003.01 – First Contact

Zea locked eyes with the red glare blinking from the far corner of the cargo bay.

One.

Then two more stepped out of the shadows.

Three enemy drones.

Humanoid, with burn-scarred plating. Limbs jointed like mantises, fast and unforgiving. Their black armor bore no insignia, no code markings. These weren’t salvage bots. These were military.

“We’ve got company!” Zea barked, raising his weapon.

Rhea didn’t hesitate. She dropped into a fighting stance and raised her rifle. “That’s more than I was hoping for.”

Artelle rushed to the far side of the utrium slab, pressing her palm against the containment field. “Stabilizers still intact. It’s clean." She pulled the gravity plate release and the slab floated inches from the floor.

“Then let’s live long enough to care,” Zea said.

The first drone lunged forward; the blur of dark metal and silent fury flew through the air. Rhea caught it mid-leap with a direct hit to its center mass, dropping it mid-air with a single, brutal shot. Sparks flew. The machine hit the ground and staggered for a moment, then got up and continued its attack.

Rotan panicked. “Go, let’s go, we’ve got to go now.”

Zea fired twice, again center mass. Plasma sizzled. “These things keep advancing,” he shouted. “Try an EMP!”

“EMPs are useless!” Zion snapped from the corner. “Military-grade shielding. They’re adapting faster than Rotan can panic.”

The second drone crawled down the wall, knife-like limbs scraping along metal, repositioning for a flank.

Artelle threw a kinetic blast, and its footing faltered just long enough for Zea to send it skidding into a crate.

Rotan cursed loudly as he dragged the utrium slab toward the exit. “I wasn’t made for this!”

Rhea growled, dodging a strike. “Congratulations, you’re officially useful now. Push harder and complain quieter!”

The third drone made its move straight for Artelle. Zea fired, but missed.

“Flash bomb,” Rhea yelled, and a second later a sharp pop burst from Rhea’s direction, followed by a searing. The drone froze mid-stride, its joints twitching in paralysis. 

“Their sensors might be damaged. Might only be temporary while they reset. Let’s get out of here,” Zion suggested. 

Artelle blinked. “Why didn’t you do that earlier?”

“I only have the one,” Rhea said, already moving again. “Wanted to use it when it was necessary. This seemed like a good time.”

The team fell into formation, covering one another as they backed out of the chamber. Rotan shoved the slab through the airlock.

“Seal the door behind us,” Zea ordered. He paused just long enough to mutter, “Let’s move.”

Zion slammed the manual lock. The door sealed with a hiss. She glanced at Rotan, who looked like he’d aged ten years.

Rotan, catching his breath, muttered, “I’ll have you know my panic is very efficient.”

A second later, the metal behind them groaned, bent inward by a heavy impact. The door warped slightly at the edges, and the shrill hiss of a plasma cutter began to bite through the seam.

Zea didn’t wait. “Move, now!”

003.02 – Corridor Killzone

They moved fast, but not fast enough.

The slab wasn’t designed for speed. It hovered low, smooth on open decks, but the hauler’s interior was broken and chaotic twisted flooring, hanging cables, collapsed braces. Every few steps, Rotan had to re-angle the glide vector just to keep it from slamming into a wall.

“I swear this crate has a death wish,” he muttered.

Zion was ahead, eyes on her wrist pad. “The corridor ahead is open. Ugly route, but it won’t collapse, probably.”

Rhea’s boots thudded beside Zea’s. “I don’t like corridors. Too many corners.”

“Noted,” Zea said. “Stay sharp.”

Behind them, a muffled boom rang through the walls. The plasma cutter had finished its job.

“They’re through,” Artelle said. “We’ve got thirty seconds at most.”

Zion dropped to one knee and overrode a bulkhead door. It slid open on a jerky axis, half-stuck. “Go!”

They filed in. The corridor was tighter here, scorched metal dangling conduit like veins. It smelled like old coolant and scorched dust.

“I’ll take the Six,” Rhea said. She popped the magazine on her rifle and slammed a fresh one in. “This one feels lucky.”

“No one feels lucky in a killzone,” Rotan muttered.

“You’ve clearly never fought with me.” Rhea didn’t look back, but the grin in her voice was clear.

The sound of scraping metal claws, moving fast, emerged from behind them. Then the hiss of something sliding into the corridor.

“Contact,” Zea said. “We need to move faster.”

The team surged forward as the first drone entered behind them, crawling sideways along the wall.

Rhea fired without waiting. Her shot clipped the joint; sparks erupted, but it kept coming.

Zea spun mid-step and fired a full spread. The blast hit its mark, sending the machine crashing down, but it started to rise almost as soon as it hit the floor.

A second drone dropped into the far end of the corridor ahead.

They were trapped.

Zea’s eyes scanned for options. “Rotan, the door panel—can we vent it?”

“Maybe!” Rotan slammed into the wall, popped the casing, and yanked free a coolant line. “Cover me!”

As Rhea lit up the hallway with suppressing fire, Zion dropped beside Rotan and offered covering fire without blinking. “Never knew you to be so brave,” she muttered. Rotan worked fast, his fingers blistered, breath ragged.

“This isn’t being brave; this is called survival.”

With a final spark, he yanked a relay.

The panel hissed. A side chamber door popped open.

“GO!”

They dove in, dragging the slab behind them as the drones closed from both ends.

As the door sealed, Zea leaned against the wall, breath sharp in his lungs.

“That,” Rhea said between gasps, “was one hell of a hallway.”

003.03 – The Outer Ring

They emerged into a long, narrow corridor lined with translucent bulkheads just beyond them. The wreck’s outer hull stretched like a cracked eggshell around them. Blistered metal, faded hazard stripes. The stars peeked in through shattered panel seams.

For a moment, it was quiet.

