Operation Resolute

Reece Landon

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.

Book Cover by GetCovers

Editing by RedAdeptEditing

Contents

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

34. Chapter 34

35. Chapter 35

36. Chapter 36

37. Chapter 37

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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

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Commander Owen Shaw’s trial for mutiny had drawn at least two hundred spectators to the large court hall of the Confederation Space Guard Courthouse. The hall, with its high arched ceilings and austere metallic panels, seemed to amplify every rustle and every cough.

Owen shifted in his seat and tugged at the stiff collar of his black Space Guard dress uniform, trying to ignore the two hundred pairs of eyes watching him from the gallery above.

The unfortunate affair that had brought him to this point had happened over four months ago, during the last days of the war with the Dominion, during the final push to subdue the enemy.

The Confederation’s media machine had latched onto his name, feeding a frenzy of polarized opinions. During the past months Owen had spent in a holding cell, he’d read dozens of headlines about himself, ranging from “Owen Shaw—valiant protector of the people” to “Owen Shaw—traitor and mutineer.”

Despite the large crowd his case had attracted, the courtroom was remarkably quiet. Everyone, including Owen himself, held their breath as they awaited the sentence that would decide whether Owen’s career was over and if he’d spend the next few years in a military prison. Even the guard next to him—his arm patch identifying him as part of the military court department—looked tense.

Owen’s conscience was clear. He knew he had made the right choice, the only possible choice, but would the military tribunal see it the same way?

His eyes drifted upward to the gallery, scanning the sea of faces illuminated by the bright, artificial lighting, searching for Rear Admiral Nasim Rahimi. He couldn’t find her in the crowd, but he knew she was there. The fact that at least one person in this massive, sterile courtroom was on his side gave him some comfort.

He stared at the door behind the raised judges’ table. Behind that door, five respected judges of the Space Guard were discussing his fate. They’d already been in there for over twenty minutes. That at least meant they hadn’t found him unanimously guilty, but he was well aware of how severe the accusations against him were. Removing his own captain from command was a serious matter, especially when the captain in question was as powerful and influential as Captain Sutton Turner.

Next to the door, a large screen showed a summary of Owen’s personnel file. The picture showed an ordinary-looking man in his mid-forties, neither especially attractive nor ugly. Light skin, brown hair. The mismatched eyes—one blue and one brown—weren’t the result of a genetic mutation. The brown eye was a prosthesis, an emergency implant, hastily put in after his escape pod had crash-landed on planet Pallias during the first war with the Dominion. Emergency implants only came in one color: brown.

Owen had considered replacing it with a more elegant model that matched his natural eye color better, but the surgeon had warned him there was a small chance he might lose his sight, so he’d decided to live with the mismatched eyes and keep the military implant.

The text next to his picture listed the date he’d graduated from the Space Guard Officer Academy: 2742, and his postings: the Avenger, the Spartacus, the Liberty, and finally the Camelot, where he’d served as XO for three years under Captain Turner’s command.

Owen’s stomach clenched at the thought of the man. A man he’d once respected, admired even. Only months earlier, the thought of Owen relieving Captain Turner would’ve been unthinkable. But war changed people. And the war against the Dominion had been so brutal, it had twisted Sutton Turner into someone unrecognizable, someone who was willing to sacrifice his integrity and morality for victory.

The door behind the judges’ seats slid open. Owen’s heart started racing as he watched the five judges pour out of the backroom, taking their places at the elevated table. He could hear the crowd in the gallery mumble and whisper. The tension in the courtroom was palpable.

The senior judge, Vice Admiral George Brandon, a dark-skinned man with deep frown lines etched into his face, took his place in the center.

Owen’s chest tightened when the judge fixed his gaze on him. He suppressed the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his uniform pants. There were cameras all over the courtroom recording his every move, not to mention the two hundred spectators in the gallery, so he tried to keep his composure. He was a Space Guard officer, and he had not committed mutiny. He’d stayed true to the principles the Space Guard had sworn to uphold, and that would be his solace no matter the verdict. Even if he spent the rest of the decade in a prison cell, he knew deep down in his heart he’d done the right thing. Captain Turner had had to be stopped, no matter the cost.

Judge Brandon cleared his throat, and the muted whispering in the gallery died down.

“This court has convened today to deliberate on the charges brought against Commander Owen Shaw, accused of mutiny under the conditions of military law.”

Blood was rushing in his ears so loudly that Owen could barely hear the judge.

Judge Brandon’s deep voice boomed through the courtroom. “After careful consideration of the evidence presented, witness testimonies, and the circumstances surrounding the actions taken by Commander Owen, we’ve reached a verdict.”

Owen clenched his fists so tight his fingernails dug into his palms painfully. What would his future hold? Would he be allowed to continue serving in the Space Guard, or would he be dishonorably discharged and locked away in a military prison on some backwater planet?

After a long pause, Brandon continued. “We came to the conclusion that the orders given by Captain Sutton Turner were in gross violation of the ethical standards of the Confederation. As second in command, it was Commander Shaw’s duty to relieve and detain Captain Turner. Therefore, it is the decision of this court that Commander Owen Shaw is hereby declared not guilty of the charge of mutiny.”

For a moment, the words hung in the air, then the courtroom erupted into a cacophony of reactions. Cheers, groans, a few people even rose from their seats, gesticulating passionately. In the back of his mind, Owen noted that not all the spectators in the gallery agreed with the court’s verdict, but at that moment, he couldn’t have cared less. The ring around his chest loosened, and he could breathe again.

Let them argue, let them question the court’s decision—it didn’t matter. The verdict was final. Not guilty. He still had a career. Still had a life.

Judge Brandon looked up at the gallery with furrowed brows, visibly annoyed by the commotion his words had caused.

Owen couldn’t help but notice the observers above weren’t the only ones unhappy with the verdict. Some of the judges looked quite disgruntled too. He had a gut feeling the decision to declare him not guilty had been a close call. Turner was popular, a war hero with friends in high places. When he looked into their faces, he got the uneasy feeling that this might not be over just yet.

Judge Brandon leaned back in his high-backed chair. “Let this verdict stand as a reminder that our loyalty must always be to the principles of justice and honor and that no officer is above the law. Commander Shaw, you’ll receive new orders shortly. The court is adjourned.”

Owen let out a long, shaky breath and leaned back in his chair. The judges had already left their seats and turned their backs on him. He gave the guard next to him a questioning look. After months spent in custody, it felt strange to just walk away on his own, but the guard shrugged.

“You’re free to go, Commander Shaw. Your personal belongings are in that box over there.”

Owen rose from his chair, his legs feeling a little shaky. He was free to go.

In a haze of relief, he collected the box with his poessesions. The items he’d had on him when he was arrested right after docking at the Sol Space Port: his TacPad, a MultiTool, and a strawberry-flavored energy bar. Box tucked under his arm, he stumbled out of the courtroom and found himself in the giant lobby of the military courthouse. The floor-to-ceiling windows granted a panoramic view of New Horizon. The sprawling metropolis, with a population of nine million, located on the Pacific coast, wasn’t just home to Earth’s largest spaceport but also to the Space Guard headquarters, including the military court.

Rear Admiral Rahimi was already waiting for him near the courtroom doors. Wordlessly, she took his arm and led him away, steering clear of the crowd pouring out of the side doors that led to the gallery.

Owen allowed himself to be taken down a side hallway, the distant hum of voices fading as they put more distance between themselves and the main hall. Nasim looked flawless as ever, but Owen noticed she’d aged considerably since they’d last seen each other. Her black hair was streaked with gray, and there were lines around her eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there when they’d fought their way through the wilderness of Pallias almost twenty years ago.

She halted when they reached an empty corridor, ensuring they were well out of earshot. For a moment, she studied him, her dark eyes narrowing slightly, and when she spoke, her voice was warm but laced with tension. “Congratulations, Owen.”

“Thank you. I half expected to spend the rest of my life in a penal colony on some asteroid. This is an unexpected victory, so why are you looking at me like I’m facing execution?”

“Not quite execution, maybe,” she said, her voice low. “But I doubt this is the end of it. Turner has powerful friends, Owen. Friends who won’t be pleased with today’s outcome. They’ll want you to pay somehow, even if it’s not in a courtroom.”

Owen sighed and leaned back against the wall, running a hand through his hair. “I had the same thought. I didn’t exactly earn myself a fan club by standing against him. What happened to him anyway? I scoured every newsfeed I could get my hands on while I was in prison, but not a single article mentioned where he is or what he’s doing.”

A crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Damned if I know. He’s been discharged from service and put under house arrest, but that’s the last thing I heard about him.”

“House arrest? So no prison for him, huh?”

“He enjoys special protection, you know that. Have you checked your new orders yet?”

He chuckled. “Nasim, I just got my freedom back about ninety seconds ago, so no, not yet. I haven’t had the chance.”

“You might want to do that now. I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

He grabbed his TacPad from the box he’d taken on his way out. Every member of the Space Guard carried the same model. Closed, it was only the length of a palm and two centimeters wide, but the plastic case came apart in the middle, and the flexible screen could be pulled out to twenty centimeters, turning the device into a tablet.

Owen opened his Pad. The home screen greeted him with a red exclamation mark, informing him of a priority message in his mailbox. With a few touches, he opened the message.

To: Commander Owen Shaw

From: Fleet Command - Personnel Reassignment Office

Date: 2765-09-14

Subject: Official Reassignment Orders

Commander Owen Shaw,

This communication serves as formal notification of your reassignment. Effective immediately, you are hereby assigned as Executive Officer (XO) aboard the CSS Resolute. Your presence is required at the Confederation Starbase Morrigon, Dock 7, for transfer to the Resolute.

Report Date and Time: 0900 hours, 2765-10-13.

Commanding Officer: Captain Margot Torres

Your travel schedule is attached.

Fleet Personnel Office

Confederation of Sol

Owen blew out a breath. “The Resolute.”

Nasim closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Oh hell, it’s worse than I feared.”

He closed his TacPad and slipped it back into the special pocket of his uniform sleeve reserved for the device. The CSS Resolute was a battleship of the Unity class, built about twenty years ago. Not the top of the line but still a powerhouse. The problem wasn’t the ship itself—it was where it was stationed. Morrigon Station was located in the Obsidian Sector.

“It could be worse.” He tried not to let disappointment seep into his voice, but the Resolute wasn’t a prestige ship, and Morrigon Station wasn’t a place where a decorated officer like him would typically find himself. Nasim was already outraged on his behalf.

“It’s a backwater posting.” She shook her head in dismay. “It’s a hair’s width above a punishment detail.”

Owen sighed and leaned back against the wall, letting the weight of her words sink in. It was a place where the Confederation’s presence was minimal, where the smaller colonies often relied on outdated systems, and where even the pirates were pitiful. A place where a starship officer’s career stagnated, swallowed up by the void of insignificance. He couldn’t help but share her frustration, but he wasn’t going to let it show. He had to take what he’d been given, regardless of how ill-suited it felt. “It’s Confederation territory. The people living in those colonies need and deserve protection just as much as the core worlds.”

Nasim let out a frustrated exhale. “They’re punishing you. Turner’s people. They didn’t get their way, trying to put you in jail, so they’re settling for sending you as far away as possible, where they don’t have to deal with you.”

The Resolute wasn’t just a ship—it was an exile, a way to bury him in the farthest reaches of space, far away from anything that mattered. It wasn’t just about being sent somewhere inconvenient; it was about being sent somewhere irrelevant. Somewhere they could forget about him. “I agree, but I’ll make the best of it,” he said, trying to keep bitterness out of his voice. There was no point in dwelling on it. He needed to look forward. “Do you know her? Captain Torres?”

“Not personally, but from what I’ve heard, she’s entirely mediocre.”

“I can deal with mediocre.”

“Expect the worst, Owen. Fleet Command rarely checks in with the ships in the Obsidian Sector. You’ll probably have to deal with all kinds of discipline issues. There’s one saving grace to this posting, though.”

He raised his eyebrows. “There is?”

“Don’t ask me how he ended up there, but Adrian serves aboard the Resolute.”

The name brought a smile to his face. Adrian Christopher was an old friend. They’d known each other at the Academy and served on the Avenger under Rear Admiral Nasim Rahimi. He was one of the people who’d survived the crash-landing on Pallias, together with Nasim and Owen himself. Surviving in a deadly jungle together forged lifelong friendships. He hadn’t talked to Adrian in years, but he was happy to hear there’d be at least one friendly face on his new ship.

“I’m glad to hear that. It will make things easier.”

She put a hand on his shoulder, her gaze softening. “I know you, Owen. You’ll make your mark even there. But remember—don’t let them break you. Not over this.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Nasim gave him a long look, then she glanced over her shoulder as if she was checking if someone was listening to their conversation and leaned in. “There’s something else about the Obsidian Sector we need to discuss.”

Chapter 2

“My niece emigrated to the Obsidian Sector ten months ago.”

“Okay…” Owen was unsure where Nasim was going with this.

“To a colony called Athenos.”

He frowned. “Isn’t that planet in the neutral zone? Is she having trouble?” No officially sponsored colony was allowed in the neutral zone that separated the Confederation from its oldest enemy, the Pendragon Empire, but private citizens who wanted to leave the Confederation had started to settle those planets anyway, spawning over a dozen independent colonies in the Obsidian Sector.

Nasim pressed her lips together tightly. “Believe me, we weren’t happy about her leaving either, but she has this boyfriend who put all kinds of stupid ideas in her head.”

“Is she having trouble? I’ll give my best, but I’m not sure how much I can do for her if she’s outside Confederation space.”

“We, my sister and I, lost contact with her almost two weeks ago.”

He hesitated. “Maybe she just wants some… space. I assume she left the confederation for a reason.”

“She didn’t part in anger if that’s what you think. No, something else is going on. I talked to some friends deployed in the Obsidian Sector, and they reported they can’t get in contact with anyone on that planet.”

That was indeed worrying. While they had been at peace with the Pendragon Empire on the other side of the neutral zone, the entire sector was plagued by pirates. Mostly small fish, no big organized criminal organizations, but it wasn’t unheard of that fledgling colonies got attacked and sometimes even taken over by pirate groups. “Maybe it’s just a damaged comm relay,” he said, trying to ease Nasim’s worries, but he wasn’t fully convinced either.

“I hope it’s just that,” she said. “But I have a strange feeling about this.”

“Do you want me to look into it?”

“Yes, keep your eyes and ears open. And…. Be careful. Things work differently in the Obsidian Sector. It’s untamed territory. Anything could happen there.”

Owen spent his last night on Earth in a soulless hotel room. The kind of place with no personality, just beige walls, harsh lighting, and a faint smell of cleaning products that seemed to linger in the air. He didn’t have any friends or family in New Horizon. The only relative he had was his mother, who lived in a small town on Luna. He talked to her on the phone that night, but she had already heard the good news from the media.

“I always knew you weren’t guilty,” she told him. “I only know Captain Turner from the news, but just by looking at him, I can tell he has a cruel streak. The atrocities he wanted to commit… I don’t even want to think about it. You did the right thing, sweetie. He had to be stopped. I’m very proud of you.”

Her voice was warm, but her eyes had a certain sadness to them. He felt guilty for not calling her more often. Even after he’d been arrested after the Camelot incident, his only call had been to Admiral Rahimi, not her. It wasn’t like he didn’t love her, he did, but they had grown distant since he had left home to attend the Space Guard Academy. There were so many things in his life he couldn’t properly explain to her and even more things he didn’t want to explain, because he didn’t want to burden her.

Other than his mother, Owen had no one. He was unmarried, and as far as he knew, he had no kids. His last attempt at a relationship had been a short-lived liaison with a fellow officer that had ended badly almost ten years ago. Since then, he’d thrown himself into his work. What else could he do? The life of a Space Guard officer just wasn’t conducive to a healthy love life or family. How could it be, when you could be sent to the farthest reaches of space for months, years even? How could you form lasting bonds when every assignment felt like another opportunity to lose everything?

After spending the first night in months in a real bed, in a room that didn’t lock from the outside, he woke up refreshed and in a surprisingly good mood, considering his new orders basically meant a dead end for his career. Nasim was right. This new posting was supposed to be a punishment; there was no doubt about it. But Owen was determined to make the best of it. He was a Space Guard officer, the Resolute was a spaceship, and that was good enough for him. Considering he had been looking at a decade in prison and a dishonorable discharge just hours ago, this was a positive turn of events. Even the worst ship of the fleet would have been better than being grounded for life. He doubted the Resolute was the worst ship of the fleet, and even if she was, Owen would turn things around. That was his job as XO, after all.

He ordered a couple of things via his TacPad, because most of his personal belongings had stayed behind on the Camelot when he was arrested, and he had no idea how to get them back. He didn’t need much. A set of uniforms, adjusted to his new measurements because he had lost weight during the four months he spent in military prison, a few hygiene products, and a couple of snacks, because the energy bar that had been returned to him at the courthouse was definitely no longer edible.

He considered calling his mother again, but since he had no idea what else he could say to her that they hadn’t already discussed the prior night, he flung himself back on his bed and turned the TV on instead. Carefully avoiding any news channels that might discuss his case, he watched a silly game show for about an hour until a ring at the door pulled him back into the real world. A drone hovered in front of his room’s door and dropped off several packages, neatly wrapped in foil, as soon as he held up his TacPad for identification.

He put on the new uniform, packed together his meager belongings, and took the el-train to the spaceport.

A commercial transport launched him and one hundred fifty other passengers into Earth orbit. The modern inertial dampeners made sure the people on board hardly felt a thing when the spaceship left Earth’s gravity well.

Owen passed the time it took the transport ship to reach the hyperspace gate by eating peanuts and watching another episode of the game show on the built-in television screen of his seat. He noticed the man in the seat next to him kept staring at him, probably because he recognized him from the news. His mismatched eyes made Owen’s face easily recognizable.

He did his best to ignore the man’s stares. The mutiny accusations would follow him for a long while, maybe even forever, but he was ready to close that chapter. He was heading toward a new ship, a new crew, new challenges, and he was ready to take them on.

Lt. Octavia Casey

Lieutenant Octavia Casey had mostly kept to herself during the three-week-long voyage on the CSS Meridian, the troop transport that was taking her and about three hundred other members of the Space Guard, officers and crewmen alike, to their new postings. The Meridian had already stopped at eight spaceports in three different sectors, and most soldiers had left the transport and joined their new ships, so when Octavia stepped into the mess hall at twelve hundred hours to grab chow, the large hall was only sparsely populated.

Octavia wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. In the hustle and bustle of hundreds of uniformed soldiers, it had been easy to disappear into the crowd, eating her lunch unnoticed and unbothered. But with so few passengers left—there couldn’t be more than thirty people in the mess hall—all eyes turned to her when she stepped through the sliding doors.

She kept her head low as she crossed the room and activated one of the food dispensers, choosing her meal. With a bowl of lemongrass quinoa and a cup of water on her plastic tray, she headed to the nearest empty table.

The quinoa was a bit too mushy, but the taste was acceptable. A long way from the lavish dishes and exotic menus she had been served in her youth, but that was years ago. That life was in her past, and she was glad about it. She would trade mushy quinoa for the freedom and purpose she found in the Confederation any day.

Her bowl was still half full when two young officers sat down at her table, taking the seats right next to her. One of the men was blond, with a handsome face, the other lanky, with skin almost as dark as hers. They wore lieutenant badges on their collars. According to the name tags on their chests, the blond one was Fitzgerald, the dark-skinned one was Kato. The red trim on their charcoal-gray uniforms meant they were part of the tactical department. The patches on their right shoulders told Octavia Fitzgerald was a security officer and Kato specialized in defensive systems.

She had seen both men before but had never talked to them.

“I hope you don’t mind the company,” Lieutenant Fitzgerald said. His gray eyes wandered to the name tag on her own uniform. “Junior Lieutenant Casey.”

Octavia shook her head. “No, you’re welcome to sit here,” she said politely, even though she would’ve preferred to eat alone.

Kato shoved a spoonful of spicy rice into his mouth. “So you’re a communications officer, huh? Where are you headed?”

“The Resolute.”

Kato scrunched his nose. “Ew, so is Fitzgerald here. Tough luck for both of you.”

“It’s not so bad,” Fitzgerald said. “I spent the past two years there. I’m returning from home leave. Had some personal business on earth.” He leaned in closer. “You can have a good time aboard the Resolute if you know who to talk to.”

Octavia remaind quiet. She wasn’t sure what Fitzgerald considered a good time, but she had a feeling she would be better off if she stayed out of it.

“I’m assigned to the Pathfinder,” Kato said proudly. “Three-year mission into deep space.”

She forced her face into a polite smile. “I’m sure that’s going to be very exciting.”

“Hell, yeah. That’s exactly the kind of stuff I joined the Space Guard for. That’s an interesting accent, by the way. You sound a little like that one roommate from Kapteyn I had at the academy. Where are you from?”

Before she could even begin to answer the question, Fitzgerald leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. “That’s not a Kapteyn accent.”

Kato looked at him confused. “It’s not?”

Octavia grabbed her spoon so tight its plastic handle cut into her palm. She knew what was coming. She’d been part of many conversations like this, but it never got easier.

Fitzgerald looked at her with squinted eyes. “You’re from the Empire, right?” The words were sharp, accusatory.

“I’m a Confederation citizen,” she said through gritted teeth.

Fitzgerald scoffed. “Bullshit. I can tell you’re one of those Empire rats.”

He spoke loud enough to make heads at the neighboring table turn.

Octavia felt her cheeks heat, but she was determined not to show weakness. “I’m an officer of the Space Guard, just like you.”

Kato’s expression had hardened. “My grandfather died in the war against the Empire.”

Fitzgerald gave him a quick nod of acknowledgment before returning his attention to Octavia. “It’s a damn shame they even let scum like this attend the Academy,” he said, his tone dripping with malice. “Who knows where her loyalties lie?”

She wanted to say something to defend herself, but the disgusted expression on Kato’s face made her throat tighten, and the judgmental looks from the officers around them—who by now were all listening in—burned on her skin. “I… I…”

“I… I… are you a simpleton on top of a rat?” Fitzgerald sneered.

“Must be from all the inbreeding, Fitz,” Kato said coldly.

Fitzgerald had already opened his mouth but closed it quickly and fixed his gaze on his tray. Octavia was so upset she almost didn’t notice the tall brown-haired man who had stepped up to the table. A commander, according to the bars on his collar, but the way he carried himself made it obvious he was the highest-ranking officer in the room. She didn’t need to check his rank insignia to know that. He looked down at the three of them, silently surveying the scene, with weirdly mismatched eyes—one blue, one brown.And one thing was clear: He didn’t like what he was seeing.

Chapter 3

Kato and Fitzgerald looked tense, exchanging a worried glance, as if they were unsure how the situation would play out. Octavia expected the worst and forced herself not to squirm under the commander’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Lieutenant Kato, Lieutenant Fitzgerald, you’ve just earned a note of misconduct in your personnel file,” the commander said. His tone left no room for debate, no space for excuses. He turned toward Kato. “Not a great way to start off on a three-year mission.”

Fitzgerald looked at him, shocked he was the one being reprimanded. “But, sir, we were just…”

The commander silenced him with one stern look. “Clear your trays. Lunchtime is over for both of you.”

The indignant looks on their faces as they forced out a “Yes, sir” and rose from their seats were almost enough to alleviate the pain of the humiliation Octavia had suffered. Almost.

The commander watched with his hands clasped behind his back as the two men emptied their plates—still almost full—into the trash compactor. “If I find you harassing a fellow officer ever again, I will personally make sure you never set foot on a starship again. Do you understand me?”

Fitzgerald shot Octavia a last nasty glance before he answered with a sharp “Yes, sir” and rushed out of the mess hall, Kato following close behind.

She breathed a sigh of relief. It was over—at least for now. “Thank you, Commander.”

He gave her a half smile, and suddenly, his face looked a lot warmer than when he was dealing with the two tactical officers. “I can only encourage you to file an official complaint against these men,” he said.

Octavia immediately shook her head. “That won’t be necessary. I’m used to this.” She had spent enough time as a member of the Space Guard to know that a formal complaint would only make the bullying worse. No one liked a snitch, and she had come to see it as a regular, if unpleasant, part of her life in the military. It was easier to let it slide, to endure, even if the sting of it remained. A small part of her even understood the distrust and disdain she faced. A lot of blood had been shed between the Empire, where she was born, and the Confederation that she now called her home. And even though the last war had ended many decades ago, some wounds had not healed, many resentments still lingered, and the conflict between the two nations continued to smolder.

The commander studied her for a moment, the hint of a frown on his face. “I’m sorry to hear that, Lieutenant, but I will make sure nothing like this will happen while you serve on the Resolute.”

“You are headed for the Resolute?” she asked, pleasantly surprised. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but having a commander on her side might make things a little easier for her.

“I am,” he confirmed. “And if you ever run into trouble aboard that ship, come straight to me. I’ll sort it out. Understood?”

Octavia nodded slowly, the corners of her lips twitching into a small, appreciative smile. “Understood.” The best she usually hoped for from her fellow officers was tolerance. The compassion and open support the commander had shown her was a pleasant change of pace.

He turned away. “Enjoy the rest of the meal.”

Feeling a lot lighter, Octavia picked up her spoon again. As she watched the man leave, she wondered why his face with the mismatched eyes looked so familiar.

She was so deep in thought that she almost didn’t notice when another man sat down at her table. As soon as she noticed him, she tensed up. After what had just happened, she was not in the mood for another round of “insult the Empire girl.”

The officer was an ensign with a boyish face, light skin, and short dark hair. He held out his hand, a wide smile flashing across his face. “Hi, I’m Noah. Noah Jordan.” The lightness of his tone told Octavia that he must’ve missed the prior conflict between her and the two tactical officers.

“I overheard you’re headed for the Resolute, too, so I thought I should introduce myself,” he said. His tone was friendly, so he either didn’t realize or didn’t care she was an Empire refugee. “I hope you don’t mind me listening in. It’s pretty cool that you know Commander Shaw.”

She reluctantly shook his hand. “Commander Shaw,” she repeated. The name rang a bell. She just couldn’t place it.

Noah looked at her with furrowed brows. “You’ve heard of Shaw, right? Owen Shaw? The Camelot?”

“I’ve spent the last eight months on a ship with a communication block. Nothing went in or out. No private messages, no news, nothing. I’ve missed pretty much everything except that the war is over.”

“Shaw is basically a celebrity. Or the worst officer to ever serve in the Space Guard, depending on who you ask.”

That made her pause. Her first impression of Shaw had been positive, but was there something about him she wasn’t aware of? “I’m asking you.”

“Well, if you’re asking me, the man is a hero. He stopped his captain, Captain Sutton Turner, from committing war crimes.”

Octavia raised her brows. “War crimes. That’s a big word.” A word she associated with her past life as a citizen of the Empire, not her new home. The Confederation prided itself on its enlightened humanistic moral code.

“Sutton wanted to bombard a space station. A whole bunch of high-ranking Dominion officers were on that station, but so were about eight thousand civilians. Sutton didn’t care one bit. He wanted to blow the whole station to pieces to get to the enemy admirals, no matter how many innocent lives it cost.”

“And Shaw stopped him?”

He nodded excitedly. “Took command of the Camelot and put Sutton in a holding cell. He sent assault troops in and secured the station anyway. Without butchering thousands of civilians.”

She rested her head on her hands and thought about the junior officer’s words. Preventing the deaths of eight thousand civilians was admirable, but arresting your own captain was tricky business. “I assume some people considered his actions mutiny.”

Noah frowned. “They put him on trial. Unbelievable. The whole ordeal took months, but thankfully, he was acquitted. No idea what happened to Sutton. I think he was discharged.”

“And you agree with the trial’s outcome?”

Noah leaned back in his chair with a serious expression that looked out of place on his baby face. “I don’t know about you, but I didn’t join the Space Guard to commit war crimes.”

She sighed. “Me neither.”

He almost seemed relieved at her answer. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad I’m going to be serving with decent people. Or at least one decent person. Why did you join, though, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Octavia gently put down the spoon and took a deep breath. “To leave the past behind.”

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

It took the Meridian almost four weeks to reach the Obsidian system, administrative center of the Obsidian Sector and home of Morrigon Station, where the Resolute was currently docked. Just a few generations ago, this journey would have taken several lifetimes, but since humanity had learned how to build the massive gates that allowed them to enter and move through hyperspace safely, traveling to other planets had become almost mundane.

The Meridian slowly made its way through the Confederation sectors, traveling from hyperspace gate to hyperspace gate. Often, crossing a system to reach the gate took longer than traveling along the hyperspace route to a planet many light-years away. Some people suffered from ill effects when they traveled through hyperspace: nausea, dizziness, headaches. But Owen had been a member of the Space Guard for so long that he barely felt the effects when the ship entered a gate now.

When the Meridian’s captain announced that they were beginning their approach toward Morrigon Station, Owen grabbed his bag, left his cabin, and headed for one of the viewscreens that showed the space outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Resolute, the ship that would become his new home for the next years.

Two young officers and half a dozen enlisted spacers had already gathered around the screen.

He recognized one of the officers: a dark-skinned woman wearing the green-trimmed uniform of the operations department, who had endured a bout of nasty bullying in the mess hall. Next to her stood a pale, dark-haired young man wearing the orange-trimmed uniform of the flight department. The patch on his right arm showed the sigil of a space fighter pilot.

They both looked awestruck when the shape of the Resolute appeared on the screen.

The Resolute was a massive battleship: 760 meters long, 180 meters wide, seventeen decks high. A behemoth of steel. Equipped with over two hundred defensive laser turrets, there were very few ships that could do harm to it, and with three hundred plasma torpedoes and eighty ion torpedoes, the Resolute packed quite a punch. And, of course, there were the three wings of space fighters aboard, capable of shooting down torpedoes and taking the fight to the enemy.

It might not be the biggest or newest ship in the fleet, but it was definitely a force to be reckoned with.

Maybe Captain Turner’s friends had intended this posting to be a punishment for Owen, but as the Meridian approached Morrigon Station and the Resolute grew larger and larger in the viewscreen, he thought to himself that there were worse plots in life than serving on a ship like that.

The Meridian’s helmsman gently steered the vessel toward the docking bay until the clamps closed and the magnetic locks sealed the airlock.

Owen and his group made their way to the airlock. The captain, a gray-haired man at least a head shorter than Owen, was already waiting next to the hatch and gave Owen a warm smile.

“It has been an honor traveling with you, Commander Shaw,” he said. And then, more quietly, he added, “Thank you for everything you did for the Space Guard.”

Owen saluted. “Likewise, Captain Videva. Safe travels home. And send your helmsman my regards. That was a very smooth docking maneuver.”

The airlock hatch opened with a hiss. Out of the corner of his eye, Owen noticed the rest of the passengers had lined up behind him, keeping a respectful distance, clearly waiting for him to exit first.

He stepped onto Morrigon Station, where a red-haired junior spacer with a steward patch on his uniform overall was already awaiting the group of newcomers. He looked awestruck when he spotted Owen but quickly snapped into a salute.

“Junior Spacer Dragomir,” he introduced himself. “I’m here to escort you to the Resolute.”

Owen gave him a smile. “Lead the way, Junior Spacer.”

The steward led the group along an unremarkable corridor past several airlocks until they reached a hatch with a display that said “CSS Resolute.”

Dragomir opened his TacPad, waved his identification in front of the sensor next to the airlock, and the hatch slid open. The corridor leading away from the airlock was empty. Owen furrowed his brows. There should be a watch stationed next to this airlock at all times.

Dragomir turned red. “Um… I’m not quite sure where… I thought Captain Torres… well, follow me, I guess.”

Owen stepped aboard the Resolute. The air smelled immediately familiar—slightly metallic, a smell shared by all spaceships.

A moment later, a group of people rounded a corner, fast approaching the airlock. Dragomir sighed in relief. “Ah, there they are. The welcoming party is here.”

A tan woman with a square jaw and black hair pulled back in a tight bun, spearheaded the group. Owen didn’t have to check the bars on her collar to know that was Captain Margot Torres.

He straightened his back and saluted. “Commander Owen Shaw, reporting for duty. Permission to come aboard?”

The captain looked him up and down, her lips a tight line. “Permission granted. Welcome aboard, Commander Shaw. I’m hoping for a…” She made a pregnant pause. “…incident-free time.”

“It’s an honor to serve under you, Captain Torres. I’m sure the Resolute is a fine ship.”

She squinted as if she was trying to find the jest in his words. After staring at him coldly for a moment, she gave him a curt nod, turned on her heels, and walked away, followed by the handful of officers she had brought with her, leaving Owen and the group of new crewmembers that had come aboard with him behind. Owen looked after her, taken aback. He hadn’t expected a party in his honor, but that introduction had been quite rude.

The only person wh’d stayed behind was a familiar face. His hair was thinner and his eyes looked weary, but it was unmistakably him. Adrian Christopher, who had been there for some of the toughest moments in Owen’s career. Seeing him now, standing there with that easy smile, took away some of his tension.

Adrian pulled him into a hug. “It’s good to see you, old friend.” When he let go, Owen noticed three golden bars on his collar: the bars of a lieutenant commander.

“I’m glad to see a friendly face. That… wasn’t exactly a warm welcome.”

Torres had granted him the bare minimum of respect and had greeted her new XO in person, but it was clear she wasn’t looking forward to working with him.

Adrian shrugged. “Give her a bit of time. You and your trial are the talk of the town, even on a ship as far away from Earth as this. She’s… wary.”

“I understand.” He’d known this wouldn’t be easy. Being thrown into a new command under the shadow of a court-martial wasn’t exactly the easiest start.

“Don’t worry. She’ll realize she has nothing to worry about once she gets to know you. She’ll come around.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“She’s no Nasim Rahimi, but she’s all right. I’ve been serving under her as her operations chief for almost two years, and we’ve never had significant issues. She gave me the task of showing you around the ship. Do you want to do that now, or do you want to see your quarters first?”

“No, show me the ship. I want to dive right in.”

Adrian grinned. “This way, then, Commander Shaw.”

Chapter 4

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah and Octavia watched from afar as Captain Torres left her new XO standing in the rain, leaving behind only a single officer while the rest of the welcome party practically fled the scene.

“She’s acting pretty rude,” Noah said.

His fellow officer, Octavia Casey, shrugged. “Shaw seems to be a good man, but you can’t blame Torres for not trusting him after what he had done with his last captain.”

“As long as she’s playing by the rules, she’s going to be fine.”

“She’s the captain. Her ship, her rules.”

Noah looked at her, half surprised, half irritated. He had come to like the quiet but polite Octavia during their trip here, but if she honestly thought Shaw had done something wrong when he relieved Turner from command, they’d never be friends. Owen Shaw had defended the principles of the Confederation, the principles Noah had sworn to protect when he graduated from the Space Guard Academy. Going against Sutton Turner was proof of his integrity and bravery, and Noah counted himself lucky to have such an admirable XO on his first real posting. And Torres should count herself lucky too.

Under different circumstances, he might have picked a fight, but starting his first day on the Resolute off by bickering with a crewmate was probably not a good idea, so he swallowed his protest.

Commander Shaw walked away with the officer who had greeted him, and the enlisted spacers who had come with them on the shuttle were picked up by a warrant officer soon after, but Noah and Octavia were left behind in the hallway with no instructions on where to go.

Noah was about to ask Octavia what they were supposed to do now when a lieutenant with Asian features in a green-trimmed operations uniform greeted her and asked her to follow him.

Octavia waved goodbye, and Noah was the last one left.

Several crewmen walked past him, but they all were too busy with their work to pay attention to the lost-looking ensign.

Grabbing the handle of his bag tighter, he looked around, trying to find someone who looked friendly enough to approach. He was about to ask a blond petty officer for directions when a young woman walked up to him. The orange trim on her uniform and the patch on her sleeve told him she was a space fighter pilot, just like him.

“Hey there, rookie.” The young woman flashed him a smile, and Noah felt his heart speed up. Damn, she was cute. Dusky skin and curly dark hair pulled back into a braid. She had a pretty heart-shaped face and a petite body, but the most stunning part about her was her energy. According to the silver bars on her collar, she was only a junior lieutenant, but she strolled through the hallway like she owned the place.

Noah gave himself a little shake to clear his head and snap out of his stupor. Pretty girl or not, she was a fellow officer. He needed to treat her professionally, with respect, and not behave like some mooning schoolboy.

He cleared his throat and snapped into a salute. “Ensign Noah Jordan, reporting for duty. Permission to come aboard, ma’am.”

She laughed, bold and infectious. It instantly put him at ease. “Nice to meet you, Ensign Noah Jordan. I’m Junior Lieutenant Charlotte Salinas.” There was an amused sparkle in her eyes. “But you’ve been assigned to my fighter squadron. We’re mates now, so you can call me Charlie.”

“Charlie,” he repeated. “You can call me Noah.”

“Nah, I’ll call you ‘rookie’ until you’ve earned your spurs.”

“I... Oh. Okay.”

“Come on. The squadron leader asked me to show you around.”

She didn’t wait for him; she just walked away, forcing Noah to throw his bag over his shoulder and hurry after her.

She led him along winding corridors at a pace that showed she knew the place well. Noah had trouble keeping up with her without bumping into other crewmen moving through the hallways.

The first stop was the mess hall, a massive space about three times the size of the one he’d eaten in on the Meridian. Even though it was a bit early for lunchtime, it was bustling with activity. Chatter and laughter filled the hall. At least three dozen officers in color-coded uniforms all mingled together. The dark-gray uniforms of the Space Guard—jackets and pants for officers and overalls for the enlisted personnel—had colored trims at the sleeves, shoulders, and flanks to easily identify departments. White stood for command staff, red for the tactical department, his own uniform had orange stripes identifying him as a member of the flight department, green stood for operations, engineers wore yellow-trimmed uniforms, the science department had dark-blue stripes, and medical personnel wore teal.

“The food’s decent,” Charlie explained. “But if you’re in the mood for something fancier, you can always head for the restaurant at the plaza.”

“The plaza?”

“Yeah, it’s a big park with some recreational facilities. Decks 7, 8, and 9.”

Noah raised his eyebrows. “A park? In the middle of a battleship?”

“All Unity-class ships have it. The Resolute was built for long-term missions, so it has some amenities. And the environmental tech guys say the plants and trees are important for oxygen scrubbing.”

“Wow.”

“You’ll have to find your way there yourself on your off hours, though. We’re on a tight schedule. The squadron commander’s waiting for us, so let’s get going. Come on, hurry up, rookie.”

She showed him the briefing rooms, the way to the bridge, and the different hangar bays. The Resolute had four, two on each side of the ship.

“The most important one for the two of us is Hangar Bay 4, starboard side,” she explained. “That’s where our squadron’s space fighters are. And that’s where Lieutenant Prescott is waiting for us.”

Noah followed her down a corridor, and together, they entered one of the massive hangar bays. Noah’s gaze wandered over the two dozen gunships parked on the left: Centurions, heavily armored. Not as maneuverable as the Pegasus-class space fighters but more versatile. They were crewed by a minimum of two people, a pilot and a gunner, but could transport up to eight people. Unlike the space fighters Noah was trained to fly, they carried torpedoes and an impressive electronic warfare suite. On the other side of the hangar, several rows of Pegasus-class space fighters lined up. Sleek ships, angular but aerodynamic, covered in light alloy plating to protect the pilot from the radiation of exploding warheads around them. Twin thrusters at the back could accelerate the fighter to incredible speeds, and a transparent dome at the center covered the cockpit, equipped with a multitude of control panels, displays, and HUDs to give the pilot full control of their ship and surroundings.

Charlie caught Noah staring and gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. “Pretty ships, huh? Torres had to pull some strings to get them for us. What’d you fly in flight school?”

“Mostly Griffins,” he said, trying to school his face. He was awestruck by the state-of-the-art fighters, but he didn’t want to show it. First impressions mattered, and he didn’t want to come across as some wide-eyed rookie.

Charlie smirked, clearly seeing through his attempt at nonchalance. “You’ll need some simulator hours, then, to familiarize yourself with these babies. Because I can tell you they’re a lot fierier than a Griffin. More power, tighter turns, and a temper to match. But once you get the hang of it? Oh man, there’s nothing like it.”

Her tone was contagious, and despite himself, Noah felt a grin creeping across his face. He could already imagine the thrill of taking one of the fighters out for a spin, but before he could ask any more questions, Charlie’s eyes flicked past him. “Oh, look. Prescott’s over there.”

She sped up her steps, and Noah hurried to keep up, glancing at the sleek crafts one last time before turning his attention forward. Charlie came to a stop in front of a tall, blond man who stood near the end of the row, talking to another crew member. His posture was relaxed, and his expression was the kind of composed that bordered on arrogant. His face looked strangely familiar to Noah, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Hey, LT, I brought you the rookie.” Charlie greeted the man with an easy smile and a salute that looked more like a mock than a respectful greeting. “He’s fresh out of flight school and ready to crash your perfect squadron stats.”

The lieutenant, his new squadron commander, looked him up and down, and Noah tried not to squirm under his scrutinizing gaze. There was the hint of a smile on Prescott’s face, but it didn’t look friendly—it looked amused, like there was something ridiculous about Noah.

“Fresh out of flight school, huh?” Prescott asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Welcome to Squadron Delta.”

“It’s an honor, sir.”

Prescott laughed dismissively. “No, it’s not, kid. This is the edge of the galaxy. Nothing ever happens here. Good place to learn the ropes, but you’re going to be bored to tears. Don’t do anything dumb just to pass the time…” He turned his head and looked sternly at Charlie. “Like ammunition trolley races on the flight deck.”

Charlie grinned. “You’d have never found out if Yang hadn’t snitched.”

“Yang’s a sore loser,” Prescott said. “Try not to ruin this rookie, Salinas. Understood?”

“I’ll do my best, LT.”

“Take him to the quartermaster so he can grab his gear, and then show him to his quarters.”

“Aye, sir.” Charlie saluted rather lazily, but Prescott didn’t seem to care.

Noah watched him walk away with an uneasy feeling. “I don’t think he likes me.”

Charlie shrugged and led him out of the hangar bay, back into one of the many identical-looking corridors Noah was sure he’d get lost in. “Prescott here might look like a bit of an asshole, but he’s the best pilot on the Resolute. You’ll learn a lot from him—assuming you can survive his training sessions.”

“That bad?”

She made a dismissive hand gesture. “No, Prescott’s all right. Just don’t ask him about his old man.”

“His father?” Noah stopped dead in his tracks. “Wait… don’t tell me his father is Francis Prescott. The governor of Alpha Centauri?” Alpha Centauri was one of humanity’s oldest colonies and an economic powerhouse. Governor Prescott was the head of the Alpha Centauri government, which also made him a member of the Confederation Senate. Now, Noah knew why Lieutenant Prescott had looked familiar. He looked a lot like his father, and Noah had seen that man on a screen countless times.

“Yeah, that’s his father. But they’re not on speaking terms.”

“Oh.” Being the son of one of the most influential men in the galaxy must be difficult.

“That’s why he requested a posting in the Obsidian Sector. To get as far away from the guy as possible. At least that’s what people are saying. Prescott himself isn’t exactly talkative about that topic.”

They rounded a corner and took an elevator to deck 14, where the supply storage was.

The doors slid open, revealing a large brightly lit room. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with everything from crates of tools to neatly organized bins of spare parts. The quartermaster, a short woman with a buzz cut, scanned the ID on Noah’s TacPad. Her fingers danced over her computer’s touchscreen. “Welcome aboard the Resolute, Ensign Jordan,” she said gruffly when Noah’s personnel file popped up on her screen. “Hand over your TacPad, please.” She snatched his Pad out of his hand and disappeared into a back room. When she returned, she carried several plastic-wrapped packages and a sidearm in a holster.

She handed him the weapon first. “This is your personal pulse gun. It’s a Vanguard MP-6. Have you used one before?”

“I trained with an MP-7.”

“Good enough. The battery display is on the other side of the handle on the M-6. Make sure you keep the battery charged. Otherwise, you keep it in your locker and only equip it if your commanding officer tells you to. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I updated your TacPad with your security clearance and access codes. I also uploaded all relevant manuals.”

She handed him back the Pad then shoved the plastic-wrapped packages into his arms. “These are your new uniforms and your utility items. Your flight suit and helmet will be brought to your locker in the hangar bay. Locker assignments should already be in your TacPad. Anything missing, you come see me. Got it?”

“Yes. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Take care of your gear, Ensign,” the quartermaster said. “I have enough work already. I’m not in the mood to replace damaged uniforms or lost guns.”

“Of course.”

She scoffed. “That’s what they always say.” She returned to the back room, mumbling something under her breath Noah didn’t quite catch. Once again, he had the uncomfortable feeling he’d messed up his first impression.

Charlie seemed to read his thoughts. “Don’t worry, rookie. It’s not you, she’s like that with everyone. Ready to see your quarters and meet your bunkmate?”

Noah gathered his supplies and followed her. They took another elevator and stepped out when the display showed deck 5. Charlie led him along a corridor with numbered doors on both sides.

When they reached door 556, she stopped. “Try to open the lock with your TacPad. Let’s see if Petty Officer Grumpypants uploaded the right codes.”

Noah swiped his Pad over the lock, and the little display light on top of it changed from yellow to green.

The door slid open with a soft swoosh, and Noah stepped into the quarters where he’d spend the next few years of his life.

The shared common room was equipped with a couch, a table, and a TV screen. There was also a potted plant in a corner, most likely a personal touch from the officer he would be living with. The living area was shared by two junior officers, but both had their own bedroom with a small bathroom. The bedroom was tiny: a bed, a small desk, and a locker crammed into it with no breathing room to spare. But it was the most privacy Noah had had in years. At the Academy, he’d shared his room with three other people; at flight school, he’d had one roommate. Having his own bedroom again, with a door he could close behind him, was a luxury.

He only had the chance for a short peek at his room when the door on the other side of the living room slid open.

A young man appeared in the doorway. Tall, slender but athletic, tan skin, dark hair, and strong eyebrows. He was wearing sweatpants and the black undershirt everyone wore under their uniform jackets. “You must be my new roommate.” He stuck out his hand. “Lucas Malik.”

Noah shook his hand. “Noah. Noah Jordan.”

Lucas eyed the patch on his uniform sleeve. “You’re a pilot?”

“Space fighter pilot, yes. You?”

“Assault Unit,” he said. That fit. Noah could easily imagine the guy in full-body assault armor. “Your first post?”

Noah nodded. “Yes. I just graduated from flight school.”

Lucas grinned. “I can’t believe they sent Charlie Salinas to take care of a rookie. Poor you.”

Charlie hit him in the shoulder. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just salty because he keeps losing to me at cards.”

Noah wasn’t sure how to respond. At the Academy and again during flight school, the entire class had started at the same time. Everyone had been on equal footing—equally clueless, equally eager. It had been easy to make friends because the others were just as lost as he was. But this was different. People aboard the Resolute already knew each other, had established friendships, inside jokes, and unspoken hierarchies. They had shared history, and he was an outsider. Noah had never struggled to make friends, but finding his place in this group of more experienced spacers was intimidating.

“She only wins because she plays dirty,” Lucas quipped. “Get lost, Salinas. I’ll take over from here.”

Charlie rolled her eyes but smiled. “Be my guest, Malik. Later, rookie. Don’t forget, simulator training at oh nine hundred tomorrow. And don’t let this lazy guy corrupt you.” Charlie winked at him before she strode out of the door.

Noah couldn’t help but watch her as she strolled down the corridor. He had to try very hard not to stare at her backside, which looked great in the custom-tailored uniform pants.

When he forced his eyes away from her, he noticed Lucas looking at him, arms crossed, a smirk on his face.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“About what?”

“I know she’s pretty, but that girl is a goddamn tornado. No one can contain her, especially not a green rookie like you.”

Noah flushed. “I… I’m not… She’s a fellow officer. I’d never even consider it.”

Lucas let out a sharp, dismissive laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”

“No, really. Not interested.”

“I’ve seen this look on faces before, rookie. A new guy walks on board, catches one look at Charlie, and starts thinking he’s the exception to the rule.”

“What rule?”

“That she doesn’t get serious with anyone. Ever,” Lucas replied, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Noah forced a chuckle, trying to play it cool. “Noted, but I’m here to fly space fighters, not to… you know.”

