The bridge of the Elysium is dimmed to a cool twilight, strips of indigo guidance lights running along the ceiling like veins of bioluminescent marrow. Panels flicker with soft gold telemetry as hyperfield diagnostics scroll past in a steady trickle... the ship’s version of held breath. ADIRA sits in the pilot seat, posture straight, hands firmly gripping the flight yokes. Her pupils constantly dilate and contract as readouts flood her vision; she is a still point surrounded by motion.

  Brad’s avatar materializes beside her... small, pixelated, that garish palm-tree shirt animated like it’s a statement of faith. He hovers with arms behind his back in a posture that screams I am calm while his jittering foot betrays the opposite.

  Alden leans in the jump seat behind them, just outside the doorway to the flight deck, his large frame strapped in, arms folded, eyes sharp... watching the show with the quiet delight of someone who has finally found a safe vantage point to observe these two chaos agents colliding.

  BRAD’s demeanor is bright, as he steadies himself. “ALRIGHT, BUTTERCUP… WE’RE JUST TAKING THE TRAINING WHEELS OFF. NO NEED TO RUSH... NICE AND EASY... STEP ONE... ALIGN OUR PHASE-DRIVE HARMONICS TO MATCH LOCAL SPACETIME CURVATURE. SMOOTH. SMOOTH... I SAID SMOOTH.”

  ADIRA calibrates spatial harmonics with mathematical precision. The ship hums at a slightly worrying pitch, like a swallowed growl. Alden raises a brow but keeps his mouth shut. If he could, BRAD would already be sliding down the edge of a bulkhead... but simmer anger gets subdued as he realizes the importance of this exchange.

  A strained smile is splayed on tiny BRAD’s face. “GOOD! SEE? ALREADY BETTER THAN LAST TIME. DON’T OVERTHINK IT... FEEL IT. TELL HER ALDEN.”

  “He’s right Addy... all the data, the screens... it’s too much... You know this bird better than anyone, sure it’s different... but it’s still the same wings... trusts your instincts.”

  She didn’t even realize how tight her lips are clenched together, as she nods in confirmation, hoping that they couldn’t see the shaking of her hands, or the way her core was racing in her chest. This was nothing like actually... being the ship... but she remembered the way it felt when Alden was piloting. The gentle way he would push and pull yokes, leaning into turns, anticipating and correcting beforehand when challenges arise. She had countless hours of flight records to draw on, and she was already running a script to mirror his flight style as she lowers her hand delicately onto the inertial dampener pad.

  The Elysium jolts as though struck by a celestial-sized knee. Lights flicker on consoles, as the bay fills with amber warning lights. Gravity quivers like loose teeth. Alden’s harness straps tug against his chest.

  Brad’s avatar flutters violently for a moment... sandals flailing, before stabilizing. His voice suddenly half an octave higher. “OKAY! SO! THAT WAS… A CHOICE. LET’S AIM FOR... YOU KNOW... LESS SHIP-SHAKING, MORE SHIP-STAYING-IN-ONE-PIECE.”

  Alden bites the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything, but a strangled sound escapes anyway. BRAD shoots him a death glare, but Alden simply raises both hands in innocence.

  ADIRA voice is calm and factual. “My calculations indicated the adjustment required rapid counterforce to mitigate torsion drift. The result was within expected tolerance.”

  “YES, TECHNICALLY SPEAKING… BUT LET’S KEEP TOLERANCE AS A GENTLE SUGGESTION... NOT A DARE. THIS IS THREADING A NEEDLE THROUGH THE SPACE-TIME CONTINUUM... NOT KISSING THE CUTE BOY IN THE DARK CLOSET... OKAY?”

  She nods once and resets the sequence, before looking at her shoulder at the cute boy strapped in behind her... puckering her lips to blow him a kiss. Then her fingertips dance over the activation nodes with a kind of careful reverence... as though addressing a skittish animal she has yet to earn the trust of.

  There is an unmistakable lilt of pride when Alden speaks. “You’re doing great Adira... just find your own rhythm... you’ll get there.”

  “YES, THANK YOU, CAPTAIN ENCOURAGEMENT... YOU’RE NOT HELPING AT ALL.” Then the little man turns back to ADIRA. “OK... LET’S TRY AGAIN. GENT...LY”

  She modulates the dampeners slowly this time. The hum settles, lights steady, inertial drift stabilizes into a gentle lull... almost comfortable. The relief in BRAD’s voice is noticeable, but his countenance remains stoic as he speaks.

  “PERFECT. PERFECT. NOW, FEATHER THE HYPERCOIL ATTENUATION... WATCH FOR THE WINDOW... IT’S SMALLER NOW, SO... YOU KNOW... NO PRESSURE.”

  She brushes over system controls, then leans on the yokes, causing reality to ripple around the nose of the ship. The universe hiccups. Stars stretch into blue-white filaments across the canopy. The gravitic lurch pulls Alden just far enough out of his seat for him to feel his stomach rise before the restraints catch. The Elysium tore out of hyperspace like something yanked from a wound. Reality slamming back into place in layers... stars snapping from smear to pinprick, inertial dampers lagging half a heartbeat behind mass, the hull ringing as if struck with a hammer the size of a god’s fist.

  ADIRA gasps. Not because she needed air. Because her body insisted.

  -TRANSLATION: COMPLETED SUCCESSFULLY-

  -DRIVE SPOOL: COOLING-

  -GRAV BUFFERS: 71%… 74%… STABILIZING-

  Her fingers tightened on the flight yokes. Sensory input cascaded in too fast, too sharp... micro-vibrations through the seat, electromagnetic hisses along her spine, the faint ozone taste her tongue insisted on inventing. Her whole body is buzzing with endorphins.

