I''ve always been a nobody. That''s not self-pity talking—it''s just a fact. In a galaxy where trillions of humans are spread across countless star systems fighting their petty wars, being a nobody is actually safer than the alternative. At least that''s what I tell myself while I''m wedged into the cramped maintenance shaft of the Horizon Drifter, trying to realign a power coupling that should have been replaced three docking cycles ago.


    The metal is hot beneath my fingers as I twist the coupling back into place, feeling the slight magnetic resistance before it clicks home. Sweat trickles down my forehead, stinging my eyes, but I can''t wipe it away with both hands occupied in this narrow space. The air in the shaft is stale and tastes like recycled breath and machine oil.


    "Andrew! Are you still alive in there?" Captain Mercer''s voice crackles through my comm unit, impatience evident in every syllable.


    "Almost done, Captain," I reply, my voice echoing in the confined space. "The power coupling was more degraded than we thought. Should hold for now, but we''ll need a proper replacement when we dock at Taranis Station."


    "We''ll add it to the list," he sighs, knowing as well as I do that the list is already too long and the budget too short. "Just get it online. We''ve got a distress signal coming in from sector 47-C."


    My fingers pause on the final connection. "That''s awfully close to the Nexari border, isn''t it?"


    There''s a telling pause before the Captain responds. "Just fix the damn coupling, Andrew."


    I finish the job quickly, slide the access panel back into place, and wiggle backward through the shaft until I can stand upright in the corridor. My back protests with a series of pops, and I stretch my arms above my head, feeling the satisfying pull in my muscles. The lights flicker once, twice, then stabilize as the power flows properly again.


    The corridor is narrow but clean, like everything else on the Horizon Drifter—a small transport vessel that''s seen better days but still manages to make its runs between the outer colonies and the more established systems. It''s not glamorous work, but it pays enough to keep me fed and provides me with a bunk to sleep in. More importantly, no one asks too many questions about my past or expects much beyond my technical skills.


    I make my way to the bridge, passing a few crew members who nod in acknowledgment but don''t stop to chat. We''re a small crew, just seven of us, and we''ve worked together long enough to respect each other''s space. The bridge doors slide open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing the compact command center with its curved viewports and glowing control panels.


    Captain Mercer stands at the center, his burly frame hunched over the navigation console. He''s a gruff man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair cropped short and perpetual stubble on his weathered face. He doesn''t look up as I enter.


    "Power coupling''s fixed," I report, moving to stand beside him. "What''s this about a distress signal?"


    Now he glances at me, his eyes narrowed slightly. "Automated beacon from a research vessel. Lost power and life support failing. Standard procedure would be to notify Border Command and let them handle it."


    "But?" I prompt, knowing there''s more.


    "But Border Command ships are at least six hours out, and according to the beacon, they''ve got less than four hours of life support remaining." He points to the navigation display where a blinking red dot indicates the signal''s origin. "We''re the closest vessel."


    I study the display, a knot forming in my stomach. "That''s only about twenty minutes from the border." I don''t need to specify which border—everyone knows the Nexari control the space beyond. The ant-like hive mind civilization that''s locked in a cold war with the fractured human empires. Stories about them have circulated through space ports for as long as I can remember. People who venture into their territory rarely return, and those who do are... different.


    "Nineteen minutes, to be exact," the Captain confirms, his finger tapping restlessly on the console edge. "Well within the neutral zone, but close enough to make me nervous."


    First Officer Chen speaks up from her station, her voice level but concerned. "Captain, I''ve reviewed the distress protocols. We''re obligated to respond if we reasonably believe lives are at risk."


    "I know the protocols, Chen," Mercer snaps, then sighs. "Plot a course, but keep sensors at maximum sensitivity. First sign of Nexari activity, we abort and run."


    "Yes, sir," Chen responds, her fingers already dancing across her console.


    I should return to my station in engineering, but something keeps me rooted to the spot. A feeling I can''t quite name—something between curiosity and dread. The Captain notices my hesitation.


    "Something on your mind, Andrew?"