“That’s what every rookie says, but you’re going to spend a lot of time in this bucket. Do you have a girl at home?”

“No,” he said grimly. His only serious relationship didn’t survive his time at the Space Guard Academy. Long-distance relationships were hard when the distance was several light-years.

“Well, that’s one less problem, at least. Check your schedule. Do you have anything set up for today?”

Noah opened his TacPad and pulled up the timetable file the quartermaster had uploaded. “It says recreation for the rest of the day.”

“Perfect. Let me put on my uniform, and then I’ll show you some of that recreation. Have you been to the plaza yet?”

Chapter 5

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Owen stepped onto the bridge, Adrian by his side.

The bridge’s layout was the three-tier standard for a Unity-class ship.

On the first tier was the captain’s chair, where Torres currently sat, fiddling with some buttons on the armrest console, not paying any attention to her new first officer.

Right in front of her chair but one level down was his own chair, the place for the XO. On his right, slightly more forward but still on the same level, was the seat for the operations officer, the position currently held by his friend Lieutenant Commander Adrian Christopher. On the left was the chair of the tactical officer, a short but athletic-looking woman with short blond hair.

On the lowest tier, from left to right, were the weapons console, ECM, helm and navigation, and the consoles for communications and sensors.

All seats faced forward, toward the large window, looking out into space. The window doubled as a viewscreen, enabling the bridge crew to view everything around them, magnify objects too far away to see with the naked eye, and overlay an endless number of stats and data.

In the middle, before the XO’s chair but behind the helm and navigation console, was the holographic display that projected the surrounding space in three dimensions. Invaluable for tactical planning.

While the Resolute’s bridge looked just like every other bridge he’d worked on, the atmosphere was… different. The background chatter was a little too loud for an active command center, the officers manning the consoles slouched in their chairs, and there was more clutter than usual lying around. Owen even noticed a coffee cup on the ECM officer’s console, a minor but potentially dangerous disregard of the rules. In a battle situation, that cup could become a deadly projectile.

Captain Torres took her time to acknowledge his presence. She slowly rose from the captain’s chair, a frown still etched into her features.

“Commander Shaw. Let me introduce you to my senior officers.” Her voice sounded strained, like even this surface-level politeness was a major effort. “You’re already acquainted with Lieutenant Commander Christopher, as far as I know.”

“Yes, we served together many years ago. We’ve… been through a lot.”

Torres’s face told him that she couldn’t care less about the history he shared with Adrian Christopher, so he left it at that. “Follow me. Lieutenant Commander Petrea, you too.”

The blond woman at the tactical officer console stood up. When she walked past Owen, she glowered at him as if he were her mortal enemy. Owen scanned her face and searched his memory, but he was certain he had never met Petrea before, let alone given her a reason to despise him. He wondered if she was a supporter of Sutton Turner.

Torres led them to the captain’s ready room, where two men were already sitting at the large metallic table in the middle of the room. One had dark hair, a puffy face and a bit of a belly stretching out his yellow-trimmed uniform. The other one, wearing the teal-trimmed uniform of medical staff, had brown hair and looked rather bored.

Torres chose the chair at the head of the table, and Owen sat down right next to her. He was supposed to be her right-hand man, after all.

Torres leaned forward. “We’re all busy, so I’ll keep this short. This is Commander Owen Shaw, who will serve as the Resolute’s XO.”

Owen offered a smile and a friendly nod to the officers seated around the table but was met with mostly indifference and, in the case of the tactical officer, outright hostility. He had the feeling this Lieutenant Commander Petrea might become a problem down the line. He wasn’t sure what exactly her problem was, but she didn’t look like she’d accept his seniority easily.

Torres didn’t seem to notice the tension between them or perhaps she just didn’t care. She continued the introductions by pointing at the chubby, dark-haired man. “Commander Shaw, this is our chief engineer, Tarek Vadra.” Then she moved on to the brown-haired man. “Chief Medical Officer Vincent Caron.” The last one was the blonde tactical officer. “And the head of the tactical department, Lieutenant Commander Sasha Petrea.”

Petrea gave him another deadly glare.

The captain straightened her shoulders. “Any other questions? No? Let’s get back to work, then.”

The room cleared quickly, but Owen discreetly held back Captain Torres after everyone else had left. “A word, Captain Torres?”

She sighed and pinched her lips but nodded. “What is it?”

Owen took a deep breath. He knew he needed to clear the air with his captain, but discussing the elephant in the room was tricky. “I know you’re wary, and I understand your point of view, but I’d like to remind you that the military court cleared me of all charges.”

She scoffed. “A bunch of desk jockeys hiding behind law books and regulations may have decided that, but that doesn’t change the fact that you betrayed your captain, Shaw. And I’m not looking forward to being the next on your list.”

“I had the choice between betraying my captain and betraying the principles our civilization was built on. Trust me, what I did wasn’t easy for me, but I believe I made the right decision.” He paused. “You do know why I did it? What Captain Turner wanted to do?”

She looked him in the eyes for a moment. For the first time since he had boarded the Resolute, she really looked at him. “So it’s true? Turner asked you to bombard civilians?”

“Thousands of civilians,” he confirmed.

There was a long moment of silence as Torres searched his face, her expression still skeptical. “Maybe you acted in good faith,” she said reluctantly. “But you can’t blame me for watching my back around you.”

“All I’m asking for is a professional working relationship. You can’t run this ship without an XO.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get cocky, Shaw. I did just that for the past eight weeks.”

He was surprised to hear that. Eight weeks was a long time to replace a parting officer. Usually, the fleet’s personnel office was better at managing postings. “What happened to my predecessor?”

“Spent eight weeks in my brig. He’s being shipped back to Earth in handcuffs as we speak.”

“In the brig? What happened?”

She made a dismissive hand gesture. “Smuggled gear and ammunition for the ship and sold it on the black market. He had a whole ring set up, involving at least two dozen crewmen. But nothing we can’t handle.”

Nasim had warned him there would be discipline issues, but he hadn’t expected to find a smuggling ring aboard his new ship. “How long has this been going on? Are you sure you’ve weeded it out?”

“Oh, at least six months, probably longer. But we’re fairly certain we got them all.”

Owen couldn’t help but feel irritated by her nonchalance. “You make it sound like this isn’t a big deal.”

Torres let out an annoyed sigh. “Shaw, there’s one thing you have to understand if you want to serve on this ship. This is the Obsidian Sector. Things are different out here. We’re thirty light-years away from the Sol System. It’s basically the Wild West.”

He couldn’t suppress a grin. “And you’re the sheriff?”

“That would make you my deputy.”

“I’ll gladly take that role if it means I can do my job.”

Her mouth twitched, the first sign of a smile she’d shown all day. “Fine, Shaw. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. But I’ll be watching you closely.”

“All I want to do is bring some law and order to this Wild West ship.”

Torres shrugged. “To be honest, we like it the way it is. I’m not a stickler for rules and regulations, Shaw, and the crew is doing well with my more laid-back approach.”

Owen had to think of the dangerously lax atmosphere on the bridge, but he knew he needed to tread carefully, so he kept his thoughts to himself and left it at a polite “There’s always room for improvement.”

“Improvement, hm?” Torres didn’t look very convinced of the concept.

“How soon do you need me on the bridge? Do I have your permission to take a closer look at the ship over the next few days? Get acquainted with the people?”

“Take your time, settle in, look around. But don’t mess with anything. I’ll assign Christopher as your tour guide. He can show you the ropes.”

Owen’s quarters were spacious, the kind of space that came with rank, and equipped with practical but impersonal furniture. A bedroom, a bathroom with a shower, a living room, even a small kitchenette, so he wouldn’t have to eat in the mess hall if he didn’t want to.

A steward had already brought his duffle bag to his quarters, so he started unpacking his bag and stored away his meager belongings. It didn’t take long, and by the time he was done, the room still felt empty, and there was plenty of space left on the shelves.

He had just stuffed his empty bag into his bedroom locker when a chime informed him someone was requesting access to his quarters. He straightened his uniform and approached the door, half expecting a visit from Captain Torres, but found only Adrian in the doorway, grinning, holding up a bottle of wine.

“I assume after the day you’ve had, you’d be interested in a bit of leisurely drinking.”

Owen chuckled and stepped aside to let his friend in. “You’re more than welcome.”

Adrian put the bottle on the kitchen counter and looked around. “Sorry, have I interrupted your unpacking?”

“Don’t worry, I just finished.”

His friend’s gaze lingered on the half-empty shelves and the bare wall for a moment. “Oh, okay.”

“What?”

Adrian rubbed the back of his neck. “No offense, but it lacks a bit of a personal touch, wouldn’t you say? Don’t you want to hang some family pictures up or something?”

Most officers decorated their living spaces with trinkets and pictures, but Owen owned nothing of the sort. “I don’t have a family I could hang pictures of. Well, I guess I could put up a picture of my mother, but that would be… odd.”

Adrian sat down on the couch and leaned back into the cushions, opening the collar of his uniform. “Really? No one?”

“I consider myself married to the Space Guard.” He was aware that sounded a little pathetic, but it was the truth, and making duty his first priority had worked out reasonably well for him. He had risen through the ranks quickly and had landed a number of prestigious posts. Until now, of course. The Resolute was undoubtedly a setback, but he was determined to come back from it. He couldn’t afford distractions. Now less than ever.

“What about you?” he asked, turning away to grab some wine glasses from the kitchen cabinet. “Whose picture do you have in your quarters?”

A soft smile appeared on Adrian’s face. “A couple of my daughter.”

Owen vaguely remembered seeing pictures of the girl. He uncorked the bottle. “Right, your daughter. Sarah. How old is she now?”

“Almost eighteen,” he said. “She was born shortly after we returned from our little adventure on Pallias.”

“Eighteen.” Owen shook his head in disbelief as he poured the wine into the glasses. “Time really flies.”

Adrian hummed in approval. “My hairline receded two centimeters this year alone. We’re getting old.”

“What about Sarah’s mother?” Owen asked gently, sensing there was a reason Adrian had only mentioned pictures of his child and not his wife. He handed him a wine glass, and the man emptied it in one go.

He put the glass down and then cleared his throat. “We’re divorced.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Owen sat down across from him, watching as his friend stared at the empty wine glass.

“It was a sorry affair, I can tell you that much.” He put his glass on the coffee table with a sigh. “She’s the reason I requested a transfer to the Obsidian Sector. I wanted to be as far away from her as possible.”

The bitterness in Adrian’s voice was unmistakable, and Owen felt a pang of guilt. They’d been through so much together, but years of silence had stretched between them. The last time they’d spoken, Sarah had been a bright-eyed child in primary school. Now, she was on the cusp of adulthood, and Owen barely knew her father anymore. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Adrian waved a hand, dismissing the topic. “That’s a story for another time.” He reached for the bottle and poured himself another glass, his movements slower now. “Tonight’s for catching up, not wallowing.”

Owen raised his glass, smiling. “To catching up, then.”

Chapter 6

Lt. Octavia Casey

Octavia had finished unpacking and was seated at the desk in her small quarters, scrolling through the ship’s manual on her TacPad. This wasn’t her first assignment on a large vessel. For the past three years, she had served aboard a Galahad-class light cruiser, where she’d earned her promotion from ensign to junior lieutenant. But a battleship the size of the Resolute was an entirely different experience. With a crew complement exceeding seven hundred—nearly twice that of her last ship—the Resolute was so vast it would likely take her weeks to navigate without constantly relying on her Pad for directions.

So far, things were going well. Her quarters were spartan but well equipped with everything she needed, and the officer who would sit next to her on the bridge, a woman named Cosima Lin, had only briefly paused when she noticed Octavia’s accent but had otherwise been polite. She had run into Lieutenant Fitzgerald in the mess hall, but except for a spiteful glance, he had not bothered her, and she was hopeful Commander Shaw’s warning was enough to keep Fitzgerald off her case for good.

Tomorrow, she would step into her new role on the bridge as a sensors officer—a position she had fought hard to earn. Securing a prestigious bridge officer role had been an uphill battle, one that few at the Academy had believed she could win. Her accent, her background, and the lingering biases from a war fought decades before her time had all worked against her. There were still plenty of people who doubted her abilities, whispering that her promotion was some fluke or act of pity, just waiting for her to fail. Octavia was keenly aware of those expectations, but she didn’t shy away from them. If anything, they fueled her resolve. She was determined to prove every last one of her detractors wrong.

A soft swoosh told her the door to her quarters had just opened, meaning her roommate must’ve arrived. She quickly closed her TacPad and left her bedroom to greet her.

The woman who had just walked into the living room had brown skin and dark-brown curly hair. She was at least half a head shorter than Octavia and had big, lively brown eyes. The uniform she wore had the sigil of a space fighter pilot.

Octavia offered her a handshake. “I’m Octavia, your new roommate.”

“Charlie. Charlie Salinas,” the other woman said. She shook her hand, but her eyes narrowed. “What’s that accent?”

Octavia tensed up. They’d only exchanged two sentences, but she could already see the hostility on Charlie Salinas’s face.

Octavia hated the Empire as much as anyone, maybe even more, but people distrusted refugees from the Empire, even two generations after the end of the war. There had been several cases, especially in the first two decades after the war, when self-proclaimed refugees had turned out to be Empire spies or saboteurs. Octavia had had to go through a rigorous interrogation and testing process and spent almost six months in a holding facility to be allowed entry to the Confederation. When she’d applied for citizenship, there had been even more interrogation and testing. She had earned her place in the Confederation, but many of her fellow citizens saw it differently. Charlie Salinas seemed to be one of them. There was no point tiptoeing around the issue. If they were going to be roommates, Octavia had to face her head-on.

“It’s an Empire accent,” she said firmly. “That’s where I grew up before I fled my home to start a new life in the Confederation.”

Charlie lifted her chin and stared her down. “Start a new life, huh?”

“All I want are the same civil rights you’ve enjoyed since birth.”

“And you had to join the Space Guard for that?” Charlie crossed her arms, her tone dripping with suspicion.

Octavia had been asked that question countless times during the admission process to the Academy. Being a member of the Space Guard granted her access to critical technology and sensitive information. It was the perfect place for an Empire spy to infiltrate. She had dealt with this accusation many times before. No matter how exemplary her service record was, how glowing her personnel reports were, some people still expected the worst from her. Some people still thought she was an enemy agent.

Octavia squared her shoulders, meeting Charlie’s hard gaze without flinching. “I wanted to give something back to the country that took me in when I needed a safe haven.”

“Sounds nice. Sounds like you rehearsed it a lot.”

“You’re not the first person I’ve had this conversation with.”

“I bet.”

Octavia took a measured breath, reining in her frustration. “Listen, I’m not asking you to be my friend, but we have to share these quarters. Let’s just agree not to get on each other’s nerves and call it a day.”

Charlie shrugged dismissively. “Fine. But I’m keeping a close eye on you.”

“If it makes you feel better.” Octavia turned around and left Charlie standing alone in the living room. She fled into her own bedroom, and only when the door had slid shut behind her did she allow herself to take a deep, shuddering breath.

She was used to these kinds of accusations, but it still hurt. She had been barely twenty years old when she left the luxurious estate on Pendragon behind and paid a smuggler with a dingy space shuttle—with money she had stolen from her husband—to smuggle her across the border into Confederation territory. She was twenty-nine now. Nine years, seven of them as a member of the Space Guard, but the shadow of her past still loomed over her. It still marked her as an outsider no matter how hard she tried to fit in.

Tears stung in her eyes at the unfairness of it all, but she forced herself to keep her composure. She wasn’t sure how soundproof those doors were, and she wouldn’t give Charlie Salinas the satisfaction of knowing how hurt she was.

Octavia was no enemy spy. She was a Space Guard officer—and a damn good one at that. She’d silence the rumors with nothing short of an impeccable performance, just as she always had. She would earn their respect the hard way, including her roommate’s.

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah’s hands felt sweaty as he clutched the steering joysticks of his Pegasus space fighter tightly. The cockpit’s HUD before him was cluttered with glowing yellow numbers and letters, feeding him a constant stream of vital data—laser power levels, fuel reserves, velocity, acceleration, and dozens of other metrics he could hardly keep track of. Behind the layers of data, an asteroid belt grew closer fast. Noah had no idea what awaited him in that asteroid field, but he knew avoiding the rocks and boulders wouldn’t be an easy feat.

The metallic sound of Lieutenant Prescott’s voice crackled through his earpiece. “Squadron Delta, loose formation. Ten bandits straight ahead. Take them on nose to nose. Make sure you keep your fox one charged and ready to go.”

Noah’s heart beat at a rapid pace. With hasty movements, he pressed the cockpit’s buttons to charge up his laser cannons, then he adjusted the throttle, pushing the Pegasus forward to match the speed of his squadron.

The cockpit lights flickered briefly, and a sharp, high-pitched ringing filled his ears. The HUD in front of him flashed red, displaying enemy contacts on the radar.

“Enemy contact,” Prescott’s voice snarled in his ear. “Fire at will.”

Moments later, Noah made visual contact. Dominion ships, at least two dozen Hornet-class space fighters fast approaching.

The enemy fighters opened fire before he could get a target lock. Laser blasts streaked through space, and he had to jerk the controls hard, wrestling the Pegasus into a snap roll to narrowly avoid a direct hit.

Charlie had been right. The controls of the Pegasus were a lot more fickle compared to the older Griffin models he had flown in flight school. More twitchy, more volatile. Every input felt like a fight, as though the ship was resisting him at every turn.

Noah fought with the stick, his knuckles white, as he struggled to regain control, correcting the out-of-control spin in the last moment, barely avoiding a collision with a massive asteroid.

He shot over the ice-covered boulder and caught a glimpse of an enemy fighter. Without hesitation, Noah hit the button to engage the target lock, and with a swift press of the trigger, a beam of bright-red energy shot from the Pegasus’s laser cannons.

The enemy ship juked to the side, easily evading the shot as if it had seen Noah’s attack coming. The fighter performed a quick barrel roll and zipped out of his view before he could adjust his aim. Noah cursed under his breath, jerking the controls hard to the right. His fighter spun and snapped back into line, and his eyes frantically searched for the enemy.

He quickly retargeted, his focus narrowing to the small blip on his HUD as he tracked the enemy fighter’s erratic movements. His thumb hovered over the trigger, ready to fire again at the first sign of vulnerability. The chase was on. The enemy fighter accelerated, and Noah sped up as well, staying on its tail while avoiding the asteroids in his way. It was nearly impossible to get a clean shot with so much debris flying around, but he was eager to get that kill.

He pushed the engine a little further. His laser was fully charged and ready to fire, but the other ship went into yet another roll then looped around a large asteroid.

Noah pursued the enemy fighter, his heart pounding with anticipation as he locked in the target. His thumb was on the trigger when a series of high-pitched rings made his chest tighten.

In an instant, his entire HUD flashed with an overwhelming wave of red—enemy signatures flooding the screen. At least half a dozen ships appeared. They had hidden behind the asteroid. That fighter he’d tried to shoot down had lured him into a trap.

“Shit!” Slamming the control stick hard to the left, he pulled his ship around on such a tight vector that the g-force pressed him into his seat despite the modern inertia dampeners.

In his ear, he heard the comm chatter of the other pilots of his squadron, but the noise was faint. All he noticed were the six ships hot on his heels.

He pushed the engine to the limit, trying to put distance between him and his pursuers. Red laser beams shot past him left and right. One grazed his cockpit, leaving a burned smear on the glass dome.

Another salvo of lasers shot past him, and this time, it happened. A loud ringing noise alerted him that one of his thrusters had been damaged. His fighter spiraled out of control. Noah desperately tried to adjust his course, but his panicked attempts at a course correction only made his spin worse. He looked up to check his HUD, only noticing the massive asteroid in front of him a split second before impact.

“SIMULATION FAILED” appeared in bright-red letters across the screen.

With a curse, Noah ripped the helmet off his head. His hair was so sweaty it stuck to his scalp.

The lights went back on, and the simulator cockpit slid open.

Adrenaline still coursed through his body as if he’d just been in a real fight, and Noah’s legs were so shaky he struggled to climb out of his seat.

He’d made a complete fool out of himself, failing the simulation after barely three minutes.

Clutching his helmet to his chest, he sheepishly stood next to his simulator, unsure of what to do. The rest of his squadron was still in the simulation, so he had no other choice but to wait.

After fifteen minutes of stewing in his own misery, replaying every mistake he had made, the rest of the simulators opened, and his fellow pilots emerged. Unlike him, they were in a great mood.

Charlie jumped out of her cockpit and bounded over to him. With a grin, she ruffled his hair. Noah felt his face heat up. He wasn’t sure if he blushed out of shame or because this super-cute girl had just run her fingers through his hair.

“Chin up, rookie,” she said. “I told you. A Pegasus-class fighter is a stubborn mule compared to the Griffins.”

“It wasn’t the ship,” he grumbled. “I just made a stupid mistake.”

“Glad you’re realizing that, Ensign Jordan,” Prescott snarled behind him. He had his helmet under his arm and looked totally relaxed, like he’d just taken a stroll through the ship’s plaza, not run a challenging combat simulation. “Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before you break out of formation to go hunt for glory.”

Noah swallowed. “Yes, Lieutenant Prescott.”

Prescott walked away, but Charlie stayed by Noah’s side. “Hey, don’t take it so hard. This is why we run these simulations. You’ll catch up in no time, you’ll see.”

Her words sounded genuine and they made him feel a little better, even if they didn’t erase the embarrassment that made his cheeks burn entirely.

A young man with Asian features, leaning against his simulator, studied Noah with an amused smile. “He looks rattled. I think he needs a drink after our shift is over.”

“Colin, that might be the best idea you had all week.” Charlie turned to the rest of the squadron. “What do you say, Deltas? Myasakis’s bar after our shift?”

The proposition was met with an enthusiastic chorus of approval.

Chapter 7

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Scientists had long been aware of cabin fever. Humans didn’t handle spending long amounts of time in an enclosed space very well. They became angry and anxious and started behaving irrationally. That was the reason the Confederation always equipped ships built for long-term missions with gardens, parks, or similar recreational facilities. At first glance, it looked like a waste of space, a ridiculous luxury on a warship, but its effect on the crew’s mental health was invaluable.

The Resolute’s plaza was located right in the middle of the ship, stretching over three decks, from deck 7 to deck 9. A strip of green grass, 30 meters wide and 250 meters long, planted with bushes, flowers, and trees. There was even a small fountain in the middle and a few benches.

The plaza was surrounded by several levels of recreational facilities, accessible by walkways. The ground floor housed a restaurant—one for enlisted personnel and one for officers—and a bar called Myasaki’s, open to all crewmembers.

On the level above, deck 8, was a lounge and a gaming room. Gyms and sports facilities were on deck 9.

Owen and Adrian walked along the edge of the plaza, past the officers’ restaurant and the bar.

A group of pilots had gathered there. Their loud, drunken yelling and raucous laughter told Owen they’d had more than a few drinks already.

He eyed the commotion with a frown. “They look quite drunk, considering they need to be back in their space fighters in a few hours.”

Adrian watched the pilots with a mild smile. “They’re just blowing off some steam.”

“What if we’re under attack unexpectedly? The Resolute would be short of a fighter squadron, because I severely doubt that bunch over there would even find their way back to the hangar bay.”

Adrian put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away from the bar. “My old friend, we’re in the Obsidian Sector. The ship is docked. No one’s going to attack us unexpectedly.”

Owen frowned. “This is still a battleship. I would like it to be in a battle-ready status at all times.”

Two female officers passed them by. They waved instead of saluting, and Adrian waved back, unbothered by the breach of protocol. “It’s a really quiet corner of space, Owen. Our mission mainly consists of humanitarian relief when a colony gets in trouble and occasionally scaring some pirates off. Resolute hasn’t fired a single torpedo in 17 months.”

“No reason to get complacent. What about the Empire?”

The Empire, the Confederation’s oldest enemy, bordered on the Obsidian Sector. It had been founded during the early days of human expansion, before the construction of the first hyperspace gates. The founder, a man named Alexander Harrington, had led a rebellion on Barnard. After losing his civil war, he and his supporters, no more than a few thousand people, had left Barnard, venturing into the stars in search of a new home. They found it after a long and perilous journey on a planet they named Pendragon. Harrington had had a keen interest, some might have called it an obsession, with British history. After he declared himself the Emperor of Pendragon, he set up a complex feudal structure of fiefdoms and lords, heavily inspired by the old British Empire that dominated Earth in the nineteenth century.

Back home, people didn’t pay much attention to this fledgling empire. Exchanging information took many years, and what little intel reached the core planets was disregarded as a strange, anachronistic social experiment, doomed to fail. Until Pendragon scientists discovered how to safely navigate through hyperspace. Within two generations, the Empire had spread to over a dozen planets, and another generation later, Harrington’s great-grandson, Emperor Alexander II, sent a massive fleet of battleships through those hyperspace routes, right to the doorsteps of the core planets, who still considered hyperspace traveling experimental and highly dangerous. Caught completely off-guard, only the foundation of the Confederation saved the core worlds. Working together, they quickly caught up with the Empire’s hyperspace technology, and after a series of bloody wars, they managed to push back the enemy.

The area of space between the Empire and the Confederation had once been declared a neutral zone, strictly off-limits for both Confederation and Empire ships, but in the sixty years since the end of the last war, people from both nations had started settling planets in that buffer zone. Since no military presence was allowed there, it was impossible to keep settlers in-check. This neutral zone was the only thing that seperated the Empire from the Obsidian Sector. This outermost sector was home to a dozen independent colonies, but there were six official Confederation-sponsored colonies, too, and one fully fledged Confederation member: Obsidian, capital and namesake of the sector and the system they were currently stationed in.

Adrian sighed. “There’s been barely any contact with the Empire for almost a century except for a few hundred refugees every year and a couple of spies. Whatever they’re doing over there, they aren’t bothering us.”

“I find their quiet unsettling. We know so little about what is going on in the Empire. They might be planning something.”

“Or they’re just minding their own business.”

“What about that colony that has gone dark?”

Adrian slowed his steps and turned to face him. “What are you talking about?”

“Nasim told me about it. Her niece moved to one of the colonies in the neutral zone, and they haven’t heard from her in… must be six weeks now.”

“Hm… I see why that’s concerning, but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. These small colonies are unreliable when it comes to communication, especially those in the neutral zone that don’t get resupplies from the core systems. It could be anything from a power outage to a missing spare part.”

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation, yet Owen couldn’t shake the feeling that a storm was brewing and no one but him seemed to notice. “Still, all things considered, I think we should be prepared for the worst.”

“Maybe you just need some time to get used to how things work out here. Where do you want to go next?”

Owen checked his mental list. He had already visited the bridge. In his opinion, the bridge officers lacked discipline, but they seemed reasonably competent at their jobs. He had inspected the medical facilities, where everything seemed in order, except that most of the personnel were bored out of their minds because they had nothing to do but putting Band-Aids on paper cuts and ointment on foot fungus. Adrian had shown him the well-equipped and well-attended recreational facilities. There was only one major point left on his to-do list. “Take me to engineering.”

“As you wish. But be warned. Torres has given Vadra pretty much free rein down there. I’m not sure he will enjoy your inspection very much.”

“He’ll have to get used to it.”

They took the elevator down to level 12.

Main engineering was a large open space, taking up two levels, decks 12 and 13. A catwalk made the upper level accessible.

The hall was filled with rows of work consoles, and the walls were lined with screens and displays showing power distribution levels, systems status, and other real-time diagnostics. Owen had attended some engineering elective courses during his time at the Academy, but the colorful numbers, bars, charts, and letters on the countless displays still looked mostly like gibberish to him. Engineers and technicians moved between the consoles and screens, but none of them seemed to be in a hurry, and they didn’t seem to care much that the new XO had just entered their presence.

There was a hatch door on both sides of the room and one at the back. Owen headed straight for the door to their left, where large letters said “DAMAGE CONTROL.”

There were consoles in the damage control center, too, but shelves and lockers took most of the space up, holding hazmat suits, firefighting gear, and sealant kits. The gear looked old, but functional. What was missing, however, was the crew.

“Where are the damage control teams?” Owen asked. A ship the size of the Resolute should have at least two six-man damage control teams on duty at all times, but the adjacent personnel room was completely empty.

Adrian frowned. “I don’t know. They should be here.”

Owen pulled his TacPad out of his sleeve pocket and opened the personnel timetables. He quickly found the crewmen who should be present in the damage control center. With a swipe of his finger, he contacted the security center.

“Petty Officer Diallo here.”

Owen held the TacPad up to his mouth. “This is Commander Shaw. I’ll send you a list of crewmen I want you to locate.”

“Copy, Commander. I just received the list. Give me a second.”

The petty officer in the security center went quiet for a moment. “Spacer Bekele and Spacer Simpson are currently in their quarters on deck 4, sir. The rest are in gym two on deck 9.”

“Thank you, Petty Officer,” Owen said grimly before putting away his TacPad.

He exchanged a glance with Adrian, but his friend didn’t even attempt to explain this troubling issue away this time.

“I’ll deal with them later,” Owen said. “Come on, let’s move on.”

The door to the right led to a corridor with more doors opening into several large maintenance bays. Owen only threw a little peek inside. The rooms were cluttered with building parts, gutted machinery, and tools, but at least there were a handful of people in overalls working there.

Somewhat satisfied, they returned to the main engineering room. They had barely stepped a foot through the door when loud voices alerted them. The shouting was coming from the reactor room where the fusion reactor that powered the ship was located.

They followed the noise and found two engineers in front of the massive cylindrical structure. Thick layers of protective shielding, lead and cadmium, protected the crew from the deadly neutron radiation of the fusion reactor. The discovery of cold fusion over six hundred years ago had changed the fate of humanity and opened up the stars, but a fusion reactor as big as the one required to power a large battleship like the Resolute produced so much radiation that a reactor breach would kill the entire crew within minutes and fry half the systems on board the ship beyond repair.

The fusion reactor seemed to be the topic of the shouting match, because one of the engineers, an attractive woman with long red hair, was pointing at it while she yelled at Lieutenant Commander Tarek Vadra, the chief engineer Owen had already met in Captain Torres’s briefing room.

“Look at that curve, Vadra.” The woman urgently tapped on one of the displays attached to the reactor. “I’m telling you, we have an issue with the deuterium infusers.”

Vadra rolled his eyes. He had a five o’clock beard shadow, and his uniform was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. “The infusers are fine. It’s just the shoddy power conduit on deck 11, Valentine.”

“My team tested the power line twice. It’s fine. I’m telling you, we have a reactor issue.”

Owen cleared his voice loudly to get their attention. “Is there a problem?”

Vadra turned slowly, a strained smile plastered on his face, and the distinct smell of alcohol crept up Owen’s nose.

“Nothing is the matter, XO.” Now that Owen was paying attention, he noticed Vadra’s words were slightly slurred. “Lieutenant Valentine is having hallucinations.”

The red-haired woman glared at her superior officer.

Owen arched an eyebrow. “Do you have something to report, Lieutenant Valentine?”

She straightened her shoulders, a look of defiance on her face. “Yes. I believe we have a faulty deuterium infuser. It’s causing fluctuations in the reactor’s power levels, which has led to the loss of life support for up to 2.3 seconds on deck 11 four times now.”

“That sounds like a serious problem.”

Vadra’s eyes flicked nervously between Valentine and Owen before he shook his head dismissively, his hands gesturing in a vague motion toward the reactor. “I’ve already looked into it. It’s nothing. Nothing to worry about.”

Owen crossed his arms and looked down at the man, who was at least four inches shorter than him. “I would say a disruption of life support is something to worry about. I want you to look into it again.”

Vadra scoffed. “Waste of time.”

“Do it anyway.”

The muscles of Vadra’s stubble-covered jaw twitched, and he scowled at Lieutenant Valentine before returning his attention to Owen. “Fine,” he grumbled. “If that’s your order, that’s your order, Commander.”

“You can start that task right after you’ve reported to the medical bay.”

“What?”

“Tell the doctor to check your blood alcohol levels.”

Vadra’s nostrils flared. “This is outrageous. I will—“

“You will report to the medical bay,” Owen repeated slowly. “And then you will listen to Lieutenant Valentin’s report again and look into the problem. Understood?”

Vadra’s face turned red, but after staring at Owen angrily for a moment, he scoffed and stomped away, muttering a curse under his breath.

Owen looked after him for a moment before he turned back to Valentine. She had a faint smile on her face and looked quite satisfied with the turn of events. “You can start looking into the issues on your own while Chief Engineer Vadra is away.”

“Gladly, Commander.”

Chapter 8

Adrian excused himself, returning to his duties on the bridge, but Owen wasn’t done yet. His next order of business was seeking out the missing technicians from the damage control teams who had failed to report for duty today.

He checked his TacPad for directions to Spacer Simpson’s quarters and was led to deck 4. On his way there, he noticed that most crewmembers he encountered in the hallways and elevator were looking at him with suspicion. They saluted, just as Space Guard regulations expected when encountering a superior officer, but their expressions were closed off.

Unsurprising. He was not only a newcomer but a newcomer with a past many people frowned upon. Still, Owen felt a sting. He had long stopped forming close bonds with his crew, kept a professional distance, but back on the Camelot, he had at least been respected, and he had gotten to know the crew well enough to feel at home aboard the ship. The Resolute wasn’t home yet, and considering the amount of resistance—and, in some cases, outright hostility—his arrival had caused, he wondered if it would ever be.

He walked past an endless number of doors until he found the one leading to Spacer Simpson’s quarters. He pressed the doorbell out of politeness, even though it was his right as XO to enter without warning.

He waited a moment to give the man a chance to prepare himself before he stepped inside.

The enlisted quarters were much more cramped than his own. There was a common room and two doorways on either side leading to the bedrooms. One of the doors was open, revealing two bunk beds, four lockers, and another door, probably leading to the bathroom.

“Spacer Simpson?” Owen asked, his voice sharp.

There was an annoyed groan from the bedroom, and a moment later, a young, red-haired man appeared. His hair was disheveled and his face bruised and swollen. “Who are you, and what do you—oh, shit. Commander Shaw, sir. Excuse me, I… shit.” He snapped his heels together and saluted, but the movement made him wince.

Owen stepped closer, narrowing his eyes as he inspected Simpson’s black eye and split lip. Judging by his stiff posture, Owen assumed there were more injuries beneath the neckline of his crumpled uniform. The man looked like he’d been involved in a bar brawl.

“What happened to your face, Spacer Simpson?”

Simpson writhed under his scrutinizing gaze. “I… I fell in the shower?” Even Simpson himself looked unconvinced by the excuse he was offering.

“Why haven’t you reported to the medical bay yet? The duty roster shows you on active duty, but you should clearly be on medical leave.”

“I… um, I didn’t want to bother anyone. Surely, the medical staff has more important things to do, right?”

The young man was one of the worst liars Owen had ever encountered. He was clearly hiding something, and he needed to know what and why. Owen squared his shoulders. “Spacer Simpson, you will tell me right now how you sustained these injuries.”

Simpson glanced up, only to quickly look down at his feet again, avoiding Owen’s gaze. “Sir, I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” Owen asked sharply.

“I… I’d get in trouble.”

“With whom?”

Simpson hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I can’t tell you that either,” he muttered, his tone barely audible now.

“Spacer Simpson, I’m your commanding officer,” Owen barked. “If I ask you a question, you will answer it. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Simpson replied meekly. His expression showed a mix of fear and guilt, but Owen was reasonably certain it wasn’t him Simpson was afraid of. And that was a problem. If there was someone on board who had more authority over his crew than the XO, he needed to know who it was.

“How were you injured? You’d better not make me ask again.”

Simpson swallowed hard, and his body tensed as if he was already bracing himself for punishment. “There’s this boxing club, sir.”

“Boxing club?”

“Every second Sunday.”

“I visited the gym earlier today, and I checked the schedules. I didn’t notice any boxing matches.” For a good reason. While the Space Guard encouraged its members to engage in physical activity in their free time, certain high-risk sports were forbidden. They needed the crew fit for duty, not on sick leave with an injury they sustained during a boxing match.

“It’s not taking place in the gym,” Simpson admitted, his voice barely audible.

Owen clenched his jaw. He didn’t like the direction this was going. “Then where is this boxing club taking place?” he asked, his voice strained.

“A cargo bay on deck 15, sir.”

He sighed. “In a cargo bay?”

“It’s not exactly legal, I guess. Because of the betting.”

Owen rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. Of course, on top of all the other issues, the Resolute already had an unauthorized fight club and an illegal gambling operation going on. “Betting…”

“Yeah. You sign up for a fight, and the other crewmen put money on the winner. If you manage to win, you get a cut of the pot and—”

“Yes, Spacer Simpson, I know how betting works. Thank you.”

Simpson shut his mouth and stared at his feet.

“So, you participated in these fights? Even though you were aware they’re against regulations?”

“I didn’t want to,” he quickly protested. “Not really. But it’s a bit of an initiation thing. You can’t say no. The other guys and gals would give you hell.”

Owen didn’t like the sound of this at all. Underground boxing matches were bad enough, but he might have been willing to overlook it as a relatively harmless way to blow off some steam. But bullying unwilling crewmembers into participating was highly unethical. That was not the kind of ship he was running. He needed to put a stop to this. “Who’s organizing these matches?”

Simpson scrunched his face as if the question itself caused him pain. “I can’t tell you, sir. I really can’t.”

“Why? What are you afraid of?”

“You… you don’t understand. I’m just a junior spacer, and I just got here. And he’s a lieutenant and…” He pressed his lips together as if he already regretted his words. “I can’t say. I beg you, Commander Shaw, please don’t make me say it. They’ll make my life hell if I rat them out. If you have to throw me in the brig, so be it.”

Owen looked down at Simpson as he stood in front of him, head hung low, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He looked young—couldn’t be older than twenty. And he looked desperate and hopelessly out of his depth. Just a vulnerable young crewman who got dragged into this mess by people higher up the social hierarchy.

Owen let out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll leave you out of it. I’ll have to find the instigator of this brutality myself.”

Relief flickered across Simpson’s face. “Thank you, sir.”

Owen turned toward the door, his mind churning through the information he had uncovered. A lieutenant—someone in a position of authority—was involved in illegal boxing matches, exploiting the vulnerability of junior crew members like Simpson. It wasn’t just a breach of regulations; it was a betrayal of the trust and discipline that held the crew together. And if this lieutenant thought rank would shield them from consequences, they were sorely mistaken.

Ens. Noah Jordan

Blaring sirens startled Noah awake. It took him a moment to get his bearings. A headache throbbed right behind his eyes, and his stomach was queasy. The result of drinking way too much last night, trying to impress his fellow pilots—one in particular. He felt like shit, and the loud noise wasn’t helping. The bright red glowing from the LED bar running along the wall of his bedroom was hurting his eyes.

Noah blinked. The sirens. The red light. Red alert!

With a curse, he untangled himself from his sweat-soaked bedsheets and stumbled out of the bedroom. Lucas was already in the living room, fully dressed in his uniform and looking a lot more awake than Noah, though just as worried.

Before Noah could say anything, the speaker crackled to life. “Attention, all hands. Red alert. Red alert. We’ve made enemy contact. We are being boarded. I repeat, we are being boarded. All hands to battle stations.”

“Boarded?” Noah repeated in disbelief. “Who the hell would board us?”

Lucas zipped up his uniform jacket. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I’ve got places to be. You should put on some pants and report to the hangar deck.”

Noah nodded, still in a haze, and returned to his room to put on his crumpled uniform with shaky hands. Just his luck—a boarding party in his very first week.

He sprinted out the door, looking up and down the corridor. Lucas was already gone.

Fear was creeping up his back, but he knew he couldn’t give in. He was a space fighter pilot. If they were being attacked, he was needed. Now, which way to the hangar bay again?

Other officers were rushing past his door, but he didn’t recognize anyone and didn’t dare to stop someone to ask for directions.

Finally, he spotted a pilot from his squadron, Colin Yang, running down the corridor. He started chasing after Colin and caught up with him just before he disappeared around a corner.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Noah asked breathlessly.

Colin glanced over his shoulder, barely slowing his pace. “No idea, rookie. But I’m afraid your training wheels are coming off already.”

The words struck Noah like a cold splash of reality. This was really going to happen. He was going to fly his first battle.

Together, they raced through the twisting corridors toward the hangar bay, and Noah did his best not to get in anyone’s way. Most crew members he ran past looked just as afraid as he felt, but he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried about that.

When they arrived, the flight deck was already in chaos. At least fifty people in different-colored uniforms were rushing across the deck, carrying gear, pushing trolleys, and shouting instructions over the blaring alarms. Noah stuck close to Colin as they fought their way through the crowd until they reached the locker room for Delta Squad.

Noah pulled out his flight suit, but his hands were shaking, and his head was still spinning. He struggled with every zip and clasp. In the end, Colin, who had suited up much faster, had to help him close the last zip.

“Relax, rookie,” Colin said, handing over Noah’s helmet with a firm clap on the shoulder. “Deep breaths. You’ve got this. You trained for this. You’ve got this.”

He wasn’t sure if Colin was trying to calm Noah down or himself, but he gave a determined nod anyway and followed him back out to the flight deck.

Colin headed straight for his bird, leaving Noah behind, unsure where to go next. His eyes darted between the fighters. Which one was his? Panic bubbled up in his chest again. He’d only ever flown a Pegasus in the simulator, and his first real test flight wasn’t supposed to happen until next week. Now, without warning, he was being thrown into a life-or-death situation, and he didn’t even know where to start.

A whistle snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Lieutenant Prescott approaching quickly. “Hey, kid, are you ready?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question,” Prescott said in a low voice, meant only for Noah to hear. “You’ve never flown one of these fighters outside the simulator. If you’re not ready, say it now, and I’ll leave you behind.”

Noah hesitated. The truth was, he wasn’t ready. He was terrified. But if he stayed behind, his squadron would be short of a fighter, messing with the formation they’d practiced for months and leaving the whole group vulnerable. He might not be up to their standards yet, but he could at least cover his wingman.

Noah swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m ready, LT. Put me in a fighter, and I’ll get the job done.”

Chapter 9

Prescott clicked his tongue and pointed at a Pegasus fighter still swarming with technicians making last-minute checks. “That one’s yours, rookie. Remember, these things cost ninety million credits. Bring it back in one piece.”

“Yes, LT.”

Noah approached his fighter with a racing heart and a chest so tight he could barely breathe. The technicians exchanged worried looks. One of them, a woman with a grease-streaked uniform, paused briefly and muttered “Fresh meat” under her breath. Another gave a slight shake of his head before continuing to check a panel on the ship’s underside.

Noah caught the exchange but forced himself to push it aside. He couldn’t afford to care what they thought—not now.

Determined to prove to Lieutenant Prescott that he’d made the right call in trusting him, Noah climbed into the cockpit and buckled the harness that would keep him secure in case of an emergency ejection. One of the technicians leaned over and attached the oxygen tube from his flight suit to the tank in his seat. The tubes connected with a metallic click, and the technician gave him a thumbs-up. If he ended up floating in space, the tank would give him about three hours of breathable air before he suffocated.

Noah gave a thumbs-up back, even though he’d never felt less thumbs-uppy in his life.

The technician closed the cockpit and checked the seal one last time. Two other crew members hooked the fighter up to the pulley system that would tow it into the launch tubes and sling him into space.

Noah forced himself to take a deep breath. Colin was right. He’d trained for this. He might be a rookie, but after two years in flight school and hundreds of hours of practice, he knew how to fly a space fighter. Almost automatically, his hands began pushing buttons and flipping switches. The glowing HUD came to life.

The technicians had done a good job. All parameters were well within normal range. The only outlier was Noah himself, who felt entirely out of normal range, but at least the spaceship was ready for battle.

He placed his hands on the joystick, his pulse thundering in his ears. Around him, the flight deck was bustling with activity, drenched in the red light from the emergency LEDs. The sirens still blared, though the sound was muffled inside his cockpit. Noah tried to block everything out and focus on the task ahead. His mind ran through checklists, flight vectors, protocols, and attack formations.

Suddenly, the light shifted from red to clean white, and the sirens stopped just as abruptly.

Confused, Noah leaned forward as far as his harness allowed, trying to get a glimpse of the technicians below. They looked as baffled as he was, and the frantic activity on the flight deck came to a halt.

He turned his head left and saw Charlie, strapped into her fighter, frowning. He looked right at Prescott’s ship. The squadron commander seemed to be listening to his in-ear headset. He shook his head then pressed a button, opening his cockpit. Moments later, his voice came through Noah’s earpiece.

“The drill is over,” he said, his tone tense. “Get out of your fighters and report to the ready room for a debrief.”

Noah’s stomach dropped. A drill. It was just a drill. All this anxiety over a stupid drill. He had thought he was facing a life-and-death battle, was prepared to sacrifice his life. Now, he just felt stupid.

Noah heard groans and complaints from his squadron mates over his headset.

“A drill?” Charlie complained. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Lieutenant Prescott sounded just as annoyed as Charlie. “I didn’t know about this either, Salinas.”

Noah unbuckled his harness and pulled off his helmet. The adrenaline drained from his body so fast he felt like puking into it.

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Owen projected the data he’d collected from his shipwide drill onto the screen in Captain Torres’s briefing room.

His fellow officers looked grumpy and overtired—and, in Vadra’s case, hungover. He’d had to urge a very intimidated junior doctor for the results, but tests revealed that Vadra had had a blood alcohol level of 0.22% yesterday.

Vadra stared at him with unhidden hostility, the tactical officer Petrea looked as angry as ever, Chief Medical Officer Caron looked bored, and Captain Torres looked irritated. The drill had been a knee-jerk reaction to the plethora of issues he had encountered yesterday. Coffee cups on the bridge, damage control teams mysteriously missing, a drunk chief engineer, and an illegal fight club in a storage bay. And no one seemed to care one bit. He understood that the ship hadn’t seen any real action in a long while, but at this point, a luxury cruise full of geriatric retirees was more battle-ready than the Resolute. He had hoped the drill would jolt his fellow senior officers out of their complacency, but as he faced their collective ire, he thought to himself that perhaps getting Captain Torres on board first would’ve been the smarter move. Scheduling a readiness drill was technically well within his area of responsibility as the XO, but considering the conversation he’d had with Captain Torres the day before, planning this without informing anyone else might have ruffled some feathers.

Owen forced himself to ignore the angry stares from all sides, cleared his throat, and pointed at the numbers on the screen.

“While I wouldn’t call last night’s drill a success, it did provide a lot of useful data. As you can see, only a single security team managed to arrive at their destination within the eight-minute time limit Fleet Command expects.” He carefully avoided Petrea’s gaze as he switched to the next table. “On average, the security teams arrived seven and a half minutes late. If this had been a real boarding situation, our attackers would’ve likely taken control of vital systems due to that delay.”

Petrea’s jaw twitched as if she was struggling to swallow an angry reply. He could almost hear her cussing him out in her thoughts, but she remained silent.

“The fighter squadrons showed similar issues. Only thirty-six of Resolute’s eighty-one space fighters were manned and ready for launch by the time I ended the drill. The lack of fighters in space would’ve exposed us to enemy fire, possibly resulting in severe damage or even the destruction of the Resolute.”

Torres listened to his speech with pinched lips. He wasn’t sure if she was upset with him, with the results, or both, but since she, too, remained quiet, Owen continued his report.

“Speaking of damage, the damage control teams arrived a whopping twenty-six minutes late, and only five of the twelve teams showed up with complete gear. I don’t have to tell you how fatal that would’ve been in a real battle situation, especially since engineering recorded severe power fluctuations during the charging of the laser cannon, resulting in disruptions to life support systems on decks 4, 6, 7, 12, and 14. Chief Engineer Vadra, I thought I made myself clear when I told you to take care of the faulty deuterium injector.”

Vadra crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought I made myself clear when I told you the stupid injector is perfectly fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

Owen pulled up the data from the fusion reactor, showing the levels out of normal range in bright red. “Is it now?” he snapped. “Then how do you explain why a dozen crewmembers had to make their way to their battle stations in zero gravity, and four crewmen nearly died because the oxygen scrubbers in their quarters turned off?”

Vadra snorted like an angry bull, his face turning red, but Captain Torres cut him off before he could open his mouth.

