Dim emergency lamps threw jagged shadows across the <i>Endeavor</i>''s corridor, their faint hum a constant undercurrent as Admiral Thalia Cassel squinted at the stuttering star map overhead. Laser burns scored the console''s edges, relics of the last firefight, while a low buzz from frayed power couplings gnawed at the silence—a reminder of the carrier''s fragile state. Crew shuffled past in hushed urgency, boots clanging on warped deck plates, their voices clipped as they barked repair orders across flickering comms.


    "Admiral," Commander Yelnova said, her voice tight with a barely masked tremor as she edged closer. "Surface teams have widened the refinery''s perimeter. Caldwell reports it''s holding—for now. But stragglers keep popping up—pirates skulking in canyons or wrecked domes."


    Thalia''s eyes darted to the readouts: salvage drones hauling twisted hull scraps from Cassini''s orbit, their faint blips pulsing against the screen. "Pipeline''s still intact," she muttered, her breath a ragged mix of relief and exhaustion. "That''s what counts—Cassini''s lifeline." She paused, jaw tightening. "The brig—status?" Fatigue clawed at her spine, every muscle screaming after twenty sleepless hours, but her tone stayed sharp, betraying none of it.


    Yelnova tapped her datapad, the glow catching singe marks on her sleeve. "Eight prisoners secured in Deck Twelve''s containment bay. Small fry—grunts and pilots. A few faked injuries to dodge med scans, but the marines caught it."


    Thalia nodded, curt and deliberate. "No big fish, then. Still, they might spill who''s bankrolling their tech—thrusters, beam cannons. I''m done chasing sparks while the corridor''s ready to ignite."


    Static crackled overhead, sharp and grating. An ensign''s voice cut through from the comm pit: "Admiral, Intel Officer Haines is ready in the forward conference room. He''s got prisoner debriefs."


    Thalia met Yelnova''s gaze, the red-tinged lights carving stark lines across her face. "Let''s move," she said, voice flat but edged with steel.


    They navigated the ship''s battered guts, boots echoing off dented steel. A collapsed ceiling panel forced them into a tight side passage, sparks spitting from a jury-rigged conduit, the air thick with ozone and the sour tang of scorched wiring. Clangs rang out—repair crews wrestling with breached hulls and hissing pressure seals, their work a relentless drumbeat in the distance.


    At a viewport, Thalia halted, arms locked behind her back. Below stretched Cassini''s crimson dunes and parched valleys, dust plumes swirling where ground vehicles patrolled the refinery''s edge. <i>A foothold,</i> she thought, but her chest tightened, dread coiling at the corridor''s unseen threats.


    The conference room''s hatch hissed open, revealing a cramped space lit by flickering holo-projectors, their glow bouncing off gouged steel walls. A battered holo-table squatted in the center. Lieutenant Haines stood rigid at its far end, while a lone pirate—lean, bruised, in a drab Federation jumpsuit—slouched on a metal bench, flanked by marines. Their rifles hung loose, but their hands hovered near triggers.


    Haines dipped his head. "Admiral, Commander. Meet Garen Voss—Red Fang, per his tattoos and loose talk. He''s cagey but dropped a hint: deeper corridor runs will gut us."


    Voss locked eyes with Thalia, his stare cold and unyielding. A purple bruise bloomed across his cheek, dust matting his hair, but he sat tall, defiance etched in every line. Thalia stepped closer, her lips a thin slash.


    "Alright, Voss," she said, voice level as a blade. "You tried to blow Cassini''s pipeline. Had those charges popped, half the colony''s dead. So—freelancers, or someone''s puppet?"


    He smirked, eyes flicking between Thalia and Yelnova with quiet scorn. "What''s your guess, Admiral?" His rasp dripped contempt. "You barge into a frontier you ignored for years. We took what was ours."


    "Yours?" Yelnova shot back, arms crossed, her singed uniform taut. "Those beam cannons, those thrusters—black-market tech doesn''t grow on trees. Who''s your supplier?"


    Voss''s smirk twisted into a bitter half-grin. "Tell you, and it changes nothing. Cassini''s a speck. Warlords run the corridor—Red Fang''s a gnat next to them."


    Thalia''s jaw locked, but her tone stayed steady. "Warlord rumors are piling up. If they''re arming militias with high-grade gear, every colony''s a target. Where''s their hub?"


