The Last Chamber

INT. DESTINY — OBSERVATION DECK — CONTINUOUS

The stars stretch on in silence beyond the viewport. ELI WALLACE sits alone, watching. A long beat before he speaks.

ELI

Well, I've waited long enough. Might as well get started.

He rises.

INT. DESTINY — ELI'S STASIS CHAMBER ROOM — CONTINUOUS

Eli enters. A row of stasis pods lines the wall, sealed, humming quietly, holding the rest of the crew. One — HIS — stands open, dark, dead. A control panel beside it flickers with an error readout in Ancient script.

He sets down a tool kit and gets to work, pulling a panel loose.

A beat. He studies the readout, and his expression shifts from mild concern to something closer to alarm.

ELI

Okay. That's not — no. No, come on.

He pulls up a secondary display. A power curve, dropping. A countdown, resolving into clean numbers: 14 DAYS.

ELI (CONT'D)

(reading it, disbelieving)

Two weeks. I get two weeks.

He looks past the display, down the row of sealed pods — everyone he knows, asleep, unaware.

ELI (CONT'D)

No pressure.

INT. DESTINY — ELI'S STASIS CHAMBER ROOM — CONTINUOUS (TIME-JUMP)

Eli, sleeves pushed up, elbow-deep in an open panel. Tools scattered. He's tired already — this isn't the first long stretch he's put in.

ELI

(to the panel)

I know you're in there somewhere.

He tries a sequence. The panel sparks weakly and dies. He sits back, frustrated, and rubs his eyes.

Eli, visibly more worn, stares at the countdown. It reads: 1 DAY.

He's tried everything he knows. He closes his eyes for a long moment — not defeat, exactly, but close to it.

ELI

(quiet)

Okay. Okay, think.

INT. DESTINY — ELI'S STASIS CHAMBER ROOM — CONTINUOUS

The countdown reaches 00:00:00. Nothing dramatic happens — no alarm, no explosion. Just a soft, final chime, and the chamber's control panel goes fully dark.

Eli stares at it. The silence is worse than any alarm would have been.

ELI

(barely audible)

...well.

He sits down on the floor, back against the dead pod, and for the first time, just breathes. He's not panicking. He's recalculating.

ELI (CONT'D)

Okay. New math.

INT. DESTINY — CORRIDOR — CONTINUOUS (TIME-JUMP)

Eli walks the corridor with the specific exhaustion of someone who has stopped sleeping on a normal schedule. He's rationing his own energy the way he's rationing everything else now — food, water, hope.

INT. DESTINY — ABANDONED CORRIDOR — CONTINUOUS

An empty corridor, rarely used. The walls are covered — weeks of Eli's own shorthand, scrawled directly onto the surface. Crossed-out theories. Diagrams. A few photos taped up among the notes. Personal, half-formed thoughts mixed in with the math, the way the wall of a mind looks when there's no one left to talk to but yourself.

It's unmistakably familiar — the same kind of wall Rush once filled with the Ninth Chevron equations. Eli's clearly aware of the echo. He's standing in front of it now, exactly where Rush used to stand.

He looks smaller here than he did in the teaser. Not broken — just running low.

ELI

(to no one)

Two months. Two months and I've got nothing.

He's at a console, scrolling a digital schematic on a screen. He stares at the same schematic he's stared at fifty times... he zooms out... scrolling down into the deeper structural diagram beneath it... A second stasis level resolves on the screen.

ELI (CONT'D)

...hang on.

He quickly memorizes the location of the section — a second stasis level, smaller, more compact, sitting several levels beneath the one he's always known.

ELI (CONT'D)

That's not on any of my maps.

He leans in, half expecting the display to change. A pulse of real hope breaking through the exhaustion for the first time in weeks.

ELI (CONT'D)

Okay. New plan.

INT. DESTINY — ELEVATOR / UNEXPLORED LEVEL — CONTINUOUS

Even though he's mentally and physically exhausted, Eli runs for the nearest elevator. Within minutes, he's on a new, unexplored level. As he steps out, the lights engage ahead of him, almost as if the ship is beckoning him to follow.

ELI

That's new...

He quickly finds the room from the schematic.

ELI (CONT'D)

I'll be damned. Look at all this stuff. We really should have spent more time exploring this ship.

