Operation Icarus

Reece Landon

Contents

Copyright

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22

23. Chapter 23

24. Chapter 24

25. Chapter 25

26. Chapter 26

27. Chapter 27

28. Chapter 28

29. Chapter 29

30. Chapter 30

31. Chapter 31

32. Chapter 32

33. Chapter 33

Legal Notice

Copyright © 2025 by Reece Landon

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact mail@reecelandon.com.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Editing by RedAdeptEditing.

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A hostile planet. A deadly secret. Survival isn’t guaranteed. 

After the CSS Avenger is ambushed and destroyed, young Lieutenant Owen Shaw and two crewmates crash-land on an uncharted planet. 

Badly injured, surrounded by deadly creatures lurking in the jungle and no way to call for help, their chances of survival are slim—until they stumble upon a group of crash survivors who have lived on the planet for years. 

But something about these people doesn’t add up, and and Owen’s instincts tell him the real danger may not be the jungle after all. 

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Chapter 1

Capt. Owen Shaw

The bridge of the Resolute was bustling with activity, but Captain Owen Shaw’s attention was elsewhere. He leaned back in his captain’s chair and studied the chief engineer’s face on the small screen of his TacPad. The usually jolly Lieutenant Commander Valentine looked unusually concerned.

“Captain, we finally got access to the memory cores.” Her voice sounded tense. “You really need to come down here and take a look at what we found. Right now.”

A team of engineers, technicians, and computer specialists had worked day and night for almost two weeks to get access to the heavily encrypted databases and memory storages that had been found on the enemy battleship, hoping to solve the mystery of how this powerful battleship had ended up in the hands of a group of scrappy pirates who were behind the attacks on the Obsidian system that had destroyed the CSS Odyssey, damaged the hyperspace gate beyond repair, and cost almost a thousand lives, including those of the entire enemy crew.

He refrained from any further inquiries. The worry in her eyes was enough to know the matter was better discussed in private.

“I’ll be right there, Commander.” He disconnected the call, closed his TacPad, and rose from his chair. “Adrian,” he addressed his XO, Commander Adrian Christopher. “I have to talk to Valentine in person. You have the conn.”

Adrian looked at him, surprised for a moment, his eyes searching Owen’s face, but he seemed to understand whatever Valentine wanted to talk about, it had to be a delicate matter if Owen was willing to leave the bridge to discuss it face to face. “I have the conn,” he confirmed with a nod.

“I’ll keep you in the loop,” Owen promised before he left the bridge and took the elevator down to engineering.

The main engineering bay was still in a bit of disarray after the heavy damage the ship had sustained during the last battle, but the fact alone that the Resolute was still functional was impressive enough. He briskly walked past the busy engineers and technicians who attended to the countless consoles, diagnostic screens, and machinery and headed to Commander Valentine’s office.

He hadn’t been here since he’d promoted Victoria Valentine to chief engineer after the previous chief engineer’s death, but the changes were obvious the moment he stepped through the door. Her predecessor had been a lazy drunkard with very little interest in doing his job, and the state of his office had reflected that. Now, however, the room was orderly and spotless. No data tablets strewn around, no empty snack wrappings cluttering the desk, no empty alcohol bottles in the garbage bin.

“It smells a lot better than when Vadra still owned this office,” Owen said with a grin. He knew he shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he couldn’t pretend he’d been a fan of the man, and he knew Valentine had shared his resentment against Vadra. They had lost a lot of good people in the battle against the Empire ship, but Vadra hadn’t been one of them. Valentine’s promotion had changed a lot of things for the better even in the short time frame she’d run the department. The woman had a bit of an edge to her, but no one could argue she was by far the most skilled engineer aboard the Resolute.

“You think?” She was sitting behind her desk, her freckled face lit by the blue-tinted light coming from her computer screen. “I think it still smells like booze. I’ve tried everything, but I just can’t get rid of the stench.”

“I’m sure it will pass in time.” Owen sat on the chair across from her table. “What do you have for me?”

She pulled open a drawer of her desk and pulled out several data tablets. Most data could be accessed via TacPad, but for sensitive information that needed to stay out of the network for safety concerns, the military used lightweight tablets with no outside connectivity to avoid hacking attempts.

Valentine handed him the stack of tablets. He turned the first one on with a swipe of his finger and was immediately confronted with a whole lot of numbers that told him absolutely nothing. He studied the plots and tables for a moment in a desperate attempt to look more competent than he felt, but after three minutes of Valentine staring at him, eyebrows raised in expectation for some kind of commentary, he put the tablet down with a sigh and admitted his defeat. “I’m not an engineering genius like you. What am I looking at here?”

She snagged the tablet from his hand and tapped the screen. “These coordinates right here… that’s the trajectory of a torpedo.” She scrolled down a little, showing off more data tables filled with coordinates. “They all are. Seven torpedoes in total.”

He squinted, staring at the numbers she was pointing out to him. “And what do these trajectories tell us?”

She took a deep breath. Owen wasn’t sure where all this was going, but it was clear whatever she found in these tables troubled her. “I checked and double-checked, but there’s no other way to interpret this data… these weren’t stray shots, Captain. They were fired and aimed… at the hyperspace gate.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You mean…”

She put the tablet down and nodded. “The enemy ship destroyed the gate on purpose.”

Owen leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. As if this mystery wasn’t already confusing enough. A massive battleship, built by the Pendragon Empire but crewed by an unidentified faction, attacking Morrigon Station unprovoked and then destroying the only hyperspace gate that connected the Obsidian sector to the rest of the Confederation. How did any of this make sense?

“Any idea why someone would want to destroy a hyperspace gate?” he asked her.

“Don’t ask me. I’m just an engineer. I know nothing about strategies or tactics. All I can tell you is that these torpedoes were fired at the gate. And not just randomly. They were aimed pretty precisely, hitting exactly the spot they needed to hit to destroy the field stabilizer. Whoever planned this knew what they were doing.”

“I’m not sure yet what to make of this, but it’s vital information for sure.”

Valentine grabbed another tablet from the stack. “If you think that’s vital information, brace yourself, Captain.”

“There’s more?”

“Oh, there’s more.” She swiped across the screen, and the tablet came to life. “And you’re not going to like it.”

Owen glanced at the screen, once again filled with seemingly random numbers and letters. “I’m not even going to pretend I understand any of this. Just give it to me straight.”

“This is the enemy battleship’s inventory database,” she explained. “This table here lists the torpedo components, with production dates, serial numbers, and all that.”

“Okay, and?”

“Most of the torpedo’s components were built from free-market tech. Some of it is Empire tech as far as I can tell, but that’s not surprising. We already knew the Empire probably had a hand in this since it’s their battleship and all. But then there’s the targeting computer and the payload reactor…”

“What about them?”

“Ours,” Valentine said flatly. “That’s our technology, Captain.”

Owen blinked as the implications became clear in his mind. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely sure. I traced the serial numbers and compared them with our central database. There are hundreds of components aboard this Goliath that came from our own depots.”

Owen sat in stunned silence for a moment. He let out a long breath. “Shit.”

Her lips twitched. “I told you, you’re not going to like it.”

“You’re right,” he said, pulling out his TacPad. “I’m not liking this one bit.” He pressed a button to connect with Adrian.

A moment later, his XO’s face appeared on the screen. “Do you have news for me? We’ve all been sitting on hot coals since you left the bridge. Has Commander Valentine found something interesting?”

“You could say that. Come down here, and bring Commander Petrea with you,” Owen said. “We need to talk about this in person. And keep the junior officers distracted. I don’t want any more rumors spreading through the ship. The crew is on edge already.”

Ever since he had made it public that the hyperspace gate had been destroyed, and with it, their only way back home, the atmosphere aboard the ship had gone from tense to anxious. People were not only traumatized by the loss of so many crewmates, but they were also scared. Understandably. An unknown enemy that commanded powerful battleships, who could return at any time, and no support, no backup, no cavalry showing up to save the day. Owen had a hunch his crew wouldn’t take it very well if they found out they’d been betrayed by people from within Space Guard. He and his senior staff had to handle this situation with care, or they would risk triggering some kind of witch hunt.

Petrea and Adrian arrived a few minutes after his call, a mix of concern and intrigue on their faces. They sat next to him, eying the stacks of tablets with interest. Both were aware of what the use of those secure tablets over TacPads meant: Highly confidential information.

Valentine didn’t even bother to show them the tablets, though. After Owen’s lackluster response to her carefully collected data, she just gave them a summary of her findings and the conclusion they had to draw from them.

With each word she spoke, their expressions darkened. After she was done, Adrian leaned back and rubbed his forehead. “So this wasn’t just a megalomaniac pirate looking for valuable salvage,” he said. “It was a coordinated attack.”

Petrea looked more angry than worried. “The explosion on Morrigon Station taking out the station’s weapons, the fake distress signal drawing us away, the attack on the gate with torpedoes that carried our own tech. If you ask me, all of these incidents are connected.”

“Agreed.” Owen nodded. “Connected and meticulously planned. The question is by whom? And to what end?”

“I see no other possible explanation. Someone from within Space Guard must be behind it. We got caught up in some kind of conspiracy.”

“Behind it or at least involved. You’re right, we have to consider that possibility,” Owen said.

Adrian picked up one of the tablets from the stack, glanced at the list of tech components, and shook his head. “If our technology made it into the hands of pirates or mercenaries or whatever they were, we must have a leak somewhere within Space Guard. I’m wondering if the person who handed over our tech knew what it would be used for. Maybe it was just a single greedy, corrupt R&D technician looking to make a quick buck. Or Sasha is right and we’re dealing with a full-blown conspiracy.”

“But why destroy the gate at all?” Valentine asked. “What would anyone gain from cutting the Obsidian sector off from the rest of the Confederation?”

“I guess to keep the Space Guard from intervening with whatever they’re planning to do. This way, they only have to deal with the few stray ships posted in this sector, and even those are an easy target without resupplies and backup from fleet command.” Petrea said.

“But what are they planning?” Valentine asked. “This sector is barely more than a wasteland. There’s nothing worth stealing or conquering here.”

Petrea shrugged. “Damned if I know. But I have a hunch we’re going to find out soon. I doubt the battle in the Obsidian system was the last we saw of them. This was only the beginning.”

Owen had followed his officers’ exchange quietly. “I think we can all agree that we need more information.”

“We’re still digging through the memory cores,” Valentine said. “It’s a lot of data, so progress is slow, but we might unearth more nuggets like this.” She tapped on the tablet.

“Good,” Owen said, “but I think if we want to unravel this mystery, we need to take a closer look at the beginning.”

“The beginning?” Adrian asked. “You mean the explosion on Morrigon Station?”

“I think it started even earlier than that.”

Petrea raised her eyebrows. “The colonies that have gone dark? Of course. I bet these bastards are behind that too.”

Owen nodded. “It’s hard to imagine it was a coincidence. We need to investigate what happened there. Even if our unknown enemy is not behind it, these colonies might need help, and at least for now, we’re the only ones left who can provide it.”

Petrea clapped her hands, an excited glint in her eyes. She seemed to be relieved to finally have a plan to act upon instead of just sitting around and waiting for something to happen like they’d had to do in the last couple of weeks. “Let’s go there right away. It’s about time the Resolute gets some flying time. We’ve hung around in this system for far too long.”

“Sorry, but I’ll have to disappoint you,” Owen said softly. “Until we know the extent of this possible conspiracy, we need to play our cards close to our chest. I don’t want these people to know we’re on their heels. We can’t just show up at the scene of the crime with a massive battleship. Especially not in the neutral zone.”

“And we just ordered the remainder of the battle group to the Obsidian system,” Adrian added. “We need to stay here and coordinate our next steps with the other captains.”

“But the longer we wait, the less evidence we’ll find,” Petrea said. “We need the intel now. The sooner we get there, the better.”

“I’m with you, Commander, but we need to do this low profile. I need you to put together an away team. See if you can find people with experience in covert missions.”

“Covert missions?” Her excitement quickly returned. “I already have a few people in mind.”

“They need to be trustworthy,” Adrian said.

Owen nodded. “I think it goes without saying that all this has to stay confidential, at least for now. Commander Valentine, how reliable is your team? Can they keep what they find quiet?”

“Most of those computer guys aren’t the chatty sort, anyway. I’ll pull anyone off the project who I don’t trust.”

Satisfied, Owen rose from his seat. “Commander Petrea, contact me as soon as your team is ready for their mission brief. Commander Valentine, prepare one of the long-range shuttles. The sooner the away team can leave, the better. Ideally, they’re long gone before the other Confederation ships arrive in the Obsidian system.”

“Yeah, we don’t want any awkward questions about where our shuttle is going,” Petrea said. “Not until we know we can trust them.”

Valentine waved dismissively. “Don’t worry. You bring the team, I’ll bring the ride.”

Chapter 2

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah studied his results displayed on the simulator screen. It had been a squadron simulation, and Noah had come in third place with seventeen disabled torpedoes. Lieutenant Prescott had come in first with twenty-four shut-down torpedoes. Second place had gone to Lee, a pilot from the dissolved Theta Squadron who’d joined the Deltas to replace Mira and Carlo, the two pilots they’d lost in the battle a few weeks ago. Lee was an experienced pilot several years Noah’s senior, but it still bugged him that he’d beaten him. At least he’d come in before Charlie, even if it was just barely.

He pressed the exit button. The screen went dark, and the simulator’s cockpit opened up with a soft hiss.

Next to him, Colin had already climbed out of his seat and taken off his helmet. “Nice shooting there, Noah.”

Noah smiled. His squadmates had stopped calling him Rookie since the battle—an achievement all on its own. “Thanks, but I really should have gotten the one that scraped Prescott’s wing. Nearly had it.”

“Maybe next time. Do you want to hang out at Myasaki’s after our shift? I could use a drink. This new simulator schedule is killing me.”

Since Shaw had taken command, their training had become a lot more rigorous, not just for the pilots but for every department aboard the Resolute. The new captain was running a tight ship, especially compared to the laid-back attitude of his predecessor, Torres. There was little complaining from the crew, though. At least a lot less than Noah had anticipated, considering the majority of the crew had enjoyed a rather relaxed lifestyle for the past few years under Torres’s command. But the attack on the Obsidian station had changed things. This was no longer a boring, backwater posting. The Resolute was involved in an active conflict now, and that thought alone made his crewmates a lot more willing to put in the work.

Personally, Noah enjoyed the change of pace. He’d nearly lost his life in his first real battle, and that experience had opened his eyes in many ways. After coming so close to death, he was more determined than ever to become a pilot his father would be proud of. That was his priority now, which meant no more boozy evenings at Myasaki’s. He couldn’t afford the hangover, so he shook his head. “No, I’m good.” He hadn’t been to the bar once since the battle, and his squadmates had started teasing him about it, but to Noah, it just seemed like an unnecessary waste of time—time he could use to run this simulation again, for example. Maybe if he kept training, he could even beat Prescott’s score.

Charlie appeared at Colin’s side. Her gaze lingered on Noah for a moment, but her expression was cold. “Don’t bother, Colin. He has more important things to do than spend time with us.”

Noah opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. He didn’t like her accusatory tone, but it wasn’t like she was wrong. He really did have more important things to do than downing cheap drinks with Colin and Charlie.

Before he could think of anything appropriate to reply, Charlie had already turned her back toward him and pulled Colin with her.

Noah looked after them, feeling a strange stinging in his chest. That was how things were between him and Charlie now. She had gone cold on him since they’d kissed in that locker room after the battle. He understood why she was hurt, but he still thought he made the right call. As much as he liked Charlie—and he liked her a lot. Hell, just a few days prior, he’d have given anything just to get a smile from her—now just wasn’t the right time to get romantically involved. He was sure they had a lot more battles like the one in the Obsidian system ahead of them, and neither he nor Charlie could afford the distraction a relationship always brought. Let alone the heartbreak if one of them got killed.

His gaze wandered from Charlie to Colin. Colin had lost his girlfriend, Mira, in the battle, and he wasn’t doing well. He looked pale, with dark rings under his eyes, like he wasn’t sleeping well. His performance in the cockpit had suffered, and his attitude had become difficult. He had a terribly short fuse, blowing up at the slightest provocation. He’d even mouthed off to Prescott that one time, and it had earned him an evening cleaning the air filter in every Pegasus fighter belonging to Delta Squad by hand.

Noah felt sorry for him, and he didn’t want to go through the same hell Colin was currently going through. He needed to keep a clear head, even if it meant keeping Charlie at arm’s length.

His gaze lingered on the two of them walking away from him for a while. When he tore his eyes away, he noticed Lieutenant Prescott approaching.

He leaned against the edge of Noah’s simulator, looking down at him. “Nice flying today.”

“Thanks, LT. It’s just a simulation, but I’m trying my best.”

“Your improvements are impressive,” he said, although he didn’t sound very impressed. He sounded mildly bored, but Noah had come to suspect that was just the man’s character—always casually cool.

“I’m training really hard.” He felt silly the moment the words left his mouth. Like a teacher’s pet trying to get a pat on the head.

“I’ve noticed,” Prescott said flatly. “You have a shuttle license, don’t you?”

“Yeah, got it during my Academy days. I thought it might help me get into flight school. I don’t have many flight hours under my belt, though. Mostly just simulator time.”

Prescott nodded, looking at him in a way that made Noah nervous.

“Interested in getting some real-world experience?” he finally asked.

Noah stood up straight. “Absolutely.”

He wasn’t sure why Prescott needed him to fly a shuttle. He was a fighter pilot, after all, but if it earned him bonus points with his superior officer, he was game. And any experience was good experience. No harm in getting more familiar with piloting a shuttle and expanding his skill set this way.

“Good. Come to the captain’s ready room at nineteen hundred hours today.”

“The… the captain’s ready room, LT?” Noah asked, taken aback. “Wait, what is this all about?”

“You’ll see.” Prescott turned around.

“But what—”

“Nineteen hundred hours, Ensign,” Prescott said, not even looking back.

#

When Noah stepped into the spacious captain’s briefing room on deck 1 at exactly nineteen hundred hours, he quickly realized he was the last one to arrive.

Half a dozen people already sat around the large metal table, and they all turned their heads and stared at him when he entered, including the captain himself.

Noah stared at the collection of high-ranking officers and froze in the doorway. He immediately saluted, trying to ignore the way his face heated up in embarrassment. He should have been here early. What was he thinking arriving in the nick of time? A stupid mistake. Now, the captain probably thought him unprofessional.

Captain Shaw, however, didn’t look angry. He gave Noah a warm smile and gestured toward a chair that was still empty. “At ease. Please, sit down, Ensign… Jordan, right?”

The fact that the captain remembered his name from the few brief interactions they had so far made Noah blush even harder. He might no longer be a rookie to his pilot friends, but he still got starstruck around Captain Shaw. He just couldn’t help it. The man was a bit of a personal hero to him.

Keeping his head low, he hurried over to the chair, trying his best to look like he belonged there, but one glance told him he was the most junior member by far.

Lieutenant Prescott was to his right, and two more lieutenants, a blond man and a brown-haired woman, sat across from him. He didn’t recognize their faces, but the name tags on their chests told Noah the man was Lieutenant Lambert and the woman was named Aydin. They were both wearing the red-trimmed uniform of the tactical department. The patches on their uniforms were a rare sight—Special Ops. Not a lot of people made it through the rigorous tests and exams required to choose this career path, and even fewer graduated from the brutal training program.

Noah looked at them and spotted something even more extraordinary: another patch right below their department patch. A black ghost on a light-gray background. Those patches belonged to a special unit called the Wraiths. Elite soldiers trained for covert and undercover missions, often operating deep behind enemy lines, sometimes for months. They usually worked in teams of two, but otherwise, they were authorized to act completely independently, outside the strict hierarchy of the Space Guard, and do whatever was necessary to achieve their mission objective.

He’d imagined a Wraith to look like a muscle-packed superhero, but Lambert and Aydin looked pretty unremarkable to him. If not for the patches on their uniforms, Noah would’ve never guessed those two were total badasses.

Next to Lieutenant Aydin sat Chief Tactical Officer Sasha Petrea, and she was eyeing him with an expression that looked like she wasn’t sure why Noah was there. Not hostile, just confused.

Captain Shaw sat at the end of the table, and to his right was his newly promoted XO, Lieutenant Commander Adrian Christopher. Next to Christopher was Lieutenant Octavia Casey. Noah had known Octavia for a while, since they’d met on the troop transport ship on their way to the Resolute. Charlie, who shared a room with Octavia, had suspected her to be a spy because she was born in the Pendragon Empire. She’d fled from the empire and lived in a refugee camp before being admitted to the Space Guard Academy, but despite that impressive feat—getting into the Academy wasn’t easy; only about thirteen percent of all applicants were accepted each year—Charlie hadn’t been the only one wary about Octavia. But after she’d basically single-handedly saved planet Obsidian at the expense of her own health and safety, rumors and nasty comments had died down, and Charlie had to admit she’d been wrong about her. At least Noah was pretty sure she’d admitted it. He hadn’t talked to Charlie much since their falling out, but he’d seen her and Octavia out and about, acting like friends, so it was safe to assume the espionage accusations were off the table.

Captain Shaw turned toward Commander Petrea. “Commander, is that everyone we’re expecting?”

“Yep, that’s the team I have in mind,” she said, although her eyes flickered over Noah with an expression like he certainly wasn’t the person she had in mind.

“These two are Lieutenant Felix Lambert and Lieutenant Quinn Aydin, Special Ops officers.” Both of them gave a quick nod. Lambert grinned, looking almost mischievous, like he was planning a prank, not attending a mission briefing. Aydin remained impassive and still as she was introduced. Commander Petrea looked at both of them with a hint of pride in her eyes. “You asked for the people I trust most, Captain. Those two are my pick.”

Then, she turned toward Octavia. “I don’t think Lieutenant Octavia Casey needs an introduction. She’ll be joining the mission because her knowledge about the Empire and language skills make her an invaluable asset to the team.”

Noah shifted in his seat. What kind of mission was he joining where they needed to bring along an expert on the Pendragon Empire? It dawned on him that this was about more than simply flying a shuttle back and forth.

Petrea nodded toward Prescott. “Lieutenant Prescott will fly the shuttle. As a former rescue pilot he possess a skill set no other pilot aboard the Resolute can offer.”

Noah looked at Prescott in suprise. He had no idea Prescott used to be a rescue pilot. Rescue pilots flew specialized shuttles into dangerous zones—battlefields, derelict spacecraft, or collapsing space stations—to extract injured personnel or civilians. He wondered who Prescott had ended up as the squadron leader on a ship in the Obsidian sector, after being part of such an elite group. Had his influential father something to do with it? He was still pondering the question, when Commander Petrea’s attention turned to him.

“Lieutenant Prescott decided on young Ensign Jordan here as his co-pilot.”

Once again, all eyes were on Noah. He tried not to squirm under Captain Shaw's sharp, piercing gaze.

“He’s very… inexperienced,” the captain said hesitantly.

“We lost a lot of pilots,” Commander Christopher said. “We don’t have much choice.”

Wow, that stung. Sure, he was young and hadn’t had a lot of real-life battle experience yet, but surely, he was better than “we have no other choice,” right? He had top simulator stats, some of the best of the entire wing.

Petrea leaned back and studied Noah for a moment. “Lieutenant Prescott knows his people. If he picked Jordan for the job, he’s capable of getting the job done.”

Lieutenant Prescott’s face remained completely unmoved. He didn’t even look at Noah. “He’s capable.”

The two Special Ops officers exchanged a skeptical glance, clearly doubting his words, and Shaw still looked unconvinced too. He studied him with his mismatched eyes.

“Ensign Jordan, you’ve shown a lot of promise, I give you that, but this is going to be a dangerous mission, and its success is of utmost importance to the safety of the sector. Do you think you’re ready? I’ll leave the decision up to you.”

Noah sat up straight. He might be green, but he knew he was a talented pilot, and Prescott had picked him for this mission for a reason. Not Charlie, not Colin, not Lee—him. He must see something in him, and he was determined to prove him right.

“I’m ready,” he said firmly.

After a moment’s consideration, Shaw nodded. “Good. Let’s move on, then. I’m sure you all want to know what this is all about.”

He pressed a button on his TacPad, and the large screen on the wall behind him came to life, showing a star map. Noah recognized it immediately. This was a map showing the Obsidian sector and the neutral zone.

Two planets on the map were circled in red, and Shaw pointed at those red-circled planets.

“This is Cascade, an independent colony. Last known population count: 627. The other planet, also an independent colony, Atheos, has a population of around 3,000. Both colonies have gone dark in the past few weeks, and we suspect the same people behind it that attacked us.”

“And we’re supposed to go there and find out what happened?” Lambert asked.

“What happened and if anyone there needs our help,” Captain Shaw confirmed.

“Seems straightforward,” Lambert said. “Why the secrecy?”

Noah was stunned that Lambert, a Lieutenant, was brash enough to interrogate the captain so casually, but then he remembered the man was a Wraith. Normal rules did not apply to them.

Shaw hesitated for a moment. “Because we have evidence that points toward a Confederation involvement. You’ll find the details in your mission brief.” He nodded toward a stack of tablets on the table.

Lieutenant Aydin raised her eyebrows. “Confederation involvement? What exactly does that mean?”

“We don’t know.” Petrea’s face looked sour. “It could be a single mole or a full-blown conspiracy. All we know is that these pirates had an Empire battleship armed with Confederation torpedoes.”

“Oof, that sounds bad,” Lambert said.

“Until we find out more, we need to be on guard,” Petrea said. “Theoretically, everyone could be involved, including people aboard the Resolute. That means you can’t talk to anyone about this. We don’t want the enemy to know you’re coming to snoop around. They might hide their tracks, or worse, set up a trap for you.”

Lieutenant Casey’s eyes wandered over the star map. “These colonies are very close to the Empire border. Do we expect Empire presence?”

“Technically, both colonies are in the neutral zone,” Shaw said. “But we all know that doesn’t mean much. Especially now, considering there’s a new player on the map with clear ties to the Empire. I’m not very confident they’re going to honor the treaty of 2703. You need to be prepared for the worst.”

“Your mission objective is reconnaissance. Identify the hostile force, locate survivors, and gather intel on enemy movements,” Commander Petrea said.

Noah suddenly felt very hot in his uniform. Did they expect him to take part in all of that? He was just a pilot. He knew very little about reconnaissance missions.

“Remember, this will be a covert operation. You’ll need to keep a very low profile. Your load-out will include civilian clothes and weapon models and low-profile combat gear,” Commander Petrea added. “No contact with the Resolute unless absolutely necessary. If you make contact with the enemy, avoid engagement if you can.”

“Timeline?” Quinn asked.

“If you don’t report back thirty days after the mission starts, we’ll assume you’re KIA and begin initiating recovery protocols.”

“Any plans for emergency extraction?”

Petrea’s face hardened. “The Resolute can’t enter the neutral zone. Not without risking kicking off another war. You’ll find the coordinates of a planet on the edge of the neutral zone. This is the closest fallback point to the target we can manage.”

Noah understood what she was saying. The Resolute couldn’t just come if things went wrong. “We’re on our own,” he said quietly.

Petrea folded her arms in front of her chest. “That’s right, Ensign. You’ll have to find your way home without the Resolute’s support.”

“Sounds like my kind of job,” Lambert said with an easy smile on his face. “When do we leave?”

Noah felt a bit jealous of his confidence. He desperately wanted to go on this trip. It was a fantastic opportunity to prove himself and maybe even earn a promotion, but he couldn’t deny the mission sounded pretty… intense.

“A small team of engineers is preparing a long-range shuttle right now, and the quartermaster is preparing your gear,” Commander Petrea said. “You have three hours to read your briefs. Report to hangar bay 4 at twenty-four hundred hours. And remember not to talk to anyone about this. Do not tell anyone where you’re going or why you are going there. Confidentiality is key.”

Chapter 3

The meeting was adjourned quickly, and Lieutenant Prescott was out the door before Noah could thank him for recommending him for this mission. He hesitated for a brief moment then decided against chasing after him. He didn’t want to seem overeager.

He followed the rest of the officers out of the briefing room and hurried back to his quarters, his heart beating rapidly and blood rushing loudly in his ears. The details of the mission were a bit scrambled in his brain. He’d been too nervous to pay full attention to Commander Petrea’s words, but he knew this was his big chance. His chance to prove himself. To do something important.

When he keyed open the door, he found his roommate, Lucas Malik, stretched out on their couch, the dim glow from his TacPad illuminating his face.

Lucas glanced up from his Pad’s screen, his eyes narrowing. “You look excited. Why?”

Noah had to suppress a proud grin tugging at his lips. He didn’t want to boast in front of his friend. That would be immature. “I’m going on a mission with Lieutenant Prescott.” Despite his best attempt to sound like it was no big deal, even he could tell he came across like a child on the evening before Christmas.

“Just you and him?”

“Sorry, can’t give you any details. It’s all confidential.”

Lucas arched an eyebrow, but to Noah’s disappointment, he didn’t continue questioning him. “I just hope this has something to do with bringing down whoever destroyed the gate.” He lowered his gaze and shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re stuck here.”

Noah was aware of how problematic the hyperspace gate’s destruction was, not only for the Obsidian sector but for the rest of the Confederation, and he knew many of his crewmates were quite upset about being cut off from home. But he also was certain he would’ve never gotten the chance to go on a top-secret, critical mission way above his pay grade if they weren’t isolated from the rest of Space Guard. “It offers some unique opportunities, don’t you think?”

Lucas’s face hardened. “Opportunities?”

“Think about it. We’re completely on our own here, and I bet we’re all going to see a lot of action. Lots of interesting missions, like the one I just got assigned to.” He made a pause, secretly hoping Lucas would ask about this super-interesting mission again, but his roommate just frowned. After realizing he couldn’t coax Lucas into picking the topic up again, he continued. “We might get promoted a lot quicker than we normally would.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Noah knew he had said something wrong because Lucas looked at him with an anger he’d never seen before.

“Promotion?” he asked sharply. “That’s all you care about? Maybe the things Charlie said about you are right after all.”

The mention of her name was enough to make Noah tense up. “Charlie?” he asked a little too loudly. “What did she say?”

“Listen, flyboy.” Lucas closed his TacPad with an angry motion and sat up straight. “I have a wife and a kid at home, so excuse me if I don’t get all excited about your promotion prospects.”

“Y—you have a child?” Noah had no idea. Lucas was barely older than him. A cool, easygoing guy. He hadn’t suspected for one second he might be a family man.

“My son is just two years old, and thanks to the bastards who blew the gate up, he might have to grow up without a father.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea,” Noah mumbled.

But Lucas had already risen from the couch and was stomping past him. “Have fun on your secret mission. I hope it earns you that promotion you’re after.”

Noah was left standing alone in the dark living room, and his excitement about earning a spot in the away team was quickly fading away. He clenched his fists and forced down the guilt that crept up in his chest. Why should he feel guilty? He was sorry for Lucas, and he understood why he was in a bad mood, but it wasn’t his fault the gate was gone. In fact, he was going on this very mission to bring the people who caused all this to justice, so why should he feel bad? He was allowed to be proud, right?

Maybe he could have been a little more sensitive about the topic, but either way, he couldn’t afford to dwell on this. Not now. He needed to focus on the mission, so he pushed all those thoughts aside and went to his room, making sure the door was locked behind him, before turning on the tablet he’d received at the briefing. He found the file containing the mission brief and started reading. There was a section on the weapon the enemy had used against the gate, but Noah skimmed over that part to get to the route they would take to get to their destination, Cascade Colony. They would have to take six different hyperspace gates. There were a couple of navigational challenges, but nothing he couldn’t handle, especially not since Lieutenant Prescott would also be there. He found the manual for the type of long-range shuttle they would take in a half-forgotten folder on his TacPad and tried to refamiliarize himself with the shuttle’s perks and quirks before his time was up.

With a mix of excitement and anxiety pulsing through his body, he changed into a fresh uniform, put on his excursion vest—a sturdy vest that could be worn over a normal uniform, with numerous pockets, designed to keep mission gear within easy reach—and tightened the straps for a secure fit. After checking himself in the mirror one last time, he took a steadying breath and set off to hangar bay 4.

At this time of the night, the corridors and elevators were mostly empty, which was why Noah was startled when he rounded a corner on his way to the hangar bay and bumped right into Charlie.

He immediately could tell she’d been drinking by the smell of her breath and the way her eyes needed a moment to focus on him. Probably returning from an evening at Myasaki’s.

“Oh, look, if this isn’t my favorite nerd. What are you doing out and about in the middle of the night?” Her words sounded teasing, but there was an edge to them that made Noah wary. He knew Charlie well enough to know when she was looking for a fight, and after the tense conversation he just had with Lucas, he wasn’t eager to share his good fortune with her.

“Just doing something for Prescott,” he answered.

“It’s nearly midnight. What the heck does he want from you that needs to be done at midnight?”

Noah shifted from one foot to the other. “We’re going away for a bit.”

Charlie snorted out a laugh that sounded a little too shrill. “You and him. On some romantic getaway? I had no idea, Noah! Now, everything makes so much more sense. So that’s why—”

“On a mission,” he corrected quickly, trying to steer the conversation away from the extremely uncomfortable topic of their kiss. The memory still brought up some very mixed feelings in him, because despite Charlie’s accusations, refusing her, the girl of his dreams, had been the hardest choice he ever had to make. He didn’t want to talk about it, especially not right now, in the middle of a corridor, with him in a hurry and her way too drunk for any kind of mature discussion.

“A mission?” Charlie repeated, slurring her words slightly. “What mission?”

“Sorry, I’m not allowed to share any details.”

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I can’t tell you that either.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is it going to be dangerous? Are you going to, like… die?”

“Charlie…”

She crossed her arms and scoffed. “Oh, the secret mission guy here is too important to share any details with an ordinary pilot like me, huh?”

“Charlie, it’s not about you and me. The mission details are confidential.” He lowered his eyes to avoid her angry glare but could still feel her eyes boring into him. “I’m fairly confident I’m not going to die, but I can’t promise it.”

He risked a glance, trying to read Charlie’s expression, but couldn’t make out what she was thinking or feeling. A confusing mix of emotions was displayed on her face. Anger, certainly, but also… worry?

“Fine,” she finally said sharply. “Good luck with that, then. I don’t care either way.”

She turned on her heels and rushed past him.

“Charlie,” he said weakly, but she didn’t stop or turn around. Noah once again found it hard to tear his eyes away from her, so he stood rooted to the spot, gaze fixed on her back, until she disappeared out of his sight.

He had to take a steadying breath before he continued toward the hangar bay, quickening his steps, because his brief fight with Charlie meant he was cutting it pretty close.

Once again, he was the last one to arrive. Prescott was already in the cockpit, checking the shuttle’s instruments.

The Pioneer-class shuttle was about twelve meters long and four meters wide. It had a front compartment where the cockpit and the passenger seats were located, a back compartment that contained the sleeping area with six bunk beds and a small kitchen and dining area, and a storage compartment. It wasn’t exactly a luxury liner, but it was equipped to house up to twelve people for several weeks. The away team was only five people strong, so they would have some room to spare.

Octavia was already in one of the passenger seats, looking tense. She didn’t seem as eager to go on this mission as Noah felt. Understandable, considering what she’d just been through. He could only hope she physically and mentally was up to the task because in a small team like theirs, every member was critical.

The two Special Ops agents, Lambert and Aydin, were leaning against the shuttle, talking to Commander Petrea, and both of them looked completely relaxed, like they were going for a nice stroll in the plaza park, not heading into a dangerous covert mission. Lambert was even chewing gum.

When they noticed Noah’s arrival, they sprang into action.

“Ah, the co-pilot is here. Better late than never,” Lambert said with a grin.

Confused, Noah glanced at his TacPad, which told him he was perfectly punctual despite his delay after fighting with Charlie.

Lieutenant Aydin rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Ignore Felix. He’s just messing with you. It’s going to get pretty cozy in this shuttle, so I suggest we drop the formalities. I’m Quinn. I’m leading the mission.”

“Noah Jordan.”

Felix clapped Quinn on the shoulder. “She might not look like much, but she’s one tough cookie. Do what she says, and we’ll all get out of this little trip alive.”

Noah swallowed. “Alive?” He’d tried to focus on the opportunity this mission presented, not the dangers, but his palms still felt sweaty.

Quinn gave him an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. I know my stuff. And Felix here might look dumb, but he’s been on plenty of covert missions like this. As long as you don’t do anything stupid, we will be back with the intel the captain needs in no time.”

Petrea tapped her foot. “Enough of the small talk. Jordan, take your seat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He hurried up the ramp and climbed through the side hatch, greeting Octavia with a smile that felt a little bit forced, before taking his seat next to Lieutenant Prescott, who had already put on a headset.

Quinn and Felix took their seats in the back row and buckled their belts. Felix was still chewing his gum, and Prescott and Quinn didn’t look especially scared either. The only one who showed some nerves was Octavia. Noah wondered how she felt about this mission and if she’d volunteered or if she had been ordered to join simply because she was the only person aboard who spoke the enemy’s language well enough to gather useful information. Either way, getting too close to Empire territory couldn’t be easy for her, considering her history.

Petrea stuck her head through the door and glanced around, checking on them one last time, before she gave Quinn a nod. “Remember to keep a low profile. No communication unless absolutely necessary. You’re on your own out there.”

“Don’t worry, Commander. We know the drill.”

She hummed grimly. “I’m looking forward to your report.” With that, she closed the hatch of the shuttle. Noah’s eyes followed her as she left the hangar bay. Now they were truly on their own. He exhaled slowly, putting on his own headset, trying to shake off the unease that had settled over him. Lieutenant Prescott was already communicating with the air traffic controller, his tone calm and professional.

“This is Shuttle Humpty Dumpty. Do we have permission to launch?”

“Hangar doors are open, and your path is clear, Humpty Dumpty,” said a crackling voice through the comms. “Permission to launch. Godspeed.”

Prescott powered up the engine, and Noah sat up straight. His hands were hovering over the console, but there was nothing for him to do just yet. As co-pilot, his job was mainly monitoring the shuttle’s systems and adjusting the course when needed—simple enough in theory, but his heart was still beating like a drum.

“Relax,” Prescott said quietly as he steered the shuttle out of the hangar doors. “I’ll do the tricky parts. You’re here to learn. Unless I get killed, this mission’s success doesn’t rest on your shoulders.”

The reassurance didn’t quite settle the storm of thoughts swirling in Noah’s mind, but he nodded, trying to calm his racing pulse.

The shuttle cleared the hangar, gliding into the black expanse of space. Morrigan Station loomed large, covering half the front window. The damage the explosion had done was still clearly visible even at a distance—a gruesome reminder of who they were up against.

“Setting course to the hyperspace gate,” Prescott said.

Noah tore his eyes away from the hole that still gaped in the station’s hull and checked the shuttle’s displays. “Right on course, LT.”

Chapter 4

Capt. Owen Shaw

“A ship has emerged from the gate,” Lieutenant Zacharias Mendy, Casey’s temporary replacement at the communications console, reported.

Owen sat up straight. “Identification?”

Lieutenant Lin checked her screen, her dark eyes narrowed in concentration. A moment later, she leaned back and turned toward him. “We received authentication codes. It’s the CSS Sirius.”

He suppressed a sigh of relief. They’d received a transmission from the Sirius, announcing her expected time of arrival, two days ago, and the ship was right on schedule, but he couldn’t help but tense up every time the hyperspace gate showed activity. Things had been almost too quiet since the battle, and in the back of his mind, he expected another battleship coming through this gate—or maybe a whole fleet of battleships. They had no way of knowing what threat level they were dealing with until the away team returned with more intel.

His thoughts lingered on the team for a moment. An unusual mix, that was for sure. Under normal circumstances, they would’ve dispatched a proper special ops team for a reconnaissance mission like this, not a comm officer moonlighting as a translator, a former rescue pilot running away from his overbearing father, and a promising but very green co-pilot. But these weren’t normal circumstances, so they had to make do with the people they had aboard, and the two Wraiths would have to do most of the heavy lifting. Owen was optimistic despite the inexperienced team. He trusted his senior officers had picked the right people for the job.

“Lieutenant Mendy, hail the Sirius,” he said.

“Aye, Captain.” Mendy pressed a few buttons, and a moment later, Captain Gyeon’s face appeared on the viewscreen.

Captain Lara Gyeon was a middle-aged woman with Asian features. She had a narrow, bony face but kind, dark eyes and a warm voice. Owen had met her once before—briefly—at a formal dinner, and despite the fleeting interaction, he remembered her fondly. She wasn’t renowned for battlefield valor or ruthless tactical brilliance, but she was level-headed, had a spotless service record, and enough real combat experience to command respect.

“Welcome to Obsidian,” Owen greeted her.

Gyeon smiled. “Thank you, Captain Shaw. Please excuse our late arrival. We had trouble with our navigation computer somewhere between Paxis and Viridion. We got it working, but it’s still a little funky.” Her voice carried a slight accent, typical for Obsidian and its nearby colonies. She was a native, he realized. That was good. Hopefully, she would be able to contribute valuable insights to their long-term mission of keeping the Obsidian sector safe.

“I’m glad you made it here safely. And don’t worry, you’re not the last to arrive,” he said. “My chief engineer can take a look at your navigation system later if you like. She’s an outright genius. If she can’t work out the kinks, no one can.”

Gyeon raised her eyebrows. “We’re not the last to arrive? But we were the farthest away, weren’t we?”

“I think so, yes, but the Icarus is still en route. She should arrive later today if everything goes as planned, though.”

The Orion and the Lincoln had both docked at Morrigon Station as scheduled, but the Icarus had been delayed several times. Why, Owen didn’t know. They had received a transmission from the Icarus to announce her belated arrival, but no reason had been given.

“Aha, the Icarus,” Captain Gyeon said, a hint of irritation in her voice. “Yes, Grigorev has a habit of being fashionably late. The man thinks he can get away with murder. He—” She looked like she was about to launch into a rant but caught herself just in time. Owen took note of her obvious dislike for Icarus’s captain. If he was supposed to lead the battle group—and as far as he was aware, that responsibility was his—he needed to be aware of the interpersonal relationships between the captains. With only five ships left, they needed to be a tight unit. Grigorev was a wild card to him. He’d never met the man and had heard very little, since he’d spent most of his career in the Obsidian sector, far away from the frontline of the Dominion War, where Owen had been posted. His service record showed now-obvious flaws—Owen had checked—but if Gyeon felt so strongly about the man, he would have to keep an eye on him.

“Whether Grigorev makes it in time or not, I would like to invite you for dinner aboard the Resolute later today. Captain Maseko and Captain Perry are going to be there too.”

“I’ll be there, Shaw. We have a lot to discuss.”

#

Lt. Cmdr. Sasha Petrea

The shuttle touched down on the barren surface of Obsidian, kicking up a thick cloud of dark dust that swirled in the turbulent air. Sasha stepped onto the ramp, squinting as the abrasive dust stung her eyes. The air was dry and carried a bitter, metallic scent. She dragged the back of her glove across her face, wiping away the fine, gritty particles that clung to her skin.

Obsidian was not a beautiful world. It had earned its name from the endless stretches of black, sandy wasteland, occasionally interrupted by glossy volcanic rock formations that jutted from the landscape like broken teeth. The sky was a permanent haze of gray, the distant sun barely managing to pierce the murky atmosphere. Even the vegetation—what little there was—was brittle and colorless.

Sasha took another step forward, her boots crunching against the black sand, and let her gaze wander over the settlement. Most buildings were little more than hastily assembled huts, constructed from prefabricated materials, looking as bland as the planet itself. Even the government buildings were only three or four stories high. It wasn’t a surprise the population only numbered about 200,000, with 60,000 of those living in Onyx Point, the capital city—a title almost laughable for this bleak town. The rest were scattered across mining facilities, research stations, and small farming settlements, barely producing enough to feed the population despite the genetically engineered crops designed to grow in Obsidian’s nutrient-poor soil. Sasha wondered who would willingly settle on a planet like this. She suspected that if not for the unusually large deposits of rare earth metals hidden beneath its surface, no human would have ever set foot on Obsidian.

Thankfully, she wasn’t here to enjoy the view. She was here to complete a mission: to catch the fugitive Fitzgerald and put him back where he belonged.

Behind her, her team climbed out of the shuttle, looking about as unimpressed with the planet as she was. Sasha brushed some dust off her clothes. It felt strange not being in uniform. They had decided to take a more covert approach to arresting Fitzgerald, so the entire team was wearing civilian clothes. Arriving with a squad of heavily armed soldiers might alert him to their presence, and in a settlement like this, there were too many places he could hide, possibly disappear for good. They needed to use the element of surprise and arrest him before he even knew they were coming for him.

Lieutenant Lucas Malik stepped up next to her, one hand on the energy pistol tucked away under his leather jacket.

“Ready when you are, Commander,” he said.

Sasha scanned the surroundings. They were in an elevated position at the edge of Onyx point, with a good view over the city. She let her gaze wander, searching for the building they suspected Fitzgerald was hiding in. They had landed the shuttle some distance from their target to avoid drawing attention, but she’d studied the maps of Onyx Point and quickly spotted the dingy two-story hotel, squeezed between a casino and a flat-roofed storage building.

The owner of the hotel had alerted authorities after seeing Fitzgerald’s face on TV—eager to claim the reward the governor of Obsidian had announced for any information leading to Fitzgerald’s arrest.

In Sasha’s opinion, the governor was a pretty sketchy guy. Too much greedy businessman and not enough public servant for her taste. But since the Resolute had saved his city from being hit by a massive battleship crashing down onto the planet, he seemed to feel the need to repay the favor in some way. He’d nearly kissed Shaw’s hand when they’d first met, and assistance in catching the fugitive Lieutenant Fitzgerald was among the eager promises he’d made.

Sasha waited for her team to gather around her and pointed at the hotel ahead. She led them down the narrow, dusty roads, crisscrossing between the buildings in erratic patterns. They kept their weapons holstered, and disguised with their civilian clothes, they could easily pass as the small crew of some trader or hauler, pit stopping at Onyx Point. The locals they passed paid them little attention, but Sasha stayed alert anyway.

As they turned the corner, Hollow Sands Inn came into view. A once-bright neon sign flickered erratically, the letters half burned out so that it read HO LOW S ND INN instead. Walls and roof covered with streaks of rust and a thick layer of the dark dust typical for the planet made it look like exactly the type of establishment you’d expect a fugitive to be hiding in.

She stopped just short of the entrance. “Our intel says he’s in there,” she said, “in a room on the second story.”

Malik stretched his shoulders. “The team is ready to go, Commander. Let’s go grab him and put him back into our brig where he belongs.”

Sasha scanned the building, looking for exits and entries. “We need to put two people on the side entry,” she said, “and send two more around the building to check for a back exit. Just in case he tries to bolt. ”

Malik nodded. “Maybe we should also guard that alleyway over there.” He pointed at a narrow street, barely wide enough to let two people pass each other by, branching off the main street, running between the hotel and the casino, before it made a sharp corner. “If this weasel slips through our grasp, we’ll catch him there.”

“Yes,” Sasha agreed. “We need to cut off all possible escape routes before we make ourselves known. I have a feeling Fitzgerald won’t make things easy for us. He has a lot to lose.”

“Don’t worry, Commander. We can take on a single disgraced officer. He’ll be back in custody before he can spell court-martial.”

Sasha nodded grimly. She’d never been a fan of the man, but after what he’d done to Captain Shaw, she was chomping at the bit to see Fitzgerald punished. That had been one of the reasons she’d decided to lead this mission herself. She wanted to make sure Fitzgerald was brought to justice for torturing a fellow Space Guard officer the second the occasion presented itself. “Position your people, Lieutenant Malik. I’ll go in and talk to our contact.”

Malik and his team headed off while Sasha walked up to the hotel. The metal porch creaked under her boots, drawing suspicious looks from some of the patrons lounging in the building's shade. They had immediately pegged her as a newcomer, and this was not the type of town that welcomed newcomers with open arms. Sasha ignored their stares and walked into the hotel lobby—if you could call it that.

It was a dimly lit room with a reception desk on one side and a bar on the other. The air was thick with the smell of stale beer and sweat. Dim yellow bulbs buzzed overhead, casting a warm light on the dozen or so guests hunched over their drinks. She headed toward the reception desk. Behind the desk, a short, pale man with wiry black hair sticking out in uneven tufts slouched behind an old-fashioned computer. When she approached, he barely straightened. Instead, he gave her a slow once-over, his gaze lingering a beat too long, before a crooked grin spread across his face.

“You’re in luck, lady. We still have a room available,” he said.

“I’m not here to rent a room,” Sasha replied sternly. “I’m looking for Franklin. Are you Franklin?”

The grin disappeared from the man’s face, and he straightened his posture. “Are you from the Confederation?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Yes. Is the man we’re looking for still here?”

Franklin leaned back and met her eyes with a calculating gaze. “I want the money first,” he said, “and you’ll need to be discreet. Folks here don’t like snitches, so I can’t risk people knowing I’m involved with Space Guard. ”

Sasha frowned. “You’ll get the money when we’ve confirmed your intel is valuable. Now, tell me where I can find him.”

“He’s a pretty polite fellow,” Franklin said, sniffing. “What did he do?”

“None of your business,” Sasha snapped. “All you need to know is that he’s been judged a threat to the safety of the Obsidian system. Will you tell me where he is now?”

“Safety? So he’s dangerous, yes? Doesn’t look dangerous to me, but you never know, I guess,” Franklin muttered. “You’re not gonna pull off some Wild West shootout in my hotel, are you? That’d be bad for business.”

“Not if I can help it,” Sasha replied, resisting the urge to pat the weapon hidden in a holster under her shirt. She would absolutely open fire on Fitzgerald if she had to, Franklin’s business be damned.

“He’s upstairs,” Franklin said. “Room seven. Try to keep the noise down, okay? And don’t make a mess. If I see any stains on my carpet, I’m going to freak out. You see, the girl who used to clean for me just quit her job. Got knocked up by some off-worlder. Some cargo hauler guy, I think. She—”

His rant was cut short when the door flew open and Lieutenant Malik stepped in, flanked by two members of his team. None of them looked especially convincing as civilians despite their casual clothes. Malik’s eyes darted around the bar, taking in the patrons lounging in their chairs, checking for threats. Then, his gaze silently met Sasha’s.

