The bridge lights held steady—cool blue illumination against polished obsidian panels. A low hum resonated through the command dais railing beneath Rourke''s hands, the familiar pulse of the Cataclysm''s core systems at standby after the recon sweep. Ten thousand AU from the Dawnseeker''s last known coordinates. Beyond the main viewport, stars showed sharp pinpricks against black, the distant supernova corridor a faint, static haze along the periphery.


    A sharp, insistent chime cut through the ambient hum. From the primary comm station below the dais, Officer Thorne looked up, head angled towards his console speaker. His brow furrowed. He tapped his receiver, listened intently for a few seconds, then straightened, turning towards the dais.


    "Captain," Thorne''s voice carried across the deck, crisp, cutting the quiet. "Quantum comm received. Fractured signal packet—Dawnseeker identifier confirmed. Low power signature. Distress marker active."


    Rourke''s grip tightened on the railing. Cool metal pressed into his palms. Dawnseeker. He straightened from his leaning posture. "Source?" His voice sounded low, steady in his own ears.


    Thorne''s fingers moved across his console. A tactical overlay flickered onto the main viewscreen – Sector A-103, the nebula pocket they''d scanned earlier. A single red marker pulsed near a dense dust swirl icon. "Triangulation approximate, sir. Within A-103, coordinates six-zero-niner by delta-four. Near the core dust structure. Signal fragmented, unstable."


    Rourke watched the red marker pulse. Silent after check-in. Quantum distress burst. Low power. Adrenaline spiked, a familiar cold tightening low in his gut. He keyed his internal comm. "Commander Laehy to the bridge. Priority."


    Seconds later, the lift doors near the rear hissed open. Laehy strode onto the bridge, boots clicking sharp on the deck plates, her gaze already locked on the tactical display. She stopped beside the dais. "Report," she said, her voice low, direct.


    "Dawnseeker distress ping," Rourke stated, gesturing towards the pulsing red marker. "Fractured. Weak. Only datum."


    Laehy leaned slightly, eyes scanning the tactical plot. "Six thousand klicks from that dust knot. Interference zone." Her lips pressed thin. "Could be equipment failure... or..."


    "Assume worst," Rourke cut in. He met her gaze. Steady. "Prep for immediate quantum jump. Intercept vector."


    Laehy nodded once, sharp. "Aye, Captain." She moved towards the main navigation console.


    Rourke turned towards the bridge crew. His voice carried across the waiting stations. "All stations, condition red. Prepare for tactical jump. Destination: Sector A-103, Dawnseeker distress coordinates. Helm, plot insertion point five thousand kilometers off source marker, sensor shadow primary."


    Affirmations sounded back – "Aye, Captain," "Helm plotting," "Engineering confirms power shunt." Consoles flickered with new data streams. The low bridge hum deepened, joined by the rising whine of the quantum drive spooling up deep within the ship''s hull. A faint vibration started beneath Rourke''s boots, growing stronger.


    He walked to the central command platform. Metal felt solid underfoot. Gripped the forward railing again. Leaned slightly. Watched the navigation plot resolve on the main screen – projected jump trajectory a sharp blue line cutting towards the red marker. Laehy stood beside the navigator, confirming calculations, her profile sharp against the console''s glow.


    His gaze swept the bridge. Officers bent over consoles, faces lit by flickering screens. Hands moved across touchpads. Steady focus showed in their posture. The air felt charged now, the low hum gaining intensity.


    "Helm confirms jump solution locked," the navigator reported. "Drive is charged. Five minutes to coordinate lock."


    Rourke looked towards the weapons control station. Status indicators glowed green across the board. Main cannon: Standby. Secondary batteries: Ready. Point defense grid: Active. Shields: Nominal. He ran a hand along the cool metal railing. Meter-thick armor beneath. Layers of shielding capable of deflecting stellar flares. Enough for corridor scavengers? The thought, unbidden.


    "Shields to minimal during transit," Rourke ordered. "Maintain passive sensors only. Initiate optical cloak upon exit."


    "Minimal shields, passive sensors, cloak on exit confirmed," Laehy echoed from navigation.


    Rourke drew a slow breath. Forced the tension from his shoulders. Dawnseeker. Bennett. Estevez. Good people. Caught in corridor static? Or something else? The distress ping felt wrong. Too clean, yet too weak. Like a lure. His jaw tightened.


