The ISS Cataclysm''s brig hummed with the low thrum of strained emergency power, casting stark, flickering shadows across the steel cell fronts. The air hung heavy, thick with the sour metallic stink of sweat, fear, and the lingering acrid tang of burnt wiring – a bitter reminder of the pirate fleet''s recent incineration. Beyond the reinforced viewport set high in the corridor wall, Cassini''s vast rust-red clouds churned slowly below, a silent, indifferent witness. Framed against that backdrop drifted the Endeavor''s wreckage—shattered plating glinting dully in the weak starlight filtering through the supernova corridor''s dust-heavy glow.


    Captain Nathaniel Rourke stood anchored before one cell, arms crossed tight, his weathered face a mask carved from stone in the dim light. Flanking him, Commander Elira Laehy leaned with feigned ease against the cool metal wall, her sharp eyes fixed on the prisoner within, the reflection of the cell lights gleaming like chips of ice in her pupils. A marine guard loomed nearby, rifle slung, the weapon''s mass a silent weight in the cramped space, boots planted wide on the grimy deck plating. Inside, a pirate officer slumped against the energy bars—lean, face bruised purple under a film of dirt, his drab gray jumpsuit ripped open at the shoulder, revealing raw, scraped skin. His hands were cuffed tight behind his back. On a nearby wall console, salvaged data scrolled—flickering lines of code from the Endeavor''s triage logs and Cassini''s desperate situation reports.


    Rourke''s voice sliced the quiet, low and hard as hammered steel. "Your kingship''s debris. You thought you''d grab Cassini''s ore and just walk away. Who''s pulling these strings? Start talking."


    The pirate''s head jerked up, a weak sneer twisting his lips, though his eyes darted like trapped animals. "You smashed that kingship—big deal. Heard you had a titan, didn''t think you''d bring it." He coughed, a dry rasp. "The Ring''s got more. Stashed deep. You''ll see them roll in—hit you harder than before."


    Laehy pushed off the wall, stepping closer until her shadow fell across the prisoner, her tone dropping, cold as the void outside. "Funny. Heard differently over open comms. Sounded more like ''kingship''s gone—scatter''s not working!'' Heard someone begging, ''cut power—maybe they''ll take us.''" She paused, letting the silence stretch, punctuated by the distant groan of the Cataclysm''s hull settling. "Half your buddies are dust or breathing recycled air down the block. So who''s this Ring sending when you''re all crying surrender?"


    The pirate''s smirk evaporated, replaced by a sheen of sweat beading on his brow. His gaze flicked between Rourke''s unyielding stare and Laehy''s predatory stillness. "The Ring... they don''t keep losers," he stammered, bravado cracking. "Don''t need to. They''ve got another ready—tested on Kaelis, maybe. Bigger guns. Meaner."


    Rourke''s jaw tightened, patience wearing thin as old wire. "You''re pinned here. Your wreck''s spilling its guts as we speak. Tell us where they stage from, or we''ll find Haven ourselves."


    The cell door hissed open, rattling slightly in its frame, and Lt. Mark Jansen strode in, datapad clutched tight. His uniform bore smudges of soot along the collar, his face taut with focus under the low lights. He stopped beside Rourke, angling the datapad. "Captain," he reported, voice crisp, cutting through the tension. "Cracked their primary nav logs recovered from the wreckage. Callsign ''Haven'' confirmed as the hub network. Looks like ''the Ring'' runs it. They''ve patched old Federation patrol routes and shield blueprints into their core systems—rough code, but effective. That''s how they keep slipping past our patrols."


    The pirate flinched visibly, cuffed hands twisting behind his back. Panic flared hot in his eyes as he realized his fleet''s playbook was laid bare. "You don''t get it," he spat, voice rising, pitching high with desperation. "That kingship was nothing—they were testing it! Haven''s building—a dozen more, maybe! Scatter didn''t work this time, I heard comms chatter, but—" He cut off, realizing his blunder.


