Amongst the Stars of Cygnus [Hard Sci-fi Survival]

The doors to the reinstatement wings hissed open, releasing a wave of chilled, sterile air into the corridor. Elisa stood beside Ervin, her arms crossed tightly, watching as the first figures emerged. Maximilian stood slightly apart, his posture radiating a calm alertness.

Davron Mansur Federoff stepped out first. Even blinking against the standard corridor lighting, disoriented from the abrupt return to consciousness, he carried an unmistakable air of command. Dispite his greying hair, his frame was lean but strong, his features sharp, his grey eyes already scanning, assessing. He wore the simple grey jumpsuit provided post-revival, yet seemed to fill it with an authority that transcended clothing.

Close behind him came Mikhail Petrov, Davron's legal counsel. Midscaler by birth but elevated by association, Petrov clutched a newly issued datapad, his gaze sharp and observant, his poise straight, already cataloging the surroundings, the personnel, the subtle power dynamics, already taking note. His movements were precise, economical, betraying none of the aftermath Elisa knew must be racking his body and mind.

Then came Lin Xiu Ling, the general secretary known among the Federoff circle simply as "Koko." Lower topscaler, sharp-featured and thin, her dark hair pulled back severely. Even in the basic jumpsuit, her posture was rigid, her expression assessing, almost dismissive. Elisa noted the long fingernails on her pinky fingers, grown out even post-revival – a deliberate, almost defiant status symbol signifying her distance from manual labor. Koko's eyes swept over Elisa, Ervin, and Maximilian, lingering just a fraction too long on Elisa.

Dmitri Ganbold, the corporate chief of operations, emerged next, looking much as Tamarlyan had described him: bald, corpulent, his face slightly flushed, already dabbing at his brow despite the cool inside air. He offered a brief, almost forced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, adjusting the collar of his jumpsuit as if it were a stifling corporate uniform.

Jiang Wei followed, another topscaler, his eyes alight with analytical curiosity as he took in the base infrastructure visible down the corridor. He had liquidated substantial tech holdings for this venture, Elisa recalled Tamarlyan mentioning. Beside him, Sasha Borodin, lower topscaler like Koko, offered a contrast – a subtle smirk played on his lips, his gaze appraising, clearly looking for angles, for opportunities.

Bringing up the rear was Lodon Zavorokhin, a household guard. Taller and broader than Yao Guowei, his military bearing was instantly recognizable. He nodded curtly to Maximilian, a silent acknowledgment passing between the two security professionals, before taking a position slightly behind the main group. A handful of entourage and servant staff shuffled out last, faces blank, keeping their distance, blending into the background as they had likely been trained to do for generations.

Davron Federoff inclined his head toward Elisa, the gesture minimal but conveying acknowledgment. "Commander Woodward, I presume?" His voice was steady, resonant, despite the ordeal he'd just endured.

"Yes. Welcome back, Director Federoff," Elisa replied, keeping her own voice level, professional. "And welcome to all of you."

Jiang Wei offered a tight smile. "Impressive progress, Commander, given the... reported circumstances." The compliment felt double-edged.

"We've managed," Elisa said simply.

"We look forward to receiving a full briefing and understanding the current situation," Davron stated, his gaze sweeping over the limited view of the base. "For now, I believe my son is expecting us?"

"Yes, Tamarlyan is waiting. Your quarters have been prepared," Elisa confirmed. "Maximilian, our head of security, will escort you there. We understand you'll need time to acclimatize and receive detailed reports."

"Indeed," Davron said. "We appreciate your foresight, Commander." He exchanged brief, formal nods with Ervin before Maximilian led his cohort down the corridor, leaving Elisa and Ervin standing in the sudden quiet.

The air felt heavy once they were gone. Elisa let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Well," she muttered, "that was…"

"Expected," Ervin finished gently. He watched her shoulders slump slightly. "You're comparing yourself to them."

Elisa rubbed her temples. "They just… Crawl out of the grave like they own the place. Like command is their birthright. And I'm standing here feeling like I'm playing dress-up in the Commander's chair."