He stands in awe of the control panels, large displays, and six pristine, empty stasis chambers.

ELI (CONT'D)

I wonder why there's a second set of chambers.

As he steps up to the console, it comes to life. He scrolls through the display — the status of the stasis chambers, the bridge, the hydroponics dome lost during the run through the blue supergiant. He has as much access from this small room as he ever had on the command deck.

ELI (CONT'D)

How is this even possible? If only we'd known about this place when the Lucian Alliance boarded Destiny. This is amazing.

He quickly checks whether one of the pods is usable. It is. He starts to get excited. All he has to do is program it and get in.

ELI (CONT'D)

Wait a sec. These controls don't look like the ones on the other pods.

He tries setting the wake timer anyway, aiming to wake a day before the rest of the crew is scheduled to emerge.

The system beeps. An error message appears on the screen.

ELI (CONT'D)

What do you mean I can't use that time?

He tries several more times. Same error, every time.

ELI (CONT'D)

What tha! Okay, okay. If all else fails, read the manual.

He searches the console for information about the pods. When he finds it, he's visibly shaken.

ELI (CONT'D)

What does it mean, "maintenance pods"? Aren't all pods stasis pods?

He's confused about the distinction. As he reads the documentation, he discovers that these pods were designed to automatically wake the occupant once a year, to perform system checks, maintenance, and other necessary duties.

ELI (CONT'D)

(quiet)

I guess that makes sense.

He quickly reviews the specifics and activates the program for maintenance mode. Before stepping into the chamber, a thought stops him — if something goes wrong, no one would ever know where to find him, or what happened.

He gets a fresh kino, activates it, and records a message.

ELI (CONT'D)

If you are watching this without me, then something has probably gone very wrong.

He looks visibly distraught.

ELI (CONT'D)

I wasn't able to fix the last stasis pod in the two weeks. And after two months of reading, theorizing, and trial and error, the pod just went dead. I went back to the schematics, and I found something. There are maintenance pods on another level. I went down there and discovered a whole new command room. It's like the engine room on the Enterprise — you can do anything there. Anyway, these pods are special. They only hold a person in stasis for one year. I guess the person's supposed to wake up and check on things. So — every year, I'll wake up and check on you guys. Before I go back under, I'll make a kino note.

He manages a tired half-smile.

ELI (CONT'D)

Well... I gotta go. I've already wasted too much time and energy. I hope this doesn't affect Destiny and crossing the expanse. Looking forward to seeing you guys! Bye.

He turns the kino off, carries it up to the other stasis pods, and leaves it with them. He returns, steps into the programmed pod, and sleeps.

EXT. DESTINY — CONTINUOUS

A fly-by of Destiny's exterior, small and alone against the stark, empty darkness of the expanse.

INT. DESTINY — OBSERVATION DECK — CONTINUOUS

The deck is dark and quiet — no one here but the ship itself. Through the observation window, barely visible against the black, a faint white line stretches across the void: the destination galaxy, seen edge-on from light years away, its disc flattened by distance and angle into a single thin band of light.

INT. DESTINY — MAINTENANCE CHAMBER — CONTINUOUS

The console comes to life. Internal pod lights engage. A faint hiss as the door releases its seal.

Eli wakes.

ELI

(groggy)

Did someone get the license number of that bus?

He blinks against the light, disoriented, still catching up to where — and when — he is.

ELI (CONT'D)

Has it been a year already? Okay, I'm up. What should I do first? I'd better go get the kino and check on the crew.

He retrieves the kino and starts recording.

ELI (CONT'D)

It's been a year. I just woke up and checked on you guys. Everybody looks good. I'm going to check the logs and see if anything needs to be fixed. I'm going to leave the kino on and have it follow me around so I'm not so lonely. I don't know why I didn't think of that before. Anyway... let's get to it.

His first stop is the observation deck. He looks out the window.

ELI (CONT'D)

Wow. It is so dark out there. I can barely make out a thin white line. I'm assuming that's our destination. I think I would have gone mad if I had to look at this every day. Also, I would have starved to death by now.

(beat)

I know, that was morbid. Sorry.

He heads to Destiny's bridge. As he enters, the room comes to life. He reviews the ship's logs — not much usable information, just routine entries. He checks power levels and calculates the expected distance and usage.