    Laehy''s gaze narrowed, sharp as a honed blade. "A dozen? You''re sweating like a man who knows his time''s up. Where is Haven?"


    The pirate''s mouth clamped shut, jaw working, his breathing sharp and shallow. Terror and a desperate flicker of loyalty wrestled visibly behind his eyes. Rourke leaned closer to the bars, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in the confined space. "You''re scrap metal here. Your comrades aren''t coming back for you. Haven is next on our list. Help us find it, and perhaps you breathe air that isn''t filtered through a brig ceiling. Stay silent..." He let the threat hang, implicit, heavy as the wreckage drifting outside.


    The pirate stared back, defiance crumbling into a shaky, haunted gaze, but the ingrained fear—or loyalty—won. He clamped his jaw shut, turning his head away to face the cold steel wall.


    Revised Scene 2: Findings on the Salvage Shuttle


    The Cataclysm salvage shuttle hummed through Cassini''s orbital graveyard, its exterior lights cutting sharp white cones through the swirling, copper-tinged dust of the supernova corridor. Inside, the air vibrated with the low whine of active scanners, the cabin lit only by the dim amber glow of multiple consoles. The sharp tang of metal dust and ozone hung heavy. Outside the main viewport, the pirate kingship''s remains tumbled in slow motion—twisted hull plates glowing faintly with residual heat from the battle, jagged spars of superstructure casting long, distorted shadows. Small pieces of debris clinked intermittently against the shuttle''s hull like cold rain.


    Lt. Mark Jansen braced against a vibrating console rail, peering through the viewport at the charred, skeletal decks below. Near the center of the cabin, Cpl. Hara knelt beside a recovered hull fragment—a wide piece of scorched, buckled plating. Embedded within it were shield emitter coils, unmistakably Federation-grade, but scarred and fused around the edges with crude, heavy welds that spoke of hasty, desperate modification. Her gloved hands, steady and precise, moved a whirring handheld scanner over the coils, its soft beeps echoing in the cabin. Lt. Esteban Reyes sat strapped into a makeshift console chair, screens before him flickering with cascading data streams pulled from the wreckage''s surviving systems. Two marines stood guard near the rear hatch, boots planted wide on the grimy, metal-grate deck.


    Hara''s voice broke the quiet, tight with focus, amplified slightly by her helmet comm. "Confirming Federation shield tech, maybe older Valiant-class spec. But look at these patches—" she indicated the rough welds "—slapdash work, bypassing safety regulators. They boosted the output but sacrificed stability. They''ve been gutting old Federation designs, tweaking them just enough to get an edge, probably using stolen patrol data to know where our sensor blind spots are."


    Jansen nodded, crouching beside her. He touched a gloved finger to one of the thick, uneven welds—cooled now, but still radiating a faint warmth. "Crude, but functional. That matches the nav logs Reyes pulled. They aren''t just copying blueprints; they''re actively adapting old patrol routes, identifying weaknesses."


    Reyes glanced up from his console, pushing his spectacles higher on his nose, the console light reflecting green in the lenses. "Logs confirm it. Callsign ''The Ring'' linked across multiple salvaged datasets. ''Haven'' referenced repeatedly as the central command/construction node. This kingship wasn''t just armed; it was loaded with repurposed Federation navigation and counter-sensor systems designed specifically to slip past standard patrol grids."


    Hara ran the scanner again over a different section. It emitted a rapid series of high-pitched beeps. "Got something else... Crystal fragments embedded near the power conduit linkage. Matches the spectral signature from Cassini''s ore." She looked up at Jansen. "Maybe navigational aids? Or power regulation for those boosted shields?"


    Jansen straightened, tapping his comm link. The faint crackle filled the cabin before Rourke''s voice answered. "Jansen, report."