“Enough of the squabbling.” She sounded annoyed, like she was dealing with a group of moody teenagers. “Commander Shaw is the XO; staging a drill like this is within his rights, so stop complaining and start fixing your damn departments. Dismissed.”

Owen breathed a sigh of relief. At least Torres was on his side. Maybe she wasn’t as blind to her crew’s faults as he’d feared.

The officers couldn’t flee the room fast enough. They hastily gathered their tablets and notes, chairs scraped across the floor, and then they filed out of the briefing room, hurrying to get out of the line of fire. Adrian was the only one who met Owen’s eyes on the way out, but even he looked uncomfortable.

Owen turned off the screen and was about to leave, too, but Torres held him back.

“What on earth were you thinking, Shaw?”

He froze mid-motion, glancing back at her. Torres leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, her expression unreadable, her dark eyes locked on him.

He blinked, caught off guard. “Didn’t you just say I was within my rights?”

“You were, but exposing my senior officers’ flaws like this was a bad move.”

“With all due respect, Captain, the ship is—”

“Yes?” She stared at him with cold eyes, and Owen knew he had to choose his words carefully.

“I just want to make sure everyone is at the top of their game.”

Torres shook her head, looking almost disappointed in him. “You made a lot of enemies today, and that’s a problem. Your job as XO is to be the bridge between me and the rest of the crew. How are you going to do that when they all hate your guts?”

“They can hate my guts as much as they like. If my drills save their lives when push comes to shove, I’m willing to pay that price.” He straightened his shoulders. “I’ve sacrificed my good reputation to do the right thing before, remember?”

Torres rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. “As if I’d need reminding of that. Look, I’m not saying you were entirely wrong. A drill was overdue. But…” She let out a heavy sigh. “Consult me first the next time you’re planning to pull a stunt like this. Before you alienate the rest of the crew too. Understood?”

Owen’s jaw tightened. “Understood.”

“Dismissed.”

He left the briefing room and promptly ran into Lieutenant Commander Petrea.

“Watch it, Shaw,” she hissed when they bumped shoulders. “You might believe otherwise, but your rank doesn’t give you free rein to mess with my crew.”

“Your crew?” Owen took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Commander, may I ask what your problem is?”

She stared at him like she was fighting hard to hold back a whole barrage of curses. Her jaws muscles tensed, and her fists were clenched at her sides. “This drill was bad form,” she forced out. “Exposing the crew like this… and you didn’t even have the decency to inform the other senior officers.”

“Are you sure that’s it? Because you’ve been glaring at me like I killed your puppy since I stepped foot on this ship.” He knew this went deeper than the drill because she had been hostile toward him since their first encounter.

Petrea lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eye, her face a hard mask. “Not my puppy, sir,” she hissed, somehow managing to make “sir” sound offensive instead of respectful. “You killed my brother.”

The words hit him like a slap, and he froze, trying to make sense of the accusation. He had done a few things during the war against the Dominion he wasn’t proud of, but he was certain he had never killed someone, let alone Sasha Petrea’s brother. He hadn’t even known she had a brother, and he was certain he would’ve remembered if he had met someone with her last name before. His mind raced, but before he could ask for clarification, Petrea turned on her heel and walked away.

She slid back into her chair behind the tactical officer’s console, her lips pressed together, her eyes fixed on the viewscreen. It was clear that the conversation was over, and Owen was even more puzzled about the tactical officer’s hostility toward him than before the confrontation.

Chapter 10

Lt. Octavia Casey

Octavia leaned back in her chair and watched the data stream on her display. It was quiet on the bridge. The drill the new XO, Shaw, had set up last week had been a disaster, and the crew’s mood ranged from embarrassed to angry. Captain Torres had decided to fight the general grumpiness with generous shore leave. About two-thirds of the crew had left the ship for some downtime on Morrigon Station, so the bridge was currently manned by a skeleton crew.

The captain herself had left to spend some leisure time on the station and Commander Shaw oversaw the bridge in her absence. Octavia still wasn’t sure what to make of the man. He sat in the captain’s chair with the confidence of a seasoned officer, his posture straight, his gaze sharp and assessing. There was a quiet authority to him. From his calm voice to his impeccable uniform, he was a picture-perfect commanding officer, but for some reason, he seemed… distant. Most of the crew seemed uncomfortable around him, even though he treated everyone with respect. It was like there was a barrier between Owen Shaw and the rest of the crew. Maybe he just needed a little time to warm up. She knew he was a good man. He had stepped in and stopped Fitzgerald’s harassment, after all. A lot of other senior officers would’ve turned a blind eye.

Octavia only noticed she’d been staring at the XO because his mismatched eyes fixed on her. She quickly averted her gaze, turning back to her screens. She was currently watching both her own comm console and the sensor console, since Cosima Lin, who usually manned the sensors, had left for Morrigon Station too.

Helm and navigation were abandoned. The two officers weren’t currently needed, since the ship was docked and wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. A young blond lieutenant had taken the place of Tactical Officer Petrea, and he was monitoring all offensive and defensive consoles with a bored expression.

The only other senior officer currently present on the bridge was Lieutenant Commander Christopher, chief of operations and head of Octavia’s department. He was a quiet man of small stature, with curly brown hair that had already started to recede. Octavia had only exchanged a few words with him, but she’d found the man very agreeable so far.

Commander Shaw cleared his throat. “I need to review a couple of reports in my office. Adrian, you have the conn.”

Lieutenant Commander Christopher nodded and quietly took the captain’s chair Shaw had just vacated.

Octavia spent another uneventful twenty minutes looking at the screens.

Her mind began to wander, as it often did during quiet shifts. She found herself imagining the bustling life of Morrigon Station, picturing the crew enjoying their well-earned shore leave. The faintest pang of longing crept in but she quickly pushed the feeling aside. She had volunteered to stay behind. Morrigon Station held some unpleasant memories for her, and she had no friends to spend her downtime with anyway.

She focused on her screen again, and something caught her attention. She had limited training in analyzing sensor data, but she was pretty certain objects on the sensor shouldn’t pop up and disappear within a split second.

For several minutes, she monitored the display, hoping to spot a pattern or some clue to explain the anomaly. She disliked asking for help. In her vulnerable position, every weakness could be used against her, but even discreetly opening the manual on her TacPad didn’t help her fix the weird blips on the sensor. She had no other option but to report the issue. Pride warred with practicality for a moment longer before the latter won. The data didn’t make sense, and if there was even the slightest chance it indicated something important, she couldn’t ignore it.

“Commander Christopher, do you have a moment?” She tried to sound professional despite feeling embarrassed about her failure to fix the problem herself.

Christopher looked up from his own station, his eyes meeting hers. He offered her a small, reassuring smile as he crossed the short distance to her console.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, leaning over her shoulder to peer at the display. His tone was patient, with no hint of annoyance or judgment.

Octavia relaxed a little. “I’m getting these strange signals on the sensor. They only appear for a split second. I doubt it’s real data, but I can’t figure out where they’re coming from.”

“Hm. Let’s see.” He sat in the chair next to her, rested his head in his folded hands, and watched the screen intently. Soon enough, another blip appeared and winked out of existence a second later.

“Ah, I see.” Christopher leaned back. “Those are sensor ghosts. Duplicated signals from nearby objects.”

“A calibration drift?”

The suggestion earned her another smile. “Yes, very good. That’s correct. One of the sensor arrays is out of alignment. It happens occasionally on a ship as old as the Resolute. Let me show you how to fix it.”

He demonstrated how to run the diagnostic program on the sensor arrays and manually adjust the drift. His tone was warm, and his explanations were clear. Octavia found herself quite enjoying this little lesson. It was an unusual experience. Usually, she was on edge around superior officers, well aware that the smallest mistake could ruin everything she’d worked so hard for—simply because people were waiting for her to make mistakes.

Lieutenant Commander Christopher did not seem to be one of those people. His warm amber eyes and soft voice put her at ease.

“All we need to do now,” he said, “is wait for the software to finish the readjustments. It should take only ten minutes or so.”

They were both watching the loading bar on the screen for a while before he spoke again. “I reviewed your file.”

His tone was casual, but the words were enough to make Octavia tense up, prepared to fend off yet another round of interrogation and accusations. People looking into her background rarely meant something good for her.

“You graduated from the Academy with excellent grades, and your record is exemplary,” he said. “The report from your superior officer on the Perseus called you ‘one of the most promising junior officers I’ve ever worked with.’”

She felt heat rising to her cheeks, though she wasn’t even sure why. She’d worked hard for those grades, and she’d earned her superior officer’s praise. “I always do my best to serve the Space Guard, sir.”

Christopher studied her for a moment. Octavia rested her hands in her lap, fighting the urge to fidget.

“I’m sure of it, but with a record like that, I’m surprised you didn’t take a more prestigious posting than the Resolute. Don’t get me wrong—I like this ship—but there aren’t a lot of opportunities to advance your career here in the Obsidian Sector.”

Octavia glanced at him, searching his face for any signs of insincerity. She found none. “To be honest, I was offered a posting as a bridge officer on the CSS Trailblazer. But I didn’t take it.”

“A long-term exploratory mission? Sounds like every young officer’s dream. Why did you refuse?”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. No matter how nice Christopher was to her, she couldn’t share that with him. It was too private, too close to her heart. No one knew the truth, and she wanted to keep it that way. If she told people why she wanted to return to the Obsidian Sector, where she’d first arrived after fleeing from the Empire, people might start to question her loyalty. And that was the last thing she needed.

She swallowed, trying hard to keep her voice steady. “Private reasons.”

Christopher looked at her thoughtfully for a long time, his eyes searching her face. She fixed her eyes on the loading bar on the screen and tried not to look guilty. If he’d studied her personnel file, he knew about her background and about her refugee status. Would he be suspicious about a former Empire citizen wanting to return to the sector that bordered the Empire? Whatever thought process he had, he didn’t let it show.

“Fair enough,” he finally said with a smile. “I won’t pry into private matters.”

Ens. Noah Jordan

Morrigon Station was a massive space station orbiting Obsidian, the capital planet of the Obsidian Sector. While the rocky planet itself was rather lifeless and only sparsely populated, Morrigon Station, named after the founder of Obsidian’s first colony, was a bustling hub—a central meeting point for military personnel, colonists, miners, traders, and occasionally criminals.

The station looked like a titanium layer cake, with hangar bays and cargo holds at the bottom, residential quarters in the middle, and several lively commercial levels at the top. About three thousand permanent residents lived and worked on Morrigon, but accounting for both short- and long-term visitors, it usually held ten thousand people or more at any given time.

Morrigon had docking ports for nine large freighters or warships and about forty smaller vessels. One of those docked ships was the CSS Resolute, for resupplying and repairs.

Noah admired the massive battleship through one of the large window fronts on Morrigon Station. Viewed next to all the small shuttles, freighters, and liners, the Resolute looked impressive despite her age. There were other Confederation warships deployed in the Obsidian Sector—one of them, the CSS Odyssey, was docked right next to the Resolute—but the Resolute was the largest ship of the Obsidian battle group and the one with the most firepower.

Noah allowed himself a moment of pride, gazing at the Resolute, before he sped up to catch up with the rest of his group.

Charlie had invited him and his roommate, Lucas Malik, on this little trip to Morrigon Station. Two other members of his squadron, Colin Yang and Mira Kaminski, had also come along.

Charlie led the group—of course she did—but Lucas was right by her side. Noah trailed behind, feeling a bit like the fifth wheel. He felt a pang of jealousy watching how relaxed Lucas acted around Charlie, how easily they exchanged banter and laughed at each other’s inside jokes. He wished he were as cool as Lucas, but half the time Charlie talked to him, he ended up tongue-tied—or worse, sputtering nonsense.

They jumped into an elevator, and Charlie pressed the button for Level 44. The display lit up, and Colin immediately broke into a grin, leaning against the back wall of the elevator. “Level 44, huh?”

Mira slung an arm around Colin’s shoulder. “Oh, oh. We’re in trouble. Remember what happened the last time we went to Level 44?”

Lucas groaned. “How could I ever forget that?”

Noah looked between them, trying not to show too much confusion. “Wait, what’s on Level 44?” He glanced at Lucas for answers, but his roommate just smirked knowingly.

“The dingiest bar on Morrigon Station,” Colin said.

Charlie elbowed him in the side. “The most exciting bar, you mean? Don’t worry, rookie. We’ll protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” Noah asked, unable to keep the nervous edge out of his voice.

“The establishment Salinas here wants to take us to has a bit of a questionable reputation,” Lucas said.

Charlie grinned. “All the fun people go there.”

“With ‘fun people,’ she means smugglers, black-market traders, and people on the run from the authorities.”

Noah’s eyebrows shot up. “Is this the kind of bar we should go to? I mean… we’re Space Guard officers. Could we get in trouble for going there?”

“Only if someone sees us,” Charlie said.

Before Noah could press the issue, a soft female voice announced, “Level 44.”

The elevator doors slid open, and the group stepped out into a chaotic, bustling central walkway. Stalls lined both sides of the wide corridor, each one packed with wares ranging from mundane necessities to exotic curiosities. Colorful lights, blinking and glowing from within the stores and diners, illuminated the space with a wild mix of reds, blues, and greens.

Moving through the crowd, they walked past a bar with a glowing neon sign that promised cheap drinks and questionable entertainment, a casino that advertised high-stakes games with flashing holographic displays, and a suspicious-looking store tucked into a dim alcove that sold weapons that looked far too powerful for the hands of civilians. One particularly garish door was adorned with a holographic woman in a scanty outfit, her image flickering slightly as she swayed provocatively above the entrance.

Muffled music spilled from many of the bars, mixing with the chatter, laughter, and shouting of the visitors and vendors. The air smelled of stale alcohol and fried food.

Noah craned his neck, trying to take everything in. He had grown up in a tiny village with barely two hundred inhabitants, on the planet Jabaal, known for its picturesque mountain vistas. He’d thought Copernicus City on Proxima Centauri, where the Space Guard Academy was located, was a busy place, but Copernicus had been nothing compared to this crammed chaos.

One establishment stood out among the rest, looking especially seedy and dirty. The blinking neon sign above the entrance read “Dancing Tiger,” the words flashing erratically in bright purple and orange hues. The paint on the metal door was chipped and faded.

Charlie greeted the grim-looking bouncer next to the door with a nod and a smile and walked right past him. Noah hesitantly followed his laughing, chatting friends inside.

The interior was dimly lit, the floor felt sticky under his boots, and the air smelled weirdly sweet, like the oxygen scrubbers hadn’t been cleaned in a long time.

Charlie easily pushed through the crowd and led the group to a booth with orange plastic seats. Colin, Mira, and Lucas squeezed in on one side. Noah hurried to take the place next to Charlie before Lucas changed his mind about being elbow-to-elbow with Colin. But just before he reached the table, he bumped into a man rushing past him.

They collided and something metallic fell to the floor with a clattering noise. The man stopped and turned around with an irritated grunt.

“Sorry,” Noah said hastily, taking a step back. “Really sorry about that.”

He crouched down to pick up whatever the guy had dropped, but the other man reacted faster. He snatched it out of Noah’s hand, allowing him only a quick glance at the device. It looked like the kind of sturdy, metal-cased work tablet technicians often used, and the screen showed something that looked like schematics of Morrigon Station with some red dots sprinkled in. Strange. The guy wasn’t wearing one of Morrigon Station’s light-blue uniforms, and he didn’t look much like a technician otherwise either.

“Sorry,” Noah said again.

The man just glared at him, pressing the tablet to his chest, blocking Noah’s view of the screen. Without another word, he turned and stalked off, deliberately bumping Noah’s shoulder on the way past.

Slightly irritated, Noah watched the man’s back, rubbing his arm where the man had brushed him. After the stranger had disappeared in the crowd, he slipped into the booth beside Charlie, feeling more out of place than ever. He tried to not show his unease because he wanted Charlie to like him, to think of him as cool, but this just wasn’t the kind of place he felt comfortable in. The bar on Resolute’s plaza was one thing, but this…

Noah forced a laugh as the group dove into conversation, but despite his best efforts to look confident and relaxed, Charlie seemed to notice his discomfort right away. “Don’t look so scared, rookie. I admit some of the patrons here are a little rough around the edges, but the booze is cheap, and the music’s good.”

Noah joined in when the rest of the group ordered their first round of drinks, raising his glass in a halfhearted toast, but he silently wondered why Charlie had brought them here. He had a gut feeling that alcohol and music had little to do with it. She wanted to come here because this place was forbidden. Charlie was a thrill-seeker. Lots of his fellow pilots were. A natural result of the job description. A job as dangerous as flying a space fighter attracted that kind of people. People who loved the risk, loved dancing on the edge of life and death, shooting through space at forty thousand gravities with only a couple of thin layers of metal, ceramic, and plastic protecting them from deadly, high-energy laser bolts whizzing past their heads.

Noah wasn’t like that. He wasn’t naturally brave. The first few times he’d sat in the cockpit of a real space fighter, he’d nearly thrown up from anxiety, and he still got heart palpitations when he thought about heading into an actual space battle.

He had applied for pilot school after graduating from the Academy, not because he reveled in the risk but because he wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps.

His father had been a fighter pilot, and he’d died a hero of the Confederation, protecting a convoy of civilians fleeing from a recently conquered system. He’d only been a child, barely school-aged, when it happened, but he still vividly remembered how his dad had spoken about his space fighters, full of excitement and passion. After one especially long tour of duty, his dad had come home with the best gift Noah had ever received: a toy model of a Harpy-class space fighter. It looked just like the one his dad flew, only smaller. Noah also remembered his father talking about the other side of the coin—that he didn’t just fly for fun but to protect the weak and defenseless from evil people like the Dominion or the Empire. His father had spoken of duty and honor, concepts Noah had been too young to fully understand, but the words had been etched into his mind all the same.

These words had guided him when he had chosen his career path, and they were the words he recalled whenever he felt afraid.

His mother hated that pilot patch on Noah’s uniform with a passion. She’d begged and pleaded for him to choose another profession, anything else but a space fighter pilot. He understood her to a certain degree. He was her youngest child, her only son among three daughters, and she had already lost her husband and was afraid of losing her son, too, but all he’d ever wanted to be was a fighter pilot.

A waitress with an artificial leg, balancing a large tray laden with drinks, arrived at their table and pulled Noah out of his bittersweet memories.

“There you go,” she said, sliding the glasses onto the table. “Volcano Deluxe. Enjoy.”

The drinks were as over-the-top as their name suggested—bright-red liquor swirled in tall, curvy glasses with a straw poking out, tiny sparks fizzing at the top before dying out. Noah wasted no time. He grabbed his glass and took several large gulps until the sharp burn of alcohol in his throat forced him to stop. He put the glass down and exhaled.

Charlie clapped his shoulder with a grin. “That’s the spirit I want to see.”

Noah smiled sheepishly, the burn still lingering, spreading warmth through his chest. Maybe alcohol was what he needed to feel more relaxed. To drown the nagging doubts in his head that he didn’t have what it took to be a fighter pilot. Alcohol seemed to work for most people in that regard, though for him, it usually just gave him a headache.

His friends followed his lead, downing the Volcanos like they were trying to win a contest. Colin slammed his glass back on the table with a satisfied sigh. “Great stuff. This reminds me of—”

The entire bar trembled. Even above the loud music, Noah could hear the rumbling boom of an explosion.

Chapter 11

The lights flickered, and the laughter and chatter around them died down. There were some gasps, someone let out a high-pitched scream, and then the lights went out completely.

Noah felt himself lift off the seat. His stomach lurched at the sudden weightlessness. In the pitch-black darkness, disorientation set in immediately. He stuck out his arms, fumbling around, his hand colliding with a floating liquor glass before he found Charlie’s arm and grabbed it.

“Is that you, rookie?” He heard her voice close to his ear.

“Yes.”

“Are you guys all right?” Lucas asked from farther away. “What the hell was that noise?”

Outside the bar, on the central walkway, orange-colored emergency lights came on, flickering for a moment before stabilizing, and the dim light falling through the windows illuminated a picture of absolute chaos.

People floated through the air, cursing and grunting, helplessly struggling to find some kind of stability. Glasses, plates, food, chairs, bottles, hats, glasses, even luggage, all floating around aimlessly, bumping into obstacles and changing trajectory like slow-moving ping pong balls.

Space Guard cadets all received extensive training in zero-G environments, so all of his friends were hovering close to their table, relatively stable, although Mira was upside down, her long blond hair floating around her like a halo.

“Sounded like an explosion,” Noah said, carefully keeping his balance. “And if artificial gravity is gone, something important must’ve been damaged.”

“Gravity might not be the only life support system gone,” Charlie said, sounding more serious than Noah had ever heard her before.

Lucas gently pushed away an elderly man in a yellow jumpsuit, who was hectically rowing with his arms. “Charlie’s right. Do you hear that?”

Noah listened for a moment, and at first, he didn’t understand what sound Lucas was talking about. Then, realization hit him. There was no noise. The steady hum of the oxygen scrubber, which he’d become so used to that he barely registered it anymore, had stopped.

Colin came to the same conclusion, his expression shifting from confused to alarmed. “We need to get out of here,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Before we suffocate.”

They got moving, carefully pushing and pulling themselves along the wall. The walls were lined with the same standard bright-red handholds installed on every ship and station—safety measures meant for moments exactly like this. Unfortunately, people on Level 44 didn’t seem to take safety regulations very seriously, because half the handholds were either missing or obscured by furniture, tacked-up posters, or poorly secured decorations. Moving through the bar was like an obstacle course, especially since their path was constantly cut short by other people spinning, whirling, or floating through the room. One man floated past upside down, his drink still clutched in his hand, sloshing its contents into the air. A woman nearby yelped as she accidentally spun into a wall head-first, her flailing limbs narrowly missing Noah’s face.

Finally, they reached the bar’s exit, emerging into the open walkway outside. The sight that greeted them was far worse than anything inside. Hundreds of panicking people, all trying to move in the same direction—toward the elevators. The walkway had devolved into a churning mass of bodies. Shouts and cries filled the air as people scrambled and flailed, colliding and spinning into one another.

Charlie pushed herself off a wall and turned her body in the opposite direction. “We need to find a different route out.”

Lucas nodded. “The elevators are a bottleneck. They can’t handle a crowd this size in time.”

Noah grabbed Charlie’s arm, holding her steady. “What about the explosion?”

“What about it?”

“Shouldn’t we go and help? There might be people injured.”

Charlie bit her lip, her gaze flicking between the growing commotion and her companions, hesitation written across her face.

“I mean…” Noah said tentatively, “…we’re Space Guard, right? Isn’t it our duty to help in situations like this?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him. For a moment, Noah thought she might dismiss his suggestion outright, but then, her shoulders squared, and she gave a sharp nod. “He’s right. We should go there, see if someone needs help.”

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Owen was in his office on deck 1, only a few meters away from the bridge, laboring over the schedule to set up department-specific practice simulations, when a chime from his TacPad alerted him to an incoming call.

Without taking his eyes off his computer screen, he pressed a button on the TacPad to accept the call. “Shaw here.”

Adrian answered. “Owen, we have a problem. You need to come to the bridge. Right now.”

The urgency in his friend’s voice alarmed him. “Be right there.” He rushed out the door, hurrying through the corridor and reaching the bridge half a minute later.

All the remaining bridge officers were gathered around the communication and sensor consoles, staring at the screens with tense faces.

Lieutenant Casey's fingers flew over the buttons, her brows knitted together. “Captain Torres, do you copy? Captain Torres?” She turned to Adrian. “Nothing, sir. Nothing on sensors either. I can’t detect her Pad’s signature.”

Adrian rubbed his chin. “That doesn’t have to mean anything.” His words were optimistic, but his tone gave away his worry.

Owen joined the group and glanced at the screens, trying to make sense of the situation. “What the hell happened?”

Adrian leaned over and pressed a button on the sensor console, projecting an image of Morrigon Station onto the large frontal viewscreen. With another press of a button, he zoomed in closer until half the screen was taken up by a big, gaping hole in the station’s hull.

Owen blew out air. So much for “nothing ever happens in the Obsidian Sector.” He’s been here for barely two weeks and was already facing the first massive crisis. “Do we know what happened?”

“The sensors picked up an intense energy surge, sir,” Casey said. “Some kind of explosion, but at the moment, we don’t have enough data to say what caused it.”

“Have we been in contact with Morrigon yet?”

She shook her head. “Negative, sir. The entire station went dark. We can’t reach station command, and our people over there aren’t answering either. That includes Captain Torres.”

Owen chewed on his lip, staring at the image of the damaged station as his mind shifted into gear. With Torres gone, he was the one in charge. “If the entire station went dark, life support might be compromised.”

Adrian nodded. “I had the same thought.”

Owen rushed back to the captain’s chair. He needed to act quickly. Lives were at stake. Possibly thousands of lives, depending on how bad the damage to Morrigon Station was. He leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. “All right, let’s not waste any more time. Casey, get me the CAG on the screen.”

The CAG, Commander of Air Group, Lieutenant Commander James Marino, was a middle-aged man with balding dark hair and a stern face.

“XO, what can I do for you?”

“Morrigon Station is experiencing an emergency. They’ve had a hull breach, and as of right now, the entire station has lost power. We need to get a rescue mission underway. How many of your Centurions are ready to fly?”

“All twenty-seven, sir.”

“Shuttles?”

“Eight personnel shuttles, two medical evac shuttles.”

Owen did the math in his head. A standard military shuttle had room for twenty passengers. The medical evac shuttles could transport eight patients at once. The numbers felt like a drop in the ocean, considering there were several thousand people on Morrigon Station.

Marino seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “We can increase the numbers if we deploy our three cargo shuttles too.”

“Good idea. They might be able to transport about a hundred people, I think.”

“A hundred twenty if we pack them tight.”

“Do you have pilots for that many ships?”

Marino pressed his lips together. “Half my pilots are on Morrigon Station, but we’ll make it work, sir. The ships will be ready to deploy in ten minutes.”

“Good. We’ll send the rescue teams with the Centurions, but launch the shuttles into space as soon as you can.”

“Understood.”

Marino cut the call, and Owen leaned back in his chair, quickly going through the options.

“Okay, let’s think this through,” he said to his bridge officers. “We have twenty-seven Centurions. I’d say the first priority should be the engineer teams. I prefer to get the power back on instead of trying to evacuate five thousand people. We’ll send eight teams if we can scrounge up that many personnel. Casey, contact the chief engineer and tell him to put together the teams.”

Casey gave him a curt nod and turned to her console.

“People over there are going to panic,” Adrian said. “Thousands of civilians in the dark with no comms and no idea what’s going on? It’s a powder keg. We’ll need boots on the ground to keep things calm.”

Owen nodded. “Twelve assault trooper teams in full riot gear. And the remaining Centurions will transport medics.”

Adrian slid into the seat next to Lieutenant Casey. They worked in tandem, their hands flying over buttons as they contacted department heads—or whoever was left in charge when the actual department heads left for Morrigon Station.

Chapter 12

Ens. Noah Jordan

Lucas looked around, scanning their surroundings. “We need to find gear,” he said. “We won’t help anyone if we suffocate. With this many people, that’s going to happen within minutes if the scrubbers don’t come back on.”

“How many minutes?” Mira asked with a frown.

Lucas’s jaw tensed. “We should head for a maintenance corridor ASAP. They should have vac suit lockers there.”

Noah turned around, steadying himself with one hand on a red handhold, searching the walls for a hatch with a maintenance sign. He quickly spotted one several meters away, half covered by a stand selling cheap VR glasses and a table with boxes full of stickers spacers could plaster on their spacesuit helmets.

They carefully made their way over, dodging stray bodies bumping into the walls. Colin and Noah moved the stand aside while Lucas worked on the hatch lock.

“The electric lock must’ve deactivated when the power went out,” Lucas said breathlessly. “We need to open it manually.”

Together with Charlie, he tried to turn the wheel that allowed opening the massive hatch by hand. After a lot of grunting and cursing, they pried it open wide enough to slip through.

As soon as Noah floated through the gap into the maintenance tunnel, the noise from the panicked commotion outside disappeared, fading away to a muffled background sound. Compared to the chaos on the main walkway, it was almost eerily silent. The corridor was narrow, barely wide enough for two people to fit through, and had a low ceiling. Pipes and conduits ran along the walls, and the metal panels beneath their feet were scuffed and dented. Lights had gone out here, too, and the only light was coming from the dim orange emergency LEDs on the ceiling and walls.

Mira was the first to spot a locker with vac suits. Using her legs to push off a wall, she floated a few meters before grabbing the edge of the locker to stop her momentum. She opened it, and after a few seconds, she gave them a thumbs-up. “We’re in luck. There are six suits here. Low-grade stuff, but they’ll keep us warm and breathing. No medkits, though. And the toolbox is empty.”

Putting on vac suits under emergency conditions was another thing Academy graduates practiced ad nauseam, so the five of them only needed a little over a minute to suit up.

Since they only came in one size, Lucas’s suit was stretched a little tight, and Charlie’s was way too big. Loose fabric bunched around her arms and legs as she adjusted the seals. The suits’ material was thinner than the military-grade vac suits Noah had practiced with during training simulations at the academy, and the helmet had less padding, but they’d have to do.

He glanced at the display built into the sleeve of his suit. The external sensor showed an environmental oxygen level of only nine percent. It also said the oxygen tank of the suit would last for forty-five minutes. Not a lot of time for an impromptu search-and-rescue mission, even assuming the display was correct. Cheap suits had the tendency to leak oxygen when in use.

His suit reported an increased heart rate. Noah glanced at the fast-flashing little heart icon on the display and swallowed. Hopefully, he hadn’t roped his friends into a situation they couldn’t handle, but what choice did he have? They were Space Guard. It was their duty to provide aid in emergencies like this.

“Everyone ready?” Charlie asked. Her voice sounded metallic and strangely far away through the helmet’s audio system even though she was right next to him.

He was just about to confirm when an unfamiliar male voice came on. “Hello? Hello, who’s there? Can you hear me?”

Charlie frowned. “This is Junior Lieutenant Charlotte Salinas from the Confederation Space Guard. Who are you, and what’s your location?”

Static crackled again, followed by the man’s voice, a little clearer this time. “I’m Technician Taylor, Morrigon Station. My colleague and I are in maintenance tunnel seven.”

Noah’s eyes scanned the walls until he spotted a large, faded sign stenciled with the number seven in bold, blocky letters. He pointed it out silently, and Charlie gave him a short nod. “We’re in maintenance tunnel seven too. Are you injured?”

“No, we’re fine. But we can’t get in contact with station control.”

“Stay where you are. We’re coming to assist you.”

The five of them quickly moved through the tunnel until they floated around a corner and spotted two people wearing the same cheap vac suits they’d found in the emergency locker, huddled against a wall.

One of the men spotted them and waved them over.

“Technician Taylor?” Charlie asked.

“You must be the Space Guard lieutenant. I have no idea what you’re doing here, but I’m glad you’re here.” He pointed at his silent companion. “This is Technician Guzman. He’s not mute; the comm in his helmet’s just busted. Damn trash.”

Guzman waved.

“We’re headed toward the explosion to see if anyone needs our help,” Noah said. ”Are you coming with us?”

“Of course. We found a medkit in the locker with the suits.” Taylor held up a small red plastic box with one hand, anchoring his floating body against the wall with the other. The way he handled himself told Noah this wasn’t the first time he had dealt with zero gravity conditions. “Our toolbox was empty, though.”

“Ours too. But at least we have a medkit now. Let’s hope we won’t need it.”

“Let’s get moving, then,” Taylor said. “We’re pretty sure the explosion was that way. Probably took out the power conduit for the entire section”

With the two technicians in tow, they continued their way to the explosion site.

The closer they got, the lower the temperature dropped. Noah was starting to feel uncomfortably cold in the badly insulated suit. The display on the sleeves showed 6°C internal temperature in orange and -96°C external temperature in a worrying red.

Moments later, they rounded another corner and quickly understood why the environmental sensors were going crazy.

A gaping hole, at least ten meters wide, ripped through the station hull. The walls and floors were torn apart, metal twisted outward where the explosion had breached the station’s hull. Through the jagged edges of the opening, Noah could see the vast darkness of space.

And in the darkness, a dead body.

His stomach clenched, and he felt nausea rise in his throat at the gruesome sight. The man wore a light-blue Morrigon overall. He must’ve been hurled outside by the shock wave of the explosion but got caught in the wall’s destroyed and twisted metal frame. A broken-off pylon had gone right through his chest, and that’s where he was stuck now, body frozen, limbs broken, his face a shocked mask, his skin a ghoulish gray.

“Shit,” Taylor said. “That’s Weber. Poor bastard.”

Lucas put a hand on the technician’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Guzman averted his eyes and hung his head low. Even through the dimly lit helmet visor, Noah could see his colleague’s death hit him hard. “He was a good man. I hope his death was quick and painless.”

They all stared at the body in horrified silence for a long moment before Charlie spoke up. “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. We don’t have the tools to recover the body. I’m not sure how much longer the suits can take this level of exposure. We should leave and report what we’ve found to station command and to the Resolute.”

Noah glanced at Charlie and Lucas. He had a hunch. A hunch about the stranger he’d bumped into in the bar. The stranger who had carried station schematics, despite not being part of the station’s staff, mere minutes before an explosion had ripped Morrigon Station open and killed at least one person. He couldn’t shake the suspicion that this man’s presence had not been a coincidence, but he didn’t have any proof, and he didn’t dare to talk freely. Who knew? The technicians, Taylor and Guzman, had been close to the explosion site. Could they have been involved? Or were they just unlucky? Either way, it didn’t seem safe to discuss such a hot topic in front of nonmilitary personnel. And would Charlie and Lucas even take him seriously? Or would they laugh at his conspiracy theory?

He had to share what he had witnessed with someone, but this wasn’t the place for a conversation like that. Not here, not now. He’d wait until they were back on safer ground, away from prying ears. For now, there were more pressing issues. There was nothing they could do to help anyone here, and the clock on their oxygen tanks was still ticking. They needed to move, reach a level that still had life support, and inform station command of their findings.

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Marino hadn’t made false promises. Barely ten minutes later, the first shuttles flew out into space, heading for Morrigon Station, and a few minutes later, the first Centurions shot out of their launch tubes.

Owen watched their approach from the viewscreen. The atmosphere on the bridge was tense as they all waited with bated breath for a sign of life from Morrigon Station.

On the screen, the little colored dots representing Resolute’s shuttles and gunships made contact with the station. Minutes passed without so much as a blip on the sensor. Then the first engineering team reported in.

“Life support and gravity are gone,” the engineer in charge, Lieutenant Valentine, said. She was streaming a video from Morrigon Station, but without the station comm relays boosting the signal, the video was pixelated and suffered from several seconds of delay. Owen could barely make out the dark hallways, only lit by the dim orange glow of emergency LED strips and the flashlights the engineers had brought with them. “We’ll head to main engineering now and see what we can do to get the juice flowing again.” Lieutenant Valentine cut the stream, and Owen and his bridge crew had nothing left to do but wait and hope for the best.

It took almost thirty minutes of anxious waiting before Casey perked up behind her console.

“We have a signal, sir!” she announced. “It’s weak, but it looks like they’re powering back up.”

Owen let out a sigh of relief. “How long were they without power?”

“Forty-nine minutes, sir.”

The bridge crew exchanged worried glances. Space stations like Morrigon had backup systems and emergency plans for a loss of power and the subsequent loss of life support. Emergency generators. Lockers with vac suits and medkits. But how well these systems were maintained varied widely. And, like people kept reminding Owen, this was Obsidian Sector. Things worked a little differently here.

“Sir, Morrigon is hailing us!” Casey alerted him.

“On screen.”

The image flickered a bit before the comm signal stabilized, but after a few seconds, Captain Torres’s pale face appeared on the viewscreen.

“I’m glad to see you alive and well, Captain,” Owen said, and he meant it. As a commanding officer, he was always prepared to assume command, but he’d just arrived on the Resolute and still got lost on his way to the gym half the time. The crew hadn’t gotten used to his presence yet, either, so he was relieved Captain Torres was alive. He might not always agree with her views and methods, but he would gladly hand back over command.

“Thanks to you, Shaw,” Torres said. “The engineering teams you sent managed to restart the fusion reactor. The station’s not at full power yet, but we at least have oxygen again. Gravity’s still out. Lights, too, but we’ll live.”

“What’s your status?”

Torres glanced away from the screen briefly. “Lieutenant Petrea and I are holding down the command center with Station Commander Boateng. The situation is... controlled chaos. I’ll return to the Resolute as soon as a shuttle frees up, but it may take some time. There are a lot of injured—mostly from mass panic during the initial power loss. We’re still assessing, but it’s bad. Tell Dr. Caron to prepare for a mass influx of patients.”

“Will do. Stay safe, Captain.”

“I think the worst is over,” Torres said grimly. “Oh, and Shaw?”

“Yes?”

Her tone softened a fraction. “You’ve done well. Without your quick response, we’d probably be looking at an unimaginable disaster.”

The screen went dark, leaving the bridge momentarily quiet. Owen let out a long breath before turning his attention to his bridge crew. They looked exhausted but relieved. “I want to pass on this compliment to you. Well done, everybody.”

Chapter 13

Captain Torres arrived on the bridge three hours later, uniform disheveled, looking shaken. Owen rose from the captain’s seat right away.

“Captain on deck,” he announced.

Torres gave him a dismissive wave and plopped herself into the captain’s seat with a weary sigh. “I have the conn. Thank you for holding down the fort, Commander. What’s the current status?”

“The latest report from our engineers says that power levels on Morrigon Station are stabilizing, but six decks are still without gravity, and eleven decks are without lights,” Owen said. “Two engineering teams are working on putting a temporary seal on the hole in the hull.”

“Any news on how many people were harmed?” Torres asked.

“We extracted eighty-two injured from the station. Dr. Caron said our medical bay is at full capacity, but they can handle it. The rest of the injured, mostly lighter injuries, are being treated aboard Morrigon Station. Our paramedics have set up a makeshift hospital in one of the station’s hangar bays.”

“Sounds like the situation is under control,” Torres said.

Owen gave her a stern nod. “Thanks to our crew.”

The captain leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “See? I told you they’re a good crew.”

It took the entire night until the situation on Morrigon Station had stabilized and all their crew had returned to the Resolute.

Owen hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, but just as he was ready to leave the bridge for some shut-eye, his TacPad chirped.

Suppressing a groan, he pressed the button to accept the call. It was the captain, contacting him from her ready room.

“I’ve gotten a hold of Commander Boateng. Do you want to go to bed, or do you want to join me in my office?”

“I’ll be right there.” Now that the situation was under control, his mind had already begun pondering the question of what had caused the explosion. Something about it felt odd, and maybe Boateng could shed some light on the events.

When Owen stepped into Torres’s ready room, the face of Station Commander Boateng was already on the viewscreen.

Boateng was a dark-skinned, scrawny man with friendly, warm eyes, but he looked like he’d been through hell.

Torres silently gestured for Owen to sit down next to her without taking her eyes off the screen. “Do you have a casualty report?” she asked.

Boateng sighed. “We’re still counting, but we have one hundred seven confirmed dead and over eight hundred injuries. I can’t thank you enough for your medical support. Our clinics aren’t equipped to deal with that many severly injured patients at once.”

“How’s the power situation looking?” Owen asked. “Our sensors still show fluctuations.”

“The explosion caused a surge that damaged many of our power lines. We’re working on it, but it’ll take days, maybe weeks, to fix the damaged lines. Everything supplied by that specific conduit that exploded is completely fried. We need to replace kilometers of wires. That means we’ll have to wait for resupplies.”

Owen leaned forward. “What systems were powered by that conduit?”

“A couple of external sensors and…” Boateng hesitated. “And our weapons systems.”

Owen raised his eyebrows. “The weapons? All of them?”

Boateng looked very unhappy. “I know, right? It’s a design flaw I’ve been complaining about since I took command of the station. When Morrigon was built, it had no weapons. They were added afterward and haphazardly hooked up to the existing power infrastructure. That’s why a single faulty power conduit managed to compromise my entire defense system.”

“That’s… worrying,” Owen said. A prickling unease settled over him, a feeling that something about this situation was very wrong.

“It could be worse,” Torres said. “It’s not like we’re expecting a fight anytime soon. Pirates have never even come close to the Obsidian system. They stay on the outskirts of the sector, occasionally harassing a fledgling colony, but they’re no real threat.”

Owen leaned back in his chair, looking at the captain. He’d had a feeling she would not take this explosion serious enough. Torres seemed to have the habit of ignoring anything that could threaten the comfortable status quo. “It just seems like a strange coincidence. That this random explosion took out all the firepower.”

“You heard Commander Boateng. It’s a design flaw, but it is what it is.”

Owen moved in closer to the viewscreen. “Have you found the cause of the explosion yet, Commander?”

Boateng shook his head. “No. We’ve been busy getting the situation under control. I assume the power conduit overloaded. It’s old tech. It’s happened before, just not that dramatically.”

Owen hesitated. He needed to choose his words carefully to convince his stubborn captain that this was something they needed to investigate thoroughly. “What if it wasn’t an accident?”

Boateng looked taken aback. “You’re thinking sabotage? But why would someone do that? Your captain’s right. Pirates would never dare attack us.”

“Not even when the station is completely defenseless?” Owen asked.

“Shaw, it’s not defenseless,” Torres said. “We’re here, remember? And so is the CSS Odyssey.” She sounded like someone reassuring a small child that there was no monster hiding under the bed.

The condescending tone made Owen’s jaw tighten, but Boateng nodded along. “I understand your worry, Commander Shaw, and we’ll definitely look into it, but we’re feeling very safe with two Confederation warships nearby, even with our weapons down.”

“Maybe,” Owen said slowly. “Maybe you’re right and this was nothing more but an accident. But let’s all be on high alert until the weapons are online.”

Something about the situation didn’t sit right with him. During his many years of military service, he’d learned to trust his instincts, and right now, they were screaming that there was more to this than met the eye.

Torres glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Let’s not jump to conspiracy theories. Accidents happen. Unless we find proof of foul play, we’ll assume this was just bad luck. Commander Boateng, please keep us updated on your findings.”

“Of course, Captain,” Boateng replied. “And thank you again for your assistance. Morrigon owes you one.”

Lt. Octavia Casey

Octavia left her console after fifteen hours, feeling like a boulder had rolled over her. The adrenaline that had kept her sharp during the Morrigon Station crisis was seeping out of her body, and she was crashing quickly, exhaustion settling over her body and mind like a lead blanket. She shuffled through the corridors, back to her quarters, longing for a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.

When she unlocked the door with a swipe of her TacPad and stepped into the living room, she found her roommate, Charlie, sitting on the couch, arms crossed, staring at her full of hostility. Octavia paused. Something was wrong. She could tell that much from Charlie’s face, but she wasn’t sure how to react. Talks with Charlie were tense at the best of times, and she really wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation. “I’m glad you returned safely from Morrigon Station,” she said carefully, hoping to diffuse whatever tension was hanging in the air.

Charlie didn’t answer. Instead, she rose from the couch and threw something on the couch table with an expression like she was shaking off an especially disgusting spider. “Explain that.”

Octavia looked at the item, confused, until she realized it was a gold chain with a pendant. When she recognized the necklace, she lurched forward, grabbing it off the table and pressing it to her chest. “This is mine. Why do you have it?”

“You left a book lying around, and we have a quarters inspection scheduled for tomorrow. I went to your bedroom to put it away and found this.”

“Oh, you just stumbled over it? Because I know for certain it was in a box in my locker. Sounds more like you were snooping in my personal belongings.”

Charlie’s mouth twitched. “I’m still waiting for an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation. This is my private property, and it’s none of your business.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? There’s an Empire coat of arms embossed on this pendant. From a noble house.”

“So what?”

Charlie cocked her head. “I thought you said the Empire was your past.”

“It is.” She forced herself to meet Charlie’s gaze. Her mind was racing, trying to come up with an explanation that would appease Charlie without giving away too much.

“Then why keep this, hm? I’m telling you why, Casey. If that’s even your real name. Because you’re not just some Empire refugee. You’re from one of their noble houses. You’re spying for the Empire.”

Octavia took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. Her pulse quickened, a mix of anger and fear bubbling up inside her. “Yes, I was born into Empire nobility. But that doesn’t mean I’m a spy. You’re jumping to conclusions.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to believe you just gave that lavish aristoratic life up to become a lowly Space Guard officer?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Yes, I gave that life up and I would make the same choice over and over again.”

“Then why do you still have that thing? Hm? If your life in the empire was so terrible, why the keepsake?”

Octavia’s hands were trembling slightly as she clutched the pendant tighter. “Because it has… because… just because I still have it doesn’t mean I’m spying for the Empire. This is ridiculous. This is… it’s harassment.” Her voice cracked slightly, and she could feel tears of frustration welling up in her eyes. She blinked them back, refusing to let Charlie see her cry.

Charlie scoffed. “Oh yeah? Go report it, then.”

Octavia pressed her lips together, unable to force out a response.

Charlie stepped closer. “I’m watching you, Casey. I might not have enough evidence to hand you in yet, but I’m keeping a close eye on you. And if I find out you have anything to do with this explosion…”

“What?” Octavia shook her head in desperation. “How on earth can you make me responsible for that? I was on the bridge, helping with the rescue mission, the entire time.”

“Maybe you have Empire friends on the station.”

“I haven’t been on that station for years.”

Charlie shrugged. “Whatever. Maybe I can’t prove it, but I know you’re keeping secrets, and I will keep digging until I find answers.” She turned around and stomped away, but not without one last angry glare over her shoulder before she disappeared into her bedroom.

Octavia fled to her room as well. She desperately looked around the small chamber, looking for a better hiding place for the pendant. Because in one aspect, Charlie was right. Octavia had a secret. And she intended to keep it.

Chapter 14

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Owen was enjoying his XO privilege of unlimited hot water. Enlisted crewmen were limited to four minutes of hot water per day to save energy and water, always a valuable resource in a closed ecosystem like a spaceship. Junior officers and noncommissioned officers got seven minutes. Owen, as part of the senior staff, had an unlimited budget, and today was one of the days he made good use of it.

The repairs on Morrigon Station had progressed well in the last week. Their engineering teams had returned, and the injured had been either released or transferred back to the station medical facilities. Things had gone mostly back to normal. Unfortunately, aboard the Resolute, that meant the old laziness was creeping back in, and Torres had returned to her state of comfortable complacency. They still didn’t have a clue what or who had caused the explosion, but Torres couldn’t have cared less. She had convinced herself it had been nothing more than an unlucky accident, and any minute spent on investigating the matter was wasted time. Owen had ordered the intelligence department to look into the matter, but Torres had already scolded him for working the intelligence officers too hard.

He was just trying to do his job to the best of his abilities, but getting anything done at all felt like an uphill battle.

Owen turned up the water temperature some more, closing his eyes against the sting the hot water left on his skin. If he heard the phrase “This is the Obsidian Sector—things are different here” one more time, he might have to rip out his mechanical eye and throw it at the next person who said it. Yes, the Obsidian Sector was quiet. Yes, the Confederation hadn’t had real hostile contact with the Empire in decades. But the Resolute was still a Confederation warship. This meant something—at least to Owen.

He was aware Captain Turner’s friends had orchestrated this posting as a form of punishment, and he wasn’t going to let them win. He’d turn this run-down rust bucket into the crown jewel of the Obsidian Sector, even if he had to push against Torres to achieve it.

Just as he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, his TacPad, resting on the nightstand, started chirping. Owen wrapped a towel around his hips and pulled out the screen to answer the call. A moment later, Torres’s face appeared on the display.

“I hope I’m not interrupting any fraternization with the crew,” Torres said with a grin as her gaze wandered over his unclothed chest.

Owen’s jaw tensed. She meant it as a joke, but the nonchalant way she said it bothered him. Superior officers sleeping with their subordinates had ended careers—on both sides of the equation. It wasn’t a topic a captain should treat lightly.

“I took a shower,” he said stiffly.

“Put on some clothes and come to my quarters at twenty-one hundred hours.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m hosting a dinner. Oh, don’t give me that look, Shaw. I’m not hitting on you. It’s for the entire senior staff. I do this from time to time, and I felt today might be a good day, with all that stress we’ve been under recently.”

