Page 18

EIGHTEEN

Cerani

Cerani sat on the floor of the cargo bay with her back against a wall panel and her knees pulled up. Forty-four ex-miners packed the space around her, strapped in with old cargo handles and anchor lines. The metal floor vibrated under them. She held the handle loop beside her shoulder and looked around.

“We’re okay,” she said, her voice carrying through the comms channel. “Just hang on.”

A few nodded. Sema had her arms wrapped around one of the more nervous ones, her eyes locked ahead, tense. They’d all lived through worse—suits failing, cave-ins, being imprisoned by the Axis in the first place. This was different. They were away from the mine. They were in space.

Cerani kept her helmet on, gear sealed. She’d been in open air before, but the protective suit regulated air flow and gave the illusion of some control over a completely foreign environment. Practically, the boots had gravity regulators to keep everyone attached to the floor and not floating around.

The ship rumbled again, harder this time. A sharp jolt knocked boots and elbows into loud scrapes against the walls. Something had hit them.

The room filled with muted gasps and curses. More thudding impacts hit the hull. The deck rattled as the ship lurched sideways, then corrected.

Cerani’s pulse kicked up as she pieced together what was likely happening on the other side of the hull. The ship was under fire. They were in combat.

She tapped her comm and pulled up the local channel. “Stavian,” she said. “Do you hear me? What’s happening?”

No answer.

She tried again. Static.

Another strike slammed into the side of the vessel, or rather, the shields. They were holding, for now, but Cerani flinched as the lights flickered. The ship tilted again and alarms started up outside the cargo hold, muffled behind the bulkhead walls.

She had to get to the bridge.

“Stay low,” she said to the others, pushing herself up. Her boots clicked as the magnetic mode engaged to let her walk. “Don’t move unless you have to. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

“No,” Sema said, reaching toward her, “Cerani—”

But she was already moving, each step pulling hard with the stabilizers. She leaned into the slope of the tilting ship and pushed through the internal hatch. Smoke hugged the ceiling above. Hall panels flickered as she moved down the narrow hall toward the lift.

When the doors opened to the bridge, everything hit at once.

Smoke. Sparks. Red lights blinking across every console. Crew members shouting.

Talla was hunched over her nav panel, fingers flying, face streaked with sweat. Smoke curled from the corner of her console. Jorr was at weapons, cursing and slamming controls as reticle lights turned red and blinked out. Rek’tor had one hand locked on the control yoke and the other flying over engine touch-keys, teeth bared like he was physically willing the ship to survive.

Stavian stood at the center of it all, his arm braced against a pillar as he called orders through the comm. The ship rocked again, harder this time. Cerani had to grab the edge of the doorframe to stay upright—even with stabilizers.

Her eyes scanned the consoles. Red. So much red.

“Shields down to thirty-seven percent,” Rinter shouted from the rear diagnostic console. “That’s the last ellipse off the plasma coil reset—we’re on raw core strength now.”

Cerani took in the damage logs on the overhead display. Warning icons flashed across the hull diagram faster than she could track—she was still new at reading, after all, and this was just so much. She managed to pick out that two of the thrusters were running hot, and some shield plating had damage. That was just what she saw at a glance.

Stavian looked up. His eyes locked on hers—and didn’t look away. “Cerani.” He motioned quickly. “Come here.”

She moved fast, sidestepping smoking and hissing vents, and he grabbed her hand. He pulled her flush against him and for one moment, nothing else existed.

“I love you,” he said. “I need you to know that.”

It hit her in the heart like a flare shot. She released the locks on her helmet and pulled it off. “Don’t say it like it’s your last time,” she said. “We’re not done.”

His jaw tensed. “Cerani—”

Another hit rattled the ship. Everyone on the bridge pitched.

“Twenty-two percent!” Rinter yelled, clutching his console. “Plasma filaments on vent nine are melting through the feed lines. If we lose those, shields go dark. I mean, completely dark.”

“Stavian—” Talla coughed as smoke poured from her panel. “We’ve got three hostiles closing. One on vector nine is already charging weapons again.”

