013.01 - The Varashi Call
The Wanderers had been charting a quiet system two jumps from the Varashi frontier. Zion’s instruments scanned a mineral band on a barren desert moon for possible traces of fuel-grade utrium. It wasn’t urgent, but this deep in space, fuel was always on their minds. For a rare moment, it felt like exploration again.
Then G.I.Z.I.’s voice cut through the silence. “Transmission incoming. Routing priority channel. It’s the Varashi.”
Everyone on the bridge turned as the Varashi crest shimmered onto the display. The voice that followed was calm but edged with urgency:
“Commander Hagok, a trading partner of ours, the Deyran, is under attack. Vorran raiders have descended on their convoy. They are merchants with no means to defend themselves. During our fight with the Krivin our fleet was depleted, and we are still growing our fighters. We cannot help. We ask you, if you are able, to please intervene.”
Hagok leaned back in his command chair, lips curling into something between a grin and a sneer. “They know my name,” he muttered, more to himself than the crew. Then, louder: “Patch them through.”
Kolnar folded his arms. “Vorran, not Synths? Hardly our concern.”
Oromi shook his head. “From what we know of the Vorran tactics, they don’t raid cleanly. They strip the hulls and leave crews to suffocate in the void.”
Rhea gave a disapproving grunt. “That’s not a raid, that’s taking candy from a baby…and I like babies.”
Hagok raised a hand, silencing the debate. His violet eyes glinted. “The Varashi asked me. Not you. And this is what alliances are built on. We show up, we crush some scavengers, and they’ll know the Wanderers are worth something.”
He looked to G.I.Z.I.’s projection. “Plot intercept, take us to the convoy.”
Zea stayed quiet, fists tight. Hagok wasn’t wrong, but he was right for the wrong reasons. This wasn’t about protecting innocents for him; this was only pride and politics. For Zea, Artelle, and the others, it was something heavier, another chance to do what they hadn’t done on Krivin, to stop the damage before it was too late.
The Savasu broke orbit, engines spooling toward the coordinates provided by the Varashi.
013.02 – The Scavengers’ Hand
The Savasu dropped into the shadow of the convoy’s lane, engines shut off as G.I.Z.I. bled their signature into background static.
The first thing they saw was fire. A pair of freighters hung crippled, their hulls bleeding atmosphere into the dark. A third vessel was being torn open by a Vorran cutter, claws digging into the plating like an animal into bone.
“Multiple large ships,” Zion reported, her voice tight, “and several dozen raiders, maybe more hidden. Configuration matches Vorran, but…the energy profiles are wrong.”
On the display, one of the cutters turned. Its hull was a patchwork of scavenged plating, but threaded through it, like veins of corruption, were Krivin glyphs burning in violet.
Rotan sucked in air. “That’s…utrial resonance. They’ve grafted Krivin lattice onto their ships.”
Artelle’s hands shook against the console. “Could it be that they’ve formed an alliance?”
Rhea raised her eyebrows. “Alliance, huh? Smells of desperation.”
Zea added, “If they did form an alliance, it might be a tactic to bring chaos to the sector.”
“Incoming message,” Zion announced.
“Let’s see it,” Hagok ordered.
The screen changed from a scene of destruction just outside to the image of Varn Duren.
“Iovians? What a pleasant surprise. We were expecting Varashi. This turned out to be a great day after all… You killed my men, you burned my ships as you fled. Did you think I would forget?” His glowing monocle flickered, a pale violet eye set in bone and steel. “No, Iovians, every hull we graft, every weapon we claim, every plate we tear from the dead…all of it carries my mark. You escaped me once, but here in the dark, I will have you back.”
The display went dark, transmission over.
Kolnar’s lip curled, razor sharp. “So the carrion holds a grudge. Should’ve finished him off on Arrah with the rest of his scraps.”
“Orders, Commander?” Rhea asked, her hands already hovering near the weapons grid.
Hagok’s violet eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth twitching in both rage and excitement. “Weapons hot. Let’s show them what happens when scavengers meet the full force of an Iovian vessel.”
The Savasu banked hard, engines flaring, and plunged toward the raiders.
