002.01: The Flicker
Zea stood in the central corridor outside the Crew Spiral, one hand resting against the warm, pulsing wall. The Savasu always hummed; it was the breath of the ship, the rhythm of something not quite mechanical and not quite alive.
But today, the hum was off. Fractionally slower. A half-beat late. He tilted his head, listening.
It’s like she’s skipping a step.
A soft vibration rolled through the deck. Then a flicker, barely perceptible but enough to make the lights stutter. The lavender glow in the corridor dimmed, then came back brighter than before.
Zea narrowed his eyes. “Gizi?”
A half-second pause.
“Yes, Zea?” Gizi’s voice replied, calm as ever. Female in tone, filtered through layers of crystalline warmth. “Are you concerned about the lights?”
“I’m concerned about you,” he said, already moving toward the Command Bridge. “That felt like a system-wide pulse.”
“Systems are functioning within acceptable ranges.”
That wasn’t a ‘no.’ It also wasn’t like Gizi to underplay anomalies. She was obsessive about diagnostics.
As Zea stepped into the bridge, Zion and Kolnar were already at the pilot cradle.
“You feel that?” Zion asked without looking up.
“Yeah. Gizi says it’s nothing,” Zea replied.
“I don’t know if I trust her. There is obviously something wrong. We need to do a full system check on her; maybe a reboot would bring her back to normal,” Kolnar suggested.
Zion snorted. “Right. I’m looking at a thirty-point drop in sunlight dampening efficiency. Might be sensor drift, might be something more annoying,” he added.
The floor thrummed again. Subtle. A change in the ship’s tempo—almost like a heartbeat catching in its own rhythm.
The door hissed behind them. Hagok lumbered in, rubbing his forehead with a towel. “Gizi, this better not be a core misfire. I just finished recalibrating the rear stabilizer, and I’d love one day where nothing leaks, burns, or breathes on me.”
“Utrium matrix shows 99.7% efficiency. No signs of rupture or decay.”
Hagok grunted. “Then why do I feel like someone’s hitting me in the skull with a tuning fork?”
Oromi walked in. “It’s utrium sickness.” The old Iovian had firsthand knowledge of such sickness; he had been utrium deprived more than any other Iovian, having spent more time away from Iova in the last 100 years than any living Iovian. “It gets you every time when in space, one way or another.” He continued talking under his breath: “I remember the time in Dormidio Prime, we all got sick of…” He stopped mid-sentence, as he forgot what he was going to say.
Artelle was concerned for her old mentor and quickly asked, “Why now?”
Hagok suddenly dropped to one knee. “What the hell was that?” he cried out.
Zea watched him. Hagok looked… flushed. His skin, normally a cool opal hue like that of all Iovians, had a strange reddish tint.
“I suggest we do a top level reboot of Gizi, try to get her back online properly,” Kolnar suggested again.
Hagok agreed. “Zion, reboot Gizi. It’s only a partial reboot; should only take a few minutes at the most.”
“Yes, Captain,” Zion replied.
Kolnar and Oromi helped Hagok up and out of the bridge. “Let’s get you to medical bay. I’ve got just the thing for you…” Oromi’s voice faded as they exited the bridge.
Zion began the process of rebooting Gizi. Zea and Artelle were both running bioscans on the crew, looking for anomalies in utrium absorption.
After a while, Artelle discovered that the crew was in fact being deprived of utrium.
Zion seemed concerned. “Gizi, are you back online?” There was no response. “We’ve got a problem.”
The silence stretched.
Zion turned. “She always answers instantly.”
The lights started flickering and dimming quicker.
Zea’s chest tightened. “I’m not feeling so well.”
002.02: Below Skin
The Bioflow Chamber, once a place of calm recalibration, now buzzed with a low, unstable frequency. A soft pulse of bioluminescent blue still glowed along the walls, but it flickered, like it no longer trusted itself.
Artelle stood barefoot in the analysis field. Her tattoos, usually serene bands of violet, jittered erratically beneath her skin.
Zea entered beside her. “Is it failing?”
She didn’t look up. “Worse. It’s broken.”
Rotan arrived next, wearing a full space suit. “I ran another scan on Gizi’s neural frame. The matrix is completely corrupted. No response, she’s offline. Hope someone here can fly and navigate this ship.”
Artelle smirked. “You know, that suit isn’t going to help you with the utrium poisoning, but you made me laugh and I appreciate that.”
