Special Notes: This chapter ties into an earlier story: https://www.renderosity.com/gallery/items/3179543/life-will-find-a-way-a-short-story Last Stand, Chapter 13 Jonas twisted a frayed wire between his fingers, brow furrowed in concentration as he leaned closer to the Orion Prime core. The dim light of the research lab cast long shadows across the tangle of cables and machinery that sprawled before him like the innards of some great beast. Despite the years that had slipped by—a relentless march of time that saw the Sanctuary's once teeming population dwindle to a mere whisper of its former bustle—progress on the core was painstaking, stubbornly resistant to their untrained hands. "Any luck?" Nikolay's voice shattered the silence, echoing off the concrete walls with a starkness that underscored their isolation. "Nothing yet," Jonas replied without looking up. His hazel eyes, usually alight with curiosity, now bore traces of fatigue from endless trials and errors. "We need more than just tinkering if we're going to get this thing operational." Nikolay nodded, the set of his jaw speaking volumes about their shared frustration. They were survivors, not scientists, yet fate had thrust upon them a task that seemed insurmountable. With a resigned sigh, Jonas pushed away from the core and stood, stretching limbs that ached from hours spent hunched over complex circuitry. He was closer to middle-age than youth now, the years slipping past like the flow of a river. The Sanctuary had become their world, a subterranean womb that protected what remained of humanity. But even wombs could grow barren, and theirs was no exception. "Time to check the traps?" Nikolay queried, already donning a heavy coat against the chill that permeated the underground haven. "Let's do it," Jonas agreed, a dash of eagerness infusing his tone at the prospect of leaving the confines of the lab. Adventure still called to him, despite the grim circumstances they faced. They emerged from the bunker into a landscape transformed by the passage of time and the ravages of the Phoenix wars. The ocean, once a distant roar heard from the safety of their subterranean home, now lay locked beneath an ever-expanding sheet of ice. Their breaths formed crystalline clouds in the freezing air, and every exhalation felt like a small surrender to the encroaching cold. "Look at the ice," Nikolay remarked, gesturing to where the frozen mass crept further out to sea, a white behemoth claiming the land inch by inch. "It won't be long before it swallows the shore entirely." Jonas followed Nikolay's gaze, noting how the sun glinted off the jagged edges of the ice, casting prismatic shards of light that danced with cruel beauty. The world they knew was becoming alien, hostile, each day presenting new challenges for survival. "Traps are empty again," Jonas said after inspecting the nearest one, its metal jaws barren and devoid of life. "The mammals are gone. We'll have to rely on fishing." He tried to keep his voice neutral, but the gravity of their situation weighed heavily on his words. "Then let's hope the fish haven't followed the mammals' lead," Nikolay responded, squaring his shoulders against the biting wind. His resilience, a beacon in the face of adversity, bolstered Jonas's spirits, if only marginally. As they made their way towards the treacherous ice, each step crackling beneath their boots, the Sanctuary behind them felt like a fading dream—a relic of a time when Earth teemed with life, rather than succumbing to the silent embrace of an eternal winter. Jonas's breath crystallized in the air as he and Nikolay trudged through the deepening snow, their figures dwarfed by the skeletal remains of Box City. The wind howled, a harbinger of the desolation that held Earth in its icy grip. "Jonas, it's so cold now, we can barely make it from the bunker to the shore," Nikolay observed, his words punctuated by the rhythmic stomping of his boots against the frozen ground, an attempt to ward off the insidious chill. Jonas paused atop a dune, his hazel eyes scanning the horizon where sea and sky melded into a monochrome landscape of white. "It's an ice age caused by the Phoenix wars." He too began to stamp his feet, the sensation in his toes a mere memory against the penetrating cold. "We need food, but we can't be outside long enough to fish anymore," Nikolay said, his breath forming a foggy halo around his head. A spark of resolve flickered in Jonas's gaze. "We'll disassemble Box City and build a relay of shelters down to the ice." He outlined the plan with strategic precision. "We leave two people in each shelter to tend a fire, then we can relay down to shore. A plasma torch will cut through the ice, and we'll fish from inside the ice shelters." With ingenuity born of necessity, they executed their plan. The shelters rose like beacons of hope along the desolate path to the shore, small pockets of warmth in the unyielding frost. For a time, their survival strategy bore fruit, or rather fish, pulled from the dark waters beneath the thickening ice. But as weeks turned to months, the ever-dwindling number of hands made the operation unsustainable. One morning, as Jonas made his way to the fishing shelter, he realized that no one was attending to the warm-up shelters. The sudden roar of an engine shattered the morning calm as one of the deserted warships on the beach took off. The beach had become a graveyard for these silent giants, rusting