“Evasive!” Stavian snapped. “Rek’tor, arc us left and—take us through the edge of that debris field!”

“Aye,” Rek’tor barked. He shoved one throttle forward and the ship pitched hard.

Cerani slammed into Stavian’s side and his arm tightened around her. Behind her, Talla braced against her seat as sparks shot from the nav panel. Smoke rolled in heavy waves from the floor vents.

She looked at Stavian. His jaw was locked, eyes scanning the displays. His arm stayed firmly around her waist.

“These weapons can’t punch through their shields,” Jorr muttered. “I’m scratching them. Minor damage only.”

Rinter slammed his palm against a console. “Shields down to nineteen percent. We’re going to start losing hull plating in thirty seconds!”

Stavian growled under his breath. “I need to know, Cerani—do you love me?”

She turned her face toward his. “Yes,” she said as easy as breathing. “More than I ever thought possible.”

He lowered his head for half a beat. She thought he might kiss her, but the moment passed too fast.

A proximity alarm screamed.

“What now?” Jorr yelled, flipping up a safety cap to fire a round—

—But then everything on the screen changed.

“Something huge,” Rinter warned in a hoarse whisper. “Dead ahead.”

Cerani’s mouth dropped open as a dark ship moved into their line of sight—intimidating, silent, and appearing impenetrable. No Axis markers. No coat of arms.

It didn’t look like any ship she’d ever seen, and granted, she hadn’t seen many ships at all. But the crew’s reaction made it clear that this was not a typical vessel one saw in space. It was wide at the base, which was covered in massive thrusters, and more tapered toward the other end. It wasn’t sleek. The matte metal hull had multiple spires jutting from it. It looked more like a building than a ship.

And yet, there was something strangely familiar about it. She couldn’t place it, but seeing it made her skin crawl and her belly twist into knots.

“What the fek is that…” Talla’s voice shook.

Everyone on the bridge, including Cerani, was silent as the massive ship came closer, filling the viewport. The ship moved in fast. At first, she tensed up, thinking it was going to smash into them, but no. It halted abruptly. It was so close, she could see the dark metal was edged in streaks of pulse lighting. Scars marked the hull—burns, gouges, repair patterning that wasn’t Axis. This ship had taken damage. It had fought and survived and now it blocked out everything, looming ominous and dark.

“Routing override incoming,” Rinter said, reading the panel. “We’re being scanned—”

A nauseating vibration passed through the Mirka. Cerani curled her hands into Stavian’s shirt, holding tight.

“They put a locking beam on us,” Rek’tor shouted. “Can’t dislodge it.”

“We’re behind their shields,” Rinter said in a voice far too high-pitched to be passed off as calm. “At least ours are holding now. Fifteen percent. If they want to crush us…”

“They don’t.” Stavian’s voice held a note of awe. He leaned toward the massive viewport as if he could reach out and touch the intercepting ship. “Look,” he said softly.

Cerani pressed closer and watched as the massive ship released bands of golden light that arched out from its hull and attached to the Mirka like tentacles.

“It’s formed a compound lock of shielding around our vessel,” Rinter said in wonder. “It appears to be protecting us from the Axis ships.”

“What the fek is happening?” Jorr asked, clearly baffled. “Should I open fire?”

“Do not fire,” Stavian said without looking away from the viewport. “Jorr, keep your hands off the weapons.”

Jorr lifted both palms in the air, but his voice was dry. “That ship could swallow us without chewing.”

“Rinter,” Stavian said, his brows drawing together, “don’t try to break the tether. Let it hold.”

Rinter shifted in his chair, uneasy. Smoke still lingered around the ceiling. “Copy that. No override commands. Thrusters idle.”

“Do you know who this is?” Rek’tor asked, turning to Stavian.

Stavian hesitated. “No, but they’re not acting like an enemy.”

“I swear that ship looks familiar,” Cerani murmured, shaking her head.

“There are only a few places you could have seen a ship like that.” His voice was low. “And one of them was not the mine.”