ELI (CONT'D)

Well, it looks like Destiny is gonna make it. Whew! Okay, time to put the kino back and go back to sleep. See you guys in a year!

He returns the kino to the crew area and heads to the maintenance pod. He enters, and goes to sleep.

Eli wakes. Same routine — stretch, wince, blink at the light. He heads to the crew pods, grabs the kino, and begins his monologue recording.

ELI

Morning, everybody. Or — evening. Or Tuesday. Who's counting?

(beat)

Okay, I'm counting. That's literally my job now.

He walks the kino slowly down the row of stasis pods, filming each sleeping crew member in turn like he's giving a tour.

ELI (CONT'D)

And here we have Colonel Young, sleeping. Riveting stuff. Next up, Lieutenant James — also sleeping. Really strong lineup this year.

(beat)

I'm gonna go ahead and say this is the least-watched footage in the history of television. Including C-SPAN reruns.

He stops at one pod, considers, then leans in close to the glass.

ELI (CONT'D)

(quieter)

This one's for you guys, by the way. So someday you can watch yourselves not doing anything. You're welcome.

He goes to the observation deck for a quick look at the starfield.

ELI (CONT'D)

Yep. The galaxy is still there. Bigger, too. I'm off to the bridge.

He heads off toward the bridge, kino trailing behind him. Same checks as before — logs, power levels, math. Nothing alarming. He allows himself a small, tired smile.

ELI (CONT'D)

Still on track. Still alive. Two for two. One more to go if it all goes well. Cross your fingers.

He crosses his fingers and ends his recording. He returns the kino, heads back to his pod, and goes under.

Eli wakes once more. This time, he recovers quickly, with the expectation of being at, or almost through, the expanse. He races to the crew pods to get the kino and starts recording as he walks toward the observation deck.

ELI

Well, it's year number three. Let's go see where we are. We should be close.

As he enters the observation deck, his heart sinks and despair flows across his face.

ELI (CONT'D)

Oh my god, what happened? This can't be right!

The faint line is closer, and bigger, but still a long way off.

ELI (CONT'D)

I need to check the logs. This can't be right. The new galaxy should be way closer right now.

He heads to the bridge. There's nothing noticeably wrong, except for a new message on the console. It reads: NEW DISTANCE CALCULATION TO DESTINATION.

ELI (CONT'D)

Hey guys, looks like Destiny updated the distance to the next galaxy. It's showing another year or so before we get through this.

(beat)

It also looks like we'll have enough power to get there.

Eli sighs.

ELI (CONT'D)

It's close, but doable.

(beat)

Nothing more to do now but head back to stasis.

He arrives at the crew pods with the kino. He places his hand on one of the pods.

ELI (CONT'D)

(somber)

One more year. We can do this. See you on the other side. Love you guys.

Eli turns the kino off and heads back to his stasis chamber.

Eli wakes. Starts recording on the kino. Routine — until he checks the pod statuses, the way he does every year without really looking. This time, he looks twice.

ELI

Wait.

He crosses to a pod near the end of the row. Dark. Silent. No hum.

A long beat. He doesn't touch it yet.

ELI (CONT'D)

(quiet, reading the nameplate)

No. No, no, no —

He moves the kino to the silent pod, hands slightly unsteady, and continues to record — more instinct than decision at this point.

ELI (CONT'D)

Hey, guys. It's — it's Year 4. I need to — okay. Airman Janus's chamber failed. I don't know when. Obviously sometime during the last year. There wasn't a warning. There wasn't anything.

(beat)

He ran supply inventory. Kept the manifests actually readable, which — trust me, that matters more than you'd think out here.

He checks the panel. No malfunction code, no answer, just silence — same as his own chamber's failure, back on Day 14.

ELI (CONT'D)

I don't have a reason. I looked. There isn't one. It's just off.

He sets the kino down on a ledge, angled toward the pod, and sits beside it for several minutes.

INT. DESTINY — CARGO BAY AIRLOCK — CONTINUOUS

Eli has moved the body, wrapped, onto a cargo sled. He's alone. The kino continues to follow him. Just him, and Destiny's hum, and the outer door.

He stands there a moment, unsure how to start something he's never had to do before.

ELI

(to the room, to no one, to the kino)

I don't really know the right words for this. I don't think there are right words. I just — I know you didn't sign up to die alone on a ship nobody back home even knows is still out here.

