Crew member Russell Robbins, known as Rusty, sat at the engineer station, the soft glow of the screens painting his weathered face with shades of blue and white. With precise movements that reflected years of experience, he adjusted the ship’s power, redirecting energy from nonessential systems to enhance the sensor capabilities with a few gestures on the console. “Centurion Nova, sensors at full power, ma’am,” he rasped, his voice rough like gravel.
The title stung, serving as an unwelcome reminder of the Prefect’s sudden takeover, which left Shreya feeling belittled and overshadowed in her own command. She managed only a curt nod in response to Rusty’s report. Shifting her piercing sea-blue eyes to the sensor station, she ordered, “Ms. Haas, increase the sensitivity of all sensors. Keep a vigilant watch on the twin stars of this system. If the—” She hesitated, quickly rephrasing. “When the Von Braun returns, I want to be notified immediately.”
Megan Haas tightened her focus on the disk-shaped screen in front of her and quickly responded, “Aye, aye, Ma’am.” Her fingers turned the amplitude knob with careful, precise clicks, her eyes quickly shifting to the left panel to monitor her adjustments. Fresh sensor data flooded the screen, creating a chatter that mixed with the rhythmic tapping of her fellow crew members absorbed in their work.
Rising from her command chair, Shreya drifted towards Nathaniel, who cast her a nervous glance when she appeared beside him. She tried to offer a reassuring smile, but the effort felt hollow. With the expected arrival time of the Von Braun elapsing long ago, any hope she once possessed had dwindled to a painful wish. She looked at the incoming signals on the radio station, but even that mocked her anxiety with dead silence.
A small indicator light near her ankle blinked from red to green when she clicked her heels together, activating her mag-boots. Gradually, she turned her attention to the forward canopy where two luxurious white flight chairs rested comfortably within the confines of the trident-shaped console. Above, two massive rings molded into the curved ceiling cast a serene blue light upon the cockpit. The console to the right, where Amir Frost piloted the ship, flickered brightly with an array of glowing buttons, while the co-pilot seat on the left remained shrouded in shadows, forlorn and empty.
Shreya folded her hands behind her back as she paced across the bridge, her mag-boots locking onto the smooth floor with a series of resonant clacks with each step. As she pivoted, venturing aimlessly to the other side, her sophisticated silver half-skirt flared like a silken tail behind her. Finally, she came to a stop behind Amir, her teeth nervously biting the inside of her bottom lip as she looked into the cosmos beyond the canopy, longing for any sign of her husband amid the vast, unyielding darkness.
“Anything yet?” Shreya inquired rhetorically.
“Nothing yet, Commander,” Amir replied, the optimism in his voice feeble like a dying flame.
The opaque, holographic image of Prefect Ovius watched the events unfold from the back of the bridge. His deep-set eyes, shadowed by his robust brow, gave him an intimidating visage that commanded fear and respect in equal measure. His arms, crossed tightly over his barrel chest, strained the fabric of his military uniform, defining the contours of his powerful biceps. As the minutes passed, the Prefect’s usually regal posture began to show signs of impatience until finally, his deep voice broke through the stillness, thick with authority. “Centurion, sit rep.”
Shreya slightly turned, glancing over her shoulder to address the hologram. “Sir, we are currently experiencing a radio blackout. Based on our previous trip, we expect to restore communication within the next few minutes.”
The Prefect’s tone dripped with an almost disdainful arrogance. “I certainly hope so, Centurion. I need not remind you of the importance of this endeavor. It has the potential to advance the Ursae Dynasty’s technology and bolster our position within the Legion. The implications of failure would leave an indelible stain on our reputation, so let’s hope I’ve backed the right people for this project, and pray your husband returns with the prototype unscathed.”
A festering pool of anger simmered just beneath the surface as Shreya clenched her fist, muttering under her breath, “Maybe if you hadn’t ordered Den to undertake a suicidal return trip, you wouldn’t be sweating your precious reputation.”
Marcus leaned in, his scowl deepening as he doubted what he had heard. “What was that, Centurion?”
Gathering her composure, Shreya took a deep breath. “Sir, I was stating that it is premature to draw any conclusions regarding the success of this project. We need to allow Den more time.”
A sardonic smirk spread across Marcus’s face as he taunted, “Indeed, more time. Something you both always seem to lack. ‘Needed more time’ could very well be Mr. Nova’s epitaph. I give you five more minutes before we pull the plug on this test flight and begin deliberating our next course of action.”