More lights flashed on the outer screen. The Axis ships had regrouped. Two pursuit cruisers burst into the side view, trying to get between them and the big ship. Their engines burned white-hot, blinking with the signature strobe of an Axis combat vessel.

Jorr groaned. “ Fek me. I knew they wouldn’t give up.”

The Axis ships opened fire. Yellow plasma streaked toward the massive vessel, hitting the shield barrier with renewed fury. The lights on the bridge dimmed for a second. Every console flickered from the impact, but it was nothing like before.

“We’re still within their shielding net,” Rinter shouted. The young engineer worked fast, clearly trying to verify what was happening. “It’s…repelling the Axis fire. We’re not taking the hits!”

Outside, the shadows moved. Weapon bays opened along the massive ship’s uneven hull. Turrets like rotating fists spun into place.

Cerani felt Stavian’s body go rigid. And then the intercepting ship unleashed a volley so brutal, the entire bridge trembled. The plasma bursts weren’t laced like Axis shots—they were layered, volleyed beams with piercing frequency bands that tore apart the silence. They didn’t fire in narrow streams—they blanketed space in flame.

The lead Axis ship caught the first barrage. Shields flared white, then collapsed. The hull cracked open in seconds. Debris exploded outward like sparks off a grinding blade, spinning in every direction.

The second Axis cruiser tried to veer out of the cone of fire. Too slow. The giant ship’s lock shifted, still holding the Mirka securely beneath its shields, but now moving with her—turning, rotating, angling to protect.

Cerani pressed her gloved hands to Stavian’s chest, where his heart beat like a fast hammer. Watching this strange ship take down Axis vessels was like watching a butcher carve clean through a beast.

“We should be dead,” Jorr said, stunned.

“Yeah,” Rinter whispered. “Should be.”

Rek’tor’s hands were still on his controls, but he wasn’t in control of the ship anymore—it was being carried.

A third Axis ship spiraled away, its hull gouged and venting atmosphere. Emergency flares snapped from its side, then it reversed course and shot out of there, trailing smoke and debris.

“This isn’t Axis tech,” Talla said. “Whoever this is…they built their ship to end fights, not just survive them.”

“No, not Axis,” Stavian said, half to himself. “No flags. No marks. No pattern registry. That armor plating is asymmetrical. And look at the weapon configurations. That’s not standard issue for any known syndicate or military.”

Cerani turned to him. “Then who is it?”

Stavian met her eyes. There was so much fire in them. So much history and hope wrapped behind that stare. “It’s someone who wants us alive.”

There was a deep mechanical thrum beneath her boots. The light shifted underneath them.

“We’re moving again,” Rek’tor warned, his eyes locked forward. “They’ve got us locked in. Docking tether just converted to a dynamic tow. I’m seeing signatures flickering—they’re going to fold.”

“They’re what?” Jorr blinked. “With us attached?”

“This ship doesn’t have fold tech,” Rek’tor snapped. “We could be crushed.”

Cerani knew little about fold tech, only that if a ship had it, they could travel incredible distances very quickly, by creating a sort of wormhole in space, or folding it. It wasn’t without risks, from what she’d read during her lessons with Stavian, but was quite useful for certain circumstances. Like now, if they survived this.

“No—” Rinter leaned over his console, his voice rising. “They’re enveloping us. Pulling us into their shield matrix. They’re making us part of their fold rig.”

Stavian grabbed the edge of the console and held Cerani closer with one arm. “They’re taking us with them.”

“To where?” Cerani got out, just barely.

Everything hit at once. The ship jolted and the light bent outside the viewports. Space folded in on itself, colors distorting as the stars bled sideways. Cerani’s stomach dropped fast, then leveled. She gripped Stavian’s arm, her heart pounding so hard it felt like thunder in her throat. It felt as if her body was being folded, not space. No wonder this was risky. It felt disorienting and uncomfortable.

The Mirka shuddered, deep and hard, then space returned—calm, wide, unfamiliar. No fire. No alarms. The Axis ships were gone.