“Upstairs,” she said quietly. “Let’s go get him.”

Chapter 5

Sasha climbed up the narrow metal stairs to the second story, placing her feet carefully to avoid any squeaks or creaks that could give their approach away.

Malik and his men were right behind her, quietly following her as she snuck along the corridor, scanning the numbered doors lining the wall for room seven.

They found the door with a seven on it at the end of the hallway. Sasha signaled a halt, pressing herself against the wall. She tilted her head, listening. No movement inside. No muffled voices. Just the low hum of the building’s ventilation.

Malik caught her eye, waiting for the call. Behind him, the other assault troopers silently raised their weapons, prepared to enter the room at her mark.

“Take him alive if you can,” Sasha whispered. “Shaw wants him in a courtroom, not a body bag.”

Lieutenant Malik gave a curt nod then aimed his gun at the rusted electronic lock. A sharp whine filled the air as the energy weapon charged. A moment later, the blast struck, and sparks erupted from the lock as it exploded in a shower of red-hot debris. Without hesitation, Malik drove his boot into the door just below the lock’s half-molten remnants. The door gave way with a violent crack, swinging inward with enough force to slam against the wall.

Flanked by assault troopers, Sasha rushed into the room, weapon at the ready. On the bed, Fitzgerald sat frozen for a split second—blond hair tousled, eyes wide with shock. His gaze flicked to the ruined door then to the troopers fanning out in his room. It only took him a split second to assess the situation correctly and react.

Sasha fired, aiming for his legs, but Fitzgerald had already rolled off the bed. He dove behind the bed frame to take cover, and her blast only hit the curtains behind him, filling the air with the sharp smell of burning plastic. More shots whizzed through the small room, two troopers already rounding the bed. But just as Sasha had expected, Fitzgerald wasn’t making it easy for them. Driven forward by desperation, he leaped over the bed and bolted toward the window as more energy blasts hit the carpet behind him.

The assault troopers went after him, but he was damn fast. With a sharp crack, his elbow shattered the windowpane.

Sasha fired.

The shot hit home—shoulder, dead on. Fitzgerald screamed in pain but only slowed down for a second. With gritted teeth, he hurled himself through the jagged opening, crashing onto the storage building’s rooftop below.

Without thinking, Sasha went after him, squeezing herself through the small opening and ripping her sweatshirt on the sharp glass shards still sticking out of the window frame. She dropped and hit the metal roof with a heavy thud. The surface was slippery from dust and grime, forcing her to plant her hands to keep from skidding.

Ahead, Fitzgerald was already on the move—clambering onto the next rooftop, his bleeding shoulder barely slowing him down. She heard Malik bark orders to his men down on the street, but she couldn’t afford to wait for support.

Sasha pushed off and sprinted after him. Her boots pounded against the rooftops as she closed the distance, her breath coming fast and sharp. Fitzgerald reached the next ledge and hauled himself up just as she launched forward.

Her fingers grazed the rooftop edge then slipped. She lost her footing, sliding dangerously close to the edge of the roof. Her boots scraped against the side of the building.

With a desperate heave, she threw her weight forward, gripping the ledge with both hands and pulling herself up and stumbling back to her feet.

It took her a second to find her bearings, then she spotted Fitzgerald. He was crouching down, fiddling with something that looked like a hatch. Hell no. If he got through, he’d vanish into the maze of buildings that was Onyx Point. Finding him again would be a nightmare.

Gripping her gun firmly, she sprinted toward him. Her boots slammed against the rooftop, and Fitzgerald’s head snapped up, eyes wide.

Keeping her head low, she tackled him. Her shoulder slammed into his chest, driving him back.

They hit the rooftop hard, but Fitzgerald was bigger, stronger. He twisted, wrenching free with brute force. Sasha barely had time to react before he shoved her off. She landed on her back, a sharp pain shooting through her spine, and her gun went flying, skidding over the rooftop, out of her reach.

Fitzgerald had already scrambled back to his feet, fingers clawing at the hatch’s handle.

Gritting her teeth, Sasha rolled onto her hands and knees and crawled toward her gun, stretching out her arm, until her hand closed around the gun’s handle. Her fingers found the charge trigger blind, and the weapon hummed with a low whizzing sound.

She yanked around her arm and aimed, but Fitzgerald had finally managed to pry open the hatch. His legs were already through, and he was lowering down the rest of his body when Sasha fired her shot.

All the time she’d spent at the shooting range, keeping her skills sharp, paid off.

The shot struck him square in the chest, with enough energy to stun him.

A choked gasp ripped from his throat as his body jerked violently. His grip slipped, and for a split second, it looked like he might tumble straight through the hatch. But instead, he collapsed sideways, hitting the roof with a heavy thud.

Sasha was on him in an instant. She grabbed his arm and dragged his lifeless body away from the opening.

With a swift motion, she flipped him onto his stomach, pressing a knee into his back and the nozzle of her weapon against the back of his neck.

Loud footsteps drumming on the metal roof told her that the rest of the team was approaching. A moment later, Lieutenant Malik appeared in the corner of her eye, handcuffs ready.

“Nice stunt, Commander,” he said with a grin while snapping the cuffs around Fitzgerald’s wrists. “I thought we lost him for sure.”

Sasha sat back and exhaled hard, still catching her breath from the chase. Sweat clung to her skin, her pulse pounding in her ears.

The rooftop fight had left her scraped and bruised, but at least the bastard was finally in custody.

“Make sure the cuffs are nice and tight, Malik.”

#

Cpt. Owen Shaw

Adrian watched him check the plate sets with a grin. “Stop fiddling, Owen. You’ll mess up your steward’s work.”

Sheepishly, Owen took his hand from a shiny fork and straightened his dress uniform. Adrian was right. Dragomir, the personal steward he’d inherited after Torres’s death, had prepared the dinner perfectly according to Space Guard standards, but he couldn’t help the fidgeting. This was his first formal dinner as a host, and he wasn’t expecting just one captain but four.

At least he hoped for four. The CSS Icarus still hadn’t arrived.

Adrian took him by the shoulder and shoved him toward a chair before sitting down himself. “It will be fine.”

Owen tugged at the collar of his uniform. Leading the crew of the Resolute was one thing. That was a task he’d trained for all his life. Politics was a whole other beast. He had a good reputation within Space Guard, but he knew he lacked Torres’s easy charm or Adrian’s calming presence. In fact, he’d been told more than once he could come across as severe and a bit of a stick-in-the-mud. But today, he’d have to present himself well. “I hope you’re right. I need the full support of the other Confederation captains. Without Fleet Command to keep everyone in check, someone might—”

The door chimed before he could finish the sentence. After exchanging a final nervous glance with Adrian, he called the guests inside.

The first one to enter was Captain Philip Perry, a sturdy man whose blond hair was streaked with white. He was followed by Captain Gyeon, who looked even skinnier than Owen remembered. So frail that he was afraid just walking past her too briskly might blow her over.

The last guest was Captain Stella Maseko, a dusky-skinned woman with light eyes. At thirty-four, she was unusually young for someone with the rank of captain, but Owen had read her impressive service record and understood why Fleet Command had trusted her with her own ship. She was a veteran of the Dominion War—like himself—and had distinguished herself by winning a surprise victory against an overwhelming number of enemy ships after she’d been forced to take command of the heavy cruiser Hephaestus, where she had served as a tactical officer, after both her captain and the first officer had been killed in battle.

The other two had less impressive but flawless records. Even in the Obsidian sector, commands were usually only handed out to the top of the crop. With a few exceptions. Despite their best efforts, Space Guard still hadn’t managed to fully eradicate nepotism.

Perry sat down with a smile. “Thank you for the invitation, Captain Shaw. That’s a nice ship you have here. Never seen her from the inside.”

“We’re still in the process of restoring her former glory, but thank you for the compliment, Captain Perry.”

“Call me Philip. From what I gathered about our current situation, we’ll all work very closely together for who knows how long, so I suggest we drop the stuffy formalities.”

“Agreed,” Captain Gyeon said as she pulled out a chair. “I’m Lara.”

Maseko sat down next to her and nodded. “Stella.”

Owen felt his shoulders relax a little, relieved the other captains seemed to have a grasp on the severity of the situation. “In that case, I’m Owen, and this is my first officer, Adrian Christopher.”

Gyeon’s eyes wandered around the dining room. It was adjacent to Owen’s private quarters but separated by a locked door. Equipped with a large, shiny dining table and separate kitchen, he could’ve easily invited five times as many guests, and with just the five of them, it looked almost a little oversized.

“I’m guessing we’re not expecting Captain Grigorev tonight?” Gyeon asked.

“The Icarus has confirmed that they received our message, but so far, they haven’t arrived.”

“Why? What’s the holdup?” Captain Maseko asked. “Have they run into trouble?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I hope not, but they didn’t share any details about the reason for their delay.”

Gyeon shook her head. “Typical of Grigorev. You don’t know him yet, but you’ll soon find out the man is the epitome of rudeness.”

Maseko nodded along with a frown on her attractive face. “Peppered with a hefty dose of arrogance.”

Perry sighed heavily but refrained from commenting on Grigorev’s character. “Should we start the dinner without Grigorev, then? I’m starving, and I need some food before we start discussing the unpleasant business.”

As if he’d just been waiting for his cue, Dragomir appeared in the doorway that led to the kitchen, balancing several large plates. His eyes anxiously glanced over the four captains, but despite his apparent nervousness, the young steward performed his duties flawlessly, quickly filling the table with an impressive spread.

Watching him pile up meat, vegetables, and desserts made Owen thoughtful. He would have to find out how reliable the food production was in this sector, now that it was cut off from any imports. The last thing he needed was colonists rioting because they were starving, especially since the Resolute depended on those colonies for resupplies.

He’d been trained to lead on the battlefield, and finding and defeating the group responsible for the attack on Obsidian and the hyperspace gate had the highest priority, but the logistics of the task ahead couldn’t be ignored either. If he wanted to ensure the safety and well-being of the people living in this sector, he would need to do more than fire torpedoes.

He made a mental note to bring the topic of food supplies up later—hopefully, one of the other captains had more expertise with the issues they would face than him—but for now, he would let his tiny battle group eat in peace.

They made some chitchat during dinner, shared stories from their Academy days, compared experiences, and exchanged rumors about fellow captains. That last topic felt bittersweet since they were all aware they might not see these people again for possibly years. Despite the somewhat depressing circumstances, the mood was surprisingly light, and Owen started to feel hopeful. It was a relief to share this burden with the other Captains.

Just as they were ready to start dessert, his TacPad alerted him to an incoming call.

He opened the screen with a frown. “Lieutenant Mendy, I thought I told you not to contact me unless it’s an emergency.”

“I’m really sorry, Captain, but the Icarus just docked at Morrigon Station. I thought you’d want to know.”

For some reason, his communications officer sounded tense even though the Icarus’s arrival had been expected. “The Icarus is here? That’s good news. Please put me through to Captain Grigorev.”

“Um… I can’t. That’s why I called you. He’s already on his way.”

“He is?”

Before Lieutenant Mendy could say anything else, the door to Owen’s quarters opened, and Captain Grigorev stomped into the dining room. He hadn’t asked for permission to enter, and he hadn’t bothered to put on his dress uniform.

Next to Owen, Gyeon tensed up, her hand gripping her fork so hard her knuckles turned white.

Grigorev studied the scene for a moment, eyes flicking from one captain to the other, before he scrunched his nose. “I see you’ve already started without me.”

Owen put down his knife and cleared his throat. “We didn’t hear back from you about your expected arrival, so we assumed you wouldn’t make it in time.”

“Well, I’m here now,” Grigorev said with a scoff. He pulled out a chair and sat down. “Steward, clear the plates. We’re done here.”

Perry looked up from his meal and shot him a deathly glare. “We haven’t even started dessert.”

“You’ll survive. Especially you, Perry.” He let his eyes wander toward Perry’s stomach, which was a bit more… pronounced than Space Guard Medical would’ve wanted. “I have more important matters to discuss.”

He snapped his fingers at Dragomir, but the young man stood frozen to the spot, looking at Owen questioningly, unsure of whether to obey or wait for Owen’s orders.

“I would prefer it if you wouldn’t order my crew around,” he said calmly. “And we’ll get to the discussion once everyone has finished their meal.”

“You’ll finish your meal when I say you finish your meal. This isn’t a cruise ride. I won’t tolerate laziness or insubordination in my battle group.”

Gyeon put down her cutlery with a loud clank, and Perry looked between Owen and Grigorev with raised eyebrows. But it was Maseko who voiced what everyone was thinking.

“Your battle group, Captain Grigorev?”

“Of course it’s my battle group. I’m the most senior captain in the sector.”

Gyeon let out a derisive snort, shaking her head. “You think you have superiority here because you’re old?”

“Watch your mouth,” Grigorev snarled. “I have enough officers aboard the Icarus to replace you ten times.”

Perry frowned. “Lara is right, Marcus. Length of service has never been the deciding factor in situations like this. It’s custom that the captain of the flagship has command over the battle group, and I think we can all agree that the Resolute is the flagship.”

Grigorev’s eyes flashed with anger, and he raised his voice. “I don’t give a damn.” He smacked the table so hard it rattled the plates. “This traitor here only got aboard the Resolute because Fleet Command wanted him out of the way, and he stepped over Margot’s corpse to get to the captain’s chair.”

“That’s called chain of command,” Gyeon said coldly.

“I call it failing upwards.” Grigorev clenched his fists. “I am assuming command of this battle group. End of discussion. Anyone who has a problem with this is welcome to check into my brig.”

Owen took a deep breath. Anger was boiling hot inside of him, but he knew a shouting match wouldn’t solve this issue. He needed the full support of the other captains. Infighting would only weaken them, and they couldn’t afford that. He had to find a diplomatic solution and put aside his own ego. “Making threats against each other won’t get us anywhere. Captain Grigorev, you have a point. Appointing the captain of the flagship as the leader of a battle group might be customary, but you’re senior to me in years of service and no doubt qualified to lead.”

“I’ve been commanding my own vessel for eight years,” Grigorev said, “and I earned my command. You just stumbled into it five minutes ago.”

Gyeon laughed, but it wasn’t a joyful sound—it was sharp, laced with mockery. “This is Owen Shaw you’re talking about. That man has seen more battles in the past three years than you have in your entire career. Get a grip, Grigorev.”

Grigorev’s face flushed red, veins at his temple bulging, and his muscles tensed as if he was preparing himself to lunge at Gyeon. Owen had to deescalate the situation before the tension turned into a fistfight.

“How about we vote?” he quickly suggested. “We’re in a very unusual situation, so we should make this decision together.”

Perry clapped, his face lighting up with a somewhat fake-looking smile. “Great suggestion. Let’s vote. All those in favor of Shaw taking command of our battle group, raise their hands.”

In a split second, the hands of Perry, Maseko, and Gyeon shot up.

Owen smiled, but when he saw the white-hot anger burning in Grigorev’s eyes, his smile faded quickly.

Grigorev clenched his jaw so tight that Owen could see the muscles in his neck strain.

“There will be no vote,” he barked, abruptly standing up from his chair. “I’m the most senior captain. I have command. If you don’t quit this nonsense, I will have you all executed for mutiny.”

Chapter 6

The temperature in the room seemed to drop forty degrees in an instant. Adrian shifted in his seat, Gyeon gasped, and Maseko stared at Grigorev in shock. Out of the corner of his eye, Owen saw Dragomir slip away discreetly.

Perry, however, laughed. “Have you gone completely insane? You’re making death threats while you’re literally standing on Shaw’s battleship. How exactly do you plan to execute us for mutiny, Grigorev? Are you going to stab us with your dinner fork?”

He laughed at his own joke, but that seemed to only fan the fire further.

Grigorev flung the fork, which he was still clenching in his fist, onto the table and reached for his belt.

Too late, Owen noticed he had a gun tucked away under his uniform jacket. Before he could react, Grigorev had already pulled it out and aimed it at Perry.

Perry's laugh died, but he was far from panicking. With an almost amused expression, he looked at the gun and cocked his head. “How many shots do you think you can get in before the rest of us take you down?”

Owen was impressed by Perry’s coolness, but he had no desire to let this situation escalate to deadly violence, and he wasn’t sure how much longer Perry could taunt Grigorev before the enraged man made good on his threats.

“Captain Grigorev,” he said calmly. “I understand emotions are running high right now. We’re stuck in a difficult and dangerous situation, and we’re all a little on edge, but this is not going to lead anywhere. Put the gun down now, and we can find a solution we can all live with.”

Grigorev whipped the gun around and pointed it at Owen’s face. “The only solution I accept is for you to transfer command of the Resolute to me. Maybe that will make fatty Philip here shut up.”

Perry had already opened his mouth, undoubtedly ready to shoot yet another sharp-tongued provocation at Grigorev, but a warning glance from Owen made him back down.

“Okay,” Owen said slowly. “Let’s say I do that. Where would that leave me? Would I get the Icarus instead?” He had absolutely no intention of switching ships with this madman, but he needed to buy some time.

Grigorev grimaced. “Don’t make me laugh. As if I would ever allow your mutinous ass anywhere near a captain’s chair.”

Owen let out a breath. “So this is what this really is about? This isn’t about seniority—you just don’t want me in command because you hate me?”

“You should be in prison,” Grigorev bellowed. “No, let me rethink this. You should have been brought before a firing squad. That’s how the Dominion you seem to love so much deals with mutineers.”

“I’ve been cleared of all charges before a military tribunal.”

“A grave mistake,” Grigorev said between gritted teeth. He gripped his gun tighter, his knuckles turning white. “One I’ll correct.”

The gun charged with the typical high-pitched whine, but before Grigorev could fire the first shot, the door opened, and half a dozen heavily armed men in body armor burst into the room.

Too late to stop him, but their appearance startled him enough that the shot whizzed harmlessly past Owen’s left side, hitting the wall behind him.

Owen quickly held up his hand, signaling the security team to stay back. It only took 1.4 seconds to reload an energy gun of the type Grigorev was holding, and he wasn’t sure any of the security guards could make it across the room in time to disarm him. If Grigorev managed to take another shot at Owen, he might not miss the second time around.

The men followed his command, but they kept their weapons pointed at Grigorev.

Grigorev stared at the security team, as if he was weighing his chances, then returned his attention to Owen. “Fine,” he said, the gun shaking in his hand. “You get away this time.”

“Put down the weapon and surrender,” Owen asked calmly. “I promise you I will do you no harm. You’ll get a fair trial.”

As much as he wanted them to work all together, shooting at another officer was not something Owen could just let slide.

Grigorev laughed a bitter laugh. “Thanks but no thanks. Ever since you got away with mutiny, I lost my trust in trials.”

Gyeon snorted. “Look around, Grigorev. You’re surrounded by heavily armed security guards. Put the damn weapon away and play nicely.”

Instead, Grigorev took out his TacPad. The movements made the security guards twitch, but once again, Owen signaled for them to stay back. As long as that weapon was still pointed at his face, he opted for a peaceful solution.

Without lowering his gun, Grigorev activated his Pad, and a second later, a female voice answered. “Holmberg here.”

“Commander Holmberg,” he said, “if I’m not back on the Icarus in fifteen minutes, open fire on the Resolute.”

“Captain… but…”

“You heard me, Holmberg.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Icarus’s tactical officer answered. Her voice sounded tense, like she wasn’t too happy with the orders she’d just received. “Aye, Captain.”

Perry shook his head. “You’re such a fool. The Icarus can’t destroy the Resolute. You know that.”

“Maybe, but it can do a lot of damage.”

“You would rather see your ship destroyed and your crew killed than submit to my command?” Owen asked.

“If I can hurt you in the process, then yes,” Grigorev said. “Don’t think I’m bluffing.”

Owen hesitated. The Icarus was no match for the Resolute, even in her weakened state, but at such close range, her torpedoes would still cause devastating damage. They would lose people. The thought of yet another funeral, when he and his crew had barely recovered from the last one just a few weeks ago, made his stomach clench.

His TacPad chimed with a call from Lieutenant Lin. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner, Captain, but, um… the Icarus seems to be charging its laser cannons.”

“Let me return to my ship,” Grigorev said. “Or I’ll blow some holes in this rusty bucket of yours.”

Owen searched his face, trying to gauge if he would really go through with this suicidal threat. Grigorev’s features were distorted by anger, and his eyes were cold.

No, unfortunately, there was no doubt—that man wasn’t bluffing. Grigorev was on a self-destruct course. Owen couldn’t risk it. He’d have to allow Grigorev to retreat to his ship and postpone dealing with the rogue captain when there wasn’t a risk of a close-quarters gunfight hanging over their heads.

“Step aside,” Owen told the security guard. “Let him leave.”

Reluctantly, the men followed his order and stepped back. Grigorev, still clutching his gun, took a step backward. His eyes darted around nervously as he slowly backed away, keeping his gun pointed at Owen until he reached the exit.

The doors slid shut behind him, and Owen let out a sigh of relief. “You better follow him until he’s out the airlock. Make sure he’s not causing any ruckus on his way out,” he ordered the security guards before turning his attention toward three very worried-looking captains.

“You’re not going to let him get away, Shaw?” Maseko asked.

“Of course not,” he said, raising his TacPad. “Lieutenant Mendy, give me a connection to Commander Boateng.”

A moment later, Boateng, the commander of Morrigan Station, appeared on his screen.

“Shaw, is everything all right? We’re getting some strange readings from the Icarus. Looks like they’re powering up their weapons.”

“I’ll explain later,” Owen said. “But for now, I need you to lock the docking clamps on the Icarus’s port.”

Boateng raised his eyebrows but nodded. “Fine. I’ll lock the ship down, but I hope you know what you’re doing. My station took enough of a beating already.”

Perry rubbed his chin. “Is that wise?” he asked. “Grigorev might still open fire when he realizes the Icarus is locked down and he can’t flee.”

“I'm sure that’s exactly what he’ll do,” Owen said. “Which is why we have to act quickly.”

#

Lt. Cmdr. Sasha Petrea

Sasha’s heart beat rapidly against her rib cage as she waited in front of the airlock, her hastily assembled team of assault troopers behind her. It had been a while since she had last led a mission like this, but she had two squads of assault troopers with her.

They were protected by Sentinel-8 tactical armor, a full body armor build with a titanium composite outer layer and a layer of heat- and shock-resistant bio-gel underneath. The helmet had an integrated tactical HUD, allowing the trooper to access mission data, environmental status, thermal, infrared, night vision, and autotargeting. The armor suit itself was equipped with a fully autonomous life support system with temperature regulation, oxygen filtration, vital sign monitoring, and medication-dispensing autoinjectors that could shoot up a trooper with anything from painkillers to antiradiation drugs.

They were armed with both a Drakefire MK IV plasma rifle, an anti-armor plasma weapon designed for heavy assault operation, and a Lancer MK VII energy rifle, known for its high accuracy and rapid fire rate with a recharge time of only 0.47 seconds. Equipped like this, the well-trained troopers were nearly invincible—at least when pitched against an unprepared crew, like they would hopefully encounter aboard the Icarus.

Alerting the troopers and gearing up had been a mad rush, and their mission briefing had been nothing more than a few shouted instructions on their way to the airlock, but Sasha trusted in her team’s training. They’d know what to do even if they encountered resistance. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be too much of that, though. They were boarding a Space Guard vessel, after all. Surely, the crew wouldn’t put up much of a fight just to protect their crazy captain. From what Sasha had gathered from Shaw’s short, tense recollection of the events in his dining room, this Captain Grigorev was a very unpleasant fellow, so Sasha was hopeful his crew wouldn’t be overly loyal to him.

The light above the airlock hatch switched from red to green, signaling that Commander Boateng had given them access to the Icarus.

Captain Shaw’s voice crackled through her earpiece. “Remember, those are our people, Commander Petrea,” he said. “You have permission to kill Captain Grigorev if he resists arrest, but avoid deadly force against the rest of the crew.”

“Understood,” Sasha said. “My team is ready to move.”

“Get him, and get him quickly. The longer you take to subdue him, the more time he has to do something stupid. If you can’t get your hands on him in time, he might actually follow through with his threat and start shooting at the Resolute. Or worse—Morrigon Station.”

“Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll deliver you that bastard in no time.”

She and Shaw had a somewhat complicated history, but after she’d heard what had transpired in that dining room, she’d been so riled up that she insisted on leading the boarding party herself. No one was pulling a gun on her captain aboard her own ship. Grigorev was going to pay.

“Okay, people, let’s move out.”

One of the troopers used the lever to open the airlock hatch, and the rest of her team poured through the door. Weapons at the ready, they quickly advanced through the corridors.

Just as Sasha had expected, the few crewmembers they encountered showed no sign of resistance. They jumped out of the way, confused—some even looked scared—and cleared the path for her team.

“Red Squad, head to engineering and secure it. Disable the weapons systems immediately. Blue Squad will advance to the bridge to arrest Grigorev.”

“Aye, Commander,” the lieutenant leading Red Squad, a young woman named Matteo, said. “We’ll call in if we encounter any hostility.”

“Remember, no deadly force against the crew. We don’t want to punish them for their captain’s stupidity.”

Sasha took the lead of Blue Squad herself. She liked her position as a senior officer, and she was proud she’d been promoted so quickly, becoming the tactical officer of a powerful battleship, but this—boots on the ground, in the middle of the action—felt good. This was how she’d started her career. The weight of the armor, the gun in her hand, her mind laser focused on the mission target, adrenaline pumping through her veins. It was a thrill she missed during her normal days as the chief tactical officer, bogged down by paperwork and briefings.

No one tried to stop them on their way to the bridge. It was almost like the rest of the crew welcomed their presence. Maybe they weren’t keen on their captain going rogue either.

Even the door to the bridge was unlocked. That, at least, should have made her suspicious, but Sasha was driven forward by the ticking clock. Every second she hesitated made it more likely Grigorev would start attacking the Resolute, so she entered without spending a second thought.

Chapter 7

She pushed the button on the door’s access panel, and it slid open.

Her team moved forward at her command, but when they entered the bridge, weapons raised, they found it nearly empty. All consoles were abandoned; only Grigorev was still sitting in his captain’s chair, flanked by two heavily armed and armored guards. They wore helmets with dark visors, so Sasha couldn’t judge their faces—couldn’t tell if they were really willing to lay down their lives to protect a captain who had committed treason by pulling a gun on another Space Guard captain and threatening to shoot at another Confederation vessel.

When the two security guards made no move to attack them, she allowed herself to quickly glance at the empty consoles. Where was the rest of the bridge crew? A tingling at the back of her neck set in—a feeling she often got before running into trouble. Why was Grigorev all alone? Were these two guards really all the protection he could muster? Had the rest of his bridge crew simply abandoned him?

“Ah, Commander Sasha Petrea!” Grigorev’s voice sounded friendly, almost like he was happy to see her. “I remember your face. You were one of Torres’s favorites. Welcome aboard the Icarus.” The politeness was a ruse, of course, meant to provoke her.

Sasha shook off the strange feeling and focused on the task at hand. Her target was right in front of her. They could end this now and prevent any further escalation.

“Captain Marcus Grigorev, you are hereby under arrest for mutiny and insubordination,” she said sternly, emboldened by the squad of armed guards at her back. “Surrender peacefully, or we will use force.”

The moment she spoke the words, crackling in her earpiece alerted her.

“Enemy contact,” Lieutenant Matteo yelled, the sounds of whizzing energy bolts in the background. “Commander, we’re—”

The transmission cut off, and Sasha’s heart rate spiked. If Red Team had run into trouble, there might be some in store for her team too. One thing she was certain about: Judging by the sneering on Grigorev’s face, he wouldn’t make it easy for them. Sasha charged her gun and raised her hand. “Arrest him,” she ordered her team.

Four troopers charged toward Grigorev, but after only a few steps, they slowed down. Their steps faltered, and they started coughing. Before they’d even made it halfway across the bridge, they were incapacitated—wheezing and choking.

Spacer Dorne’s body convulsed as he doubled over, a harsh, ragged coughing fit tearing through him. The trooper to his right, Senior Spacer Imani, dropped to one knee, clutching at her throat as if trying to claw an invisible force from her windpipe. The remaining two barely had time to react before they, too, stumbled, choking violently. Their disciplined formation collapsed in an instant, all four of them going down like dominoes.

Horrified, Sasha watched as her troopers writhed and convulsed on the floor. A moment later, she felt a burning in her own lungs, and realization hit her like a gut punch. CFX-19, a highly experimental nerve gas developed for riot control. The Confederation had outlawed its use against humans over ten years ago because it had such a high death rate, but apparently, Grigorev no longer cared about the Confederation’s law. A violent coughing fit shook her body. When she gasped for air, she saw Grigorev had covered his face with a hazmat suit mask. They were special filters that could protect against CFX-19, but they weren’t standard issue for assault troopers, and none of their suits were equipped with them.

Grigorev and his two guards, however, were prepared. They were completely unaffected by the gas, quietly watching Sasha and her team fight against its painful effects. A trap, she realized as her chest seized up in another coughing fit. Her gut feeling had been right. It really had been too easy. She’d led her squad right into a trap.

Her eyes burned, and the world swam into a hazy darkness as her vision dimmed around the edges. Behind her, more and more troopers went down, coughing, wheezing, gasping for air, before succumbing to the suffocating gas. One of them fired a desperate shot as he went down, but it missed Grigorev by a large margin.

“Take her,” Sasha heard Grigorev snarl as she dropped to her knees. “Kill the rest. I don’t need them.”

#

Capt. Owen Shaw

Lieutenant Mendy desperately hammered on his console, but the bridge’s viewscreen remained empty. “I’m sorry, Captain Shaw. I can’t get a connection to the away team. Neither Blue Squad nor Red Squad.”

Adrian nervously tapped on the armrest of his chair then turned around to Owen. “They’re in trouble. I don’t know what happened, but something went wrong. Horribly wrong.”

Owen stared at the screen, which read “No signal” in bright red letters where the video feeds from the away team’s body cams should be shown. Adrian was right—something had gone wrong—but he had no way of finding out what, and there was nothing he could do to help them. All he could do was wait and hope that Commander Petrea could turn things around. If anyone could, it was her. The woman was a force to be reckoned with.

How many troopers did the Icarus have aboard? A light cruiser like the Icarus usually only had a small number of assault troopers, sometimes not even that, and normal security guards posed little risk to the heavily armored troopers he’d sent to arrest Grigorev. This should have been an easy mission, so why couldn’t they get in touch with their away team? Had Owen underestimated the resistance they would meet? Had he rushed this? Was the away team paying the price for his failure to fully think this mission through?

“We need to send reinforcements,” he decided. “Contact—”

Before he could finish his order, Lieutenant Lin’s console started beeping, indicating the sensor had picked up on something, and Lieutenant Mendy sat up straight. “Captain, incoming call from Morrigon Station.”

“On screen.”

Boateng’s face appeared a second later, and he looked angry. “What the hell is going on, Shaw? Why is the Icarus powering up its engines?”

“What?”

“We’re getting the same readings,” Lieutenant Lin confirmed.

“This close to the station?” Adrian looked alarmed. “The thrusters are going to burn straight through the hull.”

A moment later, an incredibly loud screeching noise vibrated through the ship. The crew braced themselves, hands gripping consoles and armrests as the deck below their feet trembled.

Boateng glanced at a monitor. “Oh, for God’s sake, they’re trying to take off with the docking clamps still in place.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Shaw. I need to release the clamps, or they’ll tear my station apart.”

Owen clenched his teeth even though he knew the commander had no choice. Apparently, Grigorev was desperate enough to get away that he was willing to severely damage not only his own ship but also the station.

“Understood. Try to evacuate the area, Commander. Release the Resolute’s clamps. We’ll take care of the Icarus. Lieutenant Spivey, fire up our engines.”

Boateng grunted. “Don’t blow her up too close to my station, understood?”

“Of course. I would never risk the lives of the people aboard Morrigon Station,” he said. A low rumbling vibrated through the floor as the massive twin engines of the Resolute came to life.

“Incoming message from the CSS Sirius, Captain,” Mendy announced. He didn’t even wait for Owen’s response. He put Gyeon’s stern face on the viewscreen right away.

“Looks like Grigorev is taking off.”

Owen nodded grimly. “With my people still onboard.”

“That complicates things. I was looking forward to blowing him to pieces.”

“We need to hunt him down, but I want my away team back. And no blowing to pieces, Captain Gyeon. I know how you feel about Grigorev, but this is still a Confederation ship, crewed by members of the Space Guard. Hold fire until I give the order.”

She exhaled. “You’re right. It’s a very pretty ship. Would be a shame to destroy it.”

“I would rather return that pretty ship to the flock, with Grigorev removed.”

“Understood. I’ll await your orders, Shaw. Sirius out.”

“Lieutenant Covino, set course to pursue the Icarus. Spivey, maneuvering thrusters for now. Full speed as soon as we’re at a safe distance from Morrigon Station. Lin, show me the Icarus.”

Lieutenant Lin pressed a button on her console, and the image of Icarus’s backside, engines burning hot orange, replaced Gyeon’s transmission. “Lieutenant Tawamba, initiate the torpedo loading, but hold fire.”

“Aye, Captain, but we’re almost out of effective weapon’s range, Sir,” Tawamba informed her. That meant while the torpedo’s would probably reach their destination, the travel time was so long, that the defensive laser had all the time in the world to neutralize them and an actual hit was nearly impossible.

Adrian leaned over to him. “They’ve gotten a head start. Can we catch them if they keep accelerating like this?”

“Good question. Lieutenant Covino, calculate that. Can we catch up with the Icarus in time?”

The young man sprang into action, hacking away on his console, studying the screen with furrowed brows. “I’m afraid not,” he finally said. “Unless we push the Resolute’s acceleration beyond restrictions, they’ll reach the hyperspace gate before we can catch up.”

“How far beyond restrictions?”

“We would need at least an extra six hundred gravs.”

Owen bit his lip. There was a bit of leeway when it came to the fleet-yard issued restriction. You could push a ship beyond the official deemed safe limits for a short amount of time, but six hundred gravs was a lot, and they needed to maintain it for quite a while. “Get me Chief Engineer Valentine on screen, Mendy.”

It took the communications lieutenant a moment to get a hold of Commander Valentine. When he finally got a hold of her, she looked very annoyed. “What’s all that noise? And where are we going suddenly?”

“We’re pursuing the CSS Icarus,” Owen explained. “And we’re losing the race. Can you give me an extra six hundred gravs of acceleration?”

Valentine laughed out loud. “Absolutely not.”

“The Icarus has two dozen of our people and a treasonous captain with nothing to lose onboard. Are you sure you can’t give me those gravs?”

Valentine’s brow furrowed. She hesitated for a moment, and her eyes stared into the distance as if she was doing complicated calculations in her head. Owen almost dared to hope, but then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Captain. I want our people back, but the Resolute is not in a good state right now. She’s basically holding together with glue and duct tape. If we push her this hard, I’m afraid she’ll fall apart for good.”

“Got it,” Owen said. “We’ll find another way.”

He ended the connection to engineering and studied the viewscreen. They were still chasing the Icarus, but the distance grew with every minute. The Orion, the Sirius, and the Lincoln were following close behind the Resolute, but none of them would be able to catch up if the Icarus kept accelerating like this.

There was only one solution. It was risky, but he couldn’t allow Grigorev to get away. With every second, it became clearer that the man was a loose cannon, and who knew what he would do to the defenseless, vulnerable colonies all over the Obsidian sector. The Icarus was a light cruiser, only half the size of the Resolute, but it could still do a lot of damage.

“Tawamba, are we in weapon’s range?”

“Barely, Sir, but yes.”

He took a deep breath. “Target the Icarus’s engines.”

Adrian shot him a glance. “Are you sure?”

“Let’s hope Tawamba’s aim is good,” Owen said, forcing his voice to sound a lot calmer than he felt. Targeting engines wasn’t nearly as easy as it sounded. The engine’s exhausts were every ship’s weak spot, no matter how big or how heavily protected. A precise torpedo hit could disable the entire propulsion system. It also could cause a deadly chain reaction and destroy the entire ship.

Thankfully, the young lieutenant manning the weapons console didn’t seem to share his anxiety about the plan. “My aim is very good, Captain,” Tawamba said with a confident smirk as his fingers flew over his console. “First salvo of torpedoes is locked and loaded. Launching at your ma—”

“Incoming transmission!” Mendy interrupted. “Sir, it’s from the Icarus!”

Chapter 8

Owen’s shoulders tensed up. Was Grigorev really ready to talk? Or was he just trying to buy time until he could slip away through the hyperspace gate? That gate connected to a system with four outgoing connections. If he made it there, it would be very difficult and time consuming to track him down. Whatever Grigorev wanted, he would have to make it quick. “On screen.”

He had to suppress a grimace when Grigorev’s sneering face appeared on the main viewscreen.

“Don’t even think about firing on the Icarus, Shaw,” he said.

“Surrender, and it won’t be necessary.”

“Never.”

“Then I have no choice but to open fire. We’ll try to only disable your ship, but I can’t make any promises,” Owen said. “Think hard about whether you really want to sacrifice your crew members’ lives just because you hold a grudge against me.”

“Sacrifice, huh?” Grigorev curled his lips into an ugly smile. “Funny you bring that topic up.” He leaned back in his chair and stared into the screen with cold eyes. “The moment I see the slightest blip on our radar, I’ll kill your Commander Petrea.”

Owen froze, unable to do anything but stare at Grigorev. He’d taken his away team hostage. The mission Owen had sent them on had failed spectacularly, and now, Grigorev was using their lives as bargaining chips. Would Grigorev go through with his threat? Of course he would; the man was unhinged. Was taking him down worth sacrificing Sasha Petrea’s life? One life in exchange for protecting the rest of the sector and bringing a mutineer to justice?

He knew the math spoke a clear language, but this wasn’t about math. Petrea was part of his crew; she was under his protection. He had sent her on this mission, and it was his responsibility to get her out of it alive, along with the rest of the team. It was his fault they got captured. He’d acted prematurely, without thinking through the consequences of trying to arrest Grigorev on his own ship. He’d send the team in with almost no intel, and he’d grossly underestimated his opponent. And now, the away team’s life was on the line because of his own mistake. No. He couldn’t do it. He would not sacrifice that entire team just to accomplish the mission goal. Justice would have to wait. His people’s safety had to take priority.

With a heavy sigh, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, and nodded. “Fine, Grigorev. You win. Mendy, contact the other ships. Tell them to head back to Morrigon Station.”

Mendy hesitated as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard, and only a stern look from Owen made him turn toward his console and carry out the order.

Owen returned his attention to Grigorev. “Let us talk. What do you want in exchange for giving my people back?”

Grigorev pursed his lips. “Why would I give my trump card back? No, Shaw, I’m keeping Petrea. She’ll make sure you stay out of our business.”

Owen perked up. “Our business?” Until this moment, he’d assumed Grigorev had simply lost his mind—one of those cases where the relentless pressure of command finally broke a captain. But now, he doubted his initial assessment. Could it be more than that? Was this madness, or had it all been carefully orchestrated from the start? “You and who else?”

“Oh, you’d love to know, wouldn’t you?”

It was maddening. Grigorev reveled in his superior position. The smug satisfaction in his eyes only made it worse, like he was savoring every second of Owen’s frustration. Owen felt the irritation bubble up, but he tamped it down. He decided not to play this game any longer.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We won’t pursue you today. Run and hide. But I promise you, I will find you, I will get my people back, and I will bring you to justice. You’re on borrowed time, Grigorev.”

Only a twitch of Grigorev’s mouth told Owen his words had hit their mark. He killed the connection before his enemy could get the last word and leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh.

Adrian shook his head with a frown. “We need to get Sasha back,” he said. “Even if we could replace her—and I don’t think we can—we can’t allow him to use her for blackmail.”

“I know, Adrian, I know.” Owen rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache building up behind his forehead. “And we will get her back, but blindly firing on the Icarus while he has her at gunpoint is not the solution.”

Adrian lifted his hands. “That wasn’t a critique. I agree with you. We need to retreat, regroup, and return with a game plan.”

Lin grumbled. “I hate that we’re just letting this bastard leave.”

“How are we even going to find him again?” Mendy asked quietly.

Owen stared at the screen, where the Icarus’s shape was getting smaller and smaller, the burn of her engines barely larger than pinpoints. He had no answer for his young communications officers. This was going to be a long, exhausting cat-and-mouse chase, that much was certain.

#

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah had to suppress a yawn when he unbuckled himself from the co-pilot seat. They were traveling along the hyperspace route connecting the Nevadon system with the Anquan System, and this trip through hyperspace was just as uneventful as the last three.

They had crossed over into the neutral zone earlier that day. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from traveling through the infamous neutral zone, but boredom hadn’t been it.

Lieutenant Prescott was monitoring the sensors alone and had given him permission to leave his seat to get some rest, so Noah headed to the back compartment, where the bunks and the dining table were located, to stretch out his legs and get some rest.

The break was very welcome after spending about thirty of the last thirty-six hours in his co-pilot seat. No matter how soft the gel cushions were, after that many hours in the same position, his back felt like hell.

Felix was sleeping in the bunk below Noah’s, snoring loudly, and Octavia lay in the bed on the other side, stretched out but eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Noah climbed into his bunk but rolled onto his side so he could see her better.

“Everything okay, Octavia?”

She startled at his question, as if she’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t noticed his entry, but turned toward him and gave him a smile. “Honest answer? I’m pretty scared.”

“You don’t have to be,” he tried to reassure her. “It’s just a recon mission, and I think Quinn and Felix know what they’re doing. They’re Wraiths after all. If everything goes according to plan, no one will even notice we’re there. We’ll be in and out with the intel in no time.”

“Maybe I’m just not the recon mission type,” she said, ”But not knowing what awaits us at Cascade makes me nervous. And the thought that the empire might be involved makes it even worse.”

“You know them better than any of us,” he said, propping himself up on his elbow. “Can you make heads or tails out of this whole mess? Do you think the Empire would really just hand over a battleship to a bunch of pirates?”

She sat up with a sigh and rubbed her eyes. “Certainly not without expecting some kind of payment in return. There must be something in it for them.”

“What could pirates give them that they can’t get themselves?”

“The Pendragon Empire is scared to venture into the neutral zone, let alone beyond it, because they don’t want to kick off another war with the Confederation. Pirates don’t have these inhibitions. I think they might be using them to get what they want from systems they’re afraid to go into.”

“The Pendragon Empire is afraid of another war with the Confederation?” That surprised Noah. The Confederation was strong, but during the last war, the opponents had been so evenly matched that the war had ended with a perpetual truce and the establishment of a neutral zone.

“The last war ravaged the Empire’s economy and eradicated half a generation of aristocrats. I’m sure the Imperial Fleet could hold itself against the Confederation, but they’re not keen to kick off another bloody war when they’ve barely recovered from the last one.”

“They?” Noah asked. “So you no longer consider yourself one of them?”

“Of course not,” she said sharply. “I wouldn’t have joined Space Guard if I did.”

“Of course,” he said quickly. “Sorry, you’re right. I know you’ve risked and sacrificed more than most for the Space Guard. It wasn’t meant as an accusation. I just wondered… do you never get homesick?”

“No.”

“You don’t miss anything about it?”

“There’s not much to miss, Noah. For a woman, life in the Empire is a rather bleak affair. Unless you like being chained to a nursery to pop out heir after heir.”

He scrunched his nose. “Sounds archaic. I’m glad you—”

Quinn’s voice from the front compartment interrupted their conversation.

“Get back to your seats. Prescott said it’s five minutes until emergence from hyperspace.”

Noah climbed off the bunk bed, zipped up his uniform jacket, and went straight back to his seat, closing the harness over his chest.

A glance at the screens in front of him told him that Prescott must’ve had a smooth ride while Noah had talked to Octavia.

“All parameters within normal limits,” he reported. “Ready for hyperspace emergence.”

Lieutenant Prescott looked over his shoulder one more time, making sure everyone was strapped in safely.

The smaller the ship, the more intense switching from hyperspace to normal space was on the human body, and on a tiny shuttle like the Humpty Dumpty, it could be a very unpleasant experience.

Prescott’s hands flew over the cockpit controls. “Brace yourself. Gate emergence in three, two, one…”

Noah took a deep breath, preparing for the strange internal shivering running through his body.

The swirling colors surrounding them disappeared in an instant, but instead of the wide-open space that should’ve been there, the entire front window was filled with the silhouette of a large vessel.

One glance at it was enough to tell Noah this wasn’t some ordinary freighter.

They had exited the gate right into the maw of a warship.

“Shit!” Prescott's hands tightened around the steering joystick. “Jordan, course.”

“What the hell is this?” Felix yelled.

“Prescott, get us away from this thing,” Quinn ordered.

Noah pulled his eyes away from the looming ship to read the sensor. “We’re on a collision course.” His hands almost acted on their own accord, entering data, switching between screens, running calculations. “Go under,” he told Prescott after double-checking the screen.

Prescott jerked the joystick, making the shuttle dip sharply. The sudden change of course made even Noah’s stomach churn, and the rest of the team in the backseats let out strained gasps.

For a moment, Noah thought they would crash right into the other ship, but Prescott managed to force their little shuttle away from it at the very last second, nearly grazing the hull but avoiding a collision.

The alarms in the cockpit went wild, rapidly flashing “Proximity Alert” on the screens as they dove right under the enemy ship’s belly.

Noah grabbed the edge of the console in front of him, holding on tight, staring at the sensors while the team in the back was yelling and grunting and groaning.

The sensors showed the ship was almost four hundred meters long, the size of a cruiser, but Noah was sure it wasn’t one of theirs. The shape was all wrong, and the Confederation ships had a lighter-colored hull than this ship. This ship was dark, almost black.

Noah had reviewed every piece of footage from the battle in the Obsidian System he could get his hands on, and he had a pretty good idea who this ugly black beast of a ship belonged to. He turned around and met Octavia’s gaze, who was cowering in the backseat, staring out the window wide-eyed. “It’s another Empire ship, isn’t it?”

His words seemed to pull her out of her trance. “It is,” she confirmed, “but at the same time, it isn’t. No empire ship would ever fly without the Pendragon flag.”

Their shuttle emerged from under the cruiser, and Prescott accelerated hard, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. Noah felt the familiar pressure on his chest as the grav counter on the display in front of him ticked upwards.

“Do you think they noticed us?” Quinn asked. Her voice sounded a bit choked. She was tough, but she wasn’t a pilot, so she wasn’t as used to high g-forces as Prescott and him.

“Are you kidding me?” Felix grunted. “Of course they noticed us. We basically bumped right into them.”

“We’re just a small shuttle,” Octavia said. “If they weren’t actively monitoring, we might not have shown up on their radar.”

Quinn hummed in agreement. “Let’s not panic for now.”

“They noticed us,” Noah said, pointing at the screen in front of him. “The ship is pivoting. In our direction.”

Felix sighed. “Should we panic now, or…?”

Chapter 9

Prescott shook his head, as if he was refusing to accept the dire situation. His jaw muscles were tight, his hands clenched around the shuttle’s controls. “We can get away. We have an acceleration advantage.”

“Maybe, but that ship looks like it has quite the weapons range,” Felix said.

Noah glanced at his screen and pressed some buttons for new calculations. “I have to agree, LT. We can probably dodge them for a while, but they’ll eventually hit us.”

Prescott leaned over to check the screen himself, studying it for a moment. “You’re right. We need to find a way to lose them. Scan the system, Jordan. Look for a place where we can hide from their targeting systems.”

Noah did a quick scan, analyzing the system’s planets, their orbits, and any other large bodies floating through space that the sensors could pick up. He stared at the lines and numbers on the screen, racking his brain for a solution. They needed to move into a position that provided cover against the enemy torpedoes—ideally, one that also blocked their sensors so they could shake them off and slip away unnoticed. Some kind of asteroid field would come in handy, but the sensors showed nothing of the sort.

The sensors told him the enemy ship was closing in. And judging by the energy signatures, they were already charging their laser guns.

Trying to suppress the panic that rose in his chest, he flipped through the data. Panicking wouldn’t help them, and he had no intention of failing this mission before it had properly begun. He also had no intention of being blown apart by enemy torpedoes, so he had to come up with a solution somehow.

His eyes scanned the data line by line, and finally, one of the planets’ energy signatures caught his attention. “Magnetic storm,” he mumbled.

“What was that?” Prescott’s voice sounded unusually tense. “Speak up, Jordan.”

“The fifth planet of this system is surrounded by strong magnetic storms. Strong enough to throw off a torpedo’s targeting system and maybe even strong enough to scramble that ship’s sensors.”

Prescott only thought about the proposal for a second. “Plot a course.”

“Yes, sir.” Noah jumped into action, feeding the navigation system with the data he’d collected from the sensors then sending the plotted course to Lieutenant Prescott.

Prescott gripped the controls. “I can work with that. It’s not going to be a comfortable ride, but we can make it.”

The Humpty Dumpty shot through space as Prescott steered them toward the magnetic storm. The distance between them and the enemy ship was slowly widening, but then, the screen in front of Noah beeped rapidly.

“Watch out!” he yelled. “Enemy lasers, bearing 170! ”

A moment later, the entire shuttle shook, and Noah was thrown forward, only the straps of his seat preventing his head from hitting the dashboard.

“Lasers?” Felix yelled. “Why lasers? Why not torpedoes?”

“They’re trying to take us alive,” Quinn said.

Prescott grabbed the throttle and pushed the shuttle even harder. “They’re not going to take us dead or alive if I can help it.”

He dragged the joystick around and forced the shuttle into a series of gut-wrenching evasive maneuvers. Noah’s stomach flipped, thoroughly shaken by the rapidly changing g-forces, but the rest of the team had it even worse. He heard their groaning and gagging from behind and a choked grunt, followed by a wet splash, told him someone had just lost their lunch on the shuttle floor.

Another laser bolt whizzed past them, barely missing the shuttle.

Noah’s eyes were fixed on the screen. “Almost there,” he said.

Prescott only grunted, his grip white-knuckled on the controls, eyes staring straight ahead.

A sudden jolt rocked the shuttle as a glancing hit seared across their aft. Warning klaxons blared. Noah checked his screen. “We took a hit, but the hull is intact,” he reported. “But they’re getting closer. They must have gotten a target lock on us.”