    For a heartbeat, Voss''s glare faltered, calculation flickering behind it. Then he barked a short, mocking laugh. "Keep playing war out here. You''ll be dust before you see it coming."


    Silence dropped, heavy and taut. Thalia glanced at Yelnova—<i>Push him?</i>—but waved the marines instead. "Brig. Strip his gear. He might squeal to save his neck."


    The marines hauled Voss up, his arms pinned. Lights stuttered as they marched him out. At the hatch, he twisted, throwing Thalia a final, venomous look. "This system''s a waste. The corridor''s beyond you."


    The door sealed with a hiss. Haines exhaled, tension easing a notch. "Slim pickings, but he''s echoing chatter—a ''hidden ring,'' maybe a syndicate. Well-funded. Explains the contraband firepower."


    Thalia punched a key on the holo-table. A star chart flared up, fractured and flickering, dotted lines snaking through rumored pirate lanes and unmapped systems. "Then we dig deeper," she said, voice cold. "Cassini''s a stepping stone—they could hit a dozen worlds if we let them build steam."


    Yelnova eyed the map, resignation shadowing her face. "We''re limping, Admiral. The <i>Endeavor</i> won''t hold for another push without serious repairs."


    Thalia cut the projection, nodding grimly. "We lock down Cassini, milk the prisoners, and regroup. If they mass a fleet, we''ll meet it—or call in the heavy guns." Her breath eased out, slow and heavy, eyes tracing scorch marks on the walls. <i>We held today,</i> she thought, <i>but the corridor''s brewing something worse, and we''re on borrowed time.</i> Dread lingered, unspoken—a warlord''s shadow creeping closer across the battered deck.


    The dropship thudded onto a scorched pad of sand and ferrocrete, engines snarling as the hatch cracked open with a metallic groan. Admiral Thalia Cassel and Commander Yelnova stepped into a biting wind, Cassini''s sun slashing long shadows across the colony''s ragged skyline—prefab shacks scarred with bullet holes and laser burns, teetering on the edge of collapse.


    They stood near the refinery, its half-built towers and pumping rigs sprawling like a wounded beast. Makeshift fences and watchtowers bristled around it, a flimsy shield of scavenged steel and cargo crates. Federation marines in grit-caked armor prowled the line, rifles gripped tight, faces set in grim resolve. Beyond, Cassini''s red canyons gouged the earth, twisting into the distance, silent and vast, dust devils swirling ghostly trails across the horizon.


    Lieutenant Caldwell jogged up, sweat streaking his brow as he snapped a salute. "Admiral, Commander—welcome to our scrapheap fort." He waved at the patchwork defenses, voice dry. "Best we could cobble together. It''s holding—for now."


    Thalia advanced, boots grinding on the baked desert floor, the acrid sting of burnt circuits hanging in the air—an echo of the last skirmish. "Your team''s done solid work, Lieutenant. Status?"


    Caldwell''s jaw twitched, pride warring with strain. "Secure enough, ma''am, but pirates keep slinking out of the cracks—canyons, busted domes. Drones spot ''em, then they''re gone."


    Yelnova swept the terrain with a handheld sensor, its faint chirps pinpointing heat blips in the jagged gullies. "We''ll run drone sweeps," she said, voice clipped. "Flush out any holdouts."


    Thalia''s gaze locked on the horizon, where the refinery''s pipeline—a massive, storm-battered conduit—snaked toward distant ridges. Workers in ragged jumpsuits welded patches over sabotage scars, their jerry-rigged bandanas peeling back as they offered tense waves. Fear lingered in their eyes, sharp as the near-miss they''d dodged.


    "Pipeline interior?" Thalia murmured to Caldwell, voice low. "Any tampering past the charges?"


    He shook his head. "Nothing yet. They rushed it—sloppy. We got lucky."


    The pipeline loomed overhead, its dented plating a testament to Cassini''s brutal winds, welds stitching it to silos in a hulking lifeline. Thalia felt its scale press down on her—a prize too vast to lose, and a target too tempting to ignore.


    A klaxon screeched from a watchtower, cutting the air like a blade. Thalia''s hand snapped to her sidearm, adrenaline spiking, but it silenced—a false alarm. Marines scattered across the yard, boots kicking up dust, their sergeant flashing a sheepish wave.