    I shake my head. "No, sir. Just... be careful. I''ve heard stories about the Nexari."


    Mercer''s expression softens just a fraction. "Everyone''s heard stories. Doesn''t mean they''re true." He turns back to the console. "Besides, we''re not crossing the border. Just helping some poor bastards who broke down in a bad neighborhood."


    I nod and turn to leave, but his next words stop me.


    "Actually, Andrew, I want you to suit up. If their systems are as bad as they say, we might need your expertise on board."


    My heart sinks. Being on the bridge during this operation was one thing; actually boarding the vessel is another entirely. But I can''t refuse a direct order.


    "Yes, sir," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. "I''ll prep my kit."


    Twenty minutes later, I''m in the airlock in a standard EVA suit, tool belt secured around my waist, and stomach twisted into knots. The rescue team consists of me for technical support, Medical Officer Patel for potential injuries, and Security Officer Takeda just in case. Through the small window in the airlock door, I can see the research vessel floating dead in space, its hull gleaming dully in the distant starlight.


    It''s a sleek craft, more expensive than our humble transport—the kind of vessel funded by one of the larger human empires for scientific missions. But now it''s dark, with only emergency lights blinking along its hull. Our vessels are connected by a flexible docking tube, equalizing pressure on both sides.


    "Comms check," Takeda''s voice comes through my helmet. He''s a compact man with quick movements and sharper eyes.


    "Copy," I respond, followed by Patel''s acknowledgment.


    "Remember," Captain Mercer''s voice joins in from the bridge, "quick assessment, emergency repairs if possible, but priority is getting those people back to our ship. Nineteen minutes to the border means nineteen minutes to trouble."


    The airlock cycles, and we push off into the docking tube, magnetic boots engaging with soft clicks on the metal floor. The tube is dark except for guide lights along the floor, creating an eerie corridor between the ships. At the other end, the research vessel''s airlock waits, its manual override activated.


    "No response to hails still," Chen reports through the comms. "Sensors show minimal power signatures and faint life signs. At least five individuals on board."


    Takeda reaches the far airlock first, checking the seals before activating the manual release. The door slides open with a reluctant groan, revealing darkness beyond. Our helmet lights cut through the gloom, illuminating a corridor much like our own but wider, with more sophisticated paneling.


    "Hello?" Takeda calls out, his voice echoing in the empty space. "This is the transport vessel Horizon Drifter responding to your distress call."


    No response.


    "Emergency lights only," I observe, scanning the walls. "Main power''s completely offline. Environmental systems running on reserve."


    "Life support?" Patel asks, the medical officer already scanning with her handheld device.


    I move to a wall panel, prying it open with my multitool. "About three hours left at current consumption. Let me see if I can—"


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    A noise from further inside the ship cuts me off. A soft thumping, like something hitting metal.


    Takeda immediately moves his hand to his sidearm. "Did you hear that?"


    I nod, feeling my pulse quicken. "Could be survivors trying to get our attention."


    "Or could be decompression causing structural shifts," Patel offers, always the pragmatist.


    "Stay alert," Takeda orders, taking point as we move deeper into the vessel. Our helmet lights create shifting shadows as we advance, every corner revealing more of the silent ship.


    We reach what appears to be the main research lab, a spacious room filled with equipment I don''t recognize. Tables are arranged in neat rows, some with specimens or devices still secured to them. But something feels wrong. There''s no sign of a struggle, no indication of what might have caused the power failure.


    "Where is everyone?" Patel whispers, voicing what we''re all thinking.


    The thumping sound comes again, louder now. It''s coming from an adjacent room—what looks like the medical bay according to the ship''s layout on my datapad.


    Takeda approaches the door, signaling for us to hang back. The door is partially open, stuck in its track without power. He peers through the gap, then turns to us with a confused expression.


    "Found one of the crew," he says quietly. "But something''s... off."


    I step forward to look. Through the gap, I can see a figure in a lab coat slumped against the far wall. They''re alive—I can see the slow rise and fall of their chest—but they''re not moving otherwise. Their eyes are open, staring blankly ahead.