    Thrusters fired outside, unseen – faint vibration shift through the deck. Aligning for jump vector. Deep within the ship, the antimatter core surged. The vibration intensified, a physical pressure felt in the chest.


    "Jump sequence initiated," the helm officer announced.


    The viewscreen warped. Stars smeared into elongated streaks of light. Colors blurred—blues, reds, golds twisting together. Then—blackness. The sensation of immense velocity, directionless, pressed inward. The steady drive hum filled the bridge.


    Minutes passed. The bridge held its low-lit operational quiet. Only the drive hum and the soft click of console inputs sounded. Rourke watched the mission clock display on the main screen count down. Four minutes... three...


    "Preparing for jump exit," the helm announced. "Dropping to sublight in thirty seconds."


    The drive hum lowered pitch. The inward pressure sensation lessened. Rourke braced his hands on the railing again.


    "Mark," the helm officer said.


    A faint jolt shuddered through the deck plates. The blackness on the viewscreen dissolved. Stars snapped back into sharp focus. Ahead, the swirling dust clouds of the A-103 nebula pocket filled the view, glowing faint red and green under unseen starlight. Arcing dust trails glinted.


    "Exited warp. Position confirmed," Laehy reported from navigation. "Holding five thousand klicks from distress source marker. Optical cloak engaged."


    The Cataclysm drifted silent, hull absorbing ambient light, a ghost against the nebula''s haze. Rourke scanned the viewscreen. Dust complexity obscured direct line of sight.


    "Sensors active," Officer Thorne reported from comms. "Sweeping dust knot vicinity."


    Rourke leaned towards the tactical holo-display projected above the central dais. Data points began to populate the 3D grid. Background radiation... particle densities... gravitational micro-eddies... His eyes tracked the scanners probing the dust cloud.


    A low chime sounded from Thorne''s station. "Faint EM echoes detected, Captain. Consistent with EMP detonation residue. Centered near the distress marker coordinates."


    Rourke''s fists clenched tight on the railing. EMP. Confirmed. Not equipment failure. Attack.


    "Any transponder signals?" Rourke asked, voice low, tight.


    Thorne shook his head, eyes scanning his display. "Negative, sir. Dawnseeker''s primary IFF is dark. No Federation signals active in the immediate zone."


    Laehy moved beside Rourke, pointing at the holo-grid. "Passive scans picking up faint hull return. Six thousand kilometers, vector matches Dawnseeker profile. Motionless. Hugging the edge of that dense particle ring."


    Rourke stared at the faint green blip flickering on the grid. Trapped. Boarded? "Helm," he commanded, voice a low growl now. "Approach vector. Sublight engines, minimal emission signature. Bring us to two thousand kilometers. Shields up to fifty percent."


    "Aye, Captain," the helm replied.


    The Cataclysm glided forward, powerful engines breathing almost silent. The ship moved through lanes between thicker dust plumes, its cloaked form cutting invisible paths. On the main viewscreen, resolution sharpened as they closed distance. The Dawnseeker''s shape emerged from the haze. Listing slightly. Dark patches scored its hull plating. Jagged edges showed where plating was torn or buckled. And clinging to its flank—three smaller shapes. Rough hulls. Not Federation design. Docked hard against airlocks. Parasites.


    Rourke''s breath hissed sharp between his teeth. Boarding pods. Scavengers? Pirates? Organized enough for an EMP strike and coordinated boarding. Anger flared, cold, hard, in his chest. For the Dawnseeker crew. For the audacity.


    "Weapons Control," Rourke said, his voice dropping, dangerous. "Target those attached vessels. Tertiary railguns only. Precision strike solution. Prepare to fire on my mark."


    "Targeting pods. Tertiary railguns ready," the weapons officer confirmed, voice level.


    Rourke watched the range indicator click down on the main display. Three thousand kilometers... twenty-five hundred... "Optical cloak holding at maximum deflection," Laehy reported quietly beside him.


    Two thousand kilometers. The Dawnseeker hung clear now, details sharp. The boarding pods looked crude, scrap-built, but functional. He could almost feel the tension radiating from the seized ship across the void. Time felt thin.


