The dimly lit chamber hummed from the low purr of the engine. There was hushed chatter as people took their break. The thin woman staring blankly at the screen checked her watch and wished her lunch break would come sooner.

Feota glanced over at her fellow officers and wished she could join them but she sighed and turned back to her screen. Boredom threatened to overwhelm her as she leaned back in her chair and started spinning.

“Nothing interesting happens here.” she pouted.

With one hand, she twiddled her thumb. With the other, she played with her hair, tightly knotted into a ponytail. She pursed her lips and sighed.

As she twirled in her chair, the screen lit up and it pulsed red in warning. A level two alarm went off and everyone scrambled to their feet. Feota nearly fell from her chair in shock. It took them a moment to realize they weren’t under attack but rather a warning to the ship.

She cleared her throat and straightened in her seat. Scanning through the data file, Feota gazed in shock from the reports. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

Her commanding officer came out of nowhere and bent past her shoulder. “What is it, private?”

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“Sir!” she stiffened. “You’ll want to take a look at this.”

“That’s what I’m doing, private,” he said bluntly. “What am I looking at?”

“It’s our long-range scanners, sir,” Feota reported. “They picked up a signal on Tepra.”

“And?” he asked impatiently.

“Th-there is an Emarine on the planet,” Feota muttered. “It’s faint but it's there. We just barely came into range of it now.”

“That’s not possible.” her commander said. “Check it again.”

Feota bit her lip, knowing she was correct but did as she was told and ran the scan again. The same result popped up a moment later and she glanced at him.

“Commander Graves, sir.” she leaned, readying herself. “He’s wearing an old F.S.A.P. suit. His R.P. code says he was based on Isulia. One of our old colonies but it was abandoned over three thousand years ago. I’m not picking up any vitals though. Whoever he is, he’s dead.”

“What’s his R.P. code, private?”

“#3-113479.” Feota chimed.

Graves stood straight and scratched his chin. “That… can’t be right,” he said slowly. “Isulia has been infested with Thrak since we left it. Are you sure he was based on Isulia?”

“Yes, commander,” Feota replied confidently. “I triple-checked the R.P. code.”

Commander Graves stared at the screen, still scratching his clean-shaven chin. He frowned deeply and his lip twitched.

The face projected brightly on the screen, along with all the information pertaining to the dead soldier.

“He looks familiar somehow.” her commander whispered.

“You were based there too, right?” Feota asked.

He didn’t respond.

“Private.” Commander Graves said slowly, his tone grim and brooding. “Set a course for Tepra. I want to know what’s going on.”