(beat)

So you're not alone. I'm here. That counts for something. I hope that counts for something.

He rests a hand on the sled, the way he did on the stasis pod glass back in Year 3 — same gesture, heavier now.

ELI (CONT'D)

Thank you for the manifests, man. I mean that.

He steps back, and triggers the airlock cycle. The inner door seals. A beat. Then the outer door releases, and the body drifts silently out into the dark, gone in seconds against the scale of everything around it.

Eli watches until he can't see it anymore. Then a moment longer than that.

ELI (CONT'D)

(barely above a whisper)

Rest easy.

He turns, and looks at the lens of the kino — steadier now, but hollowed out.

ELI (CONT'D)

Another year, maybe less, if the math holds. I'll try to make it count for something. For both of us now.

He shuts the kino off, returns it to the crew pods, and goes back under.

Eli wakes, still feeling the weight of Airman Janus's death. He heads to the crew pods, retrieves the kino, and starts recording.

ELI

I know it's been a year since Airman Janus died, but I still feel sad. I wish I could've done something more.

He looks at each of the crew pods. Everything's in working order.

ELI (CONT'D)

Time for the morning routine.

He heads for the observation deck, expecting to see the galaxy filling the glass.

ELI (CONT'D)

I don't believe this! We're still nowhere near the damn galaxy! I've got to find out what's going on.

He moves quickly to the bridge. There's another message on the console: DISTANCE RECALCULATION IN PROCESS. He stares in disbelief.

ELI (CONT'D)

Another recalculation. What is going on?

He starts reading the logs and stops suddenly.

ELI (CONT'D)

The logs say there was huge power consumption over the last year. Looks like we went through an asteroid belt. Not a big one, but enough to cause a drain.

As if on cue, thunderous crashes begin hitting Destiny. A new round of asteroids — larger, denser — pelts the shields. Each strike drains what little fuel is left.

ELI (CONT'D)

What the hell was that? Hey guys, I think we're going through another belt — or we're being attacked.

He pulls up the main display. It shows asteroids the size of cities striking Destiny.

ELI (CONT'D)

It's asteroids. Definitely asteroids. But they're the size of cities. Massive. I don't know how much of this Destiny can survive. I don't know if we'll survive. I'm scared.

(beat)

Very, very scared.

Thirty minutes pass. The asteroids continue to pelt Destiny. Finally, the barrage stops. The ship goes quiet.

ELI (CONT'D)

I think it's over. Everything's quiet. Sensors aren't showing anything else ahead. We're alive!

His elation quickly ebbs as he realizes the toll the year-long bombardment has taken on Destiny. He checks power levels, runs calculations, and goes visibly pale.

ELI (CONT'D)

Hey guys. Apparently Destiny's been in that field a full year. Shields held, but power's way lower than it should be.

(fearful)

I don't know if we'll have enough to get there.

He sinks into the command chair and puts his head in his hands, silently weeping.

ELI (CONT'D)

I've got to do something. Anything.

He begins frantically checking systems, reading more logs, tracking usage. He finally arrives at something unexpected.

ELI (CONT'D)

I think I found something, guys. There's a subsystem — some kind of AI backup. It's pulling a lot of power. I'm not sure what it does, but if I disable it, we might get some reserves back. Not all the way. But back up.

He shuts the AI backup subsystem down. Power levels start climbing. Relief crosses his face.

ELI (CONT'D)

Oh, wow. More power. Still not enough. This is gonna make the journey a lot longer. Years, probably. I'm going back to stasis, help conserve what we've got. See you next year. Hopefully.

He turns the kino off and heads back toward the maintenance pod. As he steps into the pod, he hears strange static noises. He stops to listen. Shrugs, and continues into the chamber.

Just as he's about to close and seal the door, the lights flicker and dim. The control console begins to pulse and glow.

ELI (CONT'D)

Ummm... what's happening?

Everything immediately settles down.

ELI (CONT'D)

(nervous)

That was weird.

(beat)

Whatever. If something's gonna happen, let it happen. I'll be asleep when it does.

He seals the door and goes to sleep.

Eli wakes. Heads to the crew pods, grabs the kino, starts recording — same rhythm as always.

ELI

Year six. Everybody's still doing the sleeping thing. Great work, really committed performances all around.