    "Captain, confirming extensive use of reworked Federation tech in the kingship''s core systems – shields, navigation, counter-sensors. Explains how they flanked Endeavor. Logs definitely point to ''Haven'' as the operational hub. We also found crystal traces linked to Cassini ore integrated near power conduits – possible navigational or power regulation use. They''re actively exploiting old Federation vulnerabilities and local resources."


    Rourke''s voice crackled back, steady but carrying a new weight. "Matches prisoner chatter – ''the Ring,'' ''Haven,'' ''more kingships.'' He mentioned Kaelis too... maybe testing ground. This goes deeper than piracy. Get everything you can. We need Haven''s location."


    "Understood, Captain," Jansen replied. He clicked off the comm, his gaze shifting back to the tumbling wreckage outside, now illuminated by the shuttle''s sweeping lights. "Let''s keep digging," he said to the team, his voice firm. "Reyes, focus on any encrypted logs referencing construction or supply lines. Hara, map those crystal residue patterns. They thought smashing one kingship would make us blink. They miscalculated."


    Reyes nodded, fingers flying across his console. "On it. If they built one, the plans exist somewhere."


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    The shuttle''s engines purred softly as Howell maneuvered it closer to another large fragment of the kingship, its external manipulator arms extending like careful fingers probing a wound. The Cataclysm''s shadow loomed vast in the distance, a silent, waiting giant ready to pursue the leads they were unearthing from the pirates'' crumbling ambition.


    The Endeavor''s auxiliary briefing room groaned faintly, a low metallic sound from stressed bulkheads nearby. Emergency lights cast long, flickering shadows across walls scarred with blackened scorch streaks and gouged by shrapnel. Dangling wires sparked intermittently overhead, spitting tiny blue arcs into the air thick with the sharp reek of burnt insulation and ozone. A portable quantum uplink sat precariously on a battered steel table, its surface scratched and dented, cables snaking across the cracked deck plating towards a jury-rigged power conduit patched into the Cataclysm''s distant relay. Outside the main viewport, shattered but holding pressure thanks to an emergency force field shimmering faintly across its expanse, Cassini''s dusty orbit glowed rust-red through the swirling haze of the supernova corridor.


    Rear Adm. Thalia Cassel stood rigidly by the table, her uniform smeared with soot, a fresh pressure bandage wrapped tight around her left arm over the uniform sleeve. Each breath was a careful, shallow intake, accompanied by a sharp twinge beneath her ribs where she''d slammed against the deck during the beam impact. She kept her posture locked firm, eyes fixed on the uplink''s glowing screen where the Federation emblem pulsed. A weary technician, tunic torn at the collar, gave a stiff salute from the console. "Admiral, Earth link stable via Cataclysm relay. Rear Admiral Cormier standing by."


    Thalia gave a curt nod, her voice raspy but controlled. "Patch him through."


    The technician tapped the screen. A faint whine rose from the uplink, followed by a sharp beep. The Federation emblem shimmered, then coalesced into Rear Adm. Cormier''s stern face, projected in flickering blue light.


    Cormier''s voice came through, crisp, carrying the weight of Earth HQ. "Cassel, Cormier here. Your quantum alert was fragmented – major energy signature detected, then loss of contact. Report status immediately."


    Thalia straightened further, the movement sending a fresh stab of pain through her side. "Cormier," she began, her voice rough but gaining strength. "Status is critical. Endeavor is crippled. Pirate kingship hit our port flank with a high-yield beam. Tore through decks four through ten – a quarter of the hull is gone, vented to space. Life support failing across multiple sections. Bridge took secondary damage – systems fried, decompression, heavy casualties there, but core command survived." She paused, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. "Losses confirmed at 120 dead, estimated 200 injured. Cataclysm arrived moments before a killing blow. Without them..." She didn''t need to finish.


    Cormier''s frown deepened, his sharp eyes absorbing the grim report. "Understood. This ''kingship'' – confirm hostile capability."