013.03 – The Rescue
The Deyran freighter was split open, atmosphere bleeding into space in thin ribbons. The Savasu’s claws locked on, cutting through debris while Vorran ships circled like vultures, firing at the edges of the operation. The Savasu’s automated turrets hammered nonstop, tracking and burning raiders out of the sky.
“Docking clamps engaged,” G.I.Z.I. reported flatly. “Hull integrity at nineteen percent. If we’re late by minutes, we recover corpses.”
Rhea was already on her feet. “No time to waste. Let’s move.”
The hatch sealed behind them with a groan as the boarding party crossed into the broken freighter. The air was thin, metallic, heavy with smoke. Survivors huddled against the walls, almond eyes wide, their silk robes torn and scorched.
One of them stood as Zea entered, an elder with a lined face, voice trembling but fierce. “You are the Iovians?”
“We are,” Zea said.
“The Varashi assured us you would come. Thank you.”
Rhea cracked a grin that didn’t soften her eyes. “You got us. Now let’s move before the vultures come back for seconds.”
“You can thank us later,” Hagok explained. “Rhea, with me. We’ll take the lead, Deyran follow, and Zea with Artelle get our six.”
They took formation and headed out.
Draft: 013.04 – Crossfire
Something didn’t sit well with Zea. “This was easy—too easy.”
The comms crackled, Zion’s sarcasm cutting through the static. “Lucky for us the Vorran don’t board. Too much work. They’d rather skin their prey alive from a distance than risk getting their claws dirty.”
Rhea snorted. “Yeah, real shame. I was hoping for something to shoot.”
The last of the Deyran staggered onto the Savasu. The hatch sealed, clamps releasing the freighter into the void. For a moment, relief hung heavy.
Oromi was at the entry point, scanning the refugees and providing medical attention as they boarded. He was getting readings. He reached for his comms: “Captain, we have a problem.”
Alarms shrieked. Yellow lights strobed down the corridors.
On the bridge, Hagok slammed a fist against the command rail. “What the vek is this?”
Oromi came over comms, voice flat now: “Hence the problem. The Deyran are infected with some type of contagion, and it’s airborne, already spreading through the ship.”
Zion’s hands flew across her console. “Confirmed. G.I.Z.I. must have detected it and tripped the lockdown protocols.”
A hiss of seals cut through the deck as bulkheads slammed shut. The Wanderers were caged in with whatever they had just brought aboard.
“Now we know why it was so easy to get back on board,” said Rhea.
“Get us out of here.” Hagok’s raspy voice rose above all the commotion.
Kolnar matched his level of intensity. “We are locked out. The contagion has locked us down. Engines, navigation, life support…everything is locked.”
The Vorran closed in, their violet-threaded hulls tightening the noose. The Savasu shuddered under the pounding, each impact rattling the decks.
“Automated turrets offline,” Zion reported. Her voice was clipped, too calm. “Only manual fire remains.”
Rhea slammed her harness and kept the rail guns working. Beside her, Getro worked secondary fire. Bolts lanced into the dark, but it was no use; for every one they destroyed, another slipped in.
“Structural strain at threshold,” G.I.Z.I. announced flatly.
The ship rocked again, alarms howling, smoke trailing from a vent above.
The Vorran shifted formation, ships cutting across the void like wolves closing a circle. From their hulls, violet beams lanced outward, connecting ship to ship until the Savasu was caged in a lattice of burning light.
The net tightened, shimmering arcs sparking where the beams crossed, locking the Iovian vessel in place.
On the bridge, they heard Zion’s voice, still too calm: “They’ve created a large shield bubble around the Savasu. We’re not surrounded, we’re pinned. They can shoot us, but we can’t shoot them.”
Rhea bared her teeth at the glowing grid outside the viewport. “Like a fish in a net.”
Hagok sat in the command chair, jaw locked, staring into the storm of fire outside. Violet light flared against the glass as another barrage hammered the shields. He stared at the screen but said nothing.
For the first time, the Commander had no answer.
013.05 – Going Critical
Zion’s eyes flicked across her console. “Hey, Kuma’s locked in Engineering.”
Rhea frowned, gripping her harness. “Yeah, so? We’re locked in the bridge. What of it?”
Hagok’s lips twitched, the first spark of an idea cutting through the tension. “He’s right where we need him to be.”