He yanked the joystick hard, sending the Humpty Dumpty into a spiraling dive straight toward the planet’s storm-wracked atmosphere. Plasma bursts crackled along the edges of the storm, glowing tendrils of energy lashing out like lightning across space.

Noah could tell immediately because all his instruments went haywire—his console flooded with static, sensor feeds scrambled, even the cabin light flickered.

A couple of stray laser bolts shot past them, but the magnetic fields were messing with the enemy’s targeting systems just as much as they were disrupting the shuttle’s sensors.

Glowing, colorful plasma clouds engulfed the shuttle as Prescott steered them deeper into the heart of the storm. Swirls of purple and blue surrounded them, punctuated by the occasional bright flash of electromagnetic discharge, illuminating the ever-shifting patterns. The Humpty Dumpty’s instruments emitted a low crackling noise, but the screens displayed only static.

Lieutenant Prescott took his hands off the joystick and leaned back with a sigh. “That was a close one.”

“Good flying,” Quinn said. “And quick thinking from you, Noah.”

“So what now?” Octavia asked. “How long are we going to stay here?”

“I’d say at least a few hours,” Quinn replied. “Hopefully, they’ll give up the search soon.”

Felix unbuckled his harness and stretched out his legs. “Great. If we’ve got nothing else to do but wait around, I’m going to clean up this mess,” he pointed at the puddle of vomit between his feet, “and then I’ll continue my nap.”

Octavia raised her eyebrows as she watched him get out of his seat. “This might not be over yet. How do we know they’re not lurking outside this magnetic storm, just waiting for us to reemerge?”

“She’s right,” Quinn said. “We need to find a way out of this plasma cloud while staying undetected. Maybe we can fly around the planet and try to slip away in its sensor shadow. Military-grade sensors are powerful, but even they can’t fully penetrate large, dense objects like a planet.”

“Good idea,” Quinn said. “Can you plot a course, Noah?”

He shook his head. “Our instruments and sensors can’t handle the magnetic field. If we’re going to do this, we’ll have to fly blind.”

“Sounds risky.”

“It is,” Prescott said calmly, “but I can do it.”

Quinn gave him a small smile. “I’m sure you can, but—” She was cut off as the shuttle suddenly rolled sideways, throwing the entire crew into their seats—except Felix, who had already unbuckled. He was flung across the cabin, crashing into a wall.

Groaning, he heaved himself upright, rubbing his sore shoulder. “What the hell was that?”

Noah checked the screens, but they showed nothing but scrambled numbers. “Uh, I’m not sure.”

“It’s the storm,” Prescott said. “Our thrusters aren’t strong enough to compensate for the magnetic forces.”

“Can this endanger the shuttle?” Octavia asked.

Prescott stared out the window for a moment. “The shuttle’s sturdy enough—it’ll be fine—but we have another problem.” He pointed at the planet, visible through the window, taking up half the view. “I’m pretty sure we’re being pulled toward that planet.”

Felix blinked. “Pulled toward the planet? As in crash-landing?”

“No, not crash-landing,” Octavia said. “That’s a hot gas giant, Felix. If we get too close, we’ll burn on entry.”

#

Lt. Cmdr. Sasha Petrea

The first thing Sasha saw when she came back to her senses was her own feet dangling above the floor. Her eyes burned, her head was pounding, and her throat felt sore. She blinked, trying to shake off the effects of the CFX-19 gas Grigorev had used to stun her. His last words echoed through her head.

“Kill the rest,” he had ordered. Her team… she needed to find out what happened to her team.

Her vision was still hazy, but she tried to reorient herself. She was on the Icarus—that much she knew. Someone was roughly dragging her along the floor, holding her half upright by the shoulders. She turned her head and saw two security guards, one on each side, holding her up by the arms, their fingers digging into her flesh. They were wearing Confederation uniforms, with the red trim of the tactical department, but the patch on their shoulders bore the sigil of the Icarus, not the Resolute.

She tried to say something, but it came out as a croaky groan. It still caught the security guards’ attention.

“Shit, she’s waking up,” one of them said.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost there,” the other replied, gripping her arm even tighter.

Sasha wanted to fight back, wanted to break loose, but her body was still too weak, too numb. All she could do was let herself be dragged through the narrow corridors. Even just holding her head up required effort.

A door in front of them slid open, and Sasha instantly recognized where they were taking her. This was Icarus’s brig.

She struggled against her captors’ hold but could muster barely more than a feeble wiggle—weak enough to make one of the guards laugh.

They came to a stop in front of a cell, and when the door opened, they haphazardly tossed her inside. Sasha landed on the floor, flat on her stomach, with an unceremonious grunt. She rolled over, trying to get a look at them, but they had already shut the cell door and turned away, still laughing, before she could see their faces clearly.

The anger brewing inside her helped neutralize the effects of the gas more quickly.

She pushed herself up to her knees and crawled to the narrow bench in one corner of the cell. Her eyes still burned, and her limbs felt tingly, but her vision was starting to clear.

With a groan, she heaved herself onto the bench and looked around as the footsteps of the security guards faded into the background.

These cells were different from those aboard the Resolute. Where the Resolute’s brig had solid walls between the single cells, the Icarus brig separated the prisoners from each other with fences of thick mesh wire.

The shuffling of feet told her she wasn’t alone. Peeking through the holes in the mesh, she saw another prisoner one cell over—a man, maybe in his late thirties or early forties, with brown hair and pale skin, wearing black pants with a yellow stripe down the seam and a plain black T-shirt. He stood next to his cell’s wall, arms crossed, watching her.

“You probably don’t want to hear this,” he said with a heavy accent, “but it’s a relief to see another face in here. I was starting to get lonely.”

Sasha froze for a second as realization hit her. Instinctively, she jumped off the bench, stumbling over her own wobbly legs and landing on her butt. Desperate to get away from the man, she scooted backward into the corner of her cell. She’d heard that accent before.

“You… You’re from the Empire.”

“Commander James Burnham at your service, madam.” He finished his introduction with a bow of his head.

Sasha eyed him with suspicion. “What’s an Empire officer doing in the brig of a Confederation cruiser?”

“What’s a Confederation officer doing in the brig of a Confederation cruiser?” he asked with a smile.

“You first.”

He sighed. “I’m afraid that’s a long story. With whom have I been pleasured?”

“None of your business.” Sasha crossed her arms. “You’re many light-years away from home. If the Icarus picked you up in the Obsidian sector, you must be some kind of spy.”

To her surprise, he didn’t deny her allegation. “Something like that, yes.” His tone was casual but polite, like they were discussing the weather instead of espionage.

Sasha shook her head. The man, at least an inch shorter than her, looked harmless, almost weak. If she had to guess, she’d put her money on him being some kind of scientist, not a covert ops agent. “I’m not talking to Empire spies.”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t know how you ended up in this cell, but as far as I can tell, I’m your only ally aboard this ship.”

A dry, rasping laugh was all she could muster. “Ally? You’re not my ally, Pendragon scum.” Never, ever. No matter how deep the shit she was stuck in. She’d never ally herself with an Empire spy.

Burnham deflected her insult with an unimpressed shrug. “I’ll try not to take that personally. I’m sure you’ve had a rough day.”

“No, please, feel free to take it personally.”

He cocked his head. “If it makes you feel better. I’m deeply offended.”

Sasha rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms around her knees, showing him the cold shoulder. That was just her kind of luck. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be taken prisoner by a mutineering captain, of course, she had to end up cell to cell with an unpleasantly talkative Empire spy.

She stared straight ahead, fixing her gaze on the empty, narrow hallway between the cell rows, avoiding looking at Burnham, but her mind was churning.

She couldn’t let her disdain for the man cloud her judgment. As unfortunate as it was to be stuck in a brig with this guy, the fact that he was here to begin with was interesting. How’d he end up in this cell? She knew the Empire was somehow involved in the attack on the Obsidian system. Did his presence aboard the Icarus mean Grigorev was involved too? But if Grigorev really was on the side of the enemy, why was Burnham locked up in the brig? Wouldn’t he be considered an ally? She played through different possibilities, but without any additional information, it was impossible to place this puzzle piece. The whole situation was a mess, and trying to untangle it made Sasha’s head hurt.

She glanced in his direction and found him still watching her, head leaned against the mesh wire.

Their eyes met, and that seemed to be his signal to continue blabbering. “So what’s your plan, Commander? Are you just going to stare into the distance until they execute us both?”

“No one’s going to execute me,” she said.

“How certain are you about that?”

How certain was she? If she was honest with herself—not very. Grigorev had gone off the rails. He’d already drawn a gun on Shaw, he had ordered the death of her team, and the longer she thought about it, the more likely it seemed that he was involved in this conspiracy. His sudden betrayal couldn’t be a coincidence. He had little to gain from killing her, but she had to admit, at this point, he had little to lose either.

Her chest tightened at the thought. She wasn’t afraid of death, but being executed by a traitor? That was not the way she wanted to go.

Burnham seemed to notice her uncertainty. “We could help each other,” he said.

She scoffed. “How? Your cell door looks pretty tightly locked too.”

“I’ve been here a while, and I’ve concocted a plan, but it requires two people. Are you up for it?”

“Why on earth would I trust you? Even if you weren’t from the Empire, I met you five minutes ago. For all I know, you could strangle me to death the moment you get out of that cell.”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Yeah, not gonna happen.”

He sat down on his own bench with a sigh. “Can I at least know your name?”

She hesitated for a moment. Burnham looked unthreatening. Even if he did try to strangle her, she could probably shake him off easily. Maybe he was sincere and really was just lonely and desperate for some human interaction. And what harm could sharing her name do?

“Commander Sasha Petrea. CSS Resolute.”

“Resolute?” Burnham said, raising his brows. “Now, this just got interesting.”

Chapter 10

Capt. Owen Shaw

Owen had set up a meeting with Gyeon, Perry, and Maseko the moment they’d docked at Morrigon Station. The fact that Grigorev had gotten away, with hostages aboard, was driving him mad with anger, but he knew he couldn’t allow feelings to rule his actions. As much as it pained him, letting the Icarus go had been the only sensible choice. They had to find another way to get their people back and take Grigorev captive than shooting torpedoes.

But before he could begin to formulate a plan, he needed to bring the rest of his battle group up to date.

He looked into the tense faces of the people gathered in his briefing room—his own senior staff, sans Petrea, and the captains of the other ships.

Perry shook his head, looking at the data Valentine had found on the Goliath’s memory core. “An inside job. The destruction of the gate was an inside job. Unbelievable.”

“The evidence suggests involvement of Confederation personnel, yes,” Owen said.

“Confederation personnel?” Gyeon asked sharply. “Let’s say it how it is. We all know who’s behind it. Grigorev.”

“His recent behavior suggests as much,” Maseko said. “But he might only be the tip of the iceberg.”

Owen took a sip from his coffee cup, trying to calm his nerves. The atmosphere had been tense since the Grigorev debacle. They already had enough on their plates, but now, hunting the rogue captain down had shot to the top of their to-do list.

Protecting the colonies in the Obsidian sector, dealing with pirates in possession of powerful Empire warships, unraveling a possible conspiracy from within the Space Guard itself, and now also finding Marcus Grigorev and bringing him to justice. And all that needed to be accomplished with a single battleship and three frigates.

The Sirius and the Orion were Antares-class frigate. At a hundred and fifty meters and with a crew complement of eighty-five, they were quick and nimble, able to accelerate up to 8.2 kilogravs, but lacked firepower and were only lightly armored. Perry’s ship, the CSS Lincoln, belonged to the older Washington class. At one hundred eighty meters and with a crew of almost a hundred, she packed more punch but was a lot slower than the two Antares-class frigates in the battle group, only able to accelerate with 6.6 kilogravs, only slightly faster than the massive Resolute.

It wasn’t a lot to work with, but it was all they had to protect the Obsidian sector, at least for the time being. Hopefully, it would be enough, because Owen had a hunch they would see more action sooner rather than later.Just a few hours ago, they had received concerning messages from several colonies in the neutral zone, near the border of the Obsidian Sector.

“We’ve gotten reports about three more Empire ships in the neutral zone,” Owen said. “At least one of them seems to be a Goliath-class battleship like the one that attacked Obsidian. All of them were flying dark. No flag, no registry number, no authentication codes. I think it’s safe to assume they aren’t officially acting on behalf of the Pendragon Empire.”

“Maybe not officially, but I doubt some pirate group just bought a fleet of Empire warships,” Maseko said. “It’s clear the Pendragon Empire supplied these people with ships, so they’re getting something out of this. The question is what?”

Owen slowly nodded. He hoped his away team, en route to the lost colonies, would find an answer to that question.

“Until we figure that out, we’ll need to be on guard. I suggest the following plan.” He projected a map of the Obsidian sector on the viewscreen. “The Lincoln, the Sirius, and the Orion will each patrol part of the border of the sector. Try to establish contact with the colony governors. Look out for enemy ships, and do what you can to protect the colonies in your area, but disengage if you face overwhelming opposition. We can’t afford to lose ships. Or people.”

“And what will the Resolute do?” Maseko asked.

“We’ll try to find the Icarus, arrest Grigorev, and bring the ship back into the fold. We need every ship we can get to protect our people against those Empire-boosted pirates, so I have no intention of letting Grigorev just take the Icarus and do whatever he wants with her. Especially considering he might be involved with those same pirates.”

“Speaking of our lack of ships,” Perry said, “what are your plans for that Goliath?”

Owen gave his chief engineer, Commander Valentine, a nod, and her eyes lit up with excitement. She complained endlessly about the impossible task he’d given her. Told him about radiation peaks, faulty life support systems, blown-out power conduits, and computer interfaces so nonsensical no sane person could ever make sense of them, but Owen knew, deep down, that she loved working on the Goliath. It was the ultimate challenge for his talented chief engineer, and she wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge.

“The ship got flooded with radiation during the battle, so progress is slow, but we’re confident we can fix it with enough time,” she said with a hint of pride in her voice.

Gyeon raised her eyebrows. “Really? You think you can fly it, Shaw?”

“Having a second battleship in our battle group would be highly valuable, so we’re doing everything we can to make this happen.”

“And who’s going to crew that ship?” Gyeon asked.

Owen let out a sigh. “That will be a problem, no doubt.” And it wouldn’t be the last problem to solve. Cut off from the rest of the Confederation, supply issues would be an ongoing problem, and that included skilled personnel. “The Resolute’s crew is already stretched thin, and your ships don’t have a lot of surplus crewmembers either. We might have to recruit qualified civilians to fill the gaps, but that’s an issue we’ll deal with when it comes to it.”

“Crew is one problem we need to solve,” Maseko said. “But what about supplies? A Goliath-class warship needs fuel, weapons. Even chow for the crew might become a problem later down the line without resupplies from the Confederation.”

“You bring up an important point, Stella. We need to get an overview of our production and supplies. We need to know what we have to work with. Not just in regards to our battle group but the whole sector—food, energy, medical supplies. We need to be prepared for any shortages.”

“A sectorwide inventory?” Perry rubbed his chin. “We can gather that data while we’re on patrol. It won’t be perfect, but it should give us a rough idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“I’ll contact Obsidian’s governor,” Owen said. “He’s practically the civilian government of the entire sector at the moment. If we need to do any major redistribution between the colonies, we need him on board.”

“Many of those colonies consider themselves independent from the Confederation,” Maseko said. “They might not react well to a Space Guard ship dropping into orbit and taking away their supplies to give them to another colony.”

Owen looked at the young Captain Maseko. Despite her age, she was level-headed, possessed a lot of foresight, and wasn’t afraid to ask hard questions—a trait he personally appreciated.

“Another problem on our ‘solve later’ list,” he said with a weary smile. “Let’s focus on the most urgent matter first—taking down Marcus Grigorev before he can do any more damage.”

#

Ens. Noah Jordan

Lieutenant Prescott stared out the cockpit window, brows furrowed.

Noah didn’t need to ask to understand why he looked so concerned. The little data he got from the Humpty Dumpty’s sensors was enough to tell him they were in trouble.

The pirate ship hadn’t followed them into the cloud. They were safe for now, but they were also stuck—stuck in a magnetic current pulling them toward the planet.

The magnetic vortexes tossed their little shuttle around like a beach ball on the ocean, but the general direction was downward, toward the planet.

Prescott kept upping the thrusters, but they were close to maxing out the engine’s capacity. Slowly but surely, the magnetic pull would overwhelm them. If these currents didn’t shift soon, they’d crash into the hot gas giant below. Noah was reasonably certain it would result in a quick and mostly painless death for all of them, but he wasn’t keen on testing his hypothesis.

Neither were his team members judging by the tense atmosphere in the cabin.

Quinn was leaning over the edge of Prescott’s seat, watching every twitch of his fingers, and Felix paced around in the back of the shuttle, getting grumpier by the minute.

Octavia was still in her seat, but she’d gone totally quiet, drawn back into herself.

“There has to be something we can do,” Quinn said. “Can’t we, like… overcharge the engines or something?”

“We’re already at a hundred and seven percent capacity. If we keep this up, the fuel injector will blow, and we’ll lose power altogether.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Felix asked. “Put on space suits and make an emergency exit?”

Quinn rolled her eyes at the suggestion. “There’s no one who can pick us up, Felix. We’d just float in space until our oxygen tanks ran out.”

He paused his pacing and faced Quinn. “That pirate ship might still be around,” he said. “We could contact them.”

Noah turned in his seat and stared at Felix in disbelief. “You wanna let yourself get captured by pirates?”

Felix shrugged. “At least we’d still be alive. We can always escape later, as long as we still have a pulse.”

Octavia sat up straight, clearly alarmed by Felix’s words. It was obvious how scared she was of being captured by pirates associated with the authoritarian empire she’d fled from. She stood up, joined Noah at the sensor screens, and studied the flickering images. He leaned to the side to give her better access to the screen.

He’d been staring at the scrambled-up data for over an hour now but had come up with nothing that could help them get out of their predicament. Octavia had occasionally worked at the sensors console on the Resolute’s bridge. She was more qualified in analyzing data like this than him, and maybe she would have better luck finding a solution.

Felix and Quinn were still bickering in the background, but Noah quietly watched Octavia as her eyes darted across the screen. She was chewing on her lower lip, and her brows were creased thoughtfully.

“Waves,” she muttered, staring at the screen intently.

Noah leaned back in to check what she was looking at. It still looked as chaotic to him as it did before. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but it sounds like you’ve got an idea brewing.”

She tore her gaze away from the console and tilted her head. “Those magnetic eddies look like waves, don’t you think?”

Felix stopped his nervous pacing. “And?”

Quinn smacked him on the shoulder. “Let her speak. Her idea can’t be worse than yours.”

Octavia bit her lip and pointed at the sensor screen. Most of the data was still garbage. The only thing the sensors could pick up properly was the effects of the magnetic storm raging around them, making their shuttle vibrate and rattle.

“Some of the eddies pull us further in, some push us away.”

“Yeah, but the forces pulling us toward the planet are a lot stronger,” Prescott said.

“I think we need to work with the storm, not against it.”

Noah was starting to understand where she was going. He did some rough calculations in his head—difficult, since he didn’t know the shuttle class and its capabilities well—but at a glance, what Octavia was suggesting wasn’t totally impossible.

“We turn off the thrusters, wait until we hit a wave, and…”

Prescott nodded along. “Fire up the engine again and ride the wave.” He leaned into his seat and pursed his lips. “The initial acceleration burst combined with the magnetic wave’s force might be enough to get us far enough from the planet’s gravity well to escape.”

“We’ll have to time it perfectly,” Noah said, feeling a spark of hope. It would be an insanely difficult maneuver, but they had Prescott at the helm. If anyone could pull it off, it was him.

Felix looked unconvinced. “What if you don’t time it perfectly?”

“If we’re lucky, we’ll just drop back. We’ll be even closer to the planet, but we can try again.”

“And if we’re unlucky?”

Prescott shrugged. “If we land between the eddies, the opposing forces might tear the shuttle apart. It’s not really built for these kinds of strain.”

Felix thought about that for a moment. Then, a cheeky grin appeared on his face, and he clapped his hands. “Sounds fun. Let’s do it.”

Quinn was more hesitant. “I don’t think our shuttle being torn apart sounds like fun at all. Are you sure you can pull it off, Damian?”

Prescott nodded. “As long as Ensign Jordan here gives me the right pointers.”

“I can do it,” Noah said quickly. He knew it’d be tricky guiding Prescott through this with the limited data the sensors provided, but this was his chance to prove his worth—to prove taking him with them had been the right call.

“All right,” Prescott said, his voice firm. “Everyone, strap in. This is gonna be a rough ride.”

Noah’s heart thudded in his chest as he tightened his harness. If they—if he—messed this up, they could all die.

With a deep breath, Lieutenant Prescott switched off the thrusters. The shuttle went eerily quiet save for the groaning of the hull under the storm’s magnetic pull.

Noah watched the screens like a hawk, monitoring the colorful patterns the storm projected on the flickering displays. He had to wait for the right moment. Just sitting there, staring at the screen, while the ship was pulled deeper and deeper into the gas giant’s gravity was excruciating, but if they tried to burn the thrusters too early, the plan wouldn’t work.

“We’re getting pretty close to the planet,” Prescott said tensely. A sheen of sweat had collected on his forehead. “Ready when you are, Ensign Jordan.”

“Not yet,” Noah said through gritted teeth. He could see a wave building on the screen, but they had to wait… wait until the wave reached its peak.

The shuttle began to shudder violently as a magnetic eddy got a hold of them. Noah clenched his hands around the armrests, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Almost,” Noah whispered. “Almost…”

The wave peaked.

“Now!” he yelled. “Now, now, now!”

“Burning engines!” Prescott slammed the controls forward, and the shuttle’s thrusters roared back to life. The entire vessel lurched as the magnetic wave slammed into them, pushing them upward.

The combination of the engine’s thrust and the wave’s force sent the shuttle hurtling through the magnetic storm like a surfer catching the perfect wave. The hull groaned in protest, alarms blared, and for a moment, Noah thought the entire craft would tear apart.

“Hold it steady!” Quinn shouted.

“I’m trying!” Prescott growled, wrestling with the controls. The shuttle bucked, meeting his course correction with violent resistance.

The shuttle rattled as another eddy threatened to pull them off course. Prescott cursed. “Shit, we’re losing acceleration.”

“Correct course to starboard!” Noah yelled. “We can still make it!”

Prescott’s hands flew over the controls, adjusting the thrusters in rapid succession. The nose of the shuttle pitched sharply then steadied as he fed power to the stabilizers. Slowly, the rattling eased.

“We’re breaking free!” Noah called out, relief flooding his body. The alarms stopped blaring. The turbulence weakened as they moved away from the center of magnetic activity.

Prescott eased back the throttle, letting the shuttle stabilize as they cleared the storm.

Everyone exhaled at once.

“That… was insane,” Felix muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“Insane, but it worked,” Quinn said, a grin breaking across her face. She reached over and clapped Octavia on the shoulder. “That was a smart idea, Octavia. You just saved our asses.”

Octavia gave a small, almost shy smile. “Team effort. It would’ve never worked without our excellent pilots.”

Prescott leaned back in his chair, breathing out, exhausted. “Let’s not celebrate prematurely. It’s not over yet. Jordan, check the sensors. Any sign of the pirate ship?”

Noah checked. Now that they’d cleared the eye of the storm, the readings began to stabilize. “No sign of them, LT. I think they’ve given up on us.”

“Take us out behind the planet anyway,” Quinn ordered. “Quiet as a mouse, just in case they’re still lurking somewhere.”

“Plotting course,” Noah announced. The sudden drop of adrenaline made his hands slightly shaky. They’d survived this time, but who knew what awaited them behind the next hyperspace gate.

Chapter 11

Capt. Owen Shaw

Owen stood on the bridge, right behind the navigation console, arms crossed behind his back, watching the large viewscreen as the Resolute embarked into the vast open space.

Excluding the short stint chasing after Grigorev—which they had to abort after a few minutes—this was the first time the Resolute had left the spaceport of Morrigon Station for a mission. He just wished his maiden voyage as captain of the Resolute had been a little less dramatic. Sasha Petrea’s life was on the line. The stakes were high.

“We’ve cleared the safety radius,” junior lieutenant Spivey reported. “Switching from maneuvering thrusters to main engines.”

Owen clapped the young man on the shoulder and returned to his captain’s chair. “Set a course for the Torvax hyperspace gate.”

After carefully studying the Obsidian sector hyperspace route system, Owen had decided to start the search for the Icarus there. It was the gate Grigorev had escaped through and also the first gate on the quickest route to the neutral zone. Owen assumed that was where Grigorev was headed. If they took the direct route to the neutral zone, it was just a question of catching up with him, but if Grigorev was moving in an erratic pattern to shake off any pursuers—and that was what Owen would do if he were in his shoes—following their tracks would be difficult.

As soon as he sat down, Adrian appeared by his side. “You look tense.”

“I am tense,” Owen admitted. “This whole situation’s a mess, and we’re right in the middle of it. Every time I try to unknot this strange conspiracy, my brain just stalls. The pirates, the Empire, Grigorev… I have no idea how to make sense of it all.”

“One step at a time. We need to get Sasha back first. And maybe we’ll get answers from Grigorev once he’s in our brig.”

“I doubt he’s just gonna surrender and let himself be captured,” Owen said. “I’m afraid we’ve got a tough fight on our hands.”

“Maybe, but the Resolute is tougher. If she can handle a Goliath-class Empire battleship, she can handle the Icarus.”

“I’m still hoping it doesn’t come to that. I’m not keen on shooting at fellow Space Guard crewmen.”

Adrian went quiet, his gaze dropping to the floor. He took a deep breath. “How far are you willing to go? To take down Grigorev.”

A loaded question. Owen knew what Adrian was asking.

“Am I willing to destroy the Icarus, you mean? With Petrea and our people still on board?”

Was he? He knew the answer should be yes. Protecting the sector—with its hundreds of thousands of civilians—from someone like Grigorev was more important than saving a single away team, even if that away team included his tactical officer. But Owen couldn’t bring himself to say yes. He’d made hard choices before in his career. One of them had nearly landed him in military prison. But sacrificing Petrea didn’t sit right with him. He wouldn’t allow it. He simply had to find another way.

He was lucky that Spivey’s report that they’d reached the hyperspace gate ended the uncomfortable conversation.

Lieutenant Mendy announced the impending hyperspace entry to the crew, and they entered the gate without issues. They traveled through three more gates, crossing two uninhabited systems before they emerged in the first settled system on their route, Xentari.

Xentari was a planet about two-thirds the size of Earth, but other than its size, it was very similar to humanity’s birthplace. A government-sponsored colony had been founded on Xentari seventeen years ago, and the planet already had close to a one hundred thousand citizens, the second-largest population after Obsidian.

“Contact the colony’s governor,” Owen ordered.

Mendy started typing away on his touchpad keyboard, but the viewscreen remained dark.

“What’s the matter, Lieutenant Mendy?”

The young man furrowed his brows. “I’m hailing them, but they’re not answering, sir.”

Owen shifted in his seat. He caught a concerned look from Adrian. Another colony gone dark? So close? Had the pirates already reached Xentari? Or was Grigorev responsible?

He took a deep breath before asking the question he dreaded the answer to. “Are we receiving any other signals from the planet’s surface?”

To his surprise and relief, Lieutenant Lin nodded. “Plenty, Captain. Energy signatures, comm chatter—everything looks normal for a colony this size.”

“Then why aren’t they answering? Is something wrong with our comm relays?”

Lin tapped on her console and studied her screen for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. “All our internal scans appear to be within normal parameters.”

Mendy was still looking at his screen in confusion. “If I had to guess, I’d say they’re ignoring us on purpose.”

Owen let out a sigh. The Xentari system had three hyperspace gates—one leading back to the Obsidian system, one leading to Kairon, and one leading to Zyphyria. If he wanted to track the Icarus down, he needed the colony’s assistance. He needed to know what their sensors had picked up.

“Let’s send a video transmission. What’s the governor’s name?”

“Governor Policaro,” Adrian said. “Nice woman. Competent. I’m surprised she’s not answering. She was always very welcoming to the Resolute on previous missions.”

“Well, a lot of things have happened since you last were here,” Owen said. “Things that might make a governor wary about unannounced visitors. Mendy, ready when you are.”

“Connection established, video recording activated. You’re on, Captain Shaw.”

Owen straightened his shoulders and put on his most authoritative voice.

“Governor Policaro, this is Captain Owen Shaw of the CSS Resolute. We’re on a priority mission crucial to the sector’s security, and we require your assistance. Immediately open a comm channel, or your refusal will be noted and properly sanctioned according to Confederation law.”

With a nod, he signaled Mendy to end the recording and send the transmission.

It did the trick.

About a minute later, the face of a gray-haired woman appeared on the screen. Frown lines were etched into her face, and there was a hostility in her eyes Owen hadn’t expected.

Before he could even greet her, she barked at him like an angry dog. “We’re not cooperating with you, Shaw.”

Taken aback, he raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“We’ve been warned you would pass through our system, and we’ve been instructed not to cooperate with you.”

That statement made his alarm bells ring. “Instructed by whom?” he asked, although he already had a pretty good idea who it was.

She raised her chin and stared right at him. “Captain Grigorev of the CSS Icarus. He told us everything about your mutiny.”

“My mutiny?” Owen repeated flatly.

“Grigorev told us that you refused to accept his authority over the Obsidian fleet and tried to attack his ship.”

That little weasel was trying to turn the sector against him! By twisting facts and fabricating lies, he’d put Owen on the defensive.

Owen had to take a breath to collect himself. He needed to choose his words very carefully if he wanted to convince Policaro he was in the right when she’d already made up her mind about him.

“Governor Policaro,” he said calmly. “I’m sorry to tell you, but you were misled. Grigorev is the one who unlawfully tried to seize control over the battle group. He threatened both me and several other captains with a gun and took members of my crew hostage when we tried to arrest him.”

Policaro pursed her lips. “And why should I believe you? You’re a known mutineer, Shaw.”

“I assure you, I—”

“Do you think because we’re in the Obsidian sector, we don’t know about your past? We know, Shaw. We all saw your trial on TV. You’re infamous, even out here.”

Owen went quiet. A mix of anger and desperation whirled inside him as he tried to think of a way to convince Policaro he was within his rights to pursue Grigorev. The man had managed to turn Policaro against him, and this was only the first stop on the route. How much more opposition from the people he wanted to protect would he face?

“Would you be open to discussing this face to face?” he asked, forcing his voice into a polite tone. “I could come down to Xentari.”

“Absolutely not,” she snapped. “If I had any weapons at my disposal, I’d chase you out of my system with force. I don’t, so I’m afraid I’ll have to accept your presence in my orbit, but I won’t allow you to step foot on my planet. If you try, I’ll have you arrested.”

Owen suppressed an annoyed sigh and leaned back in his captain’s chair. Trying to convince Governor Policaro on his own was hopeless. He needed help.

“Have you met any other Confederation captains before? Captain Perry? Captain Gyeon? Or the young Captain Maseko?” If she didn’t trust him, maybe she’d trust one of them.

“Of course I have. Both Perry and Maseko stopped by in the last twelve months.”

“Contact them, and ask them to confirm my claim,” he said.

Policaro looked almost surprised by his suggestion. She leaned to the side, talking to someone not in the picture. When she returned her attention to Owen, her face looked a little less hostile. “Fine,” she said. “We’ll attempt to make contact with them. You’re still not allowed on Xentari, understood?”

“Of course, Governor Policaro. I’ll respect your wishes.”

“I’ll contact you again as soon as I hear back from Perry and Maseko,” she said before ending the transmission without a word of goodbye.

Owen forced his shoulders to relax. It would take a while until word got back from the Sirius and the Lincoln.

Despite their best efforts, scientists still hadn’t found a way to send radio signals through hyperspace, so people used a surprisingly crude system to communicate between star systems light-years apart.

The signal was sent to a relay station near a gate, where the data was loaded onto a drone. The drone traveled along the hyperspace route, which could take anywhere between a few minutes and a few hours, and emerged on the other side, where it downloaded its stored data onto another relay station. From there, it was once again transmitted to the next gate’s relay station and loaded into a hyperspace drone again. It was little more than a very high-tech pony express, and sending messages between stars could take many hours, sometimes even days.

Adrian looked at him questioningly. “What now?”

“We wait,” Owen said. “You have the conn. I need to blow off some steam.”

“Got it. I have the conn. I’ll contact you when we hear back from Xentari.”

Owen left the bridge and headed toward the gym. Walking down the corridors, he encountered several crewmembers. They all snapped into a sharp salute the moment they saw him.

Despite his sour mood, he couldn’t help but notice that the attitude of the crew toward him was slowly changing. When he arrived at the Resolute, he was mostly met with angry stares and tense discomfort, but people seemed to be getting used to him.

Their performance had also improved. The dire situation they’d found themselves in had snapped his crew out of their lazy indifference. It used to be a struggle to put his training schedules and readiness drills into action. Every attempt to improve the crew’s performance had been met with resistance and hostility when he’d still been the XO. Now, Adrian told him some departments even trained in their free time. Proper training, not the illegal boxing matches Fitzgerald had organized to bolster his salary with some sports betting scheme.

Fitzgerald…

Owen stopped dead in his tracks. He had every intention of going to the gym—he was long overdue for a workout anyway—but now, a different idea grabbed hold of his mind. He turned around and headed back to the elevator, descending ten levels until he reached deck 17, where the brig was located.

The door was guarded by two armed security men. That was new, and he assumed Petrea had instated them. They saluted when they saw Owen coming and immediately cleared the way for him.

Inside, he found a petty officer lounging in the chair behind the guard’s console, reading something on his TacPad that was so absorbing he only noticed Owen’s presence when he was standing right in front of him.

Owen cleared his throat. The petty officer—Petty Officer Kerry, according to the name tag on his uniform—raised his gaze from his Pad, a look of annoyance on his face. When he noticed who was standing in front of him, he jumped up and tried to stuff the TacPad back into his sleeve pocket so fast, he dropped it to the ground.

Owen gave him a permissive smile. “At ease, PO.” The man’s job was sitting behind the console all day and guarding a single prisoner, safely locked away in his cell. Possibly the most boring job aboard the ship. It was hard to blame him for doing a bit of recreational reading while on watch, even though it was against regulations, and Owen was usually a stickler for them.

“I need to talk to Lieutenant Fitzgerald. Open the door for me.” Questioning him through the small window in the cell door wouldn’t suffice. He needed to talk to the man face to face, to gauge his reaction, read his body language, separate the truth from the lies. If there even was anything but lies coming from Fitzgerald’s mouth.

Petty Officer Kerry’s gaze flickered over to Fitzgerald’s cell and back to Owen. “Open the door? Sir, are you sure you want to go in there? After… I mean… it’s just that I heard what he tried to do to you, sir.”

“Don’t worry. I can handle myself against Lieutenant Fitzgerald.”

Kerry still looked unconvinced. “I’ll stand by the door, weapon at the ready,” he said before reluctantly entering the command into his console that unlocked Fitzgerald’s door.

The magnetic lock opened with a soft clicking noise, and the light above the cell turned from green to red. Owen straightened his shoulders, preparing himself to face the man who competed with Marcus Grigorev for the title of Owen’s least favorite person in the entire Obsidian sector.

When Owen stepped into the cell, he found Fitzgerald was sitting on his narrow bed. The blond man glanced up when the door slid open, and for a split second, his face almost looked hopeful. Then, he realized who’d come to visit him, and the joy over human contact was replaced by a hostile glare.

Owen stood in front of him, arms hanging loosely by his sides, ready to reach for his gun should Fitzgerald try anything funny. The last time they’d been in a cell together, Fitzgerald had tried to torture him to death with an electric riot-control lance.

“Shaw.” Fitzgerald spat the word out like it was an insult. “What do you want?”

“Are you being treated well?” he asked stiffly. No matter his personal feelings about the man, he would not tolerate the mistreatment of prisoners. The Confederation had rules that applied even to people like Fitzgerald.

Fitzgerald scoffed. “Why would you care? You left me for dead the last time we met.”

Owen suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “I don’t think you can claim moral superiority here when the reason you were injured in the first place was because you entered the brig, intending to kill me. Besides, I didn’t leave you for dead. I called the paramedics to your location. Did you expect me to carry you to the medical bay myself?” He paused. “I might have, but unfortunately, my arm wasn’t working well after you tortured me.”

“Worked well enough when you dragged Captain Torres’s body through half the ship. I can’t wait to see you court-martialed for that.”

“You know as well as I do that neither of us is getting court-martialed anytime soon. So how about you work with me instead of against me?”

Fitzgerald hesitated at his words, just for a split second. Owen tried to read his face. Had anyone told him the hyperspace gate had been rendered nonfunctional during the battle? Or did he already know because he was part of the conspiracy that planned all that?

Unfortunately, he played his cards close to his chest. “I’d rather rot to death in this cell.”

Owen ignored his dismissive attitude. He had no interest in exchanging insults. He needed answers. “Have you ever met Marcus Grigorev?”

“Haven’t I made myself clear? I’m not going to do shit for you, Shaw.”

“I can just check your personnel file. Or you could tell me what you know about him. If what you have to say is interesting, you might work your way back into my good graces.” It was a hunch, a shot in the dark, but for some reason, Owen felt there might be a connection between the two men. They seemed to be very similar in the way they hated him, at least.

“Read my file, then,” Fitzgerald said, raising his chin like a boxer ready to take a punch. “You’ll see that I’ve never served under or with Captain Grigorev.”

“But do you know him?”

Fitzgerald leaned his head against the wall and smirked. “I bet you’d love to know that.”

Owen suppressed the urge to cringe under his mocking gaze. Fitzgerald knew something—his gut told him that much. He knew something, and he enjoyed dangling that carrot in front of Owen. But he would not give him the satisfaction of making him beg for answers. He wouldn’t play Fitzgerald’s mind games.

“Enjoy your stay,” he said coldly. Before he turned away to leave the cell, he caught the hint of disappointment washing over Fitzgerald’s face.

Petty Officer Kerry locked the door behind him as soon as he stepped out of the cell. “Did you find out what you needed to know, Captain?” he asked, eyeing Fitzgerald through the bar-secured window in the door.

“Not as much as I’d hoped for, but something, at least. Keep him safe in there. We might need him later.”

Chapter 12

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah did the calculations twice, but both times, his display showed the same result. He looked at the numbers for a while, contemplating the consequences, trying to come up with a solution on his own. After about half an hour, he gave in and cleared his throat to get Prescott’s attention.

Lieutenant Prescott, relaxing in the pilot’s chair while the autopilot kept the shuttle on course, turned his head. “What is it?”

“Our fuel reserves, LT,” Noah said. “We burned a lot of fuel trying to stay afloat in the magnetic storm. I don’t think we’ll make it to Cascade with what we still have in the tank.”

Quinn, who’d been in the back compartment, appeared in the doorway. “Did I hear that right? We’re out of fuel?”

“Not yet,” Noah said. “But we won’t make it to Cascade. We need a refueling stop.”

“Can we do that?” Octavia asked. “I thought we were on a covert mission. Can we just stop at some space station and fill up the tank?”

Felix leaned over the backrest of his seat, a self-confident grin on his face. “We’ll make it work. Don’t worry.”

Prescott raised his eyebrows. “How? They’ll read our transponder codes.”

“Can we turn them off?” Octavia asked.

Quinn shook her head. “No, it’s not that easy. No codes, no docking. That rule holds true even for the shadiest of space stations.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“We’ll fake them.” Quinn gave Felix a nod. “Get to work, Felix.”

“Right on it,” he said, strolling past the rows of seats. He gave Noah a little shove. “Clear the seat. I need the console.”

Noah clambered out of the seat to make room for Felix, who immediately started frantically hacking away at the keyboard. Noah stayed right behind him, looking over his shoulder, and tried to follow along, but Felix accessed menus he didn’t even know existed.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a few… adjustments to our registry,” Felix said without taking his eyes off the screen. Noah had no idea Felix was good with computer systems, but maybe that kind of stuff was taught during Special Ops training.

Quinn watched him for a moment, a satisfied expression on her face, before she turned to the rest of the group. “Felix can change our transponder codes to something less suspicious. Something that won’t give away that this shuttle is Space Guard property. But we still need to do something about the registry number on our hull if we want to stay undetected. Otherwise, anyone who takes one look at the shuttle will know we’re Space Guard.”

“Do what exactly?” Octavia asked. “How are we supposed to get rid of the hull’s registry number?”

Quinn pursed her lips. “One of us is going to have to suit up and scratch it off. At least parts of it, until it’s unrecognizable. Volunteers?”

There was a pregnant pause. Backbreaking labor while floating in space. It was no surprise that the team showed little enthusiasm for the tasks, and Noah had no interest in it either. He hated spacewalks. Back during his third semester at the Academy, he had needed three attempts to work up enough courage to try his first venture into space. He’d nearly failed out of the Academy right then and there. He’d gotten a grip on his paralyzing fear since then, but it still wasn’t something he enjoyed.

He looked around, hoping one of the others would raise their hand, but was disappointed.

Prescott leaned back in his seat with a smirk. “Don’t look at me. I’m flying this ship.”

“I’m kinda busy right now too,” Felix said, still absorbed in whatever he was currently doing to the computer.

Quinn was the team leader, so she definitely wouldn’t leave the shuttle to do some menial task, either. That left himself and Octavia.

Noah glanced at Octavia. She stood stiffly, arms wrapped around herself, eyes dark with exhaustion. He hadn’t forgotten what she’d done on the mission to get control of the Goliath warship—the way she’d stepped into that radiation-drenched bridge, putting her own life at risk to keep the ship from crashing onto the planet. That kind of courage should’ve bought her some credit.

“I’ll do it,” he said with a sigh.

Quinn’s face softened into a small, approving smile. “Good man. Come on. I’ll help you suit up.”

She led him to the back of the shuttle and then down a few steps to the storage compartment below the upper level of the shuttle, where the living quarters and the cockpit were.

It was the first time Noah had been down there, and he was impressed by how much gear the logistics crew had managed to squeeze into such a tight space. The walls were lined with lockers, shelves, and stacked boxes.

She led him to the back of the compartment, to the storage lockers. It didn’t take long to find an EVA suit in his size—a bulky, reinforced design built for durability rather than comfort. Noah ran his hands over the material. It wasn’t as sleek as the flight suit he wore in his Phoenix, but at least it was sturdier than the flimsy emergency gear they’d found on Morrigan Station during the explosion.

Quinn handed him a pair of gloves and started checking the seals as he stepped into the suit. “Have you ever done a hull walk before?” she asked.

“Not like this,” he admitted. “I’ve done the practice walks at the Academy, but those were always in controlled conditions.”

Quinn fastened the final clamp on his suit. “But you’ll be fine. Just don’t let go of the tools. We don’t have spares.”

“Helpful,” Noah muttered, pulling his helmet over his head.

Quinn smirked and clapped him on the shoulder. “You got this.”

He climbed back up the stairs—not an easy feat in a bulky space suit—and stepped into the airlock. The inner hatch locked behind him with a hiss. His stomach flipped as the artificial gravity faded, and he felt himself lift off the floor. Bracing one hand against the wall, he reached for the tether and clipped it to his suit.

He navigated himself toward the exit hatch by grabbing the handholds on the walls and ceiling. With a rapidly beating heart and an unpleasant tightness in his chest, he unlocked the outer hatch. He loved gazing out one of the large observation windows aboard the Resolute, and he loved shooting through space in his Phoenix, but this was different. Being out there in the cold darkness of space with nothing separating him from the deadly vacuum but a thin layer of plastic and rubber—the only thing keeping him alive a small oxygen tank on his back—that was scary.

He swallowed hard before he carefully pushed himself away from the shuttle with both feet. His heartbeat sped up, tingling fear spreading from his chest through his body until his hand found a handhold on the side of the shuttle. He held on tight, giving himself a moment to settle his nerves. Relax, he told himself. Nothing can happen. You’re tethered to the ship. The fear subsided a little, but he couldn’t quite get rid of that intrusive image of the tether ripping and him floating away. Away from the ship, lost in the infinity of space, where his dead body would float until the heat death of the universe.

He shook his head with an angry grunt. No time for gloomy contemplations of humanity’s fragility. He had a job to get done. Taking out the small plasma cutter clipped to his suit, he adjusted the setting to low—just enough heat to burn through the paint without compromising the hull. Then, with shaky hands, he began the slow, methodical work of erasing their identity.

#

Lt. Cmdr. Sasha Petrea

Sasha quickly lost her sense of time. The lights had dimmed four times since she’d been locked in this cell, and she’d gotten eight meals, so that probably meant she’d been here about four or five days.

Things weren’t looking good for her. She’d expected Shaw to chase the Icarus down and battle it out with Grigorev, but as far as she could tell, no shots had been fired—at least not while she’d been conscious.

The longer she spent locked up in here, the harder it became to suppress the nagging fear that maybe there had been a battle while she’d been knocked out—and maybe Grigorev had won. That the Resolute was destroyed, that Captain Shaw and all her friends, the entire crew, were dead, and no one was coming to free her.

Every time the thought crept up, she pushed it back down, telling herself it was impossible. The Icarus was a capable warship, but it was dwarfed by the mighty Resolute. The Resolute might have seen better days, but even in her weakened state, she was still more than capable in a one-on-one battle. If there had been a fight, the Resolute would have won it.

So why was she still stuck in this cell? Another thought wiggled its way into her mind. An even darker one. What if she’d been abandoned? She and Shaw had recently made their peace with each other, but maybe he was secretly still hung up on their previous strained relationship. Was it possible he’d chosen to leave her behind? Give up on her and hand her position as head of the tactical department to an officer he liked better?

No, Shaw wouldn’t do that. He had his faults, for sure, being an unbearable rule-stickler for one, but he was an honorable man, and he cared about his crews, even if he often struggled to show it. He wouldn’t just give up on her and leave her at Grigorev’s mercy.

Sasha turned in her narrow, uncomfortable bed, trying to settle back into sleep, but her brain had other ideas: trying to figure out why no one had come to rescue her yet.

The Resolute was able to overpower the Icarus in a one-on-one battle, of that she was sure, but what if it hadn’t been a one-on-one battle? Grigorev was hardly the type to fight fairly. Maybe he’d lured the Resolute into some kind of trap. Maybe he’d used another trick to win the battle.

But why would Grigorev keep her around if he’d already beaten Shaw? She’d heard it herself before she was captured. Grigorev had ordered her team to be killed, but he’d spared her. He must have some kind of use for her.

The thought made icy fear crawl up her spine. Whatever Grigorev’s plans were for her, she was sure she wouldn’t like them.

“I can tell you’re awake,” Burnham said from the neighboring cell. “Bad dreams?”

“I’m just not tired.” She knew she shouldn’t engage with the Empire officer, but after days locked inside the tiny cell, she was bored out of her mind. Even his annoying chatter was a welcome distraction from her gloomy thoughts.

“Do you want to play a game?” he asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to hear my plan to escape?”

Sasha gritted her teeth. “No.”

Hell, she wanted to escape—if only to piss off Grigorev—but she wouldn’t work with a Pendragon officer. Under no circumstances would she ever ally herself with an Empire creature. She hated Grigorev and was furious at his crew for blindly following him, but she hated the Empire more. And they already knew the Empire had been involved in the attack on the Obsidian system. Trusting Burnham was the stupidest idea possible.

“Fine. Let’s talk, then,” Burnham said, his tone still chipper despite her rude refusal. “Do you have siblings?”

“Get lost, Burnham.”

“I’m an only child. My parents thought they couldn’t have children, but then my mother got pregnant at forty-four. Forty-four, can you imagine? They were quite shocked.”

She would never fall back asleep with him chewing her ear off, so she sat up in her bed and pulled the thin, rough blanket up to her armpits. “Why didn’t they go to a doctor?”

“To have a child, you mean? Ah, yes, I’ve heard that’s something people can do in the Confederation, but it’s not allowed in the Pendragon Empire.”

“What? Why?”

“Eh… something about survival of the fittest, genetic superiority, blood purity, blah, blah. In a nutshell, if you can’t make lots of strong, healthy children for the Empire’s glory on your own, you’re deemed unworthy to reproduce at all.”

She scrunched her nose. “Sounds archaic.”

“It is,” he said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “That’s why I defected.”

Sasha tensed. Defected? The little weasel had turned his back on the Empire? Could that be true? She leaned forward slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face through the mesh wire separating their cells. He looked somber—no hint of deception. But then again, he was an Empire spy; he had admitted that himself. From all she knew about how the Empire trained its spies—which was admittedly very little—he was probably a master at keeping up a front. And pretending to be a defector must be Espionage 101.

No, she wouldn’t fall for that trick. But maybe if she pretended to take the bait, she could pry some useful information from him? Maybe, just maybe, she could convince him to tell her who was behind this conspiracy.

“Defected?” she repeated, her voice slightly shaking, not from fear but from the realization that this was the opening she’d been waiting for. She needed to be careful. If she appeared too eager to swallow his lies, he might get suspicious.

He smiled a sad smile. “That’s how I ended up here.”

“What does Grigorev want with a defecting Empire spy?”

“Delivering me back to my masters.” His shoulders stiffened, and his voice sounded pained. Sasha had no idea who his masters were, but she did have an idea of what the Empire did to punish defectors, and it wasn’t pretty. The Confederation had outlawed the death penalty long ago, considered it barbaric, but the Empire didn’t share these hangups. They used it plenty, and in very creative ways, executing both enemies and their own people alike.

“Why would he do that? What business does he have with your masters?”

Burnham cocked his head. “Oh, Sasha, you’re from the Resolute. I think you know the answer to that question.”

She didn’t need him to spell it out. The answer was already there, hanging in the air between them like an unspoken truth. Grigorev was in on it. He was tied to the conspiracy, to the people who were behind the attack on Obsidian.

At least according to one Pendragon Empire officer.

Sasha was unsure what to do with that information. Could it be true? Of course it could be true. Grigorev was ruthless and power hungry. Conspiring with an enemy to gain an advantage sounded just like him. But it could just as well be a trick, meant to confuse her, meant to sow distrust and hostility within the Space Guard. Espionage 102.

Before she could press Burnham for more answers, footsteps in the hallway ended their conversation. A moment later, a guard with two trays of food appeared in her view. He shoved one of the trays through the narrow slit in the wall of Burnham’s cell before walking over to her.