    "Capital-class, easily," Thalia stated flatly. "Advanced shields, maneuverability suggesting non-standard drives, and that beam weapon... yield estimated 50–60 megatons. It sliced through our primary shields on the first hit. This isn''t scavenged junk; it''s purpose-built for fleet engagement. Rourke''s team recovered logs pointing to a network called ''Haven'' run by ''The Ring.'' They''re using reworked Federation tech."


    A low hum from the damaged room systems punctuated the silence. Cormier processed this, jaw tight. "Haven... the Ring... Matches fragmented intel from other corridor skirmishes. You confirm they have multiple capital ships?"


    "Prisoner boasted of it," Thalia confirmed. "And Rourke believes the logs support construction capability, possibly at a lost site coded SC-13. We smashed one kingship thanks to Cataclysm''s intervention, but the threat level has fundamentally changed. We need a dedicated task force, Cormier. My remaining crew is thirty functional here, twenty critical transferred to Cataclysm. Endeavor is combat ineffective, barely holding orbit."


    Cormier nodded slowly, his expression grim. "Understood, Admiral. Your report confirms worst-case scenarios. Reinforcements are en route but were seven days out – I''ll push for max warp, priority one. Expect support ships within five days, heavy fleet elements maybe sooner." He leaned closer to the holo-pickup. "Rourke''s scouting Haven now?"


    "Affirmative," Thalia said. "Stealth shuttle deployed. His fleet is holding Cassini. But we are vulnerable here. If another kingship arrives before your task force..."


    "It won''t," Cormier stated, his voice hardening with resolve. "Rourke will hold. Get your intel from the Haven scout back to us the instant it arrives via Cataclysm''s quantum link. Every detail matters. Earth out."


    The holo winked off, leaving only the flickering emergency lights and the sound of dripping fluid somewhere down the corridor. Thalia let out a long, shuddering breath, the release doing little to ease the ache in her ribs or the heavier weight on her shoulders. 120 dead. Her ship broken. A new, formidable enemy revealed. She turned to the waiting CO, her voice regaining its sharp command edge despite the exhaustion lining her face. "Get the word out. Secure what''s left of this ship. Assist Cataclysm with prisoner transfer and wounded. We hold this rock until relieved." The determination was back, forged hard in the crucible of loss.


    The command deck thrummed with controlled energy, a stark contrast to the battered state of the Endeavor. Consoles cast a cool blue glow on the faces of the bridge crew, their movements precise, efficient. Beyond the wide main viewport, Cassini spun silently below, its dusty orbit now relatively clear of active hostiles, though debris fields glinted sharply in the starlight – remnants of the kingship and its escort. The tactical holo-grid at the deck''s center glowed brightly, displaying Cassini, the surrounding debris, the estimated vectors of fleeing pirates, and a projected route snaking deep into the turbulent amber clouds of the supernova corridor towards the flickering coordinates tagged "Haven."


    Captain Nathaniel Rourke stood by the grid, one hand resting lightly on its cool surface, his weathered face illuminated by the shifting map. Commander Elira Laehy stood opposite, keen eyes tracing potential ambush points within the corridor dust. Lt. Mark Jansen was back from the salvage run, datapad active, displaying the recovered logs. Rear Adm. Thalia Cassel''s holo shimmered nearby – patched through from Endeavor''s makeshift comm station, her bandaged form looking small but resolute against the scarred bulkhead behind her.


    Rourke''s voice cut the quiet hum, steady and low, directed at the assembled officers and the holo-figure. "Consolidated intel confirms it. Prisoners, wreckage logs, Cassel''s engagement report – all point to ''The Ring'' operating from a fortified network hub designated ''Haven''. Their boast of ''another kingship'' isn''t idle chatter, confirmed by Jansen''s findings of potential production facilities at the lost SC-13 outpost."


    Laehy nodded sharply, tapping the projected route to Haven on the grid. "The pirates we routed panicked hard. Their comms chatter – ''scatter''s not working,'' ''they''re everywhere!'' – suggests our arrival completely shattered their confidence. Some clearly escaped towards Haven; it''s their bolt-hole. The corridor''s interference makes blind jumps suicidal – they''ll follow established, likely hidden, routes."