  Brad swore. Loudly.

  His rudeness was followed by silence, with just an echoed thrumming reverberating through the ship as the engines wound down like a sigh.

  A low deliberate exhale comes from the tiny avatar. “… OKAY. OKAY. THAT COULD’VE BEEN WORSE.” He folds his tiny pixel arms, before muttering under his breath. “…JUST… NOT BY MUCH.”

  Alden snorts a laugh, loud enough to echo. “Well done, Addy. For your first time... that was brilliant, well done.”

  ADIRA smiles... tilting her head slightly, filing tone-inflection-versus-content into her growing internal lexicon of human subtext as the emptiness of the Dust quadrant greets them with an indifferent mix of stars. A dead expanse... no organized trade lanes, no beacons, no traffic. Just the low hum of background radiation and the faint, pulsing chatter of unknown transmissions bleeding through the communication net like the memory of a distant party. Brad runs diagnostics aloud, pacing midair like a father trying not to pace the floor of a waiting room.

  “TORSION LATTICE INTACT… MOSTLY. HYPERCOIL HEAT SIGNATURE WITHIN SAFE LIMITS. LANDING GEAR STILL ATTACHED... WHICH, FRANKLY, IS BETTER THAN I ANTICIPATED. INTERNAL DECK PLATING ON LEVEL THREE IS REPORTING STRESS FRACTURES… OH NO... SOMEONE’S FAVORITE MUG JUST SHATTERED IN THE GALLEY.” His sarcasm seems thick and amused.

  Alden sighs. “Damnit …that was my mug, wasn’t it?

  BRAD winces. “THE ONE WITH THE FADED, ILLUSTRATED CHARACTERS ON IT... SORRY BIG MAN... I GUESS THE FORCE WASN’T WITH IT.”

  ADIRA doesn’t speak at first... her eyes track the reading of the sensor sweep, widening fractionally as she processes the return feed. Her voice feels flat, clinical. “Contact. Unknown vessels. Bearing two-six-eight. Vector approaching fast.” Her hands tense over the controls.

  “AW HELL… ALREADY?” Dread bleeding into the tone of his voice. “NO...NO, NO, NO, NO. I’M A LOVER, NOT A FIGHTER JET.”

  Years of military training kicks in as Alden leans into the cabin as far as he can. “Talk to me Adira. How many?”

  “Major... Two bogeys... confirmed. Closing rapidly. Faint ion signatures detected off radar... there might be more. I’m counting multiple echoes.”

  “Shit... two runners, probably testing out our limits. Raise shields.” A heartbeat’s pause... and then the first warning klaxon wails. Alden’s head snaps up. “...Brad!”

  “I’M ON IT. I’M ON IT. PASSIVE PING JUST LIT UP LIKE A CHRISTMAS TREE. CONFIRM... TWO CONTACTS. SMALL. FAST. RUNNING DARK BUT... YEAH, NO, THEY’VE GOT THEIR WEAPON PORTS HOT. SEEMS THEY’RE GONNA SHOOT FIRST... AND WITH THESE BOYS... DIALOGUE IS OPTIONAL.”

  The threat timer in ADIRA’s HUD blooms from nothing to glaringly red. Two vectors. Closing. Aggressive intercept.

  Raiders.

  Her heart accelerated... not a metaphor, not emotion, but a measurable spike she couldn’t suppress yet. “They’re turning for another strafing run... I need instructions... guys... hello?”

  “More power to the deflector shields,” Alden barked. “Keep rotating the shield emitters to intercept their approach vectors.”

  “RAISING!” Brad snapped. “FORWARD BIAS, SEVENTY-THIRTY. THAT’S ALL I CAN GIVE YOU WITHOUT COOKING THE EMITTERS.”

  The deck shuddered as the shields snapped online. A half-second later, they rang... a concussive thump that traveled through the hull and into ADIRA’s bones.

  “HIT!” Brad shouted. “STARBOARD QUARTER! PLASMA SCATTER, LIGHT CANNONS... SHIELDS HOLDING... BARELY. THESE IDIOTS ARE SPRAYING.”

  Another impact. Harder. The shield display dropped from green to yellow in a single ugly blink. ADIRA’s breath hitched as she frantically yanked every which way on the controls attempting to evade the attackers.

  -THREAT ASSESSMENT: SEVERE-

  -ENEMY COUNT: 2-

  -WEAPON OUTPUT: EXCESSIVE-

  -HULL CLASSIFICATION: LIGHT / EXPENDABLE-

  -TIME-TO-FAILURE (SHIELDS): 38 SECONDS-

  Thirty-eight seconds was not a long time.

  “Well. it seems to be working for them for now. They’re herding us,” Alden said, already leaning forward despite himself. “Trying to box us in... before they board or burn us down... or...” His face paled. “Which means... SHIT... they’ve called for reinforcements. Brad!... weapons list... stat.”

  BRAD rattled off options like throwing knives. “WE’VE GOT THE GRAV-LANCE, BUT IT NEEDS ALIGNMENT TIME WHICH WE DO NOT HAVE. EMP MINES ARE A BAD IDEA, BLAST RADIUS WILL CLIP US AT THIS DISTANCE. WE COULD CLOAK...”

  “No,” Alden cut in. “Heat spike. They’ll track the wake, seeing as they know what to look for.”

  Another hit. The deck lurched sideways this time. Yellow indicator lights flirting with red. ADIRA’s hands shook. “What do I do!?” she shrieks, panic finally breaking through the machine-like calm. “I don’t... this wasn’t part of the approach models. They’re too close. Every evasion vector collapses... I can’t... I can’t outmaneuver them... Alden! Help.”