    Yelnova''s breath hissed out, tension crackling. "Every damn hour, we''re waiting for the next hit. Corridor''s too quiet—feels like a trap."


    Thalia scanned the desert''s harsh sprawl, picturing pirate squads crouched in those canyons, waiting. "They''ve got corridor tech—thrusters, cannons," she said, voice quiet but hard. "They''ll strike if we blink."


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    Caldwell''s nod was grim. "We''re not dug in for a siege, Admiral. Colony''s half-built. A real push comes, we might have to pull back."


    Her eyes narrowed, raking over watchtowers and scrambling colonists. "Not if I can help it. Keep sweeping, Lieutenant. Explosives, infiltrators—anything they left, I want it sniffed out by sundown."


    They climbed creaking steps to a bombed-out observation deck, the wind clawing at their uniforms with a scorching bite—a taste of Cassini''s raw power. From here, the settlement sprawled below: shattered huts, colonists darting like ants. Relief flickered in Thalia''s chest—<i>one fight won</i>—but the war loomed, a shadow in the supernova corridor she couldn''t yet name. She sucked in gritty air, exhaustion searing her eyes, and turned to Yelnova. "Back to orbit soon. The <i>Endeavor</i>''s a cripple up there."


    "Understood, Admiral," Yelnova replied, her glance mirroring Thalia''s unease. "Let''s hope we don''t scramble again."


    They descended to the dropship, the sky a bruised orange streaked with thinning clouds. Cassini''s wind whispered around them, a fragile hush, each step a gamble on cracking ice—one cosmic gust from shattering their hard-won edge.


    The <i>Endeavor</i>''s bridge glowed faintly under emergency lights, overhead panels dark from the last beating. Crew hunched over consoles in the command pit, bone-weary—eyes sunken, uniforms frayed—yet wired with dogged focus.


    Thalia loomed behind the helm, dissecting a fractured star map flickering above the scarred holoprojector. Her finger traced Cassini''s orbit, then stalled at a dense dust swarm lurking near the planet''s rim—corridor filth, too close for comfort.


    Yelnova edged up, fatigue dragging her voice low. "Deck Twelve''s at forty percent repair. <i>Noble Star</i>''s patching her hull in sync orbit. No pirate moves—just stray distress pings from wrecks and lifeboats. Too damn quiet."


    Thalia exhaled, shoulders loosening a fraction. "Quiet''s a lie out here. Corridor doesn''t sleep after a loss. If Red Fang''s a pawn, something bigger''s coiling up."


    An ensign at sensors jolted upright. "Admiral—contact in the far quadrant. Big mass, unknown sig. Could be debris, but it''s accelerating—fast."


    Yelnova lunged to the sensor console in two sharp strides, her boots ringing off the warped deck. "Pull it up—now," she ordered, her voice a taut whip. Her fingers, calloused from years at the helm, stabbed at the controls, summoning a 3D starfield that flickered into existence above the console. The projection jittered—damaged relays struggling to hold it steady—revealing a red blip pulsing like a heartbeat at the starfield''s edge. Readouts flared beside it: mass metrics climbing, power outputs spiking, a leviathan stirring from the void''s depths, its presence a guttural rumble in the data streams.


    The ensign at sensors swallowed hard, his youthful face paling under the bridge''s dim glow, sweat beading on his brow. "No standard cruiser, ma''am," he stammered, voice catching on the edge of panic. "Energy signature''s insane—capital-class, maybe dreadnought-grade. I''ve never seen readings this high outside sims." His hands trembled as he recalibrated the display, the numbers ticking upward relentlessly.


    Thalia''s eyes narrowed to slits, the bridge''s hush crackling with unspoken dread, an electric hum buzzing through the air as if the ship itself sensed the threat. "Pirates with a capital ship?" she muttered, her voice low and jagged, Voss''s cryptic taunts echoing in her skull—<i>warlords</i>, <i>hidden rings</i>. Doubt gnawed at her gut, a cold flicker she crushed with a mental shove, her jaw tightening until it ached.


    Yelnova''s brow furrowed, creasing deep lines across her weathered face as she leaned over the console, her shadow slicing across the starfield''s glow. "Advanced thrusters—antimatter-grade, from the exhaust profile," she said, her tone clipped and grim. "And—Admiral, I''m reading exotic weapon flux. High-yield array, no question—it''s meltdown-era tech, bastardized into something nasty." Her fingers hovered over the controls, as if willing the data to shift, her breath hitching faintly.


