Far from the rupturing lab—
Beyond the failing containment systems and the silent spread of things no one aboard fully understood—
The attackers held position in the dark.
Not drifting, just waiting with practiced patience.
They had been out here for months.
Long enough for routine to decay into something else.
Search patterns had been repeated until they blurred together. Coordinates revisited. Empty space scanned, rescanned, then scanned again just in case something had been missed the first time.
Most days led nowhere.
No signals. No targets. No profit.
Just torturing silence and distance.
Some of them had stopped talking about home entirely. Others brought it up too often—small, offhand comments that lingered longer than they should.
Missed calls that couldn't be made.
Faces remembered a little less clearly each time.
Above all of it—
Pressure.
Not from enemies.
From their own people.
They weren't military. Not officially.
No uniforms. No ranks recognized by any formal command.
But everyone knew what they were.
Contractors.
Recovery units.
Mercenaries, when it came down to it.
And the Zhorian government had made their position clear.
Within six months.
Deliver viable captures or lose everything.
Ships.
Weapons.
Clearance.
All of it to be reassigned.
They had been close to that line.
Too close.
Until now.
The target hung in front of them.
Massive and layered in a way that suggested function over aesthetics—sections branching outward, reinforced, interconnected.
Not just a transport vessel.
Not harmless.
And definitely not something meant to be seen.
This was a research vessel.
A high-value one at that.
And intact enough to matter.
Even from a distance, the damage was controlled. Shield fluctuations rippled unevenly across its surface, weakening under sustained pressure—but the hull itself remained largely untouched.
That wasn't luck.
That was restraint.
Inside the command deck of the lead ship, a low wave of sound moved through the crew.
Not chaos.
Something tighter.
Relief and excitement.
"Shield integrity dropping across multiple sectors."
"Energy dispersion is uneven—they're struggling to compensate."
"Outer defenses are collapsing."
No cheers this time.
Just focus.
At the center of it all, Captain Vael Tarek stood still, eyes fixed on the vessel ahead.
Measuring and calculating.
They had done this before.
Not often.
But enough to know—
Too much force, and the prize was worthless.
Too little, and it slipped away.
A slow breath left him.
Then—
"Hold fire on the hull."
The room quieted further.
"Focus all output on shield destabilization. I want them blind and exposed—not broken."
Acknowledgements came quickly.
"Copy."
"Redirecting output."
"Adjusting impact vectors."
Vael's gaze sharpened slightly as another controlled volley struck the target. The shields flickered harder this time—sections collapsing, reforming, then failing again under sustained pressure.
Good.
"They're trying to reroute power," someone called out.
"Let them," Vael replied. "It'll spread them thinner."
A brief pause.
A moment later—
"Prepare boarding teams."
That shifted the room.
Not louder, but heavier. As everyone rushed to their designated tasks.
"We go in once the shields drop below threshold. No wide-area damage. No internal strikes unless necessary."
"And the crew?" one of them asked.
Vael didn't hesitate.
"Alive."
Another pause.
"And the scientists?"
His eyes didn't move from the ship.
"Priority."
Behind him, a familiar voice cut in.
"Already working on their doors."
Vael glanced back slightly.
Ryn Kael stood at his station, posture relaxed but hands moving fast across the interface, eyes tracking multiple systems at once.
"AI's more complex than usual," Ryn added.
"Layered security. Redundant pathways."
"Can you get through it before we board?" Vael asked.
Ryn smirked faintly.
"You're asking late."
A few quiet chuckles passed through the crew.
"I'm in their outer systems already," Ryn continued. "Routing through comm channels. Less protected."
"Good," Vael said. "Once you're deeper—lock down escape protocols."
"Already planned."
Ryn didn't look up this time.
"I'll seal pod access, override launch permissions, and cut manual control if they try anything clever."
"Do it."
"No one leaves," Vael added.
This time, the response came faster.
"Understood."
Another controlled strike hit the ship.
The shields flickered violently—
Then partially collapsed.
A section of the vessel dimmed, energy dispersing unevenly across its surface.
"They're losing it," someone muttered.
"Not yet," Vael said quietly. "Keep pressure."
He watched the way the system reacted.
Where it failed first.
Where it tried to compensate.
Gradually mapping it and learning it.
This wasn't just a capture.
No, this was an opportunity.
Ryn leaned back slightly, studying the projection.
Even damaged, the ship held a certain… presence.
"Got to admit," he said, almost under his breath, "she's built well."
Vael didn't respond immediately.
Ryn tilted his head, looking over the structure again.
"Layered core, segmented systems, probably a dedicated research spine running through the center…" A small pause. "Would've made a good ship."
Vael glanced at him.
"For what?"
Ryn shrugged.
"Anything long-range. Independent runs. Less oversight." His grin returned. "Could've kept it."
A beat passed.
Vael looked back at the target.
Few seconds later—
"And get flagged by every authority within three sectors?"
Ryn considered that.
"Only if we get caught."
Vael exhaled softly.
"You would get caught."
That pulled a short laugh out of him.
"Alright, fair."
Another pulse of energy struck the ship.
A moment later—
The shields dipped dangerously low.
Boarding range.
Ryn shook his head slightly, still watching the vessel.
"Still," he added, "would've been worth it."
Vael didn't answer.
But there was the faintest shift in his expression, a small curve playing at the edge of his lips.
Ryn glanced at him, then snorted quietly.
"Killjoy."
This time—
Vael let out a quiet breath that almost passed for a laugh.
And for a brief moment—
Before the boarding began—
They both did.