Ervin turned to her, his expression kind but firm. "Elisa, you survived the unsurvivable. You held this colony together when everything was falling apart. You secured a power source, brokered a deal with an alien species. They are alive because of you. That's not 'playing dress-up.' That's leadership. Their confidence comes from a lifetime of assuming authority. Yours comes from earning it, day by difficult day."

He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Don't let their performance intimidate you. They need you more than they realize right now. They have the rulebook; you have the reality. Stay true to your strengths. Be pragmatic, be fair, and don't try to be them. Just be the commander you already are."

Elisa looked up, meeting his steady gaze. A flicker of her usual resolve returned. "Thanks, Ervin. I needed that."

"Anytime," he said with a warm smile. "Now, shall we see about getting some real coffee brewed? I believe the latest greenhouse harvest might allow for it."

===

The reconstruction chamber felt different this time. More charged. Pom stood behind the observation glass again, but Mei wasn't with him. She had offered, but he had quietly declined. This was something he needed to face alone.

On the other side of the partition, Jocelyn's new form lay within the substrate bed, bathed in the soft, pulsing light of the alien biotech. The three Provider workers moved around her, their motions fluid, precise, weaving the intricate tapestry of life back into existence.

Pom watched, his heart a leaden weight in his chest. He saw her features solidifying, the color returning to her skin, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as respiration began. It was her. Unmistakably her. The curve of her cheek, the way her dark hair fell even in stillness, the small scar above her eyebrow from a childhood accident she'd always laughed about.

Memories flooded him—Luna's cramped habs brightened by her smile, whispered dreams under Proxima's red sun, the frantic scramble to secure passage on the Dolya, the tearful joy of their final embrace before cryo.

And then, the darker memory surfaced—the credits. The impossible sum acquired at the last minute. The questions he hadn't asked. The truth he hadn't wanted to see.

He closed his eyes, forcing the image away. She wouldn't remember that part. ARI had assured him. The trauma, the desperation, the impossible choice she must have made—ARI wouldn't dare gamble by filling in those blanks with guesswork. Instead, it would be smoothed over, a gap filled with plausible, reconstructed low-risk filler based on who she was *before*. She would wake up believing they had simply… made it. Together. The unborn child would be deferred until ARI had sorted the legal complexities.

But child or not, Pom knew. And that knowledge felt like a betrayal, a chasm opening between the man standing here and the woman lying there.

The lights in the chamber shifted, intensifying. The rhythmic pulsing quickened. ARI's voice sounded softly in the observation room. "Neural integration approaching completion. Vital signs stable. Preparing for conscious reintegration."

Pom braced himself, gripping the railing until his knuckles turned white.

On the table, Jocelyn's eyelids fluttered. A small sigh escaped her lips. Her fingers twitched, then curled slightly.

Slowly, her eyes opened.

They were hazy at first, unfocused, scanning the unfamiliar ceiling. Then they drifted, finding the observation window. Finding him.

Recognition flickered. Confusion followed. Then, slowly, tentatively, a smile spread across her face—a smile he hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime, yet recognized instantly.

"Pom?" she whispered, her voice raspy, weak, but undeniably hers.

He couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Just stared, his heart splintering and mending all at once.

She tried to sit up, her movements sluggish, uncertain. One of the Provider workers gently guided her back down while another handed her a blanket.

"Where… where are we?" she asked, her gaze sweeping the chamber, taking in the strange glowing substrate, the robed figures, the sterile walls. "What happened?"

Pom found his voice, though it cracked. "We made it, Joce. We're here."

Tears welled in her eyes—relief, confusion, overwhelming joy. "We made it," she echoed, her smile widening, radiant. "Oh, Pom… I knew we would."

He wanted to run to her, hold her, tell her everything was alright. But he couldn't. Not yet. The glass partition stood between them, a physical barrier mirroring the invisible one that now existed in his knowledge of her past.

She looked back at Pom, her brow furrowing slightly, but she seemed too weak, too overwhelmed to question further. She nodded, letting her head sink back into the padding, her eyes fluttering closed again, exhaustion claiming her.

Pom watched her, his chest aching.

She was back.

But the woman who had returned wasn't entirely the woman he had lost. And the man waiting for her wasn't entirely the man she remembered.