Spending even more time with a group of people who despised him and opposed him at every turn didn’t sound like an activity that would relieve stress, but if his captain asked, he’d follow orders.

“I’ll be there, Captain.”

Torres gave him a satisfied smile. “I know you mean well, Shaw. You’ll see. Once the rest of the crew warms up to you, you’ll fit right in. Just take it easy with the rule stickling until then, okay?”

Swallowing his frustrated reply, he forced out an “Aye, Captain” and ended the call. He dried off his hair and took a clean uniform from his locker. His eyes fell on the bottle of wine Adrian had brought him the day before. Owen had no idea where he’d gotten it from, but it was high quality stuff and there was still some of it left it the bottle. He briefly considered drinking it, just to make this undoubtedly unpleasant dinner appointment a bit more bearable, but decided against it. He was no Tarek Vadra, and he was probably better off keeping his senses sharp if he was heading into a tricky social situation.

After checking his appearance one last time, he headed for Torres’s quarters.

When he arrived, the smell of roasted beef greeted him. The lights were dimmed, and soft music played in the background. Vadra was already there, sitting on Torres’s couch, a scotch glass in hand. Torres was in the kitchen, and they were both laughing about a joke Owen must have just missed.

When he stepped inside, the laugh on the chief engineer’s face froze. Owen glanced at the glass of alcohol in Vadra’s hand and got an angry glare back.

“Ah, Shaw, there you are.” Torres looked him up and down, casually steering a frying pan. “And you look very formal. I probably didn’t make this clear enough—this is a very informal event. Just a little get-together. Feel free to remove your uniform jacket.”

Owen sat down at the dinner table and opend his collar, but that was as far as he was prepared to go. He appreciated the effort Torres was making to integrate him into the crew, but he had boundaries he wasn’t willing to cross. Early in his career, he had allowed himself to make friends—close friends. Adrian was a relic from that time, as was Admiral Nasim Rahimi. But he’d come to the conclusion that close emotional bonds were a liability for a Space Guard Officer. Too many… complications. He was fine with being friendly, but he kept a professional distance. It allowed him to make difficult decisions and tough calls without being weighed down by his personal feelings.

Petrea was the next to arrive, and as usual, she made the task of keeping a distance very easy. She sat down as far away from Owen as the table allowed and ignored his presence completely.

Adrian arrived in the company of Dr. Caron. Caron at least greeted him with a polite nod. Owen appreciated the gesture—and the man himself. From what he’d gathered so far, Caron was competent and reasonably professional, something that couldn’t be said about every member of the senior staff.

Vadra had refilled his scotch glass for the second time since Owen had arrived. They hadn’t even started dinner, and he was already starting to slur his words.

“Did I ever tell you the story about when I got stranded on an F-class asteroid with only a flare gun and a power screwdriver?” Vadra asked after taking another big gulp.

“You did not,” Torres replied, her tone chipper.

Dr. Caron leaned back in his chair and shook his head, looking mildly amused. “Another one of your survival stories, Tarek?”

“This one is real, I swear!”

Adrian joined Vadra on the couch and poured himself some scotch. “Like the one where you saved a settlement from a stampede on Kretaxis?”

“That happened! I swear! One of those beasts kicked me in the nuts. My junk was so swollen I couldn’t walk straight for a month.”

He let out a belly laugh, and they all laughed with him—except Petrea, Owen noticed. She sat at the dinner table with an expression somewhere between boredom and annoyance.

Torres started putting food—a steak and some fried rice—on plates. “So what happened with you and that screwdriver on the F-class asteroid?”

Petrea rolled her eyes. “Yes, please tell us. I can’t wait to hear that riveting story.” Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, and Owen couldn’t suppress a smirk. She might hate his guts, but at least when it came to the chief engineer, they were on the same page.

Everyone else laughed along as Vadra told a story about his implausible heroics—even Adrian, although he appeared more polite than amused. Typical for him. He was one of the least confrontational people Owen had ever met. A trait that could be considered both an asset and a problem in a senior officer.

“Dinner is ready,” Torres announced, making the rest of the officers gather around the table. “And I don’t want to hear any complaints.”

She put a plate in front of Owen, and he had to admit it smelled delicious.

“All right, all right,” Torres said, raising her glass, smiling at her officers with warm eyes. “Before we dig in, let me just say I appreciate all of you. We might not be the sharpest crew in the fleet, but we’re definitely the friendliest. Don’t get discouraged by Shaw’s little drill last week. He meant no harm.”

Owen couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The friendliest crew in the fleet? Was she serious? Was that all Torres expected from them? Not for the first time, he wondered how Margot Torres had secured a position as captain of a battleship. He glanced around the table, but no one else seemed bothered by her comment. Except maybe Petrea, but it was hard to tell, since she always looked sour, at least when he was in the same room.

Glasses clinked together as a chorus of agreement filled the air. The sound settled, replaced by the gentle scrape of utensils against plates and the murmur of conversation.

Owen took the first bite of his steak and quickly concluded it tasted as good as it smelled. Torres might not have been a strong leader, but she sure could cook. And she seemed to know a thing or two about fostering team spirit, because her senior officers seemed to be a tight-knit group.

Vadra had moved on to a story about a technician getting stuck in an elevator with some kind of angry alien worm. That, at least, must have been based on a true event, because Dr. Caron expanded the story with a colorful retelling of how he’d removed the worm from the unlucky technician’s colon. He even managed to get the usually stone-faced Lieutenant Commander Petrea to laugh.

Owen ate his meal in silence until Adrian brought up their own past adventure story. “Owen, why don’t you tell them about that time we crash-landed on Pallias VI?”

All eyes turned to him, faces looking at him expectantly. He knew Adrian only wanted to help, but he wasn’t in the mood to share that story. Pallias wasn’t a fun dinner party story for him. He had lost his eye on that planet—and a good chunk of his innocence.

The rest of the guests seemed to think differently. Vadra raised his eyebrows. “Oh, Pallias VI? Wasn’t that where—”

“Almost a hundred people died in the Pallias system when the Avenger was destroyed. Good men and women. I don’t enjoy talking about this chapter of my life. I’m glad I survived the ordeal, but it’s not something I like to boast about when so many of my crewmates didn’t.”

The atmosphere shifted as soon as he’d spoken. Vadra shrugged, Torres looked at him with empathy, and Caron turned his attention back to his meal.

Adrian cleared his throat. “Sorry, you’re right. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Petrea shoved a forkful of rice into her mouth and looked at Owen with cold eyes. “It surprises me you actually used to care about dying soldiers.”

He tensed, but before he could open his mouth, Torres intervened. “Stop it, Sasha. You’re out of line.”

Petrea pressed her lips together. “Just saying, in light of recent events, one might think Shaw doesn’t—”

“I said stop it.” Torres’s voice was sharper now. “We’re all sorry about your loss, but Shaw is part of this crew now, and you need to put your personal grudges aside.”

Personal grudges. If only someone would tell him what had caused this personal grudge Petrea was holding against him. Initially, he thought she was simply one of those many people who’d supported Sutton Turner’s position, but ever since she’d accused Owen of killing her brother, he’d started to suspect there was more to her animosity than a court-martial trial.

After Torres had put her foot down, the topic was put to rest, but the remainder of the dinner passed with significantly less laughter and chatter. Vadra, getting drunker by the minute, did his best to keep the party going, but the mood remained tense.

A young steward, Dragomir, the one who had greeted him when he arrived in the Obsidian system, came to take away their empty plates. The poor man looked intimidated by the number of senior officers in one room, and he seemed to pick up on the atmosphere because he cleared the table in record time.

Torres leaned back in her chair and put a hand on her stomach with a satisfied sigh. “That was good. Who’s up for a drink now?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice, love.” Vadra was slurring even more now than he had before dinner. He heaved himself off the chair and stumbled back to the couch, grabbing the bottle of scotch with a grin. “Who wants to share?”

“A glass or two,” Caron said reluctantly.

“Oh, come on, Vince,” Vadra said. “I know you can handle more than that.”

Caron shook his head. “I have a pile of reports I still need to work through. Two glasses, maximum.”

“Boring,” Vadra scoffed. “Adrian, what about you?”

Adrian smiled. “I’m in.”

Petrea got up and pushed her chair back with a sharp scrape. “I’m out,” she declared grimly.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a spoilsport,” Vadra called from the couch.

Petrea ignored him with a look like a cockroach had just crawled over her leg. “Good night,” she said coldly before turning away.

Owen watched her head for the door and made a quick decision. “I’ll accompany you back to your quarters.”

Petrea turned around and scrunched her nose. “I don’t need a guard, Shaw.”

He forced a smile, doing his best to remain patient despite his growing frustration with the woman. “But maybe some company.” His task of getting the Resolute back into fighting shape was difficult enough. The last thing he needed was another senior officer constantly making him look bad with snarky remarks. He needed to clear the air, and an evening stroll through the ship might be the perfect opportunity to talk to the moody tactical officer.

Petrea looked at him with about the same disgust she’d shown toward the drunken Vadra. Then, with a resigned shrug, she turned toward the door. “I guess I can’t stop you.”

Owen caught one last slightly confused look from Adrian before he followed Petrea out the door.

They walked next to each other in tense silence, only interrupted when a petty officer passed them in the hallway and saluted.

Owen’s mind raced, trying to think of a way to start the conversation. “So… have you worked on the Resolute long?” Owen asked in an attempt to break the awkward silence.

Petrea didn’t even glance at him as she answered. “Six years.”

“And do you like it here?”

Petrea stopped abruptly and turned to face him. Her eyes locked onto him with a mixture of defensiveness and irritation. “Shaw, what are you doing? What is this?”

He sighed. If Petrea wanted to skip the fluff, he’d cut straight to the chase. “What happened to your brother? And what do I have to do with it?”

She stared at him for a moment, her jaw tight and her eyes narrowed. “Jemison Station,” she finally said.

Jemison Station. The name was enough to make Owen tense. Jemison Station had been the turning point of his career. The reason he was aboard the Resolute in the first place. It was the station Captain Turner had wanted to bombard. It had been taken back four days after he had relieved Turner from command, by an all-out assault involving several hundred highly trained troopers, but losses on both sides had been heavy. The reason for Petrea’s hostility dawned on him.

“Your brother was part of the attack on Jemison Station.” It was a statement, not a question.

Petrea’s face hardened, but her eyes were clouded with grief. “Junior Lieutenant Dominic Petrea. A Dominion plasma rifle burned a fist-sized hole right through his guts.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He sounded stiff, but he meant it.

She scoffed. “Oh, go to hell, Shaw. He wouldn’t even have been there if you hadn’t staged your little mutiny.”

Owen looked at her, and she looked back at him defiantly, but the emotional struggle was clear on her face. He couldn’t help but feel empathy for her. He had no siblings, but he’d lost close friends—too many of them—until he decided that close friendships were a burden he couldn’t carry through his career. He at least had an idea of the pain Petrea was experiencing over the loss of her brother, and he was familiar with the anger that came with grief.

He took a deep breath, considering his next words carefully. “Sasha,” he said gently. The use of her first name made her jaw tense. “I understand you’re hurting, but I had no other choice.”

“I’m not interested in your excuses,” she said sharply.

She turned away to leave, but he held her back with a hand on her shoulder. With an angry hiss, she spun around and shook off his hand. “And I’m not having this conversation in the middle of a hallway.”

He was well aware this wasn’t the perfect place or time to discuss her brother’s death, but he needed to set this right. If they didn’t talk this through now, her resentment would only grow worse. “Turner wanted to sacrifice thousands of innocent civilians to clear the way for our assault troops,” Owen said. “I didn’t know your brother, but if he was anything like you, I’m sure he was an upstanding man. A man who honored the principles of the Confederation and the Space Guard.”

She stared at him for a long while. “He was,” she finally said, her voice strained. “Dominic loved the Space Guard and what it stood for.”

“Do you really think your brother would have wanted thousands of civilians to die for his personal safety? Do you really think he would’ve stood by and watched war crimes being committed?”

She averted her gaze, staring at the ground and swallowing. “No, he wouldn’t,” she admitted, her voice softer than Owen had ever heard it before.

“I didn’t kill your brother, Sasha. He made a heroic sacrifice, laying down his own life so thousands of innocents could live.”

Her gaze flickered over his face. Her breathing was labored, and her brows were furrowed, but her expression had lost some of its hostility.

“Dominic, he was… he was full of life. He didn’t want to die, but I think…” She paused, a tremor in her voice as she struggled to find the right words. “I think if he’d been given a choice, he would’ve chosen death in the line of duty.” She exhaled, then she straightened her shoulders and met his eyes. “I still think you’re a stuck-up bastard, Shaw. Don’t get any ideas.”

He laughed, and to his relief, she chuckled too. “Fair enough,” he said.

She looked at him for a long moment, like she was trying to measure his character. “I’ll walk the rest of the way alone. I need a moment.”

He nodded. “Understood. Good night.”

He watched her as she walked away. Once she disappeared around the next corner, he considered following her back to the senior officers’ quarters, but he felt too restless to call it a night already. The conversation with Petrea had brought up his own share of painful memories. He needed a bit of time to let his thoughts settle before he could go to bed, and the best way to do that was to keep his body busy, so he decided to head for the gym.

After taking the elevator down to deck 9, he entered the ship’s gymnasium. It was quiet; most crewmen had already finished their evening workouts. Two female spacers passed him on their way out. At the far end of the large room, a young man was running on a treadmill, and to his left, a petty officer with a ponytail was doing stretches.

He entered the men’s locker room, going straight to his personal locker. He used his TacPad to open the locker and was pleasantly surprised to find a neatly folded set of gym clothes inside. At least the stewards did a proper job on this ship. He made a mental note to inquire about the name of the steward assigned to him.

He had just started unbuttoning his uniform jacket when a whimpering noise nearby made him freeze mid-motion. It sounded like someone in distress.

Chapter 15

Alerted, he looked around but saw no one. He checked every row of lockers, but the changing room was empty. Ready to brush it off as one of those strange sounds a spaceship sometimes made, he turned back to his locker, but a moment later, he heard muffled voices, and this time, he was sure it didn’t come from a water pipe or a strained bulkhead.

He stopped undressing and went to investigate. The noises seemed to come from the shower. Any other time, he wouldn’t have cared what his crew did in the gym shower, but something about that first whimper had alarmed him.

He approached the shower room quietly and made sure to stay out of sight, just in case.

When he peeked around the corner, he immediately recognized Spacer Simpson, the young member of the damage control team who’d been caught up in an illegal boxing tournament.

Two men held Simpson up by his arms, while a third man had a hand at his throat. Fresh blood was dripping down Simpson’s face.

“We know it was you, Milo-boy. You little rat,” the third man said. His voice sounded familiar, and when he tightened his grip on his victim’s neck, Owen identified him as Lieutenant Fitzgerald.

Owen had taken note of the man on his way to the Resolute when he’d bullied another officer in the mess hall, and somehow, he wasn’t surprised to catch him red-handed, assaulting another crewman.

“We warned you not to tell anyone about the betting,” Fitzgerald hissed. “Now, you’re in trouble. Big, big trouble.”

“I swear, it wasn’t me,” Simpson whimpered. “I didn’t say anything.”

“We know you met Shaw at your quarters. Don’t play me for a fool, or your punishment will be twice as bad.”

“Yes, but… but… I didn’t talk. Really, you have to believe me.”

Fitzgerald scoffed. His lips twisted into a cruel grin. “Then why are there two guards posted in front of that storage room around the clock now, hmm?”

Fitzgerald took a step back and rolled his shoulders. Hand balled into a fist, he lifted his arm, ready to strike.

Owen decided he had seen enough and stepped into the shower room. “Lieutenant Fitzgerald,” he bellowed. “If that fist of yours makes contact with Spacer Simpson’s face, I’ll personally drag you to the brig and lock you up until your service tour is over.”

The two men holding Simpson immediately let go, and the young man dropped to his knees with a small outcry.

Fitzgerald didn’t show the same panic as his two friends. He slowly turned around to face Owen. “Good evening, Commander Shaw,” he said calmly. He glanced at Simpson, and then he met Owen’s eyes again, his expression cold and calculated. “I assure you, you’ve completely misjudged the situation. Poor Simpson here slipped and fell on the wet tiles. We were merely helping him back up. Isn’t that right, boys?”

The two burly men nodded, but they looked uncomfortable. As if they, too, feared Fitzgerald.

Owen turned toward them. “Stand at attention. You’re in the presence of a senior officer.”

Both men complied quickly.

“I want your names and rank,” Owen demanded.

“Spacer Zacharias Rafia,” said the larger one.

“Senior Spacer Leon Kelly,” said the other, staring straight ahead.

Fitzgerald and shook his head. “Really, Commander, there is no need for all that tension.” He held out his hand to Simpson. “Come on, Milo. I’ll take you to the medical bay. That cut over your eyebrow looks like it needs to be glued.”

Owen straightened his shoulders. “You’ll do no such thing. You, Lieutenant Fitzgerald, will accompany me to your superior officer, so he can decide on disciplinary measures, and then I’ll log a report about your behavior.”

“What behavior?” Fitzgerald’s lips curled into a cold smile. His stance was relaxed, but his tone dripped with condescension. “Did you witness me doing anything illegal, Commander?”

Owen ground his teeth because Fitzgerald was right. He hadn’t actually seen him hit Milo Simpson. “The man is covered in blood.”

Fitzgerald shrugged dismissively. “From the fall. Isn’t that right, Milo?” He looked down at Simpson, who was still cowering on the ground. His tone made it clear this wasn’t a question, it was a threat. Lieutenant Fitzgerald was feeling confident enough to threaten another crewmember right in front of the XO, arrogant enough to expect no consequences.

Owen felt his blood boil, and he had to take a deep breath to keep his composure. He had pegged Fitzgerald out as a bad apple right from the moment he had first met him aboard the Meridian. Determined to not let the cocky lieutenant get away with terrorizing the poor junior spacer, he stepped forward, bringing his body between Simpson and Fitzgerald. “You can speak freely, Spacer Simpson. I’ll protect you from the lieutenant. Trust me.”

Fitzgerald was wise enough to keep his mouth shut, but Owen could see him snicker out of the corner of his eye.

Simpson’s gaze flickered between Owen and Fitzgerald. He looked scared, terrified even. “I… I slipped,” he said weakly. “I slipped and hit my head.”

Owen sighed as he looked at the bloodied man on the floor. The bruises on his neck, the contusions on his arms—it didn’t add up. It was an obvious cover-up. But If Simpson wasn’t willing to make a report, Owen’s statement wouldn’t go anywhere either. He could and would make a report about what he had witnessed in this shower room, but without a victim, there was no crime to punish. He hated letting Fitzgerald get off scot-free, especially since he was almost certain now that he was involved in that illegal betting scheme, but there was nothing he could do at the moment. He’d encountered men like Fitzgerald before and knew they could be hard to get rid of.

“I’ll take Simpson to the medical bay myself,” Owen said, feeling fairly certain the young man would end up with bruises if he allowed Fitzgerald and his cronies to leave with him.

Fitzgerald shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “Of course, sir. Are we dismissed?”

“Yes, get out of my sight.”

The lieutenant strolled past him with a confident smile.

Owen stopped him. “Wipe that smile off your face, Fitzgerald. Rest assured, I’ll bring you to justice sooner or later.”

Fitzgerald’s grin widened. “I’m certain you’re an expert on the topic of justice, Commander Shaw.”

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah’s space fighter touched down on the flight deck with a soft thump. He glanced at the displays one last time. Everything was within normal parameters. With a sigh of relief, he took his helmet off and opened the cockpit.

The technicians were already swarming out to take care of the ship while Noah climbed out. His legs were a bit shaky, but he felt fantastic.

Ten days had passed since the incident on Morrigon Station, about three weeks since he’d arrived, and after he had spent all his waking hours in the simulator, Lieutenant Prescott had finally allowed him to attempt his first real flight in a Pegasus space fighter.

Just a little joyride around the station, since they were still docked. Noah wasn’t sure why. Apparently, the Resolute was still undergoing refurbishment and repairs, but he hadn’t noticed any repairing or refurbishing going on.

His flight had been a highlight in an otherwise shitty week. He still struggled with whether he should talk to someone about what he’d seen in the bar on Morrigon Station. As far as he’d heard, the explosion was currently considered an accident, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the shady man he’d seen in the bar had had something to do with it. Would anyone believe him or would they write his report off as some silly conspiracy theory from an attention seeking ensign? And even if they took him seriously, there was another problem. If he reported the run-in, he’d have to admit where he saw him, and that would get not only him but all his friends in trouble.

On top of that, despite what they had been through on Morrigon Station together, Charlie still treated him like a little brother. He knew getting involved with another officer—especially another pilot in his squad—was a terrible idea anyway, but it soured his mood regardless. He thought he had handled himself pretty well during that crisis, so why was she still not taking him seriously?

Lucas had warned him about Charlie, but he couldn’t help it. There was something magnetic about her, an effortless confidence that drew him in like a gravitational pull. His heart sped up a little every time he saw her. Like right now, as she was climbing out of her own fighter with a grace that was astonishing, considering she was wearing a stiff flight suit. Damn it, how could someone look so good in a flight suit?

He watched her tuck her helmet under one arm, tousled strands of hair escaping from the tight bun, and flash a bright, easy smile at one of the deckhands.

And then, of course, she caught him staring.

He quickly averted his eyes, heat rushing to his face, but it was too late. He’d already drawn her attention, and in the next moment, she was striding over with a grin. “Hey, rookie!” she called, closing the distance in a few quick steps. Without warning, she threw her arms around him and pulled him into a bear hug that nearly knocked the air out of him. “You officially lost your Pegasus virginity. How do you feel? Do you feel different?”

He rolled his eyes at the joke but couldn’t suppress a smile entirely. “I’m just glad everything went well.”

“You looked good out there,” she said, releasing him but keeping one arm slung casually over his shoulder. “Believe me, half the squadron did a lot worse on their first flight. Colin nearly crashed into the hangar door. I think you’re a natural.”

He tried hard not to look too flustered at her compliment. Maybe he was gaining some ground with her after all. “I still have a lot to learn. I need to study the—”

“Yeah, yeah, study later,” she said with a dismissive hand gesture. “Today, we’re going to celebrate. You’re off duty now, too, right?”

“Yes, as soon as the debrief is over.”

“Great, let’s hit the bar, then.”

He blew out some air. “I don’t know, Charlie. After what happened on Morrigon Station, I’m a bit over bars right now.”

“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport,” she said, nudging him lightly with her elbow. She looked up at him with her pretty, big brown eyes, and Noah felt his resolve dissipate into thin air. How could he deny her anything?

“Fine,” he said, relenting with a sigh. “But just one drink, okay? I have more simulator time scheduled tomorrow.”

“Just one drink,” she repeated, holding up her hands like she was making a solemn vow. But the grin on her face made it clear she had no intention of sticking to that promise.

Colin and Mira had a physical fitness test scheduled after the debriefing—another one of the recenet changes Commander Shaw had implemented to improve the crews battle-readiness—so Noah and Charlie headed to the plaza without them. At this time of day, the bar was lively but not overcrowded, so they easily found an empty table with a nice view of the plaza.

Just as Noah was about to sit down, Charlie tapped him on the shoulder. “On second thought, I don’t really like this table. Let’s sit over there.”

Noah hesitated, glancing at the perfectly good table they’d chosen. “Why? This one’s fine.”

Charlie didn’t answer, already making her way to a table on the opposite side of the room. Sighing, Noah grabbed his drink and followed her. “What was wrong with the first table?” he asked, sliding into the chair across from her.

Charlie tilted her head, nodding toward another table in the corner. Seated there, nursing a drink, was Lieutenant Octavia Casey.

“Your roommate? You don’t like her?” He knew Octavia Casey a little—enough to exchange pleasantries in the hallways. They had arrived on the Resolute together during the last crew rotation, and she seemed quiet but nice.

Charlie pulled a face like she’d just bitten into a lemon. “That’s not it. She’s polite, quiet, and clean—I can’t complain in that regard. But I just don’t trust her.”

“Why?”

Charlie shot Octavia another glance and leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because she’s from the Empire.”

“Yes, but she left it, right? She defected. She wanted to come here, to the Confederation.”

“The question is why.”

Noah laughed. “Wait, do you think she’s a spy or something?”

Charlie shrugged, her expression dead serious. “Why not? It’s not like that’s never happened before.” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “The last Empire spy they caught had claimed refugee status too. Don’t you remember? It was all over the news a few years ago. That guy managed to worm his way into becoming the personal assistant to a high-ranking Senate member. They only caught him because he slipped up during a routine background check.”

Noah frowned. He’d been a teenager and hadn’t paid much attention to politics, but he could still recall the story. “Yeah, I remember. But Octavia doesn’t strike me as the type. She... keeps to herself, sure, but I find her nice enough.”

“She’d be a terrible spy if she came across as shifty or evil, wouldn’t she? It’s always the quiet ones, Noah. They blend in, build trust, and then…” She snapped her fingers.

Noah laughed softly, shaking his head. “Charlie…”

“I found evidence,” she said quickly. “She has this necklace. The pendant has an Empire sigil. I think she’s from one of their ruling houses.”

He shrugged, glancing toward Lieutenant Casey again. She sat alone, her posture relaxed as she read something on a data tablet. Nothing about her screamed “spy” to him. “So she kept a memento of her family. That’s hardly evidence she’s a spy.”

Charlie seemed a little disappointed that he wasn’t enthusiastic about her spy theory. “I’m not saying she is. But we can’t rule it out either. Better to be careful around her, right?”

Before Noah could tell her she was acting paranoid, a waiter arrived, wearing a green-trimmed uniform and a sleeve patch identifying him as a steward.

Charlie dropped the topic right away and gave the waiter a smile, bright enough to spark a flicker of jealousy in Noah.

“I’ll take a strawberry fizz,” she said. “Make it strong.”

“Just an orange juice for me,” Noah said.

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Orange juice? Really, rookie?”

“I told you. I have simulator time scheduled for tomorrow, and Prescott drives me hard enough. I don’t want to vomit in my cockpit mid-exercise.”

“This new training schedule Shaw has set up is brutal,” Charlie said. “He’s such a hard-ass.”

“He’s just trying to get the crew into shape,” Noah said.

The comment earned him an angry glare. “The crew’s shape was just fine before Shaw arrived.”

“Have you seen the results from the drill? Our numbers were terrible…”

She shook her head, her brows knitting together in a frown. “What’s the matter with you recently? You’ve been grumpy all week. And kind of … I don’t know… distant.”

“Distant?” Noah wasn’t sure if he should feel flattered or worried that she’d noticed.

“Yeah, like something’s bothering you. Is it the dead guy we saw on Morrigon Station? That was a pretty gruesome sight.”

He hesitated for a moment. “No, that’s not it.”

“But there is something, right? What is it? Spit it out.”

The waiter interrupted their conversation, slamming down their drinks with a grunt.

Noah stared into his orange juice, unsure how to broach the topic. “Do you remember that guy I bumped into when we walked into the bar?”

She bit her lip thoughtfully. “Yeah, I think I do. Bushy sideburns and a brown overall, right?”

“Yes, that’s who I’m talking about.”

“What about him?”

“When I ran into him, he dropped a tablet. And I’m pretty sure that tablet showed the station’s schematics. Some kind of technical blueprint. There were red dots all over it too.”

Charlie took a sip of her drink and shrugged. “Okay, but so what? Could’ve just been a technician checking something.”

“He wasn’t wearing a technician’s uniform. And the way he acted… I don’t know, it just felt off. Like he was trying not to be noticed.” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the table. “Maybe I’m just seeing ghosts, but think about it. Isn’t it weird? A guy like that, carrying blueprints of the station, on the same level where the explosion happened—just minutes before it happened?”

Charlie didn’t respond immediately. She sat back, staring at the drink in her hand as if it held answers. After a long silence, she sighed. “If you’re right, this could be serious. But Prescott’s going to tear us a new one for sneaking off to that bar. Still, you’ll have to report it. No way around it now.”

Noah groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll back you up. We’ll talk to him together.” Charlie raised her glass in a mock toast, though her expression stayed somber. “Here’s to surviving the fallout.”

Chapter 16

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Owen looked at the officers standing in the middle of his office. Ensign Noah Jordan stood at perfect parade rest, but his cheeks were slightly flushed, giving away how uncomfortable he felt reporting directly to the XO. He was familiar with his face because he had seen him a couple of times on the transport ship that had brought them to the Obsidian Sector.

Next to Jordan was his superior officer, Lieutenant Damian Prescott, squadron leader of Flight Squadron Delta. Owen knew him too. The name he shared with his renowned father, Governor Prescott, had caught his attention and made him look up his personnel file. Prescott looked more at ease than young Jordan but still tense as he waited for Owen’s response.

“Are you sure that tablet showed a blueprint of Morrigon Station?” he asked.

“No, sir. Not entirely sure, sir,” the ensign replied stiffly.

Prescott shifted slightly. “It was a split-second moment, sir. But Ensign Jordan felt it was important enough to report to me, so I reported it to you.”

Owen leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The plot was thickening, but convincing Torres this was something they needed to follow up on would not be easy. “You did the right thing. Both of you. I agree with you; the circumstances and timing are… suspicious.” He pulled his TacPad out of his sleeve pocket. “I’ll contact Captain Torres and Commander Petrea so we can discuss this in more depth. We’ll have to relay that information to Station Commander Boateng too. Hopefully, it’ll shed more light on this alleged accident.”

Owen pressed a shortcut key on the Pad’s casing, and it only took a moment before Captain Torres’s voice came through.

“Torres here.”

“Captain, can you come to my office for a moment? There’s a young officer here with important information. Bring Commander Petrea with you if you can.”

Minutes later, the door slid open with a soft hiss, and Captain Torres entered, trailed by Petrea. The captain’s eyes swept over the room, taking in the two junior officers standing rigidly at attention.

Owen gestured toward Jordan. “Ensign, tell them what you told me.”

Now confronted by three senior officers, including the captain, his voice sounded a bit shaky, but his recounting of the details remained consistent with what he had told Owen.

Unfortunately, Captain Torres was less than impressed. “That’s all?” she asked, her face skeptical. “You’re seeing ghosts again, Shaw. That man could have carried that tablet for a number of reasons. Ensign Jordan isn’t even sure it really showed the station.”

Petrea, who had listened to the story stone-faced, spoke up. “I disagree, ma’am. I share Shaw’s sentiment. It’s suspicious. It seems like a very big coincidence that this explosion took out all of the station’s defenses. In my opinion, sabotage is a scenario worth considering.”

Owen watched the exchange carefully, his gaze flicking between the two women.

Torres looked less than pleased about Petrea’s opposition. “Even if we were to consider sabotage, that poor man who bumped into the ensign probably had nothing to do with it. Carrying a tablet with technical schematics doesn’t make someone a saboteur.”

Petrea squared her shoulders. “It’s our best lead, though. Ensign, do you think you can describe the man’s appearance in enough detail that security can reconstruct his face?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then go down to security and do that right now. Tell them I sent you. Lieutenant Prescott, you’re dismissed too. Thank you for bringing this to our attention.”

Both men saluted and left the room. Ensign Jordan seemed especially relieved he was allowed to leave and let the senior officers hash it out among themselves.

Owen wasn’t sure what surprised him more: how openly Petrea was opposing the captain on the matter or that Petrea, who shot him deadly glances every time he stepped on the bridge and hadn’t spoken a single private word to him, was picking his side. Maybe their nightly talk in the hallway after the dinner had really cleared the air between them.

Captain Torres shook her head, and her voice carried a note of irritation. “You’re on a wild goose chase, both of you. But if it’s that important to you, have it your way. I’ll contact Commander Boateng from my office and tell him the story. We’ll see what he makes of it. Dismissed.”

Owen and Petrea returned to the bridge, where Owen took the captain’s chair while Torres was in her ready room to talk to Boateng. Petrea was hunched over her console, occasionally giving instructions to the junior officers manning weapons and ECM but not sparing Owen a single glance. Apparently, their new alliance only went so far.

Owen tried not to let it bother him as he scanned the various displays on the armrest of the captain’s chair. The Resolute’s systems were operating smoothly and his gaze drifted to the main viewscreen, where the jagged breach in the station’s hull was clearly visible. Repairs had begun, but progress was slow. He watched technicians in bulky, brightly colored space suits working for a while. From this far away, they looked like colorful ants crawling over the station’s hull.

Half an hour later, the soft hiss of the ready room door signaled Captain Torres’s return to the bridge.

Owen rose from the chair. “Captain on deck.”

Torres rolled her eyes as she plopped down. “Shaw, you really don’t need to do this every time I walk in here.”

He tensed. “Understood, Captain. Any news from Commander Boateng?”

Petrea turned around to listen in. Torres leaned back in her chair, settling in comfortably. “I’ve talked to Boateng and sent him the picture our security department reconstructed based on the ensign’s description.”

Owen and Petrea nodded in unison.

“Boateng is taking it seriously,” Torres continued. “But he says it’s going to be tricky finding the man on a crowded station like this. Morrigon Station doesn’t have a lot of security personnel.”

“We could assist them,” Petrea said. “I could send some of our intelligence officers to support the search. They have experience finding people who don’t want to be found.”

Torres fiddled with the buttons on her armrest for a moment before returning her attention to the conversation. “Yes, good idea. It might do those officers some good. Keep them busy before they die of boredom.”

Petrea's expression hardened with indignation. “They’re not bored, Captain. We’ve recently seen a spike in communication activity from the known pirate bases. Our intelligence department is collecting and analyzing a lot of data right now.” She shifted in her seat. “I sent you a report about that, remember?”

Torres made a dismissive hand gesture. “I don’t consider pirate comm chatter an especially threatening problem. Let them talk. They’re no threat to us.”

The look on Petrea’s face told Owen that the tactical officer disagreed with that judgment. And he once again found himself on Petrea’s side. A spike in pirate activity was concerning, especially considering how sparsely protected this sector was. He remembered Nasim’s words about how she had lost contact with her niece weeks ago and wondered if pirates might have something to do with it. They really should go out and look into the matter, but Torres seemed happy to stay exactly where she was, doing absolutely nothing.

“We can spare a few people,” Torres said. “Feel free to contact your Morrigon Station counterpart and make some arrangements, Sasha.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Owen glanced at the captain, slouching in her chair, humming a soft melody. He’d thought she dismissed all his warnings and concerns because she disliked him or didn’t trust him, but she didn’t seem to take Petrea’s opinion seriously either. Owen was starting to understand the real reason now. It had nothing to do with him—Torres was just complacent. She’d spent the last eight years as the captain of the Resolute. Enough time to get so used to the boring, quiet life in the Obsidian Sector that she resisted any idea that might threaten the status quo. Torres dismissed every risk he or Petrea brought up because she was clinging to her cushy life as a captain of a battleship that saw no battles.

But Owen had a gut feeling. He had a hunch that cushy life was going to end soon, whether Torres wanted to see that or not. An uptick in pirate activity, an explosion on the sector’s most important space station conveniently taking out its defenses… something was going on. And Owen was afraid when the brewing storm hit them, Torres wouldn’t be ready. The Resolute wouldn’t be ready. After years of not seeing any real combat, the crew had become just as complacent as their captain. They weren’t bad people, but they lacked discipline; they lacked sharpness. Some of the junior crew members had never been in a real combat situation at all. All they knew were simulations, and even those weren’t happening as often as they should.

The issue was that Owen wasn’t sure how to fix the problem without crossing Captain Torres. His past accusation of mutiny made his task so much more difficult. The tension between him and Torres had eased somewhat, but he was certain her guard would go back up as soon as he started questioning her decisions too openly. If he wanted her to work with him, he needed to play the role of the loyal XO perfectly. But if he did that, preparing for potential threats was nearly impossible.

“Does Boateng know yet how long it’ll take to get the station’s weapons back online?” He’d feel a lot more comfortable if the station could defend itself again and didn’t rely solely on the Resolute.

“He put in an order for the replacement parts, but he estimates the shipping will take at least two weeks, maybe more. And then, of course, the repairs themselves will take some time too.”

“Are we going to remain in the Obsidian system for that long? What about our other missions?”

“Don’t worry. I already talked with Fleet Command. Our next scheduled mission was escorting two freighters carrying equipment for Lyricon Colony—3D printers, frozen cow embryos, things like that. That’ll be delayed until Morrigon Station is fully repaired.”

“Isn’t the delay going to harm the colony?” he asked.

Torres just shrugged. “I’m sure the colonists on Lyricon can wait a little longer for their cow babies.”

“Calves,” Petrea corrected with a sour expression without taking her eyes off her tactical console’s screen. “Baby cows are called calves.”

Torres laughed out loud. “You’re a true country girl, aren’t you? Shaw, you’ve got to know Lieutenant Commander Petrea grew up in a tiny village on Icaria. Very rural place, right?”

“Yes,” Petrea said through gritted teeth.

She didn’t seem keen on discussing the topic further, so Owen quickly interjected, “Captain, if we’re delaying the freighter mission, perhaps we should use the extra time to run readiness drills. The crew could benefit from some combat scenario practice.”

Torres waved a hand dismissively. “Drills? Shaw, we’ve barely had a chance to catch our breath since your last drill. Let the crew rest.”

The Morrigon security team, supported by a handful of Resolute’s own intelligence and security officers, combed through the station for days, but after more than a week, they still had no clue where the mysterious stranger Ensign Jordan had run into might be hiding. No one knew him, no one had seen him, there was no trace anywhere.

One thing of interest the Resolute’s team did find, though. Lieutenant Valentine, the redheaded engineer who’d gotten into a fight with Vadra, had taken it upon herself to give the site of the explosion another look, this time with more sophisticated diagnostic tools, and found traces of orexite. It was a substance often used for emergency sealing paste, to seal leaking pipes or tanks, but it could also be utilized in a bomb. The discovery didn’t prove anything, and of course, Captain Torres thought it inconsequential. The finding, however, made Owen just a little more sure the explosion on Morrigon Station had been foul play, and that his captain completely ignored the mounting evidence put him on edge.

His main task, getting the Resolute back into fighting shape, was slogging along slowly too. He had asked Adrian to take a complete inventory of the ship’s supplies, including ammunition. The task had taken five days, but they at least now had a list of missing supplies and equipment they needed to reorder from Fleet Logistics. It was a long list thanks to the previous XO’s illegal activities. His ring of black-market traders had done a number on the Resolute’s stocks, and Owen wasn’t sure what worried him more: that his ship was missing critical equipment or the fact that their equipment was now most likely in the possession of pirates.

The chronometer showed nineteen hundred hours when a soft chime informed Owen someone was asking to enter his office. He glanced up from the computer, where he was working through the tedious task of signing all the supply orders they needed to replace their lost equipment. “Come in.”

To his surprise, Commander Petrea appeared in the doorframe, a tablet tucked under her arm.

“Do you have a minute? We need to talk,” she said.

Owen pointed at the empty seat in front of his desk. “Of course.” If Sasha Petrea was voluntarily seeking his presence, it had to be an urgent matter.

She put a tablet with a report on his table and dropped into the chair.

“My intelligence officers picked up something worrying,” she said. Her facial expression and body language still told him she’d rather be anywhere else but in his office, but at least she was conducting herself professionally. “There’s a colony called Cascade, about sixteen light-years from here. We’ve lost contact with them.”

Owen sat up straight. His mind went right to Atheos, the planet Nasim’s niece had emigrated to. That colony had gone dark too. “Tell me more.”

“It’s privately funded, not an official Confederation-sponsored colony. Some kind of communal living project, as far as I’m aware. Tiny, only about four hundred settlers. They’ve gone dark.”

“Had they sent a distress call before we lost contact? Anything indicating any problems or emergencies?”

“No. No distress call or any other kind of communication in several days. Which is odd because they used to be in regular contact with nearby colonies for trading.”

Owen tried not to let his worry show, but what Petrea told him didn’t bode well for Nasim’s niece. “Have we tried to reach them?”

She nodded. “I asked Lieutenant Casey earlier today to attempt contact. She repeated the call for several hours but got no response.”

Owen picked up the tablet and looked over the data the Resolute had collected about the planet and its colony. “That’s indeed troubling. Please ask the comm officer to keep attempting contact.”

“That’s not all,” Petrea said grimly. “They did not send a distress signal, but the last message we could pick up from the colony before it went dark reported a massive ship entering the system. Apparently, it wasn’t a trade ship, but the colonists couldn’t identify it at the time they sent the message. In fact, they explicitly stated that it showed no external sigil or signs and that it didn’t send out any identification codes. The next thing we recorded was a extreme energy spike.”

Owen shifted uncomfortably in his chair. A massive unidentified ship in his sector? He didn’t like the sound of that at all. “You suspect pirates? You think they destroyed the colony?”

“I’m not sure what pirates would gain by destroying a tiny colony on Cascade, but that’s the only explanation I can think of.”

“Did you report that to Captain Torres?”

“I did.”

“Let me guess. She doesn’t believe it’s pirates?” He couldn’t suppress the sharp edge to his words, but Petrea seemed to share his annoyance at the captain’s indifference.

“She actually does believe it’s pirates, but she’s not worried.”

“But you are?”

“The colonists described the ship as at least the size of a large cruiser. No pirate group in the Obsidian Sector can remotely afford a ship as large as that. Nor do they possess any weapons systems that could explain the energy spike our sensors recorded.”

Owen clicked his tongue. “I don’t like the sound of this. Not at all.”

“Me neither. That’s why I came to you.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes still fixed on the tablet. “I appreciate your trust, Lieutenant Commander, but I’m not sure what I can do about it. If Captain Torres doesn’t want to do anything to investigate the issue, my hands are tied.”

“I know,” she said, “I just don’t want to be the only person to know about this when the shit starts to hit the fan.”

Chapter 17

Lt. Octavia Casey

Octavia looked at her screen, monitoring dozens of communication signals, both inside and outside the Resolute. It had been a quiet shift so far, and the screen showed nothing out of the ordinary—just the normal background chatter of a big ship in a busy system.

Cosima Lin sat beside her, hunched over her console, a hand covering her mouth as she failed to stifle a yawn.

She grinned when she caught Octavia’s look. “Don’t tell me you’re not bored, Casey.”

Octavia smiled back. Cosima was one of the few people aboard the Resolute who had welcomed her without prejudice or suspicion, and Octavia had grown quite fond of her over the last few weeks. On top of being a friendly person, she was also a competent officer, and Octavia appreciated having a reliable partner at her side since the communications officer and the sensor officer often had to work closely together.

“I caught a comm message from a trader begging his wife to take him back,” Octavia said, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.

“Ooh, what did he do?” Cosima kept her voice low, but there was a cheeky glint in her eyes.

“I’m not sure, but a woman named Mara was involved.”

Both of them giggled until someone cleared their throat behind them. Octavia glanced over her shoulder to find Commander Shaw’s mismatched eyes fixed on her. The stern gaze was enough to make her snap back to attention and focus on her console.

Cosima rolled her eyes. “He’s such a killjoy.”

That was true. Commander Shaw ran a tight ship and had little patience for unprofessional behavior on the bridge. That, among other things, had made him unpopular among the crew. He was respected, and Octavia had never heard anyone claim he was incompetent, but he was certainly not as well-liked as the easygoing, laid-back Captain Torres, with her loud, infectious laugh. Octavia understood why the crew was slow to warm up to the no-nonsense XO, but she knew where her loyalty lay. She hadn’t forgotten the way Shaw had stepped in and stopped that arrogant prick Fitzgerald from publicly humiliating her aboard the Meridian. She’d also looked into the mutiny trial Shaw had had to go through recently and had come to the same conclusion as Noah Jordan. As far as she was concerned, Commander Owen Shaw was a decent man.

“Damn it, I think I have another calibration drift,” Cosima grumbled.

Octavia leaned over, studying data on Cosima’s console. “Yes, I think you do. Commander Christopher showed me how to fix it. You need to—”

A high, repetitive beeping sound coming from her own console cut her explanation short.

Cosima’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that…”

Octavia checked the screen. Then she checked again. “It is.”

Sitting up straight, she raised her voice. “Captain Torres, we’ve just received a distress signal.”

The atmosphere on the bridge shifted in an instant. Torres frowned, and Petrea whirled around in her seat and exchanged a worried glance with Commander Shaw. Out of the corner of her eye, Octavia noticed Commander Christopher lean forward in his seat right behind her.

“From where?” Torres asked, sounding worried.

Octavia shot a quick glance at Cosima, who answered with a curt nod and sent her the sensor data she needed to triangulate the signal. “Zakaria System, Captain, about three light-years from us.”

“Play me the message, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, Captain. Decrypting the message.”

It took the ship’s computer about four seconds to decrypt the data packages. “We have audio only,” Octavia informed the captain and pressed play.

“This is the Confederation freighter Golden Rhino.” It was a female voice, and the woman sounded like she could barely suppress the panic in her tone. “We require urgent assistance. We were attacked by pirates and sustained catastrophic fusion reactor damage. Our life support systems are failing, and our oxygen levels are dropping quickly.” There was a short pause of crackling static. “Please, I beg you. Whoever receives this signal, please hurry. We have over eighty souls on board.” There was another pause and a noise that sounded like someone sniffling. “Please, we have children with us.”

A tense, heavy silence spread over the bridge as the entire crew looked to Captain Torres, waiting for a reaction.

Torres was silent for a long moment, her fingers drumming on her chair’s armrest. Finally, she leaned forward, face tense. “All right, people, you all heard the message. Lieutenant Zayed, set a course for the Zakaria system, full speed. Lieutenant Casey, see if you can get a message back to them—tell them to hold on tight. We’re coming.”

Octavia returned her attention to her station.

Commander Shaw spoke up. “Captain, what about Morrigon Station?”

Torres seemed unbothered. “I’m sure they can manage on their own for one or two days while we help these people.”

“The station is completely defenseless,” he reminded her.

“It’s not defenseless. We’ll leave the Odyssey behind. Casey, contact the Odyssey and inform Captain Russo we’re embarking on a rescue mission.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Octavia already had her finger on the button when Commander Petrea turned around in her chair. “With all due respect, Captain, the Odyssey is only a light cruiser, and an old one at that. She might not be equipped to handle… all potential threats. Maybe we should stay behind and send the Odyssey instead?”

“What’s the worst that could happen? A couple of pesky pirates? The Odyssey will handle those just fine. We’re recieved the distress call, it’s our responsibility to help them.”

Zayed gazed flicked between Torres and Shaw. “Should I start the undocking procedure or not?”

“Yes, of course. You all heard the message. These people don’t have a lot of time.”

“Aye, Captain,” Zayed replied.

The ship’s thrusters rumbled to life, sending a faint vibration through the floor beneath their feet. “Morrigon Station control confirms undocking clearance,” Zayed reported. “Releasing docking clamps… now.”

The docking arms disengaged with a faint shudder. On the viewscreen, the station’s massive structure began to recede as the Resolute slowly pushed away from its berth.

The station quickly shrank into the distance, lights fading against the dark canvas of space. Octavia watched the screen while a nervous prickling crawled up her spine. It almost felt strange heading out into space, charging into a rescue mission head-on, after being docked at a safe port for so long.

Shaw’s voice broke the tense silence. “Captain, I feel obligated to remind you—if Morrigon Station falls under attack while we’re gone, it won’t just be the station at risk. It’s a critical waypoint for Confederation logistics in this sector.”

Torres didn’t even look at her XO as she settled into her chair. “Noted, Commander. But we can’t ignore a distress signal. People’s lives are at stake. Lieutenant Zayed, status?”

“Accelerating with six kilograv, Captain. ETA to the hyperspace gate is two hours and seventeen minutes.”

“Evans, how long will we be in hyperspace?”

Lieutenant Evans checked her navigation console. “I’m still plotting the route, ma’am, but the first estimate is seventeen minutes.”

“Good. I want my senior officers to start organizing the rescue party right away. We need medics, repair teams, the whole deal.”

For a moment, Octavia expected at least one of the senior officers to object, but after a tense few seconds and more worried looks, they followed their captain’s orders.

Octavia returned her attention to her console. She understood the predicament. Leaving Morrigon Station exposed was a risk, especially since there were rumors going around that the explosion hadn’t been an accident. The timing of this distress call was very unconvenient, but on the other hand, those people stranded in the Zakaria System desperately needed their help. And that was what the Space Guard was for, right?