He does his usual pass down the row, then pauses, like he's just remembered something.

ELI (CONT'D)

Oh — hey, so, last year, right before I went under, some weird stuff happened. Lights flickered, the console did this whole pulsing glow thing, there was static coming from somewhere. I chalked it up to being exhausted and half-asleep already.

(beat)

Hasn't happened since, so. Probably nothing.

He heads off toward the bridge, kino trailing. Routine checks — logs, power, math. Nothing alarming.

As he's finishing up, a door down the corridor slides shut on its own. No one there. He turns toward the sound.

ELI (CONT'D)

...okay, that one I definitely heard.

He walks over, checks the panel beside it. Nothing wrong. No fault code. He tries the door — it opens fine.

ELI (CONT'D)

(to the kino, unsure whether to be worried or not)

Destiny's millions of years old and held together with Ancient duct tape. Doors are allowed to be weird.

He doesn't sound like he's convinced himself. A beat, then he shakes it off and keeps moving.

ELI (CONT'D)

Anyway. Power's stable, nobody's dead, ship's not on fire. Good year. I'll take it.

He heads back to the crew pods, shuts the kino off, and returns to the maintenance pod to sleep.

Eli wakes. Heads to the crew pods, grabs the kino, starts recording.

ELI

Year seven. Lucky number seven, right? That's a thing people say. I'm gonna go ahead and claim it, we could use the luck.

He does the usual pass down the row of pods. Everyone's fine. When it gets to Airman Janus's pod, he pauses for a moment with silent introspection. He heads for the observation deck.

ELI (CONT'D)

Let's see how we're doing.

He looks out. The galaxy's line is visibly wider than it's been — real, noticeable progress.

ELI (CONT'D)

Okay, that's — that's actually bigger. Like, bigger-bigger, not squint-and-maybe bigger. We're getting there. Slowly. But there.

He heads toward the bridge, kino trailing. Routine checks — logs, power, math. Nothing alarming.

Faintly, from somewhere down the corridor — music. A few notes, warped and distant, like it's coming through walls that shouldn't carry sound at all. Eli stops mid-step.

ELI (CONT'D)

...is that music?

He listens. It fades out before he can place it — no source, no direction, just gone.

ELI (CONT'D)

(to the kino, flat)

Great. Now the ship's got a radio station. Add it to the list.

A beat — he almost laughs, but it doesn't quite land as a joke.

ELI (CONT'D)

The list's getting long, guys.

He shakes it off, finishes his checks, and heads back to the crew pods. Shuts the kino off, returns to the maintenance pod, and sleeps.

Eli wakes. Heads to the crew pods, grabs the kino, starts recording.

ELI

Year eight. Look at us. Still going.

He does his usual pass down the row of pods, then heads for the observation deck.

ELI (CONT'D)

Bigger every year. I'll take it.

He heads toward the bridge, kino trailing. Routine checks — logs, power, math. Nothing alarming. He's about to move on when something in the sensor log makes him stop and scroll back.

ELI (CONT'D)

Huh.

He pulls it up properly. A brief entry — something registered on long-range sensors, months ago, passed close, then gone. No classification. Not debris. Not a known signature. Just... something.

ELI (CONT'D)

(reading, half to himself)

"Object detected. Unable to classify." Thank you, Destiny, very helpful.

(beat)

Could be a rock. Could be a ship. Could be nothing. Ship's guess is as good as mine, and the ship apparently doesn't have one.

He stares at it another second, like he's hoping it'll resolve into something if he looks hard enough. It doesn't.

ELI (CONT'D)

(to the kino)

Filing that one under "probably fine."

He finishes his checks, heads back to the crew pods, shuts the kino off, and returns to the maintenance pod to sleep.

Eli wakes. Heads to the crew pods, grabs the kino, starts recording.

ELI

Year nine. Single digits, baby. We're in the home stretch of... still being in stasis for a really long time.

He does his usual pass down the row of pods, then heads for the observation deck.

ELI (CONT'D)

Bigger again. Feels close now. Real close.

He heads toward the bridge, kino trailing. He pulls up the sensor logs — and stops. Scrolls. Stops again.

ELI (CONT'D)

Okay, that's not one entry. That's... four? Five?

Multiple flagged detections over the past year, scattered, none classified. He stares at the pattern.

