And someone else would say, “Nobody. The ship just took care of itself.”
Because that was the job.
Kael smiled. A small, sad, real smile.
“Ah,” Kael said. “So I’m the last one. The final candle. I burn until we arrive, and then…” etap 24
“You’ll have served your purpose, Kael. The colonists will build a new world. And you’ll be part of that legacy.”
And for the first time in twenty-four lives, Kael decided he was okay with that.
He looked at his hands. They were young, strong. The hands of a man in his thirties. But inside, he felt older. Much older. He tried to remember his life—the one before the ship. A childhood. A mother’s face. A dog. Rain on a window. And someone else would say, “Nobody
He reached Hydroponic Bay 7. The lights flickered on, illuminating rows of sad, yellowing tomato plants. He knelt down, plunged his hand into the soil, and felt the dry, lifeless granules slip through his fingers.
He sat up slowly. His muscles ached, not with the soreness of use, but with the hollow stiffness of deep disuse. He looked at his wrist. A small, glowing tattoo read:
People who weren’t stage twenty-four of a copy of a copy of a copy. A small, sad, real smile
He thought about the next eleven months. The hydroponic bays. The silent corridors. The hum of the core. The weekly psych evaluations where Dr. Aris would ask him how he felt .
“Up to a point,” Aris echoed. “What point is that, Kael?”
He worked for ten hours straight, measuring pH, adjusting nitrates, repairing the drip lines. By the end, the plants looked greener. Almost hopeful. He sat down against the bulkhead, exhausted, and pulled out a small, dog-eared book from his jumpsuit pocket. He didn’t know why he carried it. He didn’t remember buying it.