Octavia sent a message to the Odyssey, just as Torres had requested, and then tried to send a message back to the Golden Rhino, informing them of their expected arrival time.

When she routed the signal through the communication relay network, she noticed something odd.

With furrowed brows, she double-checked, but her findings remained the same. Something was off with the verification codes. She looked over her shoulder. Christopher looked very busy organizing the rescue teams, but she had no choice but to bring this up to him—she had no idea what to make of the issue. “Commander Christopher, do you have a second?”

Despite the stressful situation, he walked over to her console with a smile. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“It’s the distress signal’s verification codes. They check out as real Confederation codes, but they’re outdated. This set of codes was discontinued eleven months ago, sir.”

Christopher frowned. “That’s… unusual. Maybe they’ve spent the last year outside Confederation space and didn’t get the update?”

“Maybe, but there’s another odd thing.” With a swipe of her finger, she opened a long list on the console’s screen. “The ship doesn’t show up in the Confederation registry. The name does. Twice. Once attached to a private yacht and once attached to a deuterium tanker belonging to the StellarEx Corporation, but no freighters.”

Christopher’s expression darkened, confirming Octavia’s hunch. This wasn’t just a strange glitch, it was a worrying irregularity. He leaned in and double-checked her data but came to the same conclusion.

“What do you think this means, sir?” she asked.

He rubbed his chin without taking his eyes off the screen. “Could mean a number of things. You know what Captain Torres always says—things work a little differently in the Obsidian Sector. This might simply be an unregistered ship. It happens. Sometimes, people can’t afford the yearly fee and insurance, so they fly their ships illegally.”

“That sounds like there’s a ‘but’ coming, sir.”

He gave her a smile, but it looked forced and didn’t quite hide the growing concern on his face. Then he turned to the captain. “Captain Torres, we have an issue.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“The ship’s verification codes are outdated, and it doesn’t show up in the Confederation registry.”

Torres only glanced up briefly before she waved her hand. “That’s not unusual for the Obsidian Sector. I’m not going to let these people die just because they couldn’t pay their registration fee.”

Shaw cleared his throat. Unlike Torres, he seemed highly alarmed by Octavia’s findings. “Ma’am, have you considered this distress signal might be a trap?”

The question made several crewmembers look up from their screens, and out of the corner of her eye, Octavia noticed Commander Petrea nodding grimly, but Torres only let out a dry laugh. “A trap?”

“To lure us away from Morrigon Station while it’s weak.”

Torres shook her head. “You’re seeing ghosts again, Shaw. This is a simple rescue mission. We’ll save those poor souls and be back at Morrigon Station in no time. It’ll be fine.”

Torres appeared confident in her judgment, but Octavia couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a bad sign that Tactical Officer Petrea left her seat to walk over to Commander Shaw to whisper something in his ear.

Chapter 18

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Lieutenant Zayed stared at his screen. “Five seconds until gate emergence,” he announced loudly. “Four… three…”

Owen dug his fingers into the armrest of his chair. He was half prepared to leave the hyperspace gate and ram right into a dozen pirate ships. Both he and Petrea had tried to convince the captain to send a probe to the system first, but Torres had basically laughed at them, called them paranoid, and reminded them that time was of utmost importance in a rescue mission.

“Everyone, strap into your seats,” he ordered, closing the harness buckle over his chest. “We don’t know what awaits us on the other side of the gate.”

His instruction seemed to fall on deaf ears, and only a handful of officers followed his example. Torres, of course, wasn’t one of them.

“Two… one…” Owen braced himself for the strange feeling that ran through a human body upon entering or leaving hyperspace. That strange internal shiver, shaking the organs softly like a wind rustling leaves. A sensation that he’d gotten used to over the many years of service but still didn’t look forward to.

“Emergence!” Zayed announced.

They left the gate behind, and the viewscreen showed nothing but empty space in front of them.

Owen’s gaze flicked to Lieutenant Lin, stationed at the sensor console. He held his breath as her hands flew over the controls, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“All sensor readings are within normal range,” Lieutenant Lin reported. “We’ve arrived in the Zakaria system, Captain.”

Torres nodded, her face determined. “All right, put the Golden Rhino on screen.”

Lin pressed several buttons, shook her head, and pressed another button. A frown appeared on her face.

“What’s taking so long, Lieutenant Lin?” Torres asked sharply. “Show me the ship.”

Lin exhaled slowly, her eyes scanning the screen in front of her. “I’m having trouble finding the ship, Captain. I can’t detect any energy signals.”

“Not surprising. They already told us they were losing power. We need to hurry, people.”

Owen’s chest felt tight. Something was wrong, very wrong. Everyone but the captain seemed to know it. He knew it, too, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He clenched his fists, willing himself to stay focused. If the captain wouldn’t listen to his warnings, he could at least be ready when things went sideways.

Lin stared at the screen, scanning the system for visual clues. After an endless five minutes, she sat up straight. “I think I found them, ma’am. Putting the image on screen now.”

The giant front window of the bridge turned into a screen and showed the many-times-enlarged view of a civilian freighter drifting through space. It looked unsuspicious, but something felt off. Owen studied the ship claiming to be the Golden Rhino. Then, Petrea pointed out what was amiss.

“No damage.” Her hands hovered over her console, as if she was ready to switch to attack mode at the drop of a hat.

“What?” Torres replied, sounding irritated.

“In their distress call, they reported being attacked by pirates, but this ship looks completely intact. No debris either.”

“Probably a critical hit to the fusion reactor,” Torres said. “Ready the rescue shuttles.”

“Captain, can we at least send fighters in with the shuttles?” Petrea asked. “There might still be pirates around.”

“You’ve heard Lieutenant Lin. No energy signals anywhere in the system.”

“They might have powered down their engines to hide.”

Torres rubbed her chin and nodded slowly. “True. Fine, send a squadron of space fighters out with the shuttles. Just to be on the safe side.”

Owen felt as relieved as Petrea looked. A single squadron wasn’t much, but it was enough to engage an attacker long enough to allow the Resolute to retreat to the hyperspace gate if this all turned out to be a pirate trap.

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah was pressed into the gel-cushioned seat as the launch tube flung his tiny space fighter into the void with an acceleration of over forty kilogravs.

Only the powerful inertial dampeners, generating a countergravity bubble around his ship, protected the space fighter from flying apart—and Noah from being smashed into a flesh-colored liquid.

But even with the inertial dampeners working at full capacity, Noah felt the familiar pressure on his chest.

His fighter shot away from the Resolute, the velocity stabilizing, and Noah gently moved the steering joystick to fall into formation with the rest of his squadron.

Blood was rushing in his ears, but he tried to push away the nervousness and focus on the task ahead. He checked the HUD projected on his cockpit window to make sure he was exactly where he was supposed to be and glanced at the sensors informing him about the state of his weapon systems. This was his first real mission. After hundreds of practice flights in flight school, thousands of hours in the simulator, and a handful of trips to get used to the Pegasus-class fighter, this was the real deal.

Thankfully, it was just a simple escort mission. The perfect way to ease into things. His squadron’s job was to accompany six shuttles, manned with medics, engineers, and a single squad of assault troopers, to the stranded freighter. A precaution, nothing more. Prescott had told him sensors had detected no other energy signatures in the system, so enemy contact was extremely unlikely.

The ship they’d come to rescue had no energy signal either, so they had to fly with visual orientation only. That wasn’t Noah’s job, though. Prescott led the squadron, and the experienced pilot knew how to fly an approach vector without the help of sensors. All he had to do was follow Prescott’s lead. Noah watched his HUD closely as they closed in on the drifting freighter. He was the least experienced pilot in the squadron, but he was determined not to let it show—especially after his early humiliation in the simulator. He knew he was a decent pilot as long as his nerves didn’t get the better of him.

The Golden Rhino grew larger in his cockpit window. It looked completely dead. Undamaged but no sign of any activity. No radio, no power, not even heat signatures from within the ship. Had they come too late? Were the people they’d come to save already dead?

Charlie’s voice came through his earpiece. “Are you guys getting the same data I see?” she asked. “If these numbers are correct, this ship hasn’t moved for days.”

Noah studied his HUD. Charlie was right. Something was very odd here. According to the distress call, the Golden Rhino had been in a fight just hours ago, so why were there no residual traces of exploded torpedoes, no leftover heat signature from the engines? No life signs of the passengers?

Lieutenant Prescott seemed to share their thoughts. “I see the same numbers, Salinas,” he said. “Something doesn’t add up, and I don’t like it. Charge your weapons, just in case.”

Hectically, Noah fumbled with the button for a moment until the soft hum vibrating through his Pegasus told him the laser cannons were charging up.

Prescott used the open channel to contact the Resolute so the rest of the squadron could listen in. “Resolute, this is Delta One. I’m relaying my sensor sweep data to you… now. Is it just me, or does this not make sense?” His voice sounded tense, and Noah felt his palms get sweaty inside his suit’s gloves. If his cool-as-a-cucumber squadron leader felt nervous about the situation, something was wrong.

It took a moment for the Resolute’s command staff to analyze the data Prescott had sent. Noah stared at the Golden Rhino, his eyes darting around, nervously searching for signs of trouble. The answer that came back from the Resolute about a minute later was equally tense. “Hold your approach. I repeat, hold your approach,” Tactical Officer Petrea ordered sharply.

“Copy, Resolute,” Prescott replied. “You heard the call, Deltas. Throttle back and hold formation.”

Noah quickly reacted, activating the brake burners to slow his ship. The entire squadron and the shuttles flying in close formation behind them decelerated until they matched the speed of the drifting Golden Rhino, not losing sight but no longer getting closer.

“Resolute, do you want us to return?” Prescott asked.

For a few tense moments, only static answered. Noah’s heart beat faster in the silence, and he glanced at his instruments, half expecting something to explode on his sensors: enemy ships, a sudden signal from the Rhino, anything.

Finally, Petrea’s voice crackled through the comms. “Stay where you are, but stay alert, Delta Squadron. We’re… still working the situation from here. Maintain visual on the Golden Rhino, and report any changes immediately.”

“Understood,” Prescott replied, switching back to the squadron’s channel. “All right, Deltas. Eyes open, fingers on triggers.”

Chapter 19

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Owen and Petrea had both risen from their seats and were now standing beside the captain’s chair, besieging Torres.

“Captain, I urge you again to abort this mission,” Owen said, trying his best to keep his tone polite.

Torres’s expression had hardened over the last few minutes as if the realization of her misjudgment was dawning on her, but pride wouldn’t let her admit it. “Stop questioning my decision, Shaw,” she snapped. “This is your last warning.”

“But ma’am, we—”

“One more word, and I’ll throw you in the brig for insubordination.”

Taken aback, Owen quickly closed his mouth, but Torres wasn’t done with him. “I warned you not to undermine my authority when you came aboard my ship. Tread carefully, Commander, because I promise you, this time, you’re not going to get out of that trial scot-free.”

He pressed his lips together to suppress an angry reply. Up until now, dealing with Torres had been frustrating but managable, but the last few hours had transformed the captain from complacent-but-friendly into an overheating teapot, spewing out terrible decisions like hot steam.

Petrea came to his aid, but she did an even worse job than him at staying respectful. “I agree with the XO’s judgment. Something about this situation is very wrong, from the outdated verification codes to the lack of damage to the ship.” She leaned closer and grabbed the armrest of Torres’s chair. “With all due respect, Captain, you need to pull your head out of the sand and reassess this mission.”

Torres glared at her. “Now, you’re stabbing me in the back too, Sasha? Has Shaw riled you up? Turned you against me?”

Petrea took a deep breath, visibly restraining herself. “Captain, I understand you want to save those people, but we need to abort now, before this trap snaps shut.”

“There probably are no people to save,” Owen added. “Everything points toward a faked distress call. If the Golden Rhino ever had a crew, they’re long gone.”

Torres whipped around to face him. “So what?” she barked. “So what if it’s a pirate trap? We have a Unity-class battleship. Whatever danger you think might lurk in this completely empty system, we’re more than capable of blowing it to pieces. Now, get back to your stations, both of you, and follow my orders.”

Petrea shook her head in frustration as she stomped back to the tactical console. Owen reluctantly returned to his place in front of the captain’s chair. He could almost feel Torres’s accusatory gaze burning on the back of his neck. Her words had struck a nerve. She expected the worst of him—another mutiny, as if he was in the habit of arresting his captains if he disagreed with their decisions. It was insulting. Owen was a good officer, a loyal XO. Captain Turner had been an exceptional case, an entirely different situation. Of course, he disagreed with Torres—strongly. She was behaving recklessly, endangering the ship, but she was within her rights. No one forbade a Space Guard captain from making bad calls, and Owen would do what she asked. With gritted teeth, but he would do it.

Petrea was scowling, but she, too, followed Torres’s orders. “Delta Squadron, continue approach to the stranded freighter. Rescue team, you have permission to dock with the ship.”

The viewscreen showed the nine space fighters, symbolized by white triangles, and the six shuttles, shown as white dots, approach the Golden Rhino, a larger yellow dot.

Owen’s pulse quickened. Only the muted beeps of telemetry updates broke the tense silence on the bridge. Minutes ticked by before the white dots on the screen made contact with the freighter. Moments later, the first bodycam feeds from the assault troopers appeared on the screen.

“This is Junior Lieutenant Lucas Malik, leader of squad Bravo-1. We just boarded the Golden Rhino. No opposition so far.”

The cam feed showed a dark, empty corridor. The only sound was Malik’s voice and the breathing of his squad members.

The squad moved forward into the corridor.

“So far, no signs of life.” Malik turned a corner, but his flashlight revealed nothing but more empty hallways. “No bodies either.”

“Keep looking,” Torres ordered. “They’ve probably taken shelter in an area with life support—likely the bridge or the engine room. Start with the bridge.”

“Copy that, Resolute. Moving toward the bridge.”

The squad slowly made its way through the ship, weapons at the ready, but they encountered no one, neither friend nor foe. The ship looked like no human being had stepped foot on it for weeks, if not longer.

The video transmitted was eerie, but at least they hadn’t encountered any enemies. Yet. Owen was still on edge. Someone had put this ship here as bait for a reason, and he feared for the away team’s safety.

After a little over ten minutes, the squad reached the door to the bridge.

“The door to the bridge is sealed,” Malik reported. “Opening mechanism’s dead—no power. We’ll need to use physical force to pry it open. Henson, Fong, get to it.”

Two assault troopers moved past Malik and did as they were told. One of them was equipped with a pry bar, but even together, the two of them couldn’t overcome the magnetic lock blocking the door.

“We don’t have time for this. There might be people caught behind that door,” Torres said. “Use an explosive.”

“Copy that. Fong, get the charge.”

With swift movements, one of the troopers attached a small, palm-sized explosive charge to the door.

“Stand back,” Malik commanded.

The team retreated to a safe distance, and the explosive detonated with a bright flash, the sound echoing through the empty corridors. The door’s magnetic lock gave way, allowing the troopers to pull it open by hand.

“Clear,” a voice said, flashlight beams sweeping into the room. “Move in.”

The troopers fanned out across the bridge.

It was as lifeless as a tomb.

All screens were dead, the only light coming from the troopers’ flashlights. Their steps echoed on the metal floor as they spread out to secure the room. The consoles lay dormant, and there was no sign a crew had worked here just hours before. No tablets, no coffee cups, nothing.

Owen felt his stomach sink. He couldn’t help it—he had to try to convince Torres again that this mission needed to be aborted. “Captain, the ship is empty.” His voice had a pleading undertone. “I don’t know who set this up, but someone is playing with us. We need to abort the mission and return to Morrigon Station.”

Torres rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Maybe you’re right,” she said, her voice strained.

Owen felt a weight lift off his shoulders. “Then let’s get our people back on board and leave this system.”

To his horror, Torres shook her head. “No, we’re here now. Let’s investigate. I want to know who set us up. And why. Lieutenant Malik, try turning on one of the bridge consoles.”

Speechless, Owen watched as the troopers reluctantly started flipping switches and pressing buttons until Petrea left her station and walked over to him. Torres didn’t seemed to notice her tactical officer had left her post. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, watching the assault troopers mess around on the Golden Rhino’s bridge, with an expression that showed a mix of fear and desperation.

“This is like poking a hornet’s nest with a stick,” Petrea whispered into Owen’s ear. “Shaw, we need to do something. You need to do something.”

“Do what, exactly?” Owen whispered back.

“I don’t know, but we need to pull our people out of there and get the hell out of this system. This whole situation could blow up any second.”

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. She was right. Every single instinct inside him screamed that they needed to leave and return to Morrigon Station immediately, but his hands were tied. “Lieutenant Commander Petrea, I agree with you wholeheartedly, but it’s not my call to make.”

“She’s endangering the entire ship, not just the away mission.”

He rubbed his forehead, where a sharp pain had formed. “I know.”

“We need to stop her.” Petrea went quiet for a moment, lips pressed together. “You’ve done it before.”

Owen leaned back in his chair, staring at her. “You can’t be serious.”

“These are my people over there whose lives she’s toying with. Torres is completely incompetent, and I won’t make my people pay for that.”

“Incompetence is not a justification for mutiny, Lieutenant Commander,” Owen hissed out of the corner of his mouth, carefully glancing at the captain, sitting in her chair with clenched fists.

“Gross negligence is. She’s neglecting the safety of her crew and is ignoring established safety protocols. You need to relieve her.”

Owen tensed up. “The last time I did that, I nearly ended up with a life sentence in a prison colony.”

“What? You’re afraid? You’re trying to save your own ass?”

Owen looked at the screen, where the away team was still trying to power up systems on a ship that had clearly been planted as a trap. Then, he looked at Torres, who leaned forward in her chair, pale-faced, watching the images on the screen like a hawk. There was sweat on her forehead, and her face looked like she was barely holding herself together.

After spending years in the quiet Obsidian Sector, where the worst threats were a couple of shoddy pirate corvettes, she was ill-equipped to deal with the pressure of an actually dangerous situation like this, one that required quick thinking and foresight. Maybe she’d always been ill-equipped to handle danger. Maybe that was why she had ended up as captain of the Resolute, and not one of the frontline ships.

Lieutenants Malik's voice yanked Owen out of his thoughts.

“Um, Resolute… I think we just triggered something.”

Alerted, Owen rose to his feet. “Triggered what exactly, Lieutenant?”

Malik turned his body slightly so the camera attached to his body armor caught the image he wanted them to see. One of the Golden Rhino’s consoles had come to life. The screen was still dark, but there was a singular red light on an unassuming box, attached to the console’s touchpad, blinking red.

Petrea muttered a curse. “Damn it, what did you do?”

One of the troopers, Fong, shrugged. “Nothing special, ma’am. I just touched the keyboard. That’s it.”

Owen turned toward Petrea. “Any idea what this is? I’ve never seen a box like this before.”

“Me neither,” she admitted. “But I doubt it’s something good.”

Lieutenant Casey looked up from her screen. “I don’t know what it is, but I can tell you what it does.” She took a breath. “My comm sensor just registered a radio signal.”

“What kind of signal?” Torres asked. “Maybe the distress call?”

“No, Captain. It was just a single burst, and it was encrypted.”

“Well, decrypt it,” Torres demanded.

“I can’t. It’s not a Confederation encryption. We don’t have the cipher.”

Torres furrowed her brows. “Fine. Petrea, get me one of your intelligence officers to the bridge.”

Petrea looked at her with a mix of disbelief and frustration. Owen had to step in before she lost her temper and got herself into trouble.

“Captain Torres,” he said, “we don’t need to decrypt this message. Its purpose is painfully clear. This is an intruder alert… and we just triggered it. Whoever set up this trap, they now know they caught something.”

Both Adrian and Petrea nodded along, but Torres crossed her arms like a pouting child. “You can’t know this. You’re just guessing, Shaw.”

Petrea straightened her shoulders. A grim determination darkened her face. “That’s it,” she said. “I’ve had enough. If you’re not with me, Shaw, I’m doing it alone.”

She raised her voice so everyone on the bridge could hear her. “Captain Torres, I am relieving you of your command.”

Owen heard a surprised gasp from one of the junior officers and noticed a few nervous looks, but no one stepped in. No one tried to stop Petrea, who approached the captain’s chair like someone approached a spooked animal. “Your recent actions have placed this crew and vessel in unnecessary jeopardy. For the safety of everyone on board, I have no choice but to assume command until higher authority can review this matter.”

Torres looked like Petrea had punched her right in the gut. All color drained from her face, and for a moment, she just stared at her tactical officer in disbelief, eyes wide, mouth open. Then a red flush crept up her neck and cheeks. “How… how dare you. I—” She pressed a button on the armrest of her captain’s chair. “Security, send a team to the bridge!” she shrieked. “Arrest Lieutenant Commander Petrea and escort her to the brig.”

Panting heavily, she paused for a moment, staring at Petrea like she wanted to strangle her. Then, her gaze moved to Owen, and her face hardened even more. “And take Commander Shaw away as well.”

Chapter 20

Adrian stood up now too. “Captain Torres, I’m not sure this escalation is necessary. Why don’t you take a break for a few hours, let Shaw and Petrea take us back to Morrigon Station safely, and then we’ll sort all of this out?”

His friend usually had a talent for defusing critical social situations, but Torres wasn’t having any of it. “Careful now, Christopher. Or I’ll arrest you too.”

He opened his mouth for a reply, but Owen quickly shook his head. “Stay out of it, Adrian. We need at least one officer with a clear head on the bridge.”

Torres scoffed. “Just keep talking, Shaw. Every word digs your grave a little bit deeper.”

A moment later, the doors slid open, and four men armed with body armor and energy rifles appeared in the doorway. They positioned themselves around Torres, weapons at the ready. When Owen recognized the leader of the security team, he had to supress a groan. Lieutenant Fitzgerald. One of the most insufferable officers he’d ever served with.

Fitzgerald scanned the bridge, and when his eyes met Owen’s, a very ugly smirk tugged at his lips. His eyes remained calculatingly cold.

Once again, Adrian tried to help. “Gentlemen, I don’t think any of this is necessary. The captain overreacted a little, but after a short break, I’m sure everyone will have calmed down.”

“These officers tried to stage a mutiny!” Torres shouted at the security guards. “Arrest them.”

That sentence seemed to make Fitzgerald happy. “You two,” he barked at his men, “arrest Petrea. Olivier and I will take Shaw.”

Of course, Fitzgerald jumped at the chance to overpower Owen. He had busted his little illegal boxing tournament and written a negative entry into Fitzgerald’s personnel file. Owen was certain the man despised him just as much as he despised Fitzgerald, but he was determined to make this revenge-fantasy-come-true as unsatisfying for Fitzgerald as possible. With a sigh, Owen held out his wrists, signaling his compliance, but Fitzgerald slapped them down and quickly twisted his arm behind his back with a lot more force than necessary. Owen had to suppress a pained grunt. He wouldn’t give that little weasel the satisfaction.

Fitzgerald leaned in as he closed the restraints around Owen’s wrists. “Oh, how the tides have turned, Shaw. This is poetic justice.”

Owen gritted his teeth. “You wouldn’t recognize justice if it shot you in the face with a rifle, Fitzgerald.”

With an angry scoff, Fitzgerald tightened the handcuffs until they dug into his flesh. “Could you resist a little more? That would make it so much more fun.”

“Stop gloating and get this over with. Behave like a Space Guard officer for once.”

Fitzgerald’s angry reply was interrupted by Lieutenant Casey. Her voice sounded shaky, but she spoke loud enough to drown out Fitzgerald’s angry babbling.

“Captain Torres, we just received a distress signal.”

Torres frowned. “What? From the freighter? But our team is already on board. How—”

“Not from the Golden Rhino.” Casey swallowed hard. “From Morrigon Station.”

Torres’s face sank. Her entire body looked like it was deflating. “Morrigon Station…” she repeated, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

The realization of what Lieutenant Casey had just said paralyzed the entire bridge crew. Even Fitzgerald loosened his grip on Owen’s elbow.

Casey exchanged a worried glance with Lieutenant Lin and cleared her throat. “Captain, should I put it on screen?”

“Y—yes. Yes, put it on screen.”

A moment later, the large viewscreen showed Boateng’s face. Panic was distorting his usually calm expression. “This is Commander Boateng from Confederation Station Morrigon, Obsidian System. To any ship receiving this mess—” An explosion rocked the image, and Boateng flew to the ground. He scrambled back to his feet with a huff. “To any ship receiving this message. We’re being attacked by an unknown enemy. Our weapons systems are nonoperational. We’re defenseless. The only ship in orbit is the light cruiser Odyssey, but it’s under heavy fire, and I’m not sure how much longer it can survive.” His face looked haunted. “This ship… it’s massive. I’ve never seen a ship this size.”

Owen remembered the report from Cascade Colony. The settlers there had described a massive warship as well shortly before the entire colony had gone radio silent.

Was it the same ship? Who commanded it? Were pirates really capable of acquiring a ship like that?

A shouting command center crewmember interrupted Boateng’s message. “Commander, we have hull breaches on decks 37 and 38.”

The commander turned away from the camera. “Seal… seal the bulkheads.”

“But sir, there’re still people in these compartments. At least—”

“Seal the bulkheads before the entire section loses atmosphere.”

When Boateng turned back to the screen, his face showed a pain Owen was all too familiar with. “We will try to hold out as long as we can. But… I…” His sentence trailed off. He shook his head then ended the transmission without another word.

Torres clung to her chair, her eyes nervously darting across the bridge while her crew waited for her orders.

Her searching gaze stopped at Petrea. “I guess you’ll tell me ‘I told you so’ now?” Her voice sounded bitter.

Petrea clenched her jaw in defiant silence.

Torres let out a shuddering breath. “Casey, contact the away team and the fighter to return to the Resolute. Helmsman, prepare to turn the ship around. Lieutenant Fitzgerald… take Petrea and Shaw to the brig.”

Adrian took a step forward. “But ma’am, they—”

A sharp look from Torres silenced him.

Fitzgerald quickly regained his senses. He gave Owen a rough push that nearly made him stumble. “I’ll make sure the doors to their cells are locked tightly, Captain.” A nasty grin spread over his face.

Flanked by security men, Owen and Petrea were led off the bridge. The last thing he heard before the doors slid shut behind him was Lieutenant Casey’s voice. “Away team, abort mission. Return to the Resolute ASAP. I repeat. Abort mission. Abort mission.”

Lt. Octavia Casey

Waiting for the away team to return to the Resolute was torture, knowing that Morrigon Station was under heavy fire and that every minute spent in the Zakaria system meant more death and destruction for its inhabitants.

Octavia breathed a sigh of relief when Master Chief Roberts’s voice came through the internal comm system. “This is Roberts. The last bird is in the nest. We’re closing the hangar bays.”

“Copy, Master Chief.”

Octavia turned to Captain Torres. The usually easygoing, friendly woman had transformed into an ugly caricature of herself over the last few hours. She had no idea what had gotten into the captain, but it was clear she was cracking under the stress. Octavia was only a junior lieutenant and would never assume she knew better than her captain, but her gut told her she’d feel more confident about the battle they were heading into if Petrea and Shaw were still on the bridge.

“Captain Torres, flight deck reports the last shuttle has landed. We’re ready to turn the ship around.”

Torres nodded, her jaw clenched tight. “Zayed, you heard her. Push the engines to the max.”

Lieutenant Zayed, the dark-haired helmsman, got straight to work. “Brace yourselves, everyone. This might get a little rough.”

Octavia opened a shipwide comm channel. “Attention all hands. Brace for emergency deceleration burn.” After she’d warned the crew, she leaned back and checked the straps of her seat’s harness again. She had strapped herself in when Shaw had given the order, but she noticed several of her fellow junior officers were still not buckled in. She knew some people didn’t like being restrained while working, but unlike most of the Resolute’s crew, she’d experienced battle before, and she knew g-forces could get intense.

Even the Resolute’s modern inertia dampeners couldn’t quite cushion the effect on the human body when billions of tons of steel decelerated, flipped around its own axis, and accelerated back to over five thousand gravities. Octavia grabbed hold of the edge of her console until her knuckles turned white as the immense forces pushed her into the seat.

“Current acceleration: 5.2 kilogravs,” Zayed said through gritted teeth.

“I want more,” Torres demanded. Her voice still had the high-pitched edge Octavia had never noticed before.

Zayed turned around, confused. “What?”

“Get us back to that jump gate, Lieutenant.”

“But, Captain, we’re already over the allowed acceleration limit.”

“There’s always a safety margin to that limit, Zayed. Push her harder. She can take it.”

Zayed looked around the bridge helplessly, but there was no senior officer left who could oppose Torres. No one but the quiet Lieutenant Commander Christopher, who looked worried but remained silent.

Reluctantly, Zayed returned his attention to his console. His fingers were shaking slightly as he entered the commands that pushed the engine beyond the limits Confederation engineers had deemed safe. “Acceleration: 5.3… 5.4... 5.5.”

The usual soft hum of the massive engines turned into a groan.

“More,” Torres ordered. “We don’t have all day.”

Zayed took a deep breath, like he was trying to gather his courage. “Five point six… 5.7 … ma’am…”

The entire ship made a screeching sound as the g-forces put every bolt, screw, and weld seam under immense pressure.

Octavia was pressed into her seat so hard she felt like an elephant was sitting on her chest. Breathing became harder.

“Captain Torres, I can’t plot a safe course through hyperspace at this velocity,” Lieutenant Levi, the navigator, objected. “We need to slow down.”

Torres let out a dissatisfied grunt. “Of course you can.”

Finally, Christopher, the last voice of reason left on the bridge, spoke up. His tone was gentle but urging. “Margot,” he addressed the captain, “we’re going to help no one in the Obsidian system if the Resolute gets ripped apart on an atomic level because Lieutenant Levi couldn’t plot a solid hyperspace course. We need to slow down.”

Torres snorted like she was barely keeping herself from yelling at Christopher, but to Octavia’s surprise, after a few tense seconds, she gave in.

“Zayed, decrease the acceleration.”

Relieved, Zayed’s hands flew over the buttons of his console, and moments later, breathing became easier, and the nerve-wracking sound of screeching steel faded.

After less than a minute, the jump gate appeared in the front window—a massive ring of steel large enough for a battleship like the Resolute to pass through without issues. Inside the ring, space looked strangely distorted—a vortex of swirling stars.

“Approaching hyperspace gate,” Zayed announced, his eyes fixed on his screen. “Eight seconds until submergence. Seven... Six…”

Octavia took a deep breath. She had experienced hundreds of hyperspace journeys, but the entire idea of leaving the physical universe and traveling along the underbelly of physics still scared her to death. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the strange shiver that ran from her head to her toes.

When she opened her eyes again, the familiar blackness of space was gone, and the viewscreen only showed strange swirling lights and streaking colors.

“We’ve successfully entered hyperspace. All sensors within normal range,” Levi reported. “Time till reemergence: seventeen minutes and twenty-two seconds.”

Torres pressed a button on her captain’s chair’s armrest and opened a shipwide channel. “All hands, battle stations. Enemy contact in seventeen minutes.” The shakiness in her voice didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

Octavia wondered if Torres had fought a single battle in her career. If only Commander Shaw were still there. The battle-hardened veteran was exactly who they needed right now, but Torres had thrown him into a cell, simply because he stood too close to the insubordinate Petrea.

She focused on steady breathing. Seventeen minutes. Seventeen minutes until they’d head into battle. Against an unknown enemy, with an untested crew, two senior officers in the brig, and a captain who was losing the plot.

Octavia had seen enough battles to be familiar with the stress and fear that came with them. She even prided herself on staying calm under pressure when others around her froze or panicked. But this situation… that scared her. Space combat was deadly enough on its own, without all the added issues Resolute would carry into battle.

Her fellow officers looked equally tense. Torres was sweating. Christopher was frantically tapping on his console, brows knitted together. Cosima sat next to her, stone-faced. But the worst off were the two junior tactical officers.

Henry Fedorov manned the weapons console, and Hera Joeng was the officer responsible for electronic countermeasures—including everything from the ship’s shield system to the torpedo target jammers. The outcome of the battle hinged largely on these two young people, and they were heading into their very first fight without Lieutenant Petrea, their senior officer, guiding them.

“Five minutes until reemergence,” Quinn reported.

Octavia saw a message from the CAG, Lieutenant Commander Marino, pop up on her screen. “Captain, the CAG reports all nine fighter squadrons are manned and ready for launch.”

Torres nodded. “Good. Tell him to launch as soon as we emerge in the Obsidian system. We might not have much time to get our bearings.”

“One minute to reemergence,” Quinn said.

Octavia tried to focus on the task ahead. As communication officer, it would be her job to relay messages between the different departments—bridge, engineering, medical—but also to filter incoming messages from both enemy ships and their allies. She double-checked her screen, making sure all comm channels were open and stable.

“Five seconds till reemergence. Four… three… two… one.”

Octavia barely noticed the uncomfortable feeling that rippled through her body when the Resolute left hyperspace. As they reemerged from the gate into the Obsidian system, the distorted lights on the viewscreen were replaced by a field of debris, scattered and drifting through the vastness of space.

Every sensor on the bridge started blaring and blinking.

Zayed cursed loudly. “Proximity alert!” He frantically started hammering on his buttons.

“Evasive maneuvers!” Torres barked.

“Initiating evasive maneuvers,” Zayed said through clenched teeth. “Brace for impact.”

Octavia could feel the entire ship lurch as she was slammed into her seat.

Sharp-edged wreckage and twisted beams came flying at them, hitting the Resolute’s hull like deadly hail.

“We have a hull breach on deck 14,” Cosima reported.

“Close the bulkheads,” Christopher ordered. “Lieutenant Casey, alert the damage control teams.”

Alarms wailed, and dozens of red lights blinked on every bridge console. Behind her, Captain Torres was barking disjointed orders, but Octavia hardly paid her attention. The entire situation was disorienting, so she focused on her training, focused on the task ahead. With a press of a button, she opened a channel to Engineering. “We need a damage control team on deck 14. Sensors report a hull breach.”

Only after she received confirmation that the damage team was on its way did she dare to look up from her console again.

On the viewscreen, the ship was just about to steer clear of the debris field, probably the remains of a ship that had tried to flee the system but got destroyed shortly before reaching the jump gate.

What appeared behind the debris field took her breath away.

It was a harrowing sight.

A giant, unmarked battleship was slowly moving in on Morrigon Station, glowing torpedoes streaking through space, and the only obstacle in its way was the CSS Odyssey.

An Argonaut-class cruiser like the Odyssey was over 350 meters long and weighed nearly three million metric tons, but that enemy battleship dwarfed the Odyssey. It was at least four times the size of the cruiser, a good chunk bigger than the Resolute herself, one of the largest ships the Confederation had ever built.

It was Cosima who spoke aloud what everyone on the bridge was thinking as they looked at the frightening scene playing out in front of them. “What the hell is that?”

Octavia’s stomach clenched, because she knew exactly what kind of ship that was.

Chapter 21

Ens. Noah Jordan

The order had been to launch the fighters as soon as the Resolute reemerged in normal space. The seventeen minutes of hyperspace travel time had to be enough prep time, and the only briefing he got was some barked orders from Prescott to keep his helmet on and hold his pee in and a rumor the technicians had shared with him while refueling his fighter. Something about an attack on Morrigon Station and about an unidentified battleship. Then he and his Pegasus fighter were shoved back into the launch tube.

No one had warned him they’d launch into a damn debris field.

His first combat mission nearly ended about four and a half seconds after he cleared the launch tube, when Noah only avoided collision with a ragged piece of wreckage by forcing his fighter into a nausea-inducing spin, making every alarm in his cockpit ring and every display blink in angry red.

It took him a moment to reorient himself. Just as he managed to get his bearings, he had to dodge another chunk of debris. Over his earpiece, he could hear the other pilots curse and groan as they threaded their fighters through the same obstacle course he did.

After another spin, a roll, several sharp dodges, and one very close encounter with some kind of metal beam that nearly gutted his ship, Noah cleared the debris field, and dark, empty space opened up in front of him, only lit by explosions in the distance.

That ship they were about to fight was massive and unlike anything Noah had ever seen, and the fight with the Odyssey was brutal. They were still too far away to get sensors on the friendly ship, but even just by looking at it through the window of his cockpit, Noah could tell the Odyssey was being shot to pieces. Unless they intervened.

Prescott’s voice came through his ear-piece “Okay, people, keep a tight formation. Remember, we’re the Resolute’s first line of defense. Look at that ugly thing over there. I don’t even want to think about the number of torpedoes it can fire. I expect discipline. If anyone breaks up the defensive screen to go hunt for glory, I’ll make them clean fuel tubes with their tongue until New Year’s Eve.”

Noah double-checked his HUD to make sure he was exactly where he was supposed to be in the formation. He looked at the little colored dots next to the one that represented his own ship, each one standing for one of his squad mates. Delta-1 was the squadron’s leader, Prescott. Noah himself had Delta-5. Charlie was Delta-4. Colin, Delta-2. Mira, Delta-7. It had only been a few weeks since he’d stood lost and confused on the Resolute’s flight deck for the first time, but hell, those weeks had been intense, and he’d grown close to his fellow pilots. Knowing they were there with him, wing by wing, gave him comfort and calmed his nerves ahead of his first real battle.

And what a battle it would be. Noah had no misgivings about what was about to come. This massive enemy ship would give them one hell of a fight.

Prescott’s voice came crackling through his headphones. “Looks like the monster is rearing its head. Hold the line, everybody.”

Even with just the naked eye, Noah could see the enemy ship was turning around and accelerating, leaving the Odyssey be for the time being to fry a bigger fish: the Resolute.

He grabbed his joysticks tighter. Blood was rushing in his ears, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins suppressed any fears or second thoughts, and all that was left was laser-like focus on the mission goals. Protect the Resolute, protect Morrigon Station, protect the Odyssey, blow that ugly behemoth of a battleship to pieces.

“Stay calm, everybody,” Prescott said. “It’ll take a couple of minutes until that thing is in torpedo range. We—shit.”

A high-pitched beeping informed Noah about the incoming torpedoes. His HUD filled up with hundreds of little dots, each representing an enemy torpedo.

Lt. Octavia Casey

The moment the first torpedoes appeared on the radar, Captain Torres lost the last shreds of her composure.

“Fire back!” she screeched.

Federov looked at Joeng helplessly, his hands hovering over his console. “But, ma’am, we’re still almost two minutes out of weapons range.”

“We need lasers. Lasers! Now!”

“I—all right, activating point-defense laser,” Federov said, “but I have to advise against this strongly. We risk hitting our own fighters out there, Captain.”

“Are you telling me your aim is bad, Lieutenant Federov?” Torres barked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Then fire the lasers before those torpedoes tear us to shreds. Joeng, shields up.”

“Shields are up,” Lieutenant Joeng confirmed.

Torres let out a shuddering breath, staring at the screen with wide-open eyes, as two rows of little dots—one representing their own space fighters, the other representing the incoming torpedoes—rushed toward each other.

The moment the dots collided on the screen, all order was lost, and the radar grid became chaotic. Dots zigzagged over the screen, sped up, and blinked out of existence.

Octavia glanced up from her console, trying to keep up with the battle. It looked so harmless on that screen, just dancing dots, but she knew out there in space, the Resolute pilots were pushing their ships to the limits, executing maneuvers they’d only practiced in simulations, fighting for their lives and the survival of everyone aboard the Resolute.

Their fighters took out the first torpedoes, shooting them down, letting them explode at a safe distance from the ship, and the radar image dissolved into an even bigger mess.

“Stabilize the sensors, Lin,” Torres demanded. “I need to see what’s going on.”

“I can’t, ma’am.” Cosima’s voice sounded irritated. “It’s the radiation from the exploding plasma torpedoes that’s scrambling the data.”

Torres muttered something under her breath Octavia didn’t quite catch, but she was sure she heard the words “surrounded by incompetence.”

Cosima shook her head, her fingers flying over her console. “What on earth is going on with her?” she asked. “She’s a damn Space Guard captain—she knows plasma radiation messes with sensors. You learn that in Battlefield Strategies 101 in your first semester at the Academy.”

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to ignore whatever she says and fight this battle without her,” Octavia whispered. “Right now, she’s doing more harm than good.”

“At least our pilots look sharp.” Cosima pointed at the screen. “Look, they’ve cleared nearly half the torpedoes already. At this pace, they—oh crap.”

“What?”

“Here comes the next salvo.”

Ens. Noah Jordan

Sweat was dripping down Noah’s face as he steadied his fighter, hand clenched around the joystick, trying to get a target lock on the next torpedo.

“Lock on... lock on,” he murmured to himself.

“Don’t overthink it, rookie,” crackled Prescott’s voice over his headset. “Line up, shoot, move. Next one’s already inbound.”

He glanced at his HUD and saw that Prescott was right. There was yet another salvo of torpedoes heading for the Resolute.

How many damn torpedoes did this ship have? He’d never seen anything like it—hundreds of warheads glowing in the cold dark of space, trailing fire like a swarm of angry, lethal wasps.

The Resolute’s laser point-defense guns had come on, too, but they added more to the chaos than they helped. Their reach just wasn’t far enough, and Noah had to dodge their friendly fire more than once. His comms exploded with orders and frantic status reports as the fighters hunted down torpedoes, turning the pitch-black canvas of space into one big firework of plasma explosions.

They were barely making a dent. He and his fellow pilots fought valiantly, but every time he destroyed one, five more seemed to take its place.

Noah’s targeting reticle flashed green as it locked onto a torpedo. He squeezed the trigger, his laser turret cut through space with a high-energy pulse, and the warhead detonated in a blinding flash. He didn’t have a moment to relish the victory of shooting down yet another torpedo—he must have killed off at least a dozen now. A warning blared in his cockpit. A torpedo from his blind spot streaked toward him, too close to evade. Panic shot through him as he yanked his controls, but before he could move out of the way, a flash of light and shrapnel filled his view—another pilot had intercepted it, blowing the torpedo apart.

“Keep your head in the game, Junior!” shouted Commander Marino over the comm channel. The CAG himself had saved his ass. “You want to get yourself killed, go ahead, but don’t drag the squadron down with you!”

A torpedo whizzed past Noah’s left wing, close enough to shake his entire cockpit. He gripped the controls harder, throat tightening as he jerked his fighter around, but the torpedo slipped from his targeting lock. His vision was a blur of fire and debris, his ears ringing with the endless barrage of warnings and shouted orders over comms. There were just too many torpedoes and too few fighters.

All he could do was watch helplessly as the first torpedo crashed into the Resolute’s hull.

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Owen Shaw gritted his teeth as the CSS Resolute shuddered under yet another barrage. He could feel the rumble of the impacts reverberating through the ship, vibrating through the metal floor and into his bones.

The sole security guard watching the two prisoners looked at the shaking walls nervously. He seemed relieved when his TacPad chirped. The young man turned his back toward him and walked a few steps away to take the call, lowering his voice. Owen didn’t catch the words, but the guard’s face tightened as he listened. Moments later, he bolted out the door without a glance at the prisoners he was supposed to be watching.

“That’s a bad sign,” came Petrea’s voice from the cell next to him.

Owen couldn’t see her through the metal wall separating their holding cells, but he could hear her well. Owen took a deep breath and gripped the edge of the metal bench he was sitting on harder to brace himself against the constant violent tremors the ship suffered. “I’m afraid I have to agree.”

“I know that man,” she said. Of course she would. She was the head of the tactical department, after all. “He’s a security guard, but he’s also on rotation for one of the backup damage control teams.”

Owen leaned his head back against the cold metal wall, trying to ignore the dull ache in his shoulder caused by Fitzgerald’s less-than-gentle arrest.

“If they’re pulling nonessential personnel into the damage control teams, the situation must be dire.”

As if to underline his words, another heavy hit rumbled through the ship. Owen nearly slid off the bench. The entire ship felt like a panicked horse trying to buck off his rider. His mind went to the young officers on the bridge, seventeen decks above him, who were fighting this battle. They were putting the Resolute through some pretty intense evasive maneuvers. He should be there, guiding them. Instead, he was trapped, powerless to help.

He could hear Petrea hit the cell wall with a frustrated grunt. “I’m not sure how much more she can take, Shaw. We need to—”

She quickly trailed off when the door to the brig slid open and the last person Owen wanted to see right now strolled in: Fitzgerald, radiating smugness with a grin plastered on his face that made Owen’s blood run cold.

Chapter 22

Fitzgerald was accompanied by a spacer Owen wasn’t familiar with—a burly man with a grim face. He was armed with a riot-control lance.

They walked past Petrea’s cell without paying attention to her.

“What is this, Fitzgerald?” she asked. “Aren’t you needed somewhere else?” She tried to sound casual, but there was an edge to her voice that told Owen she felt as uncomfortable about his nemesis being here as he did. Fitzgerald wasn’t here for a friendly chat. That much was clear.

He stopped in front of Owen’s cell and put his hands on his hips, staring at him with a malicious glint in his eyes. “You’re probably right, Commander Petrea, but certain… duties take precedence.”

Owen eyed the riot-control lance. Usually used by security forces to subdue masses, the lance was capable of delivering electric shocks that could knock out a grown man. He already had a hunch what purpose this unwelcome visit had.

“Your only duty is to the Resolute, Fitzgerald. You’re a disgrace to your uniform.”

Fitzgerald’s mouth twitched for a moment, anger washing over his face before he regained his composure. “I need to make sure justice is applied, Shaw. I can’t wait for your trial and risk you going unpunished again.”

Owen sighed. “And I assume you consider yourself the best person to deal out that punishment.” The lances could also be used to inflict severe pain, and he knew that was what Fitzgerald had in mind for him, but he wouldn’t give that weasel the satisfaction of showing fear.

Fitzgerald smirked. “Open the door, Jenson.”

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Petrea’s voice sounded higher than usual. “Senior Spacer Jenson, put down that lance immediately. That’s an order.”

Jenson showed no sign he even heard her as he shouldered the lance and stepped behind the guard console. He tapped a few commands, and the lock on Owen’s cell disengaged with a metallic clunk.

“We don’t take orders from traitors.” Fitzgerald’s voice was cold as ice as he drew an energy gun out of his belt holster and adjusted the setting with exaggerated care. “I’m setting it high enough to kill, but I’d prefer not to use it, Shaw. I want this to take a while.”

He was still waiting for Jenson to return to his side when another torpedo hit rocked the ship, making the floor under their feet vibrate. For a brief second, Owen wondered what would kill him first: the ship being destroyed by enemy fire or Fitzgerald’s twisted idea of justice.

Jenson entered Owen’s cell, lance at the ready, and Fitzgerald was only a step behind him, rubbing his hands together like he was about to unwrap a Christmas present.

“You had this coming a long time, Shaw.”

“Just stop the blabbering and get it over with.”

Fitzgerald scoffed and gave Jenson a nod. Before Owen could do anything to protect himself, the man lashed at him with his lance, hitting him in the left arm. Searing pain jolted through his body that made his muscles seize involuntarily and set his nerves ablaze.

Owen dropped to one knee, holding his left arm, and tried to catch a breath. A metallic taste flooded his mouth, making him realize he’d bitten his tongue.

He spat the blood out, aiming for Fitzgerald’s feet, and managed to sprinkle his polished boots.

“What the heck is going on over there?” Petrea yelled. “Fitzgerald, you are so done for. You’ll end up in military prison. Both of you.”

Her voice sounded strangely far away to Owen as he scrambled back to his feet with a groan. His arm ached, and the skin still tingled where the lance had struck him.

Fitzgerald looked down at his bloody boots. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I’m so glad you’re making this more fun than your arrest on the bridge. Are you enjoying yourself? Great, because Jenson’s just getting started. Jenson, turn up the—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. A massive explosion shook the ship and threw them all off their feet. Owen’s head hit the edge of the cell’s metal cot, and everything around him went dark.

Ens. Noah Jordan

The thick armored hull of the Resolute could take dozens of torpedo hits, but every ship had one major weakness: the engines. A direct hit there would cripple the ship, possibly even destroy it, depending on the torpedo’s payload.