ELI (CONT'D)

It's not just one weird blip anymore. It's a lot of weird blips. The closer we get, the more of these things show up.

(beat)

That's either a really good sign or a really bad one, and I genuinely can't tell which.

He finishes the checks, still uneasy, and starts heading back — when the lights along the corridor begin to ripple, one panel at a time, in a slow wave down the length of the hall.

He stops dead and watches it pass.

ELI (CONT'D)

(quiet)

That's new.

Overlapping now — the faint music from before, but closer, layered, almost like more than one thread of it at once. A door somewhere cycles open and shut, fast, on its own.

The kino's picture stutters — a burst of interference, there and gone.

ELI (CONT'D)

(to the kino, uneasy)

Did you just — did the recording just glitch? That's not supposed to happen, you don't glitch.

Everything settles at once, all of it, like it was never happening.

Eli stands there a long moment, kino still running, genuinely unsettled for the first time in years.

ELI (CONT'D)

(quiet, almost to himself)

Okay. I don't think that's nothing. Kino, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.

He doesn't have an answer. He heads back to the crew pods, shuts the kino off — it flickers once before it actually powers down — and returns to the maintenance pod to sleep.

Not the maintenance chamber. Not anywhere Eli recognizes at all — soft, indistinct light, no walls he can find, no floor he remembers standing on. He's upright. He doesn't remember getting up.

ELI

Okay. This is... new.

He turns, taking stock, bracing for something wrong. Nothing hurts. Nothing's on fire. That almost makes it worse.

ELI (CONT'D)

(calling out, uncertain)

Hello? Is this a dream? I've had weirder dreams. Honestly this is middle-of-the-pack.

A shape resolves out of the light, uncertain at first, gaining edges, gaining color. A person.

Eli goes very still.

ELI (CONT'D)

(barely audible)

...no.

It's Ginn.

ELI (CONT'D)

No, that's — okay, I've officially lost it. Ten years alone'll do that. This is a stress thing. This is a brain thing.

GINN

Eli.

Just his name. He flinches like it's the first time anyone's said it in a decade — because it basically is.

ELI

(shaken)

That's not — you don't get to sound like her. Whatever you are.

GINN

(gently, patient)

I know how this looks. I know what you're telling yourself right now. I've had a long time to get better at this, and I still wasn't sure it would work.

He doesn't move toward her. Doesn't trust it yet. But he's listening.

ELI

Get better at what?

GINN

Reaching you.

A beat. Something in his face cracks — not belief exactly, but the willingness to hope, which after ten years is arguably harder to give.

ELI

(quiet)

It's really you.

GINN

It's really me.

He crosses the distance now, and whatever this place is, it holds. They stand close, and for a moment neither of them says anything at all — ten years compressed into a silence neither wants to break.

ELI

(a wet laugh, disbelieving)

I buried a guy. I've talked to sleeping people for a decade. I started narrating my own life to a camera because the alternative was narrating it to nobody.

(beat)

And you've been in here. The whole time.

GINN

Not always able to reach anything. Not always sure I still —

(she stops herself)

It took a long time to find a way to you that didn't just... fall apart.

ELI

(softer now)

I missed you. That's insane to say out loud. I missed you.

GINN

(the smallest smile)

I missed you too. Every year you came down that row of pods, talking to a camera like an idiot —

ELI

Hey —

GINN

— I was there. I couldn't reach you yet. But I was there.

For the first time in ten years, something in Eli's posture actually loosens — the exhaustion, the vigilance, all of it, just for a moment.

Then Ginn's head snaps toward something Eli can't see. Alert. Listening.

ELI

(immediately tense again)

What? What's wrong?

GINN

(urgent, already fading)

Something just entered the ship.

ELI

Wait — Ginn —

She's gone. Not faded — gone, cut off mid-motion, like the connection was severed rather than ended.

The light collapses.

INT. DESTINY — MAINTENANCE CHAMBER — CONTINUOUS

Eli's eyes snap open — for real this time. The pod door is already cycling. He half-falls out of it, disoriented, grabbing the console to stay upright.

ELI

(breathless)

Ginn — Ginn, wait —

Nothing. Just the hum of the ship, same as always. He stares at the console, chest heaving, utterly alone in the room.

Somewhere on Destiny, unseen and unexplained, something new has arrived.