    "Are they injured?" Patel asks, pushing past us to get a better look.


    The thumping sound comes again, and this time I see its source. Another crew member is in the room, repeatedly walking into a cabinet, backing up, and walking into it again. Like they''ve forgotten how doors work.


    My skin crawls. "Something''s very wrong here."


    Patel forces the door open wider and steps through, medical scanner already humming in her hand. She approaches the seated figure cautiously.


    "Hello? Can you hear me?" she asks, waving a hand in front of their face.


    No response, not even a blink.


    I follow her in, scanning the room for clues about what happened. The medical bay is pristine, equipment neatly arranged, medication cabinets locked. Nothing suggests an emergency or struggle.


    "Andrew, see if you can get main power back online," Takeda calls from the doorway, keeping watch on both the corridor and us.


    I nod and find a terminal, connecting my datapad to begin diagnostics. But as I work, I can''t shake the feeling of being watched. I glance up at the crew member still mindlessly walking into the cabinet. There''s something deeply unsettling about their movements—mechanical yet not quite robotic.


    "Their vital signs are normal," Patel reports, scanning the seated figure. "But I''m getting unusual brainwave patterns. Almost like they''re in some kind of trance."


    "Look at their eyes," I say, noticing something strange. "The pupils..."


    Patel leans in closer, then jerks back in surprise. "They''re... pulsing. Contracting and dilating in a rhythm."


    "Captain," Takeda calls over the comms, "something''s not right with the crew. They appear to be in some kind of altered state."


    "Drugs?" Mercer''s voice crackles back.


    "Unknown," Patel responds. "But consistent across two subjects so far."


    I continue working on the power systems, trying to focus despite my growing unease. According to the diagnostics, the main reactor is fine—it was manually shut down, not damaged.


    "This doesn''t make sense," I mutter. "Someone deliberately powered down the ship and then sent a distress signal?"


    The terminal suddenly comes to life under my fingers, systems restarting without my input. Lights flicker on overhead, and the environmental systems hum back to life.


    "Did you do that?" Takeda asks, looking around as the ship awakens.


    I shake my head slowly. "No... it just... came back online by itself."


    A chill runs down my spine as a new sound reaches us—movement from elsewhere in the ship. Lots of movement.


    "Captain," Takeda says urgently, "request immediate extraction. Something''s very wrong here."


    "Return to the airlock immediately," Mercer orders, no hesitation in his voice.


    We back out of the medical bay, Patel reluctantly leaving the unresponsive crew members behind. As we move through the main lab toward the corridor, I notice something I missed before. Tiny holes in the ceiling—not part of the original design. They almost look like...


    "Vents," I whisper, realization dawning. "Custom-built vents."


    Takeda follows my gaze upward. "What are you talking about?"


    Before I can answer, a new sound fills the air—a high-pitched chittering that raises the hair on the back of my neck even through the EVA suit. The sound of many small appendages moving across metal.


    "Run!" I shout, just as the first of them emerges from the vents.


    They pour out like a dark tide—insectoid creatures the size of my hand, with too many legs and gleaming black carapaces. Nexari drones. The advance scouts of their hive.


    We sprint for the corridor, Takeda firing his sidearm at the ceiling to slow the swarm. The creatures scatter briefly but quickly regroup, flowing across the floor and walls in pursuit.


    "The airlock is sealed!" Chen''s panicked voice comes through our comms. "Something overrode our systems!"


    My heart hammers in my chest as we reach the corridor, only to find it blocked by more of the creatures. They''ve formed a living barrier, their tiny bodies linked together.


    "Other way!" Takeda shouts, changing direction so abruptly that Patel stumbles. I grab her arm to steady her, and we follow Takeda toward the ship''s bridge.


    The chittering grows louder, surrounding us now. I can see more vents along this corridor, all of them disgorging more of the creatures. This isn''t a random encounter—the ship was deliberately setup as a trap.


