Three seconds. It's really all she had needed. Bruised and bleeding from her neck, Anna Warren was dismissed by so many as dead. And they left her. They left her behind. But she was a survivor; a trait that had become a part of her identity long before she was chosen to represent humanity in space aboard the illustrious Terra Prospect. How lucky she was to be selected; plucked from a mediocre life; a small-town cop turned instant celebrity. Lucky, she thought. Lucky that the shrapnel didn't instantly end her life as it did to her surrounding colleagues when the medical bay exploded around them. Lucky that she was able to crawl away to the escape pods undetected by rogue androids. Lucky, a survivor. Three seconds before her escape pod was to launch, a hull breach sent the shuttle bay into lockdown and now, she was in freefall, spinning out of control, and suffocating.

Anna fought to find her orientation. Her half-open pod was sputtering about the shuttle bay in stark contrast to the floating obstacles that danced and collided gracefully against it due to the failed artificial gravity. Amidst the battered tech and shipping crates, the bodies of slain engineers and shuttle pilots wafted about like silent ghosts.

Oxygen was fleeing the air.

She ignored the flashing warnings within her pod and pulled the failsafe release, freeing herself from its restraints. Then, pulling her knees up, she kicked off her ravaged escape pod and into the frictionless air. With any luck, her momentum would carry her to the engineering hatch about half-way up the far wall. There's that word again, she thought, luck. Without luck, it'd be far more likely that her bucking escape pod would gore her through the launching station. More still, that she would need to take a breath before reaching the hatch and her last moments would be punctuated with the sensation of saliva boiling on her tongue.

It was one of the fun facts that she had held onto from her training; that liquid boils when exposed to the vacuum of space. From the saliva in her mouth, to the blood in her veins. It terrified her more so than her lungs combusting due to pressure or eventually freezing solid in absolute zero.

She recalled her mother's eyes. The fear-mingled pride shading the lines on her face the moment she told her at a diner over an excessive plate of strawberry-topped waffles.

"It's a two-year program," Anna explained to her, "I'll be able to contact you directly intermittently from gate outposts." Then, adding as if to assure herself, "I'll be back in no time at all."

Her mother's eyes were glass, turning red in the corners as they often did when she was holding back tears.

"Just come back to me," she replied.

It was a request that Anna had every intention of honoring. Her dream to explore the cosmos and distant alien worlds had always included the triumphant journey home. It all seemed so far away now.

Her lungs were burning. She needed to inhale and she appeared to be losing momentum. With her arms outstretched and her hands searching for grip, at last, the hatch was hers.

She unlocked the hatch and slid herself in, quickly pulling the door shut behind her. As soon as it shut, the artificial gravity kicked back in and she collapsed, gasping for air on the cool grates.

A small victory, she thought. At the very least, she was still alive. What puzzled her was trying to piece together what had occurred.

She had been in the medical bay with Dr. Sachs. They were discussing the condition of a colleague who had recently fallen ill. The mission director had taken him back to their home system for treatment. She attempted to make a joke to lighten the doctor's mood. Then, the ship's field androids entered the room and fired rockets into the walls. Flaming shrapnel fell like rain.

There was no warning, no discernable reason. Had the androids really just turned on them? No. The engineers said that they could only be programmed. They had no desires, only function. Someone had reprogrammed the androids to destroy the ship and kill everyone on board. Who would do such a thing?

She recalled the recent behavioral changes in a particular crewmate. Daran Chree. He had been kind and brave, a dreamer. Then, after their most recent away mission, he was withdrawn, distant, but thinking intently behind dark troubled eyes. What twisted plans had he formulated? She felt guilty for even thinking he was capable of such carnage, but it was all she could do to make sense of it all. He snapped. He was at the mercy of a broken mind...

No. She refused the thought. Not Daran.

She turned to the display screen on a console beside her. It was a rudimentary workstation for basic maintenance. The language on the screen had defaulted to O'Van Proper in the power failure, but its meaning was clear: warning. A map of the ship was displayed beneath the foreboding word flashing red and yellow in critical areas. Cockpit- failing, Storage Bay- failing, Port Engineering- critical, Medical Bay- Critical, Shuttle Bay- no kidding. It appeared that if she followed the engineering tunnel to the armory and a secondary maintenance shaft, she could reach starboard engineering, power down the androids remotely and determine the course the ship was heading.

She thought of her mother's face again. She needed the motivation.

The grate rivets dug into her knees as she crawled through the tunnel. So that's why engineers wore knee pads. She furrowed her brow. Ahead of her, at a T-intersection, a shape of crumpled clothing laid motionless. But as she drew closer, she knew it was a body. Someone who had crawled into the shaft searching for safety.

He was O'Van, his avocado-hued skin freckled with a splatter of deep red blood. His tri-pupiled eyes were still open, yet without their usual red-orange glow. Looking at him, she could almost forget that he was once alive, as if he were instead some hyper-realistic symbol of horror. She had read once that traditionally, O'Van bodies were disposed of in the legendary mud-pits of Terth. She lamented that she could not grant the man who was her colleague his rite. Instead, she would offer him a human rite, the dignity of shutting his eyes for eternal sleep. She wasn't sure what compelled her to do this. Perhaps because it was an act of respect she had seen before in old films. And she hadn't anticipated that the act itself would cause her heart to skip a beat. He was still warm. His blood, still wet.

Moments later, she found herself releasing the hatch into the armory, cautiously sliding the door panel behind an equipment locker. It was dark and the burnt-rubber smell of expelled plasma clips hung heavy in the air. The lights intermittently flickered on and off accompanied by the hum of electrical failure.

Placing her hand on the floor, she felt a familiar wetness. More blood. The shadowy figures of several fallen crewmates littered the floor. She wouldn't allow herself to study their faces. For the moment, she didn't want to know who they were. She didn't have time to grieve.