in the snow, standing as stark reminders of desperation and decay. "Nikolay, one of the old ships is taking off," Jonas called out through his comm-device. "I just found out, it’s that scum, Captain Conner and what was left of his crew. They’ve been sneaking out at night and siphoning the last drops of fuel from the other ships. They're heading to Mars," Nikolay replied. “Did they take the kids with them?” Jonas asked. "No, I'm talking with little Marcus now. They promised the kids that someone would come back for them, but some kids did sneak aboard the ship." "How many kids are still here?" Jonas inquired. "Twenty-six kids, you and I are the last adults," Nikolay said, watching the ship's ascent, its exhaust trail the only sign of life in the otherwise motionless scene. "Oh no, Jonas... Thomas is saying they were warned not to try to stowaway... they're going to... oh god, Jonas, we have to do something." Jonas leaned against one of the shelters, knowing the fate of the stowaways was already decided. "There's nothing we can do now, it’s too late. We need to concentrate on the one’s still here." Jonas felt a heavy sense of responsibility for the young lives left behind—a new generation looking to him for guidance in a world that seemed to offer only remnants and echoes. Jonas stooped over the crates of silvery fish, his breath crystalizing in the frigid air of the bunker's storeroom. With methodical precision, he arranged each specimen within the makeshift icebox, ensuring no space was wasted. His fingers, numbed by the cold, fumbled occasionally, but he persisted, driven by the knowledge that these fish represented survival. "Twenty-six," he murmured under his breath, counting the last of the catch as he placed it into the container. The number echoed in his mind, a persistent whisper that refused to dissolve into insignificance. "Is that significant?" Nikolay's voice cut through Jonas's reverie, pulling him back to the present moment. Jonas straightened, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension that had built up during hours of labor. He cocked his head to the side, considering the question. "I'm not sure," he admitted, his eyes clouding with the effort of accessing a distant memory. "My mom tried, but I wasn't interested in history; I was always about math and science." A shadow of frustration crossed his features. "But... I don't know, seems like there's something I should remember about that number." Leaving the mystery to percolate in the recesses of his mind, Jonas turned his attention back to the task at hand. The fish inventory required his utmost focus; proper preservation was critical. If they were to stretch their provisions for another three months, meticulous care was imperative. The bunker, once a bastion of human ingenuity and resilience, now creaked and groaned under the strain of time and neglect. Jonas could hear the subtle shift of its structure, an unsettling reminder of their precarious existence. Water issued from the taps in reluctant dribbles, mocking their thirst with its meager offering. Storerooms, once abundant with supplies, lay bare, their empty shelves a testament to the scarcity that plagued them. Even the oxygen generators, those mechanical lungs of the sanctuary, gasped for efficacy, struggling to pull life from an increasingly suffocating environment. Jonas ran a dust-covered hand along one of the machines, its surface cold and unyielding. It was yet another sign of the relentless entropy that gripped their world. "Where will we find food after this?" Nikolay's voice carried the weight of the unvoiced fears that haunted both men. Jonas didn't answer immediately. Instead, he sealed the last of the fish containers, ensuring the precious cargo was safe from the invasive frost. He stood, facing his companion, his expression somber yet resolute. "I don't know," he finally said, his voice a low rumble in the cavernous room. "But we'll find a way. We always do." Nikolay's boots echoed in the hollow corridors as he climbed to the upper levels, his daily pilgrimage to sustain the remnants of a future generation. Each step was measured and deliberate, his breath visible in the chill air that wrapped around him like a shroud. The children, with their unwavering resilience, had adapted to their austere existence, their small hands diligent in rationing the water and preparing the scant meals. Meanwhile, Jonas remained ensconced within the bowels of the research lab, surrounded by the skeletal remains of technology that once promised salvation. His fingers danced across the interface of the Orion Prime AI, coaxing and commanding the reluctant systems with fervent precision. The shadows cast by the monitors painted his face in an eerie, fluctuating light, underscoring the urgency of his task. Time was slipping through their grasp, grain by relentless grain, and Jonas could sense the dwindling sands mocking his struggle to unlock the core's secrets. One day melded into the next, indistinguishable but for the slow decay of their provisions. And then, without warning, the monotony shattered. Nikolay bounded into the lab, his voice a clarion call that pierced the silence. "Jonas, a ship is arriving!" Jonas's head snapped up, disbelief etched upon his features. "A warship, after all these years?" He discarded his tools and sprinted towards the bank of external cameras, the urgency of his movements betraying the calm he strove to