The silence in the observation room stretched, heavy and profound. Pom slumped numbly, unable to tear his gaze away from his wife. She was alive. Yes. But the relief was tangled with a grief so deep, so complex, it threatened to swallow him whole.

He had gotten her back. But the cost—the cost was still being counted.

===

The room had once been a standard mid-sized conference module, but it had been transformed. A long table, its surface polished to a high sheen, dominated the space. It was laden with artfully presented food – glistening protein cuts arranged beside vibrant vegetables from the greenhouse, steaming tureens releasing savory aromas, decanters filled with water and colored nutrient solutions. Even synthesized wine analogues were present. Yet, despite the bounty, no one was eating. Forks rested beside plates, glasses remained untouched. The focus was entirely on the conversation, the air thick with unspoken assessments and strategic calculation.

Davron Federoff sat at the head of the table, composed and attentive, looking splendid in his new, tailor-made garment. To his right sat Koko, sharp and focused, her long pinky nails occasionally tapping against the tabletop.

Tamarlyan sat further down, near his father but distinctly separate, functioning as the briefer. Technocrat Jiang Wei listened intently, occasionally making notes on a datapad, while topscaler Sasha Borodin lounged slightly in his chair, a picture of relaxed observation that didn't quite hide the calculating look in his eyes. Dmitri Ganbold, the corpulent operations chief, shifted uncomfortably in his chair, sweating faintly despite the cool air, his gaze flicking between Davron and the data Tamarlyan presented. At the far end, legal counsel Mikhail Petrov diligently recorded minutes on his own datapad, while Lodon Zavorokhin stood impassively near the door, a silent guard.

Tamarlyan concluded his summary of the colony's situation, covering the precarious resource balance, the functioning but limited reactor, the encounters with the alien life forms, the interactions with the alien Provider, and the acquisition of the resurrection technology. He finished with an overview of the current command structure, detailing Elisa's role and the key personnel supporting her.

"...and that brings us to the present status," Tamarlyan finished, looking toward his father.

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Davron steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable. "An adequate summary, Tamarlyan. Thank you." He turned his gaze down the table. "Questions?"

Koko spoke first, her voice crisp. "This Commander Woodward. You described her as empathetic but lacking traditional command presence. Elaborate on her personality profile. Strengths? Weaknesses?"

Tamarlyan chose his words carefully. "Her primary strength is her pragmatism and ability to foster cooperation. She connects with the crew on a personal level, which has been vital for morale. Her technical background is solid. Her weakness…" He paused. "She is not instinctively political. She sometimes struggles with asserting authority, especially against established figures like Colonel Maximilian Barinov. She relies heavily on consensus and holds strong ethical considerations, which can slow decision-making."

Sasha Borodin smirked faintly. "Sounds like someone who can be… guided."

"Regarding the Provider," Jiang Wei interjected, leaning forward. "You state it has offered advanced technology, including this… resurrection capability. What guarantees do we have regarding its stability or potential hidden costs? And what is its motive?"

"Its stated motive is survival and eventual reunification with its Empire," Tamarlyan replied. "It claims the technology transfer is unconditional. As for hidden costs, Mei is still analyzing the biotech, but initial findings show full biological integration without apparent negative side effects. The long-term implications remain unknown."

Dmitri Ganbold, cleared his throat nervously. "And the Company protocols regarding the integration of third party technologies? Have they been strictly adhered to? The potential liabilities…"

"Company protocols became largely superseded by present concerns from the moment the Dolya failed," Tamarlyan stated coolly. "We operate under emergency authority derived from the highest-ranking surviving officer, currently Commander Woodward. As for liability, I suspect the Company ceased to exist millennia ago." Tamarlyan allowed himself a small, internal smile at the sight of Dmitri's visible discomfort, the thought of the man's habitual corpulence and his wine-dark port-stain birthmark being diligently reconstructed by Provider workers seeming almost comical.

"This resurrection technology," Koko cut back in, her sharp eyes fixing on Tamarlyan. "You say it's widely available now? Offered freely?"