Rhea shot him a glare. “And we’re stuck here. What’s your point?”
Zion leaned forward, voice tight. “Lockdown won’t let us engage the Nairu or main drives. Contagion protocols. But Kuma can still access the plasma feeds manually.”
Hagok slammed the rail with his fist. “He can bypass the regulators, power the engines by tapping into the power core directly.”
For a moment, even Rhea paused. “Oh, that’s…actually smart.”
“Get Kuma on that right away,” Hagok ordered.
The Savasu shuddered under another barrage, alarms howling. On the bridge, sparks rained from a blown panel, yellow light strobing across tense faces.
With a deflated voice, Artelle spoke. “We have no time. Another barrage and we’re done.”
Hagok clenched his teeth, nostrils flared, but his mouth curled into something like a smile. “Open me a channel to the Vorran.”
The message was out, the bombardment stopped, the comms flared to life, and the forward display filled with the lean figure of Varn Duren, monocle glowing faintly. His scavenged armor caught the violet reflection of the latticework outside.
“Iovians,” he said smoothly. “How do you like our little gift delivered to you via the Deyran?”
Hagok leaned forward from his command chair, voice sharp with mockery. “That? Nothing we can’t handle…”
“We will offer you no surrender here today,” Varn Duren pressed with a cold stare.
“Now that you mention it, I was about to ask if you were ready to surrender,” Hagok returned.
Varn Duren’s lips twitched. “A sense of humor. I would never have expected that from someone like you. We have the high ground. My engineers tell me that your hull is compromised. A few more well-placed shots and…”
“…We still have plenty of fight left in us,” Hagok spat. “Surrender now and we might just let you live.”
“Why haven’t you crawled away into the Nairu?” Varn Duren asked, seemingly knowing the answer to his own question. “I wonder, are you having some computer issues? Your vessel’s engines are so far advanced, much faster than ours. I can’t wait to rip them apart and add them to my collection.”
Below decks, Kuma worked as fast as he could, sweat slicking his pale skin. He yanked open a junction, forcing a bypass with a spark that lit the compartment. Warning glyphs flared, red flooding the console; in response, he simply covered them with tape. “Did you see a warning light? I didn’t see a thing,” he muttered to himself.
“Plasma feed rerouted,” he continued under his breath. “Auxiliary coils cross-patched. Come on, girl…”
The Savasu groaned, hull vibrating as the engines began to spool. Kuma jammed the final override forward.
“I told you she would hold!” he said aloud.
On the bridge, Zion’s console lit like a firestorm. “Engines at over two hundred percent. He’s done it! Ready to burn on your command.”
“I rescind my offer. We offer you no surrender,” Hagok said in a cold, calculated voice. “Get us out of here,” he ordered Zion.
Zion engaged the engines.
“What’s happening?” Varn Duren yelled. “Fire!”
Outside, the Savasu’s wake flared like a storm. The Vorran shifted, tried to close the gap, but the Iovian ship ripped through their net of light, tearing free. One by one, the raiders fell back, unable to match the drive.
Kuma’s voice cut over comms, calm but tight. “Engines holding, but if I keep this up, they’ll tear themselves apart.”
“Let’s hold them as long as we can and put some distance between us and the Vorran,” Hagok ordered.
The ship continued its burn, and before long the Savasu was nearly a lightyear away.
“Cutting engines,” Kuma said over comms, and the Savasu began to float along its trajectory. “Sorry, but they were about to go critical.”
Silence.
Zion scanned her readouts, breath sharp. “We’ve outrun them. For now.”
Across the bridge, the yellow glow of lockdown pulsed, bulkheads sealed. Repair drones clung to the hull, welding cracks and patching scorched plates.
“Automated repairs initiated,” G.I.Z.I. intoned. “Quarantine remains in effect. Nairu drive inaccessible until contagion is resolved.”
Rhea leaned back in her harness, sweat streaking her face. “So, not dead, yet.”
Artelle’s gaze fell onto the sealed hatches, her voice quiet. “We bought time, nothing more.”
The Savasu drifted, scarred and silent, far away enough to breathe, not far away enough to be safe. The Vorran were behind them, but not gone. And the air aboard was still poisoned, ticking down the time the Wanderers had left.