project. "Look, it's landing, and it doesn't have any guns," Nikolay said, peering over Jonas's shoulder at the monitor where the vessel's image came into focus. Jonas studied the screen, his mind racing. A realization dawned, bright and startling, and he smacked his forehead. "Of course, 26 kids, how could I have forgotten?" Nikolay offered him an expectant look. "Come on time-travelling space man, spill it, I know you haven't told me everything." Jonas exhaled, a mixture of awe and reverence lacing his tone. "I've been inside that ship, 15,000 years from now; it's a mandatory field trip for all Wayfarer kids. The woman that is about to step off that ship is Dr. Evelyn Carraway, the Mother of the Second Evolution of Humanity." He paused, his hazel eyes wide with wonder. "Wow, I can't believe I'm about to witness the birth of my species." "What do you mean? We're kind of already here," Nikolay stated, his voice tinged with a mixture of disbelief and dread. Jonas turned from the screen, meeting Nikolay's stare. Pain etched his young face as he grappled with the gravity of their situation. "For her to be here, the 26 kids she rescues are the last humans on Earth, the last of your species." His words hung heavy in the air. "I didn't realize we were in that bunker." Nikolay's features knotted in confusion. "Should we go up there and meet her?" The question was stark, unadorned by hope. Jonas shook his head. “No, I can’t risk changing the time-line. Let them go, it was meant to be.” “What’s going to happen to them?” Nikolay asked. Jonas, his hazel eyes darkening with sorrow for the end of the first evolution of humanity. "I didn't pay much attention in history class," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can only tell you the basics." He recounted the tale with somber reverence. "Dr. Evelyn Carraway launched from Earth for the deep space Phoenix research station. It took thousands of years for her to arrive. When she got there, a message was waiting that the Phoenix wars had started." Jonas swallowed hard, continuing. "She turned around and returned to Earth, but when she arrived, the Phoenix Wars were over. She found 26 survivors, all children, and with nowhere else to take them, she took them back to the deep space Phoenix station." Nikolay's arms spread wide, as if to embrace the entirety of their dire circumstances, eager for the narrative to continue. Jonas hesitated, the weight of history pressing upon his chest. Then, with a slow exhale, he resumed. "You know my insides are much different than yours." He tapped his chest, a hollow sound amidst the silence of the lab. "I'm the second evolution of humanity, but it wasn't all natural evolution." A sense of wonder laced his words. "Dr. Carraway, over many generations, altered our DNA so that we could survive deep space, and rapidly adapt to life on new worlds." An incredulous smile played across his lips. "She created the second evolution of man." His eyes met Nikolay's once more, bright with the significance of the moment. "This is amazing to be here and witness this, and also sad." The room seemed to close in around them as the enormity of their place in history settled within their bones. Outside, the ship's landing gear kissed the icy earth, setting the stage for an encounter millennia in the making. "What's this got to do with your mission to find Orion Prime?" Nikolay's voice cut through the silence, a sharp note of confusion amidst the quiet anticipation. Jonas turned, a wry twist playing at the corner of his mouth. "When she got back to the Phoenix research station, Orion Prime was there waiting for her." Nikolay cocked his head, brows knitting together like two colliding tectonic plates. "What? How? We haven't even built Orion Prime yet." A smile crept onto Jonas's lips, lighting up his youthful face as he reveled in the paradox. "The twisty road of space, time, and relativity, that’s how. It means we will be successful building Orion Prime, but we best be quick about it. We really are almost out of time." They crouched behind a bank of monitors, a clandestine vantage point from which to observe history in the making. Outside, the chill wind whispered secrets to the ice, and Dr. Carraway moved with purpose, her figure a silhouette against the stark backdrop of a dying world. "How are we going to get Orion Prime to her space station before she gets there?" The question emerged from Nikolay like steam from a vent, clouding the air with its uncertainty. Jonas watched the children file into the ship, each step an echo across the eons. "I have no clue," he admitted, "but Orion Prime will know, just as soon as we figure out how to get this core to work." Their breaths mingled, creating a temporary fog on the transparent surface that separated them from the outside world—a fleeting testament to life in a place that had forgotten warmth. With each child that disappeared into the vessel, a fragment of the future solidified, and Jonas felt the weight of destiny pressing upon him, the mantle of responsibility draping his lanky frame. "Then let's not waste another second," Nikolay said with resolve, standing tall beside Jonas, ready to defy the relentless march of entropy. Jonas nodded, his mind ablaze with equations and theories, each one a stepping stone towards the salvation of humanity. Together, they turned back to the task at hand, the core's enigmatic presence a silent sentinel awaiting the spark of revelation.