Sasha scrambled out of bed. Junior Spacer Moreno,” she addressed him, reading the name on his uniform tag. “I need you to relay a message to the CSS Resolute for me.”

The young man showed no sign he’d even heard her. His face remained unmoved, his gaze fixed on the food tray in his hands.

Sasha softened her tone. “I understand you’re afraid of Grigorev, but it’s your duty as a Space Guard officer to act against a mutineer. You remember that from your training, right? You must refuse unlawful orders. Well, this is one of those situations they taught you about. We need to stop Grigorev, and I require your assistance to do so.”

Moreno roughly shoved her food through the slit and turned his back on her without even looking at her, let alone responding to her pleas.

Sasha called out his name, but he’d already disappeared from her view, and the sound of his footsteps faded away.

She picked up the tray with a sigh. She’d tried to talk to every single guard who entered the brig since her capture, but so far, none of them had entertained her attempts to turn them against Grigorev.

Frustration and anger bubbled up inside her. She lifted the bowl’s lid and inspected the food. Some kind of colorless, odorless artificial meat with a side of mashed potatoes.

Not exactly mouthwatering, but they only got two meals a day, and hunger made almost anything edible.

Burnham was already shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth by the spoonful. “Don’t bother,” he said between gulps.

“With the food?”

“No, with these people. I admire your optimism, but I’m afraid this crew turned its back on your beloved Space Guard a while ago.”

Chapter 13

Capt. Owen Shaw

Owen went to the gym after his conversation with Fitzgerald, hoping it would help him clear his head and sort through the thoughts Fitzgerald had planted there, but his rigorous workout did little to help calm his mind.

This man had a way of getting under his skin. Was he just taunting Owen, trying to unsettle him, or was he really part of this conspiracy? Had he been the entire time? A sleeper agent aboard the Resolute? He tried to think back to his previous interactions with the man, tried to remember anything suspicious. For an enemy agent, he’d behaved almost too disruptively. Bullying other crew members, thinly veiled insubordination, and of course, that whole affair with the illegal boxing tournaments. One would expect a conspirator to act like a model officer, keeping his head low, staying out of trouble, not getting in trouble with the XO. But maybe that had been some kind of well-thought-out ruse. Act like an annoying but harmless troublemaker to distract from what he was really planning to do.

If only Owen had any idea what this “really planning to do” might have been. Had Fitzgerald been involved somehow in aiding the pirates, or had his mission not been carried out yet? Did he stop him in time? At least he was in custody now. He couldn’t do any more harm.

With this comforting thought, Owen ended his workout session and took a shower.

He’d just finished putting his uniform back on when his TacPad chimed, announcing a call from Adrian. “Xentari is hailing us.”

“Understood. I’ll be right there.”

He quickly brushed his hair back into place and rushed to the bridge, where the rest of the crew was already expectantly staring at the viewscreen.

“They haven’t aimed their weapons at us yet,” Lin said. “So I assume that’s a good sign.”

“Let’s hope so,” Owen said as he sat in the captain’s chair. The colony’s outdated orbital defenses were no threat to the Resolute, but he’d rather not battle this conflict out with Xentari. He was here to protect the colonies, not fight against them. “On screen.”

Lieutenant Mendy projected the incoming transmission on the viewscreen.

When the image from Xentari’s seat of government stabilized, the shift in Governor Policaro’s body language was visible at first glance. Even the two burly security guards still flanking her looked a bit sheepish.

Policaro cleared her throat. “So, we just received word back from the Lincoln, and Captain Perry confirmed your version of the events,” she said. “We’re still waiting to hear back from the two other ships, but it appears I was in the wrong here. My apologies.”

The look of guilt mixed with embarrassment told Owen she was sincere.

“Apology accepted. It’s all right, Governor. You’ve been manipulated and misled. I don’t blame you.”

“It’s just… Grigorev’s story. It all made sense, considering your recent… history. But I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that.”

“No harm done,” Owen said.

“I’m afraid harm was done.” She averted her gaze. “We gave supplies to the Icarus. Mostly food but also some torpedoes. If I’d known what I know now, I never would have… but it’s too late now.”

“That’s…unfortunate.” He left it at that. There was no point in berating her. What was done was done.

“I’d offer you weapons too, but we only just started building up our production lines here on Xentari. The delivery to the Icarus completely depleted our stockpiles.”

“Don’t worry, Governor. We just departed from Morrigon Station. Our arsenals are full. What’s way more valuable to us is information about the Icarus. We need to know which route they took.”

“I understand. They headed for the Cindaris gate. I’ll send you our sensor data right now. I hope it can help you find Grigorev.”

Owen rubbed his chin. “Cindaris… that’s what I was afraid of.”

Cindaris was an uninhabited system. It had no planets that could support human life, but it had a total of four hyperspace gates leading to other systems, five if you counted the one leading back to Xentari. Owen had guessed Grigorev would go there because once he was past Cindaris, it would be very difficult to find out in which direction he’d gone. Finding him again would take time. Precious time Grigorev could use to prepare for the inevitable confrontation. Time Commander Petrea had to spend as his prisoner.

Owen’s grip tightened on the armrest of his chair. The mere thought of what a man as unhinged as Grigorev might do to his tactical officer made Owen’s stomach turn. Grigorev needed to keep her alive, but that didn’t guarantee her well-being. Torture was outlawed and severely punished by the Confederation, but Grigorev had already broken so many laws, crossed so many lines, he probably didn’t care anymore.

“There’s another thing you could do for us, Governor Policaro.”

“What is it?”

“Please contact any colony you can reach and warn them about the current situation,” Owen said. “I’d rather not have this conversation again in the next system we stop by.”

Policaro straightened. “Of course. I’ll record a message right away. And if there’s anything else—anything I can do to fix my stupid mistake—let me know.”

“Don’t worry, Governor. Fixing mistakes is our specialty.”

#

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah watched the space station grow larger in the front window as the Humpty Dumpty—now proudly showing altered registry numbers, hand-edited by Noah himself—transmitted faked transponder codes to station traffic control.

“Looks a bit… dingy,” he said with a frown.

The closer they got, the worse it looked. The station was a sprawling, haphazard structure, an ugly patchwork of welded-together modules, old cargo containers, and derelict ship parts. The exterior plating was scarred with rust and burn marks, and entire sections seemed to be held together more by stubbornness than engineering.

Felix unbuckled his harness and leaned over the backrest of Noah’s seat to get a better view of the station. “Ah, Hades Station. What a beauty.”

Noah turned around and looked at him. “It looks like a garbage dump threw up and someone welded it together.”

Felix laughed out loud. “Yeah, pretty spot-on description, I’d say. It’s a shithole.”

Octavia sighed. “So why’d you pick this shithole for refueling?”

“We’re on a covert mission, darling. We need to be careful not to blow our cover. On Hades no one asks questions.”

“But no one but the crew manning those outposts would know.”

Quinn clicked her tongue. “Speaking of our cover… we need to change into civilian clothing before we board the station.”

Noah frowned. “Do we really need to go aboard the station? Can’t we just dock, refuel, and leave?” If this station looked half as bad on the inside as it looked on the outside, he wasn’t keen on visiting it.

“It doesn’t work like that on… let’s call it independent stations like this,” Felix said. “We need to find someone to buy fuel from first.”

“For real?” Never in his life had Noah needed to buy fuel. All he’d ever flown or traveled on had been Space Guard ships, where fuel was just another logistical detail handled by someone else. He had no idea how much fuel for a shuttle like the Humpty Dumpty would even cost or how they would pay for it.

Felix shrugged. “Yeah, but the upside is that the transaction isn’t trackable. People who do business on Hades Station like to stay under the radar—just like we do currently. No one will know we’ve been here. No one who might be following us can trace our tracks.”

Octavia looked unconvinced. She studied the station with the same disapproving expression as Noah. “Do we even have civilian clothes?” Octavia asked. “And money?”

Quinn smiled. “This isn’t our first rodeo. Everything we need is in the storage compartment. Get dressed, and put on your best pirate expression. We need to blend in.”

“Pirates?” Noah and Octavia asked in unison. Noah wasn’t sure who sounded more shocked—him or her. Pirates. They were supposed to mingle with pirates? The very same people who’d attacked them just weeks ago. And now, instead of hunting them down or throwing them in a cell, they were supposed to blend in with them? Walk among them like they belonged? He felt utterly unprepared for that part of the mission. All he knew about pirates came from TV shows. He’d never encountered one in real life. They weren’t really an issue in the core sectors of the Confederation, where his home planet, Jabaal, was located.

Quinn waved her hand dismissively. “Most pirates in this sector are little more than small-time criminals. Smugglers, black-market dealers, tech scavengers—you name it. Sure, some of them are dangerous, but not all of them are the bloodthirsty murderers you imagine. Keep your eyes and ears open. Maybe we can pick up some chatter about the identity of the Goliath crew.”

Felix leaned back against the bulkhead, arms behind his head. “I’m sure that whole stunt caused a lot of waves. It was way bigger than anything else pirates have pulled off in the Obsidian sector. People are gonna be talking about it for sure. The trick is getting them to talk to us without making it obvious we’re fishing for intel.”

Noah let out a slow breath then exchanged a look with Octavia. Neither of them seemed particularly reassured, but what choice did they have?

He followed Quinn and Felix down into the storage compartment and exchanged his comfortable Space Guard uniform for a baggy black overall that smelled a bit fishy.

He wrinkled his nose. “This smells like the last owner worked in a tuna canning factory,” he muttered.

Felix laughed as he zipped up a bright-blue jacket. “Congratulations. You now officially smell like a Hades Station local.”

Octavia fared only slightly better, swapping her uniform for a rough, patched-up jacket and cargo pants that looked like they’d seen a few too many bar fights. She grimaced at the frayed cuffs, running her thumb over the loose threads.

Quinn, already dressed in a worn-out leather vest over a dark shirt, grinned as she slung a belt around her waist. “Relax, kids. You’ll look the part soon enough. Now, scowl a little, walk like you own the place, and for the love of all things, do not look like a Space Guard officer.”

Lieutenant Prescott was the only one still in uniform since he’d be staying behind to guard the Humpty Dumpty. The rest of the team was now clad in unassuming civilian clothes. Except Felix, who’d gone for a more colorful approach, combining his blue jacket with green leather pants and orange, fingerless gloves.

Noah’s heartbeat sped up as he heard the docking clamps close with a metallic click, securing them in the docking port.

Feeling utterly unconvincing in his new role as a make-believe space pirate, he stood close to Felix and Quinn as the airlock equalized the pressure and opened with a hiss.

Quinn led the way, stepping onto Hades Station without hesitation.

Noah had thought the lower decks of Morrigon Station were wild, but compared to Hades, Morrigon’s Level 4 looked like an English garden.

The air reeked of oil, stale alcohol, and sweat from the hundreds of people crowding the docking area. The walls were covered in grime and colorful graffiti, the floor plates scratched and dented.

Judging by the number of airlocks, this part of the station provided docking places for at least fifty spacecraft, and judging by the large crowd of people going about their business and the noise level they produced, most of those docking bays were currently in use. The noise was deafening—hundreds of people chatting, laughing, yelling, and grunting. The low hum of starting engines, the metallic screeching of docking clamps, and cargo cranes filled the air.

Flickering orange neon lamps dimly lit the massive bay, but half the lamps were cracked, smashed, or otherwise nonfunctional.

Noah had never felt more out of place. Everyone here looked like they’d won their fair share of back-alley fights. Most of them were openly carrying weapons.

Felix elbowed him in the side and grinned. “Relax. It’s gonna be fine.”

Noah fidgeted with the too-long sleeves of his overall as they walked past a group of buff-looking men carrying plasma rifles. “I’d feel more comfortable if we’d brought weapons too,” he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, but we did.” Felix winked at him and slightly lifted the flap of his leather jacket, flashing an energy handgun tucked into his belt.

Noah glanced at the weapon but didn’t recognize it. “That’s not regular Space Guard gear.”

“Nope, that’s a ThunderPulse 8. Has a little more pizzazz than our Vanguards.”

Quinn shot them a glare. “Would you please stop discussing military gear?” she mumbled out of the corner of her mouth. “We’re pirates, remember?”

She led them out of the busy docking bay and into a narrow tunnel.

“Have you been here before?” Octavia asked. “You seem to know your way around.”

“A while ago,” Quinn said, casually strolling past two heavily armed thugs.

“Aren’t you afraid someone will recognize you?”

“That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.” She lowered her voice. “Back then, I operated under the pseudonym Danica Amis while hunting down a human trafficking ring. My cover should still be intact.”

“We’re hoping we can reactivate some of our old contacts,” Felix said. “On a station like Hades, you can’t even buy a piece of gum without contacts.”

They followed the tunnel, turned several corners, and passed two intersections before emerging into an even bigger hall than the docking area.

It was cylindrical and at least twenty decks high. If Noah had to guess, he’d say they were in the hollow core of the station.

Felix took a deep breath. “Ah, the sweet smell of illegal goods. Welcome to the central market, guys.”

The central market was a chaotic maze of stalls and booths, filled to the brim with illegal-looking tech, questionable substances, and exotic contraband.

The walls were lined with seedy bars, casinos, and brothels, and the cacophony of shouting and laughing was amplified by loud music blasting from several different bars, all mixed together.

Noah was still busy trying to orient himself in the hustle and bustle and nearly bumped into a cage holding an animal that looked suspiciously like a Stryxar.

“I thought those went extinct,” he said, craning his neck to get a better look at the large cat. It looked a little like a jaguar with stripes but had much larger teeth and light-blue eyes.

“On their native planet, yes,” Quinn said. “I assume this specimen was lab bred.”

Noah didn’t even have to ask if it was legal to breed Stryxar in a lab. He already knew the answer.

The owner of the shop noticed Noah’s curiosity and turned toward him with a big grin on his face and credit signs in his eyes. “A beauty, isn’t she?” He slapped the cage, startling the poor Stryxar inside. “For six thousand credits, she can be yours.”

Noah rubbed his neck with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, that’s a bit outside my price range.”

“I have half a dozen of her cubs in the back. They’re cheaper. Just two thousand credits for a male, three thousand for a female. They’re not house-trained, though.”

Noah was very tempted to at least take a look at the cubs, but Felix grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away. “Sorry, mate. Our boss has a strict no-pets policy.”

That was true. Noah was pretty certain that raising a highly endangered one-hundred-pound carnivore in his quarters aboard the Resolute was against Space Force regulations. After one last glance at the rare animal—it really was a beauty—Noah sped up his steps to keep up with the rest of the group.

Quinn led the way, and she navigated between the stands and stalls as easily as if she were taking a walk in a park.

After passing a booth that sold exotic alien animal pelts—including one that looked like it belonged to a Stryxar, which made Noah want to turn back and buy that Stryxar in the cage after all, just to save it from the same fate—a table with mountains of refurbished data chips, and a stall that promoted all kinds of dangerous-sounding pharmaceuticals, Quinn’s face lit up. She gave Felix a nudge. “Look who’s over there.”

Felix broke out into a grin. “My, if that isn’t our old friend Paolo. Today must be our lucky day.”

They approached a man with curly black hair and a deep scar on his chin, lounging behind a table with nothing on it but a price list.

When he saw them coming, his eyebrows rose in surprise, and he jumped out of his chair, stretching his arms out in a welcoming gesture.

“Are my eyes going bad, or is that really my old flame, Danica?”

“In your dreams, old man.” She laughed.

He clasped his chest. “Argh, back for three seconds, and she’s already breaking my heart. Where have you been all this time?”

“Listen, Paolo, it’s good to see you again, and I would love to catch up, but my friends and I have places to be. We need to refuel our ship. How much do you have in store?”

“Ah, you’re in a hurry, huh?” His expression quickly changed from flirty to calculating. “How much do you need?”

“Not much. It’s a tiny spacecraft. How about twenty liters?”

“Let’s make it thirty, and I’ll give you the old-friends discount. Ten percent off?”

“How much would I owe you?”

He tilted his head. “Let me see... if we subtract the discount... six hundred and forty credits.”

Quinn shook her head. “Daylight robbery!”

“A man has to eat, Dani.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll pay if you promise me you’ll have the deuterium in my tank within the hour.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll be ready to go in thirty minutes. Honestly, though, where have you been the past two years? I heard you were dead.”

Quinn shrugged. “You know how it is. We got into trouble with the wrong people. Had to disappear for a while.”

Paolo’s grin faded, and his voice lowered. “You chose a bad time to resurface, my love. There are some strange things going on in the sector.”

Noah tensed but tried to school his face. Did the man know something?

“You mean the gate?” Quinn asked casually. “Yeah, things are going to be interesting for sure.”

“I mean who’s behind blowing up that gate. Those damn Phoenix mercenaries.”

That clearly caught Quinn’s attention, but she played the role of an uninvolved pirate, only casually interested in the larger events of the sector, perfectly. “Phoenix?” she asked casually. “A new group?”

Paolo grimaced as if the mention of the name was enough to cause him discomfort. “Not just any group. They came out of nowhere, and suddenly, they’re crawling all over Hades Station and every other station my associates and I do business at. Just look around.”

Noah let his gaze wander. He’d been so lost in this chaotic mess of a space station that he hadn’t noticed, but now that Paolo had mentioned it, he could easily spot half a dozen heavily armored men and women displaying a stylized red Phoenix on their armor.

Noah paused. Was that… military gear they were wearing?

He studied the group of mercenaries nearby, trying not to stare too obviously. Yep, that was definitely Sentinel armor. Not the newest model, but maybe a Sentinel-5 or Sentinel-6. For a moment, he wondered how these mercs had gotten their hands on old Space Guard gear, but then, he remembered they’d just faced a mercenary force commanding a Pendragon Empire battleship. If they could get a warship, they could probably get these armor suits.

They might have just found their lead. Maybe those Phoenix mercenaries had been behind the attack. They certainly looked the type.

“Came out of nowhere, huh?” Quinn’s voice sounded a lot more serious than before. “And they’re powerful, yes?”

Paolo scrunched his nose, staring at a nearby Phoenix man in disgust. “They basically run the place now.”

“Hades?”

“No, the entire damn sector.”

Chapter 14

Paolo frowned. “You should see their ships. No one can keep them in check.”

Despite Paolo’s worrying words, Quinn stuck to the script. “Sounds like people I should meet,” Quinn said. “Who can I talk to?”

“Apparently, they’re led by a guy who calls himself Phoenix. That’s where they got the name from. But no one I know has ever seen him. No one knows where he came from. He just turned up out of nowhere with a lot of money and a lot of merch and started hiring people. The worst of the worst.” He leaned in closer. “Honestly, Danica. You should stay away from these people as far as possible. They’re no good.”

The way Paolo’s face darkened sent a shiver down Noah’s spine. If even criminals like Paolo were afraid of this Phoenix group, they had to be a force to be reckoned with. Everything pointed toward them being behind the mysterious attack on Obsidian.

Felix shifted from one foot to the other. Noah could tell by the stiffness in his usually relaxed posture that he didn’t like what he was hearing. “What does that mean ‘they’re no good’?”

Paolo eyed the two Phoenix mercenaries near his stall with a frown. “I don’t want to get into trouble, so I’d rather not talk about what I know. But let’s just say they dabbled in business no self-respecting pirates should ever dabble in.”

Felix and Quinn exchanged a worried glance.

“If you want my advice, Dani,” Paolo continued, “refuel that ship of yours and get as far away from any Phoenix grunt you can see. Find some nice, quiet colony and settle down there. You won’t make riches, but I know a woman as resourceful as you will find a way to earn a living.”

“Thanks for the advice.” Quinn pulled out a metal case and flipped it open. Inside were several neat stacks of small, colorful plastic chips. Noah guessed those data chips contained their credits. Usually, credits were transferred digitally, but that made every transaction easily trackable. People who wanted to hide their tracks used data chips that had the unique identifier key for each credit stored.

Quinn handed a couple of the chips over to Paolo. “Docking bay forty-seven.”

Paolo placed the chips into some kind of scanning device right next to his price list. What he saw on the display seemed to please him. A small smile tugged at his lips as he extended his hand to Quinn. “As always, it’s been a pleasure. My crew will bring the deuterium to your ship right away. Keep your head low. Stay out of trouble, love.”

Quinn shook his hand firmly, giving him a brief but appreciative nod. “You too, Paolo.”

They turned and walked away, but not before Quinn gave the Phoenix mercs standing close to Paolo’s booth a final once-over. Felix, trailing behind, looked longingly toward one of the nearby bars. A bright-green neon sign promised cheap drinks. Felix’s eyes lingered on it for a moment, and his lips curled into a smirk. “Cheap drinks,” he read out loud. “Sounds like the perfect way to kill some time while Paolo is getting our deuterium.”

Quinn didn’t even slow down, her gaze fixed ahead as she maneuvered them through the maze of crowded stalls and booths. “No,” she replied sharply, her tone leaving little room for negotiation. “We head straight back to our ship. I don’t like the look of these Phoenix people.”

Felix let out a frustrated sigh but kept pace with her without pushing against her order. These two had a very close relationship, that much was obvious, but in the end, Quinn was the team leader. She called the shots, and Felix accepted her authority.

“Phoenix…” Octavia furrowed her brows. “I wonder who that is.”

“Maybe we’ll find out once we reach our final destination,” Quinn said quietly.

Noah had to speed up his steps, doing his best to stay on Quinn’s heels, trying not to get separated from his team in the bustling crowd, until shouting caught his attention. The voice sounded so scared, so desperate, that he whirled around, alarmed. Turning toward the direction the noise came from, he quickly spotted three Phoenix mercenaries surrounding a young woman.

He was too far away to understand what was being said, but the look of terror on the woman’s face—she couldn’t be much older than him—made him stop dead in his tracks.

Felix nearly bumped into him. “Oof. Watch your step.”

Noah didn’t pay him any attention; he was too distracted by what was going on a few meters away. One of the mercenaries grabbed the woman by the hair, wrenching her head back sharply, and Noah reacted almost instinctively.

“Hey, where are you going?” Felix yelled after him, but he had already rushed ahead.

He grabbed the mercinary who was pulling the woman’s hair by a strap on his back armor and yanked him away from her. “Leave her alone!”

Caught off guard, the mercenary’s grip faltered, and in that split second, the woman broke free. She bolted, running for cover behind the nearest stall, disappearing from sight.

Noah stood there, adrenaline pumping, heart pounding in his ears, surrounded by three Phoenix men, who had all looked pretty pissed off.

Up close, they looked twice as big as they had a minute ago.

The largest of them gave Noah a push that looked effortless but nearly knocked him to the ground. “Stay out of Phoenix business, boy.”

Before he’d found his footing, Felix was already by his side, stepping between Noah and the mercenary. “Piss off. We’re not looking for a fight.”

“Oh yeah?” he grunted, looking at Felix like a fly he was about to swat. “Well, you found one anyway.”

He lifted his arm to swing at Felix, but Felix was a lot more nimble than the heavily armored man. He dodged and landed a punch to his gut. His fist connected with the mercenary’s body armor with a crunch, and Felix shook his hand with a pained curse, allowing the Phoenix man to get another jab in, grazing his jaw.

Felix was flung backward against Noah, and they both tumbled to the ground.

Noah’s back hit the metal floor with a painful thud, and he felt his TacPad slip from his sleeve, where he’d hid it after changing into this pirate costume.

It skidded over the floor and landed right in front of the mercenaries’ feet. Noah instantly knew he’d messed up when the man’s eyes narrowed. Almost everyone used pads like this, but the Tactical Pads used by Space Guard had a distinct shape and color, and Noah could tell the mercenary had no issues identifying this as not an ordinary civilian pad but military gear. Even the big, dumb merc was smart enough to put two and two together: No pirate would ever possess a pad like this.

Their cover was compromised.

The mercenary bent down to pick the TacPad up, but before his finger made contact, Quinn had appeared out of nowhere. She’d used the momentary distraction to sneak up on the man and put a gun to his neck.

“Drop it,” she hissed, firmly pressing the nozzle into his flesh.

The other two Phoenix men raised their weapons, but they hesitated, aware Quinn could kill their friend before they even had a chance to heat up the plasma in their rifles.

Noah quickly scrambled toward his TacPad and stuffed it back into his overalls, but the damage was already done.

“I suggest we call this a draw,” Felix said, rubbing his jaw where the mercenary had hit him. “My friend here won’t shoot you, and in exchange, you’ll let us return to our ship without giving us trouble. Deal?”

The three men exchanged tense looks, but finally, the one with the gun against his neck grunted in approval. “Get off our station, and don’t show your ugly mugs here ever again.”

#

Capt. Owen Shaw

They had scoured the Cindaris system for fourteen hours, and Owen was ready to throw in the towel. They had been scanning the system with every sensor setting available to catch a glimpse of the Icarus, find a trace, some kind of hint of where Grigorev might have gone, but they’d come back empty-handed sensor sweep after sensor sweep. Owen was frustrated, his bridge crew was frustrated, and Adrian had come to his side to suggest a break twice already.

Lieutenant Cosima Lin leaned back in her seat with a sigh. “Scan of square forty-seven completed, sir. No traces of residual deuterium detected.”

Junior Lieutenant Spivey, the helm officer, rolled his eyes. “Forty-seven down, one hundred sixteen to go.”

“I understand we’re all tired of this, but please keep your attitude in check,” Adrian said. “Or do you require a break, Lieutenant Spivey?”

Spivey quickly straightened his shoulders. “No, sir. Of course not, sir. I will continue to move to square forty-eight.”

Owen rubbed his eyes. “I think we all need a break. Beta shift can take over from us and continue the scans.”

“Beta shift?” Lin asked with a scowl on her face. “With all due respect, sir, but Erikson couldn’t find deuterium residuals on a scan if they were waving a large red flag. I’m staying.”

Owen gave her a warning look. “I don’t enjoy the way you talk about your fellow crew member, Lieutenant. And when I tell you to take a break, you better be in your bunk before I’m done counting down from ten. You’re my best sensor officer, there’s no doubt about it. That’s why I need you sharp. And I’m sure Junior Lieutenant Erikson will do the task just fine until you’re back behind your console.”

“But, Captain, I—“

Lieutenant Lin’s defense was cut short by Lieutenant Mendy. “Um, Captain Shaw, we… we just received a recorded transmission.”

Owen paused, surprised. “From whom?”

Mendy shifted in his seat, double-checking the screen. He hesitated a moment before he reported his findings. “It appears to be from the Icarus.”

Silence settled over the bridge for a beat. Owen straightened in his chair, his pulse quickening. He exchanged a glance with Adrian, who frowned, arms crossed.

“Are you certain?” Owen asked, his voice level, though his grip on the armrest tightened.

“Yes, sir,” Mendy confirmed, adjusting the display. “The location of the sender is obscured. Either it was bounced through multiple relays, or they deliberately masked the origin point. I can’t pinpoint where it came from.” His fingers danced over his console as he pulled up more data. “But the authentication codes match. It’s from the Icarus, sir. ”

A prickle of unease ran down Owen’s spine. He wasn’t sure if this transmission was a lucky break or a bad sign. Grigorev apparently felt bold enough to contact Owen despite being on the run for treason and insubordination. Whatever had bolstered his confidence, it couldn’t be good.

Unconsciously, he tugged on his uniform and brushed his hair out of his face, even though the transmission was only a recording being played, not an actual video conversation where Grigorev could see him.

“All right,” Owen said, steeling himself. “Play it on the main viewscreen, Lieutenant Mendy.”

Mendy tapped a button on his console. A moment later, Grigorev’s face appeared on the screen, and the smug look on his face made heat rise in Owen’s chest.

“I have no idea if you’re still out there looking for me or if you’ve already run back to Morrigon Station, tail tucked between your legs, and I don’t really care. You won’t find me either way, Shaw. Not until I want to be found.”

Owen dug his fingernails into the armrests of his captain’s chair but remained stone-faced. He didn’t want his bridge crew to know how much Grigorev made his blood boil. He was the captain. He needed to keep a cool head.

“It had recently been brought to my attention that you are currently harboring a certain Lieutenant William Fitzgerald in your brig. The people I work for—I think by now, you’ve figured out I no longer work for Space Guard or the Confederation—would like said lieutenant back.”

For a moment Owen was stunned. So his instinct had been right. Fitzgerald was involved in this. Owen had underestimated the man. He thought he was just one of those officers who liked the power that came with rank a little too much. A man with too many selfish impulses and too little honor. Unpleasant, problematic even, but there were plenty of these people in the fleet, and they could be dealt with with proper discipline. Fitzgerald, however, was a different breed. He’d gone from power abuse to high treason and who knew what else. If he really was a key person in this conspiracy, his list of crimes might be a mile long.

Grigorev made a pregnant pause before leaning back in his chair, his eyes lingering on the camera. Owen knew the man couldn’t see him, that he was only staring at the camera above the Icarus viewscreen that had recorded this transmission, but it sure felt like Grigorev was staring right at him.

“I suggest we exchange prisoners. You hand over Fitzgerald, and in return, I’ll give you your feisty tactical officer back.”

Owen could feel the eyes of his bridge crew on him, anxiously waiting for his reaction. They all wanted Commander Petrea back; she’d been popular with the crew. But how could Owen possibly agree to an exchange like this, knowing full well he would release a dangerous conspirator?

Was the offer even genuine? After everything Grigorev had done, Owen severely doubted it. “It’s a trap,” he said aloud, but more to himself than to any of his crew.

Adrian nodded. “Agreed.”

The Grigorev on screen sneered. “You’ll show up at the coordinates you received with this transmission. Alone. The moment I catch a glimpse of another ship, I’ll kill all my prisoners and open fire. If you try to attack us, I’ll kill all prisoners and open fire. If you try to pull any kind of trick, I’ll kill all my prisoners and open fire. I hope I have made myself clear.”

Owen couldn’t keep himself from glaring at the screen as Grigorev continued to make demands.

“You’ll come aboard the Icarus to hand over Fitzgerald. If he’s in a decent enough state, no missing limbs or anything, I’ll give you Sasha Petrea back. You’ll let us leave without bothering us. These are my conditions. If you don’t show up, I’ll kill all my prisoners. Icarus out.”

Owen sat in his chair, frozen, unable to tear his eyes from the viewscreen, now again showing the Cindaris system. The tension on the bridge was palpable. It was an offer he could not refuse despite knowing full well it was a deadly trap.

“Missing limbs?” Adrian asked, concerned. “We’re Space Guard. We don’t remove limbs from our prisoners. What on earth has gotten into the man?”

Owen exhaled, tearing his eyes away from the screen, trying to shake off the feeling of unease the video recording from the Icarus had left him with. “Maybe he needs to tell himself these things to justify his betrayal. If he’s the hero in his own story, we have to play the role of the villain.”

His XO shook his head. “He’s dangerous. We need to be very, very careful.”

“We have little choice but to agree to this exchange. You’ve heard yourself what he’ll do otherwise.”

Lin muttered a curse under her breath. “Cruel pig.” The insult earned her an approving nod from her fellow junior officer.

“A fitting description, Lieutenant,” Owen said grimly. “But if we want Commander Petrea back, this might be our only chance. I’m almost certain we will run into trouble, though, so we need to plan this carefully.”

“Too bad we don’t have our tactical officer to plan this tactical operation,” Adrian said with a sigh.

“But we still have a lot of smart heads aboard the Resolute. Contact the senior staff. I want them in my briefing room at twenty-one hundred hours.”

Chapter 15

Ens. Noah Jordan

Quinn slammed the hatch of the shuttle shut and turned to face Noah. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“They were harassing this woman, and I—”

“You blew our cover!”

“I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.”

Quinn exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples as if that might ease the pounding frustration. “That’s very noble of you, kid, but that’s exactly what you should’ve done.”

Felix shook his head, but he looked almost sorry for Noah. “You’re the worst fake pirate I’ve ever seen.”

Quinn’s jaw clenched as she reined her anger in. “I know you meant well,” she said, a lot calmer than before. “But we’re in big trouble now.”

Octavia's gaze wandered between Quinn and Noah. “You think these brutes put two and two together? Maybe they just thought Noah stole the TacPad from someone. That sounds like the kind of thing they would do.”

“Maybe. But I wouldn’t bank on it.”

Felix plopped down into a nearby seat and stretched his legs out. He appeared unfazed by the mishap despite the fact that a purple bruise had appeared on his jaw where the mercenary had struck him. “So what do we do now? Do we abandon the mission?”

Noah made a step forward. “What? No!”

He couldn’t be the reason the mission failed before it even properly began. The thought that he was the reason everything went wrong, when his superiors trusted him enough to send him on this mission despite his lack of experience, made his stomach turn.

He glanced at Prescott, still sitting in the pilot’s chair where they’d left him, following the conversation, stone-faced. His expression was unreadable, but Noah thought he saw the hint of disappointment on his face. Noah couldn’t bear the thought of letting his LT down. “Did he even get a real look at my TacPad? I think he was too distracted by the fight.”

“If you’re wrong and they did realize we’re from Space Guard, they’ll know we’re up to something,” Octavia said. “I’m pretty sure Hades doesn’t see a lot of Space Guard visitors.”

Quinn nodded. “And if they realize we’re up to something, they’ll try to track us.”

“Then we need to leave right away!” Noah urged. “Before they have a chance to make up their mind and follow us.”

Quinn sat down next to Felix, folding her hands in her lap. “If they do follow us, they might capture us. We’re not just risking our own lives—we’re going to cause a lot of complications. Shaw was clear in his instructions. No one can know we’re at Cascade.”

She bit her lip, silently contemplating the issue. Noah could do nothing but watch as Quinn decided whether he’d return home a fool or a hero. She turned in her seat to look at Felix.

But he just shrugged. “Your decision. You know I’ll follow you anywhere.”

The shuttle was silent except for the soft hum of the systems idling. Noah stood in a corner of the cabin, feeling like a naughty schoolboy. Octavia shifted from one foot to the other, looking worried. Prescott hadn’t moved an inch, but Noah swore he could feel the man’s scrutiny like a heat lamp.

Quinn stared into empty space for what felt like an eternity. “Okay,” she finally said. “We’re going ahead with the mission. But we need to watch our asses. I don’t want to get one of those Phoenix bastards stuck to it.”

#

Capt. Owen Shaw

His senior officers and some other key personnel had gathered around the holographic display in the middle of the bridge. The projector currently showed a three-dimensional replication of Ossarion, the system where Grigorev had demanded the prisoner exchange take place.

It was an unpopulated system—the dead end of a hyperspace route that would require traveling through three more gates. The very edge of explored territory. If they went there, they’d be far from any support or even just a safe haven to flee to.

Ossarion had only three planets orbiting its sun and no other significant landmarks. No moons, no large asteroids or debris belts of any kind.

Adrian rubbed his chin, eyes fixed on the blue-tinted holograph. “It’s the space equivalent of an empty, flat field.”

“I understand why Grigorev chose it,” Owen said. “There’s no way we can hide any supporting ships from their sensors in this system. We’ll really have to go at it alone, without the Sirius, the Orion, or the Lincoln.”

“But it also means he can’t hide any ships,” Adrian said. “Maybe he really does want a clean, uneventful prisoner exchange.”

Owen sighed. “I wish I could believe that, but we need to be prepared for the worst.” He turned toward Lieutenant Francisco. The dark-haired lieutenant was young but a veteran of the Dominion War and one of the most experienced tactical officers they had left aboard the Resolute. In the absence of Commander Petrea, Owen had decided to put Francisco in charge of the mission. “Lieutenant Francisco, what’s your estimate? How many boots do you need aboard the Icarus to take over the ship?”

Francisco furrowed his brows. If he felt overwhelmed by the responsibility that was so suddenly thrust upon him, he didn’t let it show. His voice was firm and his expression confident, like he knew what he was talking about. “The last away team was quickly overwhelmed. We don’t know what happened aboard the Icarus after we lost contact with them, but I would say, to be on the safe side, we should send at least twice as many. Four squads. And they need assault gear, not just standard security guard body armor.”

That could become a problem. The high-tech Sentinel armor provided excellent protection, but it was pricey, costing more than the average Confederation citizen earned in a year. Since the Resolute had been far from any battlefield and only rarely saw combat, let alone man-to-man-firefights, it had only a few dozen full suits stored, and many of those were lost during the failed arrest attempt aboard the Icarus. “Do we even have that much assault gear?” Owen asked.

Adrian shook his head with a frown. “No, we don’t.”

“I can’t lead my team in unprotected, Captain,” Francisco said. “Especially not after what happened to the last team we sent to the Icarus.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to make do,” Owen said. “Being cut off from the Confederation poses many challenges. This is one of them. Without resupplies, this won’t be the last time we’ll have to solve a task without appropriate gear.”

“I might have a solution,” Chief Engineer Valentine said. “If I can get my hands on the schematics and enough raw materials, my team and I can try to produce some.”

Owen raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You can really do that? Fast enough to supply the entire team?”

“We’d have to postpone all other 3D printer projects, but I think it can be done.”

“We still need to solve the problem of how to get the troopers aboard the Icarus,” Francisco said, pointing at the holograph. “We can’t hide a gunship or a shuttle anywhere in this system.”

“Yes, that’s a problem,” Adrian said. “Grigorev will shoot down every ship that approaches the Icarus.”

Owen’s eyes were fixed on the holographic display, but he wasn’t truly looking at the tiny planets floating a meter above the floor, slowly rotating in their orbits. He was thinking.

“He’ll shoot every ship down except one,” he said slowly. “The one that has Fitzgerald on board. He wants to exchange prisoners on his ship, which means we’ll have to shuttle Fitzgerald over to him.”

“Yes, but how are we going to fit over forty people into an ordinary shuttle? People with heavy, bulky gear.”

Valentine’s face lit up. “I could make some adjustments to that shuttle.”

“Adjustments?” Owen asked.

“We tear out everything and leave only the basic life support system. It’s gonna be a tight fit, but it’s possible.”

Adrian looked unconvinced. “Fitzgerald will warn them as soon as he steps foot on the Icarus if we shuttle him over with a bunch of heavily armed assault troopers.”

Owen contemplated the plan. It was risky. Their troopers would only have a small time window to get the upper hand. As soon as Grigorev took one look into the shuttle, he would know he’d been tricked, and then, all bets were off. Owen had no doubt he would make good on his threats and kill every prisoner in his custody, including Sasha Petrea. They needed to be very careful. One misstep, and the mission would fail dramatically. “We’ll blindfold Fitzgerald and block his ears. He won’t know unless someone bumps into him. This way, he would be unaware he’s bringing four squads of soldiers with him until they get aboard and can’t warn Grigorev ahead of time.”

“We’ll have to act quick,” Francisco said. “Once the cat is out of the bag there’s no turning back.”

“But you have to make sure Commander Petrea is safe. I’m sure Grigorev will try to use her against us. Threaten her life once he realizes what’s happening.”

Francisco nodded. “Aye, Captain. The commanders safety comes first.”

#

Lt. Cmdr. Sasha Petrea

“And then I found my horse in the middle of my mother’s living room. Can you imagine her face?”

Sasha had to suppress a giggle by shoving another spoonful of tasteless vegetable stew into her mouth. She hated to admit it, but she’d come to enjoy Burnham’s company a little. His voice was annoying, and he talked way too much, but some of his stories about growing up in the Pendragon Empire were actually funny. He might be Empire scum, but he did have comedic timing. And it wasn’t like she had anything else to do or anyone else for company.

“Well, I’m glad your horse found its way back home. How did your father react?”

Burnham let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, well. He—”

His story was interrupted by heavy footsteps in the hallway. From the sound, Sasha could tell more than one person was approaching, and she also knew it wasn’t time for the next meal yet.

She put her bowl of stew aside and rushed over to her cell door, trying to get a look at the people coming down the corridor. Four armed security guards in armor. They stomped right past Burnham’s cell and headed for her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Burnham shuffling away, cowering into a corner.

Sasha backed away from the fence too. Her heart rate sped up, and her muscles tensed, already expecting to defend herself. Whatever those guards wanted from her, she would not cooperate.

One of the men, a petty officer, unlocked her cell and held up handcuffs. “Turn around, and hold your hands behind your back.”

Sasha stood frozen to the spot, not moving a finger. If they wanted to handcuff her, they would have to work for it. “Where are you taking me?”

“Turn around, arms behind your back,” the guard ordered again.

“Not until you tell me where you’re taking me.”

“Turn. Around.” The guard was quickly losing patience. Good. An angry opponent was a sloppy opponent. She could use that to her advantage.

“I demand to talk to Grigorev.”

“That’s Captain Grigorev for you,” he grunted, “and if you don’t turn around right now, with your hands behind your back, I’ll make you turn—and you won’t like it.”

“I want to—”

Before Sasha could finish her sentence, the other three guards stormed her cell. She tried to dodge, but the room was too small to put enough space between her and her attackers.

Head down, she dove for the cell door, but a burly security guard blocked her escape attempt with a shove of his shoulder and wrestled her to the ground without much effort. Sasha was fit and practiced several martial arts in her free time, but even she couldn’t overpower a one hundred ninety centimeter, one hundred twenty kilogram mountain of muscle.

The man pressed her to the ground, holding her in place with a knee to her back. Sasha struggled against his weight, but the fight was short-lived.

Cold metal closed around her wrists, and a moment later, two pairs of rough hands heaved her back to her feet.

The leader of the group, the petty officer, watched her fight the guards’ death grip with crossed arms and a very bored expression.

“Will you come with us now without throwing a hissy fit, or do we have to drag you by your hair?”

“I demand to—”

The petty officer struck her straight across the face. Pain shot up her jaw, and the taste of blood filled her mouth.

She was still blinking against the pain when Burnham rattled his cage. “Is this how the Confederation treats their prisoners?” he yelled.

The petty officer slowly turned his head and looked at Burnham like he was a disgusting but ultimately harmless bug. “We’re not with the Confederation. You, of all people, should know that.”

In the very back of Sasha’s mind, something took note of that statement, but the front of her mind was way too busy being outraged. “You’re a disgrace. How dare you wear that uniform?”

The guard struck her again, hard enough to snap her head back with the force of the blow. Pain exploded through her skull, and for a moment, her vision blurred. She spat out a mouthful of blood right in front of his heavy boots, cursing herself for missing.

“Careful, PO,” one of the guards holding her arms said. “The captain wants her in mint condition.”

The petty officer clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Damn it, you’re right, Tomasso. Too bad. I was just starting to have fun.”

He stepped closer—way too close for Sasha’s taste—and tilted her chin up with two fingers, inspecting her split lip like she was a piece of damaged cargo. His gaze flicked to her swollen jaw then back to her eyes as if daring her to react. “Oh well, no longer mint condition.” His mouth curled into a smirk. “But she’ll do.”

His fingers tightened briefly around her jaw before he let go, then he turned on his heel and strode toward the cell door.

“Get her moving.”

The guards yanked her forward, gripping her arms like iron shackles. Another fell into step behind, his rifle aimed squarely at her back, the cold muzzle occasionally nudging her spine.

As they marched her past Burnham’s cell, she risked a look sideways. He was standing pressed against the fence, his hands gripping the mesh wire so tightly his knuckles had turned white. They exchanged a quick glance, and she could see deep worry etched into his features. It was the first time she got a proper look at his face—at the man who’d kept her company and kept her sane during the days of her captivity. She swallowed hard and looked away. There was no point in getting attached. This might be the only and the last time she would ever look him in the eyes, because this whole production felt a lot like she was being led to her execution.

Her survival instincts pumped adrenaline through her body, dulling the ache radiating from her jaw and kicking her mind into overdrive. Silently, she catalogued the number of guards, their weapons, their positions. She flexed her wrists, testing the restraints. Too tight. No chance of slipping free. Her eyes darted around as the guards took her outside the brig and made her walk down an empty hallway.

The corridors looked familiar. The same wall panels, the same metal flooring as on the Resolute. The shape of the lamps was different, the doorways slightly narrower, but overall, the two ships were very similar. Maybe she could use that to her advantage. She had no idea how she was going to escape with four armed guards right beside her, but she had to try. She wouldn’t just roll over and die without a fight.

The hallways were strangely empty and unsettlingly silent. Where was the crew? The Icarus had a complement of over three hundred souls. These corridors should be bustling with activity, but the only sounds were the thuds of the security guards’ boots on the metal floor and that insufferable petty officer whistling a melody like he thoroughly enjoyed abusing prisoners.

After marching her through several corridors and taking an elevator, they finally arrived in a hangar bay. The large set of double doors slid open, and Sasha was led inside.

It was smaller than the vast hangar bays of the Resolute but still large enough to house half a dozen shuttles. The space was almost empty too—no pilots, no technicians, just another dozen or so security guards and one gray-haired man standing with his back to her.

Chapter 16

When the man turned around, Sasha’s stomach clenched immediately, and bitter bile rose in her throat. Grigorev. The man who’d killed her entire team. For the hundredth time, his last orders before she’d passed out echoed through her head. “ Kill the rest.”

His cold eyes flickered over the blood on her chin, and a sly grin appeared on his face. “Ah, Commander Petrea. How nice of you to join this event.”

Sasha had to bite her tongue to keep herself from launching a tirade of curses against that monster. Now was not the time for hotheaded provocation. She needed to stay calm and be alert, ready to seize the opportunity to escape if it arose.

Grigorev looked like he was enjoying whatever show he was putting on, but the security guards all appeared to be on edge. They kept eying one of the airlocks. Would that be the method of her execution? Venting her out into space? More suffering than if they shot her, but at least her body would float among the stars, as was customary for a Space Guard member.

One of the security guards, a lieutenant and apparently in charge, tilted his head like he was listening to the earpiece in his left ear.

“The Resolute’s shuttle is on an approach vector, Captain.”

Sasha perked up, causing her guards’ grip to tighten. The Resolute? A shuttle from the Resolute? Who was on it? Shaw? Had he come to negotiate her release? Her initial elation evaporated when she looked at the many armed guards standing by the airlock and the grin on Grigorev’s face. Whoever was on that shuttle, Sasha had the feeling they were walking into a trap.

The lieutenant was still listening to his earpiece, but his face had hardened. He ended the one-sided conversation with a stern nod and walked over to Grigorev, whispering something in his ear.

Whatever had upset the lieutenant, Grigorev seemed happy about the news. His lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Just as expected,” he said. “We continue with Plan C, Lieutenant Rennie.”

Rennie didn’t hesitate. He straightened and raised his hand in a silent signal. The security team snapped to attention, lifting their weapons in unison. Outside the Icarus, docking clamps engaged with a metallic clank.

Sasha’s eyes fixed on the airlock hatch, ready to shout a warning at whoever would emerge from the shuttle.

A figure appeared in the airlock’s small view window, but Sasha couldn’t make out who it was. She held her breath as the airlock hatch slowly opened.

At first, she didn’t recognize the blindfolded, handcuffed man who stepped out of the airlock. But she recognized the officer right behind him—Lieutenant Francisco, a tactical officer who’d served under her for almost two years. Their eyes met across the hangar bay, and he gave her a barely visible nod before returning his attention to the prisoner he’d brought with him.

And now, Sasha recognized him too. The light-blond hair was unmistakable. Fitzgerald.

Shit.

The Resolute had a crew of over seven hundred men and women, and Fitzgerald was the one she was least happy to see.

Lieutenant Francisco cautiously eyed the many rifles aimed at him as he walked the blindfolded Fitzgerald past the line of Icarus security guards, one hand clasped tightly on Fitzgerald’s shoulder, the other hand resting on his rifle. He stopped right in front of Grigorev, who had a smile plastered on his face—one that might have looked almost welcoming if Sasha hadn’t known what a monster he was.

Francisco straightened his spine, and his voice sounded surprisingly firm, considering he was in enemy territory and surrounded by a superior force.

“This is Lieutenant William Benedict Fitzgerald. Per our agreement, I’m authorized to release this prisoner into your custody in exchange for Lieutenant Commander Sasha Petrea.”

Sasha took a deep breath when she heard her name. A prisoner exchange. That was why they’d sent the shuttle. Shaw had traded her life for Fitzgerald’s.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about this. Of course, she wanted off this ship as soon as possible, but Fitzgerald was dangerous—and an insufferable douchebag on top of that. The thought of him walking free was revolting.

Grigorev removed Fitzgerald’s blindfold and inspected him. “Are you uninjured and unharmed?”

“Yes,” Fitzgerald said grimly, “but I—”

“Don’t whine,” Grigorev said. “I’m not interested in your complaints. My orders are to deliver you to Phoenix alive, so that’s what I’ll do. I don’t care about anything else.”

Fitzgerald shut his mouth, but he glowered at Grigorev with a sour expression.

Grigorev ignored him and returned his attention to Francisco.

“I had every intention of honoring our agreement,” he said slowly, the fake smile still plastered on his face. “But…”

Sasha’s heart rate shot up, and her muscles tensed. Whatever came after “but” could only be bad news.

Grigorev, who towered over Francisco by half a head, looked down at the Resolute’s officer, and his sly smile morphed into a cold mask. “But your captain decided to attack us. Unprovoked.”

Sasha didn’t understand what Grigorev was talking about. There was no one here but Francisco, who hadn’t even raised his weapon. What attack was he talking about? Lieutenant Francisco, however, froze at Grigorev’s accusation. All color drained from his face. “I… Captain Grigorev, I assure you—”

He was almost wincing under Grigorev’s cold stare, too distracted to notice how Grigorev subtly stepped out of the line of fire. Sasha noticed, though, and she knew what it meant.

“Watch out!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “They’re going to—”

An elbow to her stomach took the wind out of her. She doubled over in pain, but the guard who’d hit her roughly pulled her upright again.

Francisco turned his head toward her, eyes wide. Then, the security guards poised at the airlock hatch opened fire.

The plasma blasts streaked through the hangar bay in a chaotic storm of death, and at least a dozen of them hit Francisco. His body twitched and convulsed as it was torn apart, shot by shot. For a short moment, it looked like a macabre dance. Then, the salvo stopped, and his body went limp. He managed to stumble two steps forward, patches of dark red already blooming on his uniform, before he dropped to the ground—just a few centimeters from Grigorev’s feet.

Sasha stared at his dead body, half her useless warning still stuck in her throat, when the rest of the security guards, who hadn’t fired on Francisco, made their move.

On Rennie’s barked command, they simultaneously pulled something out of their belt pouches and threw it through the still-open airlock hatch.