"Yes," Tamarlyan confirmed. "Elisa made it optional, but available to all who consent."

Sasha scoffed quietly. "Giving immortality to the masses? That's strategically unsound. Dangerous, even. Such power requires control, discretion."

"My thoughts exactly," Davron said, speaking for the first time since his initial question. His gaze was firm. "This technology must be managed. Its distribution needs careful consideration. Unfettered access could lead to social chaos, resource depletion, unforeseen consequences."

Jiang Wei nodded vigorously. "We need to understand it fully. Reverse-engineer it if possible. My technical teams, once revived, will be essential for this. I propose we dedicate significant resources to analyzing and containing this technology at the earliest convenience."

"Agreed," Koko and Sasha echoed.

"And what of the other personnel?" Davron asked, turning back to Tamarlyan. "Elisa's key officers. This Maximilian Barinov—CorpSec Colonel, Buhakharan. Reliable?"

"Competent and ambitious," Tamarlyan replied. "He understands power structures. He would be a useful ally, if he perceives the situation aligning with his interests."

"Valeriya Marakova?" Koko inquired. "Also Buhakharan. Former bridge officer. What's her angle?"

"She presents as loyal to Elisa, for now," Tamarlyan said. "She's experienced and pragmatic. Less overtly political than Maximilian, but observant. She and Maximilian seem to have a history, though the details are unclear."

"And the rest?" Davron prompted. "The psychologist reverend Sekhon? The doctor and biologist Ronningen? The doctor Qi?"

"Reverend Sekhon is Elisa's moral advisor, influential but not a political player himself," Tamarlyan summarized. "The Ronningens are loyal to Elisa and focused on the science. Doctor Qi Meifen is complicated. Her altered DNA makes her unique, potentially valuable for understanding the Provider's biotech, but also unpredictable. She is also… close to the operator Pom Mansouri."

Davron made a noncommittal sound. "And the backlog of revivals? Other officers?"

"Several are in the queue," Tamarlyan confirmed. "Most hold ranks senior to Elisa's original commission, which could present challenges to her authority once they are acclimated."

"Interesting," Sasha murmured, a calculating gleam in his eye.

"One more point regarding the technology," Tamarlyan added, deciding to deliver the final piece of information. "It's not just Doctor Qi who has altered DNA now. Anyone revived using the Provider's substrate—including all of you—carries the same base genetic template. It appears to be a universal biological framework the Provider utilizes."

A stunned silence fell over the room. Dmitri Ganbold went pale, his hand instinctively going to his chest. Koko's sharp intake of breath was audible. Even Davron's composure flickered for a moment.

"You are saying… we are altered?" Jiang Wei asked, voice strained.

"Genetically, yes," Tamarlyan confirmed. "Functionally, you remain human. But your underlying biology is now integrated with the Provider's system."

Davron closed his eyes briefly, processing. When he opened them again, his gaze was hard. "This changes nothing about the need for control. If anything, it makes understanding this technology even more critical." He looked around the table. "We need to know precisely what has been done to us, and whether there are any hidden dependencies." He tapped the table. "Mister Petrov, I want a full legal review of inheritance law, corporate succession, and UEC statutes regarding biological alteration and artificial life extension, at your earliest convenience. Mister Wei, I suggest you could coordinate with ARI; We have a case to have your best bio-engineers moved to the top of the revival queue. Miss Koko, mister Ganbold, please assess the current personnel—identify potential loyalties, threats, and opportunities."

He paused, looking at each of them. "We have survived millennia. We will survive this. But we will do it on our terms." He signaled for a break. "Let us reconvene in one hour."

As the others began to rise and stretch, Davron Federoff motioned for Tamarlyan to stay behind. The rest discreetly filed out, leaving father and son alone in the room, the remnants of the untouched meal still laid out between them like props on a stage. The holographic map continued to hover, displaying the colony's fragile footprint on this alien world.

Davron regarded his son, his expression thoughtful, appraising. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper now, the weight of millennia and recent revival settling upon him. "Your briefing was… thorough, Tamarlyan. You covered the necessary points with clarity."