    Jansen held up his datapad. "The recovered logs are fragmented but clear on key points. Haven isn''t just a base; it''s a coordination hub using stolen or reverse-engineered Federation systems – primarily older patrol routes and shield modulation techniques to bypass our standard sensor grids. That''s how they achieved surprise at Cassini." He highlighted a section showing SC-13''s link to Haven. "This suggests an industrial capability we didn''t anticipate. An empire in the shadows."


    Thalia''s holo flickered, her voice strained but firm. "They nearly took Cassini. Cut my ship in half. Whatever ''empire'' they''re building, it thrives on Federation weakness in this corridor. High Command''s mobilizing, but they''re days away. We cannot afford another surprise attack, Nathaniel. Can Cataclysm maintain a defensive screen here and probe Haven?"


    Rourke met her holographic gaze, his expression unreadable. "Cataclysm will anchor Cassini. Our quantum jammer remains active; no enemy jumps in or out of this immediate vicinity without us knowing. The colony and your survivors are secure under our shield." He paused, then turned his gaze to Jansen. "But we need eyes on Haven. Confirm its location, assess its strength, identify defenses, especially any sign of SC-13''s output. We go in blind otherwise."


    Laehy''s tone was crisp. "The prisoner claimed Haven could field ''a dozen more'' kingships. Likely bluffing fueled by desperation – they were begging ''cut power, maybe they''ll take us'' just before capture – but even one more active kingship shifts the balance."


    Jansen nodded, setting his datapad on the table. "My team''s analysis suggests Haven is likely heavily shielded, possibly using the corridor''s natural interference and those Cassini crystals for cover. A direct assault is premature. Reconnaissance is vital."


    Thalia''s jaw clenched, the bandage on her arm stark white against her soot-stained uniform. "Then scout it. Thirty of my people are breathing because of your arrival. Another twenty are recovering in your med bays. Half my command wiped out." Her voice cracked slightly on the last phrase. "Hold Cassini, Nathaniel, but find Haven. I''ve already pushed Cormier at High Command via quantum link – told him the casualty count, the kingship threat, SC-13. He knows the stakes."


    Rourke''s eyes flicked to the tactical display, then back to Jansen. "Agreed. Intel is paramount." His voice resonated with command. "Jansen – take the recon team prepped after Station A: Howell, Reyes, Hara. Same stealth shuttle, optical cloak primary. No quantum comms active after departure – maintain absolute signal silence. Infiltrate the sector near Haven''s suspected coordinates, conduct passive scans, confirm location and defenses, identify any active shipyards or heavy energy signatures consistent with SC-13 activity. Get the intel, get out clean. No engagement."


    Jansen straightened, snapping a crisp salute. "Aye, sir. Reyes, Hara, Howell, on me. Standard stealth protocols. We''ll slip through the dust."


    Laehy crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on the treacherous corridor route projected on the holo. "Dust provides cover, but it also blinds sensors. If Haven has picket ships or sensor nets we don''t know about..."


    Rourke cut her off gently but firmly. "Jansen knows the risks. They have a 48-hour window past expected return before we escalate search protocols. Minimal risk profile." He turned back to the holo of Thalia. "Thalia, hold the Endeavor. Focus on your people. Get that full report to Cormier. We handle Haven."


    Thalia''s holo gave a single, sharp nod, her expression grim but resolute. "Patching the full casualty and intel brief to Earth now. Good hunting, Nathaniel. Bring your team back."


    The holo winked out, plunging that sector of the bridge back into the ambient blue light. Rourke watched the projected route to Haven, a glowing line disappearing into swirling amber clouds on the display. The steady hum of the Cataclysm''s core seemed to deepen, a silent promise of protection for Cassini, while the weight of the unknown mission pressed down. "Jansen," Rourke said, turning from the grid, his voice low but clear. "Launch immediately. We hold here until you return."