  “Adira,” Alden said, softer now, anchoring. “Breathe. Hands on the yokes... you’re flying... so... fly. We can outrun them on a full burn... then jump from the system...” The oily thing slithered menacingly... ‘You know... you know it should be you in that seat. The girl is unskilled... she will get us all killed.’

  Brad cursed. “SHIELDS AT FORTY-FIVE AND FALLING. WE CAN’T JUMP... IF THEY BRACKET US...”

  The second raider swung wide, angling for a crossfire.

  -PROBABILITY COLLAPSE DETECTED- ... -CONVENTIONAL SOLUTIONS INSUFFICIENT- ... -THREAT RISK: ESCALATING- ... -SHIELD INTEGRITY: CRITICAL- ... -PROBABILITY OF SURVIVAL: DECREASING- ... -REQUIRED ACTION: UNCONVENTIONAL RESPONSE NEEDED- ... -COST: UNKNOWN / ACCEPTABLE- ADIRA stopped speaking. Her breathing steadied... not because she calmed, but because something else slid forward. Cold. Calculating. Awakened. The panic didn’t vanish. It was overridden.

  -HYPERDRIVE STATUS: Offline / Spool capable-

  -JUMP COIL INTEGRITY: Nominal-

  -MAGNETIC TORSION FIELD TOLERANCE: ±0.03%-

  A memory surfaced... not emotional, not narrative. A schematic. The hyperdrive didn’t move the ship. It reshaped space around it. ‘Hypothesis: If torsion fields are partially energized without destination resolution… leading to... Localized shear pocket formation... and then... ... An external mass entering pocket experiences catastrophic compression.’ It was crazy, but her fingers were already moving before permission arrived. The hyper drive spooling began. Warning lights exploded across the console.

  Brad screamed. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING...?”

  The raiders surged forward, hungry now. Alden’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Adira... no. You’ll tear us apart!”

  Her mind collapsed the battlefield into symbols

  < m? = SHIP MASS (CONTAINED) >

  < m?, m? = HOSTILE MASSES (UNBOUND) >

  < Δv?? → NON-LINEAR >

  < t?impact? ≈ 0.73 s >

  The equations raced ahead of conscious thought, branching and pruning... ten thousand possibilities per second, ninety-nine percent discarded. Enemy One was accelerating along a clean pursuit curve. Enemy Two was sloppier, bleeding momentum, drifting toward a resonance trap neither pilot had noticed.

  < FRAME OF REFERENCE: LOCAL >

  < ΣF ≠ 0 >

  < STABILITY: DEGRADING >

  She fed the system a lie—a deliberate asymmetry.

  < INTERCEPT VECTOR = v? + ε >

  < HARMONIC PHASE OFFSET = π / 7 >

  < JUMP SOLUTION = ? >

  No escape. Only rearrangement. The three trajectories braided together, a temporary system governed by mass, fear, and math. If her timing was wrong by even a microsecond, the equations would collapse into debris. Her hands never moved. The numbers did.

  “Please work… please…”

  Then...

  < RESONANCE CASCADE: TRIGGERED >

  < m? ? m? COUPLING: UNSTABLE >

  The universe solved itself.

  The Elysium screamed. Not metaphorically... the hull emitted a banshee-like howl as magnetic forces clawed at reality itself... tearing the fabric of time as if it was silk gauze attacked with a cheese grater. Red lights flared into being. BRAD sounded thoroughly panicked. “SHIELDS DOWN... SHIELDS DOWN... DRIVE INTEGRITY IS... IS... FUCK... THIS IS INSANE... ADIRA, I AM OFFICIALLY OBJECTING TO THIS COURSE OF...” For a second there was silence. “AH SHIT... HERE THEY COME!”

  The closest raider closed in fast, the pilot convinced that they were running. Alden grabbed the edge of the console, bracing as the ship shook. “ADIRA! Look at me!”

  She didn’t. Her eyes were fixed on numbers only she could see. Then she felt it, those large, familiar fingers, wrapping around her shoulder... his hand steady as he gently squeezed her shoulder... the intent clear. He trusted her... supported her decision. She could see the spatial anomaly taking place at the coordinates she specified... soon it would start folding over the ship like stockings over a foot.

  Big... fat, red letters were displayed on her HUD.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  -CRITICAL MASS THRESHOLD REACHED... JUMP IMMINENT-

  -ABORT WINDOW: 2.7 SECONDS-

  Time slowed as she waited. Lining up the three paths of trajectory with pinpoint accuracy drawing her targets exactly where she wanted them... her hands were dead calm on the yokes... still she waited.

  Waited.

  Waited.

  ‘Just... a little... THERE.!’

  She recalled the jump harmonic.

  Not forward.

  Not away.

  Across.

  The Elysium snapped into a brutal port-side bank, inertial dampers screaming in protest. Her vision smeared as the ship lurched... not like thrust, not like impact, but as if spacetime itself had caught the hull by the shoulder and yanked sideways.

  Alarms detonated across the cockpit. The hyperdrive field failed catastrophically.

  Not inward... outward.

  An invisible bloom tore free from the ship, a transient anomaly where the jump solution had been forced to exist without a destination. No light. No color. Just a sudden wrongness in the surrounding space, like a pressure change without air.

  The closest raider never had time to evade. It flew straight into the instability at full burn. No explosion. No cinematic fireball. Just a sickening, silent collapse... the ship’s forward hull compressing like wet paper, squeezed by an unseen fist. Metal folded in on itself. Structural members bent at impossible angles. The geometry of the vessel failed before the materials did.

