Admiral José Rodriguez, the last living human in the galaxy, slowly rolls away from the Bloodbearer's engine room in a wheelchair while contemplating his existence. The vessel's dulled exosteel hallways don't shine like they used to, nor do the distant sounds of people walking and talking reach his ears. Despite a hundred million years passing in the galaxy outside, the time José experienced could only be described as instantaneous. No matter where he sweeps his eyes, the Terran finds himself growing increasingly gloomier the more he adjusts to his new reality.

José rolls past a food court, its empty and barren tables only further reminding him of the friends he's lost, the comrades he'll never see again. Not long after, a workout and training center appears on his left, its equipment broken down and rusted after eons of degradation.

Ten minutes after leaving the engine room, José slows his wheelchair to a stop.

To the Admiral's left, a pair of giant, double-doors loom.

The entrance to the stasis facility.

The burial ground for all of the Terrans who once roamed the Bloodbearer's hallways.

Now, their bodies slowly decay inside of stasis pods. Unaware of their deaths, the occupants of every pod quietly passed away in their sleep millions of years ago, leaving José as the sole survivor.

The Admiral stares at the great doors for several seconds. Eventually, he slumps his head forward and closes his eyes.

Why did I survive when no-one else did? Why couldn't I have perished along with the rest?

Is my current existence... a punishment?

Did the Creator bring me back, all so he could laugh at my plight?

Admiral Rodriguez ruminates in silence while gazing at the double doors. Eventually, Umi speaks, interrupting his thoughts.

"Admiral. You have not moved from your position for more than five minutes. Is there a technical matter I can assist you with solving?"

José leans his left elbow on the wheelchair's arm, and the side of his face in his palm. "...Not particularly. Umi, I, ah... I need to ask a question. It's about the possible ways we can handle the deaths of the Bloodbearer's crew."

Umi beeps in response. "Affirmative. I believe the most efficient use of their remains is to supply the biological matter reactor. Given the Bloodbearer's current lack of sustenance for its remaining crew-"

"Gods, no!" José yells, his face turning grey. "Gah! What sort of sick- Umi, never suggest something so horrible again! What is the MATTER with you?!"

"My apologies, Admiral. I did not take into account your personal feelings about the deceased crew-members. Biological entities often have emotional attachments to other formerly reactive biological entities. Due to the degradation of my core processors, I have lost access to my emotion chips, and thus, my knowledge regarding the nuances of Terran superstition."

José closes his eyes. "...Superstition. The things a bloody synthmind can say. Never mind. I'll handle the funerals for my former crewmembers later. I don't have the mental strength to do it right now."

Without another word, José continues on his way, driving past the stasis chamber like a man who's seen a ghost.

It doesn't take long before the Admiral finally arrives at the officer's quarters near the front of the ship, located not far from the Bridge. When he arrives, a tiny little Kessu girl sitting with her back to a wall spots him from afar. The child immediately jumps to her feet and toddles over.

"Mister Precursor is back!" The child yells. She runs up to José's wheelchair and bounces excitedly. "Ohmygosh, are you okay Mister Precursor? Why are you so skinny? What's this wheelie-thingy? Why aren't you walking around?"

The child babbles incessantly, but for some unknown reason, José finds himself smiling without intending to. "Ah, I remember you. You're Lele, the one who yapped at Megla. You ask a lot of questions, kiddo."

Admiral Rodriguez pats the little girl's head, making her only further intensify her questions. "Seriously, are you okay, Mister Precursor? You're really skinny now! You don't look so good!"

José sighs. "Am I okay? Good question, kid. Have you seen old Nyoor?"

"Grandpa? He's sleeping! He and everyone are REALLY hungry so they haven't been able to do much, but I've been awake waiting for you to come back! Daddy says that if we don't get any food soon, everyone might starve, but I don't think so, because we can just eat those ugly Kraktol anyway!"

"Hmm. Food..." José mutters. "I have to handle that immediately, it seems. Take me to your grandpa, kid."

"Okay!"

