“I’m JUY 217,” the girl said, as if it were obvious. “But my real name is Anya. I got lost in the Rift. A man in a silver suit put me in the box to keep me safe. He said someone would come. He said you’d be kind.”
The cargo bay lights flickered. The ship’s alarm began to wail—not a system fault, but the external proximity alert. A vessel was hailing them. No transponder. No identification. Just a single repeating message on all frequencies: juy 217
Elara felt tears she hadn’t shed in years burn behind her eyes. “How long were you in there?” “I’m JUY 217,” the girl said, as if it were obvious
Elara didn’t argue. She just began sleeping in the cargo bay. A man in a silver suit put me in the box to keep me safe
She’d logged thirty thousand hours in deep space. She’d watched starfish-like creatures dissolve their own skeletons to communicate. She’d held a sentient crystal that wept when it sensed loneliness. None of it unnerved her like JUY 217.