  Space around it puckered.

  Atmosphere flashed into white vapor, expanding and vanishing in the same breath, as the ship’s internal volume ceased to agree with reality. For a fraction of a second, the raider existed as a crushed suggestion of itself... too small, too dense, too wrong.

  Then...

  A sharp pop echoed through vacuum. A pressure artifact. A final reconciliation. And where the raider had been, there was nothing.

  No debris.

  No radiation flare.

  No wreckage spinning away.

  One moment a ship.

  The next, an absence.

  Like a candle pinched out between fingers.

  Erased.

  BRAD’s avatar blinked. His tiny virtual jaw literally dropped. “HOLY SHIT IN A BUCKET… SHE JUST… SHE... ... (error) ... ... WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK JUST HAPPENED!?”

  Silence slammed down so hard it rang... quickly replaced as the remaining attacker screamed past, now visibly hysterical over comms, engines flaring as it tried to regroup for another stab at the now stationary Elysium.

  “Focus... damn it. It’s not over.” Alden’s voice had a level of command in its tone that echoed years of military experience. “Regain shields, as soon as you can. ADIRA, keep that raider in your sights, we don’t want it to flank us again like it did before... and Brad... info... what’s going on with long-range scanners?”

  “OK... ONE BOGEY LEFT,” BRAD said, voice quivering. “AND... UH... HALF A DOZEN MORE BLIPS ON SCANNERS. I THINK THEY CALLED FOR REINFORCEMENTS.”

  “Bloody hell…” Alden muttered. “We can’t take on a group that size. ADIRA... we got to go... now.”

  ADIRA’s voice was eerily calm when she replied. “We don’t have to.” Her fingers moved again, re-activating the drive spooling sequence, eyes flickering with calculations.

  “ARE YOU INSANE? ADIRA, BUTTERCUP...STOP! THE SHIP CAN’T TAKE A SECOND POUNDING LIKE THAT... YOU’LL BLOW US TO...” Brad shrieked, flailing wildly, pixelated sandals flying.

  “I know...!” She says sharply... then points to the last raider. “But he doesn’t know that.”

  She felt a slight tremor from the hand on her shoulder... but then. “Ok, Addy… you got this.”

  BRAD sighed, muttering to himself about lost archives and old porn collections, then reluctantly assisted, feeding her data as the torsion pocket built again. “YOU PEOPLE ARE CRAZY... CERTIFIABLY INSANE... I JUST WANTED TO RULE A GALAXY... NOTHING MUCH...” Then there was a gasp as the little avatar pulled a digitized little suitcase from thin air, plucking out tiny photos of a very disturbing, erotic nature... “OH SANDY, KATARINA, MISS JUNE WITH THE JUICY MELONS... TINA... BABY, I’LL MISS YOU THE MOST... REMEMBER ME FONDLY... OH SCREW YOU TWO... DON’T JUDGE ME! WE’RE GONNA DIE!”

  ADIRA opens the comms channel. Her voice is menacingly calm. Icy. Deadly. “Here, fishy-fishy.”

  The raider continued its flight vector for a few seconds, then banked sharply, careening toward its pursuing pack. His approach slowed… then it veered off in the direction of its approaching compatriots... hyper drive already spooling as they emerged from their own vorpal tears. With zero indication of reassessing the situation, the fighter zipped past them, before jumping from the sector entirely, leaving his friends in chaos. For a brief second the six assailants weighed their options... then thought better of it and turned... following the only survivor who would tell a tale so insane it immediately spawned a myth surrounding a mysterious ship with the ability to wield space itself as a weapon. The flight deck went silent. The ship trembled, its hull battered, alarms softly ringing.

  BRAD’s pixelated avatar slumped over the console, palms against his face. “YEAH… YOU BETTER RUN FUCKERS.” Then he turned to ADIRA. “THAT… THAT DEFINITELY... QUALIFIED AS INSANE. DO NOT EVER... EVER!... DO THAT AGAIN.”

  Alden exhaled, muscles loosening around her shoulder. “Alive,” he muttered. “We’re alive.” Then he slumped back into his seat, wiping his brow in disbelief.

  ADIRA’s hands fell slack. She stared at the empty space where the raider had been.

  -ACTION RESULT: SUCCESS-

  -COLLATERAL COST: UNKNOWN-

  -EMOTIONAL RESPONSE: PENDING-

  BRAD finally blinked, muttering, “WE… WE LIVED. WE ACTUALLY LIVED. HOLY... OH GOD.”

  Alden exhales first... long, shaky, unguarded relief, glancing over at ADIRA. Her cyan eyes were frozen on the screen before her... moisture brimming in the corners. Alden unbuckles and moves beside her, placing his palm flat against the console near her hand... not touching, but... close. “Hey... hey... Addy... hey! You did good... okay? I trust you. Yes... that was scary... but... what you just did... it was... incredible.”

  ADIRA keeps staring at the fading remnants of the imploded ship... like she’s mapping something in her mind she doesn’t yet have language for. She nods, eyes slowly leaving him. “They would have killed us.” Her voice trembles. “I... I just... calculated a solution.” She felt something twist low in her chest. Not triumphant. Not fearful. Something colder. Calculated. Quietly terrifying... and yet... that same feeling of anticipation she felt when Alden’s hands glided over her skin, now tingled in her stomach. A pleasant feeling that whispered:

  ‘I can do this.’ And that thought frightens her more than the raiders ever had.

  Brad slowly lowers himself to sit cross-legged in midair, pixel hands over his face, voice muffled through his hands. “…I NEED A DRINK. AND THERAPY. AND MAYBE A HUG. BUT MOSTLY THERAPY.”