    Thalia stiffened, steel surging through her spine, her pulse hammering against her ribs like a war drum. If meltdown tech powered this beast, they were staring down a relic-weaponized nightmare—outgunned, outclassed. "All hands, brace," she snapped, her voice a calm blade slicing through the rising chaos. "External cams—on my mark."


    The overhead screen flared to life with a hiss of static, the swirling gloom of supernova corridor dust parting like a curtain torn aside. A hulking predator slid into Cassini''s orbit, its silhouette a brutal wedge of engineered malice—turret-studded, sleek as a blade, its prow aglow with a sickly emerald shimmer that pulsed like a festering wound. This was no patchwork pirate rig stitched from scavenged junk; its plating gleamed with cold precision, forged in a war foundry long lost to the galaxy''s memory, every seam screaming deliberate, unrelenting death.


    A comm trooper''s whisper quavered, his voice barely audible over the hum of failing systems. "Displacement''s ten times a cruiser, ma''am—minimum," he said, his eyes wide and glassy, fixed on the screen. "Power output''s spiking—hints at a 60-megaton beam array. If that thing fires, it''ll punch through us like we''re foil." His hands fumbled at his station, the console''s faint whine underscoring his dread, the air thickening with the crew''s collective fear.


    Thalia squared her shoulders, adrenaline slicing through her exhaustion like a jagged shard, her fatigue burned away by the raw need to act. "General quarters," she barked, her command ringing sharp and clear across the bridge. "All ships, defensive arc around Cassini—tighten it up. They don''t get a clean shot." Her voice cut through the tension, a lifeline for the crew teetering on panic''s edge.


    Tactical screens blazed crimson, energy readings spiking as the pirate cannon charged—a plasma serpent writhing at its prow, its coils shimmering in violent whites and purples, bleaching the void with an unholy glare that stung Thalia''s eyes. She stared, awe and dread locking her gaze, the sheer scale of the threat sinking into her bones like ice.


    "Admiral!" a lieutenant''s shout cracked from the lower deck, his voice splintering with strain as he wrestled with his flickering console. "Battleship''s emitter''s surging again—massive grid spikes, peaking at critical. They''ve locked us dead-on!" His uniform was soaked with sweat, his hands shaking as he punched commands into the overheating system, the air around him thick with the tang of burnt circuits.


    "Starboard roll!" Thalia roared, her order a guttural snap, though she knew the <i>Endeavor</i>''s thrusters—half-crippled from the last fight—couldn''t dodge clean. "Point-defense online—every damn watt to shields!" Her fists clenched, nails biting into her palms, the metallic taste of fear sharp on her tongue.


    The carrier shuddered, its massive frame lurching under whining thrusters, scarred plating groaning as it tilted to bare its least-damaged flank. Turrets spun up with a furious whine, gunners'' voices flooding comms in a blizzard of desperation—"Target lock!" "Firing now!"—beams and missiles streaking into the black, clawing at the void to fracture the incoming strike. Pirate fighters caught stray hits, blooming into fireballs that spiraled off in silent, fiery arcs, but the dreadnought bore down, an unyielding juggernaut fixated on tearing the flagship apart.


    Static shrieked through the speakers, a jagged tear, then a voice—gravel-rough, dripping with sadistic glee. "<i>Endeavor, Endeavor</i>," the pirate captain jeered, his accent a harsh snarl, each word a lash soaked in venom. "Nice little dance—heard the Federation had grit, but I see a wreck begging for the grave. Surrender, and your lifeboats might limp a day. Fight, and we''ll split you like scrap." The sneer hung in the air, a predator''s taunt savoring the kill.


    Thalia''s stomach roiled, bile rising. "Cut that filth," she hissed, her voice venomous, eyes blazing with contempt. The words lingered, reverberating over scorched consoles, junior officers exchanging haunted glances—pale faces etched with the stark reality of their crumbling odds.


    Then the beast unleashed hell.