Cerani turned slowly to the viewport. Outside, darkness stretched in every direction, but the massive ship hovered above them still, enclosing their ship in its light. The tether held firm. The hull lights blinked blue instead of red now. Steady.

Rek’tor let out a breath like he’d been holding it since birth. “We’re out of the fold. Intact.”

“Confirmed,” Rinter said, slumping into his seat. “Shields remain stable at fifteen percent. External field still linked.”

“They saved us,” Talla whispered.

Jorr swiveled away from weapons. “Someone explain that,” he said, shaking his head. “Giant mystery ship yanks us off a death run, performs a one-shot on two Axis cruisers, and doesn’t blast us to pieces in the process? Who the fek are these people?”

Stavian didn’t answer him.

Cerani turned toward him. He looked down at her, and his expression was different now—still focused, still fierce—but there was relief behind his eyes. Real. Heavy. He let out a breath and brushed a strand of hair off her face.

“I suspect we’ll find out soon,” he said. “We’re not safe yet. But we’re not alone anymore.”

Cerani pressed her gloved hand over his. They didn’t know who this ship belonged to and they didn’t know what it wanted, but they were alive. Together. Free. She could work with that.

Lights on the central viewscreen flashed.

Cerani flinched as the tone of the alert shifted—sharp, repetitive. Across the bridge, the crew jumped back to attention.

“Incoming transmission,” Rinter said, looking up with wide eyes. “It’s from them.”

Before Stavian replied, the ship’s AI activated. “External vessel requests contact,” it said in a cool voice. “Message: Lower shields and prepare to be boarded.”

Jorr squinted. “What shields? We’ve got fifteen percent left.”

“We don’t even know who they are,” Rek’tor said. “We need more information.”

“They could be pirates,” Talla muttered. “Or scavengers waiting for us to bleed out before making their move.”

“Not likely,” Stavian said. He stepped to the center and narrowed his eyes at the screen. “They could’ve slagged us in seconds. Whoever they are…they wanted us alive.”

The AI spoke again. “Repeat request: Lower shields. Prepare for boarding.”

“Hold.” Stavian tilted his head. “I want visual contact. Open a channel.”

Rinter tapped a glowing sequence. “On it.”

The frontal screen flickered once, and the chaotic star field and metal hull vanished. In its place appeared a view of another ship’s bridge.

The space was larger. The metal walls were darker than the Mirka’s—older, lined with patterns that looked scorched into the frame. The image struck wide across the command deck.

Four figures stood at the front.

Tall. Muscled. Zaruxian, like Stavian. Their scales were each different colors, cut through with paler scales along the neck, face, and hands. Their wings—massive, curved, and dark—folded behind their backs. They stood shoulder to shoulder. One had a long scar trailing down his jawline. Another wore a breastplate marked with a symbol she didn’t recognize—sharp angles curled into a spiral, like a broken chain. The third smiled. Actually smiled.

They weren’t just similar to Stavian. They were like him. Same stance. Same intensity.

Same eyes. Silver and fierce.

Cerani stepped close to Stavian. She could feel the tremor in his hand where it hovered at his side.

Her gaze stopped and held on one of the Zaruxians. He had purple scales and cold eyes and…and then it hit her. She let out a gasp and stumbled backward. “You.”

The purple Zaruxian on the other bridge nodded. “Hello, Cerani.”

Stavian went stiff as steel beside her. His voice came out low. Rough. “Who are you?”

Cerani couldn’t speak. Her chest felt so tight, she could barely pull in a breath. It was him. The overseer of her old settlement and this ship—this impossibly huge vessel that had just rescued them—was his fortress.

But the overseer’s gaze had moved away from her and locked onto Stavian. There, it stayed. The other Zaruxians, whom she’d never seen before, shifted in tune with him. There were no weapons drawn, no signs of a threat.

The overseer placed one hand over his chest and inclined his head. “We are your brothers,” he said, in that smooth voice she’d only heard a few times. “We’ve been looking for both of you.”