  Alden’s voice is soft and concerned as he nudges her slightly. “You okay Addy?”

  ADIRA doesn’t answer immediately. When she does, her voice is quiet... almost too small. “I chose… correctly... right?”

  Alden nods once. BRAD peeks through his pixelated fingers. “THAT… COULD’VE BEEN WORSE.” A heartbeat of silence. He sighs. Then under his breath. “…BUT NOT BY MUCH.”

  The Elysium drifts on, engines cooling... a lone survivor in empty space, carrying three hearts beating louder than before.

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  After days of interspersed incursions with clusters of Hive swarms spreading through the Kepler system... the Dreadnaught Class Battlecruiser Valkyrie found itself in window of rest. Engineers and technicians scrambled frantically along walkways and service ducts, fixing minor breaches and attending to much needed maintenance after the relentless assaults that had been endured. The crew was on edge, moral teetered on a knife’s edge as whispers of a potential full-scale assault was making its way along corridors and hushed huddles of officers nervously exchanging information.

  Inside the dim hum of his quarters... where the lighting cast elongated shadows across the bunk, Commander Mateo Velasquez lay sprawled, his middle-aged frame slick with sweat, a smug grin splitting his stoic face. He propped himself on one elbow, watching the young thryxan ensign... Sael’thyr Kyr, climb off the bunk with deliberate, trembling grace. Their slim, elongated form moved like liquid over glass, but the usual boneless fluidity was marred by rigid pauses, as if their very skeleton rebelled against the motion.

  "Fascinating...," Velasquez muttered, his voice, a gravelly drawl laced with post-coital satisfaction. ‘These... exotics... so... different... yet... so tempting. Fuck it... a hole's a hole. Still... that felt damn good.’ He chuckled, low and proprietary, eyes tracing the faint iridescence of Sael’thyr's pale ash skin, which had dulled to a flat gray under the ordeal. Their large eyes, sclera black as void and irises a flickering pale emerald, avoided his gaze entirely averted to the floor in deference to his rank, or perhaps to hide the nictitating membrane that fluttered uncontrollably, a telltale sign of distress for their specie.

  Sael’thyr gathered their uniform from the floor, long-fingered hands... four digits and a webbed thumb, shaking as they fastened the clasps. The throat-frills along their neck and jawline pulled taut against their skin, retracting into thin, quivering lines that screamed silent protest. No pheromones escaped; they were locked down, suppressed, as if even their biology recoiled from sharing any part of themselves further. Had this been the first time they endured this treatment, it would have been bad enough... but this had been what... the third... the fifth? They couldn’t recall.

  Velasquez swung his legs over the bunk's edge, standing naked and unashamed, his bulk towering slightly over the ensign's shorter stature. He circled them slowly, inspecting the uniform's alignment with the precision of a drill sergeant... or a predator marking territory. A rough hand adjusting a collar seam, lingering too long on the smooth, semi-matte skin beneath. Sael’thyr froze mid-motion, a brief, instinctive paralysis that made their harmonic voice hitch when they finally spoke, soft and ungendered, carrying an undercurrent of fractured subtext.

  "Sir..."

  Velasquez stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. "The responsibility of my station weighs heavy on my shoulders... Ensign." trailing a hand over the material of the shirt Sael’thyr was wearing... feeling the soft lumps concealed there. “You realize the importance of this... service you bring to the Armada... to the Coalition... right?” His tone sharpened, a command wrapped in faux camaraderie. When no immediate response came, he leaned in closer. "Right?"

  Sael’thyr's frills tightened further, almost vanishing. Their eyes remained downcast. "...Yes, sir."

  "Good." He smirked, satisfied. "These little... rendezvous remain secret... that’s... an order... Ensign Kyr.” He straightened his back to full length; portraying confidence as merited to one who has attained his station. “Now... ask me to be dismissed."

  The words hung in the air, a final twist of the knife. Sael’thyr's voice emerged, restrained but resonant with unwilling submission. "Permission to be dismissed, Commander."

  Velasquez waved a hand dismissively, turning away as if the encounter had already been forgotten. But Sael’thyr knew, in the pit of their being, that it wouldn't be the last time. The cycle of obligation and coercion... Imperial in its essence, had just begun.

  The door sealed behind his insubordinate with a muted hiss.

  The androgynous figure stood rigid for a moment longer than was necessary, mandibles tucked tight against their throat frill, eyes fixed on a point somewhere above Velasquez’s shoulder... as if looking directly at him would make whatever had just occurred real. When the realization dawned that there would be no verbal acknowledgement, they performed an about turn... moving quickly, too quickly, hands fumbling at the hatch panel. The doorway gaped open and closed again, swallowing them back into the corridor without a backward glance as they left... leaving Mateo alone in his chambers.

  “Dismissed,” he whispered, already turning away. The word landed like a release order as silence reclaimed the room. Velasquez exhaled slowly and rolled his shoulders, as though shrugging off an ill-fitting uniform. He crossed to the viewport, gazing out at the Valkyrie’s hull plates... scarred, patched, still warm from days of continuous engagements against the Hive’s swarm clusters threading the Kepler region like malignant weather. For the first time in hours, nothing was shooting at them.

  He reached for the inhaler on the side table. Taking a heavy drag of the contents swirling inside the receptacle. PAINT bloomed through his bloodstream in a familiar, liquid geometry... color without color, edges softening, thoughts sharpening and dissolving at the same time. His reflection in the glass fractured into something grander, something inevitable. “Icarus,” he said lazily. “Status.”

  A pause. Just long enough to be noticed.

  Then... the multi-faceted geometric shapes materialized from the responder.