    We burst onto the bridge, sealing the door behind us. Through the viewports, I can see our own ship still attached by the docking tube, so close yet unreachable.


    "Captain, we''re trapped on the bridge," Takeda reports, his voice remarkably steady despite everything. "The ship is infested with Nexari drones."


    "Hold position," Mercer responds after a tense pause. "We''re attempting to override their lock on the airlock."


    I move to the navigation console, hoping to find a way to communicate directly with our ship, when I notice the coordinates displayed.


    My blood runs cold. "Captain, we''re moving."


    "What?" Mercer''s voice rises. "Moving where?"


    I check the readouts, disbelief numbing my fingers. "The engines have activated. We''re... we''re heading for the Nexari border."


    Silence fills the comms for a moment, broken only by the constant chittering from beyond the bridge door.


    "Get to escape pods," Mercer finally orders. "Now!"


    Patel is already moving, locating the emergency pod access on the ship''s schematic. "This way!"


    We follow her to a side door, but before we can reach it, the main bridge door buckles inward. The metal warps as if under immense pressure, though the drones themselves are tiny.


    "They''re going to break through," Takeda warns, positioning himself between us and the door.


    I look around desperately for anything we can use as a weapon or barrier. The bridge is sparse—designed for research coordination, not defense.


    The side door to the escape pod corridor slides open, and for a moment I feel hope—but it''s short-lived. Standing in the doorway is a Nexari soldier, at least seven feet tall with a humanoid body but the head and features of a giant ant. Its compound eyes reflect our horrified expressions back at us.


    Patel screams. Takeda fires his weapon, but the shots seem to glance off the creature''s exoskeleton. It tilts its head, studying us with alien curiosity rather than aggression.


    And then it speaks, its mandibles clicking in a way that somehow forms words understandable to human ears.


    "You are being assimilated into the collective," it says, the voice oddly melodic despite the chittering undertones. "Resistance is unnecessary and inefficient."


    The main door finally gives way, and the drone swarm pours in. They don''t attack—they simply surround us, forming a living carpet that rises to our ankles, then our calves.


    I back away until I hit the viewport, watching in horror as the drones begin climbing Patel''s suit. She swats at them frantically, but there are too many. They find the seams in her EVA suit, tiny appendages working with surgical precision to breach the protective layer.


    "Andrew!" she cries out, reaching toward me, but I can''t move. I''m paralyzed with fear as the same happens to Takeda.


    The soldier steps fully onto the bridge, its massive form looming over us. "Your minds will join ours. Your knowledge will be preserved. This is not death, but evolution."


    The drones reach me last, climbing my legs and torso. I try to brush them off, but they''re relentless. I feel a sharp pain at the back of my neck—they''ve breached my suit.


    "Captain," I gasp into the comms, "they''re taking us... tell Command... it was a trap..."


    The connection cuts off as something cold and metallic pierces my skin. A biotech injector, I realize dimly. The Nexari soldier watches impassively as whatever they''ve injected spreads through my system.


    My vision blurs. The chittering fades to a distant hum. In its place comes something else—a presence in my mind, vast and alien. The collective consciousness of the Nexari hive.


    It presses against my thoughts, seeking entry. I feel my sense of self beginning to dissolve at its touch, my memories and identity about to be absorbed and repurposed.


    But something unexpected happens. Where the hive mind pushes, I push back. Not consciously—it''s more like an instinctive reaction, my mind automatically constructing barriers the alien consciousness cannot breach.


    The Nexari soldier steps closer, its compound eyes fixed on me with new interest. The drones on my body freeze, as if receiving new instructions.


    "Anomaly detected," it says, but the voice sounds distant now, as if I''m hearing it through water. "Subject exhibits resistance to neural integration."


    The pressure in my mind intensifies. The hive redoubles its efforts to subsume me, but the harder it pushes, the stronger my resistance becomes. It''s like a muscle I never knew I had, flexing in response to threat.


    The last thing I see before losing consciousness is the Nexari soldier reaching for me, its alien features showing something I never expected to see in an insectoid face.


    Confusion.