The blood soaked through to her knees as she crawled along the tiled floor. She kept her attention towards the main door as she maneuvered to the next maintenance hatch. It was slightly obscured by some damaged piece of machinery and she hoped it would provide cover if she were detected by a patrolling android. The flickering light seemed to dance along with her heartbeat, pulsating like a blinking eye. She couldn't help but feel as though she were being watched.

She looked back to the damaged machinery by the door. Had it moved? She froze, studying it as best as she could with her constantly adjusting eyes.

It moved.

It was looking at her. She felt stupid for not noticing it sooner. The severely blackened and broken android was a twisted wreck; the impacts of energy fire had nearly fused it to the wall. All the same, it stared at her with a singular glowing yellow eye.

"Enemy detected," it sputtered.

Anna's eyes widened.

The android's arm-cannon was firing. She rolled to cover behind a cabinet and searched for a discarded weapon, but found none within her reach. She could hear the constant stream of fire, deafeningly loud. Despite her racing heart, her thoughts were quick to point out that she didn't feel the bullets laying waste to the cabinet and vibrating against her back. She took a breath and turned to steal a glance. The android was firing directly into the floor, its arms and legs beyond any state of function.

She sighed in relief. For the moment she wasn't being hunted. But she knew it wouldn't take long for functioning androids to be alerted to her presence.

She scurried to the hatch and pried it open. It was a tighter squeeze than the first, a lesser used tunnel predominantly for piping. And as she closed the hatch behind her, she realized that it was completely unlit. She closed her eyes, and she couldn't see a difference. Although, she found with her eyes closed a sense of comfort had returned, as if she was no longer in a dark tunnel on a damaged space craft. The spray of bullets faded away behind her, and the pulsing ache of her bleeding neck wound began to lessen. She was alone.

She found herself humming as she crawled, a song from her childhood, a jingle from a doll commercial she and her sister had enjoyed because it was equally catchy and idiotic. It wasn't a favorite or even especially sentimental, just a mundane memory for her life and thus comforting. She hummed it louder and over again until she reached the next hatch door, it colliding rather abruptly with her outstretched hand.

She paused. If there were androids in starboard engineering, she would be facing them unarmed and most likely be killed before her eyes even adjusted to the light. And that would be it.

She felt around for the latch and clicked it open slowly. Light flooded in through a small crack. As her eyes adjusted, she held onto the door like a shield and peered through the small crack she had made.

There was indeed an android, though it appeared to have not yet noticed her. It stood outside of engineering in the starboard corridor. It's humanoid head, ticking about with the staccato rhythm of a parrot.

Code 314, she recalled. With her clearance, she could get to a panel and seal the door perhaps before the android had a chance to respond. There was only one way for certain to find out.

She dove into the room and tossed the hatch door into the hall, counting on distracting the android with its movement before her own. The android responded immediately, firing at the clattering door before turning its attention to her. She pressed her index finger against the command screen.

"Welcome, Spica, Anna Warren," it announced.

"Emergency code: 314," She responded, ducking immediately for cover.

"Acknowledged."

The doors slammed shut and the rat-a-tat of projectiles against metal was the only reminder of the danger that passed. That, Anna realized, and the bullet wound she just sustained in her shoulder.

The pain was immeasurable, yet only an echo due to the adrenaline that continued to pump within her.

She pulled herself back to the panel to access security settings. She was surprised to see the option not in its standard configuration.

"Security settings," she commanded aloud.

"Security settings are limited to individuals with Ninurta level clearance," the AI responded.

"Since when?" She had never heard of such a clearance level.

"Today, sixteen hundred and twenty-four hours."

"Well then, restore clearance settings from before sixteen hundred and twenty-four hours."

"Access denied."

Anna winced. The pain was getting stronger. She looked back to the sealed door. There was no way for an android to reach her. For the moment, at least she was safe.

"Display our current trajectory."

An image of the ship's path became displayed on a semi-transparent screen in front of her beside an actual feed of the space directly in front of the ship. The Terra Prospect was drifting dangerously close to the side of a large square construct. Gates, as they were simply called, were large man-made traversable wormholes constructed with purpose of alleviating interstellar travel time. A collision with such an object would result in not only a catastrophic explosion, but a disruption of space-time.

"How long until impact?" Anna stammered.

"Two minutes and thirty-six seconds."

"Alter ship trajectory so that we clear or travel through Gate Delta Eleven."

"Navigational settings are limited to individuals with Ninurta level clearance," the AI responded.

"Who has or had such a clearance?"

"Ninurta level clearance was established today at sixteen hundred and thirteen hours. The only Crew member with this clearance vacated the Terra Prospect one hour and twenty minutes ago."

"Who was this crew member?"

"Sirius, Daran Chree."

Anna's heart sank. Daran. The quiet young man who had only ever been kind to her. Once, he had given up his seat in the mess hall for her. Blood rushed to her cheeks and hate filled her heart. What surprised her was how quickly it subsided.

Yes, Daran had rewired the androids that slaughtered the crew. Yes, he piloted the ship so that it would explode against a gate. Yes, she hated him. But there was no time for hate, no reason to dwell. She could see the seconds ticking away from her life. She was no engineer; there was nothing she could do. Just watch, and value every remaining second she had with her thoughts and memories.

"Take a message for Earthbound delivery. Saved address, Laurel Hart-Warren. I love you mom... I'm so sorry."

There's no sound in the dark of space, but the resounding explosion that was created when the Terra Prospect collided with Gate Delta Eleven sent a shockwave through its corresponding gate at the opposite end of the galaxy. Riding that shockwave and lighting up listening outposts all the way to Earth were the final words of Anna Warren.