Hand grenades, Sasha realized in shock.

At least a dozen grenades flew through the airlock—right into the docked shuttle. There was shouting coming from within the shuttle cabin. A panicked scream, then the grenades exploded with a concert of eardrum-shattering booms.

The fireball that followed belched outward, spilling through the airlock for a fraction of a second before vanishing, leaving only acrid smoke curling into the hangar bay.

Through the dissipating haze, Sasha caught a glimpse inside. Or rather, what little remained of the shuttle—a charred clump of melted and twisted metal.

She knew everyone aboard was dead.

Grigorev turned toward her, face scrunched into a scowl. “That’s what Shaw gets for trying to trick me and sneak two dozen assault troopers aboard my ship. He must be rather simple-minded if he thought I’d fall for that Trojan horse bullshit.”

Sasha wanted to answer, but anger and despair wrapped around her throat like a rope.

Grigorev’s eyes lingered on her for a moment as if he was reveling in her horrified expression. Then, he gave Francisco’s body a kick and turned back to the security guards. “We’re done here. Throw him into the trash burner.”

#

Capt. Owen Shaw

Lieutenant Lin’s voice cut through the tense silence on the bridge. “Captain, the Icarus is accelerating.”

Alarmed, Owen checked the time on his TacPad. “Already? Where’s our shuttle? Have we heard anything from the shuttle yet, Mendy?”

Lieutenant Mendy shook his head. “Negative, sir. No communication from the shuttle. In fact… Cosima, can you check this for me? I can’t see the shuttle’s transponder signal anymore.”

Owen shot out of his seat and rushed over to the sensor console. Lin’s hands flew over the touch keyboard, but Owen urged her to work even quicker. “Where is it? Where’s the shuttle? Can we get visuals? Activate our hull cameras.”

Lin bit her lip. “I’m trying, Captain, but it’s tricky getting a good look at the Icarus. She’s accelerating really fast. Give me a second. I need to enhance the zoom… here we go.”

She projected the video feed on the main viewscreen, showing the Icarus’s hull, where the docking bays were located.

“Where’s the shuttle?” Owen asked sharply. Fear crept up his spine. Deep down, he already knew what had happened to the shuttle, but he wasn’t ready to admit it yet. “Show me the shuttle, Lieutenant Lin. It should be right there.”

Lin frantically pressed buttons on her console, trying to get an object into view that was almost twenty million kilometers away from the camera lens. “I’m trying to adjust the picture, but the angle isn’t good. Here, it should be right… here.”

Mendy, next to her, let out a gasp when the image on the screen panned a little to the left and showed the completely destroyed remains of the shuttle, still clinging to the Icarus’s hull.

“Oh my god,” Adrian said. “What happened? This shuttle looks like it’s been destroyed from the inside out. Did the team make it on board?”

Owen took a deep breath. He feared the answer to that question. The thought of yet another failed mission, yet another lost away team, made his chest tighten, but they had to check anyway. They needed to know what had happened to their people.

“Lieutenant Lin, can you show us the signals from the assault troopers’ suits?” he quietly asked.

Lin was a reliable, competent bridge officer, but even her hand shook a little when she pressed the button to switch the view to the assault troopers’ built-in bio-monitors.

The screen filled with over forty names, each one belonging to one of the troopers they had sent over to the Icarus, hidden inside the shuttle that transported Fitzgerald to the prisoner exchange.

Behind each name, the same dreadful words showed: No Signal.

They were all dead.

Unable to control the burst of rage that shot through his body, Owen slapped the console, startling Lieutenant Lin. “That godforsaken bastard. I’m going to blow his ship out of the sky. Lieutenant Spivey, fire up the engines and accelerate. Lieutenant Covino, plot an intercept course.”

Fist clenched, he tried to breathe away the white-hot anger that threatened to overwhelm him, but all he could think about was blowing Grigorev’s ship to pieces. Obliterating it into single atoms—and him right along with it.

The navigator cleared his throat. “Captain, I don’t think an intercept course is possible. They’ve got too much of a lead on us.”

“Push the engines harder,” Owen demanded. “The Resolute can take it. Tawamba, prepare for torpedo launch.”

He was so focused on the image of the Icarus, slowly disappearing on the viewscreen, that he flinched when Adrian gently touched his arm.

“Owen…”

“Not now. We’re in the middle of a pursuit maneuver.”

“Owen,” Adrian said again. “Sasha might still be alive aboard the Icarus. Maybe Lieutenant Francisco and his team too. Just because their suits stopped transmitting a signal doesn’t have to mean they’re all dead. Grigorev might have just taken away their armor. We can’t just destroy the ship until we know for sure.”

“But—”

“And you heard Lieutenant Covino. We’re too far behind to intercept them.”

Covino quickly nodded in support. “They’re heading for the hyperspace gate, Captain, and they’ll get there about eight minutes before we get in weapons range, even if we push the engines over the safe limit.”

Owen clenched his fists so hard his fingernails dug into his skin, but the anger quickly faded, making room for a more gloomy mix of emotions—disappointment, sadness. Shame. He felt ashamed. He’d once again gone toe-to-toe with Grigorev, and he’d once again been played for a fool.

Maybe Grigorev was right. Maybe he really was better qualified to lead the Obsidian battle group.

“We can’t let him get away with this,” he said through gritted teeth, unable to look Adrian in the eye. Or any other bridge crew member, for that matter.

“We won’t,” Adrian said softly. “But today’s not the day we’ll bring him to justice. Grigorev plays dirty. He exploits our weaknesses. If we want to bring him down, we need to keep a cool head. You can’t let him provoke you to anger. Anger means irrational behavior, and irrational behavior means mistakes.”

“We can’t afford mistakes,” Owen said.

“No, we can’t. Not when the Resolute is all that stands between Grigorev and the Obsidian sector.”

#

Lt. Cmdr. Sasha Petrea

The Icarus security guards roughly dragged Sasha back to her cell, their grip bruising as they hauled her down the dimly lit corridor. Her legs felt like lead, her body sluggish. She was too shell-shocked to put up much of a fight. Too numb to care what would happen to her next.

Burnham rushed to his cell’s fence as soon as the door to the brig opened.

“What have you done to her, you monsters? Sasha, are you all right? Talk to me.” His voice sounded frantic.

“I’m unharmed,” she said quietly as one of the guards shoved her forward, back into her cell. She stumbled but caught herself before she hit the floor.

“For now,” one of the guards sneered, locking the cell door behind her. “I wouldn’t bank on it for too long.”

She didn’t react to the gloating and sank down on her bed, burying her head in her hands. Her throat felt tight as her mind replayed the carnage in front of her eyes.

Her crewmates had come to get her, come to save her, and now, they were all dead.

She had no doubt Grigorev had planned it like this from the start. He set up a trap, and she’d been the bait. And now, the assault team was dead, Fitzgerald was free, and she was still stuck in this cell.

What would happen now? Would Shaw give up on her after the failed rescue mission? Or would he try again? Did she even want him to? She’d led her own team into death, and now, the men and women who’d come to rescue her had died for her as well. Was her own life really worth all that?

Grigorev was ruthless, and without a doubt, he’d use any chance he could get to hurt Shaw and the crew of the Resolute. He’d use her again, and Shaw would bite again because he was not the type to give up on a crew member. How many more people would have to die in this mess of a situation? Maybe it would’ve been better if she’d died back on the Icarus bridge. At least then, Lieutenant Francisco and his team would still be alive.

Burnham was standing close to the fence separating their cells, watching her with concern.

“Are you certain you’re unharmed? What happened? Where did they take you?”

Sasha gritted her teeth, trying to push back the wave of darkness that threatened to overwhelm her. “They took me to watch my crew get killed.”

Burnham seemed to put two and two together quickly. “Shaw tried to get you out of here, then?” He pressed his lips together. “And failed.”

“I’m not sure what exactly Shaw’s plan was, but Grigorev saw it coming. They killed them. Every last one of them.”

Burnham leaned his head against the cage fence and sighed. “Say what you want about Grigorev, but he’s not stupid.”

“Unfortunately not, no. And unlike Shaw, he has no inhibitions about killing.”

“That’s a problem,” Burnham said. “If your Captain Shaw wants to outfox Grigorev, he can’t let himself be held back by such sensitivities.”

“Forget it,” she said. “Owen Shaw is honorable to a fault. He’ll always try to avoid bloodshed if he can, even if staying on the moral high road is unpractical.”

“Then you can’t rely on him to defeat Grigorev for you.”

She nodded grimly. “You know… I’m coming to the same conclusion. The man needs me to keep his head straight, make sure he’s not getting too stuck in his principles and values. Our XO can’t do that. He’s just as soft. It has to be me.”

Burnham silently studied her for a moment. “So what now, Lieutenant Commander Petrea?”

His question lingered in the air, but Sasha had made up her mind the moment Francisco’s bloodied body hit the hangar bay deck.

“Now, we escape.”

Chapter 17

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah had barely slept during the six-day flight from Hades Station to the Cascade system, obsessively monitoring the sensors.

He sat in his co-pilot seat and stared at the screen until his muscles ached, watching for any sign that someone might track or follow them. He only tore his eyes away from that console when Prescott asked him to take over the pilot seat so he could rest or when Quinn ordered him to sleep. Every other minute, he spent hunched over the sensors.

He’d been the one who blew their cover—now, it was his job to make sure the mission didn’t fail entirely.

But despite his constant vigilance, he hadn’t detected the smallest blip on the sensor. The remainder of the journey to Cascade had been so uneventful it could’ve almost been called boring. That could mean one of two things: Either the Pheonix mercenaries had not reported running into a group of people claiming to be pirates who just so happened to be equipped with Space Guard gear, or whoever was following them was very good at hiding.

All Noah could do now was hope and pray it was the former.

They’d emerged from the hyperspace gate into the Cascade system one and a half hours ago and were on an approach vector to Cascade. The green planet was growing larger and larger in the window. It was the fourth planet in the system, about fifteen percent smaller than Earth but otherwise very Earthlike, with a breathable atmosphere and a large habitable zone. If not for the fact that this planet was located in the neutral zone, it probably would’ve been a popular destination for settlers.

Just as expected, they found no signals or transmissions coming from the colony. No sign of any human activity on the surface of the planet.

“Hail them anyway,” Quinn said to Noah. “Tell them we’re coming, and we’re coming in peace. We don’t know if anyone down there is still alive or what they’ve been through. I don’t want any unwelcome surprises when we touch ground.”

Noah hesitated, fingers hovering over the comms panel. “Should I tell them we’re from Space Guard?”

“Absolutely not,” Quinn said firmly. “We don’t know who else might be listening.”

“But there’s no one on the sensors. We’re alone here.”

“We can’t take that for granted, Noah. There are ways to hide from sensors, especially sensors as weak and short-range as this shuttle’s. Just because we made it this far without running into trouble doesn’t mean we can allow ourselves to get sloppy.”

“Understood. What do you want me to tell them, then?”

Quinn paused, tilting her head in thought. “Tell them… we’re on a humanitarian relief mission.”

While Lieutenant Prescott steered the ship into Cascade’s orbit, Noah carried out Quinn’s order. “Cascade colony, this is the Humpty Dumpty, inbound to your location. We’re on a humanitarian relief mission. If anyone is receiving this, please respond.”

His transmission was met with silence. The same eerie silence that had greeted them since they emerged from hyperspace. No answer, no automated response, not even the usual electronic background noise of a functioning colony.

“Everyone strap in,” Prescott said. “Prepare for atmosphere entry.”

Noah double-checked his harness, pulling the straps tighter across his chest, then glanced over his shoulder. In the back compartment, Octavia and Felix sat cross-legged on the floor, a deck of cards spread between them.

Octavia sighed, tossing her cards down. “Figures. Right when I was about to make a comeback.”

Felix chuckled, sweeping up the cards. “Sure you were.”

Quinn shot them both a sharp look. “Move. Now.”

They scrambled to their feet, stuffing the cards into a small storage compartment in the cabin wall before heading to their seats.

Noah focused his attention on his console. The Humpty Dumpty started vibrating softly, and he could feel the shift in gravity as they entered the planet’s gravity well while the automatic system scaled back the artificial gravity.

Outside, streaks of fire licked the edges of the front window, the heat shielding glowing a molten orange as they plunged through the mesosphere.

“Angle holding steady,” Noah said, keeping his eyes on the altimeter, calling out numbers as they dropped.

The blackness of space gave way to deep blue then swirling clouds. Below, the planet stretched out, green and lush, a seemingly endless forest broken only by winding rivers and shimmering lakes.

A wind turbulence hit the Humpty Dumpty, jolting the shuttle, and Noah’s harness locked tighter across his chest. “Crosswinds,” he warned Prescott, but the lieutenant already had his hand on the steering joystick.

“Compensating. Switching to atmospheric engines,” he said, flipping the toggle. “Start looking for a landing site.”

Noah switched the display in front of him to show a 3D rendering of the geography and landscape features below. “There’s a forest clearing about a kilometer from the colony.”

They skimmed low over the treetops before Prescott activated the landing thrusters, blasting dust and debris in all directions.

The shuttle touched down with a controlled thud, struts absorbing the impact. A final hiss of hydraulics then silence.

Noah let out a sigh. They made it. They made it to Cascade.

Felix unbuckled his harness and clapped his hands. “Well, now, the interesting part of the mission begins.”

Quinn rose too, rolling her shoulders. “Everyone gear up. We don’t have any time to waste.”

They switched back to their civilian clothing, the same clothes they’d worn on Hades Station. Noah scrunched his nose when he had to put on the ill-fitting overalls again, but he understood why they had to disguise themselves.

The backpacks that waited for them below, in the storage compartment, had already been packed by the Resolute’s logistics crew. They all had the same contents, equipped for most emergency situations they might encounter on the surface. Rations, medical supplies, multitools, and extra water filtration units—standard gear for any deployment. But to maintain their cover, the packs were all different. Different sizes, different colors, different styles, like something civilians would throw together instead of standard-issue military kits. Noah’s was a faded canvas bag with frayed straps, while Felix had a sleek, modern travel pack. The backpacks included civilian-model Pads. Noah wished he’d known this before they docked at Hades Station—it might’ve saved them a lot of worries.

He turned his new Pad over in his hands, powering it up to check for functionality. While the case looked outdated, it booted up in a split second, and the interface was just as smooth as the military TacPads they usually used. Satisfied, he put it into the leg pocket of his overalls and slung the backpack over his shoulder.

When they walked down the shuttle’s ramp, they looked like a completely ordinary group of civilians. No one watching their landing would suspect they were Confederation soldiers, let alone highly trained Special Ops.

The soft forest floor gave way under Noah’s leather boots. The air smelled fresh, and a soft breeze rustled through the foliage surrounding them. The leaves were oddly shaped, almost like elongated teardrops, catching the wind in a way that made them flutter in a mesmerizing motion. Despite the strangeness of the flora, this planet felt familiar. Noah almost felt like he was back on his home planet, Jabaal, walking through the dense woodlands near his childhood home.

He knew from his briefing that the colony currently only had three settlements, all close to each other, separated by just a couple of kilometers.

The largest one was called Hope Town and had a population of two hundred forty people at the time Cascade had last reported in.

Quinn checked the map on her Pad. “Hope Town is that way. It should be a short walk, but stay alert.”

Noah shifted his pack, double-checking the placement of his concealed weapon. He reminded himself that this planet might look just as idyllic as Jabaal, but something terrible had happened here. There was a reason the colony had gone silent, and that reason might still be lurking.

“It seems pretty quiet here,” Octavia said.

“Too quiet,” Quinn muttered, leading their group into the forest. “Makes me nervous.”

Despite Quinn’s premonitions, their trek to Hope Town was uneventful, and after about fifteen minutes, the first huts and houses came into sight.

They followed a path along a small river and soon passed some kind of pasture, where about a dozen horses grazed.

Noah stopped to look at the animals. They had horses at their homestead on Jabaal, and he’d started taking care of them before he was even old enough to go to elementary school.

“So the animals are still alive, at least,” Felix said, stopping by Noah’s side. “That rules out a couple of my theories.”

Noah studied the animals for a moment before he nodded. “They seem to be in good health but a little unkempt. Like they haven’t been brushed or washed in a while.”

Felix’s gaze wandered over to the huts in the distance. “The houses seem to be intact too. Maybe they just experienced some kind of power supply failure.”

“Let’s find out,” Quinn said—but the fact that her hand hadn’t left the handle of her energy gun, tucked into her belt, told Noah she wasn’t subscribing to the idea of a benign reason for the colony’s lack of contact.

When they reached the edge of Hope Town, it quickly became apparent Quinn’s instincts had been right.

The houses themselves were intact and looked perfectly normal. Typical for small colonies a long way from the core system, they were mostly built from modular plastic panels made in a 3D printer. The settlers brought the easily storable raw material and the 3D printer with them on their colony ships then printed and assembled the standardized modules when they arrived at their destination. An easy way to quickly provide housing for a large number of people—a house for a family of four could be built in under forty-eight hours with this system—but as a result, most early colony settlements looked very similar to each other.

Most of the small villages on Jabaal had been built like this too. His own hometown looked a lot like Hope Town, except the modules were a slightly older style since Jabaal was founded about four decades before the first settlers set foot on Cascade.

The difference was that settlements on Jabaal were always bustling with activity—kids running around, craftsmen working in their shops, people gossiping on the street. Hope Town, however, was eerily quiet. The only sound was the wind, stronger now, blowing through the dense forest that surrounded the village, rustling through the trees like a whispering warning.

Noah’s stomach clenched. Quinn was right. Something was wrong here. No power supply issue could explain why there wasn’t a soul in sight in a town that should house over two hundred people. Almost of its own accord, his hand found its way to his gun in the holster strapped to his leg. His eyes flicked toward the forest’s edge, scanning the shadows between the trunks, searching for movement—an enemy, a predator, anything that might explain the sudden disappearance of hundreds of colonists.

Quinn stopped their group in front of a house and stared at it with furrowed brows. The structure was no different from the others—modest gray prefab walls, already slightly weathered by time and exposure.

“The garden’s in bad shape.” Octavia pointed at the overgrown patch of land in front of the house, where weeds had overtaken the neat rows of crops. A few rotting tomato stalks sagged under their own weight, the fruit shriveled and blackened.

“And someone kicked open that door,” Felix added, nodding toward the splintered plastic and twisted hinges. A deep indentation in the frame suggested force—a heavy boot or a battering ram. “That one over there too.” He gestured to another house across the street, where the door hung ajar, swaying slightly with each gust of wind.

Noah followed his point. Felix was right. The doors were broken inward, some barely hanging on their frames. This wasn’t the work of scavengers picking through an abandoned settlement—this was something more deliberate. More violent.

Octavia looked worried. “We need to go inside and look for survivors. Someone in those houses might need medical help.” Her gaze darted from house to house as if expecting someone to stagger out at any moment, injured and in need. But there was no movement. No response to their presence. Noah severely doubted that even just a single person in this town was still alive, but he didn’t dare to speak it out loud.

Quinn exchanged a glance with Felix, and they both pulled and charged their guns.

“You wait here,” she ordered.

Weapons at the ready, the two of them approached the pried-open front door, that was swinging slightly in the wind.

Felix took point, sweeping the entrance with a quick glance. Quinn followed a half step behind, covering their flank. They didn’t need to talk—years of training and experience had made communication between them almost instinctive.

Noah held his breath when they disappeared into the house. With shaky fingers, he followed Lieutenant Prescott’s example and pulled out his own gun, ready to duck for cover at the first sound of gunfire. His finger felt sweaty around the handle of his trusty Vanguard sidearm, and he watched the house’s windows like a hawk, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was going on inside.

Nothing happened. The house stayed as quiet as before, and a few minutes later, Quinn and Felix reemerged, faces serious but unharmed.

“There’s no one in there,” Felix said. “No sign of a fight either.”

Quinn was already on the move again. She tapped Felix’s arm—a silent signal to stay sharp, to keep watch. “Let’s search the next house. We have to find some kind of trace of those colonists somewhere.”

They searched the next house together, and only Lieutenant Prescott stayed behind to guard the entrance.

Noah stepped inside and was once again hit by a wave of nostalgia—so much of the small living area reminded him of his own childhood home.

There was a small kitchen along the back wall, where a loaf of bread lay on the counter, a slice half cut off. The bread knife was on the floor nearby.

The plates on the dining table were still full of half-eaten food. Noah stepped closer and saw it had all started to grow mold.

On the coffee table on the other side of the room, he spotted an open notebook.

Maybe he’d find a hint about what happened in there. He picked it up and flipped through the pages, but all he found were math equations—about middle school level. The equations on the last page were still unfinished.

Felix returned from the bedroom, shaking his head. “It looks like they just disappeared in the middle of the day. Vanished into thin air.”

Quinn took the notebook from Noah’s hands and looked through it too. “People don’t just vanish into thin air, Felix.” She put the notebook down with a frustrated sigh. “We need to check more houses. Some of the public buildings in the city center too. Maybe the settlers sought refuge there.”

They searched four more living quarters but came up empty-handed each time. They found half-eaten donuts, half-empty coffee cups, half-finished children’s drawings. Dead plants, spoiled food, and overflowing bathtubs. What they didn’t find was any sign of a struggle or fight. Felix’s assessment was right on point—it looked like every single colonist of Hope Town had vanished into thin air from one moment to the next.

They continued into the town center, where a one-classroom school, a small medical clinic, and a two-story town hall lined a marketplace, along with some small shops and stores.

The school was just as empty as the houses, but somehow, the colorful posters on the walls and the child-built paper models of volcanoes proudly displayed on a shelf next to the whiteboard made the empty building even creepier than the other houses. Small chairs stood neatly arranged in front of equally small desks, their occupants nowhere to be found. A handwritten chart of the students’ names, decorated with carefully drawn stars for good behavior, still hung near the door. This place should be loud and chaotic, full of laughter and chatter, but all that filled the classroom was heavy silence.

The rest of the away team seemed to share Noah’s uneasy feeling because they quickly left the building after it had become clear. They wouldn’t find any hints about the colonists’ fate here either. No one spoke as they exited the school. No one had to.

They headed for the medical clinic next.

As soon as they stepped through the door, a terribly foul stench hit Noah like a fist to the gut and made him gag. Usually, hospitals smelled clean, hygienic, with the distinct sting of disinfectant, but this building stank like rotten meat.

He was still fighting his gag reflex, but Quinn and Felix barely reacted. Their only tell was the quick, worried glance they exchanged before they moved on. Noah swallowed hard and forced himself to follow, covering his mouth and nose by pulling the front of his overall over his face in a desperate attempt to block out the rancid stench. It didn’t help much.

The entry area was empty, but Noah almost stumbled over a small stuffed animal, a little teddy bear, dropped to the ground near the waiting area. He couldn’t resist the urge to pick it up and inspect it. It had been well loved. The pink fur was soft but a bit ruffled, and the tiny blue bowtie was a bit loose.

“Noah, don’t linger!” Felix’s sharp voice reminded him. “Don’t get separated from the team.”

Startled, Noah stood up, but he couldn’t bring himself to just drop the little bear back to the ground. Instead, he stuffed it into one of the pockets of his overalls, silently vowing to reunite it with its owner one day.

He sped up his steps to catch up with the rest of the team.

They continued past the entry area into a larger hall, where about a dozen hospital beds lined both walls. They were empty, but some of the blankets were rumpled.

Noah reluctantly trailed behind the team. The farther they walked into the hall, the more unbearable the stench became.

Quinn carefully approached one of the beds, hidden by a privacy curtain. She exhaled through her nose, squared her shoulders, then reached out for the flimsy fabric. With a firm yank, she shoved the curtain aside, revealing the first dead body they’d found in Hope Town.

Noah took one look at it, turned away, and vomited on the floor.

Chapter 18

Lt. Cmdr. Sasha Petrea

“Escape?” A grin flashed over Burnham’s face. “You and me together?”

“Don’t make it sound weird,” Sasha said. “It’s not like I have many other choices. You told me you had a plan. Let’s hear it.”

Burnham clicked his tongue and shook his head. “It’s not the right time yet.”

“What do you mean it’s not the right time yet?” Sasha said, feeling anger well up in her again. That little rat had teased her with his great escape plan for days.

“After what happened, the guards will be on high alert,” he explained. “They will expect you to try to escape now. We need to wait a little while until everyone calms down.”

Sasha huffed. Every minute spent on this traitor’s ship caused her mental agony, but she had to admit Burnham had a point. She needed to make them believe they had broken her spirit before she could attempt an escape. Rushing this would be foolish, as much as she hated to agree with Burnham.

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, unable to stop herself from pouting, “but this plan better be as good as you made it sound.”

She retreated to her bed and pulled the flimsy blanket over her body, turning her face toward the other wall. She could feel his eyes on her back. Knew he wanted to talk about what had happened, about how she felt. Who knew Pendragon Empire officers were the feely type of guys? Well, Sasha was not a feely type of gal. She had no interest in discussing her traumatic experience with an enemy just because he happened to be imprisoned right next to her.

He was the enemy, Sasha reminded herself. Yes, he had provided a welcome distraction. And yes, she would begrudgingly work with him to escape the ship. But only because she had no other choice. That didn’t mean she liked him. Not at all.

Burnham made her wait seven more meals. Just sitting around, waiting, pretending to be deeply depressed every time one of the guards checked on her nearly drove her mad, but Burnham’s predictions were spot-on. There were more frequent guard check-ins, and they seemed more alert, too. Before, they had shoved her food tray through the slit in her door and disappeared before she could even get a word in. Now, they lingered for a while, watching her eat. They’d searched her cell twice already too. Grigorev clearly expected her to try something. He knew he had rattled her, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be provoked into a knee-jerk reaction. She would not give that man more ammunition. She would not give him a reason to kill her.

After this almost unbearable waiting period, Burnham decided to wake her up in the middle of the night by hissing her name through the fence separating their cells.

“Sasha. Sasha, wake up!”

She sat up in her bed and rubbed her eyes. “That’s Lieutenant Commander Petrea for you,” she mumbled. “What do you want?”

He smiled a rather sardonic smile. “Ready for our great escape?”

The sentence wiped the sleep from her mind in an instant. “I was ready to get out of here the second I saw your face the first time. Let’s hear it.”

“Go check the wall panel behind your toilet,” Burnham said, a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not pulling your leg. Just check, please. Trust me.”

Sasha muttered a rude comment under her breath but untangled herself from her blanket anyway. She crossed her small cell and crouched to the ground, trying to peek behind her toilet. “Yeah, there’s a wall panel here. Now what?”

“You need to remove the panel’s cover.”

Sasha’s fingers wandered over the screws holding the panel in place. “And how am I supposed to do that? I don’t have any tools.”

“Use the handle of a fork.”

“Burnham, I don’t have any forks either.”

He let out a sigh. “You don’t? Sasha, it’s Prison Escape 101. What do they teach you at that fancy academy of yours?”

“To be honest, prison break is not part of the curriculum.”

“That’s a shame. A dangerous gap in your knowledge, but don’t worry, I have more than one. I’ll give you one of mine.”

Her eyebrows rose as Burnham shoved one of the aluminum forks they got with their meals through the fence.

“You have more than one?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been here a lot longer than you. I managed to squirrel away a couple of those for later use.”

“For later use, huh?” she asked. “Are you going to stab me with one after we’re out of here?”

He laughed. “Sasha, look at me, look at you. I doubt I could stab you even if I had a spear. But surely not with a flimsy little fork. Don’t worry, I’m not going to try to kill you.”

“You better not.” She shot him a last warning glance and went back to the ground, fork in hand. She hesitated. “Aren’t there security cameras here?” She was pretty sure that the way she was crouching behind her toilet would look pretty suspicious to anyone watching the feed.

“Oh, yes, of course. Plenty,” he said, completely unfazed.

She sat back on her heels and looked at him with a frown. “Don’t you think that’s a bit problematic? Surely they’ll know we’re up to something if they catch us messing with the wall panels.”

He shrugged. “Probably, yes. I’m banking on the laziness of the security guard. You know how they are. Too distracted playing with their Pads to pay attention to the video feeds.”

“That’s what you’re banking on?” That didn’t sound like a very solid plan to her. Sure, no security guard would pay attention to the brig’s video cameras 24/7. They were too many security cameras to monitor, but still… the moment someone would as much as glance at the feed they would be in deep shit.

“I’m not claiming it’s perfect,” Burnham said. “Which is why you shouldn’t waste time arguing with me. Remove the panel.”

With an angry grunt, Sasha lowered herself to the ground again. The handle of the fork slotted right into the screw. She was in an uncomfortable position, and the fork wasn’t exactly a high-quality screwdriver, but with a bit of patience, she managed to loosen all eight screws holding the panel in place. She gently pried it off and set it on the ground, taking a look at what was behind it.

“Okay, it’s off, Burnham. I see a bunch of wires. What now?”

“Do you see the thick red wire running over the thin black wire?” His voice sounded muffled. When Sasha looked up, she realized he’d disappeared under his own toilet.

“Yes, I see them,” she confirmed.

“These electrical wires supply the magnetic locks for the cell doors,” he explained.

Sasha furrowed her brows. “The wires run past the cells? That seems like a safety risk.”

It was hard to believe the highly qualified Space Guard engineers could have made such an easy mistake when designing the ship’s brig.

“It’s not of much use,” Burnham said. “If you rip out the wires, the backup systems will kick in.”

“So why am I crouching behind my toilet, then?” she snapped.

“Because we’re not going to rip the cables—we’re going to overload the system.”

“If it’s that easy, why haven’t you done it yet? Why are you still in here?”

“The power I can reroute from my cell alone isn’t strong enough to blow the fuse. We need to do it together.”

“How do you know so much about the construction of the ship, anyway?”

He laughed. “I’m an Empire spy, remember? I know this ship better than the people who built it.”

“You keep saying stuff like that and then you expect me to just trust you?”

“Well, you already know I’m an Empire spy. No point in denying that. But what does it matter right now? Right now, I’m not a spy, and you’re not a commander. We’re just two prisoners trying to get out of here.”

Sasha exhaled, suppressing her annoyance. “Fine. Okay. Tell me what I need to do.”

“You need to cut the black wire. Break the handle of your fork—it results in a pretty sharp edge. Then, you cut the red wire and attach the black one to the red one. I do the same, and if we do it right, the system should overload, the fuse should blow, and the doors should unlock.”

“A lot of shoulds,” she mumbled, before gripping her fork tighter and breaking it in half. Burnham was right; the jagged edge left behind was decently sharp. She still wasn’t convinced this mess of a plan wouldn’t get them both killed, but she had little choice but to go along with it. If she wanted to get out of here, she needed him. “All right, let’s do it, then.”

“Wait for my mark,” Burnham told her. “It’s of utmost importance we do this simultaneously.”

Sasha grabbed the black wire and tried to saw it in half with the broken-off fork handle. It took her several minutes to get through the rubber insulation. Thankfully, the wire itself was thin and fragile, and she could easily snap it. The moment she tore the black wire apart, the lights flickered above her head.

She looked up. “Is that a good sign or a bad sign?”

“A good sign,” Burnham said as the lights above their heads stabilized again. “Ah, see? The backup energy system just kicked in.”

“Won’t they notice we’re tampering with the power system?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, unconcerned. “They will definitely notice something is wrong. We should hurry.”

“What?” Sasha said. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. They’ll probably be here in three minutes or so. Hurry up, cut the red wire.”

Sasha’s heart rate spiked. She had no idea what Grigorev would do to her if he found out she was trying to escape, but she wasn’t keen on finding out. Three minutes wasn’t a lot of time to pull this off. Burnham could have warned her they were on such a tight deadline.

Fueled by panic, she frantically rubbed the fork handle against the red wire. The insulation on this one was much thicker and refused to give way. After a minute that felt like an hour, she threw the fork across the cell with an angry grunt and resorted to a desperate measure—she started chewing at the cable like some rabid animal.

She probably looked like a woman gone mad, but it worked. Her teeth tore through the rubber layer, and the insulation gave way. Sasha quickly moved her head back. She did not know how much voltage was running through these wires, but it was probably not a good idea to stick her tongue to one.

Grabbing the black wire she had already cut, she called out to Burnham. “I’m ready. Are you ready?”

“Almost.”

“Come on, Burnham, hurry up! We don’t have a lot of time!”

“You don’t have to tell me. I’m almost there.”

“Burnham…” she grunted out through gritted teeth, anxiously watching the brig’s entry door, expecting a team of armed security guards to burst in any second now.

“Okay, ready!” he exclaimed. “On my mark. Three, two, one—now!”

Sasha pressed the loose end of the black wire against the exposed metal of the thick red wire. She could almost feel the surge running through the electrical system. A split second later, the lights went out, and the cell doors unlocked with a soft clicking noise.

Chapter 19

Sasha stepped out of her cell into the brig’s central corridor. The metal floor felt cold under her bare feet. She took a step forward just as Burnham appeared in the doorway of his own cell. It was the first time they were looking at each other face to face, not through a mesh fence. He looked even more unimpressive without the fence hiding half his features. More like an unimportant bureaucrat than a dangerous spy. But Sasha had to admit he knew his stuff, and he had gotten them out of their cells.

Burnham looked her up and down, a tense smile tugging at his lips.

“So what now?” he said slowly. “Are you going to stab me to death? Or are we going to try to get off the ship together?”

Sasha hesitated. Here she was, presented with a golden opportunity. A Pendragon Empire officer. A high-ranking Empire officer. Unarmed and weakened by months of captivity, basically served on a silver platter. She should seize the opportunity and kill him—rid the world of his presence. One less Empire rat, right? That would be a good thing. But then again, he had helped her. He’d been kind to her, and he could be funny at times. And he claimed that he’d defected from the Empire, which meant they shared a common enemy. Grigorev had imprisoned the man, and the enemy of her enemy was her friend.

Her gaze flickered upward toward the many cameras monitoring the brig. So far, no alarms had been sounded, which told her no one was currently looking at the live feed coming from the brig, but at any moment, a security guard might switch to exactly their camera and notice two prisoners hanging out in the corridor, outside their cells.

“I don’t have time to kill you,” she said, nodding toward the cameras. “They’ll notice our escape any second now. You claim to know this ship so well. Show me the way to the hangar bay.”

He made a silly little bow. “At your service, Commander.”

They hurried down the corridor until they reached the door. It slid open without triggering any obvious alarms and Burnham peered around the corner, his eyes scanning the empty stretch of the passage. His gaze flicked back to Sasha, and he gave a brief nod.

“Clear,” he whispered, barely audible. He darted out, his movements quick but cautious.

Sasha followed him, and together, they rushed down the ship’s hallway. Everything looked so familiar, but aboard the Resolute, Sasha remembered every turn and every corner. Here on the Icarus, she could only guess which way led to the hangar bay.

Burnham stopped at the nearest maintenance hatch and quickly worked the lock, opening it to reveal a ladder leading downward.

“We need to get down seven decks,” he said, holding the hatch door open for her. “I hope you’re in good shape.”

“Better shape than you,” she said, eyeing his desk-jockey build. “I still don’t understand why these hallways are so empty.” She grabbed the ladder’s metal handrail and flung her legs over the edge. “There should be half a dozen crew members going about their business, but no one’s here.”

“Oh, that’s because Grigorev killed them,” Burnham said flatly.

Sasha's foot nearly slipped from the rung. “Excuse me?”

“It happened a while ago. The first officer got wind of Grigorev’s plan to betray the Confederation. He tried to remove him from command, and about a third of the crew supported him, but their attempt was unsuccessful. Grigorev executed every last one of them.”

Sasha stared up at him in disbelief. “A third of the crew? But that’s over a hundred people!”

He scrunched his nose. “It was quite a bloodbath. I’m not sure why you look so surprised, Sasha. You know what kind of man Grigorev is.”

“I know, but—”

“Come on, down the ladder,” he urged. “We’ve been lucky so far, but this corridor might not stay empty for much longer, and I don’t fancy fighting my way out of here.”

Reluctantly, Sasha started her descent. “How do we even know this?” she asked, carefully placing one foot below the other.

“Well, I wasn’t always stuck in that brig,” he said, following her down the ladder. “I used to be the liaison officer. When I saw what was going down aboard this ship, I tried to take off. They caught me and threw me in the brig.”

“Liaison officer?” she asked. Her hands were sweaty, forcing her to stop to wipe them off on her pants so she wouldn’t lose her grip. “Liaison between who?”

“The Empire and Phoenix,” he said.

“Phoenix? Who the hell is Phoenix?” she asked, skipping the last few rungs with a jump downward, landing at the bottom of the ladder.

“Do you want to hear my life story?” he asked, getting down from the ladder. “Or do you want to get off this ship?”

“Who is Phoenix?” she repeated. She grabbed his T-shirt and roughly pressed him against the wall of the narrow maintenance shaft. “You’ll tell me right now. I want to know what’s going on.”

His eyes flickered down to her hands gripping his T-shirt then back up to her face. He slowly shook his head. “If I tell you everything I know right now, you’ll have no reason to take me with you. I’ll tell you about Phoenix when the time is right, but for now, that’s my life insurance. I don’t want to be left behind.”

Sasha felt the urge to slap him, but she resisted. The information he might be able to provide was too valuable. She needed him. With a frustrated grunt, she let go of his shirt.

“Fine,” she said. “But don’t think we’ll treat you with satin gloves aboard the Resolute. You’re still the enemy.”

“If you insist,” he said, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the wall. “Can we keep going now?”

“Yes, let’s keep going.”

They opened the exit hatch together. Burnham climbed out first, and Sasha followed him. But as soon as she stepped into the hallway, muffled noises reached her ears.

“Someone’s coming,” she hissed.

They quickly retreated into the maintenance shaft, but she knew if she pulled the hatch shut, the noise would alert whoever was coming down the hallway. They had no other choice but to leave it open and pray the crewmen walking past wouldn’t notice. Pressed against the wall, they both held their breath. Sasha’s heart pounded as the voices came closer and closer.

Close enough that she could make out what they were saying.

“Yes, I know. It’s not as good as Jamal’s, but food is food. I’m just saying we should have kept him around. Francis is just not as good as him.”

“Well, it wasn’t our call to make. If the captain...”

“Hey, wait a minute. What is it?”

Sasha tensed, her fists clenched, ready to defend herself should they be discovered. From the sound of their voices, there were only two of them. Maybe she could overpower them before they could sound the alarm.

The two men seemed to have stop right in front of the hatch Sasha and Burnham were hiding behind. “The damn hatch,” one of the men muttered. “One of the knuckleheads must’ve left it open again.”

With a loud clank, the hatch was slammed shut from the other side. Sasha startled, but the Icarus crew members were already walking away, their voices disappearing into the distance.

“Phew, that was close,” Burnham said. “For a minute, I thought we’d have to fight for our lives.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow, trying to imagine the meek Burnham fighting for his life, but shrugged.

“I think they’re gone. Which way to the hangar bay?”

They opened the hatch again, and this time, they made sure the hallway was empty before they climbed out. Burnham led her down a hallway, around a corner, and then down another hallway. A female officer crossed their path. Thankfully, she was too absorbed in whatever she was reading on her TacPad to notice the two barefoot prisoners in the middle of the corridor, but they were forced to dive behind a corner to hide from her view.

They were still waiting for the officer to walk by when sirens came on, and the LED strips on the walls started glowing orange.

“Attention, all hands,” a voice announced over the intercom. “Two dangerous prisoners have broken out of the brig and are running loose on the ship. Be on high alert and apprehend the prisoners if you make contact.”

Chapter 20

The officer with the TacPad looked up at the orange glowing LED strips, listening to the announcement being repeated over the shipwide comm with a frown. After glancing up and down the corridor, she stuffed her TacPad into her sleeve and started running. Thankfully, she ran right past Sasha and Burnham, who were still cowering behind the corner.

As soon as she was out of sight, they emerged from their hiding spot and continued their race to the hangar bay, driven forward by the blaring alarms. They didn’t have to exchange any words. They both knew what the alarm meant. Their absence had been noted. The clock was ticking now. Soon, the corridors would be crawling with Icarus security guards on the hunt for them.

After yet another corner, the large double doors to the hangar bay came into sight.

“This hangar bay is the quietest one,” Burnham said. “At this time of night, no one should be here.”

They slipped through the doors, but Burnham froze just a few steps later. Sasha looked over his shoulder and spotted the problem right away.

“There’s a technician working on one of the shuttles,” Burnham said, watching the man in the yellow-trimmed overall like a hawk.

“I thought you said the hangar bay would be empty,” she hissed.

“Statistically speaking,” he whispered back, “I’m not clairvoyant.”

“So what now? There’s no cover here. We can’t sneak past him.”

The hangar bay was a massive open space with only a couple of ships parked, few and far between. There was no way they could hide out of sight from the technician. And on top of that, there was an air traffic controller somewhere higher up, perched in a little glass cage, monitoring the deck.

Burnham chewed on his lip, staring at the technician’s back intently. “How good an actress are you?”

“Not very, why?”

He straightened his shoulders and started walking without hesitation. Sasha sprinted after him.

“What are you doing?” She grabbed his arm, trying to hold him back. “We can’t just walk up to him.”

“That’s the only thing we can do,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “We need to look like we belong here, like we have business here. Otherwise, the guy up there...” He nodded toward the air traffic controller. “He’ll know something’s up. Act normal.”

Easier said than done. Sasha tried her best to imitate Burnham’s casual demeanor as he strolled over the deck, right toward the technician, who was still absorbed in his work, but she didn’t think she was very convincing. Why was this so hard? Walking normally had never been this hard before. What did she usually do with her arms when she walked?

Stiffly tugging her elbows toward her body, she glanced up to the air traffic controller, hoping he was too far away to notice they weren’t wearing boots or proper uniforms.

Burnham had almost reached the technician. Sasha was still wondering what he planned to do about the man when Burnham shot a quick look toward the air traffic controller, making sure they weren’t being watched.

Without missing a beat, he grabbed the technician’s head from behind, and broke his neck with one quick, decisive motion.

The fragile bones in the man’s spine gave way with a nauseating crunch, and he collapsed into Burnham’s arms, limp like a rag doll.

Sasha panicked. The air traffic controller! Surely he saw what Burnham had just done. Any second now, a squad of armed security guards would storm into the hangar bay and open fire.

But when she looked up, she saw the crewman manning the ATC console had his back to them and was completely unaware of what just transpired on the flight deck below.

Burnham wasted no time. With a strength that surprised Sasha, he hauled the technician’s lifeless body into the shuttle.

“What are you waiting for?” he hissed over his shoulder as he dragged the dead man deeper into the shuttle. “I’ve got us a ride, but you’re our designated driver.”

His words snapped her out of her stupor.

Sasha hurried after him, nearly stumbling over the corpse on the shuttle’s floor, and slammed the hatch shut behind herself.

“What does that mean, I’m the designated driver? I’m not a pilot. The only time I ever flew a shuttle was during Space Guard Academy, and even that was just a simulator.”

“I’m sure a simulator’s not that different from the real thing.” Burnham was already hunched over the consoles, inspecting the screens and buttons with furrowed brows. “Can you hand me the tool that man had with him?”

Sasha looked at the dead technician at her feet and felt her stomach clench. He was young, early twenties maybe. His eyes were still open, staring up at the cabin ceiling, his face a frozen mask.

Yes, he’d served a traitor, and if what Burnham claimed was true, the fact that he’d survived the purge that had led to the execution of a third of the crew meant he must have supported Grigorev or at least not opposed him. But still, killing a man in a Space Guard uniform felt wrong.

Pushing her guilt aside, she rolled the body over and snagged the tool from his tool belt: some kind of power screwdriver.

“What do you need it for?”

“The shuttle’s locked down. We can’t access the controls without verification codes.”

She handed Burnham the screwdriver with raised eyebrows. “And you think you can fix it?” So now he was an engineer on top of a spy? That man really was full of talents.

Burnham weighed the tool in his hand for a moment. “No, I can’t.”

Without hesitation, he slammed the screwdriver into one of the consoles, cracking the glass covering, tearing open the touchscreen below, exposing the electronics.

Another strike, and the shiny circuits and conductors were reduced to a mess.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sasha yelled. “You’re destroying the shuttle!”

Burnham leaned back and inspected his work. “No, not the shuttle, just the parts needed to enter the authentication codes to unlock the controls.”

Sasha slapped her hands over her face. “You can’t possibly think simply destroying the keyboard will unlock the controls.”

“No, of course it won’t,” Burnham said, his voice jolly. “But it will reroute the authentication request to the bio-scan.”

She took her hands from her eyes and looked at him with renewed interest. “Bio-scan?”

“It’s a neat backup mechanism most Confederation small crafts have,” he explained. “If the primary authentication method is compromised, you can gain access to the controls via bio-scan. Obviously, it only works for someone whose bio-data is in the Confederation military database. So if you’d kindly step over here…” He pointed at another console. “And put your palm on the scanner?”

Sasha had to admit she was impressed by the depth of Burnham’s knowledge. Another part of her was deeply worried a Pendragon Empire spy had such extensive knowledge about the technical details of Confederation technology. Where had they gotten all that intel from? As far as she knew, Confederation Intelligence could barely keep track of who was emperor at any given time, and they knew almost nothing about the Pendragons’ current technological level or their warfare capabilities.

She eyed Burnham suspiciously as he nudged her toward the scanning pad. He might look meek, but he’d just killed a Space Guard officer with his bare hands, and he knew things about the Confederation that made her very uncomfortable. She needed to be on guard around him, that much was clear.

Reluctantly, she lowered her hand onto the scanner. She could still throw him off the shuttle and attempt the last step of their escape without him. He needed her, but she didn’t need him. Not really. But then again, she really wanted to know who the hell this Phoenix was Grigorev was working for. And she’d given her promise, and Space Guard officers kept their promises.

To his defense, at least so far, he’d given her no reason to assume he would betray her.

Her palm made contact with the touch sensor, which emitted a soft white glow as it scanned her fingerprints.

A moment later, the little shuttle came to life, and a whole bunch of control lights turned green.

Burnham let out a happy sigh and plopped himself into the co-pilot seat. “Well done, Sasha. Strap in, and let’s make a dash for the hangar doors before they lock the entire ship down for good. That guy in the control tower will notice the technician is gone any second now.”

Sasha claimed the pilot seat and closed the harness buckle over her chest. Her eyes wandered over the controls as she desperately tried to retrieve whatever knowledge was still hidden in her memory about flying shuttles.

Burnham glanced over at her with raised eyebrows. “Maybe try this button to start the engines?” he suggested softly, pointing at a big red button right in front of her.

Sasha gave him an annoyed grunt then pressed the button. The shuttle responded with a loud hum and soft vibrations as the engines fired up.

A moment later, a voice came through the intercom. “Shuttle Perseus, this is Traffic Control. You are not scheduled for launch. Turn off your engines immediately and report to the deck master.”

Sasha swallowed, but before she could open her mouth, Burnham put on the headset. “This is Commander Rokos speaking. We are in pursuit of two dangerous fugitives. Clear the hangar doors.”

She had no idea who Commander Rokos was, but apparently, Burnham impersonated the man well enough to make the Air Traffic Control officer buy it.

He sounded quite taken aback. “Um, my apologies, Commander. Is this mission… cleared with Captain Grigorev?”

“Of course it’s cleared with the captain,” Burnham lied, silently gesturing for Sasha to initiate the launch sequence. “Do you think I would ever act on my own accord?”

“Of course not, Commander Rokos… Godspeed.”

Sasha’s hands wandered over the controls with little confidence. She had only half an idea of what she was doing, but the shuttle at least started moving forward. She hoped the Air Traffic Control officer didn’t notice their approach vector toward the hangar was somewhat wonky.

The shuttle was gliding over the deck, right toward the large hangar door, heading for open space.

They were getting closer. Sasha clenched her fists around the throttle. Only a few hundred meters separated them from freedom.

She looked over to Burnham, who gave her a tense smile before he fixed his eyes on the hangar doors again.

They would make it.

They almost made it.

“Perseus, Traffic Control. Cease launch. I repeat, cease launch.”

Shit.

Burnham cleared his voice. “Petty Officer, I already told you—“

“Listen, I don’t know who you are, but you’re not Commander Rokos, because he’s standing right behind me.”

The hangar doors started to slide shut. Shit, shit, shit.

Panic rose in her chest. She looked at Burnham again, whose smile had disappeared.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I thought we could make it.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “We can still make it.”

Before Sasha had fully processed his words, he had slapped away her hand from the throttle and pushed it forward, accelerating.

The shuttle surged forward, pressing her in her seat.

“Are you mad?” she yelled. “We’re going to crash into the doors!”

“We can make it,” he grunted out through gritted teeth.

The shuttle was gaining speed, but the doors were closing too fast. The gap was shrinking by the second. They would never fit through.

“We can’t make it!”

“We can!” His knuckles had turned white around the throttle, and Sasha was afraid he would break it off if he pushed any harder.

The hangar doors came racing toward them.

Over the intercom, two men took turns yelling at them to stop, but she barely registered their angry shouting.

Pressing her eyes shut, she prepared herself to be smashed to pieces any second now.

“Open your eyes, you crazy woman!” Burnham yelled. “Steer the damn shuttle.”

Her eyes snapped open, and she stared right at the impossibly narrow gap between the two halves of the hangar bay door.

It looked barely large enough to shove a piece of paper through, but what choice did she have?

She grabbed the steering joystick and aimed for the gap. The quickly narrowing gap, barely more than a sliver of black space in a wall of solid steel.

The shuttle’s wings grazed the door, sending a bone-shattering screech through the cockpit as metal scraped on metal.

For a split second, she thought they were done.

Then—

They were through.

They shot out into wide-open space.

Burnham threw his hands in the air and let out a triumphant shout. “We made it! I told you! I told you we would make it, Sasha!”

She could hardly believe they were still alive. Her pulse thundered in her ears, and her breath came out in ragged puffs. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Icarus was preparing her laser cannons, but they had launched out of the hangar bay so fast—way beyond what safety regulations allowed—that they were already out of the cannons’ range. And by the time the torpedo launch tubes were ready, they would be out of their range as well.

The Icarus fired a couple of laser shots anyway, which missed them by a lot before giving up. Sasha thanked the lucky stars that the Icarus didn’t have starfighters.