Shreya forced herself to remain composed by closing her eyes for a brief moment, seeking calmness, then replied, “Yes, Sir.”
The weightless effect of zero-g played with Shreya’s copper-blond hair, wisps of curls dancing around her cheeks like playful spirits, a stark contrast to the heavy, twisting knots of anxiety in her stomach. As her thoughts fixed on her husband, a sudden premonition struck her—a vision of Den struggling with a cascade of malfunctions while navigating black-space, culminating in an explosive catastrophe. She gasped sharply, casting hurried glances at her crew, who were too absorbed in their tasks to notice.
Shreya knew the Prefect had generously agreed to cover all expenses for the project, with the strict condition of success. If it failed, Den would find himself burdened with enormous debt and forced to relinquish all his possessions to the Prefect. Any unpaid debts would lead to his descent into indentured servitude, and through marriage, her enslavement as well—an arrangement all too common in Ursaen society. The thought of becoming subservient to the arbitrary will of the Prefect twisted her insides with dread, making her premonition all the more frightening. Steeling herself, she clasped her hands formally over her stomach, executed a military pivot, and resumed her troubled pace across the bridge.
Megan’s high-pitched voice suddenly cut through the tension. “Ma’am, I’m picking up a signal,” she blurted out, snapping her gaze to the cockpit canopy. “The anomaly has returned!”
As the sensor logs erupted with a symphony of audible pings, a growing patch of stars flickered and vanished behind the return of the black orb outside the ship. Eerie, twisting pillars of smoke wove into existence, clawing their way from the darkness, like a monstrous entity rending the very fabric of space-time.
Rusty slapped the release button on his chest and pushed himself upward from his station, eager for a better view. Meanwhile, Nathaniel removed his headphones, abandoning his duties as he followed the crew’s actions, drawn like moths to the mesmerizing spectacle unfolding before them.
A sudden blast from the proximity alarm shattered the tense silence, jolting the crew into immediate action as the bridge flooded with flashing red lights. Megan quickly returned to the sensor station, her eyes glued to the screen as the data erupted into a flurry of activity. Focusing on the anomaly 1000 kilometers away, she spotted the transponder of the Von Braun wink into existence, darting away from the maw of the anomaly at blazing speeds. “Ship incoming!” she yelled over the blaring sirens.
Shreya disengaged her mag-boots and pushed off with the tips of her toes, launching herself across the bridge. She barely managed to catch herself on the empty co-pilot chair as her gaze darted toward the gleaming white hull of the Von Braun streaking through the black. The ship careened wildly end over end in a chaotic dance, completely out of control. Panels on the drive assembly burst, tearing free from their mounts in a shower of blue sparks. Micro explosions riddled the fuselage, stripping the craft bare like a star-bound asteroid shedding its outer shell.
Panic surged as Shreya pushed past the co-pilot’s seat, slapping her hands against the canopy and pressing her forehead to the glass. Helplessly, she watched the prototype ship streak past, leaving behind a hazy trail of smoky debris. Her heart sank further as billowing plumes of soot blocked her view of Den in the cockpit. Frustrated, Shreya struck the glass with her fist, the sound echoing in the cabin as the Von Braun slipped out of sight.
Shreya backed away from the co-pilot’s chair, her senses brimming with urgency as she scanned the room. The sensor console flickered like a restless firefly, its lights flashing and chattering with bursts of new data. Meanwhile, the crew remained fixated on the anomaly rather than addressing the crisis at hand. “This ain’t no damn observation deck!” she yelled, her accent thickening as her resolve wavered. “Y’all get back to work. Track the Von Braun. Initiate recovery operations.”
Megan shuddered, startled by the sharp commands and quickly relayed the information from her display. “Reference Menkalinan Six Alpha. Right ascension: 18 hours, 2 minutes, 41 seconds. Declination: minus 16 degrees. Range: 1,025 light seconds.”
Amir froze, his hands trembling on the flight controls as uncertainty flashed across his face. “Useful data!” he shouted back at Megan. “Where is the Von Braun in relation to us?”
“Uh?” Megan hesitated, her hands scrambling to switch to the radar view. “Sorry, uh, 2 O’clock low,” she replied, her words tumbling out in a rush.
Shreya blindly dove for the radio console, her pulse quickening, only to find her way blocked by Nathaniel, frozen in shock amid the chaos. “Mr. Gallegos, get back to your station,” she barked.