“This is a very serious situation!” Rotan exclaimed, and he stormed away.
Artelle burst out laughing, but Zea had too much on his mind. He hadn’t been the same since Iova fell. He had lost so much. They all had lost so much.
Zion leaned against the doorframe, eyes narrowed. “What’s up with Rotan? Are we scheduled for a spacewalk? Anyway, she’s not coming back, is she?”
“No,” Artelle said flatly. “And neither is the utrium she managed. It’s all tainted. The Bioflow confirms that every lattice line in the ship is out of tune with our physiology. We’re being poisoned with every breath.”
“Zion, would it be of any benefit to look for a source of utrium in this sector?” Zea suggested.
“That’s a good idea. Bit of a long shot, but a good idea,” Zion said, and he ran out.
Zea pressed a hand to the chamber wall. The surface didn’t warm or respond; it sat inert, pulsing faintly with wrong-colored light. “So that’s it, the Savasu’s bleeding us from the inside.”
“Exactly,” Artelle replied. “And it’s not a mechanical failure. It’s environmental. UV radiation in this sector is interfering with the utrium’s harmonic frequency. It’s been re-tuned.”
“How much clean utrium do we have left?” Zea asked.
“None,” she replied. “Gizi’s reserves were flushed when her systems destabilized. We need a new source, or we won’t survive long enough to reroute anything.”
Artelle looked at Zea. “But we don’t need a full reserve. Just a portion. Enough to rekey the system. Enough to speak the right frequency again. But what if we can’t find any?”
“Then we die,” Zea said. “But not until we try.”
The lights flickered again. This time, they didn’t return.
002.03: Cut and Clean
Zea walked towards the bridge, where he found Rhea pacing the halls, sword strapped over her back.
“Not feeling well?” Zea asked.
“I’m not good at doing nothing,” she said. “Send me to shoot something or fly something. Just don’t ask me to sit still.”
“What’s with the swords?” Zea asked.
Rhea grunted. “Makes me look more of a military type.”
“You actually use it?”
“I tried using it once. Nearly cut my leg off,” she replied.
“So that a no. Listen, don’t worry, we’ll find something for you to do or shoot at before this is all over, I’m sure,” Zea said jokingly.
She raised a brow. “Just make sure it’s something worth shooting at.”
Zea continued towards the bridge. As he entered, Zion and Rotan were working hard, trying to find a source of utrium.
Zion’s fingers drummed on the edge of the systems hub interface. The display flickered, a ghost of static interfering with the main grid. “Every registry ping I throw out just bounces back empty. It’s like this sector was hollowed out.”
Rotan muttered from the far console, still in a full decon suit. “That’s because it was. Corporations and pirates stripped this whole section clean. Nothing left but metal bones.”
“So, any hits?” Zea asked.
Zion shook his head. “Not even residue. Every signature out here’s been erased or gutted.”
Rotan added, “Even if there’s utrium somewhere, it won’t be refined. It’ll be fuel sludge. Dangerous to extract.”
Zea stepped between them, focused. “But possible?”
The two exchanged a glance.
“Possible,” Zion said. “Just suicidal.”
Rotan grumbled, “You’d need to thread a gravity well blindfolded. Most pirates don’t bother with the small caches. They’re not worth it.”
“Good,” Zea said. “We’re not most pirates.”
A beat passed. Zion squinted. “I did find something. Partial ping—like a fractured signal. There’s a debris field two clicks out. Rigged and ancient.”
Rotan perked up. “Derelict zone?”
“More like a forgotten battlefield.”
Zea nodded. “Mark it, prep the Vaila. We move fast. Let’s get Rhea.”
002.04: The Vault Opens
The Vaila skimmed silently across the edge of the derelict zone—an old mining graveyard littered with fractured rigs, floating cargo husks, and unblinking drone husks drifting like metal ghosts.
Rhea sat at the helm, boot up on the console, sword resting across her lap. “This place smells like a bad idea.”
Zea sat beside her, eyes on the nav screen. “According to Zion’s scans, the utrium is beneath that cluster, dead center.”
“Figures.” Rhea leaned forward, hands tapping the controls. “Well, let’s not keep the ghosts waiting.”
“Let’s tread lightly,” said Zea. “Don’t know what or who’s out here.”
“I promise you we are nearly undetectable in this thing,” Rhea reassured him. The Vaila crept into the debris field. The hull groaned as they brushed past floating girders and rusted struts. For a moment, it was eerily still.