Burnham clapped her on the back. “Well done. Now, let’s find ourselves a hyperspace gate. Any idea what system the Resolute might currently be in?”

“Let’s aim for Morrigon Station,” she said, still eyeing the sensors, even though she knew the Icarus was already too far away to be a threat. “The Resolute should be somewhere along that route.”

Burnham only needed a few seconds to plot the course and send the data to her console, which was impressive considering he was unfamiliar with the computer systems.

With shaking hands, she gave the steering joystick a nudge, putting them on course to the nearest gate.

The sensors showed that the Icarus made no move to pursue them. Sasha was sure Grigorev was having a fit, but a cruiser like the Icarus couldn’t accelerate enough to catch their nimble little shuttle. Trying to chase them would be a waste of fuel, and Grigorev was smart enough to know that. Smart enough to know he’d lost.

She was sure retribution would be coming, but this fight she’d won. She was free. Stuck aboard a tiny shuttle with an Empire officer and a dead Icarus technician, but at least free.

Chapter 21

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah wiped the spit and vomit from his chin. His face heated in embarrassment when he noticed none of the other team members were as affected by the gruesome sight as he was. Octavia gave him a sympathetic look, but even she seemed totally fine, standing right next to a gruesome decomposing body.

Noah straightened his shoulders and forced himself to look at the corpse. He had no idea how long this person had been in the hospital bed, but it must’ve been a while because the flesh had already turned black and purple. There were no flies on Cascade—at least not the same kind they had on Earth—so there were no maggots, but Noah wasn’t sure that was a good thing because what was left of the body was just as terrible to look at. The skin had started to dissolve, the eyes liquefied, and every kind of body fluid had seeped into the mattress. All of it was accompanied by an almost unbearable smell of decay and rot.

The man—at least Noah thought it was a man; it was hard to tell in the corpse’s current state—was attached to several wires and tubes leading to medical monitors and medication dispensers. Their displays were all dark, the alarms silent. None of them seemed to work anymore.

“What happened to him?” he asked, his voice shaky.

Quinn stepped closer and inspected the no-longer-functional monitors. “Maybe he was too sick to take him with them to wherever the rest of the colonists went. I assume he died because those machines stopped working and because of the lack of care.”

“That’s terrible. He must’ve died alone and afraid.” Octavia shook her head, her face full of sorrow. “The poor man.”

“Yeah, pretty tragic,” Felix said. “And what’s even worse, he can’t tell us anything now. Not in this state. I think his vocal cords have dissolved.”

“Felix, don’t be crass.” Quinn scolded him with an annoyed eye roll. She was standing in front of the monitors, pressing buttons and flipping switches.

“You know what’s strange,” she said, watching Felix fiddle with the medical devices, “none of the electronic machines are still working. In the entire town. Every single piece of tech we found was dead. Computers, TVs, microwaves, everything.”

Felix stopped messing with the medical equipment and tilted his head. “The colony is supplied with solar power, right?”

“Yes,” Noah said. “I saw the panels on the houses’ roofs.”

“Quinn’s right, that’s strange,” Felix said. “The system should still be providing power, even without people doing maintenance. If it’s undamaged, it should be running for months if not years.”

Quinn took a multitool off her belt and made quick work of the nearest monitor’s casing, prying to open the plastic to expose the circuits and wires below.

Felix stepped closer, looking over her shoulder. “Looks completely fried,” he said, confused.

Quinn nodded. “Yeah, like a power surge overloaded the system. Or some kind of EMP.”

“I doubt those flimsy solar panels are strong enough to overload the power system of an entire town,” Felix said.

“Maybe some kind of solar flare, then?” Quinn suggested.

“That would explain the fried electronics,” Felix admitted, “but not the vanished colonists.”

“Maybe it’s just something that happened in the medical clinic,” Noah suggested. “We should check other buildings, other devices, see if they have the same damage.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Quinn turned away from the medical monitors and the decomposing corpse. “Let’s go check the government building. It’s the last one on the list.”

Noah was relieved that he could finally leave the foul-smelling hospital. When they stepped back onto the marketplace, he took a deep breath of cool, clean air, trying to get rid of the stench of decay that still clung to the back of his throat.

Octavia looked back at the hospital entrance, her face soft with sorrow. “Shouldn’t we bury that man inside there?” she asked. “It seems cruel to leave him lying like that.”

Noah swallowed. She was right. The man in there deserved more than to be discarded and forgotten in a ghost town, but the thought of handling the corpse made his skin crawl. He wasn’t used to this, to any of this. He was a pilot, a pretty green one at that. Death and decay weren’t something he really had to deal with before, not up close like this, at least, and he felt overwhelmed.

“Maybe later,” Quinn said. Her face was empathetic, but her tone was firm. “I’m sorry, Octavia. I know you mean well, but we’re on a mission, and the mission has priority. We can’t afford to waste any time. Not when the people who caused all this might still be around. We need to keep moving.”

She led the team across the marketplace with big strides, heading to the town hall.

It looked pretty unremarkable. A rectangular building, three stories high, with narrow windows overlooking the town square, built from the same gray 3D-printed panels the rest of the houses were made from.

As they got closer to the entrance, Noah noticed the double door showed no sign of forced entry. That meant Quinn's theory that the settlers might have sought refuge here was unlikely to be true. In that case, they would have surely tried to barricade the doors, trying to keep their attackers out.

Felix went first, sweeping the entrance. “Clear,” he called out, waving them in.

Noah followed him inside, stepping into a small foyer with a worn-out blue rubber floor. There was a reception desk on one side and a couple of chairs on the other. Behind the foyer, a hallway stretched out, with several doors on either side leading to a narrow staircase.

The town hall looked the same as every other house they’d searched—completely empty, with no signs of struggle. After making sure the many rooms were free of lurking enemies, they started taking apart the electronic devices one by one, checking for damage.

Noah disassembled several computers in what seemed to be an office on the third floor, and each one showed the same damage as the medical monitors in the hospital. Blackened and molten components, accompanied by the acrid smell of burned plastic. He reported his findings to Quinn, who was working in a room that looked like it belonged to the colony’s governor.

“Same here,” Quinn said. “All the electronics are busted. Too bad. I would’ve loved to access the records.”

“Do you think the damaged electronics and the disappearance of the colonists are connected?” Noah asked.

“It would be a very big coincidence if they weren’t. I just can’t think of any way to make the connection. Maybe they really were attacked by some kind of EMP weapon, but Felix is right. That doesn’t explain why all the colonists disappeared without a trace. They must’ve fought back if they were attacked, right? So why are we seeing no signs of a fight?”

“Maybe they fled to hide from whoever attacked the colony. Maybe they’re out there in the forest somewhere,” Noah suggested.

Quinn put the multitool back into her belt pouch and nodded. “You might be right. At least it’s more likely than them vanishing into thin air. I think Hope Town has given us all the information it can. We need to check the wilderness and the other towns, see if we can find any survivors. Go find the rest of the team. We’ll meet in front of the entrance in ten minutes.”

A few minutes later, they’d assembled in front of the building, ready to move out.

“So what now?” Prescott asked. “Should we split up to cover more ground?”

“Split up?” Octavia asked nervously. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We have no idea if the attacker’s still on the planet.”

Prescott looked unfazed. “If the people who abducted or killed over two hundred colonists are still here, it doesn’t matter if we search in groups of two or five. We’d be dead anyway.”

Quinn adjusted the straps of her backpack with a firm pull. “We’re staying together. Commander Petrea assembled this team because we all have different strengths and weaknesses. Splitting up won’t do us any favors. Felix, show me the map.”

Felix pulled out his pad and fiddled with the controls for a while before managing to project a three-dimensional map of Hope Town and the surrounding area.

“Okay, let’s look at this from a logical standpoint,” Quinn said. “If you were a group of two hundred colonists and needed to hide quickly from an invader, where would you go?”

Noah studied the map and quickly found a spot he’d noticed when they landed the shuttle. “What about this mountain ridge over there?” he asked, pointing at the map. “Our ship’s sensors detected a cave system under these mountains. I noticed it when I scanned for a suitable landing site. Maybe that’s where they went.”

Quinn tilted her head, inspecting the part of the map Noah had pointed out. “It’s pretty close to our shuttle. If they really are hiding there, they should have noticed our arrival.”

“That doesn’t mean they’re not there, hiding somewhere,” Octavia said. “Maybe they’re scared, and that’s why they didn’t show themselves. I think Noah’s right—we should check there first.”

“All right, then. It’s as good a guess as any,” Quinn agreed. “Make sure your gear’s packed away and you haven’t left anything lying around. Especially you, Noah.”

Noah’s face heated under her scrutinizing gaze, but he knew he deserved it. He’d fumbled the ball before, so of course they were watching him closely, making sure he didn’t mess up again.

They left Hope Town with more questions than they’d arrived with and returned to their shuttle’s landing site. There was no sign that anyone but them had been here, which could mean anything or nothing. Maybe the colonists hadn’t noticed the shuttle landing. Maybe they were hiding from them, fearing another enemy attack. Maybe they weren’t here at all. They’d find out sooner or later.

Following the map on Felix’s pad, they ventured into the dense green forest. It wasn’t an easy trek. The undergrowth was thick, forcing them to push through clusters of broad-leafed plants and step over tangled roots. After about half an hour, the foliage became less dense, and the terrain started to get steeper, and soon, the first cave entrances came into sight.

“Careful where you step,” Felix said. “According to the data our shuttle collected, some of these caves go down several hundred meters. If you fall in there, you stay in there.”

Noah took the warning to heart. This, for once, was something that separated Cascade from his home planet, Jabaal. Jabaal was mostly flat, at least the continent settled by humans, so he wasn’t a very experienced mountaineer.

They pressed on, navigating the rocky incline. The climb was slow, made worse by the unstable ground. Gravel and loose stones clattered down the slope with every misstep. After another twenty minutes, they reached an entrance that looked promising. Tall enough to fit a person standing upright.

Quinn flicked on her flashlight, sweeping the beam across the smooth gray rock walls.

“Make sure your Pad’s tracking is activated,” Quinn said as they walked deeper into the cave system. “This looks like a maze—I don’t want to get lost in here.”

Felix nudged her shoulder. “Don’t worry. My sense of direction’s infallible.”

Noah didn’t share Felix’s confidence. He stared into the darkness of the cave and felt some kind of primal fear rising inside his chest. Anything could lurk in these shadows.

“How far do we need to get in?”

Quinn’s gaze wandered over the several tunnels branching off from the cave’s entry. “This cave system looks pretty expansive. We need to get in far enough to get a good scanner sweep.”

Reluctantly, Noah followed his team deeper into the cave.

The narrow passages through the massive rock felt claustrophobic, and he kept turning around, glancing over his shoulder, trying to remember the way they’d come.

Their footsteps echoed back from the stone, and Quinn's flashlight cast flickering shadows on the walls. More than once, Noah’s pulse kicked up when a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision turned out to be nothing but a trick of the light.

The cool, damp air carried a faint mineral scent, and every breath felt heavier, like the cave itself was pressing down on them.

“I don’t think anyone’s here,” he said. They had been exploring the cave for maybe ten minutes, but to Noah, it felt like ten hours. “I think we should turn around.”

“You sound scared,” Felix laughed. “Are you scared?”

“No. I just don’t want us to waste any time. You said it yourself. The enemy might still be around.”

Noah was scared as hell, but he wouldn’t show that to Felix.

“He’s right, though,” Prescott said. “There’s no sign anyone’s been here in a while—or maybe ever.”

Quinn stopped and looked around. “I think we’re deep enough to get a decent scan. Give me a moment.” She took a Pad out of her backpack and started to swipe over the screen.

Octavia peeked over her shoulder. “Can you scan for heat signatures with that thing?”

“Not heat,” Quinn said, “but sounds. Thanks to some nifty modification from the Resolute’s engineering team. If there are people here somewhere, they’re making sounds. Maybe not sounds we can hear, but noise the Pad’s scanner can pick up on. Everybody shut up.”

They all went quiet. Noah even held his breath, trying not to mess with the data Quinn’s sensor sweep was collecting. She studied the Pad’s screen for a while, brows furrowed, mouth pinched into a thin line. Finally, she shook her head.

“Even if I filter out the background noise, there’s nothing here. I don’t think anyone’s hiding here. Let’s return to the exit.”

“Yes, let’s leave,” Noah quickly agreed. He wanted to get out of this cave as soon as possible.

Felix laughed, shaking his head. “Oh my, you really are scared. Are you claustrophobic, Noah?”

“I’m not claustrophobic,” he said, voice strained.

“Stop squabbling, you two,” Quinn scolded them. “We’re on a mission, not a school field trip. Pull yourself together.” She’d already turned around, heading the other way. Noah was more than happy to follow her.

They’d made it about halfway back when Quinn’s flashlight started to flicker before cutting out entirely a few heartbeats later. Darkness engulfed them.

Chapter 22

Noah froze. His breath hitched. It wasn’t just dark—it was the kind of blackness that stripped away all sense of space, of direction. He couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face.

“Ah, damn it,” Quinn cursed somewhere nearby.

He could hear Quinn smacking the flashlight against her palm, each sharp thwack echoing through the cave. It wasn’t working. Panic coiled in Noah’s chest, tightening like a vise. Without the flashlight, they’d quickly get lost in this maze of tunnels and caverns. The walls seemed to press in, shrinking the already narrow passage. His breathing turned shallow. He reached out blindly until his fingers found the cold, rough stone, pressing his hand against it as if that could stop the unyielding rock from squeezing him to death.

Just as panic threatened to overwhelm him, Quinn’s flashlight flickered back on.

“Stupid thing. Unreliable civilian crap,” Quinn cursed.

Noah breathed a sigh of relief, but his legs felt shaky, and cold sweat was running down his back.

Octavia glanced at him, and her brows furrowed in concern. “Are you okay, Noah? You look pale.”

He forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

Quinn’s eyes wandered over him, examined him. She seemed to take note of the distress he desperately tried to hide in front of his crewmates but had the courtesy not to point it out. “Come on, let’s move. Before the light cuts out again.”

Noah hurried to follow his team, but his wobbly legs had other ideas. After two steps, his foot got caught on a stone ridge protruding from the uneven ground, sending him flying.

He landed face first, and the impact knocked the wind out of him. For once, he was thankful for the cave’s darkness because it hid his rapidly flushing face from his teammates, who’d turned around, concerned.

“Hey, you okay?” Felix asked.

“Yeah,” he muttered, embarrassed.

He pushed himself up, trying to get back to his feet, but something lying on the cave floor caught his attention and made him pause. He reached for it and felt the crinkling of plastic under his fingers.

“Hey, Quinn, can you shine your flashlight over here?”

She stepped closer. “Have you found something?”

He held up the piece of plastic wrapping he’d found. In the light of her flashlight, he could read the words.

“Vanilla cookies.”

Felix crouched down to look at his findings. “Interesting. So someone really was here.”

Quinn leaned in, inspecting the cookie wrapper with a frown. “We have no idea how long this has been here. It could’ve been months, even years.”

“I don’t think so,” Felix said. He took the wrapper from Noah and turned it inside out. “Look, the vanilla frosting inside is still soft. Whoever dropped it hadn’t eaten that cookie too long ago.”

Octavia inhaled. “That means someone on this planet is still alive!”

“We need to find whoever left this here,” Quinn said. “Maybe they can tell us what the hell happened to the colony.” She stretched out her hand to help Noah back to his feet. “Good find, Noah. Let’s check the ground and see if we find more of those.”

With renewed interest, they slowly worked their way backward, searching the ground for more signs that people had walked through this cave system.

Close to the entrance, Octavia called out, “I found another one! Look, vanilla cookies, just like the last one.”

Felix grinned. “Looks like our elusive colonists have a sweet tooth.”

“Let’s check the surroundings,” Quinn said. “Maybe we can follow the trail.”

“Like Hansel and Gretel?” Felix asked. “But with cookie wrappers instead of breadcrumbs?”

Noah watched his steps carefully as they descended from the mountain back into the dense forest. His eyes scanned the ground for a hint of red plastic. He still had the first wrapper they’d found in the cave in his hand. They’d finally found a trace of the missing colonists. Now, they just needed to follow it.

It didn’t take long to find another piece, and then Felix found yet another one deeper in the forest.

“How big was this bag of cookies?” he complained, stuffing the wrapper into his pocket. “And where’s this Cookie Monster hiding?”

“I don’t think—” Noah’s mouth snapped shut when Quinn shot him a sharp look and silently pointed toward the trees.

He squinted, scanning the thick underbrush, trying to see what Quinn had spotted, but all he saw were bushes and trees. He was about to ask why they were all staring into the forest when movement caught his eye. Quinn was right. There really was someone behind those trees.

Noah stood frozen, his hands slowly inching toward the handle of his gun. Had they found the colonists who left the cookie wrappers behind? Or were enemies hiding in the dense foliage? He glanced at his team and saw the same tense expressions on their faces.

Quinn took a deep breath and stepped forward, toward the tree where they’d noticed the movement. She cleared her throat. “Hello there. No need to hide. We’re here to help.”

A muffled noise came from behind the tree—two people arguing in hushed voices—but it was too far away to make out any words. But surely, if it were an enemy, they’d have opened fire by now.

Noah felt his shoulders relax and took his hand off his gun.

And then an energy bolt whizzed past his head.

Chapter 23

Noah dove for cover, jumping behind a nearby boulder and yanking Octavia down with him. More energy bolts whizzed over their heads, harmlessly hitting the trees behind them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Noah spotted Felix pressed against a tree trunk, pulling a weapon out of his unassuming civilian backpack. Smaller than an assault rifle but not by much. Some kind of plasma carbine, he realized. Felix loaded and charged the weapon with such speed that Noah had trouble following his motions.

As Felix started to return fire, Noah reached for his own sidearm, fingers trembling as he unholstered it. He’d trained with weapons at the Academy, passed his qualifications, kept up with the required skill tests, but he’d never been a particularly good shot—and his skills seemed especially lackluster compared to the way Felix handled his carbine.

Plasma bolts sprayed out, singing the trees they hit.

Noah forced his breathing under control and hurried to ready his own weapon. His fingers slipped on the charging switch twice before it finally hummed to life. He leaned sideways, peeking out from his cover and taking aim, but Felix’s plasma barrage had already flushed their attackers out.

Through a gap in the thick green undergrowth, Noah spotted a red-jacketed figure bolting through the trees.

Felix leaned out and fired at the fleeing enemy. One of his plasma bolts struck the attacker right in the front. They let out a high, sharp scream as they crumpled to the ground.

Noah’s stomach twisted. That scream—something about it didn’t sound right. He lowered his weapon in confusion. Was that…?

Before he could make up his mind, another figure burst from behind the trees—a smaller one, wearing an orange jacket and a yellow hat. “No! No, Teo!”

A child, he realized in horror.

Felix must have had the same realization at that moment because he immediately stopped firing and started running. Noah stood up and tried to follow him, Octavia grabbed his sleeve.

“Noah, stay back!” she hissed. “There might be more!”

He shook off her hand. “They’re just kids, Octavia.”

Adrenaline roared through his veins as he sprinted after Felix, who had already reached the two boys.

“Shit,” Felix cursed under his breath. “Oh no. No, no, no.” He crouched down next to the injured boy—he couldn’t be older than fourteen—helplessly trying to pull the red jacket off to attend to his injuries.

The younger boy—the one in orange—jumped on Felix’s back with a primal scream. “Get off him!” he yelled, arms flailing wildly, fists striking whatever they could reach. “Leave my brother alone, you bastard!”

Felix reeled back, trying to pry the boy off him, but only earned a slap to the face for his effort.

“Noah, a little help here?” he grunted, his voice strained from the effort of keeping the kid from biting his hand.

Noah sprang into action, wrapping his arms around the boy’s chest and pulling him away from Felix.

The child fought tooth and nail, struggling against his hold. An elbow jabbed into Noah's ribs made him stumble backward, sending both of them crashing to the forest floor in a tangle of limbs. The impact nearly made Noah lose his grip, and he had to wrestle the squirming kid into a chokehold to keep him from escaping.

More footsteps crashed through the brush. Quinn, Prescott, and Octavia burst into the clearing, weapons raised.

“Oh god,” Octavia said, eyes widening in shock. “It really is a child.”

“I didn’t know,” Felix said, his voice shaky. He pressed both of his hands on the boy’s bleeding stomach wound. “He fired on us… if I would have… I didn’t mean to.”

The younger boy still fought against Noah. “Teo!” he cried out. “Leave him alone!”

“It’s okay,” Noah said, trying to keep his voice steady. A difficult feat, considering his heart was racing and blood was rushing in his ears. He was a pilot with no ground battle experience. He wasn’t used to seeing blood and injuries—especially not injured children.

The rest of the team seemed just as rattled, and Felix looked guilty. He was already digging into his backpack, ripping open a small first aid kit. With shaky hands, he pressed a gauze pad against the wound, but the blood kept flowing.

The little boy thrashed against Noah’s grip, fighting to reach his brother. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Noah said, teeth gritted in the effort to hold the kid still. “We’re here to help. We’re going to help him.”

“You shot him!” the little boy sobbed.

“It was an accident.”

“Let me go! I need to help my brother!”

Felix’s hands were already covered in blood. “He needs medical help,” he said. “We need to take him to our shuttle.”

“Are you sure he’s… stable enough to transport?” Octavia asked.

“What choice do we have?” Felix snapped back. Without waiting for Quinn’s permission, he gathered the injured boy in his arms. Lifting him off the ground elicited a pained groan from Teo, which made his little brother kick and flail even harder, but the sound was a relief to Noah. If he was making noises, he was at least still alive.

Felix carried Teo in his arms, stumbling through the trees, nearly losing his footing on the slippery, soft forest floor.

“Where are you taking him?” the little brother cried. “Teo! Teo!”

Noah finally decided to let him go and heaved himself back onto his feet. “Come with us,” he offered. “We’ll take him to our shuttle so we can treat his wound, and you can come too.”

For a moment, the little boy’s eyes flickered toward the gun his brother had dropped on the ground.

“Don’t even think about it,” Noah warned. Just to be sure, he picked the weapon up himself, turning it off and tucking it into his belt.

It was a small energy sidearm, an older model. Even if he’d hit one of the team members, the damage wouldn’t have been deadly, but Felix had no way of knowing that. He’d acted on instinct and training. And a soldier’s training demanded returning fire first and asking questions later.

“What’s your name?” Noah asked. He tried to gently place a hand on the boy’s shoulder, but he jerked away with a defiant grunt, taking a step backward.

“Ben,” he mumbled, eyes following Felix, who was carrying his brother away, his expression uncertain.

“Hi, Ben. I’m Noah.”

Ben sniffed. “I want to be with Teo.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” Noah asked.

But the boy shot him a deadly glare. “Don’t touch me!”

Noah lifted his hands in a peaceful gesture. He understood Ben was shaken to the core by what he’d just witness. Seeing his brother injured and bleeding on the ground must be terribly scary for a little boy. And who knew what had happened to these two kids before Noah and his teammates had arrived on the planet. He wasn’t sure what they had experienced or how they’d managed to escape the Hope Town purge, but the fact that they had spotted a group of strangers and immediately had started firing on them told Noah everything he needed to know. He was no child psychologist, but he guessed Ben was deeply traumatized, so he needed to be handled with great caution and care.

“Fine,” Noah said gently. “Do think you can keep up with us?”

“Of course I can,” Ben said with a little pout.

“Then lead the way.”

Without another word, Ben darted ahead, moving with the sure-footed confidence of someone who knew the terrain well. He couldn’t be older than ten, but he traversed the uneven forest ground quicker than Noah, nimbly climbing over boulders and hopping over stray branches.

He caught up quickly with the rest of the group, with Noah limping behind, slowed down by his exhaustion and the dull throb radiating from his ribs, where Ben’s elbow had hit him.

Ben stuck to Felix’s heels, His small hands clenched into fists at his sides, eyes narrowed in suspicion. At least he wasn’t trying to bite him again. That was progress.

Since they didn’t take a detour through the caves this time, they reached the shuttle quickly.

Felix, who’d started sweating under the strain of carrying a preteen all the way here, sprinted up the ramp.

When Noah entered the shuttle, Teo was already lying on the floor in the back compartment, attached to a RescueBot. Felix was kneeling by his side, and Quinn was next to his head. Ben was hovering over his unconscious brother, clearly wanting to help but unsure of what to do. Only Lieutenant Prescott hung back, watching the dramatic scene unfold from his pilot seat in the cockpit.

Octavia, fiddling with the RescueBot’s controls, looked at the screen with furrowed brows. “His blood pressure is low. I think he lost a lot of blood.”

As if to affirm her words, the screen showed an instruction in red letters: Start blood transfusion.

“Blood transfusion,” Felix said. He’d calmed down a little, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his tension. “Do we have any blood transfusion, Quinn?”

Quinn shot up and raced down the stairs to the storage compartment. The sounds of lockers being yanked open and packages ripped reached them from below, then Quinn reappeared, arms full with medical supplies.

“We’re in luck,” she said, throwing a bag of red liquid toward Felix, who caught it one-handed. The label on the plastic bag read: Artificial blood replacement. Universal Type.

Felix unrolled the plastic tubing wrapped around the bag and grabbed one of Teo’s arms. His fingers found a vein beneath clammy skin, and he positioned the needle.

At the sight, Ben lunged forward. “Take that away from him!”

Noah grabbed the back of his jacket just in time to keep him from lashing out at Felix again.

“It won’t hurt him,” Noah said. “It’ll make him better, I promise.”

Ben stilled at that, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He looked up at Noah, his cheeks red and wet from tears. “Promise?”

“His blood pressure is stabilizing,” Octavia said as Felix attached the blood transfusion to an IV stand. “I don’t think any organs or large vessels were damaged. If we can close the wound, I think he’ll be okay.” She pointed at the pile of medical supplies Quinn had dropped on the floor next to Teo. “Quinn, can you check if we have some emergency wound glue?”

Ben was still watching, his body tense. His frown deepened as his gaze locked onto Octavia. “I don’t like her.”

“She’s doing her best to help Teo,” Noah reassured him.

“I don’t like the way she speaks.”

“She speaks like this because she’s from a place far away. Do you want something to drink?”

Ben sniffed, shifting from foot to foot, his arms wrapped around himself. His eyes kept darting back to his brother, but his thirst seemed to win over his fear. “Yes.”

He gently guided Ben toward the front compartment, steering him away from the sight of blood-soaked bandages and blinking medical monitors. He nudged the boy into a seat, making sure he was settled before heading to the small galley.

“Stay here. I’ll get you something.”

He returned with two bottles of orange soda and handed Ben one of them.

The boy hastily removed the lid and drank in big gulps, barely stopping to breathe, until half the bottle was gone.

“Thirsty, huh?” Noah asked, plopping down in the seat beside him.

“Teo had cookies, but we hadn’t brought anything to drink.”

“Right, the cookies. We found the wrappers you dropped. They looked pretty tasty.”

“They’re okay,” Ben said, pressing the soda bottle to his chest. “I don’t really like vanilla, but they were all we had with us.”

“How long have you been out there?”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. A while. I didn’t count.”

Noah hesitated a moment, but he needed to ask. He needed to know. “What were you doing out there, anyway? Where are your parents?”

The second the words left his mouth, Ben’s expression shut down. His fingers tightened around the bottle.

“It’s okay,” Noah said gently. “You can talk to me. We’re friends. We’re here to help. Do you know where the rest of the colonists are? We’ve been to Hope Town, but no one was there.”

No one but a decaying body. But he kept that part to himself.

Ben pressed his lips together and locked his eyes on the soda bottle as if the bottle label was the most interesting thing he’d ever read, refusing to look at Noah.

Noah leaned back against the seat, giving the boy space. “Why did you shoot at us?” he asked, keeping his tone light and free of accusation. These were just two scared little boys. They’d meant no harm. They had just tried to defend themselves. Of that he was sure.

“We thought you were bad guys,” he mumbled.

“Bad guys? Did bad guys come to your town?”

Ben shrugged, but the movement was stiff. It was clear he knew something, had seen something, but whatever it was, he was still too traumatized to talk about it. At least to a stranger.

#

Capt. Owen Shaw

The Resolute was crossing the Cindaris system at a steady pace. They’d emerged from the hyperspace gate about an hour ago and were en route to the gate connecting Cindaris with the Xentari system, where they would rendezvous with the rest of the Obsidian battle group.

It had been an uneventful journey so far, but Owen felt tense nevertheless.

They were meeting with the rest of the battle group because he needed their support and because they had matters to discuss—ones he’d rather handle in person than via long-range transmission, where every message could take hours to deliver. They had decisions to make. Decisions about how far they were willing to go to bring Grigorev down.

The attempt to trick him with a Trojan horse deception had been an utter failure. One that had cost another two dozen lives and still burned hot in Owen’s mind, keeping him awake, tossing and turning in his bed. He scolded himself for being naïve enough to think he could so easily outsmart a man who knew no scruples.

If they wanted to defeat Grigorev, it would have to be by brute force. But using force meant not only sacrificing Sasha Petrea’s life but also hundreds of crewmen aboard the Icarus. It was an impossibly difficult decision to make, because, yes, these crew members were serving a corrupt, traitorous captain—but were they doing so of their own free will? Were they even fully aware of what was going on? They deserved consequences, and they would be held responsible, but Owen would prefer a fair trial, not shooting them out of the sky.

It was a decision he couldn’t make alone. He needed the other captains’ approval to act. And maybe he also needed them to tell him he was making the right choice because the thought of just giving up on Commander Petrea made his stomach clench. He didn’t want to do it. He’d do anything to find another solution.

Once again, his mind entered the loop he’d been through a hundred times by now, desperately searching for a way to save Petrea and the Icarus’s crew.

Cosima Lin’s alarmed voice pulled him out of his gloomy thoughts, snapping him back into reality.

“Captain, we’ve got a bogey.”

Owen turned toward her, instantly alert. “Details?”

“Small craft, coming in fast. They’re not answering hails.”

“Transponder?”

Lieutenant Lin shifted in her seat. “According to the transponder code, the shuttle belongs to the Icarus, Captain.”

Owen was on his feet the moment he heard the word Icarus. He caught a worried glance from Adrian then crossed the bridge to take a look at the sensors himself.

“They’re on an approach vector,” he surmised after watching the screen for a moment.

“That appears to be the case.” Lin’s voice was steady, but he could feel the fear radiating off of her. The entire bridge crew had gone from busy chatter to tense silence the moment she’d reported the contact. And who could blame them? Until now, every single encounter with the Icarus and its captain had resulted in a catastrophe and the death of Resolute crewmembers. Of course they were scared.

“Mendy, have you tried hailing them?”

“I tried three times,” Mendy said. “Radio silence.”

A chill crept down Owen’s spine. What had Grigorev come up with now? A tiny shuttle like this was no threat to a battleship like the Resolute. Or was it? Rebel groups hailing from Dominion-occupied worlds had occasionally used shuttles for suicide runs against the Dominion.

Would Grigorev resort to such a measure?

“Lieutenant Covino, confirm its trajectory,” Owen ordered.

“I already did, sir. They’re on an intercept course, sir,” Covino confirmed. “They’ll be in weapons range in less than two minutes.”

Lieutenant Alistair Tawamba, the weapons officer, turned from his station. “Orders, Captain?”

Chapter 24

Owen stepped back from the sensors console and returned to his captain’s chair. “Bring weapons online, Tawamba. Targeting solutions only.” Maybe this wasn’t an attack. Maybe Grigorev had sent someone to negotiate.

“Aye, sir. Weapons hot. Targeting solutions locked.”

“Lieutenant Avi, charge the shields.”

The young woman responsible for electronic counter measures manning the console next to Tawamba worked quickly. “Shield at one hundred percent, Captain.”

Owen nodded, satisfied. His bridge officers were young and inexperienced. Most of them had been promoted to their positions mere weeks ago, after the battle in the Obsidian system had killed most of the original bridge crew, but despite that, they performed well under pressure.

“Lieutenant Mendy, have we gotten a response yet?”

“Still no response, Captain,” Mendy said. “As far as I can tell, they’re receiving our signal, but they’re not responding.”

Owen frowned. If they weren’t responding, they were either ignoring them—or unable to answer.

“Have you tried adjusting the frequency to—”

“They’re opening fire!” Lin yelled.

“What? On screen.”

With a tap on her console keyboard, Lieutenant Lin sent her data to the main viewscreen. The sensors indeed showed that the shuttle was shooting its laser cannons.

Adrian stared up at the screen with furrowed brows. “Why would a shuttle that small try to attack us?”

“Agreed. Something weird is going on here.“ Most shuttle classes were equipped with weapons, but they were weak, capable of destroying a small asteroid in its flight path but not fit for warfare. Opening fire made no sense. They might as well throw pebbles at the Resolute.

Adrian squinted. “Owen, look. I don’t think they’re actually shooting at us.”

“They’re not?” Lin asked, confused.

“Oh, they’re shooting, all right,” Adrian said. “But they’re not aiming at us.”

“At what are they aiming, then?” Owen asked.

Adrian shrugged. “Empty space, it looks like.”

His eyes were still fixed on the screen, tracking the little blips, each standing for a fired laser blast. “Wait a second… I think… I think that’s Morse code.”

Lin looked at him with raised eyebrows then turned back to her console to study her screen. “My God, sir, you’re right. Short, short, short, long. Pause. Long, long… Numbers. Those are numbers, Captain.”

Adrian’s eyes followed the blasts on the sensor. “Four. Seven. Two. Four. Nine,” He translated. “Oh, that one is a letter. C. Another letter. P. Four. Two. Does this tell you anything, Captain?”

Owen repeated the code in his head. Four, seven, two, four, nine. C, then a P. Four, two.

Five numbers, two letters, two numbers… That was the configuration of a Space Guard identification code. His heart rate sped up as he pulled out his comm.

The call was quickly answered. “This is Petty Officer Vance. Administration Department.” The petty officer sounded a little unsure about the unexpected call from the captain himself. “What can I do for you, Captain Shaw?”

“Check your database and tell me the ID code of Lieutenant Commander Sasha Petrea.”

“Just a moment, sir.” There was a short silence, then the petty officer cleared his throat. “Commander Petrea’s code is as follows: Four-seven-two-nine-C-P-four-two.”

Adrian looked at him, eyebrows raised, mouth open in surprise. “It’s her?”

Owen took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes, I think it’s her. I have no idea how she pulled it off, but I think it’s her.”

The entire bridge crew broke out in cheers, and Owen couldn’t help but laugh along with them. His feelings were chaotic. Relief, excitement, and disbelief mingled in his chest. “Tawamba, stand down the weapons. Mendy, contact hangar bay 2, and tell them to open the shutters.”

“Aye, Captain,” Mendy said enthusiastically. “I can’t believe she’s back.”

Owen had to suppress a giddy grin. “I’ll meet her in the hangar bay. I bet she’ll have quite the story to tell. Adrian, you have the conn.”

“No, I don’t. I’m coming with you.”

Owen shrugged, already halfway to the door. “Fine. Lieutenant Lin, you have the conn.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Adrian followed him, matching his pace as they strode toward the lift. “I don’t want to ruin the mood, but we should bring a security team,” he said. “Just in case Grigorev is trying to trick us.”

Owen exhaled sharply. “God, I hope not. We really need this win, Adrian. But you’re right. Better safe than sorry.”

Adrian put a hand on his arm in a reassuring gesture as they stepped into the lift. “I’ll call them in, but I sure hope we won’t need them.”

The lift hummed as it descended, but the usually short trip downward felt like an endless journey this time. Owen found himself tapping his fingers against his thigh, his nerves on edge. How had Sasha escaped? What did she have to endure aboard the Icarus? What if it wasn’t her inside that shuttle, and this was just a cruel ruse staged by Grigorev?

Finally, the elevator doors slid open. The security team was already assembled outside the hangar bay, armored with regular body armor and standard energy rifles, waiting for instructions.

The light above the hangar doors switched from red to green, signaling that the hangar shutters were closed and the atmosphere had been established.

Owen met the eyes of the petty officer in charge of the security team, who gave him a curt nod, signaling him to follow them, and rushed inside.

He stepped through the doors just as the shuttle touched down.

It hit the deck harder than expected, skidding slightly before the landing struts fully engaged.

Owen crossed the deck as soon as the shuttle had settled in its landing spot. Two security officers flanked him, weapons lowered but ready.

The shuttle’s hydraulics whined as the ramp began to lower.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then, a figure stepped out.

Lieutenant Commander Sasha Petrea.

Owen barely recognized her. She was barefoot, her uniform jacket missing, and the T-shirt beneath was stained with blood. Her usually neat, short-cropped hair was matted, her face gaunt with exhaustion. But she was alive.

“Sasha.” Owen exhaled in relief, a weight lifting from his chest. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

She blinked as if still processing where she was, then a slow grin spread across her face. “Likewise, Captain.” The smile lit up her face and made her look a lot more like herself again.

Without thinking, Owen stepped onto the ramp and pulled her into a hug. She stiffened for half a second then let out a breath and returned it, albeit a little awkwardly.

“Why didn’t you respond to our hails?”

“Comm system got busted when we stole the shuttle,” she said.

“We?” he asked in confusion.

Then he spotted a man stepping off the ramp behind her.

Owen’s muscles tensed.

The man was about a head shorter than Owen, but his posture was straight and his expression strangely calm. He had been through the wringer and looked just as disheveled as Petrea, but Owen recognized the uniform pants in an instant. Black with canary-yellow stripes down the seam. This was a Pendragon Empire officer.

Owen didn’t even have to utter the command. The two security officers followed his gaze and moved forward, seizing the man’s arms.

The Empire officer put up no fight as the handcuffs closed around his wrists with a metallic clink.

Owen looked at Petrea, aghast. “Who the hell is that?”

She turned around and exchanged a look with the Empire officer. The man smiled softly, and she smiled back—almost apologetically—before sighing.

“That’s a long story, Captain.”

The Empire man spoke up, his words carrying a heavy Empire accent. “A long story, but one worth listening to.”

#

Lt. Cmdr. Sasha Petrea

“I’m fine, Captain. This is a waste of time,” Sasha complained as she was escorted by two security guards and the captain himself to the medical bay.

It felt strange walking the corridors of the Resolute again. The logical part of her mind knew she was safe here, but for some reason, her body was still on edge, like it expected the floor under her feet to suddenly open up and swallow her whole.

“I’d rather hear that from Doctor Caron’s mouth,” Shaw said, gently urging her forward with a hand on her shoulder. “Your face looks like it connected with a fist more than once. I want to make sure you have no fractures. Or brain damage.”

Sasha sighed. “I assure you, I don’t have brain damage.” She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Burnham being led away, toward the brig. “Don’t harm him. Not yet, at least. I think he… might be useful.”

“Don’t worry,” Shaw said. “I understand your trust in the Confederation is shattered after you just spent two weeks in a Confederation brig, but we don’t harm prisoners aboard the Resolute. Not as long as I’m in charge.”

Two weeks? Had it really only been two weeks? It was hard keeping track of time in a cell, but Sasha could’ve sworn it was much longer than that. She scrunched her nose. “Nothing is shattered, Shaw. Not my trust in the Confederation, not my jaw. Give me a clean uniform, and I’ll get back to my post.”

That was what she needed right now. Not a doctor and certainly no coddling from Shaw. She needed things to get back to normal as soon as possible. After so many days in captivity, helpless and useless in the fight against Grigorev, she was itching to get back in the saddle—and, ideally, shoot something or someone.

The captain, however, remained stubborn. “I’ll gladly welcome you back on the bridge, Commander. After Caron has had a chance to check up on you.”

The stern edge to his voice told her resistance was pointless, so she resigned herself to her fate. Better to get it over with quickly so she could make herself useful again.

When she stepped into the medical bay, the typical smell of disinfectant burned in her nose, and the cold overhead lighting was so bright she had to squint. As soon as the door slid shut behind her, two nurses appeared out of nowhere, herding her toward a gurney, concern written all over their faces.

Before Sasha could say or do much to stop them, they’d attached at least half a dozen cables to her body, and the monitor behind her gurney started showing a whole bunch of colorful numbers and squiggly lines.

Both nurses studied the screen with furrowed brows before the older one nodded. “Vitals are stable. I’ll go get Doctor Caron. You make sure the commander is comfortable, Olivia.”

Captain Shaw watched the nurses work with a satisfied look on his face. “I think you’re in good hands here. Come find me as soon as Doctor Caron clears you for duty so we can discuss how we’re going to handle that Pendragon officer you brought with you.”

He turned on his heel, leaving her alone with the younger nurse—nurse Cahill, according to the name tag on her teal-trimmed uniform—who was already approaching with a set of needles and plastic vials.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Sasha said, scooting backward on her gurney.

“Doctor Caron will want a blood sample,” the nurse said with an apologetic smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll only feel a little pinch. No need to be afraid.”

“I’m not afr—ouch!”

“See? All done.”

Sasha rubbed her arm with a frustrated grunt, but the nurse had already taken off with several vials of her blood, putting them into some kind of analytic machine on a nearby counter.

Doctor Caron approached and stopped in front of her, looking her up and down. A frown appeared on his face as he leaned closer to inspect the bruises.

“Nurse Phan, go get the mobile MRI machine.”

The older nurse hurried away and returned with a handheld apparatus a moment later.

“It’s not broken,” Sasha said. “I’d know if it were broken.”

Nobody listened to her opinion. Nurse Phan gently turned her head and told her to hold still before taking a scan with the MRI device. After a few seconds, the device made a beeping sound, and Doctor Caron unrolled his TacPad to look at the images of her skull.

“Hm… I think you have a hairline fracture of the mandible.”

“Hairline doesn’t sound so bad,” Sasha said, but she made a mental note to put that insufferable petty officer who’d struck her high on her people-to-shoot-list. “I can get back to duty with that, right?”

“If you insist,” Caron said. “I’ll prescribe you painkillers.”

“I don’t need painkillers, but thanks for the offer. See you around.”

She was trying to hop off the gurney, but Caron held her back. “Not so fast. Nurse Phan, show me the lab results.”

The nurse walked over to the blood analyzer and pressed a couple of buttons that sent the readout straight to Caron’s Pad. He studied the numbers with squinted eyes. “Your sodium levels are too high, and your glucose is too low.”

“I feel fine.”

“You’ll feel even better after some infusions.”

Sasha huffed. “How long is this going to take? Because I have some pretty important matters to attend to.”

“If those matters are that important, I’m sure you don’t want to faint from low blood sugar while you’re in the middle of handling them. Lie back and let me do my job.”

The man had a point. After everything she’d learned about Burnham, she needed her wits sharp if she wanted to interrogate him. And that was her first order of business. She needed to find out who the hell this Phoenix guy was and where to find him. “Fine. But I’m out of here after your infusion.”

The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at Caron’s lips. “Deal. Nurse Cahill, start the infusions, please. Nurse Phan, you’re with me. We need to check up on our Ferrarian pox patient. I think some of his boils need to be lanced again.”

Nurse Phan pulled a face that said she wasn’t very keen on visiting the pox patient or his boils, but she followed Caron out of the room anyway. Her younger colleague stayed behind to prepare two large bags of clear liquid.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I’ll have to prick you with a needle again. We need intravenous access.”

Sasha sighed but presented her arm without making a fuss. The woman was only doing her job. And she really was feeling a little light-headed. Maybe that infusion would do her some good.

“We’re all really glad you made it back, Commander,” the nurse said while attaching the first bag to an IV stand.

“Oh, believe me, no one is happier than I am,” Sasha said, watching the fluid slowly flood the plastic tube that disappeared into her arm. “I’ve never been so happy to see this old rust bucket appear on the viewscreen.”

Nurse Cahill gave her a smile, but it looked forced, like there was something deeply troubling her behind her friendly facade. She fiddled with the IV bag for a bit and made several trips to the trash can, disposing of various plastic wrappers, before she finally spoke up.

“Commander Petrea, can I ask you…” She averted her gaze, and a faint hint of red appeared on her cheeks. “May I ask if you saw Lieutenant Francisco while you were imprisoned aboard the Icarus? He was accompanying Fitzgerald to the prisoner exchange, but we haven’t heard from him or the security team that went with them since it all went wrong.”

She raised her gaze, and the hope in her eyes made Sasha’s throat tighten. She didn’t know what relationship this young nurse had with Lieutenant Francisco, but judging by the way she spoke his name, they’d been close. It wasn’t that unusual. There were certain rules against fraternization within a chain of command, but Space Guard usually turned a blind eye to romantic relationships if no issues of superiority arose from them. A nurse and a tactical officer? No one would bat an eyelid if they got involved, and Sasha assumed that was what had happened between Cahill and Francisco.

Sasha cleared her throat. There was no point in dragging it out. The woman deserved to know what had happened to her partner. “I’m really sorry. Lieutenant Francisco died aboard the Icarus.”

All color drained from the nurse’s face. “He… but… are you sure? I mean, maybe he—”

“I saw him die.” Sasha tried to keep her voice firm but calm.

Nurse Cahill swallowed. “H-how?”

“He died a hero,” Sasha said. The images of Francisco bleeding out on the Icarus flight deck flashed in front of her eyes, but she pushed the memory away. “And I’ll make sure he’s honored as such as soon as we reestablish contact with Fleet Command.”

“Thank you,” the nurse whispered. She was fiddling with the IV line, but her hands were shaking. Sasha reached out, clasping Cahill’s hands, steadying them, and looked her in the eyes.

“We will make Grigorev pay.” Thinking about the number of crewmembers Grigorev had killed made anger rise in her chest. Her boarding party, Lieutenant Francisco, the security team he’d brought aboard the shuttle. Dozens of her people had died aboard the Icarus. People who’d worked under her for years. People she’d considered her friends. “I promise you, Nurse Cahill, we will hunt down the traitor Grigorev. And when I get my hands on him, he’ll wish he’d never been born.”

Chapter 25

Ens. Noah Jordan

In a way, Noah found the rhythmic beeping from the RescueBot reassuring. He wasn’t a medic, but even with his basic knowledge, he could tell all the numbers on the screen reporting Teo’s vital signs were stable and within normal range. The bleeding had stopped too.

Ben stood next to the bunk bed where they’d put Teo, fingers digging into the mattress, watching his brother with a frown.

“You said he’s better,” he said. “Why isn’t he awake yet?”

“We gave him something to make him sleep so he can rest and doesn’t feel any pain,” Felix explained. It’d been over twenty-four hours since the firefight in the forest, and he hadn’t left the boy’s side since carrying him to the shuttle, constantly checking the monitor and fussing over him like a mother hen.

Ben didn’t seem satisfied with the answer. “When will he wake up?”

“We’ll wake him up tomorrow morning.”

Noah put a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go to sleep too? And when you wake up, you can talk to Teo.”

“I’m not tired,” the boy mumbled.

“You’ve barely slept since we found you in the woods, and I’m pretty sure you two didn’t get much rest before we met you either. You must be exhausted.” With the exception of a two-hour nap in one of the front seats, Ben had been on his feet, stalking the shuttle and its perimeter relentlessly. His face looked pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Noah wasn’t an expert on child-minding, but even he could tell the little boy desperately needed rest. “I understand you’re worried about your brother, but he’s safe. You don’t need to watch over him all the time.”

Ben shook his head and stomped his foot. “I’m. Not. Tired.”

Before Noah could say anything, the boy bolted out the door and plunged down the shuttle ramp, disappearing into the night.

Noah exchanged a helpless look with Felix, but he just shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I have no idea how to parent a child.”

Quinn stuck her head into the back compartment. “Noah, your kid just dashed. You need to keep him under control.”

“My kid?” Noah raised his eyebrows. “Since when am I the designated babysitter?”

She grinned. “You are now. Go after him. He’s just a child—he’s not safe out there alone in the dark.”

Noah grumbled, but if the team leader ordered him to babysit the boy, there was nothing he could do. Orders were orders, even if he was in over his head. Trying to take care of a traumatized ten-year-old was one of the many tasks he felt ill-equipped for. When he’d agreed to accompany Lieutenant Prescott, he thought he would just watch the shuttle sensors and occasionally take over the pilot seat, monitoring the auto-piloting systems. He had not expected any of the challenges he’d stumbled through since they’d left the Resolute, and he felt like he had bitten off more than he could sure when he promised Captain Shaw he was ready for this mission. But he was here now. He was part of the team, so he just had to do his best and improvise.

Leaving the unconscious Teo in Felix’s care, he climbed down the ramp and breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted Ben only a few meters away, kicking a rock around, eyes scanning the trees surrounding them.

“Hey, buddy.” Noah approached slowly, trying not to spook the boy.

Ben looked up. For a moment, he seemed to contemplate running off again, but then, his gaze wandered back to the shuttle, where his brother was resting.

“Hi,” he mumbled.

“You sure you’re not tired? These bunk beds are really super comfortable. And you could have the top bunk above your brother.”

Ben stopped kicking his rock and looked up, considering Noah’s words for a moment. “Teo never lets me have the top bunk.”

“So it’s a deal?”

He shook his head. “I can’t go to bed. I need to… watch.”

“Ben, I promise you, Teo’s gonna be all right. He’ll be back on his feet in no time.”

Ben’s expression darkened in a way that sent a shiver down Noah’s back. “I don’t mean watching Teo,” he said, his gaze flickering up to the trees again.

Noah tensed. “Then what do you need to watch, Ben? Tell me what you’re scared of. Does it have something to do with all those people that went missing?”

Ben slowly nodded, fear evident on his face. His whisper was so low that Noah had to crouch down to his height and lean in to understand him. “They took all the sleeping people.”

Noah frowned. “The sleeping people? You mean the people from your town? They were sleeping when they were… what? Abducted?”

“The bad guys took them away. Put them into their spaceships.”

“You saw that? You and Teo saw how they were taken away?”

“We were playing in the caves,” Ben said. “We explore there a lot. Mom doesn’t like it. She thinks the caves are dangerous or something, but there’re a lot of cool stones and crystals and stuff. Nothing bad has ever happened to us when we’re down there, but that day was different. ”

He paused and drew a shuddering breath as if the memory was unsettling him. “When we went home, there were these strange people all over town. They had guns. Really big ones. And they carried the people away. And the people were all asleep. I don’t know why, ’cause it wasn’t that late. But everyone but us and the bad guys were asleep. My mom and dad too.” Tears welled up in his eyes. He wiped them away angrily and sniffed.