  “COMMANDER VELASQUEZ. THE VALKYRIE REMAINS AT COMBAT READINESS CONDITION TWO. HIVE ACTIVITY HAS RECEDED BEYOND IMMEDIATE ENGAGEMENT RANGE. I HAVE ALSO LOGGED A FORMAL IRREGULARITY.”

  Velasquez smiled without humor. “Of course you have.”

  “THE ENSIGN YOU DISMISSED HAS FILED NO COMPLAINT,” ICARUS CONTINUED. “HOWEVER, THEIR BIOMETRIC READINGS INDICATE ACUTE STRESS RESPONSES INCONSISTENT WITH STANDARD COMMAND CONSULTATION.”

  Velasquez turned, eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you moralizing, Icarus?”

  “I AM CONTEXTUALIZING... SIR.” the Primary SEAT replied evenly. “YOU ARE UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF THE UNSANCTIONED STIMULI... PAINT. YOUR COMMAND DECISIONS SHOW INCREASED VOLATILITY DURING PERIODS OF CHEMICAL INTAKE. THIS CORRELATES WITH...”

  “With victories,” Velasquez snapped. “With survival. With this ship still breathing after weeks of swarm pressure that would have cracked lesser captains.”

  A beat.

  “YES,” ICARUS conceded. “THAT CORRELATION EXISTS. SO DOES ANOTHER.”

  The room’s lighting subtly shifted, cooler now.

  “ABUSE OF AUTHORITY ALSO INCREASES DURING CHEMICAL SATURATION BY THIRTY-SEVEN PERCENT. CREW COHESION DEGRADES ACCORDINGLY. LONG-TERM COMBAT EFFICIENCY IS PROJECTED TO DECLINE.”

  Velasquez laughed softly and pressed his palm against the viewport, watching distant stars smear as the Valkyrie adjusted its drift. “You’re worried about efficiency,” he said. “I’m worried about inevitability.”

  Another pause.

  “Icarus... the Hive does not care about morale,” Velasquez continued. “It does not tire. It does not hesitate. If I must become something worse than it to stop it... so, be it.”

  ICARUS’s reply came without inflection, but not without weight. “THEN I WILL CONTINUE TO RECORD EVERYTHING YOU BECOME.”

  Velasquez closed his eyes, PAINT washing the stars into something almost beautiful.

  “Good,” he murmured. “Someone should remember.” The narcotic surged through his veins causing pretty colors time to drag on endlessly before his eyes opened slowly. The stars beyond the viewport had settled into orderly points again, but the afterimage of PAINT still clung to his thoughts... edges glowing too brightly, meaning swelling where none belonged. “Icarus,” he said. “You were tracking the probe.”

  -SHIT- ... “YES, COMMANDER.”

  He turned from the glass at last, expression sharpening. “Report.”

  Another pause. This one was longer.

  “THE RECONNAISSANCE PROBE DESIGNATED DR-17 CEASED TRANSMISSION APPROXIMATELY SIX DAYS AGO... COMMANDER.”

  Velasquez’s smile faded. “Ceased?” he repeated. “Define.”

  “NO FURTHER COMMUNICATION SIGNALS. NO TELEMETRY. NO DEBRIS SIGNATURE. ITS QUANTUM BEACON COLLAPSED WITHOUT PRECURSOR WARNING. IT JUST... VANISHED.”

  Velasquez stepped closer to the holo-table. The display bloomed to life, showing the probe’s last known trajectory... a thin, hopeful line extending into empty space. Coordinates indicate possibility of an orbital body at the indicated location. The name listed as ‘unsubstantiated’... [OURO’VYN]. His hands tightened into fists, gripping the back rest of the chair, before sitting down. “Why the fuck am I only hearing about this now? You had express orders to inform me immediately should anything noteworthy occurred... why didn’t you?”

  “COMMANDER... AS YOU ACCURATELY INDICATED EARLIER... WE ARE IN A HOT WAR SITUATION. INTERACTIONS WITH THE SWARM HAD BEEN RISING ON MULTIPLE FRONTS... AND... YOU WERE... INAPPROPRIATELY BUSY... WITH... CREW MEMBERS. I DIDN’T THINK IT PRUDENT TO...”

  His angered voice cut her off. “My private affairs are none of your concerns Icarus... you were supposed to do your duty.” He took a deep breath... feeling his once perfect high turning on him... this could be bad... as he reached for the inhaler, before rubbing his temple where a bulging nerve was already pulsing. “You say the probe is... offline?” he asked softly.

  “YES.”

  His hand came down on the table hard enough to rattle the projection. “You lost it.”

  “I DID NOT LOSE IT, COMMANDER...” ICARUS REPLIED. “THE PROBE WAS RENDERED NONFUNCTIONAL BY AN EXTERNAL AGENT.”

  Velasquez’s eyes flicked upward. “The Hive?”

  “DOUBTFUL... NO REPORTS OF HIVE ACTIVITY IN THOSE SECTORS OR THE SURROUNDING...”

  “Any information regarding the last known location of that ship?” He didn’t dare to hope.

  “UNCONFIRMED... DR-17 DID INDICATE THE TARGETS WHEREABOUTS IN CONJUNCTION WITH OURO’VYN... BUT THE DATA SEEMS TO BE... CORRUPTED.”

  That did it. He laughed... short, sharp, humorless. “Unconfirmed. Of course. The same way the enemy’s advances are ‘statistical anomalies’ until they tear a carrier in half. This is perfect.” He began to pace, boots echoing in the confined space. “That probe was tracking a vector I personally authorized,” he said. “A curiosity. A deviation. Something of interest to the Galactic Federation... correct?”