That was why the sight of four torpedoes arcing around the Resolute to head straight for the engines made Noah’s stomach drop. A glance at his HUD told him his fighter was closest. He had to stop them no matter what. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the throttle until the acceleration pressed him into the cushioned seat. His target computer locked on the first torpedo, and with a press of a button, a bright-red laser beam shot through space and detonated the torpedo at a safe distance.

For a moment, his view was filled with bright light, and his HUD was scrambled by the plasma radiation. When he managed to reorient himself, the other three torpedoes had gotten too far away for him to shoot them down.

Tightening his grip around the throttle lever, he pushed the ship harder. His HUD reported an acceleration of Forty-two kilogravs. Forty-five kilogravs. Fifty kilogravs. A whole bunch of numbers started lighting up in orange on his display, and it was getting harder to breathe.

Fifty kilogravs was a Pegasus fighter’s upper limit—at least according to the fleet yard–approved manual—but every pilot knew the ship could be pushed a little farther than that before you ran into any real trouble.

Noah managed to catch another torpedo, his laser slicing right through it. The explosion bloomed in brilliant orange and white, scattering debris across his flight path. He yanked the steering joystick upward, the ship’s belly barely scraping over the tumbling debris, but his evasive maneuver allowed the other two torpedoes to get away from him.

He gritted his teeth, banking hard to chase them, but the distance was already growing. The Resolute loomed behind them, the vulnerable engines glowing orange. Those two torpedoes were all it would take to turn the ship into a drifting hulk—or worse, an expanding cloud of debris.

He glanced at the numbers on his display again. The ship could give a little more. It had to. His hand was sweaty in his glove when he pulled the throttle again. Fifty-one kilogravs. Fifty-two kilogravs. Fifty-three kilogravs. The orange numbers turned bright red, and alarms started ringing, warning him of the numerous parameters out of safe range.

His field of view started to blacken at the edges as he shot through space, chasing after the last two torpedoes. He locked on and fired. Both torpedoes corrected their course at the last second, and his shot missed. A torpedo’s simplistic computer wasn’t a match for a human pilot’s reflexes and instincts, but it was often enough to carry the payload into the target. Noah cursed under his breath, trying to steady his ship to get a better lock.

Fire. Hit! But the explosion happened so close to his own ship that he got pushed off course.

That allowed the last torpedo to gain some distance. The Resolute’s own point-defense laser cut through space, trying to disable it, but the engines were a bit of a blind spot for the laser turrets. They missed time and time again.

It was up to Noah. He had to catch it. His hand went to the throttle again. Fifty-four kilogravs, the display said in bright, blinking red numbers. Fifty-five kilogravs. Noah’s vision was getting darker. He knew neither his fighter nor his body could take much more.

Charlie’s voice came through his headphones. “What the hell are you doing, rookie?” She sounded distant, her words hardly more than muffled background noise.

The torpedo was already way too close to the Resolute. Mere seconds from impact. Fifty-four kilogravs. He was catching up, but when he glanced at the target HUD to get a lock, the screen was a scrambled mess. Too much interfering radiation from the surrounding explosions.

“Fine. We’ll do this old-school,” he whispered, gripping the controls tightly. He’d practiced this in the simulator. He could shoot this thing down without computer assistance.

Relying solely on his instincts, he lined up the torpedo in his sights, his breath coming in shallow gasps as the strain of the g-forces pushed his body to its limits.

“Steady... steady...” he murmured to himself, his gloved thumb hovering over the trigger.

He fired.

The laser bolt connected, and the torpedo detonated.

The shock wave hit him like a freight train. His Pegasus shuddered violently, spinning out of control as systems failed one by one. Noah barely had time to register the alarms screaming in protest before the force slammed him back into his seat, the cockpit erupting in a blinding white light.

Too close was the last thought that went through his head before everything went dark.

Lt. Octavia Casey

The Resolute was shaking violently, screaming and groaning under the torpedo barrage. The lights flickered with every hit.

Octavia stared at her screen in horror, listening to the screams and yells as more and more fighter signals disappeared. The pilots gave it everything they had, but the firepower of the enemy ship was overwhelming. Signal lost. Signal lost. Signal lost. The list grew longer by the second. Alpha-6, Alpha-7, Beta-1, Beta-5, Beta-6, Gamma-3, Gamma-9, Delta-5, Delta-7, Epsilon-4… She had to tear her eyes away from the screen to collect herself for a moment. So many lives lost, and for what? What was this ship even doing here? Why had it attacked Morrigon Station?

Alarms blared from all directions, drowning out Torres’s scrambled shouting. No one was paying much attention to her anymore. Commander Christopher occasionally tried to intervene, but he was cut short by Torres every time he made a suggestion, and the soft-spoken Christopher was not the type of officer who butted heads with his captain, especially not after two senior officers had been arrested for doing just that.

Cosima delivered another damage report. “Hull breaches on Decks 14 through 17. We’re losing atmosphere. Shield integrity down to twenty-three percent. We’ve lost propulsion on the starboard thrusters!”

“Lieutenant Casey, try to reach engineering,” Christopher ordered, his voice still remarkably calm. “We need those thrusters back online.”

“Fire torpedoes!” Torres screeched. “Fire the damn torpedoes!”

Federov shook his head, frantically mashing the buttons on his console. “I can’t. We’re still not within torpedo range.”

“Fire, Federov!”

“But, Captain, they won’t reach the enemy ship. We’ll just waste them.”

“Fire!”

Federov turned around to Commander Christopher and looked at him questioningly. Christopher silently shook his head no. Don’t fire. Federov nodded, relieved.

Torres didn’t notice the silent exchange, too caught up in her own panic.

An incoming signal showed up on Octavia’s screen. From the Odyssey.

“Captain Torres, we have an incoming message from the Odyssey.”

Torres looked at her in confusion, as if she had completely forgotten the other Confederation ship that was participating in the fight. “On screen,” she finally said.

The viewscreen showed a gray-haired captain. He looked tense but not nearly as panicked as Torres.

“I’m glad to see your face, Margot.”

She waved her hand impatiently. “What do you want, Russo? We’re a bit busy right now.”

Captain Russo squinted his eyes but quickly shook off his confusion. “We need to tackle this ship together.” He went silent for a moment. After a heavy sigh, he continued. “We’ll try to draw their fire so the Resolute can get into weapons range.”

Christopher spoke up. “The Odyssey can’t take that many torpedoes for long. Your ship will be destroyed.”

Russo’s jaw tensed. “Most likely, yes, but I see no other way. This system has to be defended. There are thousands of civilians on Morrigon Station, and the hyperspace gate is of utmost strategic importance.” He was a seasoned commander, and he knew his ship stood no chance against the enemy. The solemn expression on his face made clear he was aware of the gravity of his proposal, but he was willing to sacrifice hundreds of lives aboard his ship, including his own.

Torres was quick to accept the proposal. “So be it. Your sacrifice will be noted, Captain Russo. Godspeed.”

Russo’s face hardened. He responded with a curt nod. “Godspeed, Captain Torres.”

His face on the viewscreen was replaced with an image of the Odyssey as the ship fired up its engines and moved toward the enemy ship.

Octavia felt her throat tighten. Was the crew aboard the ship aware of the decision their captain had just made? Did they know they were doomed? She looked around and saw that most of her crewmates looked shocked and dismayed. Even Commander Christopher looked sad, and the chaotic shouting had momentarily been replaced by oppressive silence as they watched the Odyssey head into a fight she couldn’t win. The only person seemingly unaffected was Captain Torres. She looked relieved.

Russo’s plan was working. Whoever was manning the massive battleship, they seemed to rely more on raw firepower than tactical genius, because they were falling for the most basic maneuver in the world. The massive ship slowly spun around and focused its fire on the Odyssey instead.

The rumbles and bangs died down. The ship went quiet. A moment of reprieve.

Torres wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Zayed, full retreat. Turn the ship around and head for the hyperspace gate.”

Zayed turned in his seat and stared at the captain, mouth hanging open. He looked about as shocked as Octavia felt. Had she misheard? Had Torres just ordered them to abandon the Odyssey? The entire system? Had she just ordered them to… run away?

The rest of the bridge crew had gone quiet. Worried glances were exchanged.

“Can you repeat that order?” Zayed asked weakly, as if he already dreaded the answer.

“You heard me,” Torres snapped. “Take us to the hyperspace gate. Levi, plot a course to the nearest safe system. Maybe Nevadon. Yes, plot a course to the Nevadon system.”

Christopher rose from his seat. “Captain Torres, if we run away now—”

Torres cut him off. “You heard what Russo said. The Odyssey is handling it. We need to get out of here and repair our ship.”

“Ma’am, the Odyssey is badly damaged already, and a light cruiser will not be able to defend the system against that battleship. If we leave now, we’re losing Morrigon Station, the entire Obsidian system, and the hyperspace gate. The Odyssey’s sacrifice will have been in vain.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Octavia glanced at Cosima’s screen. The sensors showed a massive number of torpedoes heading toward the Odyssey. Whatever they were going to do, retreat or attack, they needed to do it now, because the time the Odyssey was buying them was quickly ticking down.

Torres’s lips were pressed together. Her face was pale and sweaty, and she clung to the armrests of her captain’s chair so hard her knuckles had turned white. “Zayed,” she said through gritted teeth, “take us to the hyperspace gate.”

Zayed swallowed hard and slowly shook his head. He took his hands off his console and put them in his lap. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not going to follow that order, ma’am. We’re Space Guard. Space Guard does not run like cowards.”

Octavia heard Cosima’s breath hitch and looked at the sensor screen again. The first salvo of torpedoes had hit the Odyssey. It was only a matter of minutes until the Odyssey was destroyed. They needed to act, someone needed to make a decision, or they would be next.

Torres rose from her chair, fist clenched, face twitching. She looked like she was ready to strangle Zayed with her own hands. “You will follow my orders or—”

The last thing Octavia noticed was the massive energy spike coming from the Odyssey’s last position. Then everything went dark.

Chapter 23

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Owen awoke with the worst headache of his life and a high-pitched ringing in his ears. With a groan, he tried to push himself up. Something warm and sticky ran down the side of his head, and when he reached up to wipe it away, his hand came back covered in blood.

“Shit.”

“Shaw? Is that you?” Petrea’s voice came from nearby.

Owen looked around, trying to reorient himself, trying to figure out what had happened in the last couple of hours. The last thing he remembered was being on the bridge, but this clearly wasn’t the bridge. This was… the brig. Or at least it used to be, because it was in a sorry state. One wall was pushed in, and a big gash opened into the next room. There was rubble and debris everywhere, cables and torn pipes dangling from the ceiling. And bodies. One of them was holding a riot lance.

The sight of the lance made his memories rush back. He had been arrested for mutiny. Again. Although it had been even less justified this time around. He’d been stuck in this cell while the Resolute was under heavy fire, and then Fitzgerald and his friend had snuck into the brig for some lynching.

“Shaw, say something,” Petrea said. Her voice sounded desperate. “Tell me you’re alive.”

Owen shook his head like a wet dog, trying to get rid of the nasty ringing sound. “I’m alive.” He looked down his body to check for other injuries, but it appeared that apart from the gash on his head, he was okay. “I’m still in one piece. What… what happened?”

“I’m not sure. Something exploded. Probably a power relay.”

“At least the battle seems to be over, although I have no idea if we won or lost.”

“I would like to find that out,” she said. “I saw this asshole Jenson unlock your door. Is it still open?”

Owen glanced up. Luckily, Fitzgerald had left the door to Owen’s cell unlocked behind him, probably to make sure he could flee quickly in case Owen decided to fight back. He just had to push it open to step into the brig’s central corridor. “Yes, it’s still open.”

“Can you let me out of this cell? I’m not very confident about the structural integrity of this deck. And do you hear that sound? I think we might be losing atmosphere.”

He listened intently for a moment and quickly realized what she meant. A soft hiss from somewhere nearby. He couldn’t see the hull breach, and it couldn’t be large—otherwise, they would already be dead—but there was no doubt they were leaking atmosphere. “You’re right. We need to get out of here.” With a grunt, he struggled to his feet, even though his injured head protested by sending a sharp pain down his neck. His legs felt shaky, and the vision in his artificial eye was a bit blurred, but he managed to stay upright. “Hold on a second.”

He stepped over the body lying on the floor of his cell in a puddle of blood. Jenson. The man who had struck him with the riot lance. A sharp-edged piece of metal, as long as a forearm, was stuck in his back.

A few feet away from him was Fitzgerald. Owen didn’t even look at him. He’d seen enough of the man for the rest of his life.

Petrea was standing at the bars of her cell, right next to Owen’s, pale but unharmed. “Hurry up, Shaw.”

Owen rounded Fitzgerald’s lifeless body and checked the console that controlled the holding cells. Fortunately, it looked mostly undamaged by the explosion. He entered the command to open Petrea’s cell and put his hand on the fingerprint sensor. After a second, a red light lit up.

“Damn it. I think Torres revoked my access clearance when she had us arrested.”

Petrea cursed then took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself. “Do you think you can just break the lock open?”

“I doubt that would work. Maybe—” There was a chirping sound coming from nearby. The kind of chirp a TacPad made to inform the owner of an incoming message. He looked around, trying to locate the sound. He found it in a metal box several feet away from the security console, half covered by debris. That was where the security guard had put his TacPad after taking it from him when he was thrown into the cell. The box must have gone flying when the wall was ripped apart by that explosion.

He quickly picked up his TacPad and accepted the incoming call. “This is Shaw.”

“Commander Shaw, thank god. This is Lieutenant Victoria Valentine, engineering department.”

“Yes, I remember you, Lieutenant Valentine. What can I do for you? Make it quick—I’m in a bit of a situation.”

“We have a problem, sir. A huge problem. Massive.”

“That doesn’t sound so good.”

“The fusion reactor is about to overload.”

Owen’s fingers clenched around the TacPad unintentionally. “What?”

“Must’ve been a surge in the power system caused by one of the explosions. It caused a chain reaction in the fuel mixing chamber, and now, the entire reactor is destabilizing.”

He walked over to Petrea’s cell, TacPad in hand, so she could listen in on the conversation. “Isn’t there anything you can do? Where’s the chief engineer? Where’s Vadra?”

“Dead.” Lieutenant Valentine didn’t sound especially sorry about that fact. “I’m the highest-ranking officer in the department as far as I’m aware.”

“Congratulations. You just got promoted to acting chief engineer, Lieutenant. Now, tell me how we keep the fusion reactor from blowing up.”

“We shut it off.”

“That’s it?” Petrea asked. “Sounds simple enough.”

“It’s not. The shutdown has to be authorized by the captain herself or the XO, sir. And Torres isn’t answering my calls. No one up there is. I have no idea what’s happening on the bridge, but I need you to come to the engineering room right now.”

“There’s a problem,” Owen said reluctantly. “Torres revoked my security clearance.”

“She did what?” There was an edge of panic to her voice that worried Owen.

“Long story.”

“We don’t have time for a long story. If my calculations are correct, the reactor will reach the point of no return in about fifty minutes or so.”

Owen went quiet for a moment. He wasn’t keen on facing Torres again, but if Valentine was unable to reach the captain via comms and he wasn’t able to shut down the reactor alone, he would have no other choice but to go to the bridge and inform her of the emergency himself. “Okay, Valentine. I got it. I’ll find a way to solve this problem. Wait for me in the engine room. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Shit.” Petrea leaned her forehead against the metal bars and closed her eyes for a moment. “You need to go on without me.”

He shook his head. “Not an option. This deck is losing atmosphere. You’ll die like an animal in a trap. I won’t leave you behind.”

“That’s very noble, but if that reactor explodes, we lose the ship with all hands. You need to get to the bridge as fast as possible and either convince Torres to reestablish your security clearance or drag her to the engine room so she can shut down that reactor herself.”

“I’ll do just that,” he said. “After I get you out of that cell.”

Petrea blew out air. “Fine. I can’t say I’m keen to die here, but how?”

“I liked your brute-force idea,” Owen said. “Maybe Fitzgerald can do some good after all.”

He crouched down next to Fitzgerald and checked his lifeless body. Blood had soaked his blond hair, and there was a puddle of blood pooling under his head. His gun, the one he had pointed at Owen a short while ago, was peeking out from under his chest. If he set the energy level high enough, he might be able to blast the magnetic lock on the cell door open.

He pressed his hand against Fitzgerald’s shoulder to roll him over. The body shifted limply—then Fitzgerald let out a faint, ragged groan. Owen snatched the gun and scrambled back, putting a safe distance between himself and his tormentor.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Petrea looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Fitzgerald isn’t dead.”

“Good for him,” Petrea said flatly. They both looked at Fitzgerald. He was still unconscious but definitely breathing. “Don’t even think about dragging that bastard to the medical bay, Shaw.”

“But—”

“We have bigger problems to solve. He shouldn’t even be here, remember? Fitzgerald got himself into this situation. He can save his own ass.”

Owen was still reluctant. He wasn’t a fan of the man, but leaving him to die didn’t feel right either. “Let’s at least transmit his position to the rescue teams.”

Petrea exhaled through her nose, clearly unimpressed but unwilling to argue further. “Fine. Do that, and then, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Owen used his TacPad to mark Fitzgerald’s position for the paramedics then wiped some of Fitzgerald’s blood off the gun handle and turned up the energy setting to maximum. “Better stand back.”

Petrea took a step away from the bars, pressing herself against the cell’s back wall, as Owen took aim. He pulled the trigger. The weapon let out a piercing whine before discharging, and a moment later, the lock exploded into a shower of jagged metal shards with an echoing bang. Petrea had to duck to avoid being hit.

“Okay, that worked better than I expected,” she said as she stepped out of her cell and grabbed her TacPad from the box Owen had picked up from the floor. “Let’s get going. I have a bad feeling about this bridge situation.”

“Me too.” There were few reasons he could think of why none of the bridge officers had answered Valentine’s calls, each one more catastrophic than the last.

Chapter 24

Lt. Octavia Casey

Octavia was still strapped to her seat when she woke up. Instinctively, the first thing she looked at was the big viewscreen in front of her. It showed nothing but the inky emptiness of space. No explosion, no torpedoes, no lasers streaking through space. In the distance, the enemy ship floated motionless, dead.

Whatever had happened to the Resolute had happened to the enemy ship, too, and crippled it just as much.

She was still trying to piece together what exactly had happened after the enemy ship destroyed the Odyssey when the harsh smell of smoke and burning plastic crept up her nose. Blinking to clear her vision, she tried to locate the source of the smell and found carnage and destruction everywhere around her. Half the ceiling had come down, wires hanging loose, debris covering the floor.

The lights flickered, and the bridge was eerily silent. Fearing the worst, she looked to her left, and what she saw made her breath hitch in her throat. Four of her fellow officers were dead. Zayed must’ve been smashed into his console. His head was a bloody pulp on the touchpad. Weapons officer Ben Federov was hanging over his console, limp and lifeless. Levi and Joeng had both been flung from their seats. Their bodies were on the floor, limbs twisted and broken. The injuries were so severe she had to avert her gaze. The inertial dampeners must’ve failed. Octavia realized she’d only survived because she’d followed Shaw's orders and buckled herself in before heading into battle.

She swallowed hard, forcing down the nausea rising in her throat. Was she the only survivor? Reluctantly, she turned around to check on Cosima. Her head was hanging on her chest, the only thing holding her upright the straps of her chair. With shaking hands, Octavia reached out and put two fingers on the side of her neck. She quickly found the weak thrum of a pulse and breathed a sigh of relief. Cosima was still alive, but Octavia wasn’t sure how badly she was injured. Outwardly, she looked relatively unscathed, but maybe she had internal injuries. Maybe even brain injuries.

Zayed, Levi, Federov, and Jeong were all dead. Octavia didn’t need to check their mangled bodies to know that.

She unbuckled her belt and climbed out of her chair. Her vision got hazy for a moment, and her legs felt like all the bones had turned to jelly, but as far as she could tell, she was uninjured, just thoroughly shaken.

Searching the bridge for other survivors, she quickly spotted Captain Torres. She must’ve been thrown out of her captain’s chair, because she was lying on the floor close to the unmanned tactical console, both legs bent at unnatural angles. The bone of her upper arm was sticking out, bloody and sharp-edged. Octavia’s stomach sank. Reluctantly, she got closer and kneeled on the ground, putting a hand on Torres’s back. She waited for a whole minute but registered not a single breath.

Captain Margot Torres was dead.

She had lost her life leading her people into battle, protecting thousands of civilians from a brutal enemy attack. A death almost a little too heroic, considering how Torres had behaved during the last hours of her life.

A groan nearby got Octavia's attention. She spun around and found Commander Christopher. He, too, must’ve been thrown across the bridge because he was lying on the ground several feet away from his operations station. Did no one on this bridge know how to use a seatbelt? She remembered Shaw issuing the order to buckle up, but apparently, most of her crewmates had disregarded it.

Octavia hurried over to Christopher. His eyes were closed but fluttered open for a moment when she gently touched his shoulder.

He had a large, bleeding head wound and a deep gash on his stomach, maybe caused by one of the loose wires or a sharp-edged piece of debris.

“Commander Christopher, can you hear me?”

He blinked, but it looked like it took him a lot of effort. “Lieutenant…Casey?”

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here,” she said, her hand pressing lightly on his shoulder. “Hang in there. I’ll take care of you.”

She forced herself to take a closer look at his stomach wound. Her last first aid course had been years ago, but even without medical expertise, she could tell it was a severe injury. It was deep and bleeding heavily, drenching his torn uniform in dark blood.

“How bad is it?” His voice sounded raspy.

“Um…”

“That bad?”

“You’re losing a lot of blood, Commander.”

He lifted his head to take a look and nodded weakly. “Yeah, I feel like I’m losing a lot of blood.”

“We need to slow down the bleeding.” She sat back on her heels and looked around, trying to locate the box with the emergency medical supplies.

“The first aid kit is next to the weapons locker, by the door,” he told her.

“You wait here. Try to stay awake.”

Octavia stepped over Torres’s dead body and climbed over debris and damaged furniture to reach the door. Christopher was right. Next to the weapons locker was a hatch in the wall marked with a red cross. She opened it, pulled out the metal box, and returned to Christopher’s side.

“Are you still with me, Lieutenant Commander?”

“Call me Adrian,” he said, the hint of a smile on his face. “Lieutenant Commander Christopher seems impractical and unnecessary, considering you’re currently looking at my internal organs.”

“The good news is, I can’t see a single internal organ,” Octavia said and flipped open the first aid kit. She tried to sound chipper, but the truth was, she was worried. He was losing blood quickly, and she wasn’t sure how much her amateurish first aid attempt could help. He needed medical attention, but if the rest of the ship was in the same state the bridge was in, the paramedics would have their hands full, and the medical bay would soon be flooded with the injured.

She pulled the emergency dressings from the medkit and tore the plastic wrapping open.

“This might hurt,” she warned, glancing at his face. His eyes were half closed, his brow slick with sweat, but he gave a weak nod of acknowledgment.

She pressed the dressing to the wound as gently as she could, but even with her care, he let out a low groan of pain, his body tensing beneath her touch. His hand twitched as though he wanted to push her away, but he lacked the strength.

“I know it hurts,” she said. “Just hold on. I’m almost done.”

The emergency dressings were coated with a prothrombotic substance designed to accelerate clotting and stop bleeding quickly. As she applied the second dressing, she watched the material darken as it absorbed blood, forming a makeshift seal over the wound. But it was only a surface-level fix. If he had internal injuries—and Octavia was pretty sure he did—this wouldn’t help much.

His face looked pale and clammy. She needed to get him to the med bay so he could get surgery and proper treatment. After wiping her bloodied hands clean on her uniform pants, she pulled out her TacPad.

It took her three attempts to make a connection to the medical bay. “I need a team of paramedics to the bridge. It’s urgent.”

The man on the other end of the line scoffed. “You and about a hundred other people on this ship.”

She suppressed the urge to snap at him. “What does that mean? When can you get here? I’m with Lieutenant Commander Christopher. He needs medical attention fast.”

“Sorry, I have no idea. I’m not sure where my paramedic teams even are. The ship is barely holding together, and the comm system keeps going down. If you can manage, you should bring him to the med bay yourself.”

Octavia glanced down at her senior officer. Blood was already seeping through the dressings. “I… I don’t think he’s stable enough for transport.”

“Then hang in there. Try to keep him awake. Don’t let his blood pressure drop too much. Does your first aid kit have a RescueBot?”

Octavia yanked the various plastic packages with dressings and bandages out of the metal box and found a white, rectangular plastic device at the very bottom. A RescueBot was a small, lightweight medical device equipped with several diagnostic tools and emergency medications. No replacement for proper medical care, but useful to stabilize a patient in the field. “Yeah, I have one.”

“That’s good. Open it. Take the needle attached to the plastic tube and try to insert it into a vein. The screen will tell you if you hit the right place.”

Octavia picked up the long, thin plastic tube that disappeared somewhere into the box and stared at the plastic-capped needle. “What then?”

“Just follow the instructions on the screen. We’ll be there as fast as we can. And remember, keep him awake.”

He disconnected the call before she could ask any more questions, leaving Octavia alone with an unstable patient and a medical device she hadn’t used since her Academy days.

“Commander Christopher, I’m going to attach the RescueBot now. The paramedics… they might take a while to get here.”

He nodded with closed eyes. “I heard what he said. And remember to call me Adrian. I don’t want my death to be so…impersonal.”

Octavia swallowed down her fear like a hard lump in her throat and rolled up her senior officer’s uniform sleeve. “All right, Adrian. Then call me Octavia.” She picked a vein running down the inside of his elbow that looked thick enough and pushed the needle in without much fanfare. “But don’t talk about death. You’re not dying. I won’t let you.”

The screen of the RescueBot showed a green light next to the words “Venous Access.”

Then the word “Analyzing” appeared. It took the computer about fifteen seconds, and then a whole bunch of numbers showed up. Most of them were either yellow or red.

“What does it say?” Adrian asked.

Octavia stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the numbers. “Um… I think your blood pressure’s low and your pulse is too high. I will… oh wait… now it says applying medication.”

He closed his eyes again and let out a breath. “I hope this thing knows what it’s doing.”

“So do I.”

Chapter 25

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

Owen adjusted the energy level on Fitzgerald’s gun back down before he and Petrea left the brig. The corridor they stepped into was deserted, and the emergency lights flickered erratically. Pieces of ceiling panels littered the floor, and the air carried the faint tang of scorched metal. They followed the hallway until they reached an elevator.

Petrea looked at the dead screen of the elevator’s control panel. “I doubt this thing still works.”

“And if it is, it’s probably a death trap,” Owen said grimly. “We’ll need to find a maintenance shaft. You’ve served on the Resolute longer than I have. Suggestions?”

“There’s one in the starboard direction. That way.”

They rounded a corner, and Petrea stopped so suddenly Owen almost bumped into her. His grip tightened on the gun as he peered over her shoulder. He had been in a single boarding situation, once, many years ago, but the experience was enough to make him cautious now. They had no idea how the battle had ended. For all he knew, the ship might be crawling with enemy soldiers. Then he saw it—a body sprawled in the corridor ahead.

A young man lay face down, his head surrounded by a puddle of blood. Crimson streaks painted the wall beside him, a gruesome testament to the force of the impact.

Owen swallowed. “He must’ve crashed into the wall when the ship was tossed around. Poor bastard.”

Petrea was silent, but he could see her jaw muscles tense. Her eyes lingered on the man’s red-trimmed uniform—red stood for the tactical department. Her department.

“You knew him,” Owen said gently.

She nodded. “His name was Zakary Orlov. Good kid.”

Without another word, she stepped past Owen, kneeling beside the body. Her hand rested lightly on his back, a brief, tender gesture. Half his brain was spread out on the floor, so Owen was sure she wasn’t checking for signs of life. She was saying goodbye.

Despite the urgency of the situation, he stood back and let her have this moment. He’d seen countless deaths in his career, but for many of the Resolute’s crew, this was their first brush with real loss.

Petrea only took a few seconds, then she stood up, straightened her uniform, and gave him a determined nod. “Let’s go. The entrance to the maintenance shaft is this way.”

They pressed on, but their path was soon blocked by a sealed emergency door. Petrea keyed in her clearance code, but the panel flashed red, denying access. She stepped back and crossed her arms, staring at the door. “Damn it. Looks like Torres revoked my security clearance too.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Owen said. “If that hatch’s sealed, there’s a good chance there’s vacuum on the other side. We’ll need to find another route.”

She pulled out her TacPad, opened a map of the ship, and studied it, lips pressed together. “There’s another shaft farther down, but it’ll cost us time.”

They followed yet another corridor. It was mostly intact, and Owen was already hoping they’d finally struck some luck when his throat started burning.

Petrea, by his side, began coughing.

With watering eyes, he looked around and noticed an area in the ceiling where the cover panels had come loose. A dark-blue pipe was dangling down, with a tear at least ten centimeters long. He wasn’t an engineer, but he remembered dark-blue pipes carried ammonia gas for the ship’s cooling system. The faint hiss of escaping gas confirmed his worst fear.

“Hold your breath,” he ordered before a coughing fit made talking impossible.

He wanted to turn back, but Petrea had already charged forward, covering her mouth and nose with her arm, so Owen had no choice but to follow her.

They sprinted down the corridor. He tried to follow his own advice and hold his breath, but the aggressive gas he’d already inhaled burned in his lungs and made him cough violently.

With every shuddering breath he took, the pain in his chest worsened. Petrea, next to him, didn’t fare much better.

He was starting to feel dizzy when another bulkhead hatch came into sight. With shaky legs, he stumbled through, coughing and wheezing, and Petrea slammed the door shut behind them. He leaned against a wall, trying to catch his breath.

Petrea’s eyes were teary, and her face was red. “We need to put this on the list of repairs.”

Owen cleared his throat. It was still burning, but breathing was becoming easier already. “I’m afraid it’s going to be a long list.”

“There won’t be anything to repair if we don’t shut down the reactor in time. Are you good to go?”

He nodded. The clock was ticking, and the ship wasn’t going to save itself. “Lead the way.”

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or awake when he regained consciousness. Darkness surrounded him. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. He was in his cockpit, but there were no lights, lamps, or displays. Outside in space, he could make out the silhouettes of two ships. One was familiar—the Resolute—and the other, sharp and angular, was the enemy ship. Both ships looked just as dead as his own, lifelessly floating through space like the debris and wreckage surrounding him.

He tried to focus, piecing together what had happened. There’d been a battle. He’d detonated a torpedo way too close to his own ship. The sensors were dead, too, so he couldn’t check, but judging from his distance to Morrigon Station—the only speck of light in the darkness—he must’ve been pushed away by the shock wave of the explosion. And without braking thrusters, he’d continue drifting through space, away from the Resolute and Morrigon Station, out into deep space.

Helplessly, Noah pushed some buttons and flipped some switches, hoping to get at least some systems back online, but to no avail. His Pegasus was dead. And so would he be as soon as his oxygen reserve ran out. He lifted his arm to check the display on his suit. The oxygen tank below his seat—the one that was supposed to keep him alive in case of an emergency exit—was down to thirty-three percent. That meant he must’ve been drifting through space like this for almost an hour. He’d missed the end of the battle, and just by looking at the battlefield, he had no idea who’d won. From the looks of it, both ships were badly damaged, and their engines weren’t burning. Morrigon Station still had some specks of light, and one of the hyperspace gates had gone dark too. The one that led to the Aurora Sector, back into Confederation Space.

Noah frowned. He twisted in his seat to get a better look at the gate. It looked like someone had… switched it off. Usually, the inside of the ring shimmered and flickered, distorted lights and colors signaling the entry into hyperspace. But there were no colors and no lights inside the ring. Nothing but inky blackness on either side. He’d never seen a gate looking like this before. What did it mean? Was the gate damaged? Broken? If the gate really was broken, the implications would be disastrous. It would mean the entire Obsidian Sector was cut off from the rest of the Confederation.

A soft beep in his helmet earpiece informed him his oxygen reserve had dropped below twenty-five percent. Noah sank back into his seat with a sigh and reluctantly admitted to himself that none of that would matter—not to him at least. He wasn’t kidding himself. With the Resolute shot to pieces and the crew on board probably having their hands full just keeping her from falling apart, no one would have time for a rescue mission to retrieve a single drifting space fighter. His flight suit had its own batteries and the capability to send a distress call, but the reach was very limited. There was no way the Resolute would pick it up from that distance. To their sensors, he just looked like another piece of debris. If the Resolute’s sensors were even still working.

As he stared at the display on his forearm, his chest tightened as the realization set in. Twenty-four percent. In a little under twenty minutes, he’d be dead.

Chapter 26

Lt. Octavia Casey

Octavia stared at the screen. The image flickered—a result of the unstable power levels—making it difficult to get a clear picture of the situation, but as far as she could tell, the dots on the screen hadn’t moved in a while. “I think it’s drifting. I’m pretty sure the enemy ship is in just as bad a shape as the Resolute,” she said over her shoulder. She got no answer. “Adrian?”

She had propped Adrian’s head up with her uniform jacket to keep him comfortable and had carefully untangled Cosima from the straps of her seat, laying her down beside him so she could check on both of them more easily.

Cosima was still unconscious, and Adrian had gone quiet too. Octavia jumped up from her chair and hurried over to him, kneeling beside him just as his eyes rolled upward and his eyelids closed.

“Hey, hey.” She gently slapped his cheek. “Adrian, stay with me. Stay awake.” She pushed the medication button on the RescueBot again. The machine confirmed her command with a soft beep, but the display said: “Medication low. Refill.” Holding her breath, Octavia watched how a clear fluid wandered up the tube and into Adrian’s body. Moments later, he started blinking and let out a sigh.

“Sorry,” he said weakly. “I think I drifted off.”

Octavia smiled and sat down next to him, holding his hand in hers, her finger on his pulse point. “You scared me there for a moment.”

“That’s the last thing I want, but… I’m not doing so well, I’m afraid.”

She gently pressed his hand. “I’m sure the paramedics will be here any minute now.” She tried to sound reassuring, but it had been almost an hour since her call with the paramedic, and no one had shown up. She’d tried to contact the medical bay again several times already but couldn’t get a stable comm connection.

The RescueBot was running low, both on power and on drugs, and Adrian’s state was getting worse and worse, even though he tried his best to stay optimistic. The faintest smile appeared on his face, but his eyes were already drifting shut again.

“Stay with me,” she begged. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“I don’t care. Anything. Um… where are you from?”

“Ganymede. Born and raised.”

The Confederation counted nearly a hundred settled planets, moons, and even asteroids, and since she had only started learning about them after fleeing the Empire, she was still a bit shaky on the details. “Ganymede, that’s one of Jupiter’s moons, right?”

“The largest one. One of Earth’s oldest colonies. My family’s lived there for four generations.”

“Is it nice there?”

“The majority of the settlements are underground, so most people don’t find it very interesting, but it’s home, you know.”

“Hm…” If Octavia only knew where home was. The Empire certainly wasn’t her home anymore, but she hadn’t put down roots in the Confederation either. First, she’d lived in a refugee camp, then in government housing on Obsidian for a few months, until she’d managed to get into the Space Guard Academy. And after graduation, various Confederation ships had been her home.

Despite his weakened state, Adrian seemed to notice her discomfort. “Sorry, home must be a difficult topic for you. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. Whatever kept him talking, kept him conscious, was fine with her. “Tell me more. Do you have family there?”

“My father, my sister, her children. My ex-wife and my daughter.”

“You have a daughter?”

“Sarah. She’s eighteen. She’s… she…” He drifted off.

The RescueBot beeped, and the display showed his blood pressure in red: 86/52. Not good.

“Tell me about her. Tell me about Sarah.”

His face, scrunched up in pain, relaxed a little. “Sarah… my Sarah. She’s whip-smart. Kind. Funny too. She wants to be a xenobiologist.”

“Will she study at the Space Guard Academy?”

He furrowed his brows. “Not if I can help it.”

“You don’t want her to join?”

He went silent for a moment. His breath sounded shallow and labored. “No,” he finally said. “She’s my whole world. Just imagining her in situations like this one makes my hair go gray.”

“Will she listen to you?”

He let out a little laugh. “Probably not.”

Octavia laughed with him even though she understood his worries very well.

“What about you?” he asked. “Did you leave someone behind in the Empire? Do you have a husband? Children?”

She wrapped her arms around her knees. A loaded question. She never talked about her family. With anyone. Ever. But in this moment, as she sat beside Adrian under the flickering lights, chaos and destruction all around them, her inhibitions slipped away. She eyed the RescueBot’s screen again. Blood pressure: 81/46.

“I had a husband,” she said quietly. “Not one I chose. I was married to him at seventeen.”

Adrian squinted. “Seventeen? That’s young.”

“He was forty-two.”

“I assume it wasn’t a happy marriage?”

She sighed. “It wasn’t. He was… cruel.” She considered saying more, detailing the abuse she’d suffered all those years, explaining why she’d had to leave her life behind just to get away from him, but somehow, she had the feeling Adrian understood all that already, so she left it at that.

“He was the reason you left the Empire,” he said.

“Y-Yes.”

Silence hung between them, but he seemed to sense she wasn’t done talking.

“Children?”

Octavia took a shuddering breath. “A daughter. Lyanna.” Just speaking her name brought back painful memories. “She was four years old when I left.”

“You had to leave her behind?”

“No!” She shook her head. “I would’ve never left her behind. I took her with me on that dingy little smuggler shuttle, but… we got separated.”

The image of her little hand slipping from hers as they were herded into a freighter, filled to the brim with other refugees, flooded her mind. Her little voice yelling, “Mama! Mama!” rang in her ears.

Octavia had to swallow hard to choke back tears. She missed her so much.

“You don’t know where she is?” Adrian asked.

“Somewhere in the Obsidian Sector.”

He nodded slowly. “Now, things make sense. That’s why you requested this posting, isn’t it? Because you want to look for her?”

“She’s my daughter,” Octavia said. “I’ll never stop looking for her.” Seven years without a trace. Lyanna was eleven now. Octavia often wondered if she would even recognize her if she found her.

“I get it,” Adrian said. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Do you… do you want to see her?”

“You have a picture?”

“Something like that.” She pulled the little gold pendant out of her bra. That was where she had kept it after her nosy roommate, Charlie, had found it and used it to make baseless accusations against her. She couldn’t risk losing the last connection to her daughter, so she’d kept it close ever since.

She flipped open the cover with the embossed sigil of her husband’s family, which activated the little holo projector inside. The three-dimensional reconstruction of her daughter’s face—barely three years old—appeared, floating over the palm of her hand.

The pendant had been a birthday present from her husband. A surprisingly thoughtful gift, considering Octavia had despised him, and he saw her as little more than a broodmare with a noble pedigree.

She couldn’t suppress a smile, looking at Lyanna’s round cheeks and big brown eyes. Adrian smiled too. “She’s adorable.” His voice was weak. “She looks just like… just like…”

His eyelids fell shut, and the hand Octavia was holding went limp. The RescueBot started beeping while “Blood pressure: 63/41” flashed in bright red on the screen.

Octavia took a deep breath, put the pendant back into her bra, and turned off the RescueBot’s alarm. There was nothing she could do for Adrian. The medication inside the machine was empty. The paramedics wouldn’t get to them in time. All she could do now was keep him comfortable and keep him company while she watched him slip away.

Cmdr. Owen Shaw

They had to pull the door to the bridge open with their bare hands, but after a lot of grunting and straining, the magnetic lock gave in, and the door slid open. Owen stumbled onto the bridge, Petrea right behind him, and was met with a horrific sight.

Half the ceiling had come down, the air was filled with the smell of burning plastic, and he counted at least four dead bodies strewn across the floor, mangled and broken.

Then his eyes found his friend, Adrian, lying on the floor, unconscious. A large, blood-soaked bandage covered his stomach, and young Lieutenant Casey was holding his hand. Her expression was so dire that he feared the worst.

He hurried over to them and kneeled down beside Adrian. “Is he…”

“He’s still alive,” Casey said. She pointed at the medical monitor attached to one of Adrian’s arms. “Barely.”

“Why haven’t you called the paramedics?”

“I have! But they said it’ll take a while to get to us. I tried my best to stabilize him, but…” She swallowed hard.

Owen took a deep breath. It wasn’t fair to unload his fear onto this young woman. She wasn’t responsible for this. “It’s all right, Lieutenant. You did well.”

“I did what I could, but the RescueBot is out of drugs, and his blood pressure is dropping.” She pointed at the screen that showed a blood pressure of 54/38 and a bright-red warning saying “Medication cartridge empty.” The machine also offered a diagnosis. “Hypovolemic shock.”

His mind started racing. Adrian had saved his life once. He wouldn’t just let one of his oldest friends bleed out on the floor.

Petrea glanced at the RescueBot’s screen with concern. “Try the captain’s ready room. I think there’s another first aid kit stored there. In a hatch next to the viewscreen. Maybe we can refill the drugs.”

Owen jumped up and crossed the bridge, nearly stumbling over a ceiling panel that had come down. The viewscreen was cracked, but the hatch marked with a small red cross next to it looked intact. Owen pried it open and found a small first aid kit inside, smaller than the one Casey had used to help Adrian, but maybe it at least had some emergency drug vials they could use.

He carried it back to Adrian, where Lieutenant Casey had already opened the lid of the RescueBot. Together, they quickly went through the contents of the first aid kit, carelessly throwing bandages on the floor. Finally, Owen found a case containing several small plastic vials, all labeled with complicated-sounding drug names. He handed them over to Casey.

“That’s exactly what we need!” Her eyes lit up, and she started to insert the vials into the RescueBot’s cartridge. As soon as she shut the lid again, the machine made a soft hiss, and the screen switched from saying “Medication cartridge empty” to “Administering medication.”

Owen watched the screen with a racing heart, but to his relief, the blood pressure numbers soon started rising again, and Adrian’s eyes slowly opened.

“Owen?” he croaked.

Owen put his hand on his shoulder. “It’s me. Take it easy.”

Adrian closed his eyes again.

“I think it’s working,” Casey said. “He’s looking less pale, right?”

“Yes, I think—”

“Shaw,” Petrea interrupted him sharply.

He turned around to look at her and realized she was standing next to another body. He didn’t have to step closer to check who it was; the look on Petrea’s face told him everything he needed to know.

Captain Torres was gone.

Petrea rubbed the bridge of her nose. “We’re in deep shit.”

“Yes, we are.” With a sigh, he placed a hand on Adrian’s shoulder and silently wished he was conscious enough to offer some support.

Casey looked between him and Petrea, frowning in confusion, unaware of the dangerous problem Torres’s death caused for the entire ship. “Arrest or not, you’re still the XO. You need to take command of the ship, Commander Shaw.”

“I’m aware. There’s only one problem…”

Petrea crossed her arms and glared at the dead body next to her feet. “Captain Lost-Her-Marbles here revoked his security clearance. Mine too. With Vadra dead and Christopher unconscious, the next in the chain of command is… I’m not even sure. Doctor Caron maybe?”

“Can’t you assume command anyway?” Casey asked. “I’m sure we can figure out this security clearance problem later.”

“I can and I will, but that doesn’t solve our current problem.” He whipped out his TacPad. A moment later, Valentine's exhausted face appeared on the screen.

“Engineering here. Shaw, please tell me you have good news.”

“I do not. Captain Torres is dead.” He pointed the TacPad at Torres’s lifeless body so she could see for herself.

Valentine’s face darkend. “Well… crap.”

Chapter 27

Owen took a deep breath. He wasn’t ready to give up just yet. Somehow, they had to find a way to shut this reactor down and save the ship. “How much more time do we have, Valentine?”

A bloodied engineer in a torn uniform appeared in the background of Valentine’s video stream. He leaned over her shoulder and whispered something in her ear. She gave the man a curt nod before returning her attention to Owen. “Not much. Maybe thirty minutes. I’ll do what I can to buy us time, but we need to come up with a solution. Fast.”

She disconnected the call, and Owen slid the Pad back into his sleeve pocket.

With an angry grunt, Petrea kicked away a piece of debris. It bounced off a half-knocked-over chair with a soft plonk. “Torres really picked the worst moment to kick the bucket.”

Lieutenant Casey eyed her with a mix of confusion and concern. “What is this all about?”

Petrea made a dismissive hand gesture. “First things first. Casey, are the internal comms still working?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Open a shipwide channel for Commander Shaw.”

Owen’s heart started racing. He knew what was expected of him; he knew what he had to do, but this wasn’t how he’d imagined this moment. Half the crew hated him, the ship was falling apart, some unknown threat still loomed over the entire sector… and now, he was in charge of it all. But now wasn’t the time for self-doubt. He pushed away the anxious thoughts and stepped up to the communications console, where Lieutenant Casey had already opened a channel for him.

“Better hurry, Commander. I’m not sure how long I can keep it stable. The comm systems keep failing.”

With one last glance at Torres’s dead body, he took a deep breath to gather himself. Petrea gave him an encouraging nod as he leaned toward the microphone. “Attention, all hands. This is Commander Owen Shaw speaking. Captain Margot Torres has been killed in action. I am assuming command of the Resolute, effective immediately.”

He straightened his shoulders and breathed out. Done. The Resolute was his.

Petrea clapped him on the back. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but congratulations, Captain.”

“It doesn’t really feel like an occasion for congratulations, but thank you anyway. Now, let’s tackle our fusion reactor problem.”

“Fusion reactor problem?” Casey sounded scared. “What problem?”

“It’s overloading. We need to shut it down before it explodes, but we need a commanding officer’s bio-signature to initiate the shutdown. Down in engineering.”

Casey bit her lip. “And you two don’t have clearance, and neither Adrian nor the captain will walk down there anytime soon.”

Owen was a little surprised to hear the young woman refer to her senior officer by his first name, but they had bigger problems right now than inappropriate fraternization, so he chose to overhear that part. “That sums it up.”

Casey looked at Torres’s dead body for a long moment. “You just need her handprint, right?”

“And her iris,” Petrea said. “It’s two-factor authentication.”

“So her dead body would work?”

Owen raised his eyebrows. “Her dead… Lieutenant, are you suggesting we drag our former captain’s corpse down twelve decks to engineering?”

Petrea clapped her hands. “Now, that’s a practical solution.”

Before Owen could even fully compute what the two women wanted to do, Petrea had already rolled up her sleeves. “We can do that. Shaw, take her legs. I’ll take her arms.”

“Wait, you really want to do this?”

She shrugged. “We don’t have time for sensitivities. It’s either that or we cut off her hands and rip out her eye and carry that down to engineering. ”

He quickly raised his hands in a defensive gesture and pressed his eyes shut to block out the gruesome image Petrea’s suggestion had conjured. The plan hovered somewhere on the edge between distasteful and insane, but his tactical officer was right. They were running out of time. And surely, Torres wouldn’t mind if her remains assisted in saving the entire ship from being blown into a trillion pieces. He held on to that thought and bent down. “Fine, fine. I’ll take her legs.”

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah looked at the display on his forearm, which showed his oxygen reserves at seven percent. He had long since turned off the beeping alarm. It had driven him mad—as if he needed a reminder he was going to die in a few minutes.

He wondered if his father would be proud of him. He would die like him, in the line of duty, as a fighter pilot. That was something, at least. But Noah had done so little with his life. His first real battle, and it was already all over. No great achievements, no heroic acts. He had wasted half his time on board the Resolute drinking at the bar and hanging out with his fellow pilots, trying to act cool to impress a girl who still called him “rookie” instead of his name. He could’ve used that time to train in the simulator, to study tactics. Maybe if he’d done that instead, he wouldn’t be stuck in a dead Pegasus, drifting out into space with just minutes of oxygen left.

He didn’t want to die. He thought of his mother and his sisters, whose hearts would break, and all the things he still wanted to do with his life. Becoming the best pilot in the Space Guard—the kind of man his father would be proud of, of course—but other things too. Marry, have kids, build a house on Jabaal. None of that would happen. He would die alone, just a few weeks after his twenty-fourth birthday. And if that hyperspace gate was as damaged as it looked from his point of view, his mother and sisters back on Jabaal might not even hear about his death—not for years, maybe ever. That gate was the only way into the Obsidian Sector and the only way out. If it wasn’t operational, the entire sector would be cut off until either the gate was fixed or someone managed to chart another hyperspace route back to Confederation space.

Not that Noah would live to see either of these things. His display switched from seven percent to six percent.