    A blinding lance of energy erupted from the cannon, a searing bolt that bridged the gulf in a split-second flash, its brilliance scorching retinas across the bridge. A scream—raw panic or futile warning, Thalia couldn''t parse—slashed through the chaos. The <i>Endeavor</i>''s shield flared a violent green, crackling under the assault, then shredded like foil beneath a plasma torch. Sparks showered from overhead panels, a stinging hail that singed uniforms and skin, consoles flashing crimson as the beam smashed through.


    Time froze, dread a suffocating vise. Then impact—portside hull igniting, plating superheating into a molten bloom that erupted outward with a banshee shriek of tortured steel. Decks, corridors—entire sections—dissolved into a glaring, ravenous maw, the ship''s innards exposed in a heartbeat of annihilation.


    Seconds dragged into an endless void. The beam gouged a trench along the <i>Endeavor</i>''s spine, severing a quarter of its mass in a relentless sweep. Bulkheads snapped like brittle bones, compartments ripped free, hurling crew into space—silent figures tumbling mid-breath, eyes wide in the vacuum''s embrace. An aftershock slammed the deck, a brutal jolt that flung Thalia to the floor, her knees cracking against steel. Consoles exploded in spark cascades, officers shouting as beams and panels crashed down, pinning limbs, crushing hope.


    The forward viewport framed a nightmare: the <i>Endeavor</i>''s flank yawned open, a jagged wound spewing air, debris, and bodies in a slow, macabre spiral. Starboard decks dangled, half-torn; portside vanished—fighters spun away, their dead pilots strapped in lifeless husks. Fuel lines ruptured, ghostly flames licking the vacuum in eerie, oxygen-starved flickers—unstoppable, feeding on what little remained.


    Thalia gagged on acrid smoke, her lungs searing through fractured seals, the air a toxic stew of burnt wiring and despair. She dragged herself up, elbow braced on a nav console, ribs pulsing with sharp, relentless stabs. An ensign''s wail pierced the din—trapped under a twisted strut, his blood pooling on the deck. She staggered toward him, instinct overriding pain, but the ship''s guttural moan halted her—structure teetering, steel creaking toward collapse.


    She slammed the comm panel, voice a ragged growl. "Bridge to all decks—status, report!" Static snarled back, the beam''s surge frying circuits, leaving only fractured cries—<i>"Hull''s gone!" "Fires everywhere!"</i> Despair coiled in her chest, a cold fist tightening. <i>Is this it?</i>


    Laughter erupted again, the captain''s sneer slashing through charred speakers. "Federation trash—still pretending? Your flagship''s scrap. We''ll tow it, flaunt your weakness galaxy-wide." The words dripped malice, a predator gloating over a broken prey.


    Grief and rage twisted in her throat, tears pricking her eyes—she blinked them back, fierce. Readouts shrieked: shields null, weapons dead, portside a graveyard. One more hit, and they''d be dust. A quantum jump flared in her mind—Cassini''s shadow—but the corridor swarmed with hostiles, and her thrusters, gasping wrecks, couldn''t spool in time.


    The pirate array flared, energy surging for the kill. The bridge braced, doom a crushing weight, the captain''s taunt a final sting of false mercy.


    Thalia''s will forged iron. She hauled in a breath, ribs screaming. "We don''t bow to scum," she snarled, defiance a trembling fire. "<i>Endeavor</i> to all units—last stand. Every drop to the dorsal lance. Hit them—for Cassini. We die fighting."


    Officers leapt, rerouting power from shredded decks and dying systems—hands flew over controls, alarms howling in protest. The dorsal turret coughed alive, gears grinding, stuttering into motion. Outside, scarred fighters rallied at the breach, pilots choosing a final sortie over incineration—a flicker of valor in the abyss.


    A sensor tech''s cry tore through—wild, desperate. "Admiral—rear flank! Quantum sig—massive!" The shout jolted the ruined bridge like a shockwave. Thalia''s gaze whipped to the console: <i>ISS Cataclysm</i>. Dust churned as a dreadnought loomed, its silhouette swallowing stars, flanked by Federation battleships cutting through the haze.


    Shock rippled, a collective gasp. Thalia''s chest unclenched, relief spiking through her veins. The <i>Cataclysm</i> roared, a blinding volley raking the pirate''s flank, turrets blazing with surgical wrath. The deathblow she''d braced for never came—the enemy now faced a titan dwarfing their own


    For the first time since the beam split her ship, Thalia dared to glimpse survival.