    A low thrum vibrated up through the command dais railing beneath his hands—tertiary railguns cycling. No visual discharge showed on the main screen, only the silent drift of the Cataclysm against the nebula haze, the Dawnseeker hanging static ahead. Seconds stretched. Then, violent flashes erupted around the Dawnseeker''s hull. One of the attached pirate pods bloomed outward – a ragged sphere of orange fire expanding silent against the void, metal fragments spinning away into the dust clouds. The other two pods jerked, shuddered visibly, dark trails of escaping gas venting from fractured seams. Lights on their hulls extinguished.


    Simultaneously, a low-frequency hum pulsed through the bridge, felt more than heard, a pressure against the ears. Status indicators on the comm station flickered amber – JAMMING ARRAY ACTIVE. LOCAL COMMS SUPPRESSED.


    Officer Thorne reported from comms, voice level: "Weapon impacts confirmed. One hostile vessel destroyed. Two disabled – no signs of propulsion or power. Jamming field established."


    Rourke let out a slow breath held tight in his chest. Air hissed faint through his teeth. First step clean. His gaze remained fixed on the main viewscreen, on the crippled pods clinging useless to the Dawnseeker''s scarred plating. His hands, still gripping the railing, loosened slightly.


    He turned towards Laehy, standing near the tactical holo-display. "Launch boarding team," he stated, voice steady. "Standard insertion. Secure hostages first."


    Laehy nodded once, crisp. Tapped commands into her console. A faint chime sounded ship-wide – marine deployment alert. "Assault shuttle away," she confirmed moments later, her eyes tracking a new, small velocity vector appearing brief on the holo-grid before vanishing as the shuttle engaged its own cloak.


    Silence settled back onto the bridge. Only the low hum of active systems, the faint click of console inputs. Rourke watched the main screen. The Dawnseeker drifted, inert. The wrecked pods hung like dead insects. Dust swirled slow in the nebula''s faint red-green light. Waiting. His pulse beat steady now, a controlled rhythm against his ribs.


    "Confirm pod status," Rourke said, voice quiet, directed towards the weapons station.


    "Scanning," the officer replied. A pause. "Confirmed disabled, Captain. Drive signatures zero. Weapons offline. Minimal life support readings fluctuating."


    Rourke nodded. He walked back to the central command platform, stopping beside the main holo-display showing the tactical situation. Stared down at the representation – Cataclysm icon stationary, cloaked; Dawnseeker icon static, marked with damage indicators; disabled pod icons flashing red. Simple. Clean. Deceptive. His gaze moved towards the deeper nebula represented on the grid.


    "Laehy," he said, low, without looking up from the display. "Sensor sweep. Sector periphery. Anything larger moving in the dust?"


    Laehy moved to the primary sensor console. Her fingers flew across the interface. Data streams scrolled across the large screen above. "Passive arrays active... deep scan initiating..." Her voice murmured calculations. A minute passed. "Negative, Captain. Background radiation consistent with standard corridor levels for this zone. Faint energy echoes detected deeper quadrant, source indistinct – likely residual from older stellar events or potential wreckage fields. No confirmed coherent energy signatures matching active drives or weapons."


    Rourke straightened. Cleared throat. "Good." He turned towards Thorne at the comm station. "Open channel. Unencrypted. Standard Federation hailing frequency. Target the Dawnseeker."


    Thorne tapped his console. "Channel open, Captain."


    Rourke stepped towards the comm interface pickup near the dais. Gripped its edge. His own voice rolled out into the bridge quiet, amplified slightly, steady, cold. "Attention, intruders aboard FNS Dawnseeker. This is Captain Nathaniel Rourke, commanding officer, ISS Cataclysm." He paused, letting the identification land. "Your transport vessels are disabled. You are surrounded. Communication beyond this vessel is jammed." Another pause. Measured. "Release the crew unharmed. Power down your weapons. Surrender immediately." His gaze stayed locked on the Dawnseeker icon on the holo-display. "Comply, and you will receive standard prisoner-of-war protocols. Resist," his voice hardened fractionally, "and we will initiate forced extraction. Your decision window is limited." He released the transmit key.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Silence on the bridge again. Eyes watched consoles, the main screen. Waiting. Static hissed faint from the open channel speaker. Then, a voice crackled through – rough, distorted, laced with aggression.


    "Federation bluff! Think that ghost ship out there scares us? You fire on this hull, you kill your own people! Try it!"


    Rourke''s left eyebrow lifted slightly. The corner of his mouth tightened, a near-imperceptible movement. Predictable bluster. Good. Keep them talking.


