Awakening Miyamoto
A damp mist lingered over every corner of the Cryogenic Bay, curling in slow spirals from cracked old pipes. Dim blue light pulsed faintly from fiber optics embedded in the ceiling—like thousands of tiny stars guiding the brave into the twilight. The air bit into lungs, sharp and sterile, making each breath feel like a dagger—but that was the price of standing at the border between life and death.
X1 stood beneath the wide bulkhead, her emerald eyes glowing gently. Each flicker of corridor light reflected off her left-side plating, giving her the aura of a ceremonial guide for rebirth. She took a breath—or at least mimicked one through her internal pressure module—preparing herself. In her hands, she held a portable control panel displaying the diagram of the cryo pods.
Before her lay eleven cracked, empty chambers. Only one remained lit—deep at the far end of the bay. Its green light blinked slowly: "CRYOSTASIS ACTIVE." X1 paused, scanning her internal database.
"Begin organic reactivation… Phase One," she murmured, following Protocol 892.1.1.
---
Step by steady step, she approached the main terminal beside the pod. Metal clicked as she twisted the manual crank, pipes groaning from age. The status light shifted from green to amber: "PRE-HEAT." On the touchscreen she input the activation sequence:
INIT_CRYO_WAKEUP_SEQUENCE
AUTH: X1-SERV/CRYO-BAY/4729
Sparks jumped along heating coils. A hiss of vapor rose. The glass panel frosted over, ice beginning to melt—transforming from crystalline hardness into shimmering droplets.
X1 bowed her head slightly, watching the thermal and pressure readouts. "Subject Miyamoto—Phase One of Wake Cycle complete."
Soft stereo chimes played from hidden speakers, emitting ultrasonic frequencies to stimulate cellular activity. Gentle pulses of bio-photons spread evenly, ensuring energy reached the soft tissues.
Time stretched. Each second dragged like minutes. The cryo-fluid receded, revealing white fog and the outline of a man within. Only the occasional clink of metal echoed as the pod adjusted to the pressure shift. X1 stood silently, performing her task like a maestro conducting an opera no one heard.
Finally, when the internal temperature stabilized at 4°C, the pod announced:
> "WAKE-UP SEQUENCE PHASE ONE COMPLETE. PREPARE FOR PHASE TWO."
X1 nodded and pressed a secondary button. The chamber warmed slightly. The human inside stirred, muscle fibers twitching as heat coaxed them awake.
---
Behind the glass, Miyamoto moved—his lips murmuring in a forgotten language. X1 carefully monitored vitals:
Heart rate: 28 bpm → 45 bpm → 60 bpm
Brainwave activity: Rising
Core temperature: Stabilizing
His eyes fluttered open. They darted around the misty room in confusion. Pale skin, frost-wet hair, and a trace of resolve—etched into a face that had once dreamed of humanity's future.
X1 lowered her voice. "Welcome back, Mr. Miyamoto. Your condition is stable. Please... take your second breath."
He inhaled sharply, cold air stabbing down his throat. He tried to sit up but couldn't. With a soft whir, X1 activated the support mechanism in the pod, lifting him into a seated position. Blue and green lights blinked as the pod calibrated his posture.
"X1…?" he rasped. "Where… how long was I asleep?"
X1 smiled—an expression generated by her "friendly AI" protocol. "You've been in cryostasis for 500 years, sir. All other passengers… are now only stories left in bones."
His eyes drifted toward the viewing windows beyond. Empty chairs. Hollow silence. No pulse of Earth. Just machinery and stillness.
"And… this ship?" he asked. "Is it still running?"
"The core systems are online in emergency capacity," X1 replied. "But the main reactor shut down 300 years ago. We're currently relying on the Mini Fusion Reactor. Its status: offline—cable failure."
Miyamoto closed his eyes. The weight of realization sank in. "Then… we need to fix it."
He looked up, meeting her glowing eyes. "Without power, oxygen and water won't last long."
"Yes, sir," she said firmly. "I will guide you to the Engineering Bay."
She gently took his hand—cold metal against slowly warming flesh. "Follow me."