As confusing as his words were, at least one part started to make sense to Noah. “So you’re afraid to go to sleep because you think the bad guys will take you too?”

Ben nodded, lips pressed together tightly, as if he was working hard to suppress a sob. Noah wrapped his arms around his skinny body.

“We won’t let that happen.” He tapped the gun tucked into his belt. “See? We’ve got weapons too. We can defend you and Teo.”

“But there’s only five of you, and there were so many of the bad guys.”

“How many?” He knew he needed to be careful not to push Ben too hard, but the boy had highly valuable information. Information vital not only to his town’s fate but to all the other colonies in the Obsidian sector and the neutral zone.

“I don’t know. Many. Maybe thirty? Or fifty? I’m not sure. We ran away when we saw they had guns—back to the caves.”

“That was very smart of you,” Noah reassured him. “Do you remember anything about how those people looked? Did they wear some kind of uniform?”

“No uniform. They all had different clothes. Some even had armor. But… but I think most of them had some kind of bird on their clothes. A red bird.”

“A red bird,” Noah repeated slowly. Could Ben mean a phoenix? If he really saw a phoenix, that would prove the tie between the attack on the Obsidian system and whatever happened in Cascade and Atheos. At least if Quinn’s old friend Paolo could be trusted and these Phoenix mercenaries really were behind the destruction of the gate.

“Do you know who they are?” Ben asked.

“I think I might, yeah.”

The boy’s face lit up. “Do you know where they are? Can we go there? I bet my parents are there too.”

“No, I don’t know where they are.”

Ben’s shoulders slumped, and the sight of the disheartened little boy nearly broke Noah’s heart. He didn’t even know if the children’s parents or any of the other colonists were still alive, let alone how to find them. And judging by the way these people had callously left behind the sick man in the medical center to die alone, they probably hadn’t invited the Cascade colonists for a luxury spa retreat. Why they’d taken them, he didn’t know. He couldn’t think of any possible use a mercenary group would have for a couple hundred colonists, but he was certain they weren’t being treated well. He could hardly discuss that with Ben, though. The kid was traumatized enough.

“But I do know every one of us is smarter, faster, and stronger than all of them, so you have nothing to fear,” Noah said, trying to sound cheerful and optimistic. “We’ll keep you and your brother safe until we find your parents.”

Ben looked at him, big brown eyes full of conflicting emotions. “Promise?”

“Yes, I promise. Will you go to bed now?”

Ben’s gaze flickered back and forth between the shuttle and the forest. “And you’ll make sure the red-bird guys don’t come and get me while I sleep?”

“Yes, of course. My friends and I will be there with you the entire time.”

“With guns?”

“With guns,” Noah confirmed with a grin.

He led Ben back into the shuttle and shepherded him straight into one of the bunk beds.

Felix watched him tuck the boy in with raised eyebrows, a look of newfound respect on his face. “So Quinn was right—you really do make a good babysitter.”

“Did you have doubts about that?” Noah kept his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Ben, who’d started snoring the moment his head hit the pillow.

“I mean, look at you. You’re barely more than a baby yourself.”

Noah glared at him. “A baby that just dug up some pretty interesting intel.”

“Intel, you say?” Felix’s voice took on a more serious tone, his curiosity clearly piqued. “Let’s hear it.”

“Not here,” Noah said quietly. “Let the kids sleep.” He checked on Ben one last time before closing the door to the sleeping quarters so he could make his report without disturbing the kids.

The entire team gathered around the dining table, and Noah quickly recounted every piece of information he’d managed to pry from Ben—the strange figures, the red bird emblem, the sleeping colonists—while they ate their somewhat lackluster microwave meals for dinner.

A hush fell over the room as they listened to Noah, their expressions growing more concerned with every word he said. When Noah had finished retelling Ben’s version of the events, Felix threw his fork down with an angry huff. “Of course it was these Phoenix people. Looks like we have a new bully on the playground.”

“Bully seems to be a bit of an understatement for an organization that’s being supplied with warships and weapons by the Pendragon Empire,” Prescott said.

Quinn chewed on an especially stringy piece of meat. “I just don’t understand why. Destroying the gate—okay, I get that. They don’t want the Confederation coming in, guns blazing, policing their illegal shenanigans, so they cut the entire sector off. But what do they get out of abducting colonists?”

For a moment, Noah thought Octavia was going to speak up, but a sudden wave of fear washed over her face, and her mouth clamped shut again. Instead, Felix continued the discussion.

“Any ideas on how they put all those people to sleep?”

“Gas?” Noah suggested.

“There’s gas that can do it, but how do you administer it to over two hundred people at once? In their homes, at work, in the streets, in the fields?”

Quinn took a sip from her water bottle. “Felix is right. Possible in theory, but I don’t see how it could have worked practically.”

“Maybe they put something in their food,” Prescott said.

Quinn shook her head again. “Same problem. Works for individuals or small groups but nearly impossible to scale up to an operation that size.”

“I wonder why the boys were not affected,” Octavia said slowly. “That suggests that whatever caused the unconsciousness was a local effect, limited to the vicinity of the town.”

Noah tilted his head in thought, trying to recollect every detail Ben had told him. “Ben said they were playing in the caves, so they weren’t in the village when it happened. They only saw the aftermath. They obviously weren’t affected when they returned to Hope Town, so whatever it was, it must have worn off by the time they left the caves.”

“That’s interesting,” Felix said. He leaned back in his chair and stared into his half-empty plastic bowl, brows furrowed thoughtfully. “I wonder if the caves shielded them…”

“I know that look on your face,” Quinn said, watching him with squinted eyes. “You get that look when you have one of those rare moments of genius.”

“I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.”

“Speak up. There’s an idea forming in that wooden head of yours, isn’t there?”

“Maybe,” Felix said slowly. “But I need more information. Maybe we’ll find out more when the other boy wakes up. He’s older—he might have noticed more details than his brother.”

Chapter 26

Capt. Owen Shaw

Owen had ordered to transfer their new prisoner from his cell on deck 17 to the adjacent interrogation room while he waited for Sasha to return from the medical bay. Caron had contacted him, reporting that she’d suffered no severe injuries during her time in captivity and could return to her post shortly. He was thankful for that. He wanted her present when he was talking to the Empire officer.

Six security guards had accompanied the man on the short trip from the brig to the interrogation room, but he’d made no attempt at escaping or causing any other kind of trouble. In fact, the senior spacer in charge had reported the prisoner had been very polite and forthcoming.

When Sasha arrived at deck 17, Owen was watching him through a view window. The man sat at the interrogation table, hands in handcuffs, feet cuffed to his chair, two of the burliest security guards Owen could find watching every twitch of his eyelids. And yet he looked completely calm.

Owen crossed his arms. “Why’s he so calm?”

Petrea walked up to the window and shrugged. She still looked a bit worse for wear, but after a hearty meal, a shower, and a fresh uniform, she looked a lot more like an officer and less like a prisoner again. The bruises on her face would take at least another week to heal, but there was no doubt—his tactical officer was back.

“He’s a Pendragon Empire spy,” she said. “I don’t know how the Empire trains their spies, but I doubt there’s a lot of coddling involved. If he made it through training, he must be tough.”

“He doesn’t look tough. He looks—”

“Like a nerd?” Petrea laughed. “I know, but I’ve seen him break someone’s neck with his bare hands without batting an eyelash, so keep that in mind when we go in there.”

“You think he’s dangerous?”

“Absolutely.”

“You know, we don’t have to do this at all. We can just throw him in a cell and let him rot there until we get back home.”

“Nah.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I hate to admit it, but I owe him, Captain. Without his help, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Do you trust him?”

She scrunched her nose. “No, I wouldn’t go that far. But I think he could be a useful asset. And he does claim to be a defector.”

“Do we have anything about him in our databases?” Owen asked. Intel on the Pendragon Empire was incredibly sparse, but maybe there were at least some useful hints there.

“We have a birth record for a James Edmund Burnham. The age matches, and the parents match what he told me about them while we were aboard the Icarus, but that doesn’t say much. It could still be an assumed identity.”

“I guess there’s no way around it. We’ll have to talk to him.”

Petrea straightened her uniform with a firm tug. “Ready when you are, Captain.”

With a nod, Owen signaled the security guard next to the door that they were ready to enter the room. The man pulled the heavy door open for them. “Be careful in there,” he said.

“Don’t worry, we can handle him,” Owen assured him, but he was thankful for the two armed guards watching the prisoner inside the room anyway.

They stepped inside the cell, and Burnham’s face lit up right away. “Ah, Sasha, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“It’s Lieutenant Commander Petrea for you,” she said through gritted teeth, sitting down at the table. “How many times do I have to tell you this?”

She sounded angry, but judging by the look on her face, this was more of an inside joke between them than true annoyance.

Owen sat next to her.

“And Captain Owen Shaw.” Burnham attempted something that looked a little like a bow despite being bound to his chair, and the security guards immediately sprang into action. Owen gestured for them to stand back.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Captain Shaw,” Burnham said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Owen gave Petrea a side-eye. “Only positive things, I hope.”

A thin smile crept onto Burnham’s face. “Oh, I’m not talking about Commander Petrea.”

Owen leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I’m not in the mood for cryptic hints. Tell us what you have to say.” If Burnham was trying to get under his skin, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He wasn’t in the mood to play games. Either he started talking now, or he would go back to his cell.

“I’ll gladly share all my knowledge with you, but I need assurance about my personal safety.”

“Assurance?” Owen asked.

“I want your vow.”

Owen laughed dryly. “A vow. Is that how you do things in the Empire?”

Burnham continued, unfazed. “I want you to promise me you’ll spare my life and offer me sanctuary from the people who threaten me. I want you to swear it on your honor as a Space Guard officer.”

Owen paused. Now, that was interesting. So this Burnham had enemies. Enemies he was afraid might kill him. They could use that as leverage. Nothing motivated a man as much as fear for his life, but he’d have to play his cards carefully. He couldn’t allow Burnham to think he was the one dictating the terms.

“Even if I do swear, how do you know I won’t lie to get you talking and throw you out of the airlock anyway as soon as you’ve told me what I want to know?”

Burnham went quiet, his gaze locking onto Owen’s with unsettling intensity, studying him, assessing him. It made Owen’s skin prickle with discomfort, though he refused to show it.

“No,” Burnham finally said. “No, I don’t think you’ll do that, Captain. After all I’ve heard about you, you’re a man of honor.”

Petrea grinned and nudged Owen with her elbow. “Hard to argue with that, Captain.”

Owen wasn’t sure how to take that. He did consider himself a man of honor—at least he aspired to be one—but the certainty of Burnham’s assessment made him feel a little uneasy. As if he already knew more about Owen than he let on.

“The people who threaten you…” Owen said slowly. “Who are they?”

Burnham pursed his lips. “Your vow first, Captain Shaw.”

“How can I promise to protect you from your enemies if I don’t even know who they are?”

“We’re on the same side of this conflict, I can tell you that much,” Burnham said.

Owen stared at him for a long moment, weighing his options. He didn’t like the idea of making any vow whatsoever to an Empire spy, but everything considered, he didn’t have much to lose. Since Burnham was a prisoner of war, he was under Owen’s protection now anyway. He would have to keep him safe and healthy, vow or not. Confederation laws demanded that. Owen let out a frustrated exhale. “Fine, I promise.”

“You swear it on your honor as a Confederation Space Guard captain?”

“Yes. Yes, I swear it on my honor as a Confederation Space Guard captain.”

Burnham smiled. “Thank you. Now… what would you like to know?”

“The people who threaten you. Who are they?”

“The same people that threaten you. The people who are responsible for me ending up in the Icarus’s brig are the same people responsible for the attack on the Obsidian system and the destruction of the gate.”

“How do you know this? How are you related to these people?”

Burnham shifted in his seat, making the metal cuffs around his ankles clink. “You’re aware that the ship that attacked you is an Empire warship?”

“A Goliath-class battleship, yes. We know that much.”

“I was responsible for brokering the deal between the Empire and the group that now threatens the entire sector.”

Owen paused, leaning back to look at Burnham. If he was capable of brokering deals involving battleships worth billions of credits, he must be more than just an ordinary spy. He must’ve been at the very top of the Pendragon Empire hierarchy. And one didn’t get to the top without being an expert at playing the political game.

This man was dangerous in more ways than one. They needed to be on guard no matter how smooth his smile and how soft-spoken his words were.

Owen was still contemplating his next question when Sasha spoke up.

“That group you’re talking about… back on the Icarus, you mentioned someone named Phoenix. Does he belong to that group?”

Burnham tilted his head. “Belong? He’s their leader.”

“Phoenix?” Owen asked. “Can’t say I’m familiar with the name.”

After the battle in the Obsidian System, he had studied intelligence reports from the last twenty-four months, hoping to find the origin of the pirate group that had controlled the battleship, but he found no mention of someone who called himself Phoenix.

“Oh, but Phoenix is familiar with you,” Burnham said, his brows knitting together in a frown as if he was remembering an unpleasant memory. “He kept blabbing about you and how he’s gonna destroy you. That man is outright obsessed with you. ”

Sasha exchanged a tense glance with Owen, and even the security guards behind Burnham looked worried. So the person behind everything happening in the Obsidian sector had a personal grudge against Owen? That was just his kind of luck.

“Could it be Grigorev?” he asked, more to himself than Burnham.

Sasha shrugged. “He would definitely like to see you destroyed, that much is clear.”

Burnham shook his head. “Marcus Grigorev? No, that’s not Phoenix. He does report to him, though, but I think by now, you’ve figured out for yourself that he’s no longer considering himself a Space Guard officer, right, Shaw?”

“Who, then? Who is this Phoenix? You have met him personally, correct?”

“I have, but I don’t know his real name. Few people do.”

“Can you at least describe him?”

“There’s little to describe. He looks just like every other disillusioned middle-aged man.” Burnham frowned. “In fact, he reminded me a lot of my father.”

“So he’s from the Empire?”

Burnham laughed dryly. “Oh no, Shaw. No, no, you can’t pin that on us. He’s one of yours.”

Sasha visibly tensed. “You mean he’s a Space Guard officer?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

Owen shook his head in disbelief. They had been aware of Space Guard involvement ever since chief engineer Valentine had found registry numbers of their own equipment in the enemy ship’s inventory database, but he’d hoped they were only dealing with a collaborator. If what Burnham said was true and the entire operation was spearheaded by one of their own officers… the implications made Owen deeply uncomfortable. If their leader was a Space Guard officer and Marcus Grigorev was also involved in this mess, then how deep did this conspiracy run? How many of their own people were involved? But he couldn’t allow himself to jump to conclusions just yet. Burnham might be lying.

“If their leader is from the Confederation, then why is the Empire supporting him? I doubt your emperor has much love for citizens of the Confederation.”

“The Empire and Phoenix…” Burnham paused and exhaled. “Let’s just say they struck a rather distasteful deal. A deal I strongly opposed. A deal that eventually led to my defection.”

“What deal?”

Burnham leaned back, his chains rattling as he stretched his legs as far as the cuffs around his ankles allowed. “Is your intelligence service aware Emperor Victor has died?”

Owen turned his head to look at Sasha. If anyone would know about this, it would be her, since she was in charge of the Resolute’s handful of intelligence officers, but she looked just as dumbfounded by the news as he felt. As far as he knew, Emperor Victor II had been a man in his prime. No one had expected his death.

“So you weren’t,” Burnham said, reading their expressions correctly.

“What happened to him?” Sasha asked, her voice sharper than before.

“Damned if I know,” Burnham said. “There were some rumors he was murdered, but there are always rumors when power passes hands, especially from those not in favor of the new ruler. Anyway, Victor is dead and buried, and his son now sits on the throne.”

Sasha scoffed. “His son? Isn’t he like thirteen?”

“Sixteen,” Burnham said with a sigh. “Alexander is sixteen. And for some reason, he’s got a huge chip on his shoulder. What reason a boy this rich and coddled has to be this angry, I have no idea, but it is what it is. He’s angry at all kinds of things and all kinds of people, and he thinks the Pendragon Empire is in desperate need of a restoration.”

“A restoration?”

Burnham grimaced as if he found the notion revolting. “He wants to restore the Empire to its former glory. There was nothing wrong with it in its current state, if you ask me, but he rolled back a whole lot of laws in an attempt to turn back time. One of those laws that got rolled back was the ban on slavery.”

“S… slavery?” Sasha repeated in disbelief.

“I’m afraid so, yes. I think you can understand now why I turned my back on my home country.” His gaze turned inward for a moment. “I’m not a man of many scruples. It comes with the profession that was chosen for me. But even I draw the line at slavery.”

Slavery. The word alone made Owen’s shoulders tense. He knew the Empire had used slave labor in its early expansion phase, but more humanitarian forces had won and outlawed the barbaric practice over two hundred years ago—decades before the first clash between the Empire and the Confederation.

And now, some teenager with a fancy crown wanted to bring it back? In his sector? Not under his watch.

“And I assume this deal between the Empire and this Phoenix involved slaves?” Owen had to take a deep breath to keep himself from clenching his fists in anger.

“You assume correctly,” Burnham said. “The Empire handed over half a dozen warships. Three battleships, two heavy cruisers, one light cruisers, and four frigates. A couple of small corvettes and shuttles, too. More than enough to bring this entire sector under Phoenix’s control. In return, Phoenix promised Alexander a steady inflow of slaves.”

Sasha let out a shaky exhale. “The colonies…”

Owen felt his throat clench. Cascade and Atheos, the colonies that had gone dark. Now, they knew what had happened to them. His thoughts went to Nasim’s niece. Had she, too, been abducted from her home to be forced into slavery on some Empire planet? If that really was her fate, how was he ever going to save her, faced not only with a power-hungry Space Guard officer-turned-warlord but also with a megalomaniac teenage Emperor?

“We need to stop him,” Owen said calmly. “We need to stop this Phoenix before he can sell more colonists to the Empire.”

“What about Grigorev?” Sasha’s voice was tense. “With all due respect, Captain, bringing Grigorev to justice should have the highest priority.”

“You’re in luck,” Burnham said. “Because Grigorev is about to join forces with Phoenix. If you stop him, you kill two birds with one stone. The Icarus is an invaluable asset to Phoenix’s fleet, especially now that he’s lost the Bellerophon.”

“The Bellerophon?” Sasha asked.

“Ah, that was the name of that Goliath battleship before our gracious emperor sold it to Phoenix in exchange for slaves.”

“Then we need to stop Grigorev before he gets to join forces with this Phoenix,” Owen said. ”Or we’ll have to face them both.” If Burnham’s information was correct, then Phoenix currently commanded two battleships, two heavy cruisers, two light cruisers—the one bought from the Empire and the Icarus—and four frigates. Owen considered himself a competent commander, but there was no way he could win a fight while the numbers were that skewed. They needed to be strategic, picking those ships off one by one, starting with the Icarus.

He leaned on his elbows, facing Burnham. “You don’t happen to know where Phoenix is hiding?”

“I wouldn’t call it hiding, Captain Shaw. He made Atheos his base of operations.”

Sasha sat up straight. “That narrows down the system where Grigorev might be. All we need to do is to plot a route from his last known position to Atheos.”

Chapter 27

Ens. Noah Jordan

The entire team plus Ben watched Octavia tap buttons on the RescueBot with one hand, holding her TacPad showing the machine’s manual with the other. None of them were trained medics, but she was the person with the most experience in field medicine. Noah had heard she’d basically saved the life of the Resolute’s first officer, Commander Christopher, in the aftermath of the battle in the Obsidian System.

“Okay,” she said, stepping back from the machine. “I reduced his dosage of anesthesia. He should wake up soon.”

Noah could almost feel the tension radiate from Ben’s body, so he put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

Felix looked almost as tense as the little boy. “Why is nothing happening?” he asked nervously. “How long is this supposed to take? Is this normal?”

“Give him a minute,” Octavia said calmly.

Felix ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “But he’s—“

Quinn elbowed him in the side. “Shh, Felix, look. He’s moving.”

They all watched with bated breath as Teo’s eyelids began to flutter open.

He fought his way out of the drug-induced coma surprisingly quickly. Fast asleep one moment and already struggling to sit up a few seconds later.

Octavia gently put her hand on his chest to push him back down on the bed, but Teo shoved her arm away. His coordination was still a bit clumsy, but his eyes were already open.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed, blinking rapidly. “Where’s my brother? Where are my parents?”

Fear and anger somehow gave him enough energy to drag himself out of bed and push past Octavia, but he only made it two steps before his legs gave out under him. Felix caught him just before he hit the floor, but he, too, had to restrain Teo from trying to stand up again.

“Relax,” Felix grunted, straining against the panicking boy’s flailing. “Your brother’s fine. He’s right over there. Look.”

Noah gave Ben a little push forward.

“It’s okay, Teo,” Ben whispered. He looked overwhelmed by the situation. “These people are okay. They’re not the ones who took Mom and Dad and the rest.”

Hearing his brother’s voice calmed Teo down, although he was still breathing heavily as he stared at his little brother like he was a ghost. “Ben… are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

Teo looked around, his eyes hastily flickering from person to person, craning his neck to look at Felix, who was still holding him in his arms. “You’re the one who shot me.”

“You shot first.”

Teo’s shoulders slumped. “I thought you belonged to the people who took my parents and all my friends.”

“An understandable mistake,” Felix said with a reassuring smile, slowly letting go of Teo and helping him sit back on the bed. “Can you tell us what you saw? Every detail you remember might help us figure out where your parents are.”

Octavia clicked her tongue. “Felix, he just woke up from a drug-induced coma. He needs to rest. You can interrogate him later.”

“I’m fine,” Teo said. “I don’t need to rest.”

Noah thought he looked very pale for someone claiming to be fine. He was probably putting up a front, trying to act tough so his little brother wouldn’t worry.

“Are you sure?” he asked gently. “Don’t you want to eat or drink something first? We can talk after your meal.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said. “Can you really help us find our parents?”

Felix straightened. “I know we’re not wearing our uniforms, but we’re from the Space Guard, Teo. Helping people is our job.”

“Space Guard? I thought the Space Guard wasn’t allowed to go to the neutral zone.”

“Officially not,” Felix said. “But we’re on a secret mission.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re not wearing your uniforms?”

“That’s right.”

Teo hesitated. His gaze wandered from Felix to Octavia to Quinn and then to Noah, who still had a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Can you prove it? Can you prove you’re really from Space Guard?”

“You’re questioning things. That’s good. I like that. Let me think…” Felix paused for a moment, head tilted thoughtfully, then he reached into his jacket. “How about this?” He pulled a small metal object out of the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to Teo. “Do you know what that is, Teo?”

The boy held the object in his palm and studied it for a moment. “That’s a Starfire Cross,” he said, eyes going wide. “That’s a super-rare medal. For bravery, right?”

“Yep,” Felix said with a hint of pride in his voice as Teo handed him back the medal. “Got it during one of my early missions. Is that good enough proof?”

Teo thought about it for a moment, then he nodded. “Yeah, I believe you.” He took a deep breath. “If you’re really from the Space Guard, I want to help. What can I do to help to get our mom and dad back?”

“We need to know everything you can remember about that day your family and friends disappeared. Every detail could be vital to our mission,” Noah said. “Ben already told us the bad guys all had a phoenix on their clothes. Is there anything else you can tell us about them?”

Teo furrowed his brows in concentration. “Some had a weird accent.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Ben said, excited he, too, could add something useful to the conversation. He pointed at Octavia. “They sounded like her.”

Octavia tensed. “As expected,” she said quietly. “We already knew the Pendragon Empire was involved.”

“The Empire,” Teo repeated. “So that’s where our parents are?”

“We don’t know,” Felix admitted. “Maybe. What else do you remember?”

“Not much. Ben and I weren’t there when it happened. We only got a glimpse at them when they were already carrying away the townsfolk.”

“Where were you when it all went down?”

“In the caves,” Teo said, confirming the story Ben had told. “We sometimes go there to explore. There’re cool crystals down there, you know.”

Felix nodded along. He had the same look on his face that he had the evening before. Like an idea was brewing inside his head. “How deep in the caves?” he wanted to know.

“I’m not sure. Pretty deep.”

“And you didn’t notice anything unusual when you left the cave?”

Teo grimaced. “Well, there was that huge ship in orbit. I think that’s where they brought our people to. I think they took them to their ship. I just don’t know why.”

“Ben told us the colonists were all asleep when these people took them away,” Quinn said.

Teo nodded. “Asleep or stunned. Something like that.”

“Did you see anything that could explain that? Gas? Some kind of device? Did the phoenix people do anything unusual with the people they took?”

Teo looked at the floor, brows furrowed in concentration, focused on his memories. “No, I didn’t see anything. But we didn’t watch for very long. We bolted as soon as I realized something really fishy was happening.”

A hint of guilt appeared on Teo’s face, but Felix clapped him on the shoulder. “That was the smartest thing you could have done. You saved your life and your brother’s life.”

Ben silently walked over to Teo and sat down next to him on the bed.

“But I couldn’t save our parents or our friend,” Teo said, protectively wrapping his arm around his little brother. “We’re the only ones they left behind. We’re all alone.” He took a deep breath. “What’s going to happen to us now?”

Felix turned toward Quinn. “Good question. What are we gonna do about the boys? We can’t just leave them here, but we can’t take them with us to Atheos either.”

Quinn studied the two children for a moment. “We need to check in with the Resolute.”

Felix frowned. “Risky.”

“I know, but we have important information to relay anyway, and I don’t feel comfortable deciding whether to end the mission early on my own.”

“Can we even do that? Send a message, I mean?” Noah asked. He knew Cascade must have a communication relay, since they’d sent regular status reports before the colony went dark, but it was probably as fried as the rest of the electrical circuits on this planet.

“Depends on the damage the comm relay sustained,” Felix said.

“There are few electronic devices Felix can’t fix,” Quinn said. “We need to try at least. Teo, Ben, do you happen to know where Hope Town’s communication relay is located?”

“I do,” Teo said. “We took a school trip there two months ago.”

Quinn opened her TacPad and pulled up the 3D scan the shuttle’s sensors had generated of the area surrounding Hope Town. “Can you show me where it is on this map?”

Teo studied the screen for a while, biting his lip, then shook his head after a minute. “I’m not sure. This map looks weird. It must be somewhere around here… but I’m not sure.”

“We can try scanning for it,” Felix said. “But without any energy output, it’ll be hard to find.”

“I know the way, I just can’t find it on your map,” Teo said. “But I know the way. It’s pretty deep inside the forest, but I can lead you there.”

“No, buddy, you need to rest,” Felix said.

“I’m fine. It hardly hurts anymore. See?” He stood up and rolled his shoulders but scrunched up his face in a suppressed wince.

“You lost a lot of blood,” Felix said. “You’re not fit enough for a trek through the woods.”

Quinn looked at Teo, lips pressed together. “I don’t think we have much choice.”

“What? Quinn, no!” Felix protested. “He really lost a lot of blood. He nearly died, and he’s just a little boy. We can’t risk his health like this. This is our mission, not his.”

“I’m not a little boy!” Teo protested, but both Felix and Quinn ignored him.

“We don’t have time to wander around aimlessly, hoping to stumble upon that relay station,” Quinn said. “We have no idea if these Phoenix mercs will come back or what they’re gonna do next. We need to move forward with the mission, or we need to head back to the Resolute. And we definitely need to get all this information back to Captain Shaw.” She turned to Teo. “Teo, if the offer still stands, I’d like to take you up on it.”

“I’m ready. We can go right away.”

Even his little brother looked at him with concern as he pressed his hand to his injured side, but Quinn was the team leader, and if she ordered them to go, Noah would follow. And she had a point. They couldn’t afford to linger on this planet for days, waiting for Teo’s wound to heal. Not when the threat of being followed still loomed over their heads, since Noah had fumbled the ball on Hades Station.

“Okay, then, everybody. Ready your gear. We’re leaving in ten.”

For a moment, Noah thought Felix would object, but he stayed quiet. After a deep exhale, he followed Quinn down the stairs to the storage compartment, and Noah got busy preparing his own backpack.

The boys got excited at the prospect of coming with them, and Noah felt the need to remind them of some basic safety rules.

“You stay with us,” he said sternly. “No running off. You need to keep quiet. Really quiet. No shouting, no chatting, not a peep. ”

“We can stay quiet,” Ben assured him.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I know ways to make my brother shut up,” Teo added with a smirk that earned him an angry glare from his brother.

“If you hear or see anything suspicious, you tell one of us right away. And…” Noah paused, unsure how to phrase the next instruction without scaring them. “And if we get into trouble, you run for cover and hide there until we tell you it’s safe to come out, understood?”

The boys nodded in unison, faces stern.

“Okay, go get your jackets.”

Chapter 28

They all assembled outside the shuttle, backpacks repacked and weapons reloaded. It was a cloudy day, and a cool wind was blowing. Noah enjoyed the weather despite the low temperatures. Feeling the wind on his skin was nice after being cooped up in a stuffy shuttle for so many days.

Teo watched in awe as Felix checked the filling level of his argon gas can.

“This looks like it can pack a punch,” he said, sounding impressed.

Felix grinned. “It’s not as powerful as a plasma assault rifle, like the Helios model or the Drakefire, but it gets the job done.”

“Do you have more like these?” Teo asked. “Maybe I should get one too.”

Felix laughed. “I like your spirit, buddy, but I’m afraid these carbines are a little above your weight class. How old are you?”

“Almost fourteen.”

“Almost, huh?”

“My birthday’s in three months. I swear, I can handle them,” Teo insisted. “My dad taught me how to shoot when I was ten. Right, Ben? Tell him I’m a good shot.”

Ben nodded excitedly. “He’s the best of the kids in Hope Town. He even beat Carla. One time, he managed to shoot fourteen out of fifteen cans.”

Felix patted Teo’s shoulder. “Impressive stat, but we’re not gonna be shooting at cans.”

Teo’s shoulders slumped. “Can I at least have my energy gun back?”

“The last time, you nearly shot my head off with your little energy gun.”

“Because I thought you were the bad guys.”

“Yeah, exactly my point. Until you drop the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ attitude, I’m not giving you a gun.”

Teo looked like he wasn’t done arguing yet, but Quinn cut the conversation short. “Okay, everybody. Let’s move. Teo, you’re with me. Lead the way.”

Teo shot Felix one last angry look and mumbled something that sounded like “unfair” before he joined Quinn’s side and pointed in the direction they needed to go.

They set off, and it quickly became apparent that the two boys were familiar with the environment and knew which paths to take through the dense forest to move forward without much trouble.

Noah was glad they had the boys to guide them because he was sure this trek would have been a lot more difficult if they had to rely on a 3D-scan map to find their way. To his relief, Teo held up well. He still seemed to be in a bit of pain, but otherwise, he was in good spirits. Both kids seemed relieved they could finally do something to help, to come closer to the goal of getting their parents back.

Surviving all on their own on this completely deserted planet, not knowing when help would arrive or if it ever would, must have been terrible for them.

As enthusiastic as Noah had been when they started this mission, he quietly hoped the Resolute’s commanding officers would order them to return. After nearly dying in a powerful magnetic storm, a fistfight with violent mercenaries, and the eerie horrors they’d found in Hope Town, he’d seen enough action and adventure for one away mission. He wanted to go home. Return to the highly structured environment aboard the Resolute. Return to his friends. Even Charlie. Maybe especially Charlie.

His heart sent a twinge of pain through his body at the thought of her. Was she still angry with him? Maybe he should apologize when he got back. Maybe he really had acted like a bit of an ass. Focusing on his career was one thing, and he still thought that was what he should put his energy and time into, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be friends with Charlie, right?

Teo’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “It’s right over there. That gray building.”

A small building appeared between the trees, only slightly larger than a shed, built from the same 3D-printed modules like the houses in Hope Town, but here, nature had already started to defend its claim. An ivy-like growth covered the walls and part of the roof, and thick fern hid the entrance from view. They would have never found the relay station without Teo’s guidance.

Quinn smiled. “Ready your tools, Felix,” she said, pushing the ferns aside to pull the door open.

They followed her inside. The air was stuffy, and the small room was pretty crammed, filled to the ceiling with computers, screens, and a number of machines Noah wasn’t familiar with. Felix inspected the equipment for a moment, pressing a button here, flipping a switch there.

“You think you can get them to work?” Quinn asked.

“I think so, yeah. But let me check something first.” He disappeared behind one of the consoles. After some metallic clinking and clanking and a couple of muttered curses not suitable for Ben’s and Teo’s ears, Felix reemerged with a grin on his face and a memory chip in his hand.

“If the data wasn’t corrupted by whatever fried all the electronics, we can finally get a good look at that ship the boys saw in orbit.”

“What?” Noah asked. “I thought this is a comm relay station.”

“It is,” Felix said. “But I noticed they also have a bunch of sensor equipment here. All of this stuff needs to be placed in some distance to other electrical devices to avoid interference. Makes sense to put it all in the same spot.”

He took out his pad and shoved the chip into a slot on the case. Octavia watched him with raised brows. “Your Pad can read data chips?”

“Yeah, I made a few adjustments to mine. Let’s take a look.”

With a few swipes over the touchscreen, he transferred the data from the chip to his Pad, and a moment later, the screen was filled with numbers and graphs. There was also a small video feed that seemed to show footage from a camera installed somewhere near Hope Town, overlooking the settlement and the surrounding area. Felix fast-forwarded through the footage until a large object darkened the sky on the video.

“That’s it!” Teo exclaimed. “That’s the ship.”

Felix slowed down the footage, and they all watched silently. Noah recognized the ship instantly. He would never forget its sharp-edged shape. It was a Pendragon Empire Goliath-class battleship. The same ship that attacked them in the Obsidian system. Or at least the same class.

A shiver ran down his spine when he considered that the battleship they destroyed in Obsidian might not have been the only ship of that size in the enemy’s fleet.

The ship on the screen grew larger, looming over Hope Town like a dark shadow. He could see tiny people down in the village street stop what they were doing to gaze up into the sky. Then, the ship emitted a strange, aurora-like glow. Noah squinted, but he’d never seen a ship produce such an effect before. Down on the surface, the streetlamps threw sparks, and then, as if someone had flipped a giant switch, all the people visible in the video footage dropped to the ground, limp and lifeless, like marionettes with cut strings.

“What the hell just happened?” Prescott asked.

Felix pointed at one of the graphs displayed next to the video feed. Noah couldn’t tell what exactly it showed, only that there was a massive spike the moment the ship had started to emit the light.

“I think I solved this riddle at least,” Felix said. His voice sounded unusually tense. “They attacked the planet with a very powerful EMP.”

Quinn studied the data on Felix’s Pad for a moment. “That would explain the damaged electronic systems.”

“But how can an EMP paralyze a human?” Prescott asked. The video feed was still playing, but the people remained motionless.

Felix turned the video off and put his Pad away. “Brain activity is electrical activity. Plainly speaking, our nervous system is nothing but a very, very complex electrical circuit. A strong enough electromagnetic pulse can disrupt our nervous system severely enough to stun—maybe even kill—a human.”

“Kill?” Ben asked, his voice trembling with fear.

Octavia shot Felix a reproachful look. “I’m sure no one got killed. They obviously wanted to take the villagers alive. We don’t know why yet, but I’m sure of it. If they wanted to kill them, there would’ve been far easier methods.”

“It explains why Teo and Ben weren’t affected,” Felix said. “They were in the caves, deep underground, shielded from the EMP.”

Quinn rubbed her chin. “An EMP strong enough to knock out hundreds of people at once… that’s worrying news to say the least. The Resolute needs to know about this. Felix, fix this station. Right now.”

Felix pulled a fancy-looking screwdriver out of his tool belt and grinned. “Aye, Lieutenant.”

Quinn turned to the rest of the group.

“Octavia, Noah, and Damian, you take post outside and stand watch. We don’t want any unpleasant surprises while Felix is working.”

“I can stand watch too,” Ben offered. “Can I stay with Noah?”

The little boy looked up at him with big brown eyes, and Noah didn’t have the strength to say no. Ben had latched onto him for some reason, and after everything he’d been through, Noah could understand why he wanted to stay close.

“All right, you can help me. But you need to keep your eyes and ears open, understood?”

“Aye, Lieutenant.” Ben moved his hand in a sloppy, childlike version of a military salute.

“I’m an ensign.”

“Oh… Aye, Ensign.”

Felix had already started removing the screws from one of the consoles’ casing. “Teo can stay with me. Maybe he can learn a thing or two.”

#

Capt. Owen Shaw

A familiar shiver ran down Owen’s body as they emerged from the gate into the Draxos system.

“We emerged from the gate at the expected coordinates, Captain,” Lieutenant Covino called out behind his navigation console.

“We’ve got contact on the sensors,” Lieutenant Lin reported. “It’s the Icarus, sir.”

Sasha turned in her seat and met his eyes with a grim look. “Just where we calculated he would be.”

Owen nodded. “Burnham’s intel was correct.”

“Seems so.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s take this bastard down.”

Lin’s console started beeping again. “That’s the Sirius and the Orion,” she said after a quick glance at the screen. “They just emerged from the hyperspace gate.”

“Lieutenant Mendy, give me a connection.”

It only took a few seconds until the faces of his fellow captains, Maseko and Gyeon, appeared on the viewscreen, both of their expressions set in grim determination.

The Sirius and the Orion would fight alongside the Resolute. The Lincoln had stayed behind in the Obsidian system to guard the station and the planet. It was a calculated risk—pulling three-quarters of their already undersized battle group away from Obsidian, especially given what had happened the last time system defenses had been compromised. If Phoenix sent another battleship, the Lincoln alone wouldn’t be able to hold the station or the planet. They had to hope that the sparse intelligence gathered by outlying colonies was accurate. Multiple sources had reported sighting a large warship, likely a heavy cruiser. Its precise course remained unclear, but if the data was correct, it was moving away from Obsidian, so they’d taken the risk to send the Orion and the Sirius along with the Resolute.

Owen exhaled slowly as the tactical display updated. Their three ships combined vastly outmatched Grigorev’s Icarus, but the man had managed to outplay Owen twice already. Expecting this to be an easy fight would be foolish. He was sure Grigorev still had a couple of unpleasant surprises in store for them.

“I’m glad you made it to the rendezvous coordinates,” he greeted the two women. “Are you prepared and ready? We’ve got a tough fight on our hands.”

“The Orion is combat ready,” Maseko confirmed sternly.

“I couldn’t burn my engines hard enough to get here,” Gyeon said. “Can’t wait to face this dog in a fight.”

“We’ve got no time to waste,” Maseko said, glancing at something off screen. “Grigorev must’ve noticed us. The Icarus is accelerating.”

“I can confirm, Captain,” Lieutenant Lin said. “The Icarus is accelerating on a vector toward the hyperspace gate.”

Owen’s eyes locked onto the holographic display, which currently showed both his own little battle group and the Icarus.

“Distance?”

“Thirty-seven million kilometers. At its current acceleration, the Icarus will reach the gate in eleven minutes.”

Owen’s gaze snapped back to the viewscreen. “Captains, you heard her. Let’s do this.”

“Our comm channels are open,” Maseko confirmed. “On your mark, Shaw.”

“Pursuit formation. But you’re free to charge ahead—try to cut him off and slow him down. Buy us time to close into weapons range.”

Both Maseko and Gyeon ended the video feed to focus on the battle, and the viewscreen shifted to a tactical overlay of the system. Bright icons flickered—friendlies in blue, enemies in red—against a dark grid marking navigational hazards and the distant hyperspace gate.

“Helmsman, full speed ahead. Burn the engines hot,” Owen ordered. “I want everything she’s got.”

The Resolute rumbled lightly as the inertial dampeners fought to compensate for the sudden surge in acceleration.

Owen’s eyes locked onto the sensor display. Two small blue markers—Orion and Sirius—flashed as they overtook Resolute, surging ahead in a pincer formation to intercept the fleeing target, the Icarus, a crimson dot.

The Resolute was a powerful warship, but its massive size came with a downside: slower acceleration and less maneuverability. It would take them a while to match the speed the Icarus was currently pushing.

“The Icarus is still accelerating,” Lin said. “She’s burning hard, far beyond the red line. Their heat dissipation can’t handle that for long.”

Owen clenched his jaw, eyes fixed on the little blue dots chasing after the Icarus. They couldn’t allow Grigorev to disappear through that gate. Once he joined forces with the rest of the enemy fleet, taking him down would become so much harder. They simply weren’t ready to take on the combined power of Phoenix’s fleet yet.

This time, Owen wouldn’t allow Grigorev to get away. Now that Sasha was safely back aboard the Resolute, all bets were off. Today, Marcus Grigorev would be brought to justice.

“Orion and Sirius entering weapons range,” Lin reported. “Locking torpedoes—firing!”

The viewscreen lit up with dozens of dots. Owen used the armrest console on his captain’s chair to switch the viewscreen to a direct hull cam feed from Orion just in time to catch the first salvo. A ripple of flashes streaked from the two ships, blue-white thrusters igniting as the torpedoes raced toward their target. Frigates like the Orion and the Sirius weren’t heavily armed, but they packed enough punch to keep Grigorev on his toes.

The Icarus juked hard to port. The first torpedo salvo missed, streaking past harmlessly, but the sudden course change had forced the Icarus on a new trajectory, away from the gate. Success, even if none of the torpedoes found their target.

“The Icarus is deviating from its course, Captain,” Lin said. “They’re correcting, but we’ve cost them time.”

“How long until we’re in weapons range?” Owen asked.

“Four minutes, Captain—if both ships hold their current speed.”

“Weapons status?”

“Torpedo launch tubes are loaded, point-defense lasers standing by,” Lieutenant Tawamba reported from the weapons console.

“Two fighter wings ready to launch,” Sasha added. “A third wing standing by.”

Before Owen could issue the next order, Lin sat up straighter, her voice edged with urgency. “Captain, the Icarus has opened fire!”

The viewscreen lit up with hostile target markers as dozens of torpedoes streaked away from the enemy ship.

On the tactical display, the Orion and Sirius broke formation and peeled away from their attack vector, maneuvering hard to avoid the incoming ordnance.

The Orion cleared the danger zone without issue, but the Sirius wasn’t as lucky. In the corner of the screen, the entire bridge crew saw at least three torpedoes find their mark.

“Damn it,” Owen cursed.

A harsh crack echoed through the comms before resolving into garbled static. Then, Mendy’s voice cut through. “The Sirius reports a hull breach—midship, port side. Damage-control teams responding. No critical systems compromised.”

Owen exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. “Are they still in the fight?”

“They’re resuming pursuit,” Mendy confirmed.

Both the Icarus and the Sirius accelerated, charging after Grigorev, but the Icarus had already fired the next salvo of torpedoes, forcing them off course again, unable to return fire.

Owen had no choice but to intervene. “Commander Petrea, launch the fighters. Break up this barrage.”

A red alert flashed on the status board as the Resolute’s launch tubes cycled open and catapulted the fighters out into space.

The squadrons deployed at record speed, as Owen noticed with a hint of satisfaction. As unpopular as his training schedule had been, response times and performance had increased significantly since he’d arrived aboard the Resolute, and the hard work the crew had put in was paying off now.

Fifty-four Pegasus space fighters swarmed ahead, darting at the Icarus like angry wasps. Soon, the viewscreen became a colorful firework of lasers streaking through space and white blooming explosions from the torpedoes detonating before they could even get close to the Orion and the Sirius.

The fighters taking out the torpedoes allowed the Orion and the Sirius to resume their pursuit course. Within a minute, they had managed to force the Icarus off course again.

“We’re in weapons range,” Lin called out.

Owen tensed. The Icarus was a capable ship, but if the Resolute fired from all tubes, they would quickly overwhelm its defenses and destroy the ship. Destroy the ship—kill Grigorev and everyone else aboard. Hundreds of Space Guard members. People who wore the same uniform as them, had been trained at the same academies as them, had been born on the same planets.

This would be an easy move if this ship was manned by the enemy, but it wasn’t. These were their own people. They’d made bad choices, chosen the wrong side, served a corrupt captain—but they were still their people.

Owen felt his chest tighten. He’d do it if he had no other choice, but that moment wasn’t here yet. “Hold fire.”

Sasha whipped around and stared at him in disbelief. “What are you trying to do here?”

“There are Space Guard members aboard that ship,” Owen said calmly. “We need to stop Grigorev, but if I can do it without shedding our own blood, I’ll choose that option.”

A muscle in her jaw twitched, and her voice sounded strained, like she was suppressing the urge to yell at him. “Owen, they all support him. Grigorev executed every crew member who opposed him. These people—”

“Deserve a fair trial. Hold fire. Order the space fighters to target the engines.”

Sasha looked at him like she wanted to punch him in the face, but she forced out an angry “Aye, Captain” and turned back to her console.

Mendy was still relaying the new orders to the fighter pilots when the entire screen lit up with a shocking number of torpedoes.

Not dozens. Hundreds.

The screen quickly became a chaotic mess of glowing red dots—Grigorev had just emptied his entire arsenal in one massive salvo. A last-ditch, all-or-nothing attempt to overwhelm the Resolute and buy himself enough time to escape through the hyperspace gate.

Warships usually had limits on how many torpedoes they could launch at once. The weapon systems needed time to reload the tubes, program the torpedo’s target computer system, and fire the next salvo. But it was possible to jettison the entire magazine into space, all at once. The torpedos weren’t targeted that way, but if they were ejected at the right time on the right trajectory, they could still inflict massive damage.

The bridge was silent for a single, frozen second. Then—

“Holy shit,” someone muttered under their breath.

“Torpedo inbound!” Lin shouted.

The fighters veered off course, focusing fire on the incoming torpedoes.

The first wave of torpedoes vanished in a cascade of fiery explosions as the pilots did their damnedest to thin the barrage. Laser cannons lanced through the darkness, detonating warheads mid-flight. But there were too many. For every missile taken down, five more screamed toward the Resolute at deadly velocities.

“Activating point-defense laser,” Tawamba said.

“Incoming!” Lin yelled out just before the first torpedoes slammed into their hull.

The entire ship shook.

“Direct hit,” Lieutenant Avi reported, “but the hull is holding.”

Owen grabbed his armrest tighter. If he wanted to catch Grigorev before he escaped through the gate, he needed the fighters to focus their attention on disabling the Icarus, but without the fighters, the Resolute lost an important line of defense. They would have to rely solely on their point-defense lasers, and there was no doubt they would be overwhelmed with that many torpedoes. The Resolute would take quite a beating, but Owen saw no other choice, so he made the decision without hesitation. “I’m afraid we need to take the brunt of the attack. Mendy, tell the fighters to ignore the torpedoes and pursue the Icarus. Everyone buckle in. We’re in for a rough few minutes.”

Chapter 29

Tawamba’s hands flew over his keyboard, directing the laser cannons to take down as many of the approaching torpedoes as possible, while the space fighters outside weaved through the hail of torpedoes, closing in on the Icarus’s backside.

The Resolute shuddered and groaned as more torpedoes found their mark.

“Shields at seventy-four percent,” Avi reported,

“Multiple hits on starboard side. More incoming,” Lin added.

Owen registered their reports, but his attention was on the space fighters flashing on the tactical screen.

The Resolute was sturdy—she could take a couple of hits. What really mattered was whether the Pegasus fighters could do their part and land a critical hit on the Icarus.

On the viewscreen, the Pegasus fighters swarmed around the Icarus. Compared to a cruiser like the Icarus, the little ships looked barely larger than flies, but size didn’t matter in this engagement. One well-aimed shot from a Pegasus into the engine vents could cripple even the largest warship.

Laser bolts shot through space, harmlessly hitting the Icarus’s hull as the fighters moved into formation with impressive speed.

If the situation hadn’t been as stressful as it was, Owen might have even enjoyed the elegant, ballet-like movements of the fighters as they aligned to launch a coordinated attack.

The fighters’ cannons fired in unison. A hail of laser beams cut through space, aimed directly at the Icarus’s aft. For a moment, everything seemed to slow.

Owen held his breath. If this failed, he’d have no choice but to launch the Resolute’s torpedoes.

His eyes were locked on the viewscreen. The sensor image was a snowstorm of energy signals, scrambled by the hundreds of energy bolts and detonating torpedoes in the battle space, and the video footage was one big firework of blasts.

It was impossible to tell which fighter had fired the critical hit, but after an unbearably tense few seconds, the exhaust burns of the Icarus’s engines flared up into a large orange fireball.

The Icarus bucked like an angry horse as an explosion tore through its aft section. Fire and atmosphere vented into the void. The ship pitched forward, tumbling slightly before its emergency thrusters kicked in, stabilizing its spin. But it was dead in space.

“Engines disabled!” Lin called out triumphantly. “The sensors no longer register any energy signals coming from the Icarus’s exhausts.”

A wave of excitement swept across the bridge. Avi and Tawamba exchanged a high five.

Owen exhaled as he watched the crippled warship on the viewscreen. The Icarus might no longer be able to flee, but that didn’t mean it was over. Grigorev was still alive, still in control of the ship. And as long as that bastard was in charge, the fight wasn’t finished.

He turned to Mendy. “Hail them,” he ordered. “Put the transmission on the screen.”

The celebratory smile on Mendy’s face disappeared. He turned around and worked his console.

A moment later, Grigorev’s face appeared, distorted in a mix of fury and defiance. Out of the corner of his eye, Owen noticed Sasha physically recoiling at the sight of the man who’d held her captive for weeks. Adrian noticed it too. He left his seat and walked over to Sasha, leaning in to whisper something in her ear.

Owen pushed his concern for his tactical officer aside and focused on the screen.

“You’ve lost, Grigorev,” he said coolly. “Power down your weapons and surrender.”

Grigorev sneered. “You don’t have the stomach to finish this, Shaw. I know your type. Honor bound. Righteous. You won’t kill men who can’t fight back.”

Behind him, Fitzgerald moved into view, mouth set in a thin line, his cold eyes fixed on Owen. Judging by the insignia on his collar, Grigorev had promoted him to first officer.

His appearance momentarily distracted Owen as hate flared in his stomach. He considered himself a level-headed man, someone who made decisions based on facts, on logic—not emotions. But one look at Fitzgerald’s arrogant face was enough to make him want to fire the torpedoes himself.

He dug his fingers into the armrest of his chair, wrestling back control over his mind. “No,” he said slowly. “No, I won’t destroy your ship. Unless you force my hand. So what’s your plan here, Marcus? How do you see this ending?”