    He stepped back from the comm pickup. Looked towards Laehy. Made a small, almost invisible gesture with his hand – stall.


    Laehy moved back to the comm interface. Her voice projected, calm, measured, almost bored. "Acknowledged, vessel identifying as Dawnseeker hijacking element. Clarify your terms for hostage release. Federation protocols require negotiation parameters." Her tone was smooth, procedural, designed to draw out the exchange.


    Rourke watched the mission clock readout. One minute passed since shuttle launch. Then two. He kept his posture relaxed, hands clasped loosely behind his back. On the tactical display, Laehy pointed towards a faint status update near the Dawnspeaker icon – a tiny green glyph indicating successful stealth docking. Rourke gave a minute nod, unseen by most on the bridge.


    The pirate voice crackled back over the speaker, louder now, laced with frustration. "Terms? Here''s terms! Your monster ship pulls back five thousand klicks! Drop the jamming! Give us a clear lane out! Or we start sending pieces of your crew out the airlock!" A rough cheer sounded faint behind the pirate''s voice.


    Rourke remained silent. Laehy continued, voice still level. "Negative on withdrawal. Threatening hostages violates Federation engagement protocols. Specify number of crew held and current status..." She continued the exchange, voice droning slightly, asking for unnecessary confirmations, dragging out standard procedure terminology.


    Clock ticked past three minutes. Four. Rourke''s gaze flicked towards the internal comm panel connecting to Hara''s assault team lead. Indicator stayed dark. Waiting. Patience, a practiced discipline. Let them feel control slipping.


    A new pirate voice cut into the channel, sharper, higher pitched. Panic threaded the sound. "Karis! They''re onboard! Movement deck seven! Got past the sensors!" Shouted words followed, indistinct, then a sharp crackle, possibly stun weapon discharge. Silence again.


    Rourke tensed. Laehy cut the external comm feed instantly. A red light blinked on Rourke''s private console – assault team engaged.


    "Laehy," Rourke''s voice was low, sharp now. "Targeting solutions. Pinpoint internal comm sources on Dawnseeker if they try regrouping. Prepare tertiary batteries for hull-piercing stun charges if requested by assault lead. Non-lethal suppression only."


    "Aye, Captain," Laehy confirmed, fingers flying across the tactical console.


    Silence held on the bridge. Only the low hum of the Cataclysm. Rourke watched the dark shape of the Dawnseeker on the main screen. Waited. The fight was happening now, deck by deck, unseen, unheard except for the silent confirmation lights on his console. His fist clenched slowly at his side. Bring them home.


    The pirate channel hissed open again. Karis''s voice, the leader, strained, ragged breaths audible. "Rourke! Call off your dogs! We have charges rigged! Half this ship—"


    Rourke hit his private comm to Hara''s team lead. "Status?"


    A pause. Then Hara''s voice, clipped, breathless but controlled, sounded only in his earpiece. "Bridge team engaging hostiles now, sir. Cargo bay secured. Multiple prisoners. Hostages safe so far. Request external comm silence."


    Rourke hit the main comm transmit. His voice cut cold across Karis''s threat. "Your time is expired. Final chance. Surrender." He cut the channel.


    Another minute stretched. Then, a different chime from Laehy''s console. Secure channel update from Hara''s team. Laehy looked up, met Rourke''s gaze. A small, sharp nod. Relief, tight, professional.


    "Bridge secure," Laehy announced to the deck. "Assault team reports primary objectives met. Hostiles neutralized. Hostages accounted for."


    A collective exhale sounded across the bridge. Shoulders lowered. Tension eased from postures. Rourke allowed his own shoulders to drop a fraction. Turned from the viewscreen. "Damage assessment teams?"


    "Standing by, sir," an officer replied.


    "Coordinate with Hara''s team lead. Secure Dawnseeker systems. Prepare for potential tow stabilization. Get me casualty reports—ours and theirs—and hostage status ASAP." Orders flowed, calm, efficient. The hunt was over. Now, the cleanup. He looked back at the Dawnseeker, floating silent, scarred, but reclaimed. Another corridor shadow pushed back. For now.


    Daniel pressed his back against the cold metal of the toppled console panel. Red emergency light pulsed overhead, casting shifting, elongated shadows across scattered crates, pooled liquid coolant? water?, and the huddled shapes of other Dawnseeker crew near the far bulkhead. Their breath misted pale in the dimness. Outside the thick viewport nearby, nebula dust swirled – faint pinks, greens – silent, vast. Distant thuds vibrated through the deck plating – the sound of the disabled pirate pods bumping against the hull.