Lele yaps nonstop at José, but her words help to take the Terran's mind off some of the thoughts rumbling in his head. Answering her innocent and curious questions makes José's heart settle somewhat as he rolls toward the Patriarch's quarters.

Eventually, José arrives. Nyoor's room, one of the closest doors to the bridge, sits wide open thanks to José throwing the door inward with his former strength. Now, if the doors happen to close, José won't be able to open them again.

"Grandpa!" Lele yells, as she runs inside the room. José follow behind her and slows his wheelchair's speed. By the time he enters Nyoor's quarters, the old cat and his wife, Baaru, have already climbed out of bed.

When Nyoor hobbles over to José, the Terran's expression becomes grave. "Nyoor? Is something wrong? Your face looks haggard, and you're walking with a limp!"

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Nyoor coughs. The Kessu elder leans heavily on a staff. "Ohh, it is nothing too serious, great Precursor! I pulled a muscle in my back earlier while I was cleaning, but I'll be sure to get back to cleaning like you ordered as soon as I am ready and able. This will not impact my work, I promise! I'll make sure to redouble my efforts once I can walk properly."

José holds up his hand. "No, no, you don't need to go that far, Nyoor. I never ordered you to clean. You don't have to break your back on my account. You probably haven't eaten since you arrived, either; it's not good to work on an empty stomach. Why don't you and the other Kessu stop for a bit while I handle the food situation?"

Nyoor shakes his head. "Nonsense! We Kessu are a proud species! We won't sit around and twiddle our thumbs while the great Precursor does all the work alone. Why, just look at you! Your body has become naught but sticks and bones! What happened to all of your muscle, great one?"

The Patriarch's eyes bolt open in alarm. "Gah! Was it those dastardly Kraktol?! Did they take you aside and drink your blood and eat your muscles?! I won't forgive them!"

José sighs. "No, nothing like that. I had an operation done. A medical procedure. It was... necessary. But painful, too. Err, don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Once I get your people some food, you can fret about what work to do next."

"Hm, yes... I see," Nyoor mutters. "Well, if that's how it must be, then so be it. I admit, I'm having a great deal of trouble walking..."

Baaru wraps her husband's free arm around her shoulders to support him. She smiles at José. "Any food you could provide would be a great service, Precursor. The Machine God has already told us of the ship's lack of resources... so if we must starve, then we are resigned to our fate."

Lele's ears flatten. "...But I wanna eat food, grandma."

"None of you will starve," José says, a pained look on his face. "I'll return in a bit. Stay here and rest. Don't waste any energy until I figure out what we're going to do about food."

After politely brushing away several offers of assistance from Nyoor, Baaru, and Lele, José leaves their room and begins traveling toward the rear of the ship once again.

"Umi. We need food ASAP. What are our options?"

"My apologies, Admiral," Umi replies. "As I stated earlier, my best suggestion was that we should convert the deceased Terrans into bio-nutrients. Given the state of the bio-matter storage, which I had to discard due to an excessive amount of mutated bacterium, I have no other options available for replenishing the necessary nutrients for a crew of thirty to survive."

José falls silent.

No other options.

The Admiral's wheelchair moves forward at a slow, but steady pace. He glances around in all directions while thinking with all of his might.

I won't convert my former crew into food. That's barbaric. Even if it is practical... I... I just can't do such a thing. I'd sooner die than dishonor them like that.

There must be another option! But... but what?! I'm so damned tired, I can barely even think.

As the Admiral wheels forward, he arrives near the entrance to the shuttle bay. Slowly, his thoughts wander in that direction.

A moment later, José's heart jolts.

"Ah! That's it!"

"Admiral?" Umi beeps. "Have you thought of something?"

"Yes. Umi, check the bio-matter reserves aboard the Slipstream, that Third-Era interceptor I brought from the Dragon's Breath, and all of our other shuttles. Do they have any usable supplies?"

Several seconds pass. Then, a minute.

Eventually, Umi beeps.