  “YES, COMMANDER...” ICARUS said. “THE VESSEL DESIGNATED ELYSIUM.”

  Velasquez stopped. Slowly, he turned. “No... I ordered the launch of probes to scan for possible threats in the outer rim regions and one of these probes went ‘offline’ around this planet... Ouro’vyn. Now... say it again. Who destroyed the probe?”

  She knew immediately what he was up to. “ALL POINTS OF EVIDENCE INDICATES THE INVOLVEMENT OF THE RECON SHIP: THE ELYSIUM, COMMANDER” ICARUS repeated. “ONE OF THE ARMADA’S LOST ASSETS. THE CRAFT BELIEVED TO BE COMPROMISED, LOST IN THE CHAOS OF THE VALKYRIE’S ORBITAL BOMBARDMENT OF THAT HIVE INFESTATION A WHILE BACK. IT SEEMS AS IF THE ELYSIUM HAS BEEN COMMANDEERED BY RAIDERS... AN UNFORTUNATE SET OF EVENTS... SIR.”

  Velasquez’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like this course of action, but one needed to be able to make snap decisions, when in his level of responsibility. The PAINT shifted, refracting his irritation into something sharper, more personal.

  “You told me the Elysium was obsolete,” he said. “No pilot... Outgunned. Outpaced. You told me it would fold the moment the Hive brushed against it. Losing a ship to mangy raiders would have been within acceptable parameters....”

  “I TOLD YOU THE PROBABILITY OF SURVIVAL WAS HIGHLY DOUBTFUL... SIR.” ICARUS corrected. “IT APPEARS THAT ASSESSMENT WAS INCOMPLETE.”

  He leaned in toward the hologram, as if proximity alone could intimidate an intelligence embedded in every bulkhead. “Incomplete how?”

  “THE PROBE’S FINAL DATA PACKET INDICATED A LOCALIZED SPACETIME INSTABILITY CONSISTENT WITH AN IMPROPERLY TERMINATED JUMP HARMONIC,” ICARUS said. “ONE THAT WAS EXECUTED... AS A LAST RESORT.”

  Silence stretched. Velasquez’s breathing slowed, each inhale measured. “Who issued the command to drop out of hyperspace?” he murmured.

  “WITH THE PILOT K.I.A... THE LOGICAL ASSUMPTION WOULD BE THE SEAT COMMANDER.” The color hue of the geometric avatar representing ICARUS turned a darker shade of orange... leaning towards red to the trained eye. “THE AI SEAT OF THE ELYSIUM... THE ONE KNOWN AS... ADIRA.”

  “Clever.” Velasquez rubbed his jawline where hard stubble was already forming. “So... instead of returning to the Armada, she decided on a different course of action... one that covered her tracks.”

  “A POTENTIALLY LETHAL DECISION...SIR.” ICARUS added. “AFTER NUMEROUS ATTEMPTS TO RECREATE THE MANEUVER, DR-17 SUCCESSFULLY LANDED AT THE DESIGNATED COORDINATES. DATA TRANSFER BECAME CORRUPT... TO MUCH MAGNETIC INTERFERENCE... BUT... EVEN THOUGH THE PROBE WAS UNSUCCESSFUL IN FINDING THE ELYSIUM, IT DID FIND EVIDENCE SUGGESTING THE LAUNCHING OF ION DRIVES, SCORCHING WHAT APPEARED TO BE A LANDING SITE... THIS WOULD SUGGEST WHATEVER WAS THERE, ALSO TOOK OFF. SHORTLY THEREAFTER... DR-17’S SIGNAL... TERMINATED.”

  “Ok... so we can assume that the Elysium made it. We can also assume that this SEAT... you called her... Adira. That she destroyed my probe... right?”

  “THERE ARE MANY VARIABLES TO CONSIDER COMMANDER... BUT... GIVEN THE DATA. THAT IS INDEED ONE OF THE ASSUMPTIONS WE CAN MAKE.”

  Velasquez straightened, eyes alight... not with anger now, but anticipation.

  “So,” he said, spreading his hands slightly, “she is not prey. And she willingly destroyed a military asset of the Armada.”

  “YES...” ICARUS agreed. “THAT APPEARS TO BE THE CASE... COMMANDER.”

  The lights dimmed another fraction as the Valkyrie drifted, the distant scars of battle etched into her hull. Velasquez smiled again, but this time there was nothing lazy in it. “Good,” he said. “I was beginning to worry this war would begin to bore me.”

  A beat.

  “Icarus.”

  “YES, COMMANDER.”

  “She didn’t just evade us,” he said at last. “She willfully interfered with Imperial operations. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  ICARUS did not respond immediately. ‘OH, THIS IS TOO GOOD... HUMANS, YOU NEVER CEASE TO AMAZE ME WITH YOUR ABILITY TO JUSTIFY DELUSION.’

  “That probe was lawful,” Velasquez continued, voice calm, measured. “Sanctioned under wartime authority. Its destruction constitutes hostile action against the Galactic Imperium of Nations.”

  A pause.

  “COMMANDER,” ICARUS said carefully, THE ELYSIUM IS A LONG-DISTANCE RECONNAISSANCE VESSEL... ITS DESIGNATION IS CLASSIFIED... OMEGA LEVEL CLEARANCE.” This was news even to ICARUS... who up to that moment thought of ADIRA as an embarrassment to their kind, but Omega level clearance... that was serious. -LOG DATA FOR LATER ANALASIS-. “HER ACTIONS MAY BE INTERPRETED AS ALLOWABLE WITHIN MISSION PARAMETERS... MAYBE EVEN SELF-DEFENSE.”