    His pulse hammered, a frantic beat against his ribs. Felt lightheaded. Air scraped raw in his throat. The quantum comm gambit... nothing. Dead silence from the panel before Scar shoved him away. Karis''s threat echoed – vent your crew. Cold spread through his stomach.


    Heavy boots crunched on debris near the cargo bay entrance. Figures blocked the red light from the corridor. Karis, the leader. Angular face, jagged scar pulling her lip, eyes like ice chips in the dimness. Two other pirates flanked her, rifles held low, ready.


    "Federation''s here," Karis spat, voice rough, echoing sharp off the metal walls. Directed at Daniel. "Big ship. Blew the pods to scrap." She strode forward, boots ringing harsh on the deck. Stopped before him. Plasma pistol lifted, barrel glinting dull red. "You signal them, scout?"


    Daniel pushed himself up slightly, leaning against the console. Raised hands slow, palms outward. "EMP fried everything," he said, keeping his voice level, trying to ignore the tremor starting in his knees. "Can''t signal anything."


    Her eyes narrowed. Searched his face. Searched the dead consoles behind him. Lip curled back from teeth in a near-snarl. "Lying." She rammed the pistol muzzle hard against his shoulder plating. Metal buckled slight. Pain flared sharp, radiating down his arm. He grunted, biting back a sharper cry.


    "Boss," one of the pirates near the entrance called out, voice tight. Stepped back from the doorway. "Sounds... close. That ship. Cataclysm, it called itself. Wiped the pods..." His voice trailed off, head turning nervous towards the corridor.


    "Hold position!" Karis snapped, not looking away from Daniel. Pressed the pistol harder against his chest now. He could feel the faint heat radiating from the barrel through his jumpsuit. Fury burned cold in her eyes. "You move," she hissed, low, intense. "Now. Towards the hostages."


    He nodded stiff. Pushed upright slow, hands still raised. Pain throbbed dull in his shoulder. He took a step forward, moving towards the huddled group near the far wall. Their eyes followed him, wide, reflecting the pulsing red light.


    A sharp electronic CHIME cut the air. Unexpected. Loud in the relative quiet. Came from Karis''s belt comm unit. She flinched. Her head snapped towards the sound. Her pistol wavered slightly. Static crackled loud through the cargo bay''s emergency speakers, patched into her comm. Then, a voice rolled through, calm, steady, amplified. Heavy. "This is the Cataclysm. Release the hostages. Stand down." Rourke''s voice. Real. Close. Hope surged, hot, choking Daniel.


    Karis''s face twisted. Eyes flared wide. A raw snarl tore from her throat. "Think I''m blind, Federation?" she screamed back towards the speaker grille overhead, voice cracking. "I know your tricks! I hold the cards here! Hostages!" She shoved the pistol barrel hard into Daniel''s ribs. Air punched from his lungs. He stumbled, gasping, pain blooming sharp. "Starting with him!" Karis''s triumph showed brazen in her eyes.


    "Stop," Rourke''s voice returned, a new edge beneath the calm. "No need for—"


    Karis cut him off, cocking the plasma pistol with a loud click that echoed off the walls. Her voice dropped, a venomous hiss. "I''ll drop him. Right here. Let you listen. Back off your monster ship, Captain. Or he pays first."


    Daniel stared into her eyes. Saw only rage, cornered desperation. Her face taut, scar livid against pale skin. Knuckles white where she gripped the pistol. Nebula light shifted outside the viewport – pink, violet – painting her face in unearthly hues. His heart pounded thick, slow now, each beat a heavy thud against bones. He tried to speak.


    "You don''t—" he started, voice dry, scraping ash.


    "Shut UP!" she roared. Pistol whipped across his face. Crack. White light exploded behind Daniel''s eyes. Pain seared along his cheekbone. He staggered sideways, vision swimming, hand flying up to the impact. Tasted blood, warm, metallic. Deck plating felt cold beneath his falling knees. Dim shapes swam. Hostages gasped nearby. Rough hands seized his collar, hauled him upright. Pistol muzzle jammed hard under his chin, heat searing skin.


    Overhead lights flickered erratic. THUD. Distant. Metallic. Closer than before? Boarding grapple? His pulse leaped again.


