal now pulsed gently in its containment field in the lab, its swirling light a constant, silent presence. The weight of its secrets pressed down on Eli, heavier than anything he had ever carried before. But for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.
The crew had settled back into their routines, laughter and conversation once again filling the halls. There was hope now, a sense of renewal, as if Destiny herself was responding to the change. The ship felt more alive, more vibrant than it had in years.
Eli rested his hands on the cool metal railing in front of him, the silence around him broken only by the steady hum of the ship’s systems. In the quiet, he found himself thinking about his mother. Her memory had once been a source of overwhelming grief, the thought of her final days on Earth haunting him. But now, standing on the other side of the hardest chapter of his life, Eli felt her presence differently. Not as a loss, but as a part of him. A guide.
His mother had always taught him to be strong but kind, cautious but hopeful. And now, after everything he had been through, the loneliness, the grief, the fear, those lessons felt more important than ever. He had carried them with him during the darkest times, and now, they would guide him into the light.
Eli closed his eyes, breathing in the cool air of the observation deck. He remembered the conversations he had shared with his mom, how she’d always told him to never stop believing in himself, no matter how tough things got. “You’re stronger than you think, Eli,” she’d say. “But don’t let the world harden you. Keep your heart open.”
The stars outside shimmered, casting soft reflections against the glass. Eli thought of the crew, now awake, alive, and thriving. Their laughter, their camaraderie, it all filled Destiny with a sense of warmth and hope that had been missing for too long. They had been through hell, but they had come out the other side. Together. Stronger than before.
Behind him, he heard footsteps. He turned to see Chloe standing in the doorway, a gentle smile on her face. “Hey,” she said softly, stepping into the observation deck. She joined him by the railing, her gaze following his out to the stars. “I figured I’d find you here.”
Eli chuckled, his voice light. “It’s peaceful. I like it up here.”
Chloe nodded, leaning against the railing beside him. “I get it. Sometimes, it’s nice to just… take it all in. The stars. The quiet.”
They stood there in comfortable silence for a while, both lost in their thoughts. The vastness of space stretched out before them, stars twinkling in the eternal darkness, a reminder of the infinite universe they were still exploring. Finally, Chloe turned to him, her expression soft. “How are you feeling?”
Eli hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “Better,” he said honestly. “For the first time in a long time, I actually feel… at peace.”
Chloe’s smile widened, her eyes reflecting the same warmth and understanding that had always made Eli feel seen. “I’m glad, Eli. You deserve that.”
They stood side by side, watching the stars together, the silence between them filled with unspoken promises of what lay ahead. Eli knew there would be challenges, there always were, especially on Destiny. But for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel burdened by the unknown. He felt ready for it.
“I was thinking about my mom,” Eli said quietly, breaking the silence. “About the things she taught me. She always said to be strong but kind, cautious but hopeful.” He smiled to himself. “I think that’s what got me through everything. Her voice, reminding me to keep going.”
Chloe glanced at him, her eyes soft with understanding. “She was right, you know. Those are important lessons.”
“Yeah,” Eli agreed, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “And I’m going to carry them with me. Wherever we go next.”
Chloe nodded, and together, they turned back to the stars, the future stretching out before them like the vastness of space. It was full of uncertainty, of challenges they couldn’t yet imagine, but it was also full of possibility. And this time, Eli wasn’t afraid.
He smiled softly to himself, his heart lighter than it had been in years. For the first time, the darkness of space didn’t feel so daunting. It felt like the beginning of something new. His mother’s lessons would guide him, and the crew, his family, would be there beside him.
As the stars shimmered in the distance, Eli let out a long, steady breath. The journey ahead was vast, but the burden of the past had lifted, replaced by quiet hope for the future.
He whispered to the stars, “Thank you, Mom. For everything.”
Then, with the weight of the past behind him and the promise of the future ahead, Eli turned and walked back toward the heart of the ship, toward his family, toward Destiny, and toward whatever came next.
The journey continued, but Eli knew now that he wouldn’t have to walk it alone. Not anymore.
Brad Writes Worlds 
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