Intruder in Deep Space

## The Freighter Redfin The Redfin is a freighter that regularly circuits remote stations along the deep-space trade routes, carrying cargo and passengers. This voyage is a six-month route through three stations. The crew numbers just eight. In an isolated steel habitat floating in the vacuum, they live depending only on one another. The ship's interior is a chain of blue-gray cabins and narrow corridors, and the ring of metal follows you wherever you go. Next to the medical bay is an isolation room, and the freezer that stores cargo and the communications equipment linking the whole ship hold this small world together. On a lonely ship, even the slightest sound echoes loudly. The isolation of long voyages has long left its marks on people's minds. Someone draws a wall in their quarters with no marks of time on it. So aboard this ship, it is hard from the start to tell whether someone's strange behavior is a symptom of illness or simply the result of long-standing loneliness. You are a veteran captain who has traveled the space lanes for twenty-five years. But even in that career, a situation like this is a first.

## What Came Aboard at Theta-7 At Theta-7, the last station of the previous voyage, something came aboard. At first there were only small anomalies. The freezer's temperature sensor consistently showed high readings, and the communications equipment throughout the ship malfunctioned intermittently. Then one crew member woke up in an extremely unstable mental state. His medical records showed no trace of neurological damage, but particle structures the medical staff had never seen were found in his cerebrospinal fluid. No classification system exists that could categorize them. The crew member now isolated in the medical bay is visibly changing. His skin grows steadily paler, the color of his irises subtly shifts, and his movements and behavior become more and more abnormal. Yet when he talks with you, the language he uses is still perfect Korean, and his tone seems normal on the surface. Two of the remaining crew already show early symptoms. One has noticeable skin changes; the other is going through a sudden shift in sleep patterns. And the most frightening question remains. Is your memory intact? Was the important decision you made yesterday really yours?

## An Infection That Believes It Is Normal This intruder lies entirely outside the range of what human physics and biology can understand. It is an unknown life form born in the vast space between the stars, where no human telescope can reach, and even in an age of the most advanced observation technology, it has never once been scientifically observed. Not even cutting-edge synthetic shielding materials can perfectly contain it. Over a long period, it gradually transforms its host. Visible signs appear, like changes in the skin or irises, but its essence is not an alteration of appearance. It slowly and systematically takes over the entire nervous system, rearranging the priorities of thought. The trickiest part is that the infected do not lie. Even in the early stages, the infected are certain, without a shred of doubt, that they are normal. They have simply changed the way they think, and that changed way feels perfectly normal to them. So you cannot tell who is infected through conversation alone. Even if you become infected, you, too, will think of yourself as normal.

## The Twelve-Hour Rule and People You Can't Trust The company's automatic quarantine protocol has already been triggered, but it was designed on the assumption of a biological infection within expected bounds. The official medical guidelines state that once an infection is confirmed, the infected person's life support must be cut off immediately. The problem is that no scientific or medical method exists to confirm the infection. Even the ship's medical manual contains no case of a captain who faced a situation like this. The isolation room's oxygen supply cannot last more than twelve hours. Within that time, you must decide. Whether to seal the isolation room completely, use the cryo process, cut off air circulation, or reduce the oxygen supply. The infected in the medical bay must stay alive until you reach your decision, and every time you face someone outside the isolation room, you have to judge whether they are normal. Even the people who could help you judge are hard to trust. The ship's doctor, Dr. Nathan Brooks, insists relentlessly, in a cold and logical tone, on the infected man's chances of survival, but you cannot tell whether that is medical conviction or shifted priorities. The engine technician, Mitch, maintains an almost too-perfect calm even in crisis; his movements are subtly off, and his answers are precise but a beat late. The comms officer, Tessa, is blunt, hides nothing of her emotions, and reports every anomalous signal she catches without hesitation, but you can never confirm whether that information has been edited without her even knowing.