    Karis''s head snapped up. Eyes darted towards the ceiling panels, then back to Daniel. Mouth opened in a silent snarl. "They''re coming?" she hissed, pistol pressing harder against his throat. "Coming for you?" She jerked the weapon upward, shoved the hot muzzle against his temple. "Let ''em watch this, then!" Finger tightened on trigger mechanism. Daniel squeezed eyes shut. Breath stopped. Waited for heat, impact.


    FLASH. Movement erupted near the main cargo bay doors. Shapes solidified from shadows – dark figures, Federation marine profile. Light flared intense – not gunfire, but brilliant white beams stabbing from helmet-mounted units. Flashlights hit Karis direct. She recoiled, arm flinching up to shield eyes, momentarily blinded.


    "Federation! Drop weapons!" Loud voice boomed through helmet speaker, crisp command cutting the red gloom.


    In that instant of blindness, a marine rifle fired. Crackle-HISS. Plasma bolt – low power, stun setting – seared past Karis''s upper arm. Fabric scorched. Skin blistered beneath. She cried out, a sharp sound of pain and surprise, stumbling back a step, pistol arm jerking. Her shot fired wild. Plasma bolt spat sideways. KRAK! Hit a metal crate. Wood splinters flew. Acrid smoke bloomed.


    Daniel dropped. Wrenched sideways as Karis reeled. Scrambled behind the overturned console panel again. Cheek throbbed hot. He pressed flat against cold deck plating. Another shot sounded – sharper CRACK. Slug weapon. A marine lunged forward. Fired precise. Bullet impacted Karis''s pistol hand near the wrist. Red bloomed bright. Pistol flew from her grasp, clattered loud across the deck, skidding into shadows.


    Karis staggered back further, clutching her wrist, expression shifting from fury to shocked disbelief. Other pirates near the door hesitated, weapons half-raised. Marines advanced into the bay. Warning shots – plasma bolts sizzling into the deck near pirate boots. Sparks flew. Molten metal droplets hissed where they landed. Sharp ozone smell filled the air.


    One pirate threw his rifle down. Clatter. Hands shot up fast. Another spun, bolted towards a side corridor. A marine intercepted him – solid THUD of armored body hitting body. Pirate went down. Rifle butt jabbed down once, sharp. Pirate stayed down.


    Daniel pushed himself up slow onto hands and knees behind the panel. Watched marines secure the remaining pirates. Zip-ties cinched tight. Heads pushed down. Marines moved swift, practiced. Karis sank to the deck, cradling her bleeding wrist, the graze on her arm visible now, red against pale skin. A marine stood over her, rifle angled down.


    The fight was over. Seconds. Fast. Brutal precision. The red emergency lights pulsed steady now. Air tasted of ozone, smoke, cold metal. Nebula light filtered faint through the viewport. Daniel stayed kneeling, drew a ragged breath. Pressed fingers gingerly against his swelling cheekbone. Alive.


    A rifle clattered loud onto the deck plating. One pirate''s hands shot upward fast, palms open, fingers spread wide in the dim red light. Another pirate spun, bolting towards the corridor darkness. An armored shape intercepted him – solid THUD of impact. The fleeing pirate doubled over with a sharp gasp, collapsing onto the deck. A marine boot nudged his side once. He remained still.


    The air in the cargo bay felt thick. Smell of burnt ozone sharp in Daniel''s nostrils, overlaying the metallic tang of blood and the faint, cloying scent of overheated circuits. Through the viewport, nebula dust swirled – pinks, violets, greens – glowing faint, unmoving against the black void. Daniel pushed himself up slow onto his knees behind the overturned console panel. His hand touched his cheekbone; skin felt tight, hot beneath his fingers. Pressure pulsed there. He drew a shallow breath. Let it out slow. The deck plating felt cold beneath his knees.


    A marine voice cut through the relative quiet, amplified, sharp. "Area secure. Hostiles disarmed."


    The pirate leader, Karis, lay half-slumped against a bulkhead near the center. A marine boot rested firm on her shoulder, pinning her down. Her head was bowed, scarred cheek hidden. Her breaths came in harsh, uneven wheezes. Her plasma pistol lay meters away, dark metal against the grimy deck. Its barrel showed faint heat shimmer in the dim light. Another marine stood over Karis''s fallen belt comm unit, boot heel grinding down hard. Plastic splintered sharp. Crack.