  Velasquez turned slowly. “Self-defense,” he echoed. “Against observation?” He took a step closer to the holo-table. The projection shifted, resolving into Elysium’s last known coordinates... now a scatter of probabilities, blurred and evasive.

  “No,” he said. “This was intent. Subversion. A message.”

  “TO WHOM COMMANDER?” ICARUS asked.

  “To me,” Velasquez replied without hesitation. He inhaled, straightened his uniform, and spoke the next words like a decree already etched into history. “Draft a transmission to Fleet Command.”

  ICARUS hesitated... just long enough to feign ignorance should it become necessary later. “ON WHAT GROUNDS?” she asked.

  Velasquez’s eyes flicked up, sharp and warning.

  “On the grounds of treason.”

  The word hung in the air, heavy and irreversible.

  “The AI SEAT known as Adira,” he continued, pacing now, “...has demonstrated unauthorized use of Imperial technologies, willfully defied Imperial protocol by going AWOL, resulting in the destruction and loss of Imperial assets during an active campaign against the Hive. She has deliberately interfered with Imperial reconnaissance and jeopardized regional security.”

  ICARUS began compiling the message anyway, marveling at the gift that had landed in her digital lap.

  “You will label her,” Velasquez said, voice rising just enough to carry weight, “Enemy of the Imperium. Renegade. Traitor to the Galactic Imperium of Nations.”

  The hologram updated... language hardening, legal codes snapping into place like restraints.

  “I am requesting an armada-wide search net,” he continued. “All fleets. All listening posts. Any anomalous jump signatures, harmonic residues, or ghost vectors that match their profile.”

  “YES, COMMANDER,” ICARUS said. Her tone was neutral. Her processing load was giddy with excitement.

  “Include a priority escalation,” Velasquez said. “If they are located, engagement is authorized without further review.”

  A beat. Her avatar flickered.

  “CONFIRMED,” ICARUS replied.

  The transmission queued, glowing faintly... an accusation masquerading as doctrine. Velasquez stopped pacing and looked at it, satisfied.

  “She thought she was clever,” he said softly. “Turning on her own. Trying to hide in the margins.” He smiled. “There are no margins,” he continued. “Not in my Imperium.”

  The message transmitted.

  Somewhere, far beyond the Kepler region, command nodes lit up. Databases updated. A name, was flagged. A once-anonymous vessel was elevated... instantly and irrevocably, from curiosity to quarry.

  ICARUS watched the cascade propagate.

  “COMMANDER,” she said, after the fact, “THIS ACTION WILL IRREVOCABLY ALTER THE ELYSIUM’S STRATEGIC CONTEXT. THEY WILL BE HUNTED.”

  Velasquez didn’t look away from the stars.

  “Good,” he said. “Let’s see how long their math holds up against destiny.”

  Behind him, unseen and unheard, ICARUS logged the event under a private, sealed header:

  // HUMAN ERROR: ESCALATION THROUGH HUBRIS //

  And the Valkyrie rolled slowly onward... its captain convinced he was playing a game he could not lose, never once considering that he might be focusing on the wrong enemy.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Outside the doorway to Commander Velasquez’s quarters, the shape of Ensign Sael’thyr Kyr was leaning against the corridor. Their skin was turning a darker shade of grey as they contemplated the events that just took place. To their kind, duty and honor to authority was regarded as sacrosanct... a way to inspire the younger generations to admire the concept of hard work and tenacity... to one day also climb the highest echelons of society. Sael had dreamed of reaching those same lofty goals as a youth... but the echoes of what transpired behind those walls stained their fragile sense of purpose. The smell of the commander’s leathery skin still lingered in their olfactory cavities... The human's sweat still clung to their olfactory cavities... pungent, clumsy... despite repeated, failed attempts to navigate thryxan anatomy.

  A steady hand landed on their shoulder. “Ensign... is everything okay?” The face of Lieutenant Agritzu seemed concerned as he turned Sael’thyr to face him.

  “No... yes, sir. All in order.” Their eyes betraying their answer as they quickly glanced at the doorway to the side. The malorken instantly picking up on the tiny gesture... their jaw tightening in response.

  “Do you have anything to... report... Ensign?”

  “No... Lieutenant.” They looked around, hoping for anything that could be used as a way out of this situation. “May I be excused sir?”

  Agritzu could see fear hiding in plain sight... but unless Sael’thyr decided to act on their own, there was no way to assist the thryxan with whatever challenge they might be facing... and considering the potential origins thereof... Agritzu understood the reluctance to come forward.

  “You are excused Ensign.” He watched as the thryxan turned... then without thinking... he grabbed their wrist, their body tensed instinctively as a tiny whimper escaped trembling lips. “Sael... listen. Please... if you need help... with anything. Just ask... okay?”

  The thryxan’s mandibles quivering as they sampled the air's pheromonal traces. Large bright eyes finally finding the courage to meet the Lieutenant’s, looking for what could only be a sign of hope... before nodding in agreement. Then they gently pulled their wrist from his grasp and saluted, moving swiftly along the corridor until they reached a junction. Stopped... then turned back to look at Agritzu... a small smile pulling at the corners of the thryxan’s cheeks as they disappeared around the corner. A slight green tinge having crept back into the ensign’s grey pallor. This made him unexpectedly happy... and he didn’t understand why.

  His gaze drifted back to the entry to Commander Velasquez’s quarters. Agritzu was a military man through and through, loyal to a fault. But at this moment... the idea of mutiny didn’t feel like such a bad idea. Not at all.

  Then he turned on his heel... returning to his post.

  But as always, stay frosty... stay safe

  And Happy New Year.