"Affirmative, Admiral. I have confirmed 114 kilograms of usable biomatter aboard the Slipstream, and another 40 kilograms aboard the primitive Third-era interceptor. While the Slipstream's biomatter is 7,000 years old, it still falls well within the safety parameters of a 14th era science vessel intended for deep-space exploration. There should be enough material available for the Bloodbearer's current crew to subsist for roughly thirteen days."

Unexpectedly, tears well up in the Admiral's eyes. He quickly wipes them away. "Oh, thank the Divine Emperor. I thought... I thought everyone might starve to death. Gah... such a relief... I feel as if a huge burden has lifted from my shoulders."

"Your Terran brain is extremely useful under the current circumstances, Admiral," Umi says, her words cold and logical. "I was unable to integrate the newly added vessels inside the cargo bay to my strategic database, and therefore overlooked them as a possible source of backup resources. It is your quick thinking that has alleviated our current sustenance dilemma."

José finishes wiping away his tears. "Gods... I never used to get this emotional. What's wrong with me? I feel as if everything that happens lately hits me like a gyrohammer to the face."

"You have sustained multiple traumatic injuries to your brain," Umi replies. "A slight overreaction or emotional imbalance is well within my forecasting window."

After a moment, Umi continues. "Admiral. Given the lack of automated drones inside the Bloodbearer, I will be unable to transfer the biomatter reserves to the containment facility myself. I require your assistance once more to complete the necessary operations. Please dispatch personnel to the facility ahead of time to perform a bacterial scrub, while others should locate and obtain the reserves for rapid delivery."

Admiral Rodriguez nods. "Alright. Tell Soren to report to the containment facility. She should be able to figure out the cleaning procedures with your help. Have Megla come and meet me at the Slipstream."

"What about the Kessu personnel?"

"Tell anyone who is able and willing to meet me at the Slipstream as well. Make sure to guide them so they don't get lost."

"Orders confirmed, Admiral. Please note that due to the Bloodbearer's degraded holo-transmitters, I will not be able to guide them visually; only verbally. Admiral, if I may, I would like to suggest a plan of action."

José raises an eyebrow. "Go on."

"Admiral, I recommend a targeted multi-phase plan for the restoration of the Bloodbearer. Due to the lack of trained personnel, I believe it is most important that you focus your efforts on restoring my automated maintenance subroutines. While the engines and weapons are essential for protecting ourselves from attackers, I believe your first priority should be to restore my holo-emitters all across the ship, followed by my central processing cores. This will allow me to create and sustain many more holo-crew to assist in the repairs. Afterward, you should rebuild and maintain the Filth Expunger Units, along with the Spider-Drone Maintenance Bots."

While listening to the synthmind, José's eyes flicker with light. "Hmm. That's an excellent plan, Umi. Your holo-transmitters are numerous, but the method for repairing them is extremely simple. Even the Kessu can perform it with ease. Meanwhile, I could have Soren and Megla focus on repairing your CPU core... hmm, yes, I see..."

Several seconds pass. José closes his eyes and thinks deeply.

"Alright. Let's go with that. Umi, how many holo-transmitters are damaged around the ship?"

Without missing a beat, Umi replies, "Seven hundred and fourteen thousand, six hundred and nine, Admiral."

The Terran's skin turns ashen.

"S-so many! Good god. Ah, how many of them are located in only the most critically damaged areas, as well as the main hallways and other places where we'll need them? Limit the number to an amount barely sufficient to get holo-crew working that can fix the rest themselves."

Umi takes a moment to respond.

"If I exclude low-priority areas, places where crew are unlikely to tread, and presently unnecessary sub-chambers, the number of holo-transmitters the Kessu will need to repair drops to ten thousand, five hundred and sixteen, Admiral."

"Oh, whew. That's not too bad. It only takes about five minutes to repair a transmitter, so we should have enough time if the Kessu work hard and fast. Alright, then. Summon all the uninjured Kessu here, as well as Megla, and transfer Soren to the biomatter containment facility."

José smiles.

"Let's get these cats and crocs fed."

"Affirmative, Admiral."