Tamarlyan felt the familiar, almost Pavlovian response – the tightening in his chest, the need for validation clashing with the knowledge that his father's praise was always measured, always conditional. "Was the information sufficient for your assessment, Father?" he asked, keeping his voice respectful, neutral.

"Sufficient for an initial overview," Davron replied. He walked slowly around the table, pausing to study the map. "You have adapted well to the circumstances. Survived. Your analysis of the competing alien ecosystems was insightful, and your work with ARI on the implant technology is clearly valuable." He turned back, his gaze sharp. "You have made yourself useful to Commander Woodward's efforts."

Tamarlyan waited, recognizing the subtle framing. Useful. Supportive. Not instrumental. Not leading. "I contributed where my analysis could provide strategic advantage," he clarified. "Identifying the potential parasitic nature of the crystals, assessing the Provider's likely motivations based on resource limitations, advising on the deployment of the resurrection technology—"

"Assisting," Davron corrected gently, but firmly. "Advising. These are important functions, Tamarlyan, especially when supporting a commander finding her footing. But they are not the same as shaping the direction yourself. Surviving is not leading. You observed, you analyzed, you assisted. You did not steer."

Tamarlyan stiffened slightly. "Commander Woodward holds the authority according to established protocols—"

"Protocols are frameworks, not limitations," Davron interrupted smoothly. "True leadership identifies opportunity within those frameworks, or reshapes them when necessary. You are still young, of course. There is time." He paused, his gaze lingering on Tamarlyan, a flicker of something unreadable behind his eyes. "But time is a resource we must now manage more carefully than ever."

The unspoken message hung in the air: Tamarlyan's contributions were noted, acknowledged as competent, but deemed insufficient for someone of his lineage, his potential. He hadn't taken control, hadn't imposed his will on the situation. He had merely… reacted effectively.

Davron shifted the topic slightly, gesturing vaguely toward the infirmary wing. "This resurrection technology. Have you undergone the procedure yourself? The neural scan? The implants?"

"The scan is complete," Tamarlyan confirmed. "I have the implants. It seemed prudent, given the inherent risks of our environment."

Davron nodded slowly. "A pragmatic choice." He hesitated for a fraction of a second, a barely perceptible tightening around his mouth. "I have not… yet. There are legal considerations Petrov must review first. And I wish to fully understand the technology before committing my own... continuity to it."

Tamarlyan watched his father closely. The excuse was plausible, logical even. Petrov was reviewing the legalities. And caution was warranted. Yet… Tamarlyan detected something else. A faint aversion in his father's posture, a reluctance that didn't quite fit the profile of a man who had spent his life embracing every technological advantage.

Tamarlyan froze. His father... without his full cognitive enhancements? The suite of proprietary Federoff implants that amplified processing speed, memory recall, strategic modeling—the very hardware that underpinned the effortless intellectual dominance of their bloodline? Tamarlyan replayed the earlier meeting in his mind: Ganbold's sweating unease, Koko's focus on appearances and hierarchy over substance, Sasha's shallow scheming, even Jiang Wei's reliance on future technical teams rather than deep, immediate analysis. And his father... his father had listened more than directed, reacted more than initiated, relied on Tamarlyan's summary rather than displaying his own piercing synthesis of the situation.

A chilling realization dawned on Tamarlyan. They were all compromised. The resurrection tech had restored their bodies, integrated the Provider's DNA framework, perhaps even repaired basic neurological functions—but it hadn't, or couldn't, restore the intricate, hyper-specialized cybernetics that truly set the topscalers apart. They were operating at reduced capacity, their legendary cognitive prowess blunted, closer now to the baseline humans they ostensibly led than any of them would ever admit.

And they were hiding it. Maintaining the facade. The assumption of effortless superiority, the ingrained imperative to control, hadn't diminished with their abilities. If anything, the hidden weakness likely made them more determined to secure power, lest their lack of competence be exposed. The games of power would continue, fueled by perception and the unwavering belief in their right to lead, regardless of their current cognitive reality.

Davron, oblivious to his son's internal deduction, continued smoothly. "The legal review of the share structure and inheritance protocols will clarify certain matters regarding your standing, of course. We will discuss the implications once mister Petrov has completed his analysis."