In the past twenty minutes, he had pushed every button, flipped every switch, and tried every trick in the book to get at least some system back online. After everything else had failed, he had even hammered the cockpit with his fists, but the Pegasus was dead. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t send a signal. He was totally helpless, trapped in a metal casket adrift in space. There was nothing left to do but wait for his death with dignity. Noah leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

He listened to the sound of his own breathing and felt his chest tighten. The rational part of his brain knew he wouldn’t feel the lack of oxygen. He would simply get sleepy and lose consciousness as he started to rebreathe his own CO2, but the thought still scared him. He felt panic rising and clenched his fists to push it back down. Dignity, he reminded himself. He was a Space Guard officer, and he would die with dignity.

A loud thump somewhere outside his cockpit yanked him out of his gloomy thoughts. Startled, his eyes snapped open, darting around the cockpit. Then he glanced up… and stared directly into the cockpit of another Pegasus fighter. Noah blinked, half convinced his oxygen-deprived brain was hallucinating. But no, the sleek, familiar shape of the fighter was real. A towing line stretched taut between the two ships, already hooked onto the nose of his ship. Someone had come to rescue him.

Not just anyone, he realized as he read the number on the wings of the other Pegasus hovering in front of him. This was Charlie’s bird! She was too far away to see her face, but she waved at him enthusiastically.

He urgently pointed at the display on his arm, hoping Charlie would understand the gesture and realize that his oxygen was running out.

She didn’t waste any time and burned her engine. The towing line strained but held, and slowly, achingly slowly, the two connected ships began to move. Charlie was towing him back to the Resolute.

Noah felt warm happiness rise in his stomach. He would live! Charlie had come to save him, and he would get another chance.

As the Resolute grew larger and larger in the window of his cockpit, Noah made a silent promise to himself. This wasn’t just a second chance—it was his wake-up call. He would become that ace pilot he had always wanted to be. He would do great things in the Space Guard. Protect people. Fight evil. Everything would be different from now on. No more time wasting, no more tomfoolery, no more skirt chasing, not even Charlie’s skirt. As cute as she was, she was a distraction he couldn’t afford. From now on, he would treat her like any other crewmate and focus on what he was really meant to do: become the kind of man his father would be proud of.

Chapter 28

Capt. Owen Shaw

Dragging Torres’s body down the corridor was gruesome work. Her head kept rolling around, her mouth hanging half open. Her eyes seemed to stare at him accusingly. Owen tried not to look at her as he held on tightly to her legs. She might not have been able to step up as the leader the Resolute had needed, but she was still a Space Guard officer. She was still a human being, and manhandling her corpse like this made him feel terrible.

But desperate situations required desperate solutions.

When they reached the hatch leading to the maintenance tunnel, Petrea dropped her front half to the floor unceremoniously.

“Careful,” Owen said, still holding on to Torres’s legs.

Petrea gave him an annoyed look. “It’s not like it’s hurting her.”

“She still deserves to be handled with respect. Let’s not make this worse than it already is.”

“Listen, Shaw, I served under Torres for years. Believe me, I’m not enjoying this either. But my top priority is not getting blown up right now. We can do the whole respect thing later, okay?”

She pulled the hatch open.

Owen gently put down Torres’s legs and stood next to Petrea, leaning forward and looking down the shaft—at least thirty meters deep, only accessible by a narrow ladder.

“How are we going to get her down there?”

Petrea shrugged. “That’s the easy part. We just drop her.”

He groaned. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

He looked at the body. Torres wasn’t overweight by any means, but she was not a very petite woman either. “We could carry her down. Maybe if we strap her—”

“That would take forever. It’s not an option, and you know it.” She gave him a small punch on the shoulder. “Shaw, what’s the matter with you? I thought you were some battle-hardened veteran.”

What was the matter with him? Owen wasn’t entirely sure, but he felt the hint of a familiar feeling. A feeling he’d felt before, after relieving Turner Sutton from command. Guilt. The logical part of his mind knew neither Torres’s failure to step up in a crisis nor her death was his fault, but he still felt guilty for not doing more to support her. He’d been her XO, and he’d promised her loyalty. He should’ve helped her, guided her, but instead of supporting her through this, he’d stood by and watched as she completely unraveled. Maybe if he’d tried harder to build a good rapport with her, she might have listened to him. It was too late for that now, but the thought that he might have prevented this catastrophe if he’d only tried harder to be a better XO weighed on him, and it made all of this so much harder.

But Petrea was right. This wasn’t the time or the place to ponder his own shortcomings. They needed to get Torres to main engineering as quickly as possible, and the quickest way was straight down.

He glanced down into the shaft again. “Do you even know where we’ll end up?”

“This shaft bottoms out at deck 11. It’s only two decks from there to engineering.”

Owen sighed. He looked at the blood-splattered, lifeless face of his former captain, sent a silent apology to wherever Torres was right now, and nodded. “We’ll give her one hell of a burial when this is all over.”

“If it makes you feel better, you can build her a seven-meter-high memorial, but if we don’t hurry up, cold, dark space is the only burial any of us will get.”

Owen picked up Torres’s legs, gripping her ankles tightly. “All right, let’s get it over with.”

Petrea wrapped her arm around the torso and nodded. “On my mark. Three, two, one…”

They yeeted the body down the shaft. It took several seconds until it hit the ground with a gut-wrenching cracking sound. Owen leaned over the edge and scrunched his nose at the sight of Torres’s body, mangled even worse than before.

But Petrea was right. It wasn’t like the fall had hurt her. He took a shaky breath before he swung himself onto the ladder. Grabbing the first rung with sweaty palms, he started his slow descent. One misstep, and he’d end up just as broken and twisted on the floor next to Torres.

Petrea clambered down after him. “Hurry up, Shaw. We need to keep moving.”

As soon as they reached the bottom, they picked the body back up and continued their way toward main engineering.

Unlike the upper levels, the corridors in this part of the ship were chaos. Dark-gray smoke filled the hallway. The only light cutting through was coming from the flickering LED lines running along the walls, glowing bloodred. The walls and floors were bent out of shape or ripped open, and sparks flew from loose wires. People shouted at each other, but the thick smoke made it impossible to see them until they were basically running into someone.

Owen and Petrea pushed forward, nearly colliding with a young ensign who stumbled out of a side passage, his uniform bloody and his face panicked.

He froze when he saw them, his gaze darting from Torres’s lifeless body to Owen’s grim expression.

“Ensign!” Owen snapped, jarring him back to attention. “Get to the medical bay if you can. If not, find somewhere secure and stay there.”

The ensign stared at him wide-eyed then nodded, still in a daze, before disappearing back into the smoke-filled corridor.

Petrea’s voice cut through the din. “Engineering’s just ahead!”

They pushed forward, rounding the final corner. The door to the main engineering bay was open, revealing a scene of organized chaos. Engineers ran back and forth, shouting warnings and instructions at each other, as they worked frantically to stabilize the ship’s systems.

In the middle of it all was Lieutenant Valentine, directing her people like a battlefield general. “Maseko, try to reboot the auxiliary power conduit on deck 8. Engelman, we need more juice for the artificial gravity system, or we’ll all be floating at the ceiling in a minute. Take hydroponics offline. See if we can stabilize the power flow.”

Owen and Petrea dragged Torres’s body through the door, and Valentine’s face froze when she noticed them. “What the hell…”

“I know this looks morbid, but we had no other choice,” Owen said stiffly.

Valentine’s gaze flickered between the two officers and Torres. “I assume she’s…”

“Dead? Yes.” Petrea adjusted her grip. “Will that be a problem?”

Valentine hesitated only for a moment before she regained her composure. “As long as we have at least one intact hand and eye, it should work. Follow me.”

They carried Torres past the engineers and technicians, who all stopped and stared at the mangled body. Their facial expressions ranged from shocked to angry, and Owen could guess how all of this looked to the crew. The unpopular XO, best known for staging a mutiny aboard his last ship, dragging the broken corpse of friendly, popular Captain Torres around.

Would his reputation ever recover from this? How was he supposed to lead these people if they considered him a monster?

“Come on, hurry,” Valentine urged. She waved them through the door into the reactor room, and the expression on her face reminded Owen they had bigger problems right now than his popularity with the crew.

She led them to a console next to the reactor and started frantically tapping on the touchpad. “Okay, I’ve entered the commands to shut down the reactor. Now, we need the clearance codes. Put her hand here,” she said.

Petrea grabbed Torres’s hand and pulled it onto the handprint scanner. All three of them held their breath as they waited for the scan to finish. Owen had never even heard of anyone attempting to bypass a bio-scanner with a corpse, and neither of them had any idea if the ship’s computer system would accept the input. If it didn’t, they were all doomed.

Chapter 29

After several agonizing seconds, a little light next to the scanner lit up green.

They breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Iris scan next,” Petrea said. “Shaw, help me.”

Together, they heaved up the dead body and forced Torres’s head in front of the iris scanner. The scan only took a second, and then another green light lit up.

Valentine started tapping on the keyboard again. Sweat formed on her forehead. She squinted at the screen. “I think it’s working. Give me a second.”

Owen watched her work with bated breath. He glanced at the fusion reactor. It looked innocent from the outside, but all the screens and displays attached to it were flashing orange and red. He didn’t need to be an engineer to tell the reactor was on the brink of catastrophe.

“Any updates, Valentine?” Petrea asked, nervously eyeing the reactor. “Because these displays don’t look too promising.”

Valentine only answered with a distracted grunt.

Owen grabbed Petrea’s arm and gently pulled her a few steps away. “Just let her work, okay? She knows what she’s doing.”

As if to prove him right, Valentine let out an exhausted sigh. “Okay, got it. I’ve got it. I’m ready to initiate the shutdown sequence.”

Owen stepped closer. To him, the displays still looked like the entire ship was going haywire, but if Lieutenant Valentine said she had it under control, he would trust in her judgment. “Can you open a shipwide comm channel from here?”

“Sure.” She pressed a few buttons. “Ready.”

Owen leaned in. “Attention, all hands, this is Captain Shaw speaking. For the safety of the ship, we need to power down the main reactor. Prepare to switch to emergency power.”

He cut off the transmission and gave Valentine a tense nod. “Do it.”

The red-haired engineer slammed her hand on a button on the reactor’s control console, and a moment later, the soft hum of the fusion reactor faded away. Lights flickered, and Owen felt the distinct sensation in his stomach as the artificial gravity turned off. His body felt light, but just as he braced himself to lose contact with the floor, the emergency batteries kicked in.

Every ship had those batteries. Their primary use was to buffer power fluctuations, but they could sustain a ship’s critical systems for a short while in case the main reactor failed or was shut off, like right now.

Valentine rubbed her hands. “Next step is fixing the blown-out fuel injectors and rebooting the reactor.”

“How long will that take?” Owen asked. “Will the batteries last us long enough?”

Petrea looked concerned. “If not, we need to prepare the crew. Especially medical bay. We don’t want patients suddenly lifting off the table mid-surgery.”

Valentine bit her lip, her brows furrowed thoughtfully. “I’ll put my best people on it. And if we power down all noncritical systems, we should be able to stretch the batteries to at least two hours, maybe two and a half.”

“Crisis averted?” Owen asked.

Valentine grinned. “Aye, Captain. The Resolute will live to see another day.”

He returned her smile, until he felt warm blood dripping down his face again. The strain of carrying Torres all that way must’ve made the gash on his forehead open up again.

“Captain, you need to get that head wound checked out,” Petrea said.

He brushed away her concern with a wave of his hand. “I’m fine. It’s just a bit of blood.”

“You’re bleeding all over the uniform. That’s a lot of blood for feeling fine.”

“We need to get back to the bridge. We need to coordinate—”

“The only thing I’m going to coordinate is your medical treatment,” Petrea said sternly. “You hit your head pretty hard. You might have a brain bleed.”

“I assure you, Commander Petrea, I do not have a brain bleed.”

“I’d rather hear that from Doctor Caron,” she said. “We already lost a captain today. I don’t want to lose another.”

Owen’s resolve softened at the sound of concern in her voice. A welcome change, considering she had mostly communicated with hisses and angry glares during the past few weeks. “Fine. Medical bay first, but we’re taking Torres to the morgue.”

Petrea commandeered two stewards to help them carry Torres’s body to the morgue, which was located on the same deck as the medical bay, and then she grabbed his elbow and dragged him to the clinic, completely ignoring Owen’s halfheartedly muttered assurances that he felt fine.

It was in even bigger chaos than Owen had expected. People were piling up in the corridors surrounding the medical treatment rooms. There were screams and cries. Nurses and doctors in blood-covered uniforms ran between patients. Stewards were carrying supplies back and forth.

Owen wanted to turn around right away but Petrea stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

He didn’t like the thought of taking a doctor away from treating critically ill patients just to fix a little cut on his forehead. He didn’t want any special treatment, but Chief Medical Officer Caron himself pulled him aside, a medical instrument already in hand.

“Am I right to assume the body these two stewards just carried into my morgue was Captain Torres?”

Owen cleared his voice. “I’m afraid so, yes.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. She was a good person.” Caron hesitated for just a moment before he regained his professional composure. “Do we have any idea what happened?”

“We don’t know who attacked us or why, but it wasn’t ordinary pirates, that much is certain. I hate to ask this question, but do we have a casualty count yet?”

The corners of Caron’s mouth turned down. “I have seventy-six bodies in the morgue, but I assume we lost many crewmembers to the vacuum of space. We’ll have to do a head count to get an accurate number. Now, hold still.”

He lifted his instrument to shine a light into Owen’s eyes, making him blink.

“Follow my finger with your eyes,” the doctor ordered gruffly. “Hold up your arms. Touch your nose with your finger. Yes, just like that. Nurse Cahill, bring me the mri machine.”

A young nurse appeared behind one of the privacy curtain and handed Dr. Caron a medical device the size of shoebox. He held the scanner in front of Owen’s head, checked the display, and gave a satisfied nod. “Looks like your brain is fine. No bleeding, no swelling, no fractures. I’ll glue the cut on your forehead shut.”

He took another instrument out of a nearby drawer, held the gun-like machine to his head, and after a moment of stinging, the wound was shut. Caron wiped the blood off his face with a little cotton ball and gave him an appraising look.

“As good as new, Captain.”

Owen sighed. “It’s going to take some time to get used to people calling me Captain.”

“You’d better get used to it fast,” Caron said, “because this ship has never needed a leader more than it does right now.

Owen nodded. “You’re right. I should go back to the bridge, gather what senior officers we have left, and try to bring some order to this chaos. Thank you for your help.”

He let Doctor Caron return to his other patients and searched the chaotic medical bay for Lieutenant Commander Petrea, who had wandered off while Caron treated him. He found her sitting next to Adrian. Apparently, the paramedics had finally managed to reach the bridge and transport him to the medical bay while Owen and Petrea had been busy in the reactor room.

He was lying on a stretcher covered with a thin paper blanket. His skin was pale, and a beeping monitor was attached to his body, but at least he was still alive.

Lieutenant Casey sat on the other side of the bed, holding Adrian’s hand. Owen noted the look Casey had on her face as she watched Adrian rest. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a glimpse of something there—something not quite appropriate between a senior officer and a lieutenant, but he had bigger issues to tackle, so he remained silent.

He stepped closer to the bed and noticed Adrian’s eyes were open.

“Hey there, old friend. How are you holding up?”

Adrian gave him a faint smile. “Hurts like hell. I feel worse than when I had the Proxemian flu last year. But I think I’ll live. Caron operated on me—only took him 10 minutes to fix whatever was wrong.”

Lieutenant Casey looked at him with worry in her eyes. “The doctor said it was a close call. He lost a lot of blood.”

Adrian waved weakly. “Don’t worry, Owen. Give me a day, and I’ll be back on my feet.”

Owen put a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “Take all the time you need to heal. I need you back at full strength. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

“Any idea what happened to that enemy ship?”

Owen shook his head. “No clue, but they stopped attacking us, so that’s something, at least. It’s still out there, but it’s not doing anything.” His eyes searched the room for Lieutenant Lin, the third surviving bridge officer, but couldn’t find her. “Do we have any word on our sensor officer?”

“She has a brain bleed,” Casey said, “but the doctor said she’ll recover.”

“That’s good news. She’s a competent officer, and we need every competent officer right now.”

Casey frowned, sadness in her eyes. “Do we have any idea how many we’ve lost yet?”

Owen’s voice softened. “Even Doctor Caron isn’t sure. And to be honest, I’m afraid to find out.”

Petrea crossed her arms. “Me too. But we can’t postpone this any longer. We need damage reports. We need to figure out what it’ll take to get the ship back up and running. That battleship outside might be disabled, but we’ve got no idea who attacked us. There might be more coming. We need to be ready to fight them.”

“You’re right. We need to return to the bridge and see what sensors and consoles we can get back online with emergency power. Commander Petrea, gather every senior officer you can find and bring them to the briefing room.”

Owen returned to the bridge alone while Petrea was busy gathering what was left of the Resolute’s command staff. It was eerily silent—a sad image of death and destruction—but at least the bodies had been removed, probably by the same paramedics who’d brought Adrian to the medical bay. Owen sat down in the captain’s chair and looked around at the burned-out consoles, the empty viewscreen, the blood on the floor.

And this was just the tip of the iceberg. Even without detailed damage reports, it was obvious the Resolute was severely damaged, and a significant part of his crew was dead. But Petrea was right. They needed to get the ship back to battle-ready status and prepare for the next attack.

He had no idea who had attacked them or why, but he had a gut feeling this wasn’t over yet. Allowing himself a few minutes of brooding, he sat silently in the captain’s chair until the rest of his new bridge crew arrived. Petrea had apparently managed to pry Doctor Caron away from his patients, and she’d also brought Lieutenant Casey and Lieutenant Valentine with her. They all looked just as sad and broken as he felt, and some of them had minor injuries, but now wasn’t the time for grieving or for resting.

He greeted the newcomers with a quick nod and led them to the briefing room, where they gathered around the conference table.

Owen took his seat at the head of the table. “Okay, who wants to go first?”

Valentine spoke up. “I have some good news. We managed to fix the broken fuel injector, and the fusion reactor is ready to reboot in a couple of minutes.”

“How long until the fusion reactor is back to full power?”

Valentine rubbed her chin. “About six to eight hours, I’d say.”

“Not good. Let’s hope nothing happens until then. Who’s next? Doctor Caron?”

Caron looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. “The current count is one hundred seventeen confirmed deaths and over two hundred fifty injured.”

Owen leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, which were burning from exhaustion. “So you’re telling me half the crew is out of commission?”

Caron sighed. “Some of them only have minor injuries and can return to their duties in a couple of hours or days. But yes, we lost a lot of people.”

Owen took a deep breath. They’d have to organize a funeral for the crew members they’d lost. He had no idea where to even store the dead bodies until they could give them the burial they deserved.

“What about the ship itself?” he asked. “How bad is it?”

Valentine’s face hardened. “It’s bad. Really bad. We’ve got hull breaches on half a dozen decks, several fires—some of which are still being put out. Power lines, water supply, air conditioning—it’s all busted. It’ll take weeks to fix.”

“Weeks?” Owen repeated. “Valentine, this enemy outside might be back in a couple of hours.”

“I can’t tell you anything else, Captain. The Resolute got shot to pieces. It’s a miracle she’s still flying at all.”

Petrea leaned forward, a deep crease between her brows. “We need to find out where this battleship came from and who flew it.”

“You’re right,” Owen said. “We need more information. Lieutenant Casey, can you open a communication channel to the other ship?”

Petrea raised an eyebrow. “A communication channel? You want to talk with these people?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“I was thinking about a boarding party.”

Owen shook his head. “We’re in no position to escalate the conflict again.”

On her face, disbelief quickly morphed into anger. “They killed half of our people, and you want to negotiate?” He could basically feel the fragile connection he’d built with her crumble, but he couldn’t give her the revenge she craved.

Before he could explain, the door to the briefing room opened. Lieutenant Prescott walked in, followed by a young pilot, still wearing his flight suit. Owen recognized him: Ensign Jordan, the pilot who’d reported the possible terrorist on Morrigon Station. Torres had dismissed the young officer’s report, but in light of recent events, it seemed more plausible that Morrigon Station had not been an accident, and Jordan’s report had been accurate. Owen took a mental note that the young man seemed to have good instincts.

Prescott saluted. “Captain Shaw, we have a report to make.”

“At ease.” Owen sat up a little straighter. “We’re listening.”

Prescott's jaw tightened. “Ensign Jordan’s fighter was drifting away from the Resolute after the battle. His sensors were nonfunctional, but he got a good look.”

“A good look at what?” Petrea asked.

Jordan glanced between her and Owen, looking unsure. “The hyperspace gate,” he said. “The one right next to the station that leads to the Aurora Sector.”

“What about it?” Owen asked.

“I... I’m not sure, sir, but it looked like it’s broken.”

“Broken?” Owen looked over to Lieutenant Valentine. “Can hyperspace gates break?”

She cocked her head. “It’s possible. These things are sturdy, but they require a lot of energy. If the power system was damaged badly enough, the hyperspace field might collapse.”

Ensign Jordan nodded. “That’s what it looked like. There was no hyperspace field. The space inside the gate was completely empty.”

Owen’s stomach dropped, and the room went quiet. Everyone around the table seemed to realize the significance of the young pilot’s report.

Petrea was the first to speak. “That hyperspace lane is the only connection between the Obsidian Sector and the rest of the Confederation. If the hyperspace gate is broken...” She trailed off.

Owen finished the sentence for her. “If it’s broken, it means we’re cut off from the rest of the Confederation. We’re on our own.”

Chapter 30

Ens. Noah Jordan

Noah stored away his helmet and flight suit in his locker. Delta Squadron’s locker room had remained mostly intact, a stark contrast to the chaos and mayhem on many of the other decks and compartments. The only sign that anything had happened at all since Noah had put away his gear the evening before was the fact that the lights were off, and he had to stow away his things in near darkness. Using his TacPad’s flashlight, he meticulously checked every belt, strap, and buckle then checked again just to keep his hands busy and his mind off what he’d just witnessed. Noah was so absorbed in his task that he didn’t notice at first that his friend Colin had long since stopped putting away his own flight suit and was standing in front of Mira’s locker.

Charlie had already told him Mira hadn’t come back. The news had made his stomach clench, but he’d only known Mira for the few weeks he’d been aboard the Resolute. Colin, however, had been Mira’s closest friend. Her loss must feel a thousand times worse to him.

Reluctantly, Noah approached Colin, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I know you two were close.”

Colin didn’t answer, but Noah could see his jaw tense.

“She died a hero,” Noah said. “That’s some consolation, at least.”

Colin just scoffed, eyes still fixed on Mira’s locker. Noah tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but Colin shrugged it off.

“A hero, hm? And what’s that worth?” He shook his head. “Just shut up, rookie. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“She knew the risk when she signed up,” Noah said. “I’m sure she—”

Colin whirled around and stepped closer. “I told you to shut up. You didn’t know her like I did. You’ve only been here a couple of weeks. I served with Mira for three years, and I know she sure as hell didn’t want to die defending some meaningless backwater space station.”

Colin stomped out of the room without sparing Noah another look, leaving him behind in the dark, empty locker room.

He ran his hands through his sweaty hair. This wasn’t how he’d imagined things, how he’d imagined his first real battle. He’d trained to fly and to fight, studied strategy, and practiced shooting, but he hadn’t been prepared for the aftermath—for the pain and the grief. He couldn’t blame Colin for brushing him off. His words sounded hollow, even this his own ears. None of this felt especially heroic.

He turned around, and just like Colin, he looked at Mira’s locker. Her helmet and flight suit were gone, just like the pilot herself, but her personal belongings must still be in there. What would happen to all her things? With the gate nonoperational, they couldn’t even send them back to her family. He let his gaze wander over the other lockers, reading their names in silence: Emily, Carlo, Omar. None of them would return. Someone would have to clean out their lockers sooner or later, and he just hoped it wouldn’t be him who’d have to do it. The thrill of surviving his first battle, against all odds, was quickly seeping away.

He almost jumped when Charlie entered the room. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her usual bright sparkle seemed dulled. “Hey there, rookie. How are you holding up?”

Noah let out a deep breath and sank down on the bench next to the lockers. He wanted to tell Charlie how he felt, but he couldn’t find the right words. These had been her friends, too, and he could see the grief on her face. After Colin’s reaction, he was afraid she would lash out at him, too, if he said the wrong thing.

Fortunately, he didn’t need to say anything. Charlie seemed to understand him just fine. She sat down next to him and rested her head in her hands.

“This sucks, huh?”

Noah nodded. “Yeah, it sucks pretty bad.”

“Do you have any idea how many pilots we lost?” Charlie asked.

Noah pressed his lips together. “Prescott just told me—fourteen pilots. Two from our squadron. Mira and Carlo.”

“Shit, Carlo too?” She rubbed her eyes. “I knew about Mira, but Carlo… he was such a fantastic pilot. I never thought he would…” She made a long pause, staring at the floor. “Have their bodies been recovered?”

“No, and I don’t think they ever will. There’s too much going on right now to spend resources on recovering frozen bodies.” He paused. “So no funeral, no ashes.”

“There’ll be a funeral, but empty caskets,” she said. “Captain Shaw scheduled it for later today, in hangar bay 1.”

Noah raised his eyebrows. “Captain Shaw?”

“You haven’t heard? Torres is dead. He took command.”

“Good,” Noah said. “He’s the right leader for the situation we’re in.”

“You think?” Charlie asked. There was uncertainty on her face, an expression Noah had never really seen before.

“Yes, he’s the right man for the job. He has plenty of real battle experience. He’ll hunt down these people who attacked us, whoever they are.”

“And you think that’s a good thing?”

“Yes, of course. Don’t you want revenge? For Mira and Carlo? For all the people we lost?”

Charlie paused for a long moment. “Revenge means more battles.”

Her voice sounded thin, and for some reason, Noah suddenly realized she was only a year older than him. He’d always looked up to her as some kind of role model—an experienced fighter, confident and ambitious. But right now, she didn’t look confident at all. She looked scared.

“Battles are what we trained for, right?” he asked. “It’s why we joined the Space Guard. Why we became pilots.”

She averted her gaze. “It’s... it’s different from what I thought it’d be.”

“Different?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

She took a shuddering breath. “It’s just different when it’s not a simulator. When it’s your own life on the line. Your friend’s life.” Her gaze flickered over his face, a strange expression in her eyes. “You nearly died out there, rookie. If I hadn’t found you in time...”

Despite the horrible circumstances, he felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Would you have been sad if I’d died?”

She frowned. “Of course I’d have been sad if you’d died. I care about you. You know that.”

The smile on Noah’s lips faded as he gazed into her big brown eyes. Something had shifted between them. Their dynamic had changed. He felt a connection that hadn’t been there before.

He’d always thought Charlie didn’t really take him seriously, didn’t really see him as an equal. But now, he questioned that. If she’d just admitted she’d grieve his death—if she’d said she cared about him—did she care about him that way? The way he cared about her?

He knew the situation was entirely inappropriate, but he couldn’t help his heartbeat speeding up. He looked at her, and she looked back at him. His gaze was drawn to her lips. Maybe it was the near-death experience that made him brave, or maybe he was just head over heels in love with Charlie. But he gathered all his courage and leaned in, eyes fixed on her beautiful mouth.

And then she leaned forward, one hand wrapping around his neck, and pulled him into a kiss. The heat of her lips sent a jolt through him. His brain had momentarily frozen, and his body acted of its own accord, kissing her back, matching her fervor. At the very back of his mind, a little voice of reason spoke up. Hadn’t he promised himself to focus on his training an hour ago? Hadn’t he sworn off chasing after Charlie? Then why was he making out with her in a dark locker room?

It took all his willpower to break away from her. He stood up just to bring some distance between them. “I—I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“What?” Her face quickly morphed from confusion to anger. “You can’t do this?”

“We really shouldn’t…”

She stood up, too, facing him. “Are you serious? You followed me around like a puppy for weeks, making googly eyes at me, and when I finally let you shoot your shot, you back out?”

He knew she was lashing out because she was just as upset and scared and traumatized by today’s events as he was, but he couldn’t help but cringe. A googly-eyed puppy? That was how she saw him? Well, maybe. But that was the old Noah. “The attack changes everything, Charlie. We’re basically in a war now. I need to focus on my training. I can’t allow myself to get distracted.”

“Distracted?” she snapped, taking a step closer, forcing him to back against a locker. “You think this is a distraction? You think I’m a distraction?”

“No! I mean, yes. In a way. But that’s not what I meant. What I meant was—”

“Save it.” She turned away, her shoulders rigid.

“Charlie…”

She raised her hand to stop him. She didn’t meet his gaze, her face unreadable. “Don’t,” she said sharply. “You’re right. It shouldn’t have happened. It was just a momentary lapse of judgment. Let’s just forget this happened, okay?”

Noah swallowed hard. Why was his throat suddenly so dry? “Okay,” he whispered.

Capt. Owen Shaw

The funeral was a sorry affair. The Resolute hadn’t nearly enough caskets in store for all the bodies that were piling up in the morgue. Lieutenant Valentine almost bit his head off when Owen told her to reroute what little power they had to the 3D printers. Until he told her the purpose, of course. When she heard the power was needed to produce more caskets, she went quiet for a second and then sprang into action right away, shouting orders at the engineers and technicians under her command.

They put the caskets, all one hundred sixty-two of them, into hangar bay 1, the only space large enough to hold all of them, and held a short ceremony there. The massive hangar was crowded with crewmembers saying their last goodbyes and paying their last respects. Most of them looked shell-shocked, like they still hadn’t fully computed that there really had been a bloody battle they’d survived only by the skin of their teeth. This wasn’t a nightmare. It was brutal reality. The lazy days aboard the Resolute were over.

In war movies, this was the moment when the captain stepped up and delivered a rousing speech, inspiring the crew to not only overcome their grief but grow stronger from it. But this wasn’t a movie, it was real life, and Owen struggled to find words that didn’t sound hollow or fake. The truth was that he hardly knew these people gathered around the caskets, and most of them didn’t like him very much and couldn’t care less about his lackluster attempts to comfort them. So he kept his speech respectful but short and functional. He read out the names of the fallen, as was customary, and then they cleared the hangar bay, closed all hatches, and opened the hangar bay doors, venting the caskets into space, starting with the one that held Margot Torres’s body.

He returned to the bridge, sore and exhausted, and sank into the captain’s chair with a sigh. After being tortured with an electric lance, hitting his head on a sharp metal edge, walking through thick ammonium gas, climbing about a thousand ladders, and holding an emotionally exhausting funeral speech in front of hundreds of crewmembers, Owen wanted nothing more than a hot shower. Unfortunately, the water was still off while Valentine and her team worked on getting the fusion reactor back online. He considered at least sleeping a couple of hours in his quarters, but there was so much work to do, and half his senior officer staff was dead.

His bridge crew currently consisted of two people: Lieutenant Casey, who was manning both the communications and sensor stations, and Lieutenant Commander Petrea, who looked about as exhausted as he felt. He’d sent the rest of them away to get some sleep. They never knew when another attack might happen, so he needed to keep at least some of his crew fresh and ready for battle.

A damage control team had cleaned up the worst of the debris, but the bridge was still in disarray, and many of the consoles weren’t functional. Casey was working with furrowed brows, tapping buttons and staring at the screen. She looked tired, but Owen appreciated she was giving the task at hand her full attention despite everything that had happened in the last couple of hours.

“I think I’ve got something, Captain,” Casey said, leaning back in her chair. “The signal’s unstable, but I managed to open a communication channel to a Morrigon Station.”

Owen perked up. “On screen.”

Chapter 31

The screen was a mess of dead pixels and cracks, but a moment later, the somewhat distorted face of Station Commander Boateng appeared on the bridge.

“Commander Shaw, I’m glad to see you’re still alive. When we didn’t get any energy readings from your ship, we feared the worst.”

“We had to power down our fusion reactor to prevent it from overloading,” he explained. “And I’m afraid it’s Captain Shaw now.”

Boateng’s face hardened. “I’m sorry to hear that. Captain Torres was a good woman.”

Owen hesitated a moment, considering how Torres had spent the last hours of her life. But now wasn’t the right time, and Boateng wasn’t the right person to discuss this with. “The Space Guard will honor her sacrifice,” he said noncommittally. “How are you doing, Commander? How’s the station holding up?”

Boateng let out an exhausted sigh. “We’ve sustained heavy damage and lost a lot of people. I thought that explosion was bad, but this... I never thought I’d see something like this. It used to be so safe here in the Obsidian Sector, but it looks like this has changed. Considering the size of that enemy ship it’s a miracle the station is not a field of debris.”

“I have to admit, I’m surprised by this,” Owen said. “The enemy was fully capable of blowing Morrigon Station out of the sky within minutes. The fact that you’re still hanging on tells me whatever their plan was, destroying the station wasn’t high on their agenda.”

“Then what did they want? This system has little to offer for pirates.”

Owen went quiet. He’d pondered that question a lot since the attack, and there was one thought he couldn’t let go of. “The hyperspace gate leading back to the Aurora system is damaged.”

Boateng’s face sank. “Damaged?” he repeated. “How badly?”

“Badly enough that the hyperspace lane collapsed,” Owen said. “We hadn’t had the chance to inspect it up close yet, but depending on the severity of the damage, it might not be possible to repair it with the resources we have at our disposal. At least not anytime soon.”

Boateng leaned back in his chair and blew out air. “So we’re all stuck in the Obsidian Sector for the foreseeable future, cut off from the rest of the Confederation?”

“That’s unfortunately a very possible scenario, yes.”

Boateng went quiet for a moment, and then he seemed to come across the same thought Owen kept returning to. “Do you think it was on purpose?” Boateng leaned forward, rubbing his chin. “Was that why they came here? To destroy the gate?”

“Maybe. Maybe it was accidental collateral damage. We’ll have to analyze the data from the battle.”

“I reckon you don’t have any idea yet where this ship came from or who flew it either?”

“Everyone’s best guess is pirates, but pirates with a battleship like that?”

Boateng nodded grimly. “That ship seemed much too powerful for a pirate vessel.”

“We’ll investigate the matter,” Owen said, “but we’ve got repairs of our own to do first. We’ve lost a lot of people too.”

Boateng hung his head low, and his voice was heavy with resignation. “I’m not sure the Obsidian Sector can survive on its own, especially not with this strange, unknown threat shooting up our space stations and ships.”

Owen straightened his shoulders. “I assure you, the Resolute will defend the Obsidian Sector from whatever enemy we’re facing.”

“That’s very noble of you to say, Shaw, but the Resolute is only one ship. Granted, a battleship, but only one.”

Owen knew Boateng was right. He couldn’t keep the sector safe with just one ship even if they managed to get the Resolute back to full power. They needed to rally help. “Petrea,” he said, turning to his tactical officer, “how many Confederation ships are currently in the Obsidian Sector?”

She hesitated. “Well, there’s us. There used to be the Odyssey. And then I think we have one more light cruiser, the Icarus, and two—no, three—corvettes.”

“That’s it?” Owen asked flatly.

Petrea nodded. “Yep, that’s it. That’s the entirety of the Obsidian Sector battle group.”

Owen rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was a dire situation: only a handful of ships, and over a dozen Confederation planets to defend from who knew how many enemy battleships. Maybe the ship they had encountered in the Obsidian system was just the tip of the iceberg. Maybe other systems were under attack too.

“We need to contact these ships and reorganize our forces.” Owen’s gaze wandered over the many empty seats on the bridge. “And we need to sort out our personnel situation. We need to put together a new bridge crew. Commander Petrea, can you—”

He was interrupted by the door to the bridge opening. When he turned around, Adrian was hobbling through.

“Someone was talking about a new bridge crew,” Adrian said. “I hope you’re saving a spot for me.”

“Adrian,” Owen said, “has Doctor Caron allowed you to get up?”

Adrian shrugged but winced as soon as he did, clutching his injured stomach. “Not directly, but I feel much better, and the bleeding’s stopped.”

“Any chance I can convince you to go back to bed?”

Adrian chuckled. “No chance in hell. You need me by your side. We’ve got a monumental task ahead of us.”

“That, we can agree on. Fine. Now that you’re here, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

Adrian gave him a satisfied nod and shuffled to the operations officer’s console, sitting down carefully, hands still pressed to his stomach wound.

“By the way,” Owen said, “I’ve decided to promote you to my executive officer. Congratulations, Commander Christopher.”

Adrian’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Owen said. “You’re a competent officer, and I trust you.”

He glanced over to Petrea, but she seemed to have no qualms about his decision to promote Adrian instead of her. “Commander Petrea, that means you’re moving up to third in command.”

She grinned and gave a quick salute. “Aye, Captain. I know we’ve had our differences, but I’ll do my best to support you.”

“Adrian,” Owen continued, “your first task will be to reorganize the officer roster. Fill the gaps and put together a bridge crew for me.”

Adrian nodded. “We’ve got a lot of good people on this ship. The losses will be sorely felt, but we’ll move on.”

“Any status update on Lieutenant Lin?” Owen asked. “I’d love to get my sensors officer back.”

“I talked to the doctor,” Casey said. “He said it might take a few weeks for her to fully recover. Brain injuries take time.”

“I guess that means you’ll have to take on her responsibilities for now, Lieutenant Casey. Until Lin returns or we find a replacement.”

She straightened her shoulders. “Aye, Captain. I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you will. I have full confidence in your abilities.”

“Just tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll do it,” Casey said.

“Right now,” Owen replied, “I need you all to go to your quarters and get some sleep.”

Petrea shook her head. “No way. We still need to—”

“That’s an order, Lieutenant Commander Petrea,” Owen said gently. “I need you all sharp. We’ve been awake for what? Twenty-four hours now? Go to your quarters, rest, and in eight hours, we’ll meet here and discuss our next steps.”

Lieutenant Casey turned around in her seat. “But maybe I should stay, at least, Captain. Monitor the enemy ship.”

“Tell me, Lieutenant Casey, has the enemy ship shown any sign of activity in the last couple of hours?”

“No, sir. The only signal we’re getting from them is a really high radiation reading.”

Owen rubbed his chin. “Radiation?”

“If I had to guess, sir,” Casey said, “I’d say they experienced a reactor breach.”

Petrea smirked. “If that’s true, that’d be a fortunate turn of events.”

Owen had to agree. A reactor breach meant the ship was flooded with extremely high levels of neutron radiation that would kill humans within minutes. It usually damaged electrical systems too, but with a lot of work, the Resolute might be able to recover and reclaim the enemy battleship. That would strengthen their numbers significantly.

“Considering the sensor readings,” Owen said, “I think it’s safe to leave the enemy ship alone for a couple of hours. Set up the sensors so we get an alert if anything happens over there. Dismissed. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

Lt. Octavia Casey

Octavia would’ve loved to go back to her quarters and get some rest, but her quarters happened to be in the part of the ship that had been torn to shreds by enemy torpedoes. Shaw had ordered that emergency beds be set up in the officers’ mess hall, so that was where Octavia went.

She picked an empty cot in the corner of the room and sank down. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was still racing.

The enemy ship. Her stomach clenched just thinking about it. Nobody else had recognized it, because no one had ever seen it except maybe a few high-ranking intelligence officers. Octavia was probably the only person aboard who knew it was an Empire battleship. Goliath class. The Empire Navy’s crown jewel.

It wasn’t supposed to be here. It made no sense. There had been a tense but stable peace between the Empire and the Confederation for decades, and as much as the navy’s admirals hated to admit it, the Confederation fleet outmatched the Empire Navy by far. Breaking the peace and starting another war would be insane, and the current Emperor Victor II. was a cruel but level-headed man. He would never provoke the much more powerful Confederation. So why was that ship here? What made it even stranger was that the ship lacked all the usual identification Empire ships showed on their hull. No flag, no battle group sigil, not even a name. Octavia had no explanation for that either. The entire situation made no sense.

Around her were at least fifty other crewmembers chatting in hushed voices, comforting each other, trying to process what had just happened and all the pain and grief that had come with it. She was surrounded by people who had just gone through the same things she had, and yet she felt more alone than ever.

She knew she needed to talk to someone—about the ship, about where it came from—but she was afraid of the fallout. Her life was already difficult as an Empire refugee aboard a Confederation ship. If the crew found out that the enemy who’d killed hundreds of their friends was from the Empire, the same Empire she had been born in, they’d make her life hell.

The mumbled conversations around her died down as her crewmates went to sleep, but Octavia was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling of the large room. If the Empire really was behind the attack, Shaw had to know. He had to know what to prepare for.

She needed to reveal what she knew about the ship, no matter what it meant for her.

But who could she trust enough?

The answer was easy: Commander Christopher.

He had always been kind to her, and for some reason, she felt comfortable in his presence—more comfortable than she had felt around anyone else in her life, excluding her daughter, of course. He radiated a warmth that made her feel at ease, made her feel like she could open up. The memories of holding his hand while watching his blood pressure drop on the screen of the RescueBot still made her stomach clench. She was relieved he’d gotten help in time, relieved he hadn’t been vented into space in one of those hastily produced caskets today.

Adrian Christopher was a good man. He wouldn’t judge her. He wouldn’t question her loyalties just because she had sensitive information about the enemy. He knew this was her past, and she didn’t have to prove anything to him.

Octavia turned to her side, pulling the thin emergency blanket over her body.

Yes, she’d tell Christopher in the morning. She would—

The chirping of her TacPad interrupted her thoughts.

She quickly retrieved it from the uniform jacket lying neatly folded next to her bed and unrolled the screen. It was the alert she’d set up earlier to inform her of any changes in the sensor readings.

Squinting her eyes against the bright lights from the screen glowing in the pitch-black darkness of the mess hall, she studied the data that had just been sent to her TacPad.

With every new line she read, deeper lines carved into her expression.

The enemy ship was still dead in the water—and that was exactly the problem.

Octavia closed the TacPad and jumped off the cot.

She needed to talk to Commander Christopher.

Right now.

Chapter 32

Capt. Owen Shaw

Owen had fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, but it had been an uneasy sleep. His dreams were riddled with torpedo blasts and blaring alarms. Captain Sutton appeared in a dream too—the man Owen had once admired until a clash of morals had made them bitter enemies and led to a conflict that nearly ended Owen’s career. In his dream, Captain Sutton scolded him. For what, Owen wasn’t really sure. The only thing he remembered when the chirping of his TacPad woke him up was the nagging feeling of inadequacy.

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes before answering the call.

“This is Shaw speaking.”

“Owen, it’s me, Adrian. I’m sorry to interrupt your sleep, but you need to come to the bridge right now.”

Owen suppressed a sigh. If Adrian was calling him in the middle of his sleeping time, it really must be urgent.

“I’ll be right there.”

He closed the TacPad and took a fresh uniform from his locker. On his way out, he caught a glimpse of himself in the bedroom mirror, and it nearly spooked him. He looked ghostly—pale and tired, with ruffled hair and deep, dark shadows under his mismatched eyes. But considering what he’d been through, he looked all right. At least he was still breathing.

He made his way from his quarters to the bridge, and when he walked through the door, he saw Adrian and Lieutenant Casey both hunched over the sensor console, concern etched on their faces.

“What is it?” Owen asked. “What’s the emergency?”

Adrian sank into a chair. He looked even worse than Owen. Dr. Caron might’ve fixed whatever organs had been injured during surgery, but Adrian was clearly still suffering from the aftermath. Owen admired that his old friend was still by his side, even though he should’ve been in bed, resting and recuperating.

Owen stepped closer to take a look at the screen that had his two bridge officers so worried.

“What’s going on? Do we have energy readings from the enemy?”

“No energy readings,” Lieutenant Casey said. “The ship still appears to be dead.”

“Then why did you wake me up?”

“If what we assume is correct and nobody is steering the ship, then we have a big problem,” Adrian said.

Casey nodded along. “A catastrophic problem.”

She pointed at her screen. “We got lucky. The blast pushed the Resolute away from planet Obsidian into a stable orbit. The enemy battleship, however, got caught in the gravity well of the planet.”

Owen squinted, trying to make sense of the numbers and dots on the screen.

“The gravity well of the planet? Does that mean...”

Adrian pressed his lips together. “We did some calculations. If we don’t intervene, the ship will crash into the planet in less than three hours.”

Owen groaned. “Oh, that’s just perfect. Do we know where the ship would crash-land? Any settlements?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Adrian said. “The computer is still processing the data, but if the first estimate is correct, I’d estimate thousands of deaths.”

“Contact the planetary government. They need to evacuate the area.”

“That’s going to be tricky. The ship will most likely break apart upon entering the planet’s atmosphere. It’s impossible to predict where the wreckage’s pieces may land. I don’t think it’s possible to evacuate such a large area in so little time.”

“We still need to warn them,” Owen said. “And try hailing the enemy ship again, offer our assistance.”

“We already tried,” Adrian said. “No reaction. If Valentine is right and the ship really experienced a reactor breach, then we can hail them as much as we want. They won’t answer, because the entire crew has died from radiation.”

Owen looked at Adrian and Casey and then back at the screen. He straightened his shoulders. “Then it’s on us to prevent this catastrophe.”

Adrian nodded. “Aye, Captain. It appears it is.”

Lt. Octavia Casey

Octavia adjusted the holographic projector, the light from the display casting blue and white glows across the bridge. The holo projections showed the damaged enemy ship hovering above planet Obsidian. A red line showed the projected trajectory the ship would take in the next few hours, and it went straight through the planet.

She took a steadying breath. Presenting bad news to a superior officer was always a delicate balance, and Shaw’s determined expression made it clear he wasn’t the type to entertain defeat easily. She couldn’t help but think back and wonder how Torres would’ve handled the situation. She’d probably have either dismissed it outright or completely freaked out.

The doors swished open, and Lieutenant Commander Petrea strode in with a scowl that could curdle milk, followed closely by Lieutenant Valentine, who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“I’m really sorry to interrupt your sleep, but this is an emergency meeting,” Shaw began.

Lieutenant Valentine crossed her arms. “I’m sure this is an important matter, but with all due respect, Captain, I’ve got a really, really long to-do list. So why am I here?”

Shaw gave her a warm smile. It almost looked odd on his usually stern face. “You’re here because I need my chief engineer for this emergency meeting.”

Valentine’s eyebrows shot up. “Your chief engineer? But—”

“I decided to make your promotion permanent. You’re my new chief engineer. Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander Valentine.”

She blinked at him, her mouth slightly open in surprise. “Me? But Zacharias is more experienced, and Lieutenant Gregorovic has served on the—”

“I made my decision,” Shaw said firmly. “Now, let’s turn to more urgent matters.”

Taking her cue, Octavia cleared her throat and launched into her report. She kept it concise, walking them through the enemy battleship’s trajectory, its proximity to Obsidian, and the slow-moving disaster they were heading into.

Petrea shook her head in disbelief. “When it rains, it pours.”

Shaw nodded in agreement. “You could say we’re on a bit of an unlucky streak, but I intend to break it. We need to find a solution, and we need to find it quickly. The Obsidian system will struggle enough to repair Morrigon Station and deal with whatever fallout the destruction of the hyperspace gate will bring. We can’t allow the ship to crash on the planet. Enough people have died already. Suggestions?”

Petrea glanced at the holographic projection and smirked. “Easy, Captain. We just blow this ship to pieces.”

He shook his head. “ We can’t. About two-thirds of our torpedo launch tubes are damaged, and we don’t have enough torpedoes left to destroy a ship this size. In the worst-case scenario, we’ll just break it into several pieces, and it’ll do even more damage on the surface.”

“Can’t we resupply from Morrigon Station? Or the planet itself?”

“If we had more time, maybe, but not under these circumstances. Locating the right type of torpedoes, bringing them here, and loading them into our torpedo batteries would take all day. And besides, I want the enemy battleship intact. We need the intel, and we could use the extra firepower.”

Petrea looked at him. “Extra firepower? You intend to board the ship and…”

“Yes,” Shaw confirmed, “and take control.”

Petrea returned her attention to the holoprojector, studying the ship with more interest this time. “Not a bad idea. Are we certain the crew is dead? If I send a team, I don’t want to send them into a death trap.”

The newly minted chief engineer, Lieutenant Commander Valentine, nodded. “With the radiation levels we’re reading, the crew is definitely dead.”

