You turn the manual wheel. Sato pushes the seven bunks toward the hatch while you pull, one at a time. The sleepers are sedated, but their chests rise. The last bunk catches on a loose restraint. Inside its pressure hood is a face exactly like yours. You freeze. Sato slaps the hood. The face breaks into bubbles. Gel has filled an empty suit and inflated the chest from a ventilation hose. Six real sleepers. You. Sato. Eight survivors after all. You wrench the false bunk away and close the hatch. Its occupant sits up behind the glass. It presses a palm to the window. Your bracelet reports contact with your own skin.
Eight survivors. Nine heartbeats. Something aboard your rescue ship is learning to sound human.
Listen closely. Choose carefully. Carry the consequences.
Every path leaves a different story.