---
The corridor pulsed in red, emergency lights guiding their way. Each footstep echoed across the hollow deck. Doors hissed shut behind them—air pressure shifts triggering automatic seals. X1 used her handheld to unlock the next bulkhead, lighting up a green path on the holographic map.
Miyamoto's chest ached with memory. He had helped design this ship, programmed the cryo protocols, dreamed of reaching the stars. But panic among the passengers had doomed them. Fights broke out. The main reactor was sabotaged. Research on frozen asteroid lakes and mini-fusion was never finished.
Now, he was back. Alone in a future broken by fear.
Occasionally, loud thuds rang—pipes releasing pressure, a loose wire slamming into the wall, steam hissing from cracks.
"Are… Y2 and Z3 still operational?" he asked softly.
X1's LED blinked blue. "Y2 is in hibernation. Trauma override locked him down. Z3 is on Deck 12, repairing the water system. But for the reactor… it's just you and me, sir."
He nodded. "Let's do it. Step by step."
They stopped at the heavy doors labeled ENGINEERING BAY. With a metallic groan, X1 slid open the side panel and pulled a lever. The door gave way, revealing a large chamber filled with tools, dusty consoles, tangled wires, and in the center—a silver reactor marked:
> MINI FUSION CORE
Overhead lights flickered on, casting warm yellow-white over every surface. Miyamoto stared at it. Schematics, equations, old memories came rushing back.
"This was it," he whispered. "A single unshielded cable… we lost the cooling system to a fire."
X1 projected a status screen:
MINI FUSION REACTOR STATUS:
- Core Chamber: LOCKED
- Cooling System: SHORTED
- Fuel Supply: NOMINAL
- Control Panel: OFFLINE
Miyamoto frowned. "Step one: fix the cooling system. Without it, the plasma will overheat."
He turned. "Can you grab the toolkit from Rack Three, right side?"
X1 moved swiftly, stepping over hanging cables. She returned with a long blue box: wrenches, sealant wire, coolant cartridges. "Toolkit acquired, sir."
With gloves in place, Miyamoto crouched beside the piping. Copper tubes. Nickel casing. He loosened a connector, drained the murky coolant, and replaced the old line. X1 held it steady with her metal grip.
A faint hiss marked success. New blue coolant began to flow.
"Coolant flow stable," X1 reported. "Ready to warm up control modules?"
He nodded and activated the interface.
INITIALIZE CORE
Lights shifted: green → yellow → red. Motors hummed. Magnetic fields spun up. Deuterium gas hissed into the chamber.
Then: a soft whump. Plasma ignited—bluish-white light glowing behind the inspection window.
"Core ignition… 10%... 25%... 50%..." X1 counted.
100%—a tremble passed through the floor. The reactor beat like the heart of a sleeping giant awakened.
ENERGY OUTPUT: 200 MW
STABILITY: 0.97
COOLING SYSTEM: ONLINE
Emergency power synced. Deck lights warmed. Oxygen pumps restarted. The ship began to breathe.
Miyamoto wiped his brow. For the first time in centuries, he felt alive. "We did it."
X1 raised a fist in robotic cheer. "Congratulations, sir! Reactor is active. Celebration protocol… initiated!"
But Miyamoto simply smiled. This was only the beginning.
---
As he packed up tools and coiled the cables, Miyamoto stared at the glowing reactor. Memories whispered: "We'll bring humanity to the stars. We'll seed new life."
Now, it felt like a dream—cracked and fragile.
X1 interrupted softly. "Sir, what shall we do next? Should I prepare the hydroponic bay, or call Z3 for coordination?"
He paused, thinking.
"No… first we wake Y2. Without security, any repair is vulnerable. Send override signal."
X1 tapped her wrist panel. "Hibernate-Override signal: sent. ETA reactivation: 3 hours."
"Good," Miyamoto exhaled. "While we wait… I'll check food and water in the Mess Hall. Step by step."
X1 offered her hand again. "Come, Mr. Miyamoto. Our journey has just begun."
Their footsteps echoed into the warmth of reborn power. Beyond the bay doors, WSS Walboard pulsed once more—like a slumbering titan breathing deep. And somewhere, between reactor hum and fading opera music, hope began to rise—quiet, but unstoppable.
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