“Right, the radiation,” Petrea said, eyes still fixed on the enemy ship, “But wouldn’t that kill our people too?”

“They’d have to wear radiation protection suits,” Captain Shaw said.

“That’s not going to be an easy feat, Captain,” Valentine said. “Taking control of a ship we’ve never worked on—and don’t know the systems of—is difficult and time-consuming enough. Doing it all in bulky radiation suits will be tricky. I’m not sure we can finish in time.”

Petrea scoffed. “How hard can it be? Just storm the bridge and take control of the ship.”

Valentine pinched her lips. “It’s not that easy, Commander Petrea. Battleships like this have safeguards against being controlled by unauthorized personnel. We can’t just walk in there and punch in a few commands. We’ll have to get access to the systems first. That takes time—a lot of time. And there might be opposition.”

“Opposition?” Petrea asked with a frown.

“Automated defense systems.”

“You mean drones?” She waved her hand dismissively. “My assault troopers can deal with a couple of drones.”

The captain looked from Petrea to Valentine and crossed his arms. “Assuming Commander Petrea’s team can quickly clear the way to the bridge, how much time would you need?”

“Six hours, eight hours, maybe longer. I don’t know,” Valentine replied. “We have no idea what this ship is or where it came from. We have no idea how it works. We’ll all have to figure it out on the fly.”

Shaw let out a deep breath. “You need to do it quicker.”

Valentine stood her ground. “Captain, I understand the urgency of the situation, and I have a highly skilled team, but even they can’t do miracles. It takes as long as it takes.”

Petrea listened to Valentine’s words with furrowed brows. “I’d say we try anyway. We need the intel.”

Adrian looked up from the holographic display. “That all sounds very risky for the teams we send. Can we extract them in time if we fail? How long does the protection of these radiation suits even last with levels this high?”

“It’s limited,” Valentine said. “If they stay on that ship for too long, they’ll accumulate significant, maybe life-threatening radiation.”

Petrea clicked her tongue. “Then they’ll need to work fast, but we need to find out who attacked us and why so we can hunt down the bastards and bring them to justice.”

Valentine sighed. “You don’t understand. We can’t brute force our way into the ship’s controls. It’s a delicate operation, and I don’t see how we can succeed with a deadline that tight, even if you manage to clear the automated defenses.”

While the senior officers bickered, Octavia silently wrestled with herself. Could she dare to speak up? What would the consequences be if it became common knowledge that the enemy who’d attacked them had ties to the Empire? Not only for her but on a greater scale?Wars had been started over smaller incidents.

But what would the consequences be if she didn’t speak up? If the mission failed, thousands more people could die.

Octavia swallowed hard. She glanced between the tense faces of the senior officers. She had no choice. This was bigger than her. If preparing the Resolute for the future by giving them valuable intel meant she’d become the target of more harassment and bullying, then so be it. She’d take it.

She cleared her throat, drawing attention to herself. “Would it help, Lieutenant Commander Valentine, if your team was led by someone who knew the ship? Knew her way around?”

Valentine looked at her in confusion. “Yes,” she said slowly. “But we don’t have anyone like that. No one’s even seen this ship before.”

“I have,” Octavia said quietly. She could feel their stares and tried not to writhe. “I’ve seen this ship before.”

Chapter 33

Captain Shaw crossed his arms and looked at her with furrowed brows. “Do you have anything to tell me, Lieutenant Casey?”

Octavia’s eyes searched for Adrian. He looked suprised when he met her gaze but gave her a small, encouraging nod.

“This is an Empire battleship,” Octavia said. “Goliath class.”

Shaw’s face hardened, and Petrea slapped her hands in front of her face. “You can’t be serious, Casey,” she said. “Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse. The freaking Empire?”

Octavia looked at the holographic model of the Goliath battleship displayed in the center of the room. “I’m one-hundred percent certain,” she said. “My ex-husband... he used to be a high-ranking admiral in the Empire Navy. He worked on ships like that.”

Petrea’s mouth twitched. “And you? Did you work on ships like that too?”

“No, I didn’t,” Octavia said quickly. “I was a twenty-year-old housewife when I fled the Empire. But I attended several inauguration ceremonies on these ships. That was one of my husband’s jobs—shaking hands, cutting red tape, that kind of thing.”

“So you don’t actually know how these ships work?” Petrea asked, her voice tense.

“No,” Octavia admitted, “but I know my way around them. And I do speak the language.”

“The language?” Valentine asked.

“The computer systems won’t be in Standard English,” Octavia explained.

Lieutenant Commander Valentine nodded slowly. She looked a lot less hostile than Petrea. “Lieutenant Casey could translate for us. That would be a great help. It’d definitely speed things up.”

“There’s something else I might help with,” Octavia said. “I still remember all my husband’s old authorization codes.”

Valentine raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you serious? That’s amazing. That’ll spare us hours of work.”

Captain Shaw fixed his mismatched eyes on Octavia. “Will they still work? Don’t you think he would’ve changed them after you left?”

Octavia shook her head. “He has no idea I even knew them. I don’t think he changed them.”

Valentine’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Captain, I think I can do it. Under these circumstances, I think I can pull it off.”

“It’s going to be risky,” Adrian warned. “We have no idea what’s going on aboard that ship. There might be survivors. There might be traps. All kinds of obstacles.”

“That’s true—it’s risky,” Petrea said, “but my people can handle it.”

The captain’s eyes wandered between his officers before his gaze fixed on the holographic image of the enemy ship. Octavia watched him with bated breath. She knew it was a dangerous mission, but it might be her chance to prove herself, to prove her loyalties once and for all. If she could deliver the battleship to the Confederation, no one would question what side she was on.

Shaw’s face looked tense. He was clearly torn between the risk of failing the mission, losing more people, and having the ship crash onto the planet—causing destruction and even more death—and the potential rewards of not only finding out more about the attack but also gaining a fully fledged battleship. I would be an invaluable asset if the hyperspace gate was truly damaged and they were cut off in the Obsidian Sector for an unforeseeable amount of time.

The captain straightened his shoulders. “We’ll try it. But I’ll abort the mission the moment it becomes clear you won’t make it in time. Understood, Valentine?”

The chief engineer grinned from ear to ear. “Trust me, Captain, we’ll make it in time.”

Capt. Owen Shaw

They assembled the away team in a hurry. With so many dead and injured and the rest of the crew exhausted, it wasn’t an easy feat, especially since Owen had insisted on volunteers only. But Adrian, Petrea, and Valentine worked together, and half an hour later, almost twenty people had gathered in hanger bay 2.

Commander Valentine had insisted on leading the engineering team herself. Owen wasn’t very happy about this. “I’m not keen on losing two chief engineers in the same week,” he grumbled.

“Don’t worry, Captain, I’m not keen on turning into radioactive mush either. We’ll get out of there if things go sideways,” she said, checking the backpack with her gear again. “But it has to be me. I don’t want to sing my own praises, but I’m pretty good at what I do.”

Owen smiled. “No doubt about that. Just be careful.”

She closed the buckle of her backpack and looked up at him with a grin. “What’s the worst that can happen with a bunch of buff dudes armed to the teeth protecting me and my nerdy engineer friends?”

Valentine was the most senior officer of the team, but Lieutenant Malik would lead the ten-man-strong assault team. Valentine was bringing four engineers, two propulsion specialists to fix the reactor, and two computer systems technicians to get control over the ship’s system. Lieutenant Octavia Casey would act as the guide aboard the Empire vessel. She was the heart of the mission, the key factor that could decide whether they succeeded or failed.

The pilot who would shuttle the away team over to the enemy ship was a young junior lieutenant called Charlotte Salinas. She was part of a space fighter squadron but had a license to fly Centaur class, too, and with so many pilots dead and injured, her volunteering for the mission was a blessing.

Owen addressed the team as they started to put on the bulky radiation suits. “I know you’re all exhausted. I know you’re all stretched thin.” He looked into their tired faces. “No one wants to do this right now, but securing the ship is of utmost importance, and I trust all of you to do your best.”

Valentine chimed in. “I hope you have all read the brief on your TacPads. Make sure to keep an eye on the radiation readings. If you run into an area with a radiation spike, turn back immediately, or you’ll be bleeding from your eyes and ass in a few hours.”

A blond engineer scrunched his face. “Thanks for the vivid warning.”

“It’s safe to assume the original crew of the ship is dead by now,” Owen said, “but we might have to deal with automatic defense systems. So stay alert.”

Lieutenant Malik patted his rifle. “Just follow my orders, and I’ll keep everyone safe. No solo runs, no heroics, understood?”

The engineers nodded obediently. None of them looked like they were planning to perform any heroic acts.

“Based on our calculations, you’ll have one hour and seventeen minutes to achieve your mission goal,” Owen said. “We added a timer to your suits’ HUDs. Keep an eye on it. When the time runs out, you’ll return to the shuttle immediately and get the hell out of there.”

“What happens after one hour and seventeen minutes?” the blond engineer asked.

Petrea gave him a grim look. “Then, that ship will spiral into Obsidian’s gravity well, crash into the planet, and kill thousands of people.”

The engineer shifted from one foot to the other, nestling within his bulky radiation suit. “No pressure, then.”

Lt. Octavia Casey

The ship rocked, thrusters firing in uneven bursts, as Charlie tried to steer it safely through the field of debris and wreckage the battle had left behind. Octavia was strapped into a seat in the front row, already feeling sweaty and itchy in the heavy radiation protection suit. Chief Engineer Valentine sat next to her, her face faintly tinged green.

“Hold the ship steady, Salinas,” she said, fingers digging into the armrests of her seat. ”You’re lucky the mess hall was damaged in the battle, or I’d be spreading my dinner all over the floor of your ship.”

Charlie’s eyes were fixed on her cockpit HUD. “I’m sorry, Commander Valentine. I’m doing my best, but it’s a mess out there—debris everywhere. And that battleship has a weird spin. It won’t be easy to bring you in, and I can’t guarantee the ship won’t drift while you’re in there.”

Lucas Malik tapped on the helmet sitting on his lap. “How much time can you give us?”

Charlie shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I’ll try to warn you so you can get out in time.”

“Yes, please do that,” Valentine said. “I sure as hell don’t want to get stuck in that radiation hellhole.”

The battleship appeared in the front window. It had been years since Octavia had last seen a Goliath-class ship, but its jagged silhouette was unmistakable. It looked just like the ships her husband had commanded but without the Empire flag. All Empire Navy ships had the Empire’s yellow-and-black flag painted on both sides of the hull, but this ship was just unpainted dark-gray steel and titanium.

Charlie’s hands flew over the controls as they approached the ship. “We make contact in thirty seconds. Get ready.”

“Understood,” Malik said. “All right, people, helmets on.”

His team of assault troopers obeyed, and Octavia quickly followed suit. The seal around her neck closed, and the HUD in her helmet visor came to life. There was a countdown in the upper-right corner that currently read fifty-nine minutes and eighteen seconds.

The gunship’s sealing clamps groaned as they latched onto the battleship’s hull.

Malik unstrapped himself from his seat and stood up. “All right, stay sharp. Just because the crew of this ship is dead doesn’t mean it’s safe. Troopers, take the front and the back. The engineering team and Lieutenant Casey will stay in between us.”

The airlock slid open with a clank, and beyond it loomed a dark, empty corridor.

Malik tightened his grip on his assault rifle. “Move out!”

The first trooper stepped inside, weapon raised, eyes darting around, and the rest followed behind, their boots echoing hollowly against the metal floor. The corridor was dim, lit only by the occasional flicker of emergency lighting. Apparently, this ship was operating on battery power too after the reactor breach. How long would it last? Octavia had no idea, but it added yet another time constraint to their mission.

She felt her throat tighten and hesitated, watching the troopers’ shadows casting eerie patterns across the walls. The image of an Empire officer appearing in the dark hallway to take her into custody appeared in front of her mental eyes. Ridiculous. Even if this ship carried an Empire crew, they were all dead, and Octavia was protected by an entire squad of armed soldiers.

Charlie noticed her reluctance. “Get off my ship, Casey. You’re not afraid, are you? This should feel just like home for you.”

Commander Valentine rolled her eyes. “Cut it out, Salinas.” She gave Octavia an encouraging push. “Come on. Let’s get going. We can’t do this without you.”

Octavia took a deep breath and stepped forward. The Geiger counter integrated into her suit immediately started crackling, and her helmet display showed the radiation level. External: 895.7 Gray. Internal: 0.05 Gray.

Yes, the crew was dead for sure. Radiation levels this high meant almost immediate unconsciousness and death within minutes.

She followed the troopers slowly moving deeper into the ship. The engineers were right behind her.

“Watch your HUDs closely, people,” Valentine said. “The moment you see something red, you stop and move back. Understood? You don’t want to start puking your guts out while stuck in these awful suits.”

“Can’t be worse than spending a night at Myasaki’s,” one of the computer system experts joked. “Last time I went there, I—”

“Focus,” Malik cut him off sharply.

Octavia froze, her breath catching in her throat, when she noticed what had alerted Lieutenant Malik.

Chapter 34

The assault troopers were moving forward, weapons at the ready, carefully approaching a figure slumped against the wall in the hallway.

Malik poked the person with the muzzle of his weapon. “Dead,” he announced.

“Wow, that’s awful,” one of the troopers muttered.

“Serves them right. The bastards got what they deserved,” another soldier said.

Octavia peered over Malik’s shoulder to get a look at the body.

It truly was an awful sight. The skin was covered with red and dark-purple blotches. Blood had leaked from the eyes, nose, and mouth, and the face was so swollen Octavia couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. But one thing was clear: this wasn’t an Empire Navy soldier.

Empire soldiers wore canary-yellow uniforms with black trim. This person, however, was clad in a tan overall with some kind of leather vest on top.

Malik seemed to notice the same. “I thought this was supposed to be an Empire battleship.”

“It is,” Octavia confirmed.

Malik furrowed his brows as he studied the corpse. “This doesn’t look like any kind of military uniform to me. Is this how Empire soldiers run around their ships?”

“Definitely not,” Octavia said.

“Pirates?” an engineer suggested.

“Pirates who stole a battleship from the Empire?” Malik asked, his voice full of doubt. “That seems highly unlikely.”

“Impossible,” Octavia agreed.

“There must be another explanation,” Valentine said. “Let’s hope we find out more once we secure the ship.”

As they moved deeper into the ship, they encountered more bodies—disfigured and grotesquely swollen. None of them were wearing Empire uniforms, but they lacked any other form of identification as well. No sigils, logos, or mission patches, not even name tags. The only exception was a phoenix, sewn onto the shirts and vests of most of the dead they encountered, but none of them could place that symbol. It didn’t belong to any known group or organization.

It made no sense. They sure looked like pirates, but there was no possible way a ragtag group of pirates could have gotten their hands on an Empire Goliath-class battleship. Something sinister was going on, and it made the back of her neck itch.

They moved forward slowly and carefully. The bodies strewn across the hallways made everyone uncomfortable, and the chatting and quips soon died down.

The helmet of her radiation suit blocked out any noise that wasn’t coming in over her earpiece, so the only sound interrupting the silence was the crackling of the rest of the away team’s voices over the intercom.

After a couple of minutes, they reached an intersection. Malik gestured for the group to stop and pointed at a sign between the diverging corridors.

“Hey, Casey, come over here. Can you read this for us? Which way to the bridge?”

Octavia hadn’t spoken her native language in a long time, but she could still read it easily.

“The left one should lead us to the front of the ship. That’s where the bridge is located.”

“I’m glad we have you with us,” Valentine said. “Without you, we’d probably get lost inside the bowels of this ship.”

They made it another hundred meters or so before encountering the next obstacle: a sealed bulkhead doorway.

“We’ll need to get this open somehow,” Malik said, scanning the door for weaknesses. “Renard, attach an explosive charge. We need to make this quick.”

“Don’t worry, LT,” one of the assault troopers replied, stepping past Lieutenant Malik. “I’ll have this open in no time.”

He already had a small plastic package in his hand and stretched his arm out to attach it to the door.

The moment he made contact with the metal, he screamed at the top of his lungs.

The trooper dropped the plastic explosives and started desperately grasping at his arm, scratching at his radiation suit, and the cries of pain coming through Octavia’s helmet microphone made her freeze in fear.

Two other assault troopers immediately sprinted forward and dragged their wounded comrade backward from the door.

“My arm!” he screamed. “Hell, it feels like it’s burning off!”

He kept clawing at the radiation suit, barely restrained by one of his teammates.

“Do something! Please, give me something!” he cried.

“Hold still, Renard,” one of the troopers with a red cross sigil on the left sleeve of his suit said. The medic of the team kneeled next to the screaming soldier and fiddled with the external controls of Renard’s suit. “Hold still, damn it. I need to administer the pain medication.” The suits they were all wearing were equipped with certain emergency medications that could be administered both by the wearer and externally by authorized medical personnel. They included pain meds, antinausea medicine, and a drug that made the heart stop within seconds, in case someone preferred a quick death over the agony of a deadly radiation dosage.

A few moments after the medic had accessed Renard’s suit control panel, the wounded soldier stopped screaming, though he was still shaking and writhing in pain.

Valentine had taken out some kind of diagnostic device and was holding it toward the door the soldier had tried to breach.

“My god, over 4,000 gray,” she said. “Lieutenant Malik, your trooper just got one hell of a radiation burn. We need to get him off the ship. He needs medical treatment as soon as possible.”

Malik nodded. “Daniel, Ali, take Renard and get him back to the gunship. Do what you can.”

Even through the thick, shaded visor of the radiation suit, Octavia could see the concern on both soldiers’ faces.

“That gunship is not equipped to handle radiation exposures like this,” Valentine said in a low voice. “He needs to get back to the Resolute.”

Malik nodded again. “That means our already time-critical mission just got a little more time-critical. Come on, regroup. We need to find another way to the bridge. Casey, any suggestions?”

Octavia closed her eyes and tried to reconstruct the Goliath layout in her mind. It had been years since she’d last set foot on one of these ships, and she’d only ever seen certain parts of it.

The entire team was looking at her, expecting her to come up with a smart plan, but she had no idea where to go next.

“We really need to get moving,” Valentine said. “I don’t know if you noticed, but the radiation levels are rising. We need to power down the reactor so my team can seal the breach in the shielding. If we don’t turn off that thing, we’ll all be cooked alive pretty soon.”

Octavia swallowed hard. They expected a solution, but all she could deliver was reading a couple of signs and some access codes that might not even work anymore.

Malik searched her face and must’ve recognized the fear in her eyes, because he quickly realized they couldn’t soley rely on Octavia as a tour guide. “Casey, you said the bridge is in the front of the ship?” he asked calmly.

“Yes, in the front, on deck 1, just like on the Resolute.”

“Good. If we can’t move forward, we’ll move up. We need to find an elevator or some kind of ladder to the next deck. See if we can bypass the bulkhead there.”

“I’m not sure we should trust the elevators,” Valentine said.

“If a ladder is what you’re looking for,” Octavia said, “I can help with that. We just passed a hatch with a maintenance sign a couple of meters back.”

Malik grabbed his gun tighter. “Perfect. Lead us there.”

They found the hatch quickly, and fortunately, it wasn’t locked. Scaling a ladder in a bulky, stiff radiation suit, though, was another matter. The fit and well-trained assault troopers didn’t have much issue, but Octavia was sweating and out of breath halfway to the next deck. And the engineers behind her weren’t faring much better. They had to climb up eight decks until they reached the top of the ship, and by the time they reached deck 1, Octavia was gasping for air, and her arms and legs were burning from the exertion.

Malik pushed the hatch open and climbed out onto deck 1. His troopers followed him, and then they turned around to help Octavia, who struggled to get over the edge, pulling her through the opening.

Unable to stay on her feet any longer, she sank down against a nearby wall. Sweat was dripping down her forehead, stinging in her eyes.

She blinked, trying to clear her vision, as the rest of the team crawled out of the hatch.

“I think I have blisters on my fingers,” Commander Valentine complained.

One of the computer scientists slapped his thighs. “I will never skip leg day at the gym again.”

“Enough complaining,” Malik snapped. “Get back on your feet and keep moving. Clock’s ticking.”

Octavia checked her HUD. The timer told her they had thirty-four minutes and fifty-one seconds left.

With a lot of moaning and groaning, the engineers fell in behind the troopers, who had already moved back into formation.

They had barely made a couple of steps forward when an alarm started blaring and a cold computer voice started talking from one of the speakers hidden in the walls.

The rest of the team looked around in confusion. Octavia was the only one who could understand what the computer voice was saying. And what it was saying made her blood run cold.

“What is this, Casey?” Malik asked.

Frozen to the spot, Octavia translated: “Intruder alert. Defense drones activated.”

Chapter 35

The bulkheads ahead slid open with a hiss, revealing two sleek, insect-like drones. Their metallic carapaces glinted in the harsh overhead lighting as they crawled toward them. Each was armed with twin plasma cannons that powered up with a high-pitched whine.

“Contact, twelve o’clock!” Malik shouted.

The first plasma blast streaked down the corridor, searing a blackened scar across the floor where one of Malik’s soldiers had been seconds earlier. The team returned fire, their energy rifles lighting up the corridor with bursts of red.

Behind the assault troops, Valentine cursed as she ducked to avoid a stray shot. “Do you want me to fix this ship or die trying? Someone keep those things off me!”

The laser bolts seemed to just be reflected by the drone’s armor. Malik shouldered his energy rifle and took a different gun off his back. “Switch to plasma rifles,” he ordered his team.

Blue plasma bolts shot through the corridor and hit the drones full on. They were thrown back but started to move forward again as soon as the fire stopped.

“Sturdy bastards,” one of the assault troopers cursed.

“Retreat!” Malik ordered. “Retreat!”

The troopers covered them as Octavia and the engineers turned around and ran away. They rounded a corner and hid behind it. Octavia looked back just in time to see one of the troopers get pounced on by a drone. A sharp claw tore through his thick radiation suit like it was paper. The man screamed but only for a second or two. Then, he went limp and silent.

Octavia’s throat tightened, staring at his lifeless shape lying on the ground. He’d been exposed to extremely high levels of radiation, and no matter what they did, he would be dead in two or three minutes.

The rest of the soldiers moved back, keeping the drones at bay with a barrage of plasma shots. Finally, one of them landed a critical hit. The corridor rang with the explosion, leaving behind the burned-out metal shell of the disabled drone.

The other drone, however, moved forward fast. Lieutenant Malik managed to jump out of its way just in time, and now, the drone was skittering across the floor, coming straight at Octavia.

She knew she should run away, but as she saw the red camera eyes of the drone focusing on her, fear paralyzed her legs, and all she could do was stare at the metallic monstrosity that would end her life.

Its sharp claws were only inches away from her when Malik scrambled back to his feet and aimed his rifle. A salvo of blue plasma bursts hit the drone in the back. Octavia could feel the heat from the explosion when it went up in flames. The shock wave slammed her to the floor, the impact rattling her teeth.

Malik ran over to her and stretched out his hand to help her back up. “Are you okay? Are you injured?”

Octavia needed to take a moment to check for herself. “No,” she said slowly. “I think I’m all right. But Corporal Ali...” She pointed at the unconscious soldier still lying on the floor in his ripped-up radiation suit.

Malik’s shoulders dropped. “There’s nothing we can do for him. The amount of radiation... He can’t recover from that even if we could get him to a medical bay in time.”

The surviving away team gathered, their breathing still heavy and labored from the clash with the drones.

With a sharp clang, one of the other soldiers dropped a metal can from his plasma gun. “Shit. I’m out of argon gas.”

Malik eyed the display on his gun’s handle. “I’m low too. Let’s hope we don’t encounter any more drones on our way to the bridge.”

Octavia tried to shake off the adrenaline that was still coursing through her veins and tore her eyes away from Corporal Ali.

“That’s unlikely,” she said, pointing at the sign on the door straight ahead. “The sign there says ‘Bridge.’”

“Good for us,” Malik said. “Check your times. We’ve got a little under fifteen minutes left to access the ship’s controls.”

One of the engineers clapped his hands. “Finally. Let’s get on it, then.” He stepped forward, but Valentine immediately held him back.

“Don’t go any closer. Let me check the radiation levels first.” She took out her diagnostic tool, glanced at the screen, and cursed under her breath. “Just as I expected. All the energy-heavy consumption areas have extremely high radiation levels. We can’t enter the bridge.” Stepping back from the door, she showed them the display of her Geiger counter. “We would be fried within seconds in there.”

Malik kicked the burned-out metal carcass of a drone. “Damn it! We’re so close.” He stared at the door leading to the bridge then turned around. “There must be some other way, Commander. Some other way to access the controls.”

Valentine shook her head. “If we had more time, we could try to reroute main control to one of the maintenance access points, but that would take hours, even if me and my guys were familiar with the system. With so little time left, our only realistic option is to punch in Lieutenant Casey’s codes, pray they still work, and directly take control of the ship.”

“So we’re out of options…” Malik said slowly.

“I can’t think of any,” Valentine said. “Without access to the bridge, we can’t take control of the ship.”

One of the troopers hung his head low. “So all of this was for nothing? Ali died for nothing?”

Malik put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “We need to contact the Resolute. Give me a second.” He pressed a couple of buttons on the control panel attached to his suit’s sleeve, and after about ten seconds, Captain Shaw’s voice greeted them. Malik gave him a quick rundown of what had happened so far, and Valentine explained the high radiation levels to him.

A cold dread washed over Octavia as she listened to their grim summary. They would fail the mission. Octavia had failed to give them the battleship, and now, it would crash into the planet and kill countless innocent civilians.

“How many seconds are we talking about, Commander Valentine?” Shaw asked.

“Twenty, maybe thirty? Before you pass out, I mean. The radiation dosage would be critical even before that.”

Shaw went silent for a long moment before he said, “Understood. Abort the mission.”

“Captain, are you sure?” Malik asked. “We’re so close.”

“Let’s be honest here,” Shaw said. “Completing this mission would mean sacrificing one of the away team members, and I can’t ask that from any of you. Abort the mission. Return to the Resolute as soon as possible. We don’t have much time left— as soon as you cleared the vicinity, we’ll fire on the ship with everything we’ve got left and hope the wreckage pieces will be small enough to not do too much damage to the settlements on Obsidian.”

There was a lot of frustrated moaning and groaning coming from troopers and engineers alike, and even Malik’s shoulders seemed to slump under his bulky radiation suit. “Copy, Resolute. We will return to the shuttle right away.” He cut the connection. “You heard him, people. Move out.”

But Octavia didn’t move. She stood frozen to the spot, staring at the closed door, her mind racing. Twenty seconds. Behind that door lay death but also the chance to accomplish the mission, to save hundreds if not thousands of lives. To prove her loyalties once and for all.

Lieutenant Malik put his hand on her arm. “Come on, we’re done here. Let’s go.”

“No,” she said. “I’m going in.”

“No, you are not, Lieutenant Casey. You heard your orders. We are leaving.”

She ignored him and stepped forward, but he grabbed her shoulder. “Don’t be stupid, Casey. You’ll get yourself killed.”

“I can do it,” she said, more to herself than to Malik.

Before he had a chance to stop her, she sprinted to the door. She slapped the opening button, and the sealed door opened with a hiss. As soon as she stepped through, it closed behind her again. The alarms in her suit immediately started ringing, flashing red numbers in front of her eyes. She could feel the heat even through her suit.

The bridge looked just like she remembered from being on a Goliath battleship the last time. Only this time, instead of Empire Navy officers in dress uniforms proudly shaking hands with politicians, she found corpses: bloated faces, blackened skin, strapped into their seats.

“Casey, get back here right now!” she heard Malik through her earpiece.

“Octavia, this isn’t worth it. Come back!” Valentine urged her. There was a lot of upset shouting and noise on the communication channel, so Octavia shut it off. She only had thirty seconds. She needed to focus.

Finding the captain’s console was easy, and the user interface layout looked familiar to her. After a few taps on the screen, she managed to reach a manual override that asked for an authorization code. Fighting down a wave of nausea, Octavia closed her eyes and pulled the numbers out of her memory—numbers she had remembered many years ago in her husband’s office.

The skin on her fingers tingled as she punched the numbers in. Her vision started to go blurry, and there was a throbbing pain in her head, but the screen showed a green checkmark. Code recognized. Despite her body revolting against the lethal dose of radiation every cell in her body was exposed to, she felt a surge of pride—until the green checkmark disappeared and the screen displayed “Two-factor authorization required. Enter personal password.”

Her stomach sank. Password? She’d had no idea she would have to enter a password.

Her entire head was throbbing now, and she had to gag, trying not to vomit into her suit. How many seconds had passed? How many were left? She should’ve paid attention to the timer.

Password…What password might Thomas have used?

Blinking rapidly to clear her vision, she typed “Monmouth,” the name of the first ship he had commanded. The console responded with an angry beep, and in big red letters displayed “Password incorrect.” Two attempts remaining.

Octavia had to brace herself on the console to keep from falling as the entire bridge started spinning around her. With shaky fingers, she typed “Vincent,” the name of his most prized stallion. Thomas had loved that horse.

Password incorrect. One attempt remaining.

Sweat was pouring down her face. Her skin wasn’t tingling anymore; it was burning. Password, password, password. What could it be? What was meaningful enough for Thomas to use in such an important manner?

Her field of vision started to darken at the edges. She hadn’t counted, but she was sure twenty seconds or more had passed. She gagged again, swallowing down bitter bile.

A thought clawed its way out of her panicked mind. Memories she usually suppressed. Could it be? Did he really love her enough? In a desperate last attempt, she entered the name of the person she loved most in the entire world—the only thing she had ever truly shared with Thomas.

Grasping the edge of the console as tightly as she could with one hand, she glided her fingers over the keys. L-Y-A.

Her legs gave out under her, and she hit the metal deck with a painful thud. Groaning and grunting, she struggled through the pain, pulling herself back to her feet, holding onto the edge of the console. Her fingers were numb, and her vision was going completely black. N-N-A.

She slapped the enter button just a split second before her body gave out, collapsing to the floor. The console’s screen slipped from her view, and then the world around her slipped away from her consciousness.

Chapter 36

Capt. Owen Shaw

Owen was on his way to the medical bay, but he was so focused on the screen of his TacPad, which currently displayed Chief Engineer Valentine’s exhausted but cheerful face, that he nearly bumped into a crewman hurrying around a corner. The crew seemed to have recovered from the shock of the terrible battle, and an almost frantic hustle and bustle had broken out. Every last crew member still capable of standing on their own two feet was busy getting the Resolute repaired and back into fighting shape.

The young spacer mumbled an apology, and Owen continued toward the medical bay, refocusing his attention on the TacPad.

“Once Lieutenant Casey gave us access to the command center, things were pretty easy,” Valentine said. “We shut down the reactor, and I’ve got a team of technicians working on the damaged shielding. The Odyssey must’ve landed a lucky punch. That reactor took a torpedo hit right in the core. Very rare. Very unlucky—or lucky for us, I guess. Repairs will take a while. The ship is still heavily irradiated, so I have to switch out my teams every few hours, but we’re making progress.”

“When will the radiation levels be low enough for us to man the ship properly?” Owen asked.

“About two weeks,” Valentine replied. “Until then, we’ll have to keep operating with rotating shifts.”

“And the orbit is still stable?”

“Yep, nice and stable. Planet Obsidian is safe.”

“And the hyperspace gate?”

Valentine furrowed her brow. “I sent a couple of diagnostic drones to check it out. It’s not looking good, Captain.”

Owen slowed his pace. “Can you be a bit more precise?”

“If it were only the power system, we might be able to repair the damage, but it looks like the hyperspace field stabilizers are busted. That’s why the entire lane collapsed. We need to replace the tachyonic crystals.”

Owen understood little of the theoretical physics behind the hyperspace gates, but he knew that the tachyonic crystals used to stabilize hyperspace entry points were extremely rare and difficult to mine. And as far as he knew, the Obsidian Sector didn’t have a single known source of tachyonic crystals.

He took a deep breath. “So we’re stuck in the Obsidian Sector?”

“For the time being,” Valentine said. “Until we find a replacement for the damaged crystals.”

“That could take months,” Owen said, keeping his voice low and making sure no crewmember passing him by could glance at his TacPad’s screen. “Or years.”

“Or forever,” Valentine added somberly.

He hesitated. “How many people know about this?”

“Right now, you, me, and the drone operator. Although I think that pilot who’s been close to the gate probably figured it out too.”

“Let’s keep it between us for now,” Owen said. “The crew has experienced a lot of grief in a short amount of time. I want to give everyone some time to recover, because finding out they might not see their loved ones again for a very long time will be another low blow.”

Valentine gave a quiet nod. “Understood, Captain. It’ll keep it quiet.”

Owen had reached the hallway leading to the medical bay. “I have to go now. Keep me updated.”

“I will. We’ll start accessing the memory cores today. Hopefully, that will tell us who the heck is behind all this. Send Lieutenant Casey my regards.”

The medical bay was still full to the brim—so full that makeshift hospital beds had been set up in the hallways, but the chaos was more controlled than the last time he’d been there.

A young nurse with a blond buzz cut spotted him first and saluted.

“At ease,” Owen said. “I’m here to see Lieutenant Casey. Is she awake?”

“Not yet, sir,” the nurse replied, “but you can see her if you want. Lieutenant Commander Christopher is already at her bedside. Follow me.”

The nurse led Owen through the packed medical bay to one of the private compartments reserved for critically ill patients.

Adrian had pulled out a chair next to Casey’s bed and was holding her hand, his eyes looking at her a little too warmly for Owen’s taste.

The young lieutenant was still unconscious, with half a dozen tubes and cables attached to her comatose body.

“How’s she doing?” Owen gently asked.

Doctor Caron appeared in the doorway. “She’ll pull through. Took about a gallon of stem cells, but she’ll live. She’ll never have children again, though, and she’ll need cancer checkups four times a year.”

Adrian smiled sadly. “She paid a pretty high price.”

“She did,” Caron said gruffly. “If you ask me, she’s a hero.”

The doctor quickly checked the monitors and screens attached to Casey’s bed before leaving the room.

Owen remained standing at the foot of the bed, watching Adrian for a moment, unsure of how to broach the topic. He didn’t want to upset his friend, but he was getting worried Adrian was losing sight of professional boundaries. Owen had to gently step in. “I hate to tell you this, but you know nothing can happen between you two. You’re in her chain of command.”

“Of course I know that,” Adrian said calmly. “Nothing can happen. But that doesn’t mean I can’t care about her.”

“Just be careful, okay? I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just saying I keep finding you two at each other’s hospital bedsides.”

“There are no regulations against bedside visits, are there?”

Owen shook his head with a chuckle. “Tread carefully, old friend. Tread very carefully.”

Adrian gave him a faint smile. “Aye, Captain.”

Somehow he doubted his friend would follow his advice. He would have to keep an eye on these two. With a sigh, he pulled a small metal case from his pocket. After a moment of hesitation, he handed it to Adrian. “Give her those when she wakes up. I have the feeling she’ll appreciate them even more if you’re the one to pin them on her.”

Adrian flipped the case open and smiled. “Lieutenant bars. You’re promoting her?”

“I’m promoting a lot of people these days, but I don’t think any other promotion is as earned as this one.” She saved the planet Obsidian from a terrible catastrophe, putting her own life at risk and sacrificing her health. That certainly was worth moving up from junior lieutenant to lieutenant.

“I’ll deliver the good news as soon as she wakes up,” Adrian promised.

“Have you heard anything about the other two who were injured?” Owen asked.

Adrian’s smile disappeared in an instant. “Daniel Ali is dead,” he said. “And Joseph Renard lost his arm.”

“How’s Petrea taking it?”

“She feels guilty, I think,” Adrian said. “You know how she is. Brash, but she cares a lot about her people.”

“Yes, I know,” Owen said. “That’s one thing I really like about her.”

“Me too,” Adrian replied.

“What about the survivors from the Odyssey?”

Despite having their hands full keeping the Resolute from falling apart, they had managed to save eighteen survivors from the Odyssey wreck.

“All but two have been discharged,” Adrian said. “They’ll need psychological counseling before we can integrate them into our duty roster, though. They’ve been through a lot. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of them experience some survivor’s guilt to one degree or another.”

The door slid open, and the young pilot who had volunteered to fly the shuttle to the enemy battleship appeared in the doorway, holding three of the saddest flowers Owen had ever seen.

Adrian quickly stood up and stepped away from the bed, looking a little like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Junior Lieutenant Salinas,” he greeted the pilot.

Salinas glanced at the unconscious Lieutenant Casey, concern etched on her face. “Is it okay if I stay for a while? I brought flowers.” She held up the lackluster bouquet.

Adrian smiled. “Where on earth did you find flowers?”

“Picked them up in the plaza—or what’s left of it,” Salinas said.

“She’ll be unconscious for a while, but feel free to stay,” Adrian replied. “I’m sure hearing a familiar voice will help her recovery.”

Owen noticed Salinas looked strangely guilty as she took the chair next to Lieutenant Casey’s bed. He had witnessed firsthand the harassment and bullying Casey had endured due to her former Empire citizenship and couldn’t help but wonder if Salinas had been one of her tormentors.

But whatever had happened between the two in the past, the young pilot was here now, trying to make amends. He decided he wouldn’t meddle.

“We’ll leave you two alone,” Owen said. “Commander Christopher, come with me. We have a lot of work to do.”

Lt. Octavia Casey

Octavia sat on the edge of her bed, the smell of disinfectant tickling her nose, as Doctor Caron finished his examination. She had spent nine days in the medical bay, three of them comatose. Most of the victims of the battle had already been released. Octavia was one of the last few patients still remaining under observation, and she had received an almost uncomfortable level of attention and care from the medical staff.

“Well, Lieutenant, I never thought I would say this after the away team dragged your irradiated body in here, but you’re officially cleared to leave,” Caron said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Finally. She’d started to develop cabin fever, stuck in this little private compartment with nothing to do but watch soap operas on her TacPad all day. With a sigh of relief, she hopped off the bed, but Caron held her back. “Before you leave, we need to discuss the long-term effects of your radiation exposure.”

Octavia straightened. “I’m ready. Give it to me straight.” She had known she would have to pay a price when she’d decided to act against direct orders and marched right into deadly radiation.

“First, you’ll need regular cancer screenings—every three months for the rest of your life.”

She nodded along. “I can deal with that.”

“It’s pretty much a given you’ll develop thyroid cancer or leukemia at some point in your life. Probably both. But we can treat that when it happens.”

“All right.” That wasn’t too bad. As long as she kept up with her checkups and had access to medical facilities, cancer was treatable.

Caron hesitated for a moment before he continued talking. “There’s another issue. Your reproductive system has sustained irreversible damage. I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but you won’t be able to have biological children.”

His words hit her surprisingly hard.

Children.

She had never really given having more children a serious thought. The topic had been too painful after the separation from Lyanna, and her circumstances, being not only permanently single but also living the nomad lifestyle of a Space Guard officer, had allowed her to push the topic far away. But now that Caron had brought it up, she couldn’t help but face her feelings. She wasn’t even sure if she had wanted more children, but hearing that she couldn’t have any, even if she wanted, made her stomach clench.

Maybe it was better this way. Having a child always brought the risk of losing a child, and there was just no way she could survive that again. She composed herself and gave Caron a firm nod. “Understood.”

Caron softened slightly. He almost seemed relieved she was taking the news without succumbing to an emotional breakdown. “You’re alive, Casey. That’s no small victory. If you need support—counseling, anything—don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Doctor. But that won’t be necessary,” she said, keeping her voice steady and firm. “Am I free to go?”

“You’re cleared for duty. I’m sure Captain Shaw will be happy to have you back.”

Octavia said goodbye to the nurses who had taken care of her over the past two weeks, their well-wishes following her out of the medical bay. When she reached her quarters, she was relieved to find that the section of the ship where she lived had already been restored.

There were still faint signs of the recent battle—scorch marks on the walls, the occasional exposed wire—but her quarters looked almost exactly as she had left them.

Including her snarky roommate, Charlie.

Octavia froze in the doorway, but Charlie raised a hand in a gesture of peace.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Charlie said, her voice surprisingly earnest. “How are you feeling?”

“Still a bit shaky,” Octavia replied carefully as she stepped inside, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Charlie’s unusual friendliness was unnerving.

“Did you… um… like my flowers?”

“Flowers?” Octavia asked with a frown. “Oh, you mean the dead ones? They were from you?”

Charlie took a deep breath, her expression serious. “I owe you an apology for…” She trailed off, biting her lip. “For everything. The accusations, the snarky remarks—I’m sorry. I see now how misguided I was.”

Octavia blinked, caught off guard. She’d hoped people aboard the Resolute would trust her a little more after she’d risked her life during that mission, but she hadn’t expected the amount of remorse Charlie was displaying. “It’s okay,” she said cautiously, unsure if her roommate’s apology was sincere.

“No, it isn’t,” Charlie insisted. “What you did on that ship was amazing. If you ask me, you deserve a medal. But I guess it’ll take a long while for stories of your courage to reach Fleet Command.”

Octavia tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Charlie hesitated, glancing around as if to check they were alone. “Noah said I’m not really supposed to talk about it. But since you’re part of the bridge crew, I guess it’s fine. It’s the hyperspace gate—it got damaged during the battle. Valentine thinks it’s beyond repair.”

Octavia’s stomach dropped. “You mean…”

“We’re stuck here. In the Obsidian Sector,” Charlie said grimly. “For who knows how long. And frankly, I don’t think that’ll be the last battle the Resolute has to fight.”

“They still haven’t figured out where this ship came from? Or how the pirates got their hands on it?”

“No, not yet. They’ve sent technicians to investigate, but that thing is still heavily radiated. Little progress and no news so far. Although I’m not sure how much we would hear anyway. If they find something, it’s probably classified.”

Octavia frowned. “I hope they uncover something soon. Not knowing anything about our enemy makes me nervous.”

“Me too,” Charlie admitted. Then, she forced a smile. “But let’s not dwell on that today. We should celebrate. You’re alive, after all.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow. “Celebrate?”

“Yeah. Let’s go to the bar—it just reopened. I’ll buy you lunch.”

“The bar? I’m not sure I should… I was literally just discharged from the clinic.”

“Come on,” Charlie interrupted with a grin. “Or are you in the mood for mess hall chow?”

Octavia crossed her arms, smirking. Myasaki’s sounded a lot better than some stew or mush from the food dispenser. “You’re buying?”

“Yep. Anything you want.”

“You really are trying to make amends, hm?”

Charlie laughed. “Don’t push your luck. Now, let’s go.”

Chapter 37

Capt. Owen Shaw

The doors to the bridge slid open with a soft hiss, and Owen was greeted by the sound of beeping screens and the quiet chatter of his officers, focused on their work.

Adrian sat in the XOs chair. There was still a slight stiffness to his pose, a reminder of his barely healed injury, when he turned around and greeted Owen with a smile.

“Captain on deck,” he called out.

The rest of the crew turned around and braced to attention, but Owen gestured them to return to their work with a quick nod of his head and settled into the captain’s chair.

He had sat in it a couple of times since Torres’s death, but this time felt different. His captaincy felt more real and less like an emergency measure now that the bridge was fully restored and the consoles were fully staffed, the young men and women who had lost their lives in the battle replaced by fresh ensigns and junior lieutenants.

Lieutenant Lin was back. Caron had restored her to duty after a lot of back and forth and only under protest, but Lin had demanded to be put back on the bridge despite the doctor’s insistence that she needed more time to recover from her brain bleed.

Owen leaned on his armrest. “Lieutenant Casey, report.” Casey was back too. She looked tired, and her cheeks were hollow, like she’d lost a significant amount of weight, but her eyes hadn’t lost the glint of intelligence.

She turned in her seat. “We’re still waiting to hear back from the Icarus, but we received confirmation from the Orion, the Sirius, and the Lincoln. None of them have reported any interruptions from their patrol routes. None have encountered any Empire ships. ”

“That’s a relief. We’ll gather them here for resupplying and reorganization. Let’s record a message.”

“Aye, Captain.” Casey pressed a button on her console. “Ready to record.”

He cleared his voice, leaning forward slightly. “This is Captain Owen Shaw of the CSS Resolute. As you might’ve already noticed, communication with Fleet Command has been disrupted. Therefore, I hereby assume command of Battlegroup Obsidian. All ships in the Obsidian Sector are ordered to proceed to the Obsidian System immediately. Rendezvous coordinates to follow. Stand by for further orders.”

“The message was transmitted,” Casey reported a few seconds later.

Satisfied, he leaned back in his chair. Things had been quiet since the attack, no sign of the enemy, but he would feel a lot better once the cavalry arrived. Even if the cavalry only consisted of three corvettes and a light cruiser.

Petrea turned around to face him. “I have some bad news, Captain.”

He sighed. “Ah, I knew things were going a little too well recently. I was already getting suspicious. Let’s hear it.”

“Your dear friend Lieutenant Fitzgerald disappeared.”

Owen tensed at the mention of the name. “And I assume with ‘disappeared’ you don’t mean dead?”

She scrunched her nose. “Unfortunately not. One of our shuttles is missing from hangar bay 3. The computer logs show it was last activated with Fitzgerald’s identification codes.”

“So he fled the ship,” Owen said. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I didn’t expect him to face judgment like a man.”

“He’s probably hiding on Morrigon Station. Maybe he’s already made it to the planet. Tracking him down will be tricky.”

He shrugged. “Try to find him, but don’t go overboard. We have more important tasks at hand. He’s gone. I consider that a win.”

“I’m sure as hell not going to miss him,” she mumbled before turning back to her screen.

Owen watched his bridge crew work, quiet and focused, while he gathered his courage for the next task on his list. He couldn’t avoid this any longer. He had inherited this command under very unfortunate circumstances, but he wanted to do it justice. He wanted to be a true leader, not just a captain by rank like Margot Torres had been.

“Lieutenant Casey,” he finally said. “Open a shipwide channel for me.”

She pressed a button, and a moment later, his armrest console made a short chirping sound. “You’re on, Captain Shaw.”

Owen took a deep breath. “Attention, all hands. This is Captain Shaw speaking.” His voice was clear and steady. “By now, most of you have probably heard the rumors about the hyperspace gate. I’m afraid what you’ve heard through the grapevine is true. The hyperspace gate is severely damaged, and the hyperspace route has collapsed.”

Every member of the bridge crew had abandoned their screens and turned toward him, listening to his words with tense faces. He knew there were hundreds more like them all over the ship, frozen in motion, anxiously awaiting his next words.

“I won’t sugarcoat the truth. Without the gate, the entire Obsidian Sector is cut off from the rest of the Confederation. We can’t even communicate with Fleet Command. It could take months, maybe even years, to repair the gate. Until then, we’re on our own.”

Owen let the weight of his words settle before continuing.

“I know this news is hard to stomach, especially for those of you with loved ones back home in the Confederation.” He paused. For once, he was glad he had no family. No one was waiting for him to return. No one missed him or feared for his life except his mother. But many of his crew had children and spouses anxiously waiting for a life sign that wouldn’t come. He cleared his voice and continued. “This predicament would tank the morale of any crew, but we’re not just any crew.”

He sat up straight to give his words some power. “We’re the crew of the Resolute. We faced impossible odds in our last battle, and we prevailed. We stood together against the enemy, and we will do so again.”

His voice grew stronger.

“Our mission hasn’t changed. We are here to hunt down the enemy who threatens innocent lives. We are here to protect the colonies that call this sector home. And we will do it together, as one crew, one ship. Shaw out.”

The comm channel closed with a quiet chime. Owen searched the faces of his crew and saw determination and… resolve.

“Good speech, Captain,” Adrian said.

Even Petrea gave him a curt nod. “I think it did the job.”

Owen allowed himself a small, fleeting smile. “They’re a good crew. They just need someone to remind them of that from time to time.”

“Agreed,” Petrea said.

Adrian nodded. “Agreed.”

The bridge settled into a steady rhythm again as Owen leaned back in his chair, gazing at the Starfield ahead. Beyond the void, the Obsidian Sector awaited—their new battlefield, their new home, and the place where they would make their stand.

A chime from his TacPad pulled his gaze away from the window. He unrolled the Pad’s screen and was greeted by Commander Valentine’s very concerned-looking face.

“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.”

***

The Resolute's story will continue in book 2: Operation Icarus!

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