Although Nathaniel scrambled to get out of the way, the collision was unavoidable. Shreya crashed into the bridge officer with force, and the two spun like a tossed coin. Frustrated by the inconvenience, Shreya timed her rotation and shoved him away, adjusting her trajectory back toward the communication station. With a fluid motion, she grabbed the floating headphones, locked her boots to the deck, and pressed the microphone button. Bringing the headset close to her ear, she spoke with an edge of desperation, abandoning any military formality. “Den, status!” she yelled, barely allowing him a moment to respond before continuing with mounting urgency. “Damn it, Den, what is going on?”
Shreya pressed the headphones tightly against her ears, trying to drown out the crew’s symphony of shouting tactical information back and forth. Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on the static buzzing in her ear, desperate for a response, only to be greeted by a despondent hiss. Cursing under her breath, she committed a taboo breach of military protocol by switching to an unencrypted channel, a public broadcast that anyone could hear. “Den, if you can hear me, please respond!” she urged, her fingers toggling between frequencies, stress mounting with each click. “Den? Den, do you copy?”
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The lack of a response was maddening, and the chaos on the bridge made it impossible to concentrate. Shreya called out for Den again and again, her voice struggling to rise above the noise. Seconds felt like minutes, each more exhausting than the last, as despair sank deep into her chest. Shouting once more into the microphone, her voice unexpectedly rang out clearly like a bell as a heavy silence took over the bridge, an unsettling calm broken only by the occasional clicks of the sensor logs.
With a sense of dread creeping into her bones, she slowly turned her head to see the crew huddled together, their faces ghostly pale. Rusty floated just behind the flight chair, while Nathaniel leaned tensely against the console and Megan hovered behind the co-pilot’s chair. All their expressions matched Amir at the helm, paralyzed in his seat, his eyes wide with terror.
“Stations, people,” she demanded, a growl escaping her clenched jaw when no one budged. “What is so damn important that you are—” Her voice faltered, her words trailing off as she glimpsed the source of their collective fixation.
Outside the Karl Jansky, a terrifying craft emerged from the lightning-filled storm, its presence both awe-inspiring and frightening. The dark nebula parted like silk curtains, oozing over an organic ring structure adorned with jagged, irregular spikes that jutted from the surface like angry quills. Sinister yellow bioluminescent strips slithered across the surface of each barb, pulsing rhythmically as if echoing a dark heartbeat. At the center was a glassy orb of shimmering darkness, a void that reflected distant stars not from this galaxy. The vessel resembled a nightmarish creature born from the cosmos rather than a conventional ship, stealing the breath of all who watched in horror.
Shreya froze, jaw dropped in awe at the sight of the alien craft, until the sensor station chirped. Converting the vibrations hitting the hull into sound, the speakers crackled with horrific growling clicks mixed with grinding metal noises, sending a shiver of recognition down her spine. “Stygiamite,” Shreya muttered, the word catching in her throat.
As the alien vessel rotated gracefully, facing the Karl Jansky with an unsettling fluidity, Rusty blurted out exactly what everyone was thinking, the words rolling off his tongue in one long-winded breath, “Oh shit.”
Shreya swallowed hard as the headset slipped from her trembling fingers. In a strained whisper, she commanded, “Mr. Frost, back us off.” Her eyes shifted to the pilot, but he remained unresponsive, entranced with fear. “Amir,” she called louder, urgency creeping into her tone. “Reverse thrust.”
“Aye… Commander,” Amir stammered, snapping back to reality as he pulled back on the throttle.
The Karl Jansky shuddered as its reverse engines ignited, sending forth a searing torrent of hot blue plasma that sliced through the dark void ahead. The hull groaned as the ship pulled away from the alien vessel, only to be watched like a hawk circling its prey. As the alien vessel drew closer, the fabric of space itself twisted and warped, leaving a prismatic shimmer in its wake like ripples on water.
“Everyone, get back to your stations,” Shreya commanded, her voice steady despite the pounding fear beating inside her chest as she pulled herself into the command chair.
Amir’s eyes flicked between the reverse speed and the alien ship, concerned by how the Stygiamite kept a close distance, neither overtaking nor falling behind. As he stared at the horrifying monstrosity, a wave of unease washed over him when the alien’s flickering yellow lights abruptly shifted to a menacing red hue. “That’s not good,” he muttered, his voice tight with concern. “Commander, the um… the lights changed color. I hate to speculate, but red’s the universal color for bad shit’s about to happen, right?”