Another deflection. The core issue of Tamarlyan's status, his inherited power, his leverage—postponed. Deferred. Left hanging until the legalities, interpreted by their counsel, were settled. The power dynamic, even with blunted minds, remained ruthlessly intact.

Tamarlyan bowed his head slightly, a gesture of deference he felt more keenly now, understanding the subtle fragility beneath his father's projected authority. "Yes, Father."

"Return to the others," Davron said, turning back to the map, his attention already shifting to broader strategic concerns. "We have much to decide. Ensure the technical teams understand the priority of analyzing the Provider's biotechnology."

Tamarlyan turned and left the room, the quiet hum of the headquarters feeling suddenly louder, charged with the unspoken complexities of the game ahead. He was dealing not just with ambitious rulers, but with rulers potentially grappling with a newfound, unacknowledged fragility, clinging fiercely to the power they believed was inherently theirs.

===

The reconstruction chamber was quiet, bathed in the soft, pulsing blue light of the alien substrate. Jocelyn lay on the central platform, her eyes closed, her breathing even. She had been awake intermittently over the past day, slowly regaining strength, her fragmented memories taking longer than most to coalesce.

Pom sat on a stool just outside the glass partition, watching her. He hadn't left the observation room for long, catching brief snatches of sleep on a nearby cot, accepting food rations brought by Mei or Ervin without tasting them. His world had narrowed to this single point—her return.

Mei entered quietly, carrying a fresh nutrient pack. She paused beside Pom, her gaze softening as she looked at Jocelyn, then at him.

"How is she?" Mei asked gently.

Pom didn't look away from the chamber. "She asked about the ship. About Proxima. She knows our time together, but doesn't remember much about the last year before… before stasis." He swallowed hard. "Doesn't remember the orbital station. The delays. The… money."

Mei rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. "That's probably for the best, Pom. For now."

He nodded numbly. "Yeah. For now." He finally turned to Mei, his eyes filled with a raw vulnerability she hadn't seen before. "What do I tell her, Mei? When she asks? What if she remembers more?"

Mei hesitated, searching for the right words. "You tell her the truth you can live with," she said softly. "The truth that lets both of you heal."

Pom looked back at Jocelyn, his expression torn.

Just then, Jocelyn stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing. She saw Pom through the glass, and a weak but genuine smile touched her lips. She lifted a hand slightly, a questioning gesture.

Pom's breath caught. He stood up, pushing through the observation room door before Mei could stop him. He strode quickly to Jocelyn's side, kneeling beside the platform.

"Joce?" he whispered, reaching out to gently take her hand. Her skin felt warm, real.

Her fingers tightened weakly around his. "Pom," she murmured, her voice still thin. "It feels… strange. Like waking from a long dream." She looked around the chamber. "Where are we? What is this place?"

Pom took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet her confused gaze. "It's… complicated, Joce. We crashed. The Dolya… it didn't make it. We're on a new world. A lot happened. A lot of time passed. But we survived. *You* survived."

She frowned, a flicker of something—a half-formed memory, a sense of unease—crossing her features. "Time? How much time?"

Pom hesitated. How could he explain seventy thousand years? How could he explain the alien tech that had brought her back from irreparable decay?

"It doesn't matter right now," he said, forcing a reassuring smile. "What matters is you're here. You're safe. And I'm here with you."

Jocelyn studied his face, the lines of worry, the exhaustion etched around his eyes. She reached up, her fingers brushing his cheek. "You look older, Pom."

He managed a small laugh, though it felt hollow. "Yeah, well. It's been a rough trip."

She smiled faintly, her eyes drifting closed again for a moment. "Tell me later," she whispered. "Just… stay?"

"Always," Pom promised, his voice thick with emotion. He held her hand, grounding himself in the simple, overwhelming reality of her presence.

Mei watched them from the doorway, her heart aching with a complex mix of relief and sorrow. Jocelyn was back. Pom had his wife again.

And Mei… Mei had to figure out where she fit now, in a future that suddenly felt uncertain in a whole new way. She quietly backed out of the room, leaving them to their reunion, the silence of the corridor swallowing her footsteps.