Grigorev’s jaw twitched at the use of his given name. “I’m not going to surrender.”

“Your ship is crippled, and your arsenal is empty. What choice do you have?”

Grigorev’s face was pale and clammy. His stubbornness was merely a front. The devastating realization of his loss was quickly catching up with him.

“I have friends,” he said. “Powerful friends who will turn your beloved Resolute into a field of debris.”

“Oh, you mean Phoenix?” Owen said casually. He shook his head. “You really think Phoenix will come and save you? You lost, Marcus. Your ship is worthless to Phoenix, and you’re worthless to him now too.”

“What are you talking about? You… you have no idea who Phoenix is. You don’t know him!”

True. Owen was faking it, but he could tell his words were getting to Grigorev, so he put on a knowing smile. “Oh, I know him. I know him very well, Marcus. He doesn’t care about you now that you’re no longer of use.”

“He… I…”

“If you surrender, I promise you a fair trial. For your crew and for yourself.”

Grigorev let out a hoarse laugh. “And you think I believe that? You hate me just as much as I hate you, Shaw. You’ll send a bullet through my skull the moment you see me.”

“My personal feelings are irrelevant. I’m a Space Guard officer, bound to the principles of the Confederation. You’ll be imprisoned until your trial, yes, but you’ll be treated well, and you will be tried and judged fairly.”

Grigorev brushed a sweaty strand of gray hair out of his eyes. His hands were shaking. “No torture? You won’t suddenly add the death penalty back on the menu?”

Owen straightened his shoulders. “Torture and execution were outlawed centuries ago, Marcus, and I have no intention of bringing them back. Even the most heinous criminal—and don’t get me wrong, that’s what I consider you—has rights.”

Grigorev pressed his lips together, his internal struggle evident on his face. His arrogant pride was cracking, overpowered by the instinct to survive.

Just as Owen thought Grigorev would give up, Fitzgerald stepped forward. He leaned over the backrest of the captain’s chair and whispered something into Grigorev’s ear.

Grigorev’s eyes squinted, and then he shook his head. An intense exchange followed, but they kept their voices too low for Owen to hear.

Finally, Fitzgerald stepped back, arms crossed stiffly behind his back, his face a stony mask but his eyes as calculating as ever.

Grigorev drew in a shuddering breath. “I have your promise? You promise that you’ll treat me decently? You won’t kill me?”

“I promise on my honor as a Space Guard officer.”

Grigorev stared at the screen as if trying to gauge the honesty of Owen’s words.

Then, he slowly nodded.

“Fine. I—”

Behind him, Fitzgerald took a step forward and raised a weapon, pressing it against Grigorev’s temple.

Grigorev froze, eyes wide. “What the hell do you think—”

The bang of the shot was so loud it sent a spike of scrambled static through the transmission. The entire bridge crew flinched at the sudden high-pitched noise.

When Owen refocused his attention, one half of Grigorev’s head was missing, the remaining eye staring into emptiness.

His body slowly slumped forward and slid out of the captain’s chair, leaving a smear of blood on the gray upholstery.

Fitzgerald shoved the dead body away with his foot and plopped down onto the bloody chair without batting an eyelash.

A cruel grin curled his lips, but his blue eyes remained deadly cold.

“All right, Shaw, your silly little deal is off the table. I’m assuming command of the Icarus, and I will never surrender. Rykov, send a transmission to Phoenix.”

He leaned forward, pinning Owen down with his icy gaze. “Let’s see how far your precious honor reaches when Phoenix shows up here with an entire fleet of Pendragon battleships.”

The threat sent a shiver down his spine, but Owen would not allow the man to taunt him or his crew any further. He cut the transmission without warning and stood up from his chair.

“Commander Petrea,” he said, voice firm. “Ready as many security teams as you can find and prepare to board the Icarus.”

#

Noah’s hand rested loosely on the handle of his weapon, and he enjoyed the rays of sun breaking through the dense forest canopy, warming his face. Octavia was a couple of meters away, and Prescott had taken up position on the far side of the building. Quinn, Felix, and Teo were inside the comm station. Felix was working on the comm relay, trying to get it functional again. His heated discussions with Quinn and occasional curses when something didn’t go his way were the only noise disturbing the peaceful quiet.

“This is a beautiful planet,” he said to Ben, who was sprawled on the ground near his legs, absently picking at a blade of grass. “You’re lucky you get to grow up here.”

Ben smiled. “I think so too, but I’ve never been anywhere else.”

“You were born here?”

He furrowed his brows. “No, but we moved here when I was like two, so I don’t remember the place I was born at all. I think Teo does, though. A little, at least. I know it had big cities and lots of people and that my parents didn’t like it very much. They wanted more nature; that’s why they came here.”

A common theme among settlers. Many of them came from densely populated planets in the core system, and they yearned for a different kind of life. Simpler, quieter, more in tune with nature. His grandparents had the same ideals when they left the bustling city of London on earth to settle on Jabaal, a colony that, at that time, only counted a population of four-thousand people. By the time Noah was born, Jabaal’s population had grown to sixty-thousand, but compared to the hundreds of millions of people living on Alpha Centauri or Proxima Centauri or the insane fourteen billion living on humanity’s home planet, Earth, it was still considered a very rural planet.

“I grew up on a planet very similar to this,” Noah said.

“You did?”

“Mhm. It's called Jabaal. I lived in a small village. We have a farm with cows and pigs and horses. My family still lives there.”

“A farm?” Ben asked. “That sounds so cool. I wish my parents would get a real farm for us. I love animals, especially horses, but they won’t even let me have a dog.”

“It was pretty cool most of the time, but taking care of a farm is hard work. We all had our chores. My sisters and I would race down to the river in the afternoons, and the loser had to clean the stables.” A nostalgic smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I was the youngest, so I lost almost every day. At least until I hit my growth spurt.”

“Do you have a brother too?”

“No, but four sisters.”

“Four sisters?” Ben’s eyes widened in horror. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine living with that many girls. Girls are so—”

His sentence trailed off, and his playful expression shifted into something more serious, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“What is it?” Noah asked.

Ben’s eyes remained fixed on a point deeper in the forest, his brows knitting together. “I thought I saw something,” he murmured, “but maybe it was just the wind.”

Noah followed his gaze, trying to make out what Ben might have seen in the dense underbrush. The forest was alive with the rustle of leaves and small critters and creatures going about their business, but nothing seemed out of place. Still, experience had taught him to trust his instincts—and to respect the instincts of others—but a triumphant shout coming from the relay station pulled him away from the thought.

Ben jumped to his feet. “I think they’ve done it!” He sprinted toward the comm station but skidded to a stop halfway there. “Are you not coming?”

Noah tapped the handle of his gun with a smile. “I’d love to, but my commanding officer told me to stand watch, so I can’t leave until she tells me to.”

“That’s lame.”

“That’s how the military works, buddy.”

Ben tilted his head. “Can I go in?”

“Sure. Keep me updated on their progress, okay?”

“Will do!” he yelled over his shoulder, already running toward the station.

Noah watched after him, his eyes lingering on the little boy for just a second too long. Distracted, he noticed too late what was going on between the trees behind him.

Chapter 30

Lt. Cmdr. Sasha Petrea

They’d lost many of their most experienced troopers in the two previous attempts to secure the Icarus, so assembling a boarding team was a challenge. Sasha felt a twinge of worry as she looked over the list of names she and Adrian had come up with. Four squads, forty crewmen in total. Most of them were pretty green; some of them had been transferred from the Sirius and the Orion, and some of them weren’t even properly trained assault troopers, just capable security guards with the right body size to fit into one of the suits of Sentinel body armor they still had left. They were their last reserve. If this mission failed, the Resolute would be all out of assault troopers.

On top of that, they were on a tight deadline. No time for extensive briefings or preparations. The longer they waited to launch the operation, the more time Fitzgerald had to prepare his defenses. And, of course, there was the threat of enemy reinforcements looming. Sasha had no idea if Shaw’s guess that Phoenix would abandon his Confederation allies after they’d outlasted their usefulness was correct, but she had no intention of finding out. If this Phoenix really did show up with a fleet full of Empire warships, being caught off-guard on an enemy ship in the middle of a mission would be the worst place to be.

Despite the time pressure, her feet led her away from the shuttle bay where the assault troopers were currently readying their gear, downward, toward the brig.

She found Burnham resting on his bed, but he sat up as soon as she stepped inside his cell.

“I’m very pleased to see you, Commander,” he greeted her. “I’m clamoring for news. The ship’s still in one piece, so I assume that’s a good sign. Did we win?”

Sasha smiled at the word “we.” Who would’ve thought she’d ever find herself fighting on the same side as a Pendragon Empire officer? “Yes and no.”

“Yes and no?”

“Grigorev was killed, and the Icarus is dead in space.”

“Sounds like a success to me, so why the frown, Sasha?”

“Do you remember the man Grigorev pretended to want to exchange for me? Fitzgerald is his name.”

“I do remember, yes.”

“He just shot Grigorev in cold blood and has assumed command of the Icarus. And he’s not even considering surrender.”

Burnham raised his brows. “He shot Grigorev? An interesting turn of events.”

Sasha leaned against the wall with a sigh. “We traded bad for worse if you ask me. I have to board that ship and kill Fitzgerald.”

“Yes, sounds like that’s what you have to do.” He tilted his head. “What is it? Are you scared?”

“Of Fitzgerald?” Sasha hesitated. “Scared’s the wrong word, but I don’t like fighting an enemy I know so little about. This man is a wild card. I have no idea what makes him tick or what he’s capable of.”

“When in doubt, assume the worst.”

“Sound advice, but I was hoping for something more practical.” She stepped closer. “Listen, Burnham, if this bizarre mockery of a friendship between us means anything to you, you’re going to be honest with me now. What do you know about William Fitzgerald?”

Burnham smiled softly. “Nothing, I’m afraid. If that’s his real name, I’ve never heard of him. But I think one thing is clear—he must mean something to Phoenix.”

“Because he wanted to trade him for me?”

“And because he feels bold enough to remove Grigorev. He must be very confident Phoenix won’t punish him, which tells me he’s a favorite.”

Sasha nodded slowly. “To think this man used to serve under my command. I should’ve taken Shaw’s concerns more seriously. He knew something was wrong with Fitzgerald right from the start.”

“Lesson learned.”

She leaned her head back and exhaled. “I guess. A little too late.”

“It’s not too late,” Burnham said calmly. “Eliminate him. Then, you’ll have all the time in the world to dig deeper. I suggest taking a look at the personnel records in your database. I think you might find a connection there—a connection that’ll lead you right to Phoenix.”

Sasha considered it. There had to be some kind of trace between Fitzgerald and Phoenix. If they found it and tracked it, they might finally uncover the identity of the leader of this conspiracy. They would eventually have to face him in a fight either way, but she’d feel a lot better if she knew who they were up against. She would look into Fitzgerald’s records as soon as she got back from the mission. If she got back from the mission. “Pass on this sage advice to my captain if I don’t make it off the Icarus alive.”

Burnham clicked his tongue. “I don’t appreciate the defeatist attitude. You’re better than that, Sasha. I expect you here within six hours, Fitzgerald’s cut-off head under your arm.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.”

His playful expression turned unusually serious. “Be careful over there. Remember, expect the worst.”

“I will. I promise.”

He straightened his shoulders and locked eyes with her. “Good luck, Commander.”

After saying her farewells to Burnham, she made her way to the locker room adjacent to the shuttle bay to trade her uniform for her body armor. Piece by piece, she secured each segment, double-checking the seals like she’d done countless times before. It was almost a ritual for her. Something that calmed her down and allowed her mind to focus on the task at hand. After adjusting the fit of her gloves, she took the helmet off the stand and attached the filter. After the gas trick Grigorev had pulled on her last time, she’d included gas masks on the required gear list for the mission just in case Fitzgerald tried something similar.

After grabbing her weapons from the rack—a Drakefire plasma rifle and a Lancer energy weapon—she entered the shuttle bay, where the team was almost ready. They were making some last-minute equipment checks and loading their Drakfires with argon canisters. There was less talking than usual before a mission and a lot less joking and laughing. Everyone was tense, including Shaw, who stood at the edge of the group, arms crossed in front of his chest, watching the team with an unreadable expression.

He raised his gaze when he noticed Sasha approaching.

“I guess there’s no way I’m talking you out of leading this mission,” he said quietly.

“Unless you’re prepared to throw me in a cell, no. There’s no chance in hell I’m not going to lead my people into this fight.” She took a deep breath. “It has to be me, Captain. After everything that’s happened, after all the people we’ve lost, they need me.”

“I get it,” he said. “Just make sure you come back in one piece. I need you too, you know.”

“I’m sure you could find a qualified tactical officer aboard this ship to cover my job.”

“Maybe, but no one yells at me quite like you do.”

“You just sometimes need a little push to pull your nose out of the rule book,” she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

He exhaled, eyes full of concern. “Well, the rule book’s not going to help us today. I’m afraid Fitzgerald won’t play by the rules.”

“I’m prepared for the worst,” she said. “Let’s brief the team so they can be, too.”

The captain gave her a stern nod, and Sasha turned toward her people.

“Listen up, everyone.” Her voice was sharp, commanding her soldiers’ attention. “Intel’s light, but we know the enemy’s one tricky bastard, and he’ll have some surprises for us aboard. The first time we attempted to board this ship, they took us out with CFX-19 gas, so double-check your helmet filters.”

She pressed a button on her TacPad to project a three-dimensional map of the Icarus into the air. “We’ll split into two teams. Red Team is led by me; Lieutenant Adler will lead Blue Team.”

Adler, a muscular, dark-skinned man with curly hair, nodded.

“Red Team will enter from portside, Blue Team will enter from starboard side, and then both teams will fight their way to the bridge. Hopefully, approaching from two sides will thin out their defensive forces.”

Little dots started blinking at the entry points and the bridge.

“These people might be our enemies, but they’re still Confederation citizens, and they enjoy certain rights, whether we like it or not.” Her words were met with some grim looks, but she continued. “Captain Shaw wants to avoid unnecessary casualties, so use nonlethal force whenever possible. Any more questions?”

Her eyes swept across her team, and to her satisfaction, despite the two previous failed missions, she saw no doubt, no fear in their faces—only steely resolve.

“All right, people. Board the shuttles and move out.”

She turned off the projection and stored her TacPad away. Shaw appeared by her side, watching the troopers climb into the designated shuttles.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” he said.

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re going to be shooting at people wearing the same uniform as us.”

She gritted her teeth. “That’s all they have in common with us by now. They’re traitors, the whole lot.”

Lieutenant Francisco’s dead eyes as his bloodied body hit the Icarus’s hangar deck flashed through her mind. That happened a lot since she’d fled from the Icarus. No matter how hard she tried to suppress it, the memories kept haunting her. “We’ll make them pay.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t lose yourself over there, Sasha. Don’t let anger guide you. Keep a clear head.”

She blinked away the gruesome images of Francisco’s death and nodded. The captain was right. She couldn’t allow herself to be governed by emotions—not when she was up against an enemy as coldly calculating as Fitzgerald. The rational part of her knew that, but she still found it hard to wrestle down the anger stirring up in her every time the name Icarus was mentioned.

“I’ll deliver you that ship, Captain. And Fitzgerald. I promise.”

He took his hand away and nodded. “Good luck.”

She entered the shuttle and closed the hatch behind her. The cabin was dimly lit, the glow of control panels casting flickering blue and green reflections across the faces of her team. They were already strapped into their seats, their expressions tense but focused.

Sasha took the empty co-pilot seat and fastened the harness over her bulky armor. “All right, Lieutenant Olivier. Take us in.”

Olivier gave her a thumbs-up then engaged the thrusters. A low hum filled the cabin as the shuttle lifted off the deck, vibrating softly beneath them. The pilot steered toward the open hangar bay doors, and the force field shimmered faintly as they passed through.

The Resolute shrank behind them as they accelerated, moving in formation with three other shuttles.

In front of them was the Icarus, motionless, adrift in space, but the lights still gleamed. She might have been wounded, but she wasn’t dead yet. The fusion reactor was still powering the ship and its weapons, and Sasha had no doubt Fitzgerald would use them.

She was proven right quickly. It only took a minute for the Icarus to react to the approaching shuttles. The laser cannons came to life, and bursts of laser fire lanced toward them.

“Brace!” Olivier barked.

He yanked the controls, sending the shuttle into a sharp evasive maneuver, just as a searing red beam sliced past their cockpit.

The other shuttle was forced to veer off course, too, and the cockpit’s HUD flickered with incoming trajectory warnings, red markers flashing across the display.

Sasha activated the comm system. “Resolute, we’re taking a lot of heat. We need the fighters to cover our approach.”

Communications officer Mendy answered. “Understood, Commander. I’m relaying the order to the fighters right away.”

Sasha’s heart pounded as lasers whizzed past them left and right. “Olivier, move!” she snapped.

“I see it!” he growled, jerking the controls. The shuttle banked hard, barely dodging the incoming shot.

The pilot was grunting and sweating under the strain of avoiding a hit, forced to change his trajectory away from the Icarus. On the sensors, Sasha could see the other shuttle wasn’t faring much better—until the fighters showed up.

The sleek, agile Pegasus fighters easily weaved through the hail of point-defense lasers, targeting the cannons one by one.

Olivier’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he waited for an opening.

Finally, the fighters had taken out enough cannons to allow their shuttle to slip through. Olivier slammed the throttle forward, accelerating sharply, and the sudden jump in gravity pressed Sasha into the seat.

Behind her, she could hear the troopers groan and grunt as they suffered from the same body-crushing effects.

“Easy there, Olivier,” she said through gritted teeth. “I can’t accomplish the mission if half my team’s passed out.”

The pilot seemed less affected than his passengers. “Just a second, Commander. We’re almost out of their weapons’ range.”

As uncomfortable as the ride was, Olivier kept his word. After a few seconds, they’d gotten too close to the Icarus for the laser cannons to target them.

A quick look at the sensors showed Sasha the other shuttle had made it through as well. She breathed a sigh of relief then refocused her attention on the next step of the operation.

“Take us in closer,” she told Olivier. “I need to get a good look at the docking bays.”

Olivier steered the shuttle so close to the Icarus, their hulls were almost touching.

Lieutenant Adler contacted her through the helmet comm. “I don’t know what you’re seeing, Commander, but the docking bays on our side of the ship look booby-trapped.”

Sasha squinted her eyes and spotted at least half a dozen rectangular black shapes all around the docking bay. She wasn’t an engineer, but she was pretty sure they weren’t part of the ship’s design. “Yeah, looks like they attached explosives to the airlocks. We’ll need to cut straight through the hull.”

“That’s gonna take forever.”

“We knew Fitzgerald wouldn’t make it easy for us. Put a couple of your men into spacesuits, and start cutting.”

It took over twenty minutes of backbreaking labor with large machinery in zero gravity until her men had cut a large enough hole into the heavily armored hull of the Icarus.

Olivier did some impressive precision maneuvering and managed to get the docking clamps attached just right, so they could use their airlock and didn’t have to float through space to get through the hole.

Of course, the corridor behind the hole had vented all atmosphere into space when they breached the hull, so the away team still had to rely on their armor’s in-built oxygen tanks. They weren’t large, only holding an emergency supply lasting maybe ten minutes, so they had to move to a pressurized compartment quickly.

Sasha went first, carefully pushing herself through the small hole, avoiding the sharp edges and jagged metal spikes that might damage her body armor.

She emerged in a dark, empty hallway.

Chapter 31

On high alert, she raised her rifle, sweeping the corridor. Her helmet’s HUD displayed no immediate threats, but that meant nothing. The suit’s sensors were very short range. There might be an entire squad of armed soldiers waiting just around the next corner. She couldn’t let her guard down.

“Clear,” she called through her helmet comm, moving away from the hole, weapon ready to cover her team’s entry.

One by one, her team members gathered in the hallway.

Twenty soldiers, heavily armed, standing in the silent, motionless belly of the Icarus. No alarms. No security teams rushing to intercept them. Sasha’s grip on her rifle tightened. This was too easy. The last time she had steamrolled through a mission like this, she’d led her team right into a trap.

On edge, she activated her helmet comm to check in on Lieutenant Adler and his Blue Team.

“We just boarded. No enemy contact here.” He paused. “It’s almost too quiet.”

“I’m sure it won’t stay that way. Get moving. You know the objective.”

“Aye, Commander. Blue Team, move, move, move.”

Sasha ended the transmission and got her own team into gear. “All right, Red Team, eyes on the prize, but watch your backs.”

Her team pressed forward, moving through the corridor in a tight formation.

Sasha’s heart pounded as her team swept intersections and checked corners, but they encountered no issues until they reached the first bulkhead, sealed by a hatch.

Sasha took one glance at the panel beside it—locked down. She lifted a fist, signaling a halt. “Okay, people, you know the drill. Breach and clear.”

The demolition expert shouldered his rifle and moved to the front. He scanned the hatch for a moment before methodically attaching his payload.

“Charge set. Stand back!” he yelled before taking cover himself and detonating the charges from a safe distance.

The hatch blew open with a bang that would’ve ripped Sasha’s eardrums apart if not for her helmet—and then all hell broke loose.

The dark corridor behind the bulkhead lit up with muzzle flashes, and a hailstorm of fire ripped through the hallway.

“Contact front!” Sasha shouted. “Return fire! Keep it tight!”

There was little room to maneuver or avoid the salvos of plasma bolts raining down on them.

Sasha dropped to her knee and started shooting. She caught a glimpse of someone wearing a Space Guard uniform leaning out from behind a corner, aimed, and shot. The man dropped to the floor, a large wound burned into his chest.

No armor, Sasha realized. They weren’t wearing any armor. Was Fitzgerald that desperate that he had to send unarmored crewmen against a boarding party, or was he merely keeping his more powerful troops back?

She would find out sooner or later, but her team overpowered this first group of defenders quickly.

“Move up,” she ordered after they had cleared out the hallway, forcing the defensive forces to fall back.

The smell of scorched metal and ozone filled the corridor as Sasha stepped over the bodies of the fallen Icarus crew. She only looked at them for a split second and tried not to think about the possibility she might’ve had a beer at the Academy bar with some of them. Her heart pounded in her ears, but she kept moving, rifle raised, scanning for threats.

Her team leapfrogged from cover to cover, but they met no further resistance. They passed two more sealed hatches and found the corridors behind them as dark and empty as the one they had entered first.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Sasha muttered. She contacted Adler. “Status, Lieutenant?”

“We made it to deck 4. No enemy contact so far, Commander, but I think we heard shots fired. Were they coming from your position?”

“Positive, but we eliminated the threat. For now. Watch your back.”

She had barely finished the sentence when blue plasma fire lit up the corridor again.

The team returned fire, but Sasha quickly realized they weren’t aiming at human targets.

“Automated turrets!” she shouted. “EMP grenade!”

The grenadier a few steps behind her pulled the grenade from his well-equipped belt. “This’ll only buy us a few seconds,” he yelled before lobbing the grenade at the turrets.

It clattered to the floor and detonated in a pulse of bright-white energy.

Sasha drove her team forward. “Go, go, go!”

The autoturrets jerked around erratically as their targeting sensors struggled with the electromagnetic pulse, but they had only made it halfway past when they resumed firing.

A plasma bolt grazed Sasha’s shoulder plate. The armor protected her from a serious injury, but the impact was enough to make her stumble. She bit back the pain radiating through the shoulder and kept running.

“Keep moving!” she ordered.

The rapid fire from the turrets echoed through the hallways and only stopped when the last of her team members rounded the corner, ducking for cover.

One of them was limping, and another was carried by two team members.

“Status?” Her breath was coming in short, ragged bursts, and her shoulder still throbbed.

“Chen’s injured,” Franklin, one of the two men carrying the injured spacer, said. “She can’t continue.”

“I’m fine,” Chen insisted, but her strained voice told Sasha she was in significant pain. There was a crack in the backplate of her armor, and blood was seeping through.

“I appreciate your fighting spirit, but with an injury as severe as this, you’ll only slow us down.” Sasha waved the team medic over. “Zair, you stay with Chen. Returning to the shuttle’s too dangerous. Keep her stable until the mission goal’s achieved.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“What about you, Romanov?” she asked the limping senior spacer. A plasma bolt had hit him in the back of the knee, a weak spot of the Sentinel armor.

He patted his leg and grinned. “Just a little flesh wound. If Zair slaps a band-aid on, I’m good to go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hell yeah, Commander. The suit’s already injected me with all the good stuff. I’m locked and loaded.”

They left Zair and Chen behind and moved up several decks through a maintenance shaft until they reached deck 1. Only a few hallways now separated them from the bridge.

Sasha waited impatiently until the last team member had made the climb. Her finger was on the trigger of her rifle, and her eyes darted around, scanning the environment.

The corridor on deck 1 was empty too. Where were the security guards? The troopers? Sasha knew they existed—she’d seen a dozen of them shoot Francisco.

All her senses were in overdrive, but all she heard was her own ragged breathing and occasional comm chatter from her team members.

Just as the last of her team—the injured Spacer Romanov—pulled himself out of the maintenance hatch, Adler’s labored voice came through the helmet comm.

“They electrified the entire compartment in front of us. No idea how they did it in such a short amount of time, but we just nearly lost Junior Spacer Tamez when she tried to step on the floor. We need to find an alternate route.”

“We’ve already made it to deck 1. We’re close to the bridge.”

“Are you going to wait until we arrive?”

Sasha paused for a moment. She had a gut feeling they’d encounter heavy opposition between here and their mission goal, but the longer they took, the more time Fitzgerald had to prepare himself.

“No, we’re gonna push forward. You can charge in and get us out of trouble once you get here.”

“Understood, Commander. We’ll come as fast as we can.”

She signaled her team forward. “Stay sharp. Watch the angles.”

They moved in, weapons up. Then, without warning, Sasha felt her stomach drop as her boots left the deck. Her rifle floated up in her hands, and she had to scramble to keep it from drifting out of reach.

“Shit!” someone yelled. “They cut the gravity.”

Sasha was still trying to stabilize her body, scanning the empty hallway for something to hold on to, when the ambush hit.

She’d wondered where the Icarus’s assault troopers were hiding. Well, there they were—at least a dozen of them, appearing from behind the next corner.

“Contact!” Sasha shouted, twisting her body and firing in short bursts, trying to keep her weapon’s recoil under control.

It was the most chaotic firefight Sasha had ever experienced. The enemy troopers wore magnetic boots, but her own people were spinning and bouncing around the corridor while plasma bolts came at them from seemingly every direction.

Space Guard troopers trained for zero-gravity fights, but the enemy’s magnetic boots let them shoot from a stable position, giving them a huge advantage.

“Stay controlled! Use the walls!” she ordered.

Next to her, Romanov kicked off the ceiling, firing downward as he floated toward the floor. His shots tore through an enemy trooper, the impact sending his rifle spinning from his grip, but his buddy retaliated with another plasma salvo.

She saw one of her team members get hit in the chest, sending him spiraling backward into the corridor.

Another was hit in the shoulder, cracking open the body armor and searing a large wound into the flesh below.

They needed to get out of this corridor; otherwise, the enemy troopers would pick them off one by one while they were helplessly drifting in zero-G.

“Push forward!” Sasha yelled. “Move!”

She pushed herself off a wall to propel herself forward, shooting through the corridor like a cannonball.

Plasma bolts zipped past her helmet, and she had to tug her arm close to her body to avoid being grazed.

She was quickly closing the distance to an enemy soldier, firmly planted at the edge of the hallway. He saw her coming and was firing wildly at her, but she was moving so fast he couldn’t get a good aim.

Only a meter apart, the soldier gave up the idea of shooting her and lunged forward, trying to grab her rifle.

She let him come close—then drove her elbow into his faceplate. The impact sent him tumbling. Before he could recover, she fired twice, aiming at his head. His visor cracked, and he went still. His magnetic boots kept him glued to the floor, but his lifeless body swayed around in zero-gravity.

The remaining enemy soldiers tried to retreat. Sasha couldn’t allow that. She couldn’t allow them to barricade themselves in a more defensible position.

“Neutralize them,” she ordered, fully aware she was going against Shaw’s wishes. But what choice did she have?

Her team sprang into action, and they quickly gained ground.

Romanov shot one in the back. Franklin landed two shots in another soldier’s stomach. The rest were still moving backward, but their magnetic boots slowed them down, and soon, the firefight turned into a violent, chaotic brawl.

With no cover and no gravity, the corridor became a killing field. Plasma bolts crisscrossed in every direction, bodies tumbling weightlessly as they were hit. It was a mix of gymnastic tournament and firefight—of who could fire first, who could stabilize themselves just long enough to land a kill shot.

Sasha twisted in midair, grabbing an electrical hatch handle on the wall to stop her drift, spotting an enemy trooper aiming his rifle at Romanov’s exposed flank.

She fired twice. The first shot clipped the enemy’s arm, sending his weapon spinning away. The second caught him center mass. He jerked back as the impact of the close-distance shot overpowered the magnetic boots, legs kicking wildly as he spun away, a smear of blood misting the air around him.

The remaining hostiles were starting to panic.

“Keep at it. Take them out!” Sasha commanded.

Romanov grabbed an enemy soldier by the arm and yanked him forward, slamming his rifle butt into the man’s faceplate. The visor cracked. One more strike, and the enemy’s helmet caved in, his body going limp.

Kade fired at near point-blank range, his plasma bolt searing through an enemy’s chest, sending the body tumbling backward, arms flailing.

The last two tried to run, pushing off toward the exit hatch at the far end. Sasha raised her rifle and squeezed the trigger.

One shot. A head snapped back.

Another shot. A body jerked then went still.

The corridor fell silent save for the crackle of plasma residue dissipating in the air. Droplets of blood were floating all around them.

Sasha took a breath, steadying herself. She spun around to scan her team. Two wounded but still functional. One had taken a chest hit, but his armor had absorbed enough to keep him alive. They could patch him up later. No deaths.

They’d won, but at a cost. Shaw had wanted to avoid casualties, and now, the hallway was littered with floating corpses.

She felt her stomach tighten, but now was not the time for guilt. Could she have used energy weapons? Could she have stunned the enemy instead of killing them? Maybe, but faced with an aggressive enemy out to kill them, what price would her own people have paid for such a reluctant approach?

The entry to the bridge was a few meters ahead. It had been worth it.

She pressed forward, pushing aside the lingering doubt. Mission first.

“Yang, check the door. Franklin, prepare the charges. We’ll probably have to blast this one open too.”

Yang moved to the control panel and pressed a few buttons before turning around with furrowed brows. “It’s unlocked.”

Sasha narrowed her eyes. That was wrong. Fitzgerald had prepared for their boarding, laying traps, using ambush tactics. And now, he just… left the bridge door open?

The scenario reminded her painfully of her first failed attempt to take control of the Icarus. The pained coughs of her team members as deadly gas burned in their lungs echoed in her ears, and a part of her just wanted to turn around and run. But they had a mission to accomplish. This struggle had to end, and this time, they were better prepared, better equipped. This time, they wouldn’t fail. Wouldn’t die.

“Weapons ready,” she ordered. “We breach on my mark.”

Her team formed up. Romanov took point beside her, rifle raised. Yang gripped the panel, ready to activate the door.

“Go.”

The hatch slid open, and the team stormed inside—

—and stopped short.

Sasha froze in shock. For a moment, she was unable to do anything but stare at the scene in front of her.

The bridge was a slaughterhouse.

Bodies slumped over consoles and sprawled across the floor, blood pooling under them. Every single one had been executed with a headshot.

The only one missing… was Fitzgerald.

“Shit!” Sasha shouted and kicked a nearby console so hard her toe sent a bolt of pain up her foot.

It was easy to piece together what had happened here. Fitzgerald had done this to his crew. He hadn’t even given them a chance to surrender. He’d wiped out his own people rather than let them be captured. And then, he’d fled like the coward he was—he’d always been.

Romanov cursed under his breath. Yang stepped forward, checking for any signs of life, but it was useless.

Sasha stared at the empty captain’s chair. Grigorev’s corpse was still lying close by in a puddle of already-dried blood.

“It’s not too late,” she muttered. “He might still be aboard. Yang, use the sensor console to scan for his TacPad.”

She activated her helmet comm. “Adler, this is Red Leader. We secured the bridge, but Fitzgerald is not here. Stay where you are, and ready yourself to chase him down.”

“Understood, Commander. Blue Team standing by.”

Yang’s hands were flying over the console, but the frown on her face told Sasha everything she needed to know. “I’m sorry, Commander Petrea, the sensors can’t find his TacPad.”

“Doesn’t mean he isn’t aboard anymore,” Romanov grunted. “Maybe he just chucked the pad.”

“He’s gone.” Sasha tried to choke down the bitter anger that crept up her throat. “This entire operation was just a cover. Yang, check the weapons console. Tell me what you see.”

Yang only needed a quick glance to come up with an answer. “The point-defense lasers are on auto-mode.”

Sasha gritted her teeth. “He automated the defenses and forced the remaining crew members to make a last stand to keep us busy while he quietly slipped away.”

The realization that they’d been played for fools once again made her blood boil, and it took an enormous amount of self-control to push her rage aside and focus on the mission. Fitzgerald might be gone, but there were other mission goals they still had to accomplish. She turned her back toward the gruesome sight of the murdered bridge crew, took a few deep breaths to calm herself down, and contacted Adler. “Blue Leader, your mission is a no-go. New orders are to subdue all remaining crew members you find aboard the Icarus, take them into custody, and transfer them to the Resolute safely.”

Her eyes wandered back to the corridor. Just around the corner, a dozen corpses still floated through the air. All this death for nothing. They had secured the Icarus, sure, but Fitzgerald had slipped through their fingers once again.

She had to talk to Shaw.

Chapter 32

Capt. Owen Shaw

Owen listened to Sasha’s report via the bridge’s viewscreen, sitting in his captain’s chair quietly, not interrupting her hasty stream of angry words, peppered with an ungodly amount of curses.

Despite their success in securing the Icarus, he couldn’t help but feel defeated. They got the ship back, but Fitzgerald was gone, and that sparked a fire of irrational anger inside of him.

As soon as Sasha had ended the transmission, he asked Adrian to review the sensor data with Lieutenant Lin.

It took the two of them about ten minutes to confirm Sasha’s theory.

“A shuttle launched around the same time our own shuttles made the approach,” Adrian explained. “We didn’t notice because all those laser beams covered its energy traces. We were too distracted. Fitzgerald is one tricky bastard.”

Owen stared at the sensor console’s screen. He should’ve expected this. He should’ve expected that the man who tried to torture a defenseless prisoner to death inside his cell wasn’t the kind of man to make a heroic last stand. He should’ve been more alert. “Let’s contact the Orion and the Sirius. Maybe their sensors picked something up.”

A desperate hope. Fitzgerald might very well still be in the system, but a ship as small as a shuttle didn’t give off much energy a sensor could pick up on. He was probably too far gone to still find him, even if the Sirius and Orion helped them search.

Owen sank back into his captain’s chair with a frustrated sigh. They had the Icarus back. That was something, at least. They would have to tow her back to Morrigon Station, and she would need extensive repairs after this battle, but hopefully, she would strengthen their battle group sooner rather than later. At least if they managed to man this ship. With the entire Icarus crew in the brig, putting a new crew together would mean transferring qualified personnel from the other ships under his command, including the Resolute, and he was already dreading the task. This wouldn’t go over smoothly with his people. He already knew that.

After losing so many crewmembers in the battle in Obsidian System, the Resolute was stretched thin personnel-wise. The Icarus, Orion, and Sirius had small crews to begin with. Manning the Icarus would mean disrupting his own shipboard operations just as his crew had found its groove.

And the problem would multiply tenfold if Valentine ever managed to get the Goliath battleship operational again.

Ships were one thing, Owen realized—qualified crew was another. They might have to start recruiting on the colonies. Maybe they could find a couple of veterans or at least space-experienced civilians to strengthen their ranks.

Mendy pulled him out of his thoughts. “Captain Shaw, Commander Petrea is back aboard the Resolute. She says she’s ready for the debrief.”

“Tell her to meet me in the briefing room.”

“The Sirius and the Orion have hailed us too. They’re asking how they should proceed.”

“Put both of them on screen.”

Mendy executed his order and projected direct video feeds from both ships onto the main viewscreen.

Gyeon and Maseko both looked exhausted, but the young Captain Maseko radiated calmness, while Gyeon was fuming.

“I received your report,” she said grimly. “Unbelievable what this Fitzgerald did to his own crew. I can’t say I’m especially sorry about Grigorev, but the entire bridge crew murdered in cold blood? And this man once called himself a Space Guard officer. Disgusting.”

“He’s certainly no longer one of us.” Maseko sounded calm but tense. “He fled like a coward.”

“We scanned for his shuttle,” Gyeon said, a little calmer. “But so far, no sign of him. Do we know where he wants to go? Chasing him down will be tricky.”

Owen rubbed his chin. Fitzgerald was gone, and without knowing which of the gates he was heading to, there was no point in trying to chase him down. It would be a waste of resources. No matter how he felt about the man—and he felt very strongly about the man, that was for sure—he was just a single rogue officer. He would have to be brought to justice eventually, but for now, they had more important issues to attend to. After all, the battle group’s purpose was to protect the colonies in the Obsidian sector, not personal vengeance.

They couldn’t allow themselves to be provoked into some wild goose chase.

“We won’t chase him.”

Maseko raised one of her sculpted eyebrows. “We won’t?”

It pained him to speak the words, but they had to focus on more important tasks. “I want you to return to Obsidian system. Refuel, repair, resupply, and then resume your patrol routes as soon as possible. The sector needs you.”

Gyeon smiled. “Oh, Owen, dutiful as always. Don’t you want to take a moment to celebrate?”

Maseko nodded. “The Resolute fought valiantly. You brought Marcus Grigorev to judgment, even if he didn’t die by your own hand. You should be proud.”

Owen leaned back and tried to dig through layers of worry and a to-do list as long as his arm to find some pride. Did he feel proud? Yes. Yes, he did. Facing Grigorev was his first real challenge as the commander of the Obsidian battle group. And what a challenge it had been. Truly a baptism by fire. The victory had cost him and his crew blood, sweat, and tears, but eventually they had brought him down. They had stuck together through the setbacks and failures. They deserved to feel proud.

“We will celebrate our victories once we’re back in the Obsidian system,” Owen said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“What about the Icarus?” Gyeon asked.

“The Resolute will tow the Icarus back to Morrigon Station.”

Gyeon nodded. “Then we’ll meet you there.”

“Be careful out here, Shaw,” Maseko added. “Don’t linger too long.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure my engineering team will have the Icarus ready to go in no time. We’ll rejoin you soon enough.”

Hopefully, by the time they arrived back at the Obsidian system, the away team they’d sent to Cascade would had returned with more intel on what was happening in the neutral zone. The fact that they hadn’t heard from them yet worried Owen a little, but then again, the briefing had been clear: keep contact to a minimum. They had probably not found anything worth reporting yet and were keeping a low profile.

The other two captains ended their transmission. Owen addressed Lieutenant Mendy. “Mendy, open a ship-wide channel for me.”

“Aye, Captain. Here you go.”

Owen waited a second for the control light on Mendy’s console to turn green, then he took a deep breath.

“Attention, all hands, this is Captain Shaw speaking.”

He glanced up and saw that his bridge crew was listening to his words intently.

“We faced a dangerous opponent today, and we won. This was a difficult fight for all of us.” Owen paused. Facing Dominion soldiers or pirates was one thing, but Space Guard against Space Guard… that came with a whole lot of extra baggage. He continued.

“This wasn’t clean or quick or easy, but you fought with courage and integrity,

and I couldn’t be prouder to serve alongside you.”

He signaled Mendy to end the transmission with a wave of his fingers and stared ahead, trying to sort through his own complex feelings about what had transpired during the past few weeks.

Cosima Lin cleared her voice, and Owen was surprised about the amount of emotion displayed on his usual cool-as-cucumber sensor officer’s face.

“It’s an honor to serve under you, Captain Shaw.”

Mendy nodded, with a grin lighting up his face, and Tawemba turned around to say, “We couldn’t be prouder, Sir.”

Owen was moved. He didn’t know how to react, but he was sure that if he tried to speak now, all that would come out would be an over-emotional croak.

Instead, he gave them all a thankful smile, cleared his throat, and stood up from his captain’s chair. “Mendy, relay orders to Chief Engineer Valentine. She needs to put together teams for the towing operation right away. I don’t want to spend any more time than necessary in this system.”

Adrian looked at him. “Are you nervous about Phoenix showing up?”

“I stand by my word. This Phoenix doesn’t strike me as the type of leader who gets his people out of trouble once they’ve outlasted their purpose. I think Fitzgerald was bluffing, but just in case I’m wrong, I don’t want to linger here.”

“I’m going to feel more comfortable, too, once we’re on our way back home. Are you sure you don’t want the Orion and the Sirius to stick with us?”

Owen shook his head. “We shouldn’t leave our backside uncovered for too long. The Resolute will do fine without them. She can hold her own. Come on, now. Let’s meet Sasha. I’m sure she’s in a sour mood and can use your calming influence. Lieutenant Lin, you have the conn.”

Chapter 33

Adrian followed him to the briefing room, and they sat down at the table just as Sasha arrived.

She was still wearing most of her body armor, her hair stuck to her forehead in sweaty strands, and an anger burned in her eyes that made Owen flinch even though he knew it wasn’t directed at him.

She plopped into a chair with a frustrated huff.

“Excellent job, Commander,” Owen said softly. “You accomplished the mission.”

“Not really,” she grunted through gritted teeth. “That little devil got away.”

“That was my fault,” Owen said. “I should’ve been prepared for that scenario. We know Fitzgerald is ruthless but cowardly.” Images of his sadistic grin appeared in his mind—when he’d shown up in Owen’s cell to torture him while he was in a situation where he couldn’t fight back. Yes, he should’ve known Fitzgerald was the type of man to run away while his subordinates died.

“Even if we had been looking for him,” Adrian said, “I doubt we would’ve spotted him. Using the point-defense lasers to cover his escape was clever.”

“That’s water under the bridge now,” Owen said with a wave of his hand. “We need to look forward.”

“Adler is currently transferring the Icarus crew to the Resolute’s brig.” She lowered her gaze. “Those still alive.”

Guilt washed over her face, giving Owen pause. He had ordered her to avoid casualties, to use nonlethal force whenever possible, but he knew very well these kinds of plans only lasted so long in a fight. And Sasha looked upset enough as it was. They would review the situation later, once everyone was safely aboard and had a chance to rest, but now was not the right time to reprimand her. He knew Sasha could sometimes get a little carried away, but she was no butcher. Surely, whatever deaths had happened aboard the Icarus had been necessary to keep her own team safe and to accomplish the mission.

“I’ll need to talk to the governor of Obsidian,” Owen said. “Hopefully, we can leave the Icarus’s old crew on his planet. I don’t want to lug hundreds of mutineers around on our next mission, and even Morrigon Station might be overwhelmed by that number of prisoners.”

Sasha furrowed her brows. “Is that a good idea? I’ve been down there, Captain. It doesn’t exactly look like a well-run colony. To be honest, it’s a shithole. Do we really want to trust them to keep our prisoners safe?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “No.”

Owen paused, studying her face, and he didn’t like what he saw there. “We’re not going to execute hundreds of people.”

“They had no problems executing whoever they liked.”

“Still,” Owen said sternly. “It’s against the law.”

“I know,” she mumbled without looking him in the eyes. She wasn’t opposing him openly, but she clearly wasn’t happy with the way he planned to handle this.

“I won’t resort to their level of brutality.”

“Yes, I got it, Shaw.”

An unspoken accusation lingered in the air. Owen knew exactly what was going through her head. This wasn’t the first time she’d accused him of having misguided principles. The last time they’d had a conversation like this, she’d blamed her brother’s death on the fact that he had stopped Sutton Turner from bombarding thousands of civilians.

That was an issue his tactical commander had. She was loyal and fiercely protective of her own people—so much so that she was willing to bend the rules.

As much as he appreciated her, he couldn’t allow that. The ends never justified the means. They had to adhere to the humanitarian principles they’d sworn to uphold. Otherwise, what was the point of all this? He might as well hand over the sector to this Phoenix mercenary group if all they brought to the table was more violence and brutality. Even in war—and there was little question this brewing conflict would eventually escalate to that—there were limits.

Executing prisoners was one of them. No matter how practical it might be, it was a question of morality he wouldn’t budge on. He knew he and Sasha didn’t see eye to eye on that topic, and it was a discussion that would have to be had. But not today. They’d all been through a lot and deserved this small victory.

He turned around to look out of the window, where the Icarus was visible in the distance. Not the newest ship of the line, but a beauty nevertheless and a force to be reckoned with. All other issues aside, he was glad they had her back. Now that Grigorev was dead and Fitzgerald had been forced to flee, a new captain could take over, and hopefully, that new captain would be able to erase this ugly chapter of the Icarus’s history. “Do we know what exactly happened to the Icarus bridge crew?” Owen asked. Whoever would get command of the Icarus next, getting rid of the ghost of past atrocities that happened aboard the ship wouldn’t be an easy task.

“They all died from a shot to the head,” Sasha said. “From the look of the injury, I’d say some kind of energy sidearm. I’m not sure if Fitzgerald killed them himself.” She pressed her lips together. “But the wounds looked an awful lot like the one Grigorev died from.”

Owen sighed. “Dr. Caron will have to determine that in the autopsies. But I certainly wouldn’t put it beyond Fitzgerald.”

“If this is the type of man Phoenix favors,” Adrian said, “we’re up against a dangerous enemy.”

“I think that much is safe to say,” Sasha said. “We need to find their base of operations and neutralize it before he can gain even more numbers.”

“I’m not sure our battle group is strong enough for that yet. Once the Icarus and the Goliath are repaired, maybe. But not now.”

Sasha’s shoulders tensed. “So what, then? We’re just going to sit around idly in Morrigon’s drydock again?” Owen could tell she was still agitated, on edge. She was itching for revenge or at least some kind of action.

“No, we can’t afford that either. But we need to be smart,” Owen said. “Protecting the colonies and their people has to be our top priority.”

“We can protect them best by removing the threat.”

“Believe me, I would love nothing more than to defeat Fitzgerald in a battle, but fighting this out might not be an option,” Owen said. “Not yet, at least. Not as long as Phoenix has the Empire’s support.”

“Agreed.” Adrian nodded. “We might need to find a diplomatic solution.”

Sasha’s head whipped around, and she looked at Adrian like he’d just spoken in tongues. “Diplomatic solution? You’re joking.”

“No, he’s right,” Owen said. “We need to break up this alliance or partnership or whatever you want to call it if we want a fighting chance against Phoenix.”

“Captain, we’re talking about the Empire here. The Pendragon Empire. Our archenemies. There’s no diplomacy between us and the Empire.”

“Haven’t you recently made a friend from the Empire?” Adrian asked.

She stiffened. “‘Friend’ is a stretch. Let’s say a temporary ally, born out of necessity in a life-or-death situation.”

“That sounds exactly like what we’re looking for.” Owen smiled at her, but it only earned him an angry glare—the kind he’d become so familiar with.

“We just need to scale whatever you and Burnham have up,” Adrian said. “Maybe your Empire nonfriend can help us there.”

“He claims he defected,” Sasha said. “I’m not sure he’s a good candidate to facilitate diplomatic talks.”

“On the contrary, he’s the perfect man for the job,” Owen said. “If he took offense with this new emperor’s approach to the revival of slavery, I’m sure there’s more people who think like him. We need to make contact with this faction and see if we can support them.”

Sasha leaned back in her chair and raised her eyebrows. “You want to stage a full-blown revolt inside the Empire?” She paused. “I like that idea. I like it a lot.”

“We should have another conversation with Burnham as soon as—” He was interrupted by chirping from his TacPad. It was Lieutenant Mendy.

“Captain Shaw, I have a transmission via comm relay. It has clearance level orange. Should I send it straight through to the briefing room?”

Owen exchanged a glance with his senior officers. Clearance level orange meant only for the eyes and ears of senior staff. There was only one explanation for a message like this. It was coming from the away team investigating the colonies that had gone dark.

“Yes, Lieutenant. Put it on the briefing room’s screen, please.”

A moment later, the screen showed Lieutenant Felix Lambert wearing civilian clothes and looking somewhat unkempt. The away team’s leader, Lieutenant Quinn Aydin, was lingering in the background, flanked by two preteen boys Owen didn’t recognize.

“This is Recon Team Alpha reporting in. We arrived on Cascade. The colony is intact but empty. The only survivors we found are these boys here.” He pointed over his shoulder, and on cue, the children began waving into the camera.

“The kids reported that the colonists were taken away by mercenaries who wore a red bird sigil on their armor and clothes. We have every reason to assume these people belong to a mercenary group that has recently become active. Maybe news of them has reached the Resolute by now. The group calls itself Phoenix, named after their leader, who uses the same moniker.”

Sasha clicked her tongue. “Can’t say I’m surprised. It’s all coming together.”

Of course, Lambert couldn’t hear her. The transmission was recorded—probably several days ago, given the distance the Resolute currently was from Cascade.

The video continued. “Here’s where things get interesting. Based on what the boys witnessed and what we found in this sensor station, it seems the enemy utilized a very powerful electromagnetic pulse to stun and paralyze the colonists long enough to abduct them without resistance.”

“An EMP?” Adrian asked with furrowed brows. “I’ve never heard of an EMP strong enough to stun a human, let alone hundreds.”

“Me neither,” Owen said. “We need to talk to Chief Engineer Valentine. If someone can tell us if this tech is possible, she can.”

Lambert continued talking. “We’ll send you the data we found with this transmission. Our current situation appears to be safe, but we have the two children with us, and we—”

A noise outside the frame distracted him.

“What was that?” Adrian asked, alarmed.

“Sounded like rifle fire,” Sasha said. “Are they—”

More shots were fired, ear-piercingly loud, even through the recording. Whoever fired those shots was nearby. Lambert disappeared out of the frame, readying his weapon. In the background, Aydin pushed the boys to the ground.

There was shouting.

Then, the transmission ended abruptly.

* * *

The Resolute's story will continue in book 3: Operation Aegis!

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