Shreya’s ears perked up as the speakers emitted more ominous vibrations, echoing the Stygiamite’s haunting resonance. The disturbing noise sounded like a giant metal door being dragged over stone, a harrowing song that swelled to a crescendo. Her fingers clenched the armrests of her chair, her pulse racing as she took a deep breath, bracing for the worst. Suddenly, the sound ceased, replaced by a bone-chilling silence.
In those brief seconds of stillness, Shreya hesitated, uncertainty swirling in her mind. From beyond the canopy, a sphere of crimson energy burst from the Stygiamite ship, tearing through space like a rogue wave in a calm sea. The leading edge slammed into the nose of the Karl Jansky with immense force, causing the ship to flip end over end.
The shockwave that followed swept through the vessel like a cold breeze, extinguishing all electrical power and plunging the Artemis-class ship into a dreadful darkness. Lights flickered and died as the holographic visage of Prefect Ovius dissolved into nothingness. When the hum of the electromagnetic deck plates faded into silence, the crew suddenly found themselves at the mercy of intense centrifugal forces, violently pulling them toward the bow.
The command chair ejected Shreya from the seat, tossing her face-first onto the deck. The sudden impact split her bottom lip and painted her cheek with a splatter of warm blood. Gritting her teeth and swallowing the metallic tang of copper in her mouth, she fought against the false gravity, sliding along the deck toward the front of the ship. Shreya crashed into the protruding center console of the cockpit between the flight chairs, her body crumpling into the fetal position. Through the faint glow of twinkling starlight, a ghostly silhouette of the bridge came into focus as she spotted Rusty tumble head over heels from the back of the bridge, slamming into the recesses of the co-pilot’s seat next to her.
“Ow! Shit,” Rusty screamed, his voice strained as he struggled to recover from the impact. “What the hell was that?”
Magan’s voice joined the chaos with a panicked squeak from the shadows of the sensor station, “Ma’am, we have lost all power. I can’t see anything.”
“Mr. Robbins, get back to your station and reboot the power system!” Shreya barked.
“Yes, Centurion, I’m trying,” Rusty replied, scrambling for a handhold, his grip unintentionally catching Magan’s ankle instead, causing her to yelp with surprise.
As the ship’s nose gradually swung back around on its continuous revolutions, the terrifying splendor of the Xeno ship beyond the canopy came into view. The once-pulsing red lights on the sinister Stygiamite craft had extinguished, rendering the vessel a ghostly silhouette against the starry background. Without warning, the thorny spikes on the outer ring detached with violent grace, radiating outward like rays of a grotesque star.
The numerous spear-shaped projectiles exploded outward in all directions, each gaining a sense of independent sentience as they merged into a swarm. Together, they darted around the alien vessel in a synchronized, almost balletic dance, weaving effortlessly between one another with unnerving precision.
“Oh, great,” Nathaniel muttered from a shadowy corner on the starboard side, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “it sprouted babies.”
Shreya’s heart froze as she watched the telegraphed attack unfold before her. A menacing swarm of spear-shaped objects twisting and spiraling together, converging into a funnel shape aimed directly at the Karl Jansky. Suddenly, the deadly swarm charged. Her fingers clenched tightly around the console as the color drained from her cheeks. Her chest tightened like a vice, forcing her panicked breath to scream, “Brace for impact!”
The swarm collided with the ship, a fierce, relentless storm where each impact echoed through the hull like a hail of bullets. The immense force of the mob’s assault sent the ship into a frantic, spiraling dance, tossing the crew around the bridge like leaves caught in a violent whirlwind. The bridge quickly transformed into a battleground. Crates of carefully stored equipment broke free from their restraints, crashing violently into the bulkhead. Display screens shattered with a thunderous crack, spraying fragments of glass like lethal confetti into the fray. Metal beams bent and pipes ruptured as the bridge became a chaotic vortex of perilous debris, with the crew desperately fighting for stability.
Like trying to hold onto a wild carousel run amok, Shreya’s fingers slipped free from the console as the deck rotated away from her. With a gasp, she flew across the bridge, her arms flailing wildly as she desperately tried to find something—anything—to hold onto. A sharp scream escaped her lips as she slammed into a port-side screen, curling into a ball. Shards of broken glass sliced through her nanosuit, tearing into her skin with razor-sharp edges as pain surged through her limbs like lightning, staining her suit with streaks of warm crimson blood.