The group reached a junction, a thin metal bridge stretching across a deep maintenance chasm below. Exposed pipes. Vents hissing cold vapor. One wrong step would drop them into kilometers of structural blackness.

Zea took point again, eyes flicking from the slab to Zion’s scanner. “Anything?”

She tapped the side of her wrist pad. “Short-range clear, but we’ve fried half the sensor array. Last I saw, the Vaila was just ahead, behind that bulkhead.”

Rotan perked up. “Heck, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Zea eyed the span. “Stay tight. No hero runs.”

“Too late,” Rhea muttered, stepping forward first.

Artelle trailed behind the group, one hand pressed lightly against the slab. Her tattoos had dulled to a faint violet glow. “I can feel the utrium resonating in my blood.”

“Glad to hear it,” Zea replied.

Halfway across, Zion’s scanner pinged.

She froze.

“Zea,” she said, voice low but firm, “I’m getting signal bleed. Multiple frequencies bouncing off the walls.”

“More drones?” he asked.

Zion shook her head. “No, something else. Not synthetic.”

Before anyone could speak, the slab pulsed once, just a dull thrum beneath their feet.

Rotan looked down at it. “Please tell me that was you.”

It wasn’t.

In the tension, Rotan gave the slab a frustrated shove to get it moving again, and it hit the wall with a resonant clang. A thin panel on the side lit up red.

Zion’s eyes widened. “Wait! Don’t move.”

The slab let out a high-pitched ping and began to vibrate slightly. A faint countdown flickered on its side, hidden until now.

“Self-destruct mode,” Zion breathed. “Motion-triggered. If this slab contains refined utrium…”

“We’re hauling a bomb?” Rhea snapped.

The slab began to float forward, as if on its own trajectory.

Zion didn’t wait. She leapt onto the slab, gripping the edge with one hand and working her wrist pad with the other.

The others froze.

Zea’s grip tightened around his weapon. Artelle hovered close, her eyes scanning every twitch in Zion’s movement. Rhea muttered a curse under her breath but held position. Rotan looked like he was trying not to breathe.

Seconds passed. Three, two, one… the countdown flickered, then stalled. The panel dimmed.

Zion let out a slow breath. “Well, we didn’t blow up, at least for now.”

Rotan blinked. “You rode the bomb. That was stupid. Brave, but mostly stupid.”

“We’re not just carrying fuel,” Zion muttered. “Something or someone wants this protected or destroyed.”

They continued forward at the pace of the slab.

003.04 – Extraction Fireline

The docking corridor ahead flickered with red emergency strobes, half-lit and rusted after so many years. This section of the ship was exposed to space. Blocking their way to the Vaila was a squad of drones standing guard.

Six visible, but maybe more. 

“We’re pinned,” Rhea muttered.

Zea squinted toward the standoff. “Suggestions?”

“We blast them and pray,” Rhea offered.

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” Zea said, raising his weapon.

But just as they took position, a flash of light cut through the dark.

Streams of plasma fire rained from above, slicing through the drones with precision. One by one, the machines dropped, sparking, twitching, and collapsing under the weight of focused cannon fire.

Above them, the Vaila hovered in, sleek and battle-worn, its cannons still glowing.

“Kuma?” Zea called out over comms.

“We’ve been tracking your signal since you entered the hauler,” Kuma’s voice crackled through. “Comms were jammed till you reached that outer ring.”

Getro chimed in from the cockpit, dry as ever. “Took us a minute to bypass it, but we brought the fireworks.”

“Glad you were able to join the party,” Rotan said, his voice tired. 

“The Vaila’s just ahead,” Kuma added. “Get moving; your path is clear.”

Zea nodded to the team, no words needed. They pressed forward, urgency now replaced by raw relief as the slab hovered steady between them.

003.05 – The Hidden Weight

The slab sat in the middle of the hangar, secured, stabilized, and surrounded by sensor towers. The team had cleared the dust, installed the refined utrium into the Savasu’s primary chamber, and run diagnostics twice. No trace of corruption. The power system pulsed bright and clean.

Gizi flickered to life, her voice faint at first. “System integrity at 98%. Reinitializing network links.”

Zion looked up. “She’s waking up.”

Artelle’s violet tattoos shimmered as she stood beside the core interface. “She feels… clearer. Like the weight has shifted.”

Rotan leaned against a railing, exhausted but alert. “Let’s just hope she’s grateful.”

Zion crouched by the original crate, running one last scan. “This makes no sense. Mass discrepancy’s still off.”

“Could it be hiding something?” Zea asked, arms crossed.

“Could be a fail-safe,” Rhea offered. “Or a trap.”

Kuma’s voice echoed from behind them, entering the bay. “Or maybe it’s just more utrium.”

Zea turned toward him. Hagok stood just behind Kuma, silent but watching, arms crossed in the shadows. Zea held his gaze a moment longer, then looked back to the crate.

“It’s just a slab,” Hagok said.

Zion hesitated. “Whatever it is, something is not right.”

“Get some rest, everyone. Good work out there,” Hagok said.

As the crew started to walk out...

The slab hissed, and cracked segments shifted aside with a metallic groan as cold vapor spilled out. The upper casing split, and from the side, a hidden, drawer-like compartment slid from the side, revealing a pod.

Frosted glass. Stabilizer nodes. A faint pulse of life on the monitors. Someone curled inside, silent and perfectly still.

A girl.

Artelle stepped forward. “She’s alive,” she whispered.

Rotan blinked. “What the hell is she doing in a slab of starship fuel?”

No one spoke.

Zea stared at the pod. The shape inside, the way the frost clung to her fingertips.

“Something tells me,” he said slowly, “we haven’t seen the last of those drones.”

Artelle’s voice was soft. “Or the first of something worse. Much worse.”