All Chapters of The Last Station Standing: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The interior of the Quest Joint Airlock felt like a suffocating, sound-dampened coffin. Here, inside the pressurized Extravehicular Mobility Unit (EMU), Kazimir Volkov was preparing for his unsanctioned Extravehicular Activity (EVA)—the formal term for a spacewalk. The sheer bulk of the suit, designed to be a personal spacecraft, was a necessary defense against the vacuum of space, yet it felt like an immense burden in the confines of the airlock. Kazimir’s mission was surgical: reroute the Propellant Transfer Lines on the aging Zarya module. These lines carried the highly volatile, corrosive hydrazine fuel needed to fire the main thrusters. The objective was to discreetly siphon this fuel into the reservoir of the ancient Pirs Module—a reinforced, semi-independent Russian section—allowing them to utilize its thrusters, which were currently independent of Director Thorne’s remote Command and Control (C&C) systems. "Jun, confirm the telemetry suppression window," Elara's voice crackl

The tension in the Zvezda Service Module was suffocating. Outside, the Robotic Servicing System (RSS), controlled remotely by Thorne’s AI, continued its slow, deliberate attack on the Pirs Module docking clamp, each grinding contact threatening to tear away their last means of survival. Kazimir, muscles straining against the restraints, managed to wrench open the auxiliary panel. A high-pressure hiss of coolant escaped, quickly contained by the pressure hull, but the smell of sharp ammonia filled the air—a dangerous, tangible sign of system compromise. "I have the hydraulic lines (tubing containing pressurized liquid for power)," Kazimir grunted, peering into the chaos of cables and tubing. "I must bleed the pressure on the release clamp. If I rupture the line, the Pirs will detach prematurely (too early) and spin away." "Jun, give me a hard override on the RSS power bus (the main electrical line supplying the arm)!" Elara shouted, frantically cycling the manual controller, providi

The transition from the roar of re-entry to the cradle of the ocean was not a relief; it was a different kind of terror. Inside the Pirs Module, the air was thick with the smell of scorched insulation, ozone, and the copper-tang of blood. The gravity, which had been a crushing monster during their descent, had settled into a heavy, oppressive blanket. After months of weightlessness, Elara felt as though her bones were made of lead. Every movement was a chore, every breath a conscious effort against the weight of her own chest. "Is everyone... alive?" Elara’s voice was a dry raspy shadow of itself. She was hanging sideways in her harness, the module listing (leaning to one side) at a sharp twenty-degree angle. "Checking in," Jun groaned. He was slumped over his station, a dark streak of blood leaking from a cut on his forehead where his tablet had struck him during the splashdown. "I think... I think my ribs are cracked. But I’m here." From the shadows near the docking hatch, a hea

The whistling sound was the most terrifying part. It was the sound of the atmosphere being forcibly extracted (sucked out) from the ventilation duct. As the air thinned, the pressure in Elara’s ears began to spike, a sharp, stabbing pain that signaled the onset of hypoxia (a dangerous condition where the body is deprived of oxygen). "Elara... I can't..." Jun’s voice was a thin wheeze. He was clawing at the metal floor of the duct, his eyes rolling back. Elara grabbed his shoulders, her own lungs burning as if she were breathing glass. She pressed her forehead against his, forcing him to focus. "Look at me, Jun! You are the carrier. You have the data. If you die here, the Aether-Bloom dies, and Thorne wins the history books. Breathe small. Breathe slow." Jun’s fingers tightened around the titanium data cylinder on his chest. He nodded once, a jerky, desperate movement. "We can't stay here," Kazimir grunted, his massive frame shivering as the temperature plummeted—another side effec

The centrifuge deck (the high-speed rotating floor used for gravity experiments) was humming with a frequency that made Elara’s teeth ache. Above them, the heavy thrum-thrum-thrum of the Reaper submersible’s docking clamps felt like the heartbeat of a predator. "Dr. Vane," Elara said, her voice amplified by the chamber's acoustics. She held the Aether-Bloom cylinder high, her thumb hovering over a small red toggle. "I know you want this. But if you step one foot closer, I’ll trigger the Thermal Overload (a deliberate overheating of a device's battery to destroy its internal components). The data will be vaporized, and you’ll have nothing to show Thorne but a piece of melted plastic." Vane stopped, his magnetic boots clanking as he halted his advance. His eyes darted to the cylinder. "You’re bluffing, Vance. That research is your life. You wouldn’t kill it." "I’d rather it die than be owned by a man who uses the ocean as a graveyard," Elara countered. On the massive wall screen, Th