On the starboard side, Nathaniel desperately clutched a thick strap that secured a medical kit to the bulkhead as the spinning vessel dragged him through the air like a ribbon fluttering in the breeze. A sudden, violent shift in direction sent him hurtling through a vortex of shattered glass, where a large shard plunged into his side, the rough edge biting deep into his flesh. With frantic urgency, his hand shot to the wedge, fingers trembling in pain around the foreign object as a hiss of agony escaped his gritted teeth. In a surge of reckless desperation, he tore the glass from his ribs and pressed his hands against the seeping wound, his mournful cries echoing in the dark.
On the other side, Megan gripped the edges of her seat at the sensor station with every ounce of strength she could muster, holding on for dear life. She squeezed her eyes shut, jaw locked tight, as the violent ride jerked and tossed her around. Beside her, Rusty crawled along the floor, his grip tightening on her ankle for support as he fought against the brutal rotations, losing his balance. When he was suddenly propelled upward, her leg followed his momentum. A searing pain radiated through her thigh, causing her to cry out desperately, “Rusty, my leg, my leg!” Rusty released his grip in a panic, only to be unceremoniously flung across the bridge, smashing into an overhead vent with a bone-crunching thud.
Amir clenched the armrest of the flight chair as the dizzying whirlwind of stars spun chaotically outside the canopy. Each twinkle streaked across his vision, creating a disorienting kaleidoscope of nauseating colors. Feeling his life unraveling, he took a deep breath, trying to find a moment of calm. Behind him, the shard of glass Nathaniel expelled from his side clattered around the bridge, orbiting dangerously as the walls kept the fatal blade spinning through the air. Over his shoulder, Amir shouted with a mix of fervor and urgency, “Commander, it has been an honor and a priv—” his words abruptly cut off by a suffocating gurgle of blood. The splinter of glass had come to a deadly conclusion within the depths of Amir’s voice box, nestled among the delicate folds of flesh and sinew.
On board the Shizukana Kage, Kai stared in horror at the devastation wrought by the Stygiamite swarm. His eyes widened as he watched hundreds of spikes puncture the hull of the Artemis-class ship before spiraling away in a chaotic dance. The swarm’s convergence was a mesmerizing spectacle of spinning and twirling, rotating like diamonds caught in the eye of a storm, a shimmering vortex of doom.
Suddenly, he felt a frantic presence pounce onto the back of his flight chair as Parri leaned over his shoulder. Her voice was a tense, breathy whisper as she managed a long, drawn-out, “Daaamn.”
Kai swallowed the nervous lump in his throat as he looked down at the flight console, its blinking lights revealing the grim reality of their situation. “We won’t be hidden from the Stygiamite for long,” he muttered, casting a sideways glance at Parri, whose eyes were wide with alarm. “Activate the thermal purge.”
Parri nodded quickly. “Right, let’s get the hell outta here.”
“We’re not leaving just yet.”
Her head snapped back as her voice increased with urgency. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What do you mean, not yet?”
His gaze hardened. “We’re not leaving survivors stranded in space.”
“Survivors? What survivors?” Parri squeaked, a tremor of disbelief flickering across her face. She reached back to cup her hands over his cheeks, forcing him to face the terrifying sight outside. “You see that, right? There will be no one left after that monster is done, and we’re next if we don’t get out of here!”
Kai’s expression darkened as he yanked her hands away from his face. “First of all,” he said, his voice low and stern, “don’t ever touch my face when I’m flying. Second, I’m the commander of this ship, which means my word is the law around here. I’m not going to argue with you about this, so you have two choices.” He stiffened a finger before her eyes. “Activate the thermal purge as I ordered—” His finger rotated to point toward the back of the ship. “— or I’ll lock you in the cargo bay as a mutineer.”
Parri searched his brown eyes, only to find they had turned cold and calculating, replaced by a tension that genuinely made her feel threatened. His demeanor had inexorably shifted into that of a stern, militant commander, lacking any playful pretense. There was no sign of warmth in his gaze—only a chilling resolve. Understanding the stakes, she nodded, swallowing her apprehension. “Enabling thermal purge now, Commander.”
Question for the Comments: Kai spent a lifetime fighting the Ursae Dynasty, but when the Stygiamite swarm arrived, his "Commander" instincts took over. Do you think Kai is right to hold onto his old UCC soldier’s code even though he's an independent now, or should he have focused on the heist and left the "enemy" to their fate?
The heist has officially turned into a battlefield. I am updating every single day until we reach the finale of this 13-chapter story. Hit Follow to see if Kai's decision to play the hero costs him the ship—and Parri's trust.
Rating. It helps other readers find the "shimmering vortex of doom" during this daily run!
Why do you think Kai is risking everything to save his former enemies?