    Karis''s head lifted slow. Her eyes found Daniel kneeling behind the panel. Glare fixed on him. Ice-chip eyes narrowed. Dark lines etched deeper around them. Her mouth worked, lips pulling back from teeth. "You..." The sound rasped out, thick. Her voice cracked, failed. Her gaze held his, then flickered away, dulling. A marine pulled her upright rough, mag-cuffs clicking shut around her wrists – the uninjured one first, then the bleeding one near the plasma graze. She stumbled as they hauled her towards the corridor.


    Marines moved efficient through the bay. Checked hostages – hushed questions, quick scans with handheld devices. Loosened bonds where applied. One marine knelt beside Daniel. A handheld scanner whirred faint near his bruised cheek. Blue light pulsed brief across his skin.


    "Pupils reactive," the marine stated, voice clipped, professional inside his helmet. Looked direct at Daniel''s eyes. "Dizziness? Vision blur?"


    Daniel shook his head once. Swallowed. Throat felt raw. "No," he managed, voice unsteady. "Fine." He pushed himself fully upright, using the console panel edge for support. Legs felt weak, shaky. "Thanks."


    A sharp BEEP sounded from the marine''s helmet comm unit. Cut through the low hum returning to the bay''s systems as minimal power rerouted. Rourke''s voice echoed faint from the receiver, calm, resonant. "Assault team lead. Report status."


    The marine near Daniel keyed his own helmet mic. "Cargo bay secured, Captain," his voice transmitted, crisp. "Hostiles neutralized – thirteen prisoners confirmed. No friendly casualties. Hostages secure – minor injuries reported, Captain Valera included. Ship control established."


    Footsteps sounded fast from the corridor entrance. Sofia rushed into the bay, other freed Dawnseeker crew behind her. Her chestnut hair showed loose, framing a face pale beneath grime streaks. Eyes scanned the bay quick, found Daniel. "Daniel!" The name, sharp relief. She dropped to her knees beside him. Hands hovered near his bruised cheek, fingers trembling slight. "Okay? Heard shots..."


    He nodded again, managing a weak smile. Touched his cheek carefully. Winced. "Mostly," he said. Voice still rough. "Got thumped. Didn''t shoot." A short, shaky laugh escaped him. Air scraped past the tightness in his throat. "Close one."


    Sofia''s gaze flashed towards Karis being dragged out into the corridor. Her lips pressed into a thin white line. A low sound came from her throat. She turned back to Daniel.


    Marines moved the pirates out. Zip-ties secured wrists tight behind backs. Heads bowed. Boots clanged heavy on the deck plates, receding down the corridor. Karis paused at the threshold, twisted her head back. Locked eyes with Daniel one last time. Spat onto the deck near his boot. A dark spot glistened brief under the red light. A marine shoved her forward. She vanished into the corridor gloom.


    Daniel leaned heavy on Sofia''s offered arm. Pushed himself fully upright. Legs felt steadier now. Air filled his lungs deeper, though his ribs ached where the pistol impacted. He looked around the bay – crew members moving slow, talking low voices, marines standing guard near exits. Looked towards the viewport. Nebula dust glowed ethereal, pink and violet swirling silent. Vastness outside felt immense after the bay''s confines. Turned towards the marine who had scanned him. Nodded once. "Thank you," he said again, voice stronger.


    The marine dipped his helmeted head. "Our task, sir." His gaze flicked towards the side panel where Daniel had worked. "That quantum comm pulse... pinpointed your location through the interference. Alerted Cataclysm command fast."


    Daniel''s throat tightened. He touched the panel''s smooth surface. The gamble. It worked. A faint warmth spread through the coldness in his chest. Managed another small smile. "Good," he said. "Glad it connected."


    Sofia squeezed his arm, her grip firm, grounding. "Systems diagnostics first," she said, her voice practical now, pulling him towards the nearest functioning console. "Then we figure out repairs. Get us linked properly. Cataclysm won''t wait forever."


    A marine waved them towards the main corridor leading forward. Stepped over a scorched patch on the deck plating near the doorway. Passed under the pulsing red emergency lights. Outside the nearest viewport, the nebula''s colors shifted slow, vast patterns against the black. The silent bulk of the Cataclysm waited somewhere beyond that haze. The air still held the sharp tang of plasma discharge. The deck plates hummed low beneath their boots as minimal power returned.