Then the first projectile hit.
A flare of red light burst against the outer hull. The shields held—barely.
“I thought you said we were undetectable!” Zea yelled.
“I said nearly,” Rhea replied.
“Ambush!” Rotan shouted from the sensor console. “Turrets coming online! Auto-defense rigs, at least four of them.”
“Those things have been dormant for decades!” Zion barked. “Someone reactivated them.”
Zea narrowed his eyes. “Pirates?”
“No,” Rhea said, her fingers already flying over the controls. “They’re too well-hidden. This is a trap set to guard the field, not to chase us.”
The Vaila spun hard as another bolt streaked by.
“We can’t outgun them,” Zea said.
“We don’t need to,” Rhea replied, grinning. “We just need to dance.”
With a sudden jerk, she killed the forward thrusters and let the Vaila drift dead in space. Alarms screamed.
“What are you doing?” Rotan yelled.
“Trust me.”
She flipped the controls and fired lateral thrusters, spinning the skiff in a corkscrew roll that slid between two derelict structures. The turrets recalibrated, firing wildly and hitting debris.
“She’s… threading the fire arcs,” Zion muttered.
Rhea didn’t respond. Her eyes were locked, focused, wild. “Tell me when we’re aligned with the utrium signature.”
Zea checked the tracker. “Another 400 meters. Almost there.”
The skiff jolted. A glancing hit scorched the outer plating.
“That was our last shield bank,” Rotan said. “We’re exposed.”
“One shot, one shot only,” Rhea said through clenched teeth.
Then—silence. The rig field opened up like a narrow tunnel.
“Now!” Zea called.
Rhea slammed the main thruster. The Vaila shot forward like a bullet, blasting through the final corridor of debris. A cascade of broken steel rained behind them as the turrets self-targeted and misfired.
They burst into a small clearing—a forgotten docking bay embedded into an asteroid’s surface. At first, it looked abandoned. But as the Vaila scanned the space, Zion leaned over the console.
“I’ve got something… inside that wrecked hauler. Cargo Hold 2A. Still sealed.”
Rhea eased the skiff closer. Beyond the cracked hull, lit faintly by old hazard beacons, floated the prize: slabs of utrium fuel. Stabilized. Contained. Left behind, or forgotten.
Zea exhaled. “Looks like someone else’s loss might just keep us alive.”
Rhea leaned back, breathing heavy, sword still resting across her lap. “That was definitely something worth shooting at.”
002.05: Through Fire
The docking clamps hissed as the Vaila latched to the fractured hauler. Metal-on-metal screeched like an old animal protesting disturbance.
Zea was first through the pressure seal, sidearm drawn, his boots crunching against shards of frost that had gathered along the corridor. The wreck’s interior was dark, soaked in a red warning light. It smelled of rust, oil, and old breath.
Behind him, Zion scanned the air. “Oxygen mix is thin but viable. Gravity stabilizers dead. This ship’s been adrift for decades.”
“Maybe longer,” Rotan muttered, stepping around a shattered conduit. “But the utrium’s still here. That’s weird.”
Rhea followed last, sword slung carelessly across her back, boots heavy against the hollow flooring. “If something jumps out, I’m naming it after you.”
They moved as a unit through the narrow corridor, turning past hanging wires and collapsed bulkheads. Cargo Hold 2A wasn’t far, but neither was safety.
Zion paused at a sealed hatch. “This is it. Signature’s coming from just inside.”
Zea gave a nod. Rhea stepped up and placed her palm against the access panel. “Guess we knock.” She slammed the manual release.
The door hissed, stuttered, then slid open.
Rows of glowing slabs lined the hold, slightly cracked and partially embedded in the floor. Utrium, pure and untouched. Enough to reboot the Savasu’s core systems and then some.
Rotan whispered, “That’s enough to keep us alive for years.”
Then the wrecked ship groaned.
Something shifted.
Rhea stepped forward. “Please tell me that was just structural settling.”
Zion didn’t answer. His eyes were on the far corner of the room, where a pod light had just blinked on.
“Uh… Zea?” he said, voice thin.
Zea followed his gaze.
“In the shadows. Something moved,” Zion whispered.
A security drone. Tall, humanoid, scorched black, its limbs jointed like a mantis’s. And behind it… “Two more,” Zion added quietly as the drones came online, their eyes flashing red.
“Three,” Zea corrected, already